#also packing up a childhood bedroom is really emotional

[lemon-russ]

Fun thing no one tells you about owning Items, they have weight and mass, and if you move, you have to pick them all up and put them somewhere new. Scam.

[foreverisntenough]

‘OURS’

Summary: You were his and he was yours but what would it be like adding one more? Thrust into a whirlwind romance you never could’ve imagined that became your forever love. You continue building a new life across the pond with a very beautiful Scouser. A sequel to the ‘You’re Mine’ fic.

INDEX

Warnings: This series is 18+ and will contain fluff, suggestion, SMUT (unprotected sex,) pregnancy, parenting, mental health struggles, eating disorder, self doubt, body image issues, daddy kink, angst, alcohol consumption - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! Try not to nitpick with any real pregnant/ baby logistics it’s better if you just read along happily :)

Chapter 25 - Honeymoon Heartthrob | ‘Ours’

word count - 9.8 k

Your dad had slid the New York Times under your door. He read it everyday and refused to switch to reading online but today you were thankful for that dated quirk of his. There was a short article in the latest issue announcing your nuptials, it was the first of a few publications your wedding was about to be in but this was particularly special and something you’d always dreamed of.  A Page Six article profiling societies happenings covering it had been traditional in your family, a New York dynastic family and layering Trent’s profession only heightened the focus on your wedding. 

“Good morning to the most beautiful wife.” Trent yawned sleepily running his hands down your bare back. You laid on his chest and woke up slowly the day after your wedding, tangled in bed dressed in nothing but bed sheets and morning sunlight. You hummed nuzzling your face further into him, loving the feeling of his warm skin on yours. 

“Morning, Mr. Alexander-Arnold.” You cooed with a tired giggle. He tilted his head inquisitively towards you. “Just wanted to say my surname.”  You smiled shyly, pulling yourself up his body using your arms draped around his neck, bringing your lips closer to his. 

“C’mere baby.” He whispered bringing you into a soft lazy kiss. His lips felt like heaven. Your lips pulled into an uncontrollable smile though mid kiss as you fell into a childish laugh. “What? What’s up with you, silly girl?” Trent asked as his own lips curled into his signature devastatingly handsome smile.

“This is weird…” you whispered to him ghosting your lips over his. “Like my husband is in my childhood home. I don’t know I can’t explain it.” You smiled back at him pretty sure you did a poor job explaining the really strange emotions you were experiencing this morning. Nothing was negative, things couldn’t be further from that but it just was crazy you had a husband now in this house, often when you entered through the doors you reverted back to feeling 16 again. “… and you’re hard right now too, T!” You giggled like a school girl blushing over the handsome boy in bed with a smug teasing grin.  

“Well, my wife isn’t wearing clothes so that’s really on you innit? You didn’t even bother with the t-shirt of mine that I know you packed, which by the way yes, I’m also aware you stole it, pretty girl and while you may be beautiful, theft doesn’t suit you.” He flashed you a cheeky smile and kissed the bridge of your nose. 

“Stoppp!!” You continued your childish giggles when Trent dropped his hands to the curve of your ass, kneading it, pushing your core further into him and unavoidably so you could feel him growing harder beneath you. 

“You’re on top of me!! What do you want me to do here!?!” He laughed holding you to his body.

“T! Our families are in the house right now!” You squealed childishly as if you didn’t enjoy the feeling of him. There would not be a single day of your life where you didn’t get the slightest bit of satisfaction from turning him on. To be fair, your parent’s house was massive. No one’s bedroom was remotely near the one you were staying in. There was an unspoken decision made to put you and Trent over in the south wing, everyone else staying in the north.

“Two things, beautiful. One, that’s never stopped you before, not even in the first week of knowing you and two, that definitely didn’t stop you last night.” His tone dropped down an octave and into a whisper as he began nibbling on your neck. You hummed in pure delight, letting your faux opposition drop. “Just be a good girl for me, yeah?” He cooed softly, running his tongue down your skin. He groaned as you started to work your hand up and down his length with some of your spit. 

“Just the tip, okay?” You cheekily teased knowing that was never going to happen. ‘Just the tip’ had never happened once in the years of your relationship and it definitely wasn’t going to start day one of your marriage. Trent rolled his eyes.

You had spoken to Bentley Brown from GQ, the man you had run into at the airport what felt like ages ago at this point and what had originally been discussed to be an article about yourself in GQ had escalated into into not only that, but another colleague of his had tacked on the idea to do a spread in Vanity Fair for an inside look into your wedding day. Deciding to give publications inside access to the biggest day of your life took a load of convincing but ultimately it did seem kind of cool and surreal that some of the largest publications in the world thought your day, Trent and yours love life was worth covering, you thought it was, of course, but the fact that they believed other people would want to read and have a look was wild. To say your Instagram following had grown in the last few years would be an understatement, so the intrigue about the wedding day was obvious. Although, you kept it all fairly under wraps. No one except those working the big day or attending it knew anything about it. That said, ‘coverage’ you allowed them was maybe a bit too big of a word, you allowed fairly minimal access to the more intimate moments, it was more like just having an additional camera crew around that weekend.  After your cheeky morning with Trent you had a photoshoot scheduled for said Vanity Fair piece. The shoot would take all day but it wasn’t so much of an inconvenience. You and Trent went to the beach early with the film crew, no one else, not even Teddy. It was a simple concept… you in a white bikini, Trent in linen trousers cuffed to avoid the water, and shirtless. Naturally they had pitched that you’d have a classic soccer ball, like the black and white octagonal ones to mess about with on the sand. It was playful and cute but also gave off a real luxury, old money vibe and you liked that you’d have the these photos forever, they’d be timeless. 

“Just a reminder that Bentley from GQ is coming to the house after our honeymoon for the like actual interview for his piece.” You cooed to Trent as you let a woman oil your legs for the photos. You assessed your body in the mirror as she worked the product in as the sun got higher in the day. The photographer nearly ready all the security and confidence you felt in your wedding drained. You felt it all drag out to sea with the crashing tides. 

“Yeah, I remember, baby. It’ll be great. Don’t look so nervous or remorseful about it. You won’t regret this. I wouldn’t let you do something that would hurt you.” He spoke softly coming to your side pressing a kiss to your cheek. A younger girl capturing content for social posts for the publication catching the interaction. 

“Do you mind giving us a minute?” You looked sheepishly around the room at everyone simply doing their jobs. You could feel a panic attack coursing through your veins, aggressively bubbling towards the surface and you did not care for that aspect of you to be captured. Trent placed his hand low on the small of your back and moved you away from the crowd of people. “T… I don’t look good. I don’t want to be photographed like this. Like I get the look. If I hear ‘young, fit, and sexy’ one more time I think I’m going to start crying.” Your body began to shake. That was part of the creative brief the photographer had been pushing. The fact that Trent was a professional athlete naturally it was going to be an element of the story but your fitness, your body type, your sex appeal for the masses was being really honed in. 

“C’mere sweetheart. You say the word, we call this whole thing, alright?” He whispered, pressing his nose to yours. You shut your eyes gently and let out a sigh and shook your head. “You look unreal, baby, honest. You know Ty has already spoken with both teams and in any interview, any of the photos they can’t mention your health, no postpartum, weight loss, fitness regimes, your body, it’s all off the table. If this, though...” He paused gesturing around you two out at the horizon where all the lighting for the shoot was being finalized. “This if it is upsetting, or it’s too much, you tell me, I'll be the fall guy, whatever you want, I will do for my beautiful girl, the most beautiful girl. I got your back, baby.” He flashed his signature toothy smile back to you. You pouted up at him as he swiped his thumb over your cheek. You dragged your hands down his bare chest and gripped his waist. You dropped your forehead to rest against him. 

“Thank you.” You whispered out quietly. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel like I look good. It’s just a lot.” You embarrassedly admitted to Trent. He picked up your face by taking your chin in his hand. 

“You… are absolutely stunning. Every second of every day. Alright? Do you understand me?” He smiled before kissing your pouty lips. You’d be lying if his words didn’t make you feel a little better but it didn’t change your reflection. You went back and got ready for the shoot comforted by Trent but plagued by your anxieties.

“Where’s Jay and Judey? Where did they go?” Lauren cooed with a laugh pretending to look for both Jude and Jadon outside at your parent’s pool. A luxury in your life was always having someone who wanted to babysit Teddy for you if you were busy. Right now you had about 20 people who would but Lauren and Winnie took today along with Jadon and Jude. At the moment, their much too large frames were obviously hidden behind a tree although that wasn’t all that apparent to Teddy.

“Don’t knows!” Teddy yelped desperately helpless. “Win Win help!” She cried out with a huff starting to dislike the game they had begun playing ages ago. 

“Hmm... did you look over there?” Winnie giggled seeing Jadon shove Jude slightly more out into the open.

“Judey!!!” She squealed, running over to him. He laughed and scooped her up swinging her around.

“Ah! You found me, you’re too smart f’me Ted. You’re much better at this game than your daddy.” Jude joked with her. He had never played a hide and seek esc came with Trent to be fair but he’d take the opportunity to take a jab at him but also knowing it would elicit some sort of response from Teddy. 

“No Judeyy!” She humphed with a scowl. “My dada best. Dada is best!” She told Jude with some real vigor before he naturally had to concede to her puppy dog eyes. 

“Okay, okay, you’re right, fine. Dada can be the best.” He laughed rolling his eyes. He’d never convince her otherwise. Trent was everything to Teddy and in turn simply the best at everything across the board. She nodded with a proud smile. 

The following day you were laid out on the beach on a towel over the hot sand. Winnie laid next to you, Lauren and Jude in two chairs off to the side a little bit more in their own world. Trent was out in the ocean playing with Teddy and he looked glorious. The way his strong back muscles flexed in the sunlight that reflected off the water. The way the water ran down his tanned skin. It was a sight and on top of that seeing your little girl giggling away in his hold as he tossed her around in his muscular arms had you just about drooling and evidently Winnie understood the attraction to the scene in front of you two. 

“Somedays I think I get the pregnant thing.” She cooed honestly tilting her head a little bit and letting her sunglasses drop further down the bridge of her nose to get a clearer view of Trent and Teddy. Jadon was up back at the house with Marcel and Tyler so she assumed she’d be in the clear to make the comment. You furrowed your brow and let out a snide laugh. Winnie wasn’t exactly looking to start a family anytime soon and she made that clear from her recent purchase of Plan B this month but to say she didn’t think about being a mum at all at some point would be a lie. 

“That’s honestly so sexy.” Lauren chimed in from further away overhearing the conversation, her actions reflecting Winnie’s, the pair of Celine sunglasses of Jude’s she had on falling down her nose just the same. Jude rolled his eyes unimpressed with the entirety of the topic and definitely with Lauren’s interjection. He reached over and moved his her sunglasses back up her nose to their place. She laughed and kissed the inside of his palm.   

“Go get mama!” Trent cooed plopping a soaking wet Teddy onto her own two feet on the sand after he plucked her out of the ocean 20 or so minutes later from your conversation watching them.

“Oh wow!” You let out a breathy laugh when that very wet but cute little girl ran up to you and laid directly flat on top of your back pushing your body further into your towel unexpectedly. “Hi my beachy girl.” You cooed, continuing your laughter, very aware the weight on top of you could only be your Teddy.

“Mama!”  She giggled as she wiggled more, getting comfortable wrapping her now sandy arms and hands uncomfortably around your neck. 

“You didn’t want to dry off? Daddy didn’t want to get you a towel?” You asked Teddy but more so craning your neck to find Trent. Teddy was smart obviously but she didn’t know being wet and sandy would be a bother. She just wanted a cuddle, Trent… Trent knew what he was doing. 

“No, mama.” She unfortunately adorably answered you with a giggle. You shook your head and pulled her to your side before sitting yourself up right a little more. 

“Of course he didn’t.” You finally locked eyes with him and shot him a glare purposefully brushing some sand off of you to emphasize your point of feigned annoyance. He winked back at you and you simultaneously loved and hated that your heart faltered. “Want to tell me what you and daddy have been doing in the water for so long?”  You asked her pulling Teddy into your lap. She clumsily sat on your thigh and smushed her cheek against your boobs. 

“Errmmmm.” She drew out her moment of ponder with a cheeky smile looking at Trent for assistance. He just shrugged with a goofy smile silently telling her to keep thinking. “Oh! Mama! Dada and I swimmy with fwishies.” She yelped excited to relay her activity. God knows what that really entailed because you were in the north east of the united states it wasn’t really a swimming with fish type of place but Trent was imaginative and silly with her so despite your adult realities you knew they were having fun. 

“Yeah, Ted’s a better swimmer than the fishies, aren’t you?” Trent cooed squatting to your level next to your towel. Your eyes immediately and unavoidably darting to his crotch. You bit your lip and tried to avert your gaze  but Trent was faster sucking at his teeth in mocking disapproval for the raunchy direction of your gaze while you were talking about swimming with your daughter. 

“Dada! Go wawa ‘gan.” Teddy pleading looked to Trent with big brown eyes and batting eyelashes. She fussed in your arms so you let her go and allowed her to stand up. 

“Okay, want to go back?” Trent asked with a fun smile back to her. It made you melt how good he was with her. It didn’t matter how tired, how annoying, or whatever it was,  the ask was, if it would make Teddy happy he’d do it. You pulled at her ruffly pink one piece swimsuit before letting her scamper off adjusting the bottom bit around her bum. 

“Coming back for you.” Trent whispered, leaning forward into your ear. His warm minty breath hitting the shell of it sending a shiver down your spine causing you to lose focus on your task at the moment. He kissed your skin a few times and not in a silly lovey way, it was in a ‘I saw you staring at my cock and now I want to give it to you’ type way. Your lips curled into an embarrassed but excited smile. 

“Tay mama!” Teddy huffed annoyed that your hands were still holding her back by the fabric of her swimsuit. You laughed and apologized finally fixing it to your satisfaction and letting go tapping her cute bum setting her off and on her way to run to Trent. 

The sun was close to setting almost entirely, it was far past when you should've eaten dinner but you just couldn’t bring yourself to leave the beach and definitely not leave your current position laying on Trent’s chest on a towel. You were still awaiting to have your fun with Trent, but at the moment the feeling of the warm sun, Trent’s skin, the terry cloth… and all of a sudden tiny grubby hands pulling at your arm draped across him interrupted it all.

“Mama share!!” Teddy yelped standing above you and Trent in a huff. She had been preoccupied playing in the sand and building castles with Marcel but per usual once she had clocked you and Trent were together without her, her focus shifted fast as did her emotions, they transitioned straight into envy.

“No, sorry. Dada is mine.” You annoyingly and cheekily cooed back to Teddy flicking your eyes to her then back closed knowing it would rile her up. Who Trent belonged to was becoming a bigger and bigger debate in your home especially as Teddy was getting better and better at expressing herself. 

“You’re so greedy. She’s barely two. Learn to share” Trent whispered in your ear joking with you smiling through his words, his juicy lips moving pressed against your forehead. “Ted, come here, baby.” Trent cooed, pulling Teddy’s hand off your arm and over to him. She awkwardly stepped over you and plopped herself to take a seat on one of Trent’s thighs. Your bodies were a jumbled Alexander-Arnold family mess.

“Mmm, I love daddy the most.” You hummed teasingly before you made the beloved ‘mwah’ sound kissing Trent’s cheek. You kissed him, keeping your eyes locked on Teddy in mockery. Her brow furrowing shocked you were being so blatant, usually you conceded to her quicker than this.  

“No! Mama, no!” She yelled moving herself a little further up him and letting her body fall forward onto Trent’s chest attempting but unable to wrap her arms around him in a hug. She stretched her neck out and pushed her lips towards him echoing your ‘Mwah’ noise. You threw your leg over his other closet to you, the free one Teddy was not on and subtly rolled hips only gaining his attention obviously. 

“Baby, relax.” Trent laughed, running one of his hands over his face covering his massive smile. It was a dumb game of possession but of course he loved the attention and the cheek of it all. 

“Dada!” Teddy squealed once more reaching for his face with her hands adamant she received a kiss in return. He of course gave it to her. He cupped her cheek and gently pecked her identical pout. “My dada.” She stuck her tongue out at you, wrapping her arms around his neck. Your jaw slacked in offense but you couldn’t stop your laugh. What had Trent done to your little girl that she was that competitive and not only that but that sore of a winner.

“Daddy pay attention to me too!”  Winnie teased watching the tug of war. Teddy whipped her head around with frustration Winnie was piling on. She ran over to her with a huff yelling an adamant ‘nooo.’ 

“You just need me so badly, yeah? Marrying you wasn’t enough for you.” Trent cheekily rolled himself over top of you. He steadied himself above you resting on his forearms before dropping his body weight onto you squishing your boobs against him, to his delight. He pressed messy kisses all over you before gripping his hands behind your neck and pulling you into an aggressive make out. For a moment where you forgot where you were caught in the haze of his kiss. 

“Okay, okay get off!” You giggled pulling away from the kiss with a stupid smile after you heard Lauren whistle making fun of you two. 

“What mama and dada doing?” Teddy asked Winnie, turning and pointing at you two nearing on rolling around in the sand. Winnie pickled her gaze off her and glanced towards you. 

“They’re gross. Your parents are gross." Winnie laughed, shaking her head with a smug smile, jokingly covering Teddy’s eyes with his hands. 

“Alright, fine, fine. Can I say my teenage boy comment of the day though.” Trent cooed rolling off your side bringing his nose to push against yours.   

“Shoot, T.” You giggled brushing your nose left to right against his giddily excited to hear what he had to share. It was kind of a running joke you’d fallen into lately. You had made fun of a cheeky comment Trent had said to you in passing ages ago that it was like something a teenage boy would say so he now would preface his juvenile comments.

“Your boobs look so good in this.” He whispered slipping two fingers under the strap of your bikini top. His warm hands sliding against your skin. “Just want to peel this off.” He quietly spoke just to you. You felt butterflies fill your stomach. His dragged his fingers up under the straps material towards the tie behind your neck.

“Mama!” Teddy yelled wrangling herself away from Winnie deciding that she was not done trying to prove her point who Trent’s was not happy his focus was soley on you.

“Her timing is so good.” Trent whispered to you pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. Your lips curled into a cheeky grin. You gripped his face with one hand preventing him from turning his attention to a running Teddy. 

“Can take this off later, daddy.” You hushed with a subtle wink before pushing off his chest to stand yourself up. “Come here my cutie girl. We can share daddy, okay?” You cooed to Teddy scooping her up in your arms spinning her around loosely. She nodded with a 'tay' wrapping herself around you. Trent puffed out some pent up air taken aback by your comment before standing up having to adjust his shorts.  

“Do you think we should just bring her?” You cooed softly in the night sitting on Trent’s lap around a bonfire. It was late half the house had turned in, half of you still outside, Teddy learning about the art of the perfect s’more from Tyler. You watched them with a smile but you felt a tinge of guilt and sadness thinking about leaving for your honeymoon without Teddy. 

“Baby… she’s our whole life, you know how important she is and you’re the most amazing, sweet, beautiful mummy to her but please give me my week of just my Y/N.” He cooed with an exaggerated pout.

“I can do that.” You turned to face him more, still seated on his lap. His hands slipping from your waist up your exposed back and under the sides of your top moving cheekily closer up to under your boobs.  

“I want days of the most ridiculously small bikinis, I want these tits in my face all day…” he hummed, squeezing his hands around your ribs momentarily trying to be coy. He pulled you back while moving his lips closer to your ear. “I want my sexy, slutty, horny Y/N just for me for a whole week please. Let me fuck you all day on the beach. Let me eat you out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’m begging you.” He whispered with a deep breath imagining it all.

“You don’t have to beg, T.” You quietly giggled. “Trust me I will be there, all of that guaranteed. It’s not that big of a shift to make. I have something to ask though…” You whispered back to him brushing your thumb over his high cheekbone staring back into his big brown mahogany eyes. He hummed inquisitively interested in what your question would be. 

“Well you’ve never fucked your wife on a flight before so I was just wondering…” You giggled with a whisper.

“Baby, baby, baby.” Trent cut you off gripping your face with one hand smushing your cheeks together.  “You’re mad if you think that wasn’t already happening Mrs. Alexander-Arnold.” He pressed a kiss to your lips and you giggled shutting your eyes. The light from the fire pit warmed your face and as Trent watched your nose scrunch up from your sweet laugh, he knew that he made the best decision of his life marrying you. 

You boarded your flight to the Amalfi Coast for your honeymoon and eagerly cuddled up on Trent’s seat with him wrapping yourself around him. You took a selfie video on your Instagram stories pinching his cheek and kissing his face repeatedly with the text overlay ‘finally a holiday with my husband’ and posted it to your close friends… or so you thought. You did not. The internet set aflame knowing that the wedding had finally happened.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Trent cooed nuzzling into you on the plane tucked under a blanket with you sleepily holding on to him. 

“What’s tomorrow?” You whispered back, running your hand over his head. You looked at him with questioning eyes because while some days of your honeymoon were pre planned and reservations were made, others you just left blank to go with the flow of the day and relax. Day one was set to be that but evidently not according to Trent. 

“A day for you, organized by me.” He informed you with a sweet smile that you thanked your lucky stars you got to see everyday. It was so beautiful. 

“Mmm interesting. What’s that entail?” You hummed moving your arms to drape over his shoulders. Shifting your position from the side of him to perched yourself on top of his lap, straddling his waist. You tilted your head slightly to admire his perfectly crafted face and waited for his explanation. 

“Everything you love, baby.” He answered you with a cunning grin. You raised your eyebrows. It was really sweet he had taken the time to think of making plans for you two as a surprise but it did run through your mind quite quickly that you hoped you packed outfits for whatever his plans consisted of. 

“So just a day with you?” You teased him, leaning forward to kiss his shoulder. A day with Trent was everything you loved. Anything with him was always amazing. The best day ever but again and again in different fonts. 

“Well…” he laughed. “I’m a given, I’m included in the day’s package but just trust me, alright?” He cooed and you nodded. Once you had landed, you made your way to a luxe hotel nestled on the rocky coastline of the Mediterranean. When you first broached ideas of where to go for your honeymoon it was a little bit of a joke that you should go to Italy because you went to an Italian restaurant on your first date and had told Trent it was ‘regular.’ He had said he wanted to honeymoon somewhere 'regular' so he could just be with you, focus on you, not have to worry about anything but it wasn’t a joke for long when you started researching and found this surreal hotel to stay in. Your suite was secluded and discreet with large windows overlooking the sea. It was a chic space with a few rooms, a lemon grove, terrace, and pool, just for you two. You were ready for bed after your travels but of course not without some cheeky fun in the shower with your new husband first.

 

“Up! Let’s go, wife.” Trent popped out from his morning shower and tapped your ass a few times as you laid sleepily in the king sized bed surrounded by morning light.

“T…” you groaned. You could hear his snickering giggle. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile it evoked on your face. It was quite possibly your favorite sound in the whole world. “What we’re not going to do is call me ‘wife’ again.” You quipped with a teasing yet sleepy smile. 

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” He laughed between a few kisses to your lips coming to sit on the edge of the bed next to your body. You knew he was kidding but so were you. “My beautiful, perfect, love of my life… can you please get up so we can get our day started and I can dote over you."

“That’s much better.” You giggled, kissing him before slinking off the bed and grabbing his hand pulling him behind you. He looked at you confused for a moment. “Well, you’re not going to let the beautiful and perfect love of your life shower alone are you?” You asked with a sly expression continuing to pull him into the ensuite. 

“Nah, I would never.” Trent responded, dropping the towel he was still in. He was still slightly damp but that wasn’t going to stop your morning plans. You had no intention of showering alone on this trip. Your day was perfect. Trent finally caved and did a pilates class with you on a rooftop, private of course, not a shot Trent was going to subject himself to embarrassment of not being spectacular at something out in the public eye but he’d do it for you. He wasn’t bad to his credit but he more so just was enjoying his view and it wasn’t the seaside he was so enamored with, it was you. You sported a Nike x Jacquemus white halter top and tiny shorts. Following your workout was a shower, not spent alone, a massage and a few other spa treatments interspersed with a breakfast.  You changed into embroidered, lace-trimmed linen mini-dress from Prada and gold heeled sandals after for some shopping. You went to Mui Mui for you and Louis Vuitton for Trent buying the latest collections, telling them to ship it all home for you, not carrying a single thing. After your spree you had a lunch at a beach club and despite a car being arranged you asked Trent to walk there which initially you had thought would be a nice time outside in the summer sun and coastal air. That changed quite quickly though. 

“The cobble stones are not my friend.” You pouted towards Trent after you stumbled for the umpteenth time. He shook his head at you. This was very much your idea but he would gladly listen to your complaints anyways.

“Nah, those heels you’re in are not your friend.” He quipped back with a smug grin. You only furthered deepened your pout and the crease in your forehead. 

“You said you liked them.” You looked at him with doe eyes only pausing to place one of your hands against a colored concrete wall on the side of the small narrow street to fix the strap of your shoe. Trent came to your side and bent down for you to fix them.

“I do, you look sexy in them. And I’d like if you would keep them on f’me when I fuck you later but right now your nails digging into my shoulder every 5 minutes so you don’t fall… not my favorite thing.” He cheekily laughed, standing up and leaning close to your ear. He rubbed his nose against your cheek.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized and you let go only to fumble once more. 

“Take them off.” He demanded with a silly expression.  

“They make the outfit, T.” Your pout returned in full force. You liked the fit and you didn’t want to ruin it. So what if you were late for the reservation at the restaurant that you’d been dying to try and had bookmarked on your instagram for a year… oh yeah… you did and he knew that.   

“Nah, take 'em off.” Trent’s smile dropped as he demanded as he squatted next to your feet again helping you undo your heels. You frowned but that changed as he guided you by your hand around him to climb onto his back. “Let’s go, pretty girl.” He grunted, readjusting his arms placement under your legs. You giggled and nuzzled your face into the side of his neck with a ‘thank you’ carrying your shoes in your hands now. You had lunch and then headed to the harbor to board a yacht late in the afternoon. To your surprise a few of the items from your shopping in the morning that Trent had pushed you to get were aboard already for you. You had gotten a metallic knit set from Loro Piana to wear with a white bikini underneath and a new pair of white oran Hermes sandals.  You stayed there for ages out in the sun until it set and then you had dinner on the deck of the bow. It was romantic and special. Plenty of flirty touches and sweet memories shared. You docked as the evening rolled almost into morning. 

“Now what we do is up to you, baby… I, yes, Trent Alexander-Arnold, your husband will take you to a club to dance and get drunk and make out with you in the middle of crowds just like I know you love or I can take you home just like I know you love." He explained to you. You found yourself in the mix of an intimate private club not long after that question was broached. You could feel the too many cocktails you had coursing through you, intoxicating you more and more by the moment but you weren’t sure if it was them causing the warmness in your chest and tunnel vision or if it was just Trent's effect on you. You were falling in love with him all over again with every thump of the bass, every touch of his hands, every flash of strobe lights, every kiss of his lips, you didn’t feel like you were parents for the moment, you just felt in love. You turned in his arms and nuzzled your face into his skin before licking up the side of his neck and down his jaw.

“Wow, so it was a good drink?” Trent laughed into your ear for you to hear. You had just finished a cocktail Trent had ordered but wasn’t loving. He said it was down to the flavor but the pink color and floral garnish was what you believed that he didn’t want. 

“I want to have your babies.” You hummed ignoring his initial question just in your own world.

“That’s good because you already got one.” He continued his laughs looking at you in wonder. You looked gorgeous clinging to him swaying in the club lights. There was a slight sheen to your skin from the warmth of the evening making you glow and little glimmer of lust in your eyes. You were in an impossibly scandalous GCDS dress you nabbed earlier and Trent was fucking really happy you had. 

“I want more.” You giggled, ghosting your lips over his. You attempted to drop your hand to palm over his growing bulge. 

“Nah, we’re leaving. I need you all to myself and in absolutely nothing but your jewelry, baby. Let's go." He gripped you with his hand on the back of your neck with some aggression. You felt your heart palpitating and you felt your pussy throb as he kissed you one last time in the club.

You caged him upon entry into your suite back at the hotel. You dropped to your knees in front of him. You felt the carpet settle under your knees as you ran your hands up his thighs before undoing his belt. He leaned back into the wall behind him letting you get to work. You let some spit drip from your mouth onto his hard cock as you played with his pre cum already leaking from the tip. You tapped your finger over his slit, drawing his arousal away creating a string of it connected to your fingertip. 

“You’re a fucking phenomenal wife.” He grunted as you moved to slowly take his whole length at once in your mouth. You cupped his balls and gently massaged them. He uncontrollably let out a moan he couldn’t control as you sucked his cock, letting it hit the back of your throat again and again. “Shit, that feels so good, baby... I remember when you sucked me off for the first time. Fucking hell.” He whimpered, letting his head drop backwards. You knew exactly what he liked now. You didn’t that first time but you figured it out quickly. You knew just where he was most sensitive. Every moan, choke, and gag coming from you taking him had him fighting for his life to not cum. “Good girl, just like that. Baby, I gotta cum. I can’t. “ You nodded running both of your hands up his strong thighs again. Trent knew that queue, something he had learned you liked since that first night. He ran his fingers through your hair and gently but securely grabbed your face letting him self fuck your mouth. You could feel your own wetness dampening your panties more and more until your focus shifted to the sensation of his warm cum filling your mouth and running down your sore throat. In swift succession you found yourself on top of the dresser in the room, legs spread open, Trent now on the floor between them. He had pushed your dress up your thighs before peeling those already soaked panties to the side teasing you relentlessly before his fingers found there way to play with your pussy.  His name fell from your lips in a hoarse moan the moment you felt his fingers running through your wet folds. With his fingers between your legs now, you were practically dripping for him. You looked down at him with your jaw slacked and lidded eyes. He unraveled you with each movement. 

“That feel good, baby?” He mouthed moving his mouth from your knee, dragging his perfect, dreamy, pouty lips closer and closer towards your core. The anticipation alone had you reelling. 

“Please, baby. I want you.” You begged with a whine. Trent wasn’t going to make you wait. He was on a high after the head you gave him. His fingers making quick work sinking knuckle deep inside you, his luscious lips finding your clit with a suckle. His fingers hit the perfect spot inside you with every thrust and curl of their tips. Your back arching uncontrollably. A puddle on the surface of the dresser you were sitting on formed, your juices running down his hand. The way his breath felt against you, his skillful tongue, the force of his fingers, it all had you rushing towards your first orgasm of the night. 

“Tell me baby. You gonna cum f’me? Am I gonna make you cum? You gotta tell me.” you could sense that his muffled words were said with so much smugness and self satisfaction. He knew you loved this and you knew he did as well. His big brown eyes flashed up to your shut ones and he let out a cheek laugh. The vibration only pushing you closer. You nodded, unable to say any words. You let out a pornographic whine though when he flattened his tongue against your clit letting out a growl tasting you. “You taste so good. Want this pussy everyday of my life.” Trent shut his eyes a little consumed by his own pleasure of your taste. He dragged his tongue through your folds again and again slurping you up. You were a complete mess. You could barely keep yourself propped up against the wall behind you. Your pussy clenched ruthlessly around his fingers. 

“T… T….” You whined. “Please. I’m cumming.” You whimpered with gasps of air and cried. Your pussy was dripping all over his face, you were absolutely soaked but you couldn’t think, your mind had gone blank.  

“Let go, baby. Be a good girl f’me. Cum f’me.” Trent said sternly instructing you and you wasted no time at all. He licked and sucked and toyed as you withered against the dresser. Your orgasm was never ending.  Trent persistently kept his finger at work inside of you, slowing slightly but drawing your high out.  “Good girl. So fucking good f’me.” Trent cooed as you attempted to hold onto his muscular arm to prevent him from moving any more. He gave way and removed his fingers as he worked kisses up your warm skin all the way up to your neck. He kissed your lips with his before he drew away and forcefully pushed his thumb in between your lips. You willingly opened them for him and looked at him doe eyed and desperate for more. He kept your lips agape as he slowly spit the taste of your cum into your mouth before hungrily kissing you again. Trent picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you over to the bed and laid you down crawling on top of you. Not long after you were crying out his name again and again as he thrusted in and out of you. "Whose making you feel this good, baby, tell me.” He commanded you and you continued whining his name. 

“T… I’m gonna cum again. You’re gonna make me cum, baby. Trent oh my god.” You moaned pulling him down to you more by the back of his neck dragging your nails then harshly down his muscular back. He rested his forehead against yours sweetly as he continued to rail into you. 

“Cum f’me baby. Feels so good. Doing so well f’me.” He whispered between the lewd sounds of your squelching pussy. His thrusts sped up, rolling his hips into you as he chased his own orgasm. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I love you so much T.” You whined as your eyes rolled back. You inhaled a sharp breath feeling a lightheadedness come over with every stroke of his. He kept his beautiful brown eyes fixed on you. The pupils in his dark eyes dilated when he felt his cock pulse inside you. Every movement was slow, deep, and intentional. His lips curled into a smug smile hearing you tell him you loved him. You were completely his. You dragged your ankle down his back muscles. He was so gentle yet harsh all at the same time. Your pussy tightly clenched around Trent’s  cock and then fluttered. 

“Such a good fucking girl. Shit! Baby, I love you. Gonna cum. Shit. Take it all f’me” he sunk his teeth into his perfect lower lip. You silently begged him to. His head tilted back. Ropes of his cum filled the velvety inside of your pussy. He pumped you full gradually and slowly stilling. Your own orgasm crashing over you. Your pussy continued to flutter as you panted beneath him. Your chest rising and falling. He softly stroked your hair and gently kissed you. “I love you, baby. Did so good f’me.” You smiled breathlessly as he kissed you again in a way that you could feel just how much he adored you with each one. He loved you more than he could ever articulate with words but you could always feel it in the silences. He got off the bed and then cleaned you up before he tucked you neatly back in his arms. 

“Sleeping in?” Winnie asked with a coo and a laugh when Trent answered her facetime. She was looking after Teddy with your parents still out east in Montauk at their house. Your family didn’t get to see her as often as Trent’s did so she was a welcomed intrusion. 

“Yeah, yeah. You okay?” Trent asked through a yawn while groggily running his free hand over his eyes. 

“Yeah, good. Sorry, I tried to call Y/N.” Winnie explained starting to feel bad seeing Trent look so tired. 

“She’s still asleep.” Trent informed her through one more yawn. You were both naked under the covers of the bed. You shifted on top of him annoyed by the rumbling of his voice in his chest beneath you and the volume of it in the quiet late morning... well at this point it was essentially the afternoon. 

“Baby…” you groaned pushing your fingers to Trent’s perfectly plump lips. It wasn’t long until he heard a very familiar giggle getting closer to the phone. He could see your mum chasing Teddy in the kitchen corralling her over to Winnie.

“Can you wake up f’me?” Trent asked you likely for the millionth time of this trip and billionth time in your relationship. If you were in bed with him, you never wanted to move. He tapped your bare ass under the blankets.

“No, I’m sore, baby.” You whined pushing your face into him. Trent smiled down at you thinking your stubbornness was cute. Winnie’s eyebrows raised with a smug smile at your comment. Your mum less than impressed with the crude innuendo. Teddy popped herself up onto Winnie’s lap. Trent let out a gasp as did she. You didn’t put two and two together you were too tired so he tried to wake you once more. 

“Can you wake up for this cute girl on the phone then please?” He laughed, giving your daughter a silly smile through the screen. They caught up momentarily before situating yourself to lean onto Trent’s shoulder as you woke up more. 

“My baby girl!” You quietly sang. “You look so sleepy, did you just wake up?” You asked her with a pouty smile. She looked adorable. It was obscenely early for them and ridiculously late in the day for you. Teddy wasn’t great at sleeping when she was away from you and Trent and you could see it on her tired face. She was in her little pajamas and it made you want to just reach through the phone and squish her. 

“Mama…” Teddy whimpered out. It was mere seconds before she started bawling her eyes out. Teddy didn’t realize how much she missed you before she saw you, heard you. Winnie had kept Teddy diligently occupied since you parted ways. You worried that the days you had fled to New York after the final at Wembley before the wedding might have made things worse, her attachment to you worse, that she feared you'd leave unexpectedly again. You sat up in Trent’s lap some more. You shuffled and let him pull your back to his chest as you adjusted the sheets to cover your naked bodies. 

“Oh, it’s okay, Teddy girl. You’re probably having so much fun at the beach though and you can tell me all about it so soon!” You tried to console her from afar. You actually couldn’t wait to sit with her and hear her babbling away explaining to you all she’d done in her jumbled words. 

“We’re okay, right?” Winnie cooed, smushing a kiss to Teddy’s cheek reassuring her things were fine. She tried to tickle her tummy but to no avail, Teddy was upset. “We’re just tired and we miss you but tell mummy and daddy what we’re going to do today, Ted.” Winnie looked at her patiently waiting for her to speak up.

“Find my mama dada shell.” Teddy sadly mumbled with the most heartbreakingly cute puppy dog eyes and her lips rolled into an agape pout. She looked between you and Winnie making sure she was right about their plans to find shells to bring home for you and Trent, and that you heard her.  

“That’ll be so much fun! Can you find me and you matching shells on the beach?” You asked her and her pouty lips slightly turned upward, liking the idea. 

“Baby bear, you know what else you have to do today?” Trent cooed resting his chin atop your head in bed still. She looked at him with a tilt of her head before leaning back onto Winnie, getting comfortable. “You have to show Win how good of a swimmer you are!” Teddy’s eyes lit up. It was like she had forgotten that she was going to be able to swim this week due to how much she missed you both. 

“I heard Win is an even better swimmer than daddy.” You cooed cheekily. Trent dropped his head to come and bite your earlobe in retaliation to your remark. You let out a soft ‘ow.’ Winnie started to laugh. Teddy’s face pulled into a scowl not really believing you and for not really liking the idea that even someone she loved as much as Winnie was better than her dad. “Can you call me later and tell mummy who was better?” You asked and her scowl transformed into a greedy conniving grin excited to have something to do for you. Your phone call ended with a few more tears but it was okay ultimately. 

“I miss her…” You quietly whispered into Trent’s bare chest as you ran your hand up and down his warm skin.  

“I know, baby, but we're having a good time.” He reassured you, running his hands over your body. His hands on you always were comforting and were proving to be nothing less than that in this moment again. 

“Yeah, no, you’re right. Gotta make the most of our Teddy free time.” You laughed a little sadly. 

“Yeah, and we will. So what do you want to do today, beautiful?” He asked you with a smile after a sweet kiss to your shoulder after brushing some of your hair behind it. 

“You …” You cheekily responded with a little giggle rolling your body into his some more.   

“Yeah? Alright.” He greedily smiled and jumped up almost immediately at your words from the bed.

“Where are you going?” You laughed as his agile movements coming around to the other side of the bed and moving you towards its edge before picking you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“C’mere. Gonna make you cum on every. single. surface in this room.” He whispered to you between soft kisses. 

“That so?” You questioned his ability teasingly with a raised brow. “Wow, good luck to you.” You giggled with excitement, very aware he’d be more than capable of making that happen.

“Don’t need it.” He said softly with a wink pulling the straps of your tank top down. You gasped feeling his lips glide down your neck following his hands to your boobs. 

“That was cute.” You cooed after he kissed your cheek gently as you cuddled in the hotel bed after a very fun couple of hours messing about.

“Cute? I just fucked you for 3 hours, baby. Give me a little more credit than cute damn.” He quipped a little taken aback that was your response. You were more so just referring to the sweet kiss he just gave you after his more juxtaposed and rough way he just fucked you earlier. 

“Yeah, that was hot, sexy, dadddy, not this… this was cute mushy T.” You cooed in a softer voice cuddling into him.  

“You love when I’m a melt for you. Well don’t worry I am for the rest of my life. You’re like a witch.” He continued and at first you had a soft smile on your face but the latter of his words had your face twist in confusion. 

“Excuse me…?” You giggled not entirely sure what he meant calling you a ‘witch.’

“Nah, you know what I meant. I just don’t know what you did to me.” He explained with an adorably innocent face. His big mahogany brown eyes pooling into puppy dog ones just the way Teddy’s had earlier in the morning. He pulled them out of his arsenal as if to convince you had in fact done something.

“I didn’t do anything to you!” You squealed, whipping around out of his hold to face him with a playful expression on your face. Your cheeks started to hurt from being pulled so high and so filled. 

“You did. You do every day. Make me fall in love with you again and again and again.” He cooed, pulling you slowly back into him by taking your bottom lip in his hand. It was an unorthodox way to bring you in but it was sexy but simultaneously cute. 

“You’re cheesy…” You cooed with a soft kiss before tucking back into his arms getting settled again. You wiggled against his body with your back to his chest once more rolling your head back onto his shoulder. “I love cheese.” You giggled starting to get hungry all of a sudden. 

“You’re so fucking cute, baby” He leaned around you and bit your nose causing you to wince and shake him off after he kept his teeth bit into you playfully for a bit too long for your liking.  

“Do you ever feel like young when we’re like this… like alone, you know?” You asked him, falling into a more serious tone. You flicked your eyes up to him and waited for his response.  

“We are young baby.” He corrected you.  “Dare I say… we are ‘young, fit, and sexy'” He laughed a little. He was directly quoting and mimicking the way the photographer from your shoot with Vanity Fair had sounded and said again and again on repeat. 

“You know what I mean…” Your face fell a little. It looked less spirited in a way. “Sometimes I think like I get caught in a mum mode. With schedules and football and Teddy and I don’t know just life, it feels like… I don’t know, I probably sound stupid.” You got quieter at the end of your sentence starting to go shy moving a mere centimeter off of Trent but he caught your emotional and physical shift.  

“I understand baby. You don’t sound stupid at all. It makes sense. What can I do to make you see how much fun this ‘life’ really is though.” He cooed and you gave him a sad smile with a shake of the head. It was sweet but you head let your mind fall down a rabbit hole. “Come on. This is amazing. Let’s live a little, have some fun, fuck let’s have another baby.” Trent said it the same way he said ‘let's get the Mui Mui bag’ you had looked at and wanted the other day. 

“That’s fun to you?” You asked him a little surprised. You obviously weren’t talking about the ‘making’ component of babies but more so the home life with them. Yes, if you really deeped it it was so special, so perfect in it’s imperfection. Teddy’s face  alone made you want another baby but  the way she smelt,  the way she was developing a personality, when she asked you questions, when she first laughed, even ridiculous things like her hair getting longer or her growing out of her clothes, it was all beautiful and… maybe a little fun. 

“Yeah I’m having the most fun, aren’t you?” Trent asked you with a childish look on his face. You started to giggle. He was really fucking cute. It was hard to think the nights of no sleep were all that bad when they were with him.

“Yeah… I’m happy, T.” You cooed softly craning your neck upwards to come and give him a kiss. His lips were soft and pillowy like the always were. They were home.

“That’s all I ever want, all we ever need. Me and that cute little girl we made, that’s all we want.” He kissed you once more. You fell into a comfortable silence for a while cuddling in bed looking out the big open windows watching the waves of the sea crash into the cliffside and the breeze ruffle the long curtains framing your view. 

“Thank you, baby.” You softly whispered, breaking the quiet lull in the room.  

“I mean I really enjoy that as well so no need, baby.” He let out a breathy laugh, kissing the top of your head. You slapped at his still bare chest. “Alright, alright. Tell me for what, beautiful, what are you thanking me for?” he asked you more sincerely looking around you to make full eye contact.

“Our life, what you’ve given me, the whole thing. Everything.” You cooed softly cupping his cheek feeling yourself get a little more emotional than you thought you’d get today. You adjusted your place in bed and felt your body brush against his and while there was a sliver of your brain that was turned on, the majority of it felt all of the solace Trent had ever given you through that touch.  

“I mean I could say the same to you.” He quietly responded, keeping one of his hands tightly wrapped around your waist making sure you knew he had you. Literally and figuratively keeping you safely nestled with him. “I’d do anything to make you happy, baby” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Like call room service?” You cheekily giggled with a smiley that just about shattered Trent’s heart. It was perfectly innocent and yet filled with seduction. He didn’t have a shot in hell against you.  

“Wow… so you get to make jokes now. I see. That’s how it is now, baby? What do you want? The usual even though we’re in Italy?” You nodded before he rolled his eyes causing you to laugh like a little kid loving that you had him in the palm of your hand. “Honestly… An absolute melt. An absolute melt for you.” He muttered, reaching for the phone to order for you.

“What should we bring her?” You asked Trent seated on the terrace of a gorgeous restaurant high up on the coast. You and Trent had a game you did to find Teddy things on trips as gifts. It wasn’t about what she liked the most but a game solely between you two, to rile the other up about ‘winning.’  

“Oh I already won… I’m bringing mummy home.” Trent cooed with a boastfully proud face. You shut your eyes and shook your head in disapproval. 

“That is not how the game works. Mum and dad are off limits as gifts. Also, haven't you won enough today? Do you need to just rub it in my face? you won straight sets… twice, T!” You laughed making fun of his rare ability to be a sore winner. “Don’t you want to be nice to your wife, let me win a game or two, huh?” Trent’s face scrunched into a thinking expression.

“Erm.. nah, think I’m nice to my wife in other ways.” He cooed with a cheeky laugh sticking his tongue out at you. 

“Absolutely intolerable.” You giggled with a massive smile. 

“Absolutely beautiful.” He echoed following your faux jab at him, reaching his hand out to stroke your cheek.

“You’re beautiful… it’s the only way you get away with all your bullshit, baby.” You laughed, taking his hand in yours. “Beautiful beautiful boy.” You cooed. Trent shot you a cheeky wink before taking a big bite of his pasta chewing his obnoxiously big bite. You stuck your leg out under the table towards him hidden by the tablecloth and glided your foot up his thigh eventually to his crotch gently played around. Trent coughed, his eyes going wide, choking on his food a little. You laughed a little and shot him a cheeky wink of your own in return.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🤍

Next part - Chapter 26 xx

[darling2411]

Days like these (Part. 2)

Mick Schumacher x reader

summary: Mick meets your parents for the first time

warnings: none

word count: 5k

“Marry me.”

It’s two weeks after Mick asked you to marry him in his childhood bedroom. Of course you said yes, because c'mon now who in their right mind would say no to a guy like him?

“Are you serious right now ?”

He nods. “ Yes, I want you to marry me. I want to spend the rest of my life falling asleep beside you. When I wake up, the first thing I want to see is your face . I want to build a house and a life with you.I want kids and pets and everything that comes with you. I want it all. So I ask again, do you want to marry me?” He says, his voice filled with emotion.

Tears, caused by his words, roll down your face and you need to close your eyes for a moment and take in a deep breath.

But you’re not sad, god no.

You want to jump up and open the windows and scream at the top of your lungs that Yes! Yes, you want to marry him. And yes you want to build a life with him too.You want to keep him and his love forever.

“Mick,” your voice breaks, “ Yes! I want to marry you.” Your voice is shaking and he smiles. You’re going to be his wife. He can’t believe he’s that lucky.

“Where are you with your thoughts,Liebling?” Actually he knows exactly what you’re thinking about, he knows because you have been fiddling with your engagement ring while staring into nothing. You always do that when you think back to his proposal and like all the times before your mouth curves into a sweet, loving smile.

“I was thinking about how you asked me to marry you and how happy I am that I said yes. “ you said while looking at your ring.

“Best day of my life,Schatz.” You’re still looking at the ring and he watches you with love filled eyes.

You turn to smile at him fondly, and he leans over the center of the car and kisses you on the cheek.

“Come on, off you go, I’ll pick you up in three hours right?”he asks just to be sure.

“Yes, see you later Mickey.” You kiss him goodbye before exiting the car and walking up to your girlfriend's house. You desperately need to be updated on all the gossip.

When you step into the house Mick drives off with a smile playing at his lips. God, you make him so happy.

And while the image of your beautiful smile is still present on his mind he arrives at your shared apartment, where he begins to pack his backpack that he'll be taking with him to your parents house tomorrow.

Obviously Mick is nervous to meet them for the first time, but he's not scared that they won't like him.

His mother raised him well, he’s sure that will help him tomorrow.

“Really?” He needs to ask again, he needs to be sure you will be his forever. “Yes Mick.'' Your hands caress his cheeks gently,’Yes, I will marry you.”Relieve is written all over Mick's face, he never felt as anxious as in those seconds that it took for you to reply. Not when he is going full speed in his race car nor as he had the accident that splitted his car in two was he feeling that amount of dread that he felt right now, but he also was never as happy as in this moment when you promised to be by his side for the rest of both of your life’s.

His eyes are closed and he leans into you to seal your fate with a loving kiss on the lips.

“I will love you forever,” he whispers,” and I will make sure that you will not regret having said yes to me.”

“I could never regret this,Mickey.”

You kiss him again and fall asleep in the arms of your lover and best friend.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Come on now, show me that ring!!!” your best friend squeals.

“Am I allowed to take my shoes off first?’you ask laughing.

Your best friend rolls her eyes but lets you continue.

“And now, I want a hug from you. I haven’t seen you in ages.” You state, clearly exaggerating.

With a big smile on her face she pulls you in for a hug and squeezes you tight.

When you pull back she looks at you expectantly and moves from one leg to the other.

You torturously slowly put up your hand in front of you before flicking it down so she can see your engagement ring.

"Ahhh!! Omg! It’s so pretty.” She squeals her eyes wide and a big smile on her face.

You bite your lip and try to suppress your smile. Yes it is indeed a incredibly beautiful ring.

“This wasn’t exactly how I planned to propose to you but I’m glad I did. I’m just sorry that I am not able to put a ring on your finger.”

You shake your head “Mick I don’t need a ring, I have you. That’s enough.”

“But I want everyone to know that you’re my fiancée and soon to be wife and belong at my side.” You blush at his words and break eye contact.Therefore you don’t see how his face lights up. He has an idea. He knows what he’s going to do about that ring problem.

Mick quickly gets out of bed, almost falling on the floor face first, because his legs are tangled in your shared blanket.

“Mick, what are you doing?!”

“Just wait, meine Liebe, I know what I’m doing.”

‘Certainly doesn’t look like it.’ You mutter to yourself under your breath.

“Hey! I heard that.” Your boyfriend fiancé whisper shouts. You watch Mick with furrowed eyebrows, asking yourself what the heck he's doing.

“Where is it? Where is it?” Mick mumbles while rummaging through a drawer,” Aha! Found it.” He runs back to you, his eyes squint slightly, wrinkles appear at the corners of his eyes and his lips form a smile that lights up his whole face.

“What’s got you smiling like that ?” You ask as you pull your legs underneath you and sit back ok the sole of your feet.

Mick is filled with the same amount of excitement a kid would feel on Christmas morning right before opening the present, only you are opening the present instead of him.

“Here,” he says, handing you a little black velvet box,” open it and see.”

You look at him questioning but put your hand out for the box anyway.

When you feel Mick's presence beside you, you open the packet.

The previously quiet room is filled with your gasp of shock and excitement. Inside the velvety box, is a beautiful ring, in the middle of the silver band sits a beautiful sapphire with little diamonds surrounding it. It’s not too shiny and the stone is not too big, it’s just perfect.

“Mick, god. It’s beautiful.” You take a closer look at the blue gem,” It is the same colour as your eyes!” You point out.

“It was my great grandmother’s. She told my Dad to give it to the woman he chose to spend the rest of his life with, but my dad had already gotten my mother a ring before my Uroma (German expression for great grandmother) could gift him the ring on his 21 birthday. So she told him , if he’ll have a son he shall have the ring and put it on the finger of the woman he loved more than everything.”

Mick takes the ring out of it’s containment and asks for your hand.” If I’m being completely honest I totally forgot about that ring, but I love you more than anything and it’s the best I can do right now and I really want you to wear my ring and-.”

“Mick,” you interrupt his rambling,” don’t forget to breathe,” you laugh.

A shy smile displays on his lips.” Sorry. Just, I will get you a real ring first thing tomorrow.” He announces.

“I don’t want another ring. I love this one. It’s perfect.” You declared.

“Really?”

“Yes. I really love it and when I think about how I’ll be able to stare at this ring and see the colour of your eyes even when you’re not here, I get all giddy inside. So no, Mick, I don’t need nor want another ring.” you explain.

“I love you.”

You answer him with a kiss and he slips the ring on your finger.

The time flies by and Mick will be here to get you soon.

You love spending time with your friend. It’s always a no judgment zone and spilling the tea is so much more fun with her because there’s always wine.

That reminds you how Mick once told you about a drinking toast in Germany that goes something like this ’Zu vino sag ich nie no’ (A phrase that rhymes and translates to I never say no to wine), definitely perfect for you and your best friend.

And again your thinking about him, lately everything is reminding you of him, is the same amount of beautiful and annoying.

Beautiful because you love thinking about Mick and his gorgeous blue eyes and soft blonde hair. His sweet smile and genuine laugh. His warm, hard body pressed against yours and his strong arms around you.

And it’s annoying because it makes you either horny or sad that he’s not with you.

“I think your boyfriend just pulled up.” Your Best friend points out. “Ouuuu and he’s here with his fancy car.”

“Girl, basically all his vehicles are fancy. “ you answer.

“True.” She shrugs.

You down your glass of wine before your slip on your shoes. Meanwhile Mick is at the door and rings the bell. You open the door whilst still trying to put on your left shoe. Suddenly you lose your balance and fall forward. Your hands shoot up in front of you trying to catch your fall. But in the end Mick’s quick reflexes save you from kissing the floor, his hands wrap around your hips pulling you against him. Your ass is pressed against his front and the collision makes both of you let out a huff of air in sync ,and your eyes widen when you realise what postition you’re in.

“Guys, please. Not in my house.” Your best friend says smirking, referring to the image that you paint.

Mick chuckles,”Sorry,” he pulls your upper body up and hugs your middle,”next time we wait until we’re outside.” He says with a wink directed to your best friend.

“Well thank you Mick. , she answers sarcastically , “How’s it going?”

Whilst the two of them continue chatting your mind wanders off again. Your hands lay across Mick’s on your stomach, the scene oddly familiar.

It reminds you of the time when he and you danced together in the kitchen to your favorite song. Dinner cooking on the stove, totally forgotten while you two slow dance and find bliss in each other's embrace. Now he’s swaying you and him a little bit without him noticing that he even does it. His mind also immediately going to that fond memory that makes you smile to yourself and your heart is full of love for this sweet human being you call your fiancé.

“Where’s your mind at?” Mick asks, lips close to your ear. The warmth of his breath making shivers roll down your spine.

“Just thinking about you.”

He places a kiss under your ear,” I love you.”

You lean back against him” and I love you.”

Gagging sounds disrupt your moment and you send a death glare to the intruder, your best friend.

“Aww i love you too.”she responds ,”You gotta go. You still need to pack, don’t you?”

“Ugh yes i do. I am really looking forward to that.” You groan.

Above you Mick needs to hold back a laugh.

“I told you you should have packed before you left.”he shrugs, a sly smile adorning his features.

You turn around and lock into his eyes full of satisfaction.

“Don’t say it.” You warn him, your pointer finger already pointing at him threateningly [a habit you picked up from Gina when you were visiting his family in Switzerland].

“I don’t want to say I told you so…,” if a glare could kill, he would drop dead right this second ,” but I told you so. “

“Oh shut up Mister-I-plan-everything-perfectly!” His only response is a deep chuckle and damn it’s an attractive chuckle!

“Okay guys. You’re too cute for me, I’m gonna die from sugar shock if you don’t leave.” She rolls her eyes dramatically.” Please, put me out of my misery.”

“Alright, alright,” you laugh, “we’re leaving.”

You hug her goodbye and Mick has already opened the door.

“Goodbye y/b/f/n, thank you for taking care of [y/n]. See you soon.” He sends a dashing smile her way and you could swear you can feel her go weak in the knees but who can blame her?

“Bye.” Her voice is weak when she answers and boy can you relate. That smile is a lady killer.

With a final ‘goodbye’ you turn and leave her house, outside Mick awaits you and opens the car door for you.

“Thank you.” You say while sitting down. He smiles in return.

The drive home is filled with silence, not the uncomfortable type where you try and try to find something to talk about. No it’s that silence that envelopes you, welcomes you and that you can savour while your hand is interlocked with the one of your lover.

“I thought that we could take my bike tomorrow, the weather is supposed to be sunny so it wouldn’t be a problem.” He looks at you shortly before focussing back on the road” what do you think?”

“I’m thinking, please don’t kill us but yes we can take your bike.”

He smiles.” Perfect. And love, I would never do anything to harm you, ever, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” You squeeze his had ”But you know that I’m scared of driving motorcycles.”

“Because of that accident that killed your cousin I know, I’m gonna take good care of you, don’t worry meine Liebe.” He kisses your hand.

You know he would never do anything to harm you, but still, you think motorcycles are the death on two wheels.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Hurry up!”

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming!” You call from upstairs where you’re finishing packing some last time things into your backpack. It’s 7:25 am and you want to leave in five minutes. You will be driving a good two hours to your parents house where you’ll arrive perfectly in time for breakfast. Mick is getting anxious.

You snort and mutter something about how over punctual Germans are. Then you quickly rush down the stairs, grab your phone, and head outside with your keys.

Mick groans and looks at his watch, "Finally." It's 7:28 a.m. and you made it.

You smile at him innocently and usher for him to get on the bike so you can get going.

“You’re really sure that we can take the motorcycle?” Mick asks for the thousandths time now. “Yes,Mick. I'll survive.”

He hands you your helmet while nodding. You put it on before following him onto the bike.

When you give him the go-ahead while your arms are already wrapped around his middle, Mick pulls out of the driveway.

The drive is short so neither of you should get uncomfortable, hopefully at least.

After some time, you finally leave the city and are met with the breathtaking view of nature all around you.

Mick's back is a comfortable place for you to rest your head as you enjoy the view of the woods on the one side and crashing waves rushing through your vision on the other side.

Since there isn't much traffic in front of you and Mick is confident nothing will happen he believes he can drive faster. He takes his hand off the handle and taps your upper thigh, in doing so he inaudibly tells you to ‘ Hold on tight’.

You raise an intrigued brow, but you don’t question him as you tighten your hold on Mick. Your boyfriend revs up his motorcycle. Instantly you feel adrenaline rushing through your body. When the engine purrs beneath you, you snuggle impossibly closer to him and the motorcycle takes on speed. Your surroundings blur into a mixture of different colours and a smile that you can’t see brightens up Mick's face.

He loves that you feel safe with him.

“Mick I need to pee '' you tell your boyfriend as soon as you stop at a red light.

“We’ll stop at the next gas station alright?” , you nod.

Like he promised he stops at the next gas station, cutting off the engine and flipping the kickstand down before he hops off. He takes off his helmet before helping you down the motorcycle. Mick unbuckles your helmet brushing his fingers through your hair and leans down to give you a kiss on the forehead.

When you walk out of the toilet back to were Mick parked you stop midway cause you can’t quite get over how hot he looks straddling his motorcycle. Imagines of you straddling him on his motorcycle flash through your mind and you feel wetness beginning to pool in your panties. Sadly you do not have time to have a little bit of fun because your parents are awaiting you and you know Mick. He would never in a lifetime be late to meet your parents and obviously not when he’s meeting them for the first time.

Shaking your head to get rid of your thoughts involving you bend over the motorcycle with Mick behind you, you continue walking back to your boyfriend.

“Hi there Liebling, ready to go again?” You were definelty ready for something different but that had to wait. “Yup, lets go. I can’t wait to see my mum and dads reaction to the engagement ” you smile up at him and take your helmet that he holds in front of you.

When you’re behind him again, he adjust you and pulls you closer to him by your knees. Your breast are pressed up against him and you can feel your nipples hardening. That isn’t really helping the butterflies in your stomach nor your arosual. Mick doesn’t seem to notice the shift in your behaviour though as he starts driving.

The hour rushes past you in a blurr, your mind somewhere different and you only notice your surroundings again when you realize Mick is pulling up to your parents house.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Did the temperature change or why are his hands sweating?

It’s probably just the sun beaming down at him, but when he looks up the sun is hidden behind clouds. “ Ach du grüne neune. Das wird was.”, Mick says to himself in German and when he’s switching to German around you you know that something’s up.

You ask him if he’s nervous, but obviously he denies. Yet his legs are trembling. When you point that out though, he states that they are, because of the long drive not because he’s anxious to meet your parents. He’s Mick Schumacher he’s not afraid to meet your parents. He drives race cars for a living for heaven's sake. This should not make his heart beat as fast as it does and he shouldn’t feel as if he’s about to throw up.

“Mick, it's okay. I was just as nervous as you are right now when I met your parents. It’s normal. Just be yourself and I promise you they're going to love you.”

He nods and gives you a side hug while you're walking towards the front door of your childhood home. It's just like you remembered. Nothing out of place. You instantly feel at ease.

Before you can ring the doorbell your mother opens the door and greets you two with the biggest smile on her face. “[Y/n]!!! You're finally here,” she hugs you as you step out of Micks arms into hers,” I hope you had a good drive up here?”

“Oh yeah, everything was fine, it didn't even take two hours because there was no traffic at all.”

She nods,”You arrived just in time.I just finished setting the table for breakfast. I hope you two are hungry.” Before she steps out of the embrace she gives you a squeeze and the turns to Mick, who has been standing behind you watching you greet your mother. ‘You must be Mick, the one my daughter has been talking about non stop for the past three years.” Mick walks up to shake her hand and ask “Three years? We’ve only been dating for a year.” He looks at you smirking and you roll your eyes,” thanks for that mum, you just inflated his already huge ego.”

“ Oh come on [y/n], just admit that you always loved me.” Mick teases.

You huff and walk past them to your Dad, hopefully he won’t tell Mick about all the times when he found you crying in your room because you again didn’t have the guts to tell your best friend that you were in love with him.

”Hi Dad.” You say while leaning down to give him a hug before he could stand up from the chair he’s sitting in. “Hello pumpkin, how are you doing?” “I’m fine,” you say as your sitting down at the place that you decided on ages ago, you never sat anywhere else at the table. Everyone in your family had their designated place at the dinner table and no one ever changed that. “so where is that boyfriend of yours ?” He ask you and you answer that he’s still talking to you mum at the door. Right as you said that Mick and your mum join you in the dining room.

Your father stands up to shake Micks hand looking him up and down, like he’s seizing him up. Mick gulps and you need to stifle a laugh.Your dad would never do anyhing to your boyfriend but he definitely acts as if he could. He always did that, all your former boyfriends and even your male friends had to go trough the same treatment from your father. He just wanted to make sure their intentions were right and you actually think its cute. He just wants to protect you from something that happened to your mother before she met your father.

Mick and your father introduce themselves before your mother tells them to sit down so you could start eating. “You can interrogate him while we are having breakfast, my love.” Your father smiles at your mum and you can see how much they love eat other even after all these years. You think to yourself how happy you are that you found a love like the one of your parents. It’s something you’re incredibly grateful for, because little you always dreamt of finding true love one day. And when you met Mick you knew that day had finally arrived.

Whilst you and your mother are chatting and exchanging what happened in your life’s since you last talked on the phone, your father is asking Mick all kinds of question. “Do you want kids someday?” “ What are your plans for the next season?” “How will you manage being away from my daughter all the time?”

Mick had all the answers and you could see that your father was pleased with him.

”Alright,” your dad says,” I think I asked you enough questions.” He smiles at you and Mick” you are quite the match I must say.”

“ Wow Dad, that’s like the best thing you ever said about a boy I brought home.” You and your mum look at each other in shock and your mother says what you are both surely thinking,”this is unbelievable.”

Mick grins proudly and your father laughs loudly,” C’mon I’m not that bad.”

”Dad you ones chased my male friend out of our house because he dared to say the green skirt I was wearing wasn’t the right look for me!”, you look at Mick,” He was right by the way,” your gaze finds you fathers again,”and gay.”

Micks laughing too now and shortly after all of you are laughing without really knowing why.

You spend a good hour and a half having breakfast. When you are all finished you and you mother, obviously denying Micks help, clean up the table and later join them outside.

Your all chatting and having a good time.

Micks particular interesting story about one of his childhood memories is interrupted by the doorbell, and you’re all confused, because your parents aren’t expecting anyone.

When the doorbell rings again your father stand up to open the door.

You cant make out who’s at the door due to being outside but your question is answered when your niece is running up to you and jumps into your arms. “Tia [y/n]!!! I missed you so much!”

”Awww, Cariño. I missed you too.”

Turns out your sister had the same idea as you and also came to visit your parents.

You introduced her to Mick and then start to talk to her about everything that’s goin on in your life, still you hadn’t had the chance to tell your family that you are engaged.

But now with your sister here, it would probably be the perfect moment.

You search for Mick’s gaze to ask him if you should break the news now, but are met with a picture you could never forget. He and your niece are playing together and gosh was it cute. She was sitting on his lap showing him her favourite toys while telling their story. And Mick was smiling at her and encouraging her to “ Go one, I want to hear everything about your magic stuffed animals, especially that icebear.” Your niece smiled at him brightly and rambled on. The image that they painted was so wholesome and you realized that you wanted that wiht Mick. You wanted a house, kids, a family. Good thing you are already on step closer to the dream you both have.

“Omg you look like you want to jump his bones.” Your sister says from beside you.

Your attention shift back to her, “ well excuse me can’t I admire my fiancé?” You respond smirking.

Suddenly everyone is still and your sure Mick would say Es ist so still man könnte eine Haarnadel fallen hören. It’s so still you coul hear hair pin drop.

From on moment to the next Chaos was breaking loose. Everyone was talking at the same time.

‘Fiancé ?!” Your mother exclaimed, “How coul you not tell us the moment you step foot in this house that you are getting married ?!”

“Ava didn’t tell you guys that she was pregnant until the fourth month of her pragnency! I’m basically a saint.”

”What do you mean she didn’t tell us?You knew?!” Your father asks.

”O shit.” You and your sister say at the same time while looking at each other,” I think we’re getting grounded.”

Mick frowns” Don’t you both moved out?”

Everyone’s eyes are trained don him “ Doesn’t matter, they’ll find a way.” your sister simply answers.

Mick looked at the scene before him, you and your sister already trying to form a plan on how to evade your parents ‘wrath’ and your parents smirking at each other as they figured out how they were going to punish’ their girls. He decided to continue playing with your niece while thinking ‘What am I marrying into?’

In the middle of lecturing you, your parents stopped amd sighed. “You know what that is unnecessary. Weh don’t need to lecture you we have to congratulate you two. You are getting married!” Your mother had tears in her eyes when she hugged you.

“I knew you would marry him one day.” Your mum said,” Just like you always said.”

“Mum!”you cry embarrassed.

Mick chuckles, hugs you from behind and gives you a kiss on the cheek,” Don’t worry. I also always knew that you were going to be my endgame,Schatz.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

ⓘ Alright, this took a while. I’m also not 100% pleased with how it turned out :/

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!

[Also don’t kill me if there are any mistakes, it’s 2 a.m and I’m literally writing this half asleep]

@ellabellabus07

@motylekrozi

@meaganjm

[cowboybrunch]

a friend like you

on being in love with a straight woman

She called it emotional limbo: the act between hooking up and committing, the quiet space between each word in the phrase I like you. I kissed her knuckles, but she pushed my hand away when I touched her face. She slept in my bed, but always packed an overnight bag. Always left before noon.

We never really discussed it. I mean, we pretended to. She sat me down, said in between and I said, I like you, I like you…

A tug-of-war where neither of us were gaining any ground, and just as I was inching her towards the mud (I’m thinking about my future), she dug in her heels and pulled (we are so young, we are so young).

But it was fun, probably because we were evenly matched and outmatched and mismatched, so we kept on. She painted sunsets on my bare back; I wrote poetry on her palms. Waited for her to wake, ink on her cheek and a groggy good morning before she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, closing the door behind her. The walls sighed memories of the night before, of a hundred nights before and a hundred times I had not seen her brush her teeth.

An hour later, she was gone, and I was sipping coffee alone while thumbing through a book she let me borrow, some teen romance that she found in her childhood bedroom and held close to her when her bed was too cold to sleep. The cover was bent, and a corner had been torn off, maybe littered somewhere in her hometown, maybe lodged in deep grass sometime in March. When the rain came, it became soft and cried with all of the strength in the tip of the t it held so closely. I ran my finger over the jagged edge and thought about calling her.

But I didn’t. I didn’t because of the jagged edge and the way her hair tickled my chin on the mornings that she let me hold her. We were not together. We were not together.

I was walking to class when my phone rang. I didn’t expect to see her name. I didn’t expect to answer. Her rule, not mine: No calls before 6pm. Don’t text me heart-eyed emojis. Don’t ask me what I had for lunch. 

I answered.

I didn’t speak first. She sounded tired. She told me that she forgot her sweater at my house. I turned around. The class wasn’t that important anyway, and I knew at least one person that would probably be willing to share their notes. Whenever. I’m home for a few hours. My class got canceled. She said she’d come by soon. She sounded like she was smiling.

She was there when I got back, tapping her foot, scrolling on her phone. She looked up when she heard my footsteps. I thought you were home. I told her I went for a walk. She didn’t believe me, but she moved aside so I could unlock the door. She didn’t pause for permission, just headed straight for my bedroom and scooped her sweater off the ground.

She was so comfortable in my space, and I was so willing to make space for her. There was room enough for both of us. We could’ve made space for both of us.

I should get going.

Oh. A beat of silence. I thought maybe we could grab lunch? Since my class is canceled.

She turned away before the sentence fully left my mouth. We talked about this. And she was right. We did.

We also talked about afternoon phone calls. I didn’t know why I said it. I didn’t know why I bothered saying it.

I just needed my sweater.

That’s not fair.

Silence again. I watched her shoulders tense. You’re trying to make something out of nothing. That’s what’s unfair. She moved to leave. My palms were sweaty. She opened the door. I couldn't reach her.

Would it be different if I were a man?

She didn’t look back at me. She slammed the door on her way out.

[cooliestghouliest]

LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. two

(chapter one) (chapter two)

PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader

SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.

WORD COUNT: 8.7k+

SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). not a slow burn; it’s pretty hot and heavy right off the bat. eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.

CHAPTER TAGS: unexpected tears. some woeful reminiscing. wisecracking siblings. how Rick and Eddie met. flirting in front of a moody bartender. Eddie has a penchant for being self-deprecating but he tries to be funny about it. oversharing. dehydrated!Eddie 😉 (there’s a tease of f!rec oral here). even more cockblocking. a tinge of tension at the end.

TAG LIST: @babybatlover

—

chapter title: Nobody, That’s My Name

Packing up had actually taken three hours, mostly because you were so undecided on what to bring.

Your stomach was in knots with the realization that you’d have to leave some things behind. You wished you could just transport your entire room as it was to Hawkins.

This had been your sacred space since childhood. You were only two when your family made the move from Chicago to Fresno, so this house was really all you’d ever had memories of.

Your room had grown up and changed alongside you, a non-sentient appendage and an outward expression of every new trend and month-long hobby you’d picked up along the way.

“Bean, you good?” Rick’s voice called out from the other side of your closed door.

You’d been seated on your bed — it could have been for a few minutes or half an hour, you weren’t sure. You hadn’t noticed the wet line that rimmed your bottom lashes until you turned to look at your brother as he stepped inside your room. When you blinked, a tear broke free and rolled down your cheek.

“My face that ugly? You gotta cry when you look at me?”

You choked out a laugh, bringing a hand up to wipe your eyes dry. Leave it to Rick to try and lighten the mood. It’s what he’d been doing his whole life – never taking anything too seriously, refusing to get hung up on any emotion other than those aligned with happy hedonism.

You’d always wondered if there was a secret storm that raged somewhere deep inside of him.

“All my stuff isn't gonna fit inside your stupid van,” you said, not bothering to explain further.

You didn’t need to. Rick could read between the lines.

This was going to be the first time you’d left the only home you’d ever known for longer than a sleepover at a friend’s house.

The residence itself would never win any awards for being the greatest of places, but your bedroom, on the other hand — that had a surefire shot.

It was here where your dad had first read you the The Hobbit, the precursor to your love of fantastical tales.

It was here on the floor where you made your first prank call with Cynthia Toomey, your childhood best friend. It was to a teacher whose number had been written on a stall in the girl’s bathroom. It didn’t strike you as odd then why a twelve-year-old would know a much older male teacher’s phone number, but after the man had gotten arrested a few years back for soliciting a minor at a park, it all started to make sense.

It was here where you’d heard Janis Joplin for the first time, a record Rick had mailed you for your fourteenth birthday. Her deep crooning voice scratched at parts of your soul you didn’t even know were itchy.

It was here where you’d first taught yourself how to sew a patch onto your backpack; where you’d first tried on the lipstick and eyeshadow you’d stolen from the vanity in your parent's bedroom, something that resulted in a week's worth of extra chores (according to your mother, it was to teach you "the consequences of petty theft" or whatever); where you’d first experimented with a girl while watching Happy Days, soft tongues and even softer fingers exploring every inch of uncovered skin as Fonzie’s signature “Ayyyy’s” mixed with her breathy moans and your rapid heartbeat.

“I didn’t think I’d care that much about leaving,” you admitted, voice shakier than you’d hoped it would be.

Rick watched you from the doorframe, giving a knowing smile in an attempt to mollify you. “Y’know, you might not believe it, but I couldn’t sleep the first three nights after I left. Kept thinkin’ about how much I missed my bed and the noise the air conditioner made that I used to think I hated.” He quieted momentarily, observing his surroundings. Overflowing plastic bags and opened suitcases stuffed full of clothes, books, vinyls, and random knickknacks were scattered across the floor. “It’s still home, even if we never really wanted it to be.”

Rick walked over to one of the cases. He bent down to zip it up, having to put a foot on the grip to shut it enough so it closed completely. “But you’re gonna make a fuck ton more memories in Hawkins, Bean,” he pledged, grabbing the handle and pulling it towards the door. “We are. Okay?”

You chewed your lower lip and allowed yourself a few more moments of wallowing before heaving a sigh, slapping your thighs with the palms of your hands as you stood.

“Okay. You sap.” You snatched as many full plastic bags off the ground as you could. “The first memory’s gonna be about how much weaker you are compared to me.” You looked down at the single heavy suitcase he was carrying, scoffing lightheartedly. “Only one, Richard? Really? You have another hand. Use it.”

And he did, by bringing his free one up to flip you the bird.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Although your brother had a spacious purple-painted 1970 Ford Econoline the pair of you could have comfortably slept in, the back of the vehicle was currently filled to the brim with all of your luggage.

Any time the side door had to be slid open for whatever reason, an ample amount of contents came pouring out.

One of your "haunted-as-shit dolls," affectionately dubbed by Rick, had fallen victim to the concrete ground outside of a gas station in Colorado. Its glass eye had popped out and shattered, its arms detaching from its tiny body. You’d gasped in horror at the doll’s demise, smacking Rick on his chest for being so careless.

It was safe to say neither one of you were going to be getting anything from the back of the van until you’d made it to Hawkins to unpack, or else Rick would be forced to face your wrath.

Your possessions were prized, goddammit.

So, one motel stay and thirty-two hours after leaving the WELCOME TO FRESNO sign behind, Rick finally pulled into the driveway of his boathouse.

The orange neon lighting of the van’s dashboard clock read 10:13AM.

You’d been soundlessly sleeping for the last hour of the car ride, having dozed off shortly after Rick had put in a Talking Heads cassette, the G Major melody of This Must Be the Place lulling you into a dreamless nap.

Rick suddenly had the brilliant big brother idea to grant himself the honor of becoming your own personal wake-up alarm.

Putting the car in park, he switched the Talking Heads cassette out for Bad Religion’s How Could Hell Be Any Worse? He skipped to a track titled In the Night, cranked the volume to the max, and started to head-bang and sing along wildly off-key.

You startled awake immediately, arms flailing at nothing as you tried to rapidly blink your eyes open.

When you found Rick performing his solo concert, way too committed to the bit, you refused to laugh at the sight, even if it was your gut reaction. The last thing you wanted to do was encourage him. “Noooo, is this what you’re gonna be like the whole time?” you instead asked with faux abrasiveness, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music.

Rick grinned wide, never faltering in his seated moshing, not until the song came to an abrupt end a few seconds later, when you’d finally had enough and reached a hand over to eject the tape.

“I didn’t want you to have an aneurysm,” you told him plainly with a shrug, in response to his offended look. “I could hear your little brain rattling around up there in that thick skull. I got worried.”

Rick shot a hand up to cover his heart, as if he’d been stabbed. “You wound me, little sister. Deeply and completely.”

He pulled the keys from the ignition and stepped outside, hurrying to the passenger side of the van to slide open the back door. He tried with both hands to stop the cascade of your belongings from spilling out, but failed miserably, clothes and books landing in messy heaps on the driveway.

“Hey, what the fuck!” you called out, hopping down from your seat to start picking up what you could from the pavement, pulling your items to your chest. “Don’t you have any grace?”

Rick pretended to ponder this before saying, “Grace, huh. Think I dated that girl in high school. Don’t have her anymore, nope.” That earned a snort and an eye roll from you.

Rick remembered a time when your brattiness would have annoyed him to no end. He knew it would again, and probably soon, but he was surprised by how fond of it he was right now, how much he missed having you around.

“Once we get all this shit inside,” he started, grabbing two suitcases, filling both hands so he didn’t have to hear you comment about his carrying capabilities (or lack thereof) again, “you can unpack, and we can shower and relax. But then I’ve got plans for tonight.”

He’d begun walking to the front door, you trailing off behind him. “So you’re ditching me the first night I’m here?” you scolded, albeit playfully. You honestly wouldn’t have minded some alone time, being able to start decorating and acquainting yourself with your new abode. Still, you wanted to keep playing the part of bitchy baby sister, a role you hadn’t been able to play in so long but a role you fell right back into, as easy as riding a bike. “That’s very rude, Rick. What a horrible host you are.”

“Not a chance, Bean. Plans for us tonight. You’re comin’ with. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

He’d told you that he was taking you to some bar called The Hideout. It sounded sleazy, and you’d told him as much. He didn’t argue that, just said there’d be food and drinks and live music. And some guy there he knew that was in the same grade as you.

You didn’t know this, but Rick had a plan for Eddie Munson. He was going to barter with his young metalhead friend: be the lookout for his little sister when Rick wasn’t around, and he’d heavily discount the bulk weed and other goodies Eddie bought from him for the foreseeable future.

“What’s this guy’s name again?” you asked, moving to kick your feet up on the dashboard before Rick swatted your legs down. Again.

He’d told you several times already that sitting like that was one of the most dangerous positions to be in if he got into an accident. Said that your legs would snap and your bones would jam through your body. You thanked him for the visual, then kept doing it.

“Eddie," he answered.

“And what exactly does this Eddie look like…?”

You tried to breach the question with as much nonchalance as you could muster, but the intent behind your inquiry was still obvious: was Eddie attractive?

“Off-limits.”

“Hmm. That’s a weird physical description of someone.”

“I’m serious, Bean. Don’t.”

It wasn’t that Rick didn’t like Eddie.

It was quite the contrary, actually.

Rick had met Eddie the summer of ‘84, outside one of Al Munson’s many, many court hearings, after the elder Munson had mistakenly asked both of them for a ride home.

As an apology, Al invited both Eddie and Rick over to where he was currently freeloading at some guy’s apartment, to smoke a few bowls (that ended up coming from Rick’s personal supply) and order Chinese (that Eddie ended up paying for).

At some point that night, Al had mentioned to Eddie that Rick was the go-to guy for weed and weed-alike.

“Oh, shit, man – you’re Reefer Rick?” Eddie had asked after a particularly rough coughing excursion, having hit the piece a little too harshly.

“Reefer Rick? That’s what the kids are calling me?”

Eddie nodded, handing the bowl off to his dad. “Yeah, you’re kind of like a celebrity. Or a unicorn?” Rick’s brows furrowed deeply at this. Eddie laughed before explaining, “Meaning I very confidently thought you didn’t exist. Figured you were just who the posers from school said they got their shit from as a red herring, so they didn’t get in too much trouble when Hop took their stash.”

“Hop, like, Hopper? Beer-bellied fucking pig asshole Jim Hopper? That motherfucker knows I sell?”

Hopper had been a thorn in Rick’s side since just about the day he’d moved in.

Jim had been pulling Rick over for minor traffic violations almost weekly by that point, and if Eddie was telling the truth, the hard-on Hopper seemed to have for him now made a hell of a lot more sense. The cop was probably trying to catch him with something on him.

Eddie grinned like he was letting his company in on a joke. “Well, he knows Reefer Rick sells. You're just Rick Lipton, my friend."

From that night on, Eddie would stop by Rick’s house twice a month to re-up on his stock. The pair would sometimes get stoned around the fire pit in Rick’s backyard after they made the deal, and Rick soon found out that Eddie was not at all like the hardcore persona he projected to the world. And he definitely wasn’t a magnet for mayhem like his old man.

At heart, Eddie Munson was a total fucking nerd.

He liked mythology and board games and doodling and passionately debating which conspiracy theories he thought would stand the test of time. He often marveled at Rick’s comic book collection, standing at the shelves for an hour or so at times, just browsing the titles that stood out to him. Eddie’s favorites to flip through were Rick’s copies of Twisted Tales and Creepshow.

Rick had briefly thought a handful of times that you and Eddie would probably get along great if the two of you ever met.

But then the thought of just how great you’d possibly get along would get Rick irritated with Eddie for the non-existent relationship the boy didn’t have with a sister he didn’t even know Rick had.

On their last meet-up, Eddie had told him that he and his bandmates would dress up as pirates and paladins and go to the Ren Faire twice a year.

The band. That was another reason Rick was wary of introducing the two of you.

Being in the scene for as long as he had been now, Rick knew many musicians, and he wouldn’t trust nearly any of them around his baby sister.

They weren’t all like Eddie, though. Rick had to admit that.

Sure, the boy was a little rough around the edges, rowdy and flamboyant, but Rick remembered being kind of the same way as a teenager – and he hadn’t ruined the lives of any girls, had he? Not that he knew of at least, or at least not intentionally.

He’d been a bit of a relationship hopper, just desperate for attention when you got to the bottom of it, but Rick had never been disrespectful of women. He’d never forced himself on anyone, never pleaded to turn a “no” into a “yes,” never verbally or physically accosted any of them. Rick couldn’t bring himself to even imagine doing anything like that. He couldn’t imagine Eddie doing any of that either.

Despite cringing at the idea of you and Eddie maybe catching something more than just friendly feelings for one another, Rick still couldn’t think of another person he’d trust more to keep tabs on you when he himself wasn’t around.

But Rick could still at least try to persuade you to see Eddie in just a platonic light.

“He’s a dork, Bean. His favorite talking point is why Gollum is just a misunderstood victim. Doesn’t shut up about how they do the special effects in those gory B-horror movies, ruins the whole fuckin’ movie yapping. Plays lame board games with his little weirdo degenerate friends.”

“First of all, Rick, did you ever even read Lord of the Rings?” you started, throwing your hands up in disbelief, and Rick was sorry he even opened his mouth. “Sméagol is totally just a misunderstood victim. I mean, sure, whatever, he bit off Frodo’s finger, but he was basically the reason Sauron was defeated! It’s all the Ring’s fault. It was evil. It possessed everyone.” You huffed, settling back against the seat as you watched Rick pull into a parking space at what you assumed was The Hideout. “Also, are these things supposed to make me want to talk to this guy less? 'Cause if that’s the case, you’re really good at doing the exact opposite of what you intend.”

Rick gave a classic you move, rolling his eyes.

“Just don’t flirt with him, Bean, damn. Please. It’s, like, my only rule. He’s my… friend. He’s my friend. So just don’t.”

You pushed your lips to the side, stepping out of the car before Rick turned off the ignition.

Did your brother know nothing about you? Being told you weren’t allowed to flirt with this stranger, to even go as far as saying he was ‘off-limits’? You now knew exactly what your plan was for the rest of the night: try to break Rick’s only rule.

Isn’t that what little sisters were for?

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You knew Rick had said there would be live music, but you definitely weren’t expecting four young men about your age on stage singing nearly spot-on covers of Slayer and Iron Maiden songs.

Rick had gotten the two of you a table towards the back of the bar. He’d bought you a vodka pineapple – which he wasn’t initially intending on doing, at first telling you a Coke was all you were getting, something you were not willing to accept; after a hefty amount of prodding, he moped off to buy you the fruity alcoholic beverage just to get you to stop being so fucking annoying about it.

You were nursing the last few sips, sucking the liquid noisily through the small black straw, when the cute lead singer with the mess of black curls brought his mouth to the microphone.

“You guys have been great, really, all five of you, couldn’t ask for better fans,” he spoke to the sparse crowd. No one clapped or cheered or anything, which made you laugh out loud at the one-sided interaction. “This’ll be our last song for the night – ”

“Freebird!” someone in the audience called out.

“Vince, I tell you every time, we’re not fucking playing Freebird, man — it’s never gonna happen,” tall, dark-haired, and handsome sniped from the stage.

Familiar chords started to echo out from the bassist, the moppy haired drummer hit his wooden drumsticks together in a steady rhythm, and the small-town rockstar began singing Enter Sandman.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Rick had been chatting with a handful of other bar patrons throughout the duration of the band’s setlist. A few of them — older, biker-looking men — occupied your table as the band on stage started to descend, done for the night.

You heard the jukebox start up, playing some Dolly Parton song, a hilarious juxtaposition from the heavy metal music that had just filled the bar.

Your eyes searched for the lead singer, spotting him heading over to the bar alone, the other boys in the band disappearing off backstage with their instruments in tow.

“Hey, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” you announced, but Rick just nodded and waved you off, in a deep conversation with one of the bearded men about something to do with Special K. The cereal? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care to stay long enough to find out.

What you wanted to do was to talk to this Kirk Hammett lookalike that poured his heart out on the stage of a hodunk bar like he was performing in front of hundreds of thousands of people at Madison Square Garden.

His back was to you when you approached, black ringlets of hair falling down past his shoulders, frizzy from the indoor humidity.

You put your now empty drink down on the bar-top, the clinking sound pulling his attention over to you.

Oh, wow.

He was nice to look at from afar, but even nicer to look at up this closely. His face was flushed, likely from the hour-long show he’d just put on, a small smattering of light chestnut freckles peeking out over alabaster skin. His big brown eyes widened as they took you in, as if he couldn’t believe you were staring at him.

“You were great up there,” you started, not able to contain your smile. “Made me forget I was in Hawkins. Thought I was at Whisky a Go Go or something.”

He looked surprised. Whether that was from your compliment or just from you talking to him in general, you weren’t sure. “Yeah?” he prodded, voice deep and raspy, obviously a bit blown out from the seven or eight songs he’d just belted.

You nodded eagerly. He grinned wide, chest puffing out a bit now. Boys plus ego stroking equaled checkmate, one of your favorite mottos.

“Can I, uh, buy you a drink? Whatever you want… whatever that was,” he pointed to your empty glass, “I can buy you another one of those.”

“Nice try, Munson,” came the voice of the bartender. Your new friend — Munson, supposedly — shot him an annoyed look. “I know you’re only twenty. You can have water or a soda. That’s it, kid.”

The raven-haired metalhead turned his attention back to you, face a bit chagrined. “Foiled by the barkeep. Sorry. You want a soda? Best in the Midwest. You’ll never drink another Coca-Cola like this ever again.”

You laughed. “Sure, I’ll take a Best in the Midwest soda. Coke with grenadine, light ice.”

“You heard the lovely lady,” Munson said to the bartender, obviously enjoying that he now got to order the man around a bit. “Coke with grenadine, light ice. Hop to it.”

“Lucky the boss likes you, you little shit,” the bartender was grumbling, but Munson didn’t seem distressed. Amused, if anything.

You watched as his eyes drifted up to the top of your head. “Now those are cool,” he acknowledged, pointing with a ringed finger.

Your brows furrowed in confusion before realization struck. Oh, yeah! You’d forgotten you’d put on a tiny little headband before leaving for the bar. It was black, but had two small red devil horns poking out on either side.

“Why, thank you,” you said, bringing a hand up to touch one of the points. “Although I wasn’t really going for cool. More along the lines of wicked or evil, maybe. Sinful. Be the reason everybody in here’s thinkin’ all those shameful thoughts.”

Had Eddie been anywhere else, or at least not high from the adrenaline he ran on after performing, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to fight off the blush from your comment. That, mixed with the heavy-lidded stare you were currently fixing on him, he’d have been a goner.

Thankfully for him, he was able to continue to false bravado his way through this conversation, as he’d just spent two-ish hours channeling his inner Eric Adams from Manowar. He could act like a big shot for a little longer. “With a face like yours, I don’t think I can call you anything but an angel.” He surprised himself with his flirtatious evenness, but he tried not to let it show on his face.

He watched as your eyes softened a smidge, but the moment was ruined when the bartender shot forward your glass.

“Coke with grenadine, light ice, for the lovely lady,” he mocked, his hard stare never leaving Munson’s face.

When the bartender turned away, Munson glanced at you, then shot a look over his shoulder at the moody man as if to say, What’s this guy’s problem?

You couldn’t help but laugh at his colorful expression before you brought your straw to your lips, taking a sip.

“Oh, fuck!” came the expletive from Munson. “Sorry. Here I am, buying you drinks and calling you an angel, and you don’t even know my name.” He fixed himself into a relaxed pose, leaning his side against the edge of the bar-top. “Hi, there. I’m Eddie.” He offered what he hoped was a beseeching smile.

Eddie… Eddie… where had you heard that name tonight? You knew you’d heard it from somewhere…

Oh! Eddie! As in, Rick’s off-limits, total dork of a friend, Eddie. This had to be him, right?

How lucky you were. You didn’t even have to go searching for your fun for the night. He just strolled off the stage, practically falling right into your lap. He’d even bought you a drink!

Achieving your goal of breaking Rick’s only rule might be a lot easier than you’d intended.

“Ooooh, so you’re Eddie,” you bemused, taking another small drink. “Of course you’re Eddie.”

A worried look overtook his previously collected features. “You’ve heard about me?” he asked. His voice now wasn’t as confident as it had been before. It was tinged with uncertainty, maybe a bit of anticipatory disappointment. “What d'you mean, 'Of course I’m Eddie’?”

“No, no, it’s nothing bad,” you cooed, bringing a hand to rest on his forearm. You could feel the solidity of his muscles beneath your fingers. You fought the urge to squeeze. “All good stuff, actually. Meeting you’s just adding to the intrigue. I promise.”

That seemed to put him more at ease. He nodded slowly, eyes briefly darting down to your hand which was still grazing his arm. You took it away, wondering if he wasn’t appreciative of it.

You’d read it wrong. He was.

“What’s your name?” he asked, finding your stare again.

Should you have told him?

It probably wouldn’t have hurt.

But you were afraid maybe Rick had already gotten to him, told him to steer clear of his little sister. Name dropping yourself might make Eddie back off, and you did not want that.

“You said you can’t call me anything but an angel,” you replied with puckish modesty. “So, let’s stick with that.” You put your free hand out, the one that had previously taken space on his arm. “Hi, Eddie. I’m Angel.”

You were a little bewildering, kind of cryptic, and super fucking hot. Eddie was a big fan of all three. He didn’t want to pressure you into giving an actual name if you didn’t want to. He could live with Angel. It wasn’t like the moniker was inaccurate.

“Okay, angel,” he granted, taking your hand in his. “It’s an honor.” He brought his lips down to press lightly against the skin of your fingers, eyes never leaving yours. He relished in the tiny bite you gave the corner of your lower lip at his action.

The bartender cleared his throat loudly. Both you and Eddie rolled your eyes simultaneously, turning your attention to him again as you pulled your hand back.

“You two mind? No one wants to come up here and drink with the both of you making Fuck Me eyes at each other. Scram.”

“You’re mean,” you admonished.

Eddie laughed at your accusation, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing at it under the heavy weight of his hair.

“You smoke?” he asked.

“Smoke what?” you countered.

Eddie grinned. “I was gonna suggest a cigarette, but maybe you’d be interested in something a little… greener?”

Your brows shot up in intrigue and you nodded, sucking the rest of your soda down in three long sips before slamming the glass back down on the wooden surface of the bar.

“Show me the way, rockstar.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“So, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you around here before,” Eddie started, leading you out the door of The Hideout, heading into the parking lot.

You’d quickly scanned the crowd for Rick before exiting, wanting to make sure he was still otherwise occupied and wouldn’t catch you sneaking out with the one person he most definitely didn’t want you sneaking out with.

No longer was he talking to the biker bros that had basically accosted him at the table. Now he was sitting so close to a pretty purple haired girl that you were sure their foreheads were touching. His hand was on her cheek, and he was smiling goofily at her.

Good. He should be busy for a while now. Thank you, lavender loc’d lovergirl.

“'Cause you’d remember my pretty face if you’d seen it before, is that the rest of your sentence?” you teased.

Eddie grinned a bit bashfully, hand moving to rub at his neck again. You acknowledged it was probably a tell for when he was nervous or bordering on embarrassed. Good to know, perhaps an essential quirk to tuck away for safekeeping.

“Yeah, something like that,” he admitted with a laugh. “But really. You’re not from Hawkins, are you?”

“I am not from Hawkins, no. I actually just moved here today, if you can believe it.”

“Wow,” Eddie said, voice taking on a bantering tone. “Less than 24 hours here and you’re already walking alone at night with some stranger who many have dubbed a sinister cult leader. I may just be Indiana’s very own Satan incarnate. What ever will your parents think?”

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to be the offspring of a high-level Duke of Hell,” you countered, fully thinking of your mother when you spoke. “Guess it’s a match made in… Inferno?”

“My favorite kind of match,” Eddie confessed with a grin as you approached the brown and cream Chevy Beauville you figured belonged to him.

You paused for a beat as Eddie pulled open the side door before asking, “Do people really think that? That you’re a cult leader?”

“Oh, yeah,” he responded, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. When he spoke next, he took on a theatrical guise, words laced with performative shock. “When I walk down the street, men can’t help but to scoff and glare; women clutch their purses to their chests; mothers cover their children’s eyes before their children can shriek in horror; dogs bark and wolves howl and the whole Earth opens up beneath my feet.”

You found yourself watching in utter amusement at his sermonizing, your focus unwavering on his expressive hand motions and his demonstrative body language, your ears attuned to every shift in infliction of his voice.

Rick was right.

Eddie was a dork.

But such an endearing dork. A stellar storyteller. A winsome wordsmith. And it was like he wasn’t even trying. Like this ingenuity came to him as easy as taking a breath.

He reminded you a little of your father -- the eagerness to put on a show, the effortless spellbinding nature. The similarities filled your chest with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Too much?” Eddie asked, cringing a little at your silence.

You shook your head slowly, smiling. “Not at all.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Eddie had a multicolor Afghan spread out on the floor in the back of his van, one he informed you was made for him by a past girlfriend of his Uncle’s.

He apologized profusely that the interior wasn’t more appealing, mumbled something about how he should maybe think about getting actual seats installed, but when you sprawled out wordlessly on the blanket, back plush against its scratchy softness, and positively beamed at him, he shut up.

He sat down next to you after finding a half-smoked joint in his middle console, offering it to you for the first hit.

“Where'd you move here from?” he asked after a few moments of peaceful silence, nothing heard but the sizzle from the lit Rizla and the steady stream of cars from the busy street outside.

“Fresno,” you replied, passing the joint to him as you held in your hit until the smoke burned your lungs.

“A California city girl in little ole Hawkins?” he bemused, taking a deep drag. “You must feel pretty out of place here, angel.”

With a shrug, you said, “Dunno yet. It’s only been less than a day, remember?” You took the joint as he extended it out to you, taking a smaller hit this time. “Ask me again after school on Monday.”

“You goin’ to the community college or something?”

“No, I’m still in high school. Senior. I think it’s just called…”

“Hawkins High. Yeah, I uh, I go there too.” That hand rubbing at the back of his neck again. “Um – Paul, y'know, that mean bartender, he… said something about me being twenty? I dunno if you heard. But, yeah. I got held back a few years, so…”

Turns out the hand thing was a sign of embarrassment.

“Eddie, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you told him, moving to position your weight onto one side, leaning against your elbow. “Everybody’s on a different path. Besides, high school is such bullshit. It’s basically hardwired for you to fuck up or fail. Believe me, I know.”

You took another hit, this one bigger, wanting to feel the lightheadedness of the high sooner rather than later, especially breaching this subject. It always warranted a lament from you.

“I’ve had specialized learning plans since forever,” you continued, passing the joint off to him. His brows furrowed in concentration as he listened. “I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was little. Like, five or six. I could never sit still in class, and I always needed way more time to take tests than everybody else, and I'd forget whole chunks of paragraphs that I’d just read the second I finished reading them.” You sighed, slightly frustrated at the memories, but the weed was beginning to work its magic. Your muscles felt like they were relaxing, tension drifting away, and your head felt a very good kind of heavy. “But then I got on medicine, and it helped. Still helps.” As an afterthought, you added, “When I remember to take it.”

Eddie considered this for a few moments before sticking the joint in his mouth, inhaling. “Shit. Maybe I have ADHD,” he surmised, exhaling a thick cloud into the air.

“Maybe,” you suggested. “I’d say you could talk to my mom, 'cause she’s a psychiatrist, but she’s actually a huge fucking bitch, so nevermind.”

Eddie laughed, not expecting you to say that, and he'd been in the middle of another inhale so he ended up choking and coughing hard on the smoke.

“Oh, no!” You hurried into a sitting position. “Are you – are you okay?” you asked, and you felt bad, but you couldn’t help the little laughs that were escaping your lips at his now bright red tomato face. You were stoned. “D'you – do you have water in here, somewhere?”

Eddie nodded, having a brief break in his hacking fit, pointing to the front of his van. “Y-yeah, shit,” cough, cough, cough, “o-over there. Fucking fuck, man.” Cough, cough. That last one sounded like it hurt.

You scurried on your hands and knees to the front of the van, scanning the dashboard for some kind of drink. The high made it seem like your eyes could only move in slow motion. Finally spotting a half-drank bottle of blue Gatorade, you snatched it, crawling hurriedly back over to where Eddie sat hunched over, trying to control his breathing.

He took the drink, spun the cap off, and quickly downed most of the contents in an attempt to soothe his raw throat.

“Goddamn,” he rasped out. He realized he was still holding the joint in his hand. He definitely didn’t want anymore now. He looked to you, offering it silently, but you shook your head, rejecting it. He stubbed it out in an ashtray that was laying at his side. Bringing the Gatorade back to his lips, he dipped his head back, finishing it off.

Without really thinking, and weed always loosening your already pretty loose inhibitions, you brought your hand to rest on his cheek, your thumb stroking a small path back and forth on the smooth skin under his eye. “You good?” you asked, the ghost of a laugh twisting at your words.

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat at your touch. He was happy he’d swallowed the Gatorade or else he probably would have started choking on that, too.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a careful caress like the one you were currently giving him. It was simple, but it felt so good. So soft. And – fuck – you were straddling one of his thighs with your legs, and he didn’t even think you noticed. But he definitely did.

Even though his skin was covered by denim, he could still feel the heat from your center warming him. His cock gave an appreciative jerk in the confines of his tight jeans.

Your eyes finally drifted down to the sitting arrangement you found yourselves in. Slowly lifting your gaze to meet his glassy, doe-eyed stare once more, you tilted your head to the side in quandary, hand not dropping from the curve of his face.

“Should I move?” you asked, voice a pitch louder than a whisper.

“Please don't,” Eddie answered, unblinking.

You let your weight rest fully down on his thigh, shifting your hips once, watching as his eyes rolled back at the contact. He was so receptive that it made your cunt clench around nothing, and you took that moment to pull his face closer to yours, pressing your lips to his almost hard enough to bruise.

Eddie groaned at the feel of your mouth, his tongue eagerly and immediately trying to pry open your lips. You grinned into the kiss, giving him what he wanted by allowing his hot tongue access to slide slippery against your own.

He thought you were sweet and citrusy, like sugared oranges, and a little tart, like ripe pomegranate. He thought fleetingly that if he could, he’d bottle you up and drink you with every meal.

You thought he was fresh and sharp, like spearmint gum, and heady, like expensive sativa. Your tongue fought with his for dominance, each moan from either one of you spurring on the other, greedy mouths working hard to stake their claim.

When you finally pulled away, you were a little out of breath. “God, Eddie, you kiss like you’re thirsty.” Your hand moved from its resting place on his face to tangle in the curls at the back of his head.

He groaned when he felt you tug at the roots of his scalp, bringing a hand up to cradle just under your chin, fingers stretching out over the expanse of your neck. A lazy grin curved at his lips.

“You wanna see thirsty?"

With that, he flipped the both of you over so you were on your back, Eddie positioning himself between your spread legs. You were happy for the padding of the Afghan, knowing the cool steel flooring of the van would have pinched your skin unpleasantly.

He wasted no time in pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking quick but harsh at your supple skin.

You moaned wantonly, lolling your head to the side to give him better access. Your legs moved to wrap around his slim waist, your hips moving up to feel as much of him against your center as you could. Eddie couldn’t help but give a thrust down against you, his persistently hardening cock straining taut against his jeans.

“Can I taste you?” he asked against your skin, pressing softer kisses to the tiny marks he’d left just moments ago with his lips and teeth.

A strained whimper escaped your lips at his request. You nodded, feeling more drunk than high, arching your hips up again to try and garner more friction from him.

“Say it,” he demanded, bringing a hand up to grip at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “‘I want you to taste me, Eddie.’ Tell me.”

“I want you to taste me, Eddie,” you repeated lewdly, ad-libbing after with, “please, Eddie, want you to make me feel good.”

His pupils blew dark and wide, and he slid the remainder of the way down your body, burying his head under your skirt. Without removing your underwear or even pushing them to the side, he pressed his mouth to the damp fabric, his open-mouthed kisses continuing there. A desperate sound came from him as he sucked you through your panties, the deliciously honeyed scent of you enveloping him completely.

In this moment, he felt like if he died with his face buried in your heat, it would be a very happy and welcomed death.

“Eddie, take them off,” you demanded, shaking your hips around in a frustrated movement.

He laughed at your impatience, but moved to grant you your wish. He hooked his fingers under the sides of your panties, just about to pull them down… before a loud pounding was heard on the outside of the van.

“Hey, Ed? Hate to interrupt you, dude, but my mom’s gonna be pissed if you don’t get me home by 10.”

Eddie groaned loudly, the noise sounding almost pained. It seemed like it took a lot out of him to have to move his head out from under your skirt. He glanced over his shoulder to the clock on his dash, the LED numbers reading 9:35PM.

“This dream just turned into a real fucking nightmare, angel,” he grumbled, biting down lightly at your inner thigh.

You jolted at the feel of his teeth, and couldn’t help but give a frustrated whine at his sentiment, wholly agreeing. Your entire body was thrumming, wanting so badly to be touched and given a release.

“Eddie…?” came the voice again.

“Yeah, Doug, got it. Give me a minute, man.”

Eddie took one more longing look at your clothed cunt, studying the wet spot made from his spit and your arousal. He gave a salacious lick of his lips before dragging his eyes up to meet yours.

“That’s my bassist,” he begrudgingly informed. “His mom’s like your mom. Huge fucking bitch, but don't ever tell him I said that. I have to drive him home or else she’ll forever forbid him to play another show.”

You offered him a placating smile, moving your hand to brush a few of his longer bangs from around his eyes. “It’s okay. I mean, it really isn’t, 'cause I’m so fucking horny right now, but I get it.” Eddie gave another groan at your admission. He cursed the universe for shit fucking timing, and for totally inconsiderate bassists who didn’t have their licenses.

“Can I see you again?” he asked, voice bordering on timid.

It was shocking to you how he could go from dirty mouthed amateur porn star to red-cheeked virginal teenage boy in the matter of minutes. The duality was enticing. You briefly wondered just how far you could push him to either end of the spectrum.

“I’ll give you my number,” you said, but then remembered, “oh, wait, I don’t know my number yet. Um. You can give me yours?”

Eddie nodded fervently, moving to a kneeling position as he reached over and started looking through a pile of stuff on his passenger seat. He pulled out a pen from the mess and ripped off a small piece of paper from an old report card, quickly scrawling down his digits.

“Here,” he said, moving to hand it to you. He did a quick once over though, realizing you didn’t have pockets, so he slid the folded piece of paper under the front hem of your panties. He patted it with his fingers and gave a pleased grin before saying, “C'mon, I’ll walk you back inside.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

By the time you’d made it back through the front door of The Hideout, Rick was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, obviously in search of you.

“What the fuck, Bean!” he scolded, marching his way up to you when he spotted you walking in, not even glancing at Eddie. “I don’t pay attention for two minutes and you disappear for an hour?!”

“Two minutes, Richard, really?” you laughed out, the sound incredulous. Because, really, Rick’s timeframe was way, way off. You knew he wasn’t the greatest at math, but damn, right now he was straight up delusional. “You’ve been talking to everyone but me since we got here! You weren't paying attention for way longer than two minutes.”

“So not fuckin’ true,” he said, but his tone was quieter now as if he figured that, yeah, it might actually be true.

Rick’s eyes finally drifted to your side, observing Eddie’s presence. You’d taken great care to fix the boy’s hair and his clothing, making sure he didn’t look disheveled for this very reason – you could tell Rick was sizing the younger man up after finding out the two of you were off somewhere together. Alone.

Eddie looked like a lost puppy, glancing between you and Rick, trying to figure out what the fuck the dynamic between the two of you was. You tried your hardest not to look so amused at his sweet, utterly confused expression.

“Oh, yeah, I ran into Eddie while I was outside smoking,” you explained away easily. “He told me you guys are friends. I figured he’s who you brought me here to meet.”

Eddie side eyed you, unsure of where this was heading. He definitely did not tell you that he and Rick were friends. Eddie didn’t even think him and Rick were friends. He hoped they were, he wanted them to be, but he didn’t think it’s how Rick would have classified their relationship.

Rick turned his apprehensive gaze on Eddie. “Is that true?” he asked, eye contact steady and unblinking.

Best go along with it, Eddie thought.

“Couldn’t be truer.”

The older man seemed to consider Eddie’s response for a minute before a familiar silly grin etched itself across his pierced face.

“Cool!” he exclaimed, clapping Eddie on the shoulder.

Rick had been planning on propositioning Eddie tonight about being your watchdog, but after downing a few drinks and having basically driven around for the past four days straight with little sleep, he figured that conversation could wait a little longer. “You wanna come over tomorrow night, Munson? Hang out with me and the little sister for a bit?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed, shaking his head slowly in uncertainty. “Sure, but... who’s your little sister?”

Rick’s smile slowly began to fade in skepticism as his attention moved from Eddie and back to you standing beside him.

“Me, silly,” you admonished, bringing a hand down to grab at his, concealing the contact behind your back so Rick didn’t see. You stroked the skin on his thumb in a wordless apology for the whole not-being-totally-honest-about-who-you-were thing.

Eddie’s eyes widened at the reveal, still a little too stoned for the realization that he’d just had one of the hottest make-out sessions of his entire life with… Reefer Rick Lipton's… little sister…

Shit.

“Remember? I told you outside?” you were pleading at him with your eyes, still trying to make it not appear obvious that you were lying your ass off to your older brother.

Eddie indulged, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the rage of Rick if he found out what had just gone one in the back of his Beauville.

“Oh, yeah! Right, right!” Eddie tried to play it off. “Sorry, man, I’m just – totally fucking stoned.” That part was relatively true. This whole interaction was making him feel even higher than he thought he was in the first place, actually. Eddie gave Rick what he prayed was an easy-going grin.

You released Eddie and stepped in between the two of them, forcing out a wide yawn. “Rick, c'mon, I’m getting tired,” you brought your hand to your brother’s arm, starting to tug at him, pulling him toward the door. “Let’s go home.” You stressed the last word, hoping that by you referring to his Hawkins residence as that, it would soften and distract him.

It did.

Rick relented, figuring he was probably just looking too deeply into things, understanding his paranoia sometimes got the better of him. Nothing probably happened between you and Eddie. He was probably just being an overbearing older brother. Probably.

“Right. 'Kay. Lemme just go find this one girl and say bye.” He disappeared off into the dwindling crowd, and you assumed he was off to bid adieu to the same purple-haired girl from before.

You took this as your chance to turn to Eddie.

Eddie, who was currently staring at you a little too warily for your liking.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” you implored, fingers finding his hand again. He didn’t make a move to pull away, so you took that as a good sign. “Just come over tomorrow night, okay? We can talk about it.”

It kind of freaked you out how much you didn’t want this – whatever this was – between the two of you to be ruined so quickly.

Since your dad left, you knew things in your life had gone a little downhill, and you also knew you’d been acting a bit belligerently in your attempts to try and ignore it. You’d been making irresponsible, rash decisions all over the board – from school, to home, to friendships and relationships. Nothing seemed to be sacrosanct from your newfound self-sabotaging behaviors.

From this, you’d encountered quite a few willing partners, of both the opposite and same sex, to occupy your mind and time since last summer, and not a single one of them was someone you were interested in getting to know more than just carnally.

Eddie was the first person in a long time you felt you actually clicked with on more than just a physical level, and that was evident from your discourse at the bar, your rendezvous in the van, and now with the realization that you may have screwed it all up by not being truthful to him. You were starting to get a stomach ache. This was so not how you’d planned on the night ending.

Across from you, Eddie seemed to weigh the entire situation as you just had, his dark brown eyes studying your face as he did so. Maybe to find a glimmer of further deceit? Of an ulterior motive? He was used to those things. It wasn’t often people wanted him just to want him. It was usually to get something from him.

However, he could find nothing but honest anticipation in your eyes. His fingers squeezed yours briefly before Rick made his way back over, your brother’s heavily tattooed arm sliding around your frame as he pulled you away.

“See ya tomorrow, Munson!” Rick called.

At the last moment you could, right before the door to the bar closed, you looked back over your shoulder at Eddie. He saw you smile at him. Your intention was to silently ask for the possibility of forgiveness, or at the very least, understanding.

Eddie watched the door you’d exited through for a minute or two longer. Blinking back to reality, he realized he was tired, at first thinking it was just from the weed, but then remembering that Corroded Coffin had literally played a show tonight.

That seemed like days ago at this point.

Being in the van with you had felt like a lengthy escapade, definitely more than just roughly sixty minutes spent together.

Eddie’s palms started to sweat.

He hadn’t known you before an hour ago, but now that you weren’t next to him anymore, talking and teasing, he’d felt more alone than he had in a long time.

Exiting the bar, Eddie headed back to his van.

The whole trip to Dougie’s house and then on his ride back to the trailer park, he was fake scenario-ing all the different ways tomorrow night at Rick’s could go.

Maybe he was bound to be screwed over by you eventually, fucked royally in a not-so-fun way.

But Eddie, ever the opportunist, would likely let you as long as that meant he got to go along for the ride.

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer (05) | jjk

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn't as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, drinking, swearing, crying, Sad Boy JK Hours ??, valentino!yoongi bc that should be a whole warning 🥵 even though he's there and not really there for literally 2 seconds lol

rating: PG-15

word count: 9.5k

note: this is the most stressed out i've ever been while trying to post a fic 💀 argh anyway, 2 obs updates in one month ?? is this even real life !! consider this a (lunar) new year's present from me to everyone who celebrates it and also to everyone who doesn't !! idk i'm bad at notes and i'm delirious so that's it 😗

series masterpost / main playlist ; interactive playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Hey, I feel like if we gave it one night You'd hate me less and make it alright Just wish that we could fight now I'd hold you on the comedown

Rockland - Gracie Abrams

One thing about you, is that you don’t do well with change.

After you moved out of the first apartment you got as an adult, you constantly went back to your old neighborhood even though it wasn’t close to your new place. You kept walking those familiar streets, kept shopping at the stores where the workers knew your name. At night, you still pictured yourself living there, with all of your furniture and clothes and decorations that you’ve already emptied from those old bones. Then, you imagined what the new tenant was like, if they could feel the lingering love you had for that apartment. You wondered if they were putting the coffee table you left behind to good use, or if they thought that it looked out of place among all of their belongings and had already thrown it away.

Jimin called you weird for that, but he didn’t know that you always leave a piece of yourself everywhere you go. The biggest pieces, you think, are hidden somewhere in a closet in your childhood bedroom where your mother still lives, and in the tiny space of your dorm room where you spent most of your college years.

It took you more than half a year to finally start considering your new apartment home. 

Because you hate change. Change is scary. Change is walking into a pitch-black tunnel with no flashlight, not knowing what awaits you in the darkness and not knowing if you’ll make it to the other side.

That isn’t to say that change is inherently bad. You’ve experienced good changes before. Arguably, Jungkook was a good change when he went from someone you couldn’t tolerate, to the love of your life back then. You were happy with him, so blissfully happy that for a while, you forgot what it was like to experience any other emotion.

Yoongi has always been your friend. It didn’t take you two very long to become well acquainted with one another and from there, develop a good friendship. You have never thought of him as anything other than a friend. Even when he was your boss, he still felt more like a friend.

As you sit next to him in a bar too empty for your liking – but seems right for a Tuesday night – you feel a palpable shift between the two of you.

When your phone vibrates with a notification, you glance at it only to exhale annoyedly – unclear whether this frustration is directed toward yourself, or the person blowing up your mobile; maybe it’s both. That’s the nth message that Jungkook has sent you in the last couple of hours, and you don’t need to read it to know that it’s probably another iteration of the same apology. How many different ways are there to say “Hey, I’m sorry for fucking the receptionist and then having the balls to tell you that you’re the unprofessional one when you didn’t even do anything.” Apparently a lot, because the texts just keep coming.  

“Jungkook again?” Yoongi asks from beside you. Fuck. You’ve mostly been silently moping since he brought you here, too enmeshed in your own web of muddled thoughts that you forgot he’s someone you need to make amends with too. 

You give him a nod but still continue to stare at the drink in front of you, trying to disentangle your Yoongi thoughts from your Jungkook ones. 

Taking a sip of your drink, your face manages to keep a grimace at bay as the liquid ambushes your tastebuds. You don’t like whiskey, but you need something to hate more than yourself tonight. When you set the glass down, the alcohol sloshes around like a compact sea of your own amber-colored miseries.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “This is unfair to you. I don’t know what came over me. I just want you to know that this isn’t me responding to…” To your confession.

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, then I have to stop you right now.”

“Yoongi…”

“I’m not saying that you can’t turn me down, although I hope you don’t do that,” he chuckles. “I’m just saying that whatever you do, whether you give me a chance or reject me, I want you to decide after you’ve really thought about it, about me.”

You can’t say no to that; it’s only fair. Yoongi knows what he deserves. You haven’t looked at him in any other way, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t. Didn’t you say it yourself, that maybe you should start putting yourself out there? Well, here is someone coming to you before you even have to look anywhere. You may not have expected Yoongi, but then, you didn’t expect Jungkook either.

Yoongi could be the good change you need.

Nevertheless, you want to tell him you’re sorry for the other night. It should be fairly simple, but the words have a hard time dislodging themselves from your throat.

“I’m sorry about what I said that night at dinner… and what I did…”

Yoongi props an elbow on the bar top and leans forward to rest his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “Remind me what it is that you did again?”

“Come on, I’m serious.” You are grateful that he’s trying to keep it light, though.

“I’m serious too. I seem to have forgotten.”

“Yoongi…”

“Yes, Y/N?”

You sigh, shutting your eyes momentarily. Recalling the moment makes you flush with embarrassment, bringing a splash of color to your cheeks which Yoongi always seems to enjoy.

In a quiet voice, you say, “I’m sorry for throwing salt at you…”

“You threw salt at me!” He tips his head back, laughing freely. The bartender spares you two a glance at the sudden disruption. “You shouldn’t go around throwing salt at people!”

“Stop laughing! I’m trying to apologize.” You punch his arm out of habit and for a second there, you forget that your relationship with Yoongi isn’t the same anymore. Changed forever.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Jeez, why are you so violent?” He rubs the spot where you hit him, muttering under his breath something about him bruising like a peach. “Apology accepted. No hard feelings.”

“Okay, good. But I still want you to know that if you were expecting anything from tonight…”

Yoongi ruffles your hair with a scoff. “I’m not that dense. Of course I’m not expecting anything.” When you peer at him with curious and unsure eyes, he continues, “Y/N, earlier you looked like you wanted to set the place on fire and Jungkook looked like he was about to shit himself. Tonight, I’m just a friend who’s here for you if you want to vent. We’re just two buddies having a drink, that’s all.”

He makes it sound so simple, while your brain is already going haywire.

Despite yourself, you chuckle at his words. You tell him how much you appreciate it, though you don’t really tell him anything about what happened this afternoon, just that Jungkook said some stuff that pissed you off. You can’t tell him exactly what Jungkook did to anger you without alluding to the confession for which Yoongi is letting you off the hook for now.

“Do you wanna come with me tomorrow?” Yoongi asks.

“Come with you where?”

“I have a shoot with Valentino in the morning.”

“You have a photoshoot not even 12 hours from now and you’re here drinking? Aren’t you gonna wake up puffy or something?”

“Yeah, my manager would kill me if she knows what I’m doing,” he replies casually, like his manager has a telepathic connection with him and she can sense him mocking her over a drink. When people see Agust D, they tend to only see the icy exterior that he dons. That tough, maybe even callous, image has sustained him in the entertainment industry for years. For many, Agust D seems intimidating and unapproachable. That’s how you felt when you first met him too. But after a while, you got to see Min Yoongi, and Min Yoongi is nothing if not warm and tender-hearted, even if he’s a little shit sometimes. At least, that’s what he has always been like to you. “She thinks I’m getting my beauty sleep right now.”

You lightly snort at that, telling him, “Yeah, you need it.”

When you start to yawn, Yoongi calls a driver to drop you off at your place. The ride is mostly silent, because you’re tired and because you’re not sure what to say to Yoongi in the presence of a stranger taking you home. The car pulls up to your building soon enough, and before you can step out and tell him goodnight, he offers to walk you up. He takes the elevator with you to your floor, how gallant but unnecessary. When you reach your door, you wonder whether you should invite him in for a glass of water or something. If this was a week – or even just a couple of days – earlier, you would’ve had no reason to hesitate.  He doesn’t ask if he can come in but instead takes one of your hands.

“I see you’ve been giving yourself some TLC. They’re a lot better now,” he comments, smoothing his thumb over your skin. You’ve been diligent with your hand care routine since he gave you that lotion. It feels nice, and it smells amazing. Besides, your hands were starting to hurt anyway.

Silence descends upon the two of you as you become aware of Yoongi touching you, and the weight of the answer you’ve yet to give him. He must feel you stiffen, because he lets you go and smiles.

“Relax, princess. Get some sleep, you’re the one who needs it. I said I’ll let you think about it, didn’t I? Stop stressing so much.” His index finger taps your cheek playfully, so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. The wink that he tacks on makes you roll your eyes. You watch Yoongi make his way to the elevator, step in and press the button for the ground floor. He maintains eye contact with you as he waits for the doors to shut, and you don’t think you’ve really noticed before how Yoongi carries himself with such confidence and poise even when he’s off-camera. That’s just the kind of person he is and it’s… kind of attractive.

You can’t even fish around in your bag for your keys, you just stand there because he keeps your gaze trained on him. His eyes are alluring even under the shitty lighting of your building’s elevator. Before the lift closes, his voice carries over from the metal box to your door, and you don’t know if it’s the echo of his low timbre in the empty hallway that makes you shiver, or if it’s just Yoongi.

“I’ve waited this long, what’s a little more time?”

One week. This is a record for you and Taehyung.

You’re still baffled by his attitude that night, and no one has cleared anything up for you. He was right, but that doesn’t mean you were wrong. You stand by your initial reaction. Could anyone really blame you for that? In your defense, who the fuck could believe that a worldclass megastar has romantic feelings for them? Not to mention that the person whom the megastar in question has feelings for is you! You, the pathetic girl who can’t seem to get over her ex. Yoongi had to sit through a whole hour of you drunkenly crying over Jungkook, for fuck’s sake!

That really wasn’t your best moment, but it’s not like you even remember it anyway.

Your phone buzzes to life with Jimin’s face taking over the whole screen – a photo of your hand squishing his full cheeks until his lips jut out. “Hey Minnie,” you greet him once you’ve swiped to accept the call.

“Y/N,” he says, sounding out of breath. “Where are you?”

“I’m at home. Where are you? Are you doing pull-ups again? You know you practically hyperventilate when you do more than 3.”

“Shut up, I’m at dance practice. But listen, have you talked to Tae yet?”

You purse your lips at the mention of his name. “No. We’re supposed to go grocery shopping tomorrow like we always do, but I guess that won’t be happening.”

Jimin hums, like he’s in thought. He doesn’t speak again until his breathing has calmed. “Well, can you go to his place right now?”

“Why?”

“He’s sick and I’m kind of worried about him. He hasn’t answered my messages.”

You frown. “Tae’s sick?”

“Yeah, he must’ve caught a cold the other day. Could you go over there and check on him? I would go but I can’t leave for another few hours.”

You agree to go, because of course you would. Even if you’re stubborn and hot-headed, no amount of pettiness could make you ignore your friends especially when they’re unwell and need somebody. Especially when it’s Taehyung who’s been there for you so many times.

You stay on the call with Jimin for another ten whole minutes even after you have said you would go, because he keeps droning on and on about how shitty Taehyung looked yesterday.

Before you go to your best friend’s apartment, you stop by your regular diner to pick up some comfort food for him, and the pharmacy for some medicine. During the rest of the drive there, you start getting a little worried. When Taehyung takes care of a sick you or Jimin, he practically goes into full mama bear mode, making sure that you’re as comfortable as humanly possible and not leaving your side until you’re a functional human being again. But when it comes to his own wellbeing, Taehyung doesn’t seem to be that concerned. It’s not that he neglects his health, but you wish that he would show himself the same kindness that he shows you.

It feels weird to use the spare key that you have to his place, considering that you aren’t really on speaking terms. In hindsight, it feels so childish. How old are you to still be pulling the silent treatment on each other? 

You ring the doorbell and wait a couple minutes until you hear Taehyung shuffling to get the door from the other side. When it swings open, he tenses up a bit, not expecting to see you at all. His hair is damp; he must’ve just gotten out of the shower. Taehyung doesn’t look as bad as Jimin described though. Just some dark circles under his eyes.

You raise a hand and wave. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he parrots somewhat awkwardly. It’s understandable; neither of you thought you’d be the one to break the ice. “What are you doing here?”

Bringing your other hand up, you show him the bag you’re holding. “Brought you soup and cold meds. Jimin said you’re sick.”

His brows knit together in confusion. “Thanks…” he says slowly, “but I’m not sick?”

“But Jimin said you caught a cold and you’ve been wheezing like a dying fisherman and–” You purse your lips, catching onto what’s really happening here. “He tricked me, didn’t he?”

Park Jimin…

Taehyung tuts under his breath, shaking his head at the ground. “Mhmm.”

“He could go into acting. He sounded really worried on the phone, like you were on the verge of death.”

“No, yeah, he really could,” Taehyung agrees. “Jimin is bizarrely good at lying sometimes. We should be worried about that.”

You laugh, and that makes him feel like the air is relaxed enough for him to laugh too. It only lasts a few seconds before you’re left staring at each other again. You hate it. You really, really hate it.

You thought that the universe sent you a sign, gave you a reason to come over and make nice with your best friend. Turns out that “the universe” is really just Park Jimin and his scheming tongue. But you’re already here, and you have to talk to him eventually. Jimin might have lied, but you would’ve just waited for Taehyung to reach out first to offer an olive branch anyway.

“Well, can I come in?” you ask. It’s weird that you even have to ask.

“Of course,” he says absentmindedly, stepping to one side to let you in. He takes the bag from your hand and brings it to the kitchen while you kick off your shoes and change into the pair of fuzzy bear slippers that he keeps for you here.

You want to tell him what happened as much as you hate admitting that you were wrong.

“Have you eaten?” you ask, a sad attempt at delaying what will inevitably come.

“No,” comes his simple reply.

“Should we eat? I bought enough for two people.”

“But I’m not sick.”

“You don’t have to be sick to eat chicken noodle soup.”

Taehyung looks at you like the thought has genuinely never crossed his mind. “Interesting… Okay, then.”

You put on an episode of your favorite show while he heats up the food. When you both sit down to eat, it’s mostly silent while the TV continues to play. The most you and Taehyung thing that you exchange in these 30 minutes is him saying soup tastes like shit when you’re not actually sick, and you telling him to stop being such a hater. When you both finish, Taehyung rinses the bowls and puts them in his dishwasher. 

Before you came over, you thought you would only be making him eat, take his meds, and sit there for a bit while he sleeps. If you had known this would happen, you would’ve prepared yourself for it.

But then again, you were tricked into coming.

Ugh. Just do it. You are so freaking dramatic.

“Well,” you start, keeping your voice light and trying not to stand around like you’re out of place in his apartment, “you were right.”

“About what?” Taehyung asks, wiping his hands on a towel. 

“About Yoongi and… all that.”

“Oh.” His expression is one you aren’t too familiar with. There’s surprise – yes, that you’re making peace with him – in the way his brows slightly lift, but there’s something else too. Something odd that you can’t quite put a finger on, and it makes you slightly uneasy because you don’t like it when you can’t read Taehyung. 

He’s pretty quick to mask it, and it makes you even more conscious that there’s something he isn’t telling you. Of course, this feeling is miniscule, practically a seed compared to the blooming garden of nerves that the events of these past few days have dumped upon you, so you can’t categorize it as a high-level priority to nitpick. You need to deal with your main concerns first, aka what to do about Yoongi and Jungkook, both individually and together, and then you can begin to inspect what’s going on with Taehyung.

It all sounds so easy in theory.

Taehyung goes to the couch and you wordlessly follow. You sit down when he pats the spot next to him – your spot. “How did you come to that conclusion?” he asks. “You know I don’t get to hear you tell me I’m right very often.”

Because you aren’t right very often, is what you almost say. It’s light and playful, and you both know it would diffuse the leftover tension, but you chuck the words aside in favor of something more serious. There isn’t that much to catch him up on, but there is a lot to unpack from the few things that did transpire over the last few days.

You give him a recap of what happened with Yoongi and subsequently what happened with Jungkook. Those are the two things weighing the most on your mind. You haven’t really processed anything; blame it on Yoongi for telling you that you have time to think things through.

One thing you love about Taehyung is that he doesn’t tell you what to do, but rather helps you sort things out on your own. Come to think of it, these conversations often take place on his couch. He’s like your own personal therapist at this point.

“Can you give me a hug?” You probably can’t ask a licensed therapist to do this, though.

He softens even more with a smile. Opening his arms, he says, “C’mere.”

You shuffle over to sink into his embrace. You sigh as you practically melt in his hold. Taehyung is a little bony, but hugging him feels exactly like hugging a giant teddy bear. He’s soft, and always knows how to hold you just tight enough, how to stroke your hair the way you like, how to be just the comforting presence you need amidst a whirlwind of anxious thoughts. And he smells like jasmine, though that might be because you keep deliberately gifting him colognes with scents that you like.

With your chin perched on his shoulder, you feel yourself start to relax, walls coming down if only briefly.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks after a moment.

You’re suddenly aware that you’re crying. You don’t know how it started, but now that the waterworks have begun, it seems like there’s no stopping. “No,” you sniffle. “Can I just…”

You feel him exhale. “Of course.”

Taehyung is one of the few people – oh who are you kidding? He might be the only one – whom you feel comfortable enough around to let yourself cry to your heart’s content. 

You’ve been feeling it for days now, even before all that shit happened. Every cell in your body is constantly vibrating, with anxiety, with guilt, with a heaviness that sinks into your bones. You’re shaking even when your hands are perfectly still. People, memories, thoughts you keep only to yourself – they all phase through you, not giving you a single moment to catch your breath.

When it rains, it pours.

Everything is weighing you down like someone has tied you to an anchor and pushed you into the unrelenting, unforgiving water. Grief is an ocean and you don’t know how to swim. Your job, your friends, the unbridled mess that you call a love life… Everything is changing and you’re the same. You’re different, but somehow still the same. Deep down, you’re still that scared little girl who doesn’t know what to make of the world. Your knees are bleeding but your mother is telling you not to cry. Why can’t you cry when you’re hurting? Every minute feels like a lifetime but every day feels like it’s going by in two seconds. Things are moving so fast. Things are moving too slow. You can’t remember the last time you actually cried. Really cried. Bawled. Sobbed. Let out all the dirt until you can see your roots again. Until you originate back to being a blank canvas. Sometimes it feels like that’s the only way that can help you see things more clearly. Your vision might blur for a while but afterward, it’ll have washed everything away. At least a little bit. So you can get your footing again.

You miss clarity, or the illusion that you have any control over your life. You miss looking out the window and have something to look forward to, even on overcast days where the sun can’t be bothered to bring you light. You miss hearing your heart beat a melody that doesn’t ache, doesn’t rattle you to the core. Pieces of you have been held together by nothing but tape and glue for the longest time. Eventually, they’ll deteriorate, and you’ll go back to being skin and bones always on the verge of falling apart.

Some of your best writing was never meant for anybody to hear. The best lines that you’ve scribbled down are diary entries disguised as music, as poetry. They’re results of your lowest and weakest moments, it just happens that there was a journal lying around and you thought that if you had to keep all that sadness inside for a second longer, you would burst. Those immortalized lines represent your heartbreak, your self-hatred, your sorrow and your grief. They come from a lifetime of unshed tears, from the burden of having a heart that feels too much but is always silenced. Words are your escape when time rushes through you like a child skipping stones. Everything hurts all the time but no one knows and you don’t bother explaining to anyone how you wish you could be a different person living a different life because it seems like the universe has made a mistake with this one. How it feels like a divine power has miscalculated and misread your false stoicism as resilience. Just because a person carries it well doesn’t mean they have to carry it at all. 

Sometimes you like to muse that if anyone could catch a glimpse of what it’s like inside, they’d think, Wow. How are you holding all of that weight? How are you so silent through it all? How do you live with an ache so allconsuming that I can hardly see you underneath it?

It’s the only way you know how to express yourself. But even then, when you’re screaming and burning, you’re still quiet. Those words are your heart on paper, raw and bleeding all over the place, covered in a million cracks that no one can see or even pay enough attention to notice. They’re there whether anybody likes it or not. They’re right there, red ink staining white pages, begging in a voice small like a child asking for love. Please see me. I’m here. Nobody taught me how to swim. Please see me.

But nobody does. They walk past you every day. They sit with you, smile at you and laugh with you. They leave you. They stay. They break your heart. Even when they love you, nobody sees you.

You love Taehyung, but you don’t think he understands. He knows you better than almost everyone in this world and he tries to help you in any way he can, but at the end of the day, maybe this isn’t something that a person can understand even if they want to. It’s worse, to realize that perhaps it isn’t because people don’t care enough to see it, but that no matter how hard they try, they can’t.

The only person who has ever come the closest is Jungkook, with his big doe eyes that always see through you and see into you. Sometimes, you think there might be parts of you that he could see but you still don’t. He knew things about yourself that you never want anybody to find out, and he loved you anyway. He went the lengths that nobody ever did because they all gave up after a while. Someone once told you that you felt like a fortress wall impossible to climb, that nobody had the time, the patience to wait for you. In other words, you weren’t worth it. Not worthless, just not worth the effort it would take to break down your walls.

But Jungkook showed up and tried, every day. The one person that you never saw coming. You might have resisted at first, but then you became his biggest supporter. You were rooting for him to know you, how fucked up is that? You were right there. He was so close.

And then he stopped.

You suppose that’s what makes everything awful now – to know that you should let go of him when he’s the only person who ever came that close.

You don’t know how long Taehyung has had to sit here, comforting you like this, but at one point, your stomach starts growling and you feel your best friend trying to hold back a giggle. Jungkook might have mastered the art of loving you, but Taehyung is an expert at comforting you.

“Shut up.” You wipe away the dampness on your cheeks with the back of your hand and push Taehyung off. “Crying makes me hungry.”

“Should I order us fried chicken then?”

“And soju. Get some soju too.”

Jimin is a strategic trickster. There was no dance practice. He just ran around his apartment ten times until his breathing turned ragged, which if you ask anyone, was completely unnecessary. He’s very extra, but at least it was effective.

After he got off the phone with you, Jimin immediately went to your shared phone tracker app – today was one of those times where it proves to be the most useful. He stared at the little circle with a silly photo of you as it moved from your address to Taehyung’s with a couple pit stops along the way. Jimin giggled to himself when he saw your circle meet Taehyung’s, because at that point you two must have realized already that you’d been swindled. Of course, there was always a chance of you leaving the moment you figured out you had come all that way for no reason at all, but when Jimin saw after a couple of hours that the two circles are still next to each other, he knew that you and Taehyung made up already.

Jimin sends a message to your group chat, a simple hello but Taehyung knows what he’s trying to get at. The text thread shared by the three of you lights up with a selfie of you and Taehyung each holding a chicken drumstick and wearing a content smile. In the background, there are some soju bottles, a box of chicken and some fries.

Jimin doesn’t question why your eyes look a little puffier than usual. He just replies with a smiley emoji and a thumbs up. The triumph of his mini victory almost makes him forget that there’s someone else in his home.

Jungkook peeks over Jimin’s shoulder to peek at his phone, curious to see what’s making his friend so delighted. When he sees you and Taehyung on Jimin’s screen, he sinks again, heart sitting in the pit of his stomach. The words you told him just the day before ring loud in his ears, as if they haven’t been stuck on his mind, playing on a loop. 

You’re such a fucking hypocrite.

You weren’t wrong, but man, did that feel like a punch in the gut.

He goes to sit across from Jimin, taking note of every single sound that notifies his friend of a new message. For the first time, he feels like an outsider, like he’s intruding on a private moment.

“I fucked up,” Jungkook admits quietly, cracking open a can of beer and taking a long sip. It makes Jimin look up and put away his phone. “With Y/N,” Jungkook clarifies.

“Yeah, I’ve been informed. That was the stupidest thing you’ve done in a while.”

“In a while? When was the last time I did something stupid?”

Jimin doesn’t even have to think about it. He answers right away, “When you left her.”

Jungkook hums, unclear whether the noise is meant in agreement or just in acknowledgment. His tongue darts out to swipe across his dry lips before he breathes out. “I don’t know what to do. She hasn’t replied to any of my texts. I feel like a fucking asshole.”

“From what I’ve been told, you were a fucking asshole,” Jimin says lightly, his words emphasized with a chuckle like he finds Jungkook’s predicament so funny. “I can’t believe you would say that shit about Yoongi to her right after he confessed.”

Cue a pregnant pause, and a pair of doe eyes staring right into Jimin’s skull, unable to decipher if what he’s hearing is a joke or not.

“Yoongi– what?”

Jimin slaps himself internally. Shit. It slipped, he swears. “Nothing,” he sighs, but he knows it wouldn’t be dropped so easily.

“No. Not nothing,” Jungkook sits up straight and puts his chilled beer down on the table, missing the coaster entirely just to piss off his friend. “The fuck do you mean Yoongi confessed? Confessed what?”

Jimin sighs with pursed lips. “What else? What do you think he confessed to?”

Jungkook gulps, and blinks a few times. When? Why? Was that the reason you looked so distraught yesterday before all that shit went down between you and him? Who confesses to someone in a freaking break room?

Then Jungkook remembers that you and Yoongi went out for drinks last night. What did he say? What did you say? His stomach churns at the thought of something… happening between the two of you.

Jimin takes in his friend’s dumbfounded expression. “Why are you shocked?” he asks. “I thought you expected something like this. Isn’t it why you spewed all that crap about Yoongi flirting with her?”

“Fuck, I don’t know! It feels like the guy is out to get me for some goddamn reason. I thought he was just playing with Y/N to piss me off!”

Jimin shakes his head, looking thoughtful. “Yoongi wouldn’t do that to her.”

“How would you know?”

“Because when they first worked together, from the things that she told us, the stuff that Yoongi would do for her, Taehyung and I thought he liked her back then too,” Jimin says. “This has nothing to do with you.”

It sucks. It fucking sucks.

“Should I go over there?” Jungkook asks, a newfound sense of urgency in his voice that borderlines panic. He’s acting like this fact that Jimin just dumped upon him is unraveling just as this conversation is taking place, but in reality, he’s one of the last people to know. 

“And tell her what? If you’ve said sorry a million times and she hasn’t responded, then saying it one more time won’t change anything.”

“What am I supposed to do when I see her tomorrow?”

“Nothing? Are you incapable of leaving things alone? If she wants to ignore you, let her ignore you. If she wants to yell at you, let her yell at you. If she wants nothing to do with you, let her do that too. Why do you keep making things worse for yourself?”

Jungkook runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “So your solution is for me to just let her hate me?”

Jimin levels him with a look, which just annoys him even more. “You had no problem with that before.”

“If you’re not gonna help me, should I ask Taehyung then?”

“Don’t go to Tae about this.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t,” Jimin snaps, and it makes Jungkook falter for a few seconds before the petulance in him clouds his better judgment.

“Why? He’s her best friend. They’re practically joined at the hip. He’s gotta be able to help me with this.”

“You really want to go to Taehyung for advice on how to suck up to your ex-girlfriend? He’s the most protective of her. What makes you think he would be willing to help you?”

“He’s my friend too, isn’t he? Shouldn’t he want to help all of us be civil with each other?”

“Yeah, he’s your friend. I’m your friend and Y/N’s too. And you’re right, all of us should get along, but we shouldn’t be put in a situation where we’d have to try. You did that to us and nothing is going to be the same again. I don’t even know why you did it. You kept your mouth shut for years no matter how hard me and Taehyung tried to get it out of you. Now you suddenly can’t make peace with the consequences of your actions? Now you want us to help you win over the person you fucked over, who is also our closest friend? I don’t get you, JK. I’m starting to regret not letting Taehyung punch you back then.”

Jungkook stares at his friend. Is this shock that he’s feeling? He still remembers that night, because he doesn’t forget a lot of things. He can’t forget it. He had never seen Taehyung – who is usually so calm and cordial – get that angry before. His friend, who is a saint of a man, felt so much rage toward Jungkook that Jimin had to physically hold him back.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Jimin asks. “You’re not used to me not being on your side all the time?”

He knows that. The only person who seems to be on Jungkook’s side is himself, and sometimes he isn’t sure if this is even true at all. What you told him at the dance studio’s opening party, what Jimin is telling him now, and even the things that Taehyung shouted at him a couple of years back – it’s all true. He knows these things already, but it feels different to hear them from other people. You’re all right; nobody is overreacting. To an outsider, it might come across as harsh, but to anyone who knows anything, it’s rightfully deserved.

Nevertheless, Jungkook admits quietly, “Actually, yeah.”

Jimin sighs, because he knows that his friend has no malicious intent toward you or toward anyone. Jimin knows that Jungkook doesn’t mean to hurt you, any more than he already has. Jungkook is even more crazed now that Yoongi is somehow a factor in all of this. It’s the insecurities bubbling at the surface. He’s panicking and he can’t even see straight. This is just his own stupid take on fight or flight. It was flight for a while, and now apparently it’s not. Jimin doesn’t really understand it, but he gets that this is his friend’s way of dealing with shit. “I tried, man. I did. But it’s really, really hard to have your back on this.”

Jungkook is well aware of it too – that to leave you alone is probably the best thing he can do at this point. Everything he says or does seems to backfire; instead of pulling you closer, all he manages to do is push you further away and make you hate him more than you already do. 

But in a way, isn’t that a good thing? Better to have you hate him than be indifferent toward him. After all, there’s a thin line between love and hate. You yourself blurred this line long ago. You can do it again, can’t you?

Jungkook sits there for a while longer to finish his beer, even though he doesn’t have anything else to say. It’s clear what Jimin’s stance on this is, and no matter what he says, it’s unlikely that anyone will help him try and get back in your good graces. 

Before he leaves, Jimin says something that makes him nauseous. Makes him want to fucking cry and kick something and speed over to your apartment just so you could reassure Jungkook that he’s still the one you hate the most. That all of your feelings, whether they’re good or bad, are still reserved for him and only him.

It isn’t what his best friend should tell him, but it’s what a good friend would say. It's not about Jungkook, it's not about Jimin or Taehyung or anyone else. It's about you, who has been hurt the most here.

“If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too.”

[10:48] Yoongi: Attachment: 2 Images.

[10:49] Yoongi: got yelled at for showing up puffy yesterday

You tap on the notifications and the photos pop up within seconds. It’s Yoongi at his Valentino shoot probably. He never used to send you stuff like this, nor asked you to come watch him at his photoshoots. Why would he? 

You zoom in on his face to inspect if he really was puffy, but you can’t really tell. Maybe if you were a makeup artist with a sharper eye, you would see it. But under your regular-person gaze, everything seemed fine. Yoongi looked handsome in the pictures.

[10:55] You: you don’t look puffy to me

[10:57] Yoongi: so how do i look to you? ;)

[10:58] You: the fits look good

[11:01] Yoongi: i wasn’t asking about the fits

[11:05] You: and i’m telling you the fits look good anyway

[11:07] Yoongi: what about the model?

[11:10] You: are you fishing for compliments?

[11:11] Yoongi: what if i am?

[11:14] You: the model looks Not Puffy

[11:16] Yoongi: you’re no fun ;(

You consider your next reply for a moment. It doesn’t seem like that big a deal. You want to send it. It seems innocent enough, and it’s the truth. A simple praise can’t hurt, right?

Your fingertips tingle just typing the words out. You’re suddenly so jittery for some reason as your thumb hovers over the arrow symbol that would whoosh away your message. It's a good kind of jittery. You might even say that you’re excited.

[11:22] You: the model looks good too

You put your phone face-down on the table, not even checking when it vibrates with Yoongi’s response to your latest text. It’s so weird that you’re feeling like this, maybe because it’s been so long since someone has shown an actual interest in you? Or is it because it’s Yoongi? If it were anyone else, would you still react the same?

It’s weird, but not necessarily weird in a bad way. You just aren’t used to it, or it’s been such a long time that you forgot what it feels like to be… wanted? You don’t think about it often but it’s true, you’ve missed the thrill of being chased.

“So… word on the street is you have a secret song.”

Seokjin’s voice makes you glance up, wondering who he could be talking to when the only people in the room beside him are you and Jungkook – whom you haven’t spoken a word to all morning despite him glancing not-so-subtly at you every two seconds. When you got here this morning, there was already a chai latte on the table with your name on it. The order was too specific for it to be Seokjin, but you didn’t say anything.

“The street?” you ponder for a moment, knowing exactly who the culprit is. “Is that what Yoongi calls himself these days? He’s been here for what? A couple weeks? And he’s already blabbed to you.”

“So it’s true?” Seokjin leans back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yoongi said it’s real good. Top shelf kinda stuff. And you know he never says things like that.”

It’s not a song, or at least that isn’t what you would call it. Maybe more like an essay composed of sentences that go together like misfit puzzle pieces. You don’t think you would ever rework it and pitch it to anyone because it’s yours and it’s personal. You would never tell anyone about it, and Yoongi wouldn’t have come to know about its existence if he hadn’t stumbled across it in your journal by accident.

“Don’t listen to Yoongi,” you say. “At this point, I feel like you should know that Yoongi tends to exaggerate sometimes.”

“He never seems to be exaggerating when it comes to you,” Seokjin muses. You almost blush, thinking about what else Yoongi could’ve told Seokjin. He doesn’t notice the split second in which your cheeks redden just the slightest, or he doesn’t mind it enough to comment. “What’s the title?”

You shrug, saying nothing.

“You can’t even tell me the title? Damn, Y/N. Are you the CIA?”

“I’m not telling you because there is no title. There’s not even a song, just something I go back to sometimes. It’s mostly just word vomit. I promise you, it’s nothing.”

“Tell that to Yoongi. He told me whoever’s gonna get that song is one hell of a lucky bastard.”

Again, what is it with the praise? You know working with Yoongi and being associated with his last album gave your career a boost, but you weren’t aware that he was talking about you with other people. Maybe he only does it with Seokjin because they’re close, but still, it makes you itch with curiosity.

“By any chance are you gonna give it to… me?” Seokjin asks, and seems to immediately hear how flawed it sounds. You stare at him blankly, trying to bite back an amused smile, and even Jungkook turns his head to look too. Seokjin’s ears turn red in an instant. “Okay, that came out kinda wrong. I’m really, really sorry. But you know what I mean.”

You continue to stare at him until his face is so flushed, you swear he’s like a tomato that’s about to burst. You can see why Yoongi likes to tease people this way. “Okay, boss,” you acquiesce with a laugh, relieving Seokjin of the fear that he genuinely offended you. “If the song ever gets to see the light of day, I’ll make sure to ask you to lend your voice.”

“Ah, so you admit it’s a song.” He grins brightly at your empty promise, making you roll your eyes half-heartedly. He goes back to his normal shade in a minute, no longer ridiculously red like a cartoon character. “What’s it about?”

You ponder his question silently, missing the way Jungkook takes this moment to glance at you. When you look up again, he’s already averting his gaze.

What is it about? That’s a question that you yourself have never really considered. It’s about everything and it’s about nothing. It’s love, it’s loss, it’s the infinite in-between. You give Seokjin an answer that won’t satisfy him, but it’s the truth.

“I haven’t figured it out yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

He tuts at you, like he was expecting the obscurity from you anyway. “You’re really not beating the CIA allegations,” he says.

You flip him the bird, which only compels him to stick out his tongue and make a face at you. Then, he diverts his attention to the person who hasn’t contributed anything this whole time.

“JK, why are you so quiet today? We’re not gonna eat you.”

Jungkook mutters something to Seokjin that you don’t quite catch because the words come out of his mouth like an inarticulate mess, which is so unlike him. He sounds jumpy, like he’s too nervous to speak in front of you. Seokjin’s eyes land on you again as he mouths a confused What?

You just shrug, and Seokjin has to take Jungkook’s weird response as him having an off day. The man checks his phone, lets out a quiet whine, then addresses the both of you. “I have a shoot this afternoon so you two will have to hold down the fort, by the way.”

You come back from your solo lunch date to an empty studio.

Well, almost empty. There’s something new that wasn’t there before.

Another chai latte waiting for you equates to another apology hoping to be acknowledged. The paper cup is still hot when your hand reaches out to touch it. You sink into your chair with a sigh. You could laugh at yourself for feeling so nostalgic at the sight of a beverage in the middle of a workday.

Jungkook walks in about 15 minutes later, and the air turns suffocating at his arrival. He feels it too, you know he does. 

You chew on your bottom lip until it starts to hurt, bite down on it until it almost bleeds.

“Jungkook,” you say, catching his attention. It looks like he didn’t expect you to initiate any conversation. It’s not like you want to, but you have to. You keep having to do this, because he just wouldn’t listen. “Stop buying me drinks.”

It translates to: Stop saying sorry. Stop trying to make things right. Stop doing things you think would make me happy. Stop making me have the same argument with you over and over again.

“Because you wouldn’t hear me out,” he says, and proceeds to repeat the one thing that you’re sick of hearing from him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you verbalize it. “If it’s not about work, I don’t think it’s necessary for me to hear it, Jungkook. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You do need to hear it. Because I can’t function properly until you know how sorry I am.”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Hear me out,” he says, sounding a little firmer now but you still catch the crack in his voice. “Please.”

Jungkook must take the way you hesitate to shut down him as reluctant permission for him to keep going, because he stands up and moves to a spot closer to you. Not close enough that he could reach out and touch you, but enough for you to see the tiny mole under his bottom lip and how it quivers when he looks at you.

Fuck. You’re letting him win again.

“Okay, fine. Talk then. I’m listening. You’re sorry, right? You keep saying you’re sorry for everything, but what exactly is everything? What are you even sorry about? Are you sorry about annoying me right now, or are you sorry about being a prick the other day, or are you sorry about leaving me five years ago? When did you become this pathetic, Jungkook?”

“W–what?”

“When did you become so pathetic?” you repeat. “If you had to come back, couldn’t you come back as someone better? Someone who’s sure of himself and has a good life, not this… person who has to grovel at my feet for forgiveness. Even when you were at your lowest, you weren’t like this. I don’t even know who this Jungkook is. What happened to you?”

If you think that you saw him at his lowest, then you’re wrong. He didn’t hit rock bottom until he’d left you and had to live with what he chose to do. 

“You’re right. I am pathetic,” Jungkook agrees, dropping his gaze to the floor like he’s ashamed. “But fuck, I’m trying to be worthy of you.”

It’s a truth that he doesn’t want to face, doesn’t want to admit how very real it is until you’ve just said it and it fucking guts him. He knows his friends pity him sometimes, even if they don’t want to view him as someone to be pitied. No matter how much of a front he puts up, he knows that Jimin and Taehyung see right through him. They won’t say it to his face, and for that Jungkook has gotten away with avoiding this fact for so long. But to hear it from you, to watch you spell it out for him, it hurts.

He wants to mention Yoongi, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t immediately aggravate you. After all, bringing up Yoongi is what got him into this mess, isn’t it?

Regardless, he wants to ask you a question that he already knows the answer to. What does Yoongi have that he doesn’t? The answer is: A lot of things. Yoongi has a lot of things that Jungkook doesn’t, one of them being the self-assurance to not run away when it comes to you and what you deserve.

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t, because he’s scared it might drive you right into Yoongi’s arms and Jungkook can’t compete with a man like that.

He can barely keep up even with just himself in the running.

There’s a big question mark that pops up in your head, along with a slight sting in your eyes that you blink away. You’ve never seen Jungkook like this before. This whole time, was it not only you who was miserable?

He looks so small that it breaks your heart. For once, you aren’t sad for yourself but you’re sad for him. It never occurred to you that he could’ve been lonely too, having to keep all of this inside because you know he didn’t share it with anyone else. You catch a glimpse of him again, like you did when you were making ramen together in your kitchen while a storm was raging outside. In a lot of ways, Jungkook is still that kid stuck in an adult’s body, lost and scared and loved you. It feels like you could’ve seen him in the same ocean while you were just trying to keep your head above water.

The sight of him, so vulnerable and astray, placates you. Your resolve crumbles, but not like it was ever that strong to begin with. You suppose you could see why he was being a jerk to you. Even though it doesn’t justify what he said, you understand just a little bit where he was coming from. You find yourself forgiving him for some of it. It’s part of letting things go, right?

But no matter how much you want to reach out and comfort him, you know you shouldn’t. What are you supposed to do in a situation like this? You’re confused and it feels like you two have been going around in a circle, looking for a solution that doesn’t seem to exist.

Coexisting doesn’t work. Telling him to leave things alone doesn’t work. What else can you do?

Why do you have to resolve a problem that isn’t even yours? Jungkook says he’s trying, but his efforts keep making your life harder and harder. You practically blew up in his face, then apologized for being harsh even though you were fully aware that you had nothing to be sorry for. You called him a hypocrite and now you’re ready to cave just because he’s on the verge of shedding a few tears. This constant back and forth between your anger and your reluctance to see that anger through is possibly the thing that’s hindering you.

You can’t – and shouldn’t – accommodate him anymore. You have to put your foot down, no matter how difficult it is with the lingering ghost of your past love.

Because you’re always weak when it comes to Jungkook.

Because you’re still holding onto something.

Because Jungkook will always be the first person that you have ever loved, and those four years meant a lot to you even if they didn’t to him. Maybe it’s even fair to say that you might never truly get over it, and that doesn’t have to be such a terrible thing. Maybe he was never the person you thought he was, or maybe you never meant as much to him as he did to you. Somehow, that’s okay. It’s manageable because it’s routine at this point. You’ve internalized it. The years have taught you that sometimes, things get shitty just because they can and you just have to deal with it.

The intrinsic pain of the human experience. C’est la vie.

What a world this is.

Is it bad that you’re thinking about Yoongi in a moment like this?

Yoongi could be your future, if you’d let him.

You should let him. Maybe this is your answer right here. 

“Jungkook, let’s stop.” He looks at you with crestfallen eyes, but you have to keep going. The only way out is through. “Let’s stop. You want me to listen to you, but you haven’t been listening to me. I don’t have the strength to keep this up anymore, and I have told you that repeatedly but you wouldn’t listen. Jungkook, move on.”

You pretend not to notice how his lip trembles even more. “What if I don’t want to move on?”

This feels like a conversation that should’ve happened ages ago. Five years ago, you should’ve screamed at him, cried with him, held each other as you both fell apart. He stripped you of that right and gave you no say at all.

“You’re being awfully selfish,” you tell him, but in your head, you’re already thinking about what his words actually mean. 

“Have you completely written me off then? Is there nothing at all that I can do? Because I would do anything if you asked. You know that.”

Your throat is so dry that it feels like you’re swallowing sand. You dig everything back up again until you find the memory of that day hidden at the very bottom.

It’s terrible. He’s making you relive it again.

“I remember calling for you and you didn’t even look back,” you say, but your voice breaks toward the end. “I can’t trust you anymore.”

Jungkook just stares at you then, and for the longest time, neither of you say anything. This is the first time that you two have addressed the problem, properly addressed it instead of half-heartedly sweeping it under the rug like you tried to do. 

You breathe in, he breathes out. You hate the way you feel, and you resent the way he looks like he’s breaking down just as badly. There are tears in those eyes, tears that Jungkook doesn’t let spill because he defiantly wipes them away with the back of his hand after a moment. 

When he speaks next, you want the world to end.

“Then I’ll earn your trust back. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I will.”

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted january 21, 2023]

[judegrigsby]

Name: Jude Grigsby Occupation: Moonlight Skate Attendant / Aspiring Twitch Streamer Age: 29 Sexuality: Pansexual Species: Werewolf Clan/Pack/Coven?: Cerberus Hometown: Port Leiry, OR Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: Goofy, Earnest, Absent-Minded, Fickle, Impatient

Biography

1995 - Chrono Trigger

Birth. The day he was born, his father had been playing a game he'd picked up at Hollywood Video. Jude doesn't know much of the story except that by the time they all arrived back home - the game was still playing on the TV.

The first few years of his life were filled with your usual mind-numbing childhood stories. He played too much in the dirt, making fake potions for his mom and dad to try. He drew on all the walls in his room, and then his father decided to paint one entire wall of his bedroom in chalkboard paint instead of punishing him. His parents were amazing, though a little too young to have a child. They did their best, struggled with money just like everyone else.

His favorite memories consist of sitting on his father's lap, watching him play games on his SNES or being read college textbooks as bedtime stories by his mother.

2000 - Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2

5 Years Old. The first time his grubby kid hands touched a controller, it was a skateboarding game with music that blew his tiny little mind. Of course, he had no idea how to play the damn thing, being five - but that didn't stop him from begging to play it everyday or watch his father do it.

That year was also the time when things started to look a little better monetary wise. They could buy games instead of just renting them. His mom had finished up college and got a damn good job at the hospital, while his dad kept going steady at his back-breaking construction job. Jude remembers those days fondly - the weeks they shifted from eating hamburger helper and $5 Little Caesar's pizza to actually going out for Mexican food every Wednesday and beef stew on Sundays.

2005 - Psychonauts

10 Years Old. Things were great. Then they were bad again. In the span of five years, they went from comfortably living to moving their grandparents into their home - sick from being too old, they needed care. His home went from a safe haven to a warzone. His mother and his father's parents were at odds with one another almost constantly, and Jude was caught in the middle of it - told things about either side that surely should have been none of his business. It was too much stress on him - and he went from always hanging out with his father to shut away in his room, playing games there by himself.

Psychonauts taught him a lot, but not enough.

At ten, Jude started to realize that he was a bit different from a lot of the other guys he'd started to befriend, too. In public, he and his friends talked about how much they hated being around girls. In private, the guy who spent the night at his house all the time would talk about one girl all the time in particular. And he could relate, mostly. But his mind would always drift to his friend. There was a spark of jealousy there that he couldn't really understand until much later.

The differences he started to show socially were picked up on by his grandparents, who only used that as fuel for the flames of war.

2010 - Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood

15 Years Old. Five years of absolute hell ended in an instant. An accident and old age, and they were finally rid of the elderly parasites that had stolen every ounce of warmth and happiness in their home. He, himself, had grown to resent them - especially with the onset of puberty and heightened emotions borne from hormones.

His mother wasn't the same caring woman she used to be - her own stress and the years had taken a toll on her. 2010 was the year his father was put out of work. He'd been careless, overcome with grief after losing his parents and his strained marriage, he'd fallen on the job and broken his back. From one caregiver position to another.

But while he was home recovering from surgery, Jude found a connection with him again - through games. He showed his dad what he'd been missing, and they found a mutual love for the Assassin's Creed series, taking turns and playing the missions his father couldn't quite do because of his new lack of dexterity. They'd discuss the stories they were experiencing, play old games together. His bitterness at this new normal slowly faded, and while they didn't exactly have the funds like they had earlier in his life - Jude knew that it wasn't everything.

He came out to his father late one night when neither of them could sleep: Jude, too wired on the idea of telling someone - and his father, in too much pain to sleep. They watched a few episodes of Eureka Seven (Jude's choice) and finally he blurted it out, unable to stop himself from crying. Though his father couldn't move to hug him, he'd patted Jude's hand and told him that it was all okay. They talked until the sun came up - in between games and anime. This was also when Jude told his father about having his first crush - on Kevin Ma.

2015 - Bloodborne

20 Years Old. High school was filled with healing, love, and heartache. His family had finally found a way to co-exist with one another again. Though his father would never work again, and couldn't exactly move as well as he used to - he was able to process his grief in the time healing and found a way to show his love to his wife. Of course, Jude watched all of it while still pining for his own crush.

It was almost too messy, in the end. He'd confessed to Kevin, made a move, even. And while he swore up and down that he was in love with him - Kevin wasn't nearly as ready to shout to the world that they were together. It hurt, because of course it hurt - and it made Jude feel as if his own feelings and care for the other boy weren't enough. Too young and too naive to understand what it might have been like for him, they broke up right before college - with Jude swearing that they could be friends. It worked for a while, but Jude eventually stopped responding to texts, though not exactly on purpose.

College was meant to be the start of his life. High school hell was over, and he could finally move on and be an adult - only his grades weren't up to snuff, and neither were his test scores. Every option he'd tried was out of the question, and his family landed right in the middle between earning just enough to not get enough benefits and too little to cover full tuition. So college became a pipe dream - and Jude turned to working.

He tried a few places over the years after high school, but finally landed and stuck at Moonlight Skate.

2020 - Hades

25 Years Old. Five years at a dead end job would make anyone want to explode customer's brains, Jude tells himself. It's not all bad, though. At least it's not fast food. The job, while retail and not exactly the end all be all of money, is steady enough to allow him to get his own place. He helps his parents out with what he has left over out of his checks, and while they don't expect it of him, they're grateful.

It's a normal life. A lonely one, but a normal one. Without the ease of making friends in college, Jude finds he doesn't exactly have many left. He has game nights with his parents, and sometimes getting his father out on walks over to the arcade - but for the most part, all the socializing he gets is with his coworkers and some of the regulars at the rink.

It's not so bad, he tells himself over and over again. Better to be safe and somewhat lonely than stranded far from home. He finds solace, mostly, in the internet. There are a few people who hop in on his streams - one mod, four regulars, and a handful of people who pop in and out. It's nice.

He thinks about maybe getting a cat so his apartment isn't so quiet.

2024 - Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree

29 Years Old. He does get a cat. A small calico kitten named Meru.

Moonlight Skate has never once been a dangerous place to work. If anything, it's almost boring in the way that there's little to no excitement. Sometimes, he'll duck into the back and house a slushie before the rush or chomp on a frozen pickle juice but - the only excitement that brings is a righteous brain freeze.

Except, y'know. Port Leiry's weird, and always has been. People talk about not walking alone at night and watching your back during the full moon, but Jude never really gives anything like that much thought. After all, it's a tourist town and feeds off of the spooky stories to get more money.

These things always do have a way of catching up.

He'd biked to work that morning, and usually it's fine - but he'd had to cover a double for the closing shift. Biking alone at night wasn't all that bad usually, but the night was a full moon. Coyotes were howling, and it set him on edge.

A flurry of motion results in a crashed bike, searing pain, and oozing blood from a bite mark gorged deep into his forearm. The next morning, the wound is practically gone.

A month later, and he finds out just exactly how 'spooky' Port Leiry really is.

Wanted Plots

High School Sweetheart (Kevin Ma); Jude and Kevin dated previously in high school but ultimately broke up because Jude could not handle being kept a secret and did not understand why Kevin needed to keep it that way.

The Wolf (0/1); A total accident in which a werewolf lost control and Jude biked too close to where they were hunting. Would be like a mentor to Jude, though he's still unsure exactly how to process the whole 'werewolves are real and i am one' thing.

A Family Friend or Two; Someone who saw all of the drama that happened in the Grigsby family and helped them through the strife with his grandparents and through his father's accident. This person would be like an aunt or an uncle to Jude, and someone he feels comfortable speaking to constantly.

The Bestie (0/1); This is exactly what it says on the tin. He doesn't have very many friends, and really only talks to most people through online servers or social media - but this is someone who he's been able to keep in touch with over the years. Would have been someone he went to school with up until high school graduation.

Any and all Cerberus packmates.

Previous hook-ups. None of these would be serious, and Jude would not have any lingering feelings for them. Basically something to scratch an itch every now and again. Could still be good friends afterwards.

[pepper-doyle]

Phoebe "Pepper" Doyle | Virgo Sun | ESFP-A

Archetype — The Joker/Innocent Child Birthday — September 12th, 1999. Zodiac Sign — Virgo MBTI — ESFP-A Enneagram — 8 Temperament — Choleric Hogwarts House — Slytherin Moral Alignment — Chaotic Good? Primary Vice — Hot Tempered Primary Virtue — Loyal Element — Water

Overview: Mother — Dorothy Doyle Father — Dylan Doyle Mother’s Occupation — Co-Owner of the Black Spire Bar, pack leader Father’s Occupation — Co-Owner of the Black Spire Bar, secondary pack leader Family Finances — average, middle class Birth Order — Second born, middle child of the triplets, also older sibling for her younger twin siblings Brothers — Roland, Lucky, Denver Sisters — Declan Other Close Family — Douglas Doyle (Uncle), Delilah Doyle (grandma) Best Friend — tbd Other Friends — tbd Enemies — her ex, some mundus, vampires Pets — none currently Home Life During Childhood — Nice and peaceful, Pepper grew up loved in her community. Town or City Name(s) — What Did His or Her Bedroom Look Like — Different posters of bands, musicians she admires, Any Sports or Clubs — Anime club growing up, also DnD Favorite Toy or Game — FFXIV, Ark: Survival Evolved Schooling — Graduated from High School Favorite Subject — Any music class she had Popular or Loner — in between Important Experiences or Events — getting dumped by her first boyfriend in high school, her brother and therefore her exposure to hte public Nationality — American Culture — Werewolf Pack Culture Religion and beliefs — Atheist

Physical Appearance Face Claim — Emily Rudd Complexion — Pale Hair Colour — Brown for now, she does dye it Eye Colour — Blue Height — 5' 5" Build — thin Tattoos — a pack tattoo on her back Piercings — ears, and belly button Common Hairstyle — usually just down, sometimes in a pony tail, not very styled Clothing Style — jeans and a shirt, sometimes flannel, leather jackets common Mannerisms — drumming her fingers on her leg Usual Expression — a neutral sort of face?

Health Overall (do they get sick easily)? — No she stays pretty healthy Physical Ailments — none Neurological Conditions — None that she's aware of Allergies — penicillin Grooming Habits — She keeps pretty clean most of the time Sleeping Habits — Late nights gaming so she can sometimes wake up really late Eating Habits — she likes a good steak, but generally she eats relatively balanced meals. Will eat ramen for days though if the budget's tighter Exercise Habits — she occasionally goes to the gym, mostly does zumba classes Emotional Stability — Semi stable Body Temperature — Warm Sociability — Social Addictions — None Drug Use — None Alcohol Use — Socially

Your Character’s Character: Bad Habits — picking at split ends Good Habits — tidying up after herself where she can Best Characteristic — Loyal! Worst Characteristic — Hot Tempered Worst Memory — The day her brothers fought and everything fell apart Best Memory — When she first learned to play the drums! Proud of — her band and how it progressed Embarrassed by — her brothers sometimes Driving Style — somewhat chaotic Strong Points — Her personality Temperament — A little hot as said Attitude — Confident Weakness — She's a bit judgmental Fears — losing her brothers for real, never succeeding, anti-werewolf rhetoric Phobias — Claustrophobic Secrets — she thinks if she had been in charge of the band they might never have fallen apart Regrets — Not stepping between her brothers and their tension sooner Feels Vulnerable When — anyone calls her on her bs. She's put up a lot of barriers, so if anyone catches her in a lie, or when someone realizes she's not so tough as she likes to act Pet Peeves — Being interrupted Conflicts — Her werewolf status exposed to the world Motivation — to find her brothers and help them reunite Short Term Goals and Hopes — Find Lucky, figure out what's up with the band Long Term Goals and Hopes — Get past the werewolf bias and become a successful solo artist. Sexuality — Heterosexual probably Exercise Routine — somewhat regular Day or Night Person — Night Introvert or Extrovert — Extrovert Optimist or Pessimist — Realist Greatest Want — to become a well respected solo artist Greatest Need — to connect with her brothers again

[multi-lefaiye]

!!!!! multi!!! im glad youre back!! ive missed seeing your icon on my dash! ive been working so much on my silly little stories with my silly little guys, idk if ive told you about them but its my time traveling story, im finally beefing my characters and getting to know them better! ive been using a prompt list for june and forcing myself to write something for this story everyday and its been going really well!! (i can tell you more if youd like) i keep making everything really sad and tragic tho..... dunno whats up with that lmao. is there anything youve been working on recently??

RUNS AT YOU hiiiii!! :D yeah yeah!!! i never like. reallly left but i'm not gonna pretend i haven't been a bit MIA lmao......... have not had the energy to engage with people that much lately. BUT today is a new day and i am beating the sleeby boy allegations.

YEAH YOU'VE TOLD ME A LITTLE!!! oh that's so fucking cool OMG i'm so excited you're having so much fun with them and developing them more! i love your little guys okay they mean SO MUCH to me!!! and OHHH YES YES HELLO??? okay, if you don't mind, can you PLEASE send some of that my way??? or if you want please feel free to tag me in it if you post it! because i love your stuff so so much and i want to go off the shits.

and regardless, you're always welcome to come into my inbox and talk to me about what you're working on. at all times. i encourage you to do it!!!!! also that's so real. something about giving fictional people problems........ intoxicating.

but yes yes!!! so like i said i haven't had much energy to work on stuff lately, but i do have some things i've been bouncing around! a big thing is a tftgs fanfic character study i'm tentatively titling "in case you don't live forever," centered around jack and his relationship with his ex-girlfriend sabine.

sabine is such a fascinating character to me for loads of reasons, many of them being the fact that we learn basically nothing about her. she is the epitome of a character who haunts the narrative, at least in my opinion, and this started as like... me exploring what i think she was like. what kind of person she was. it then evolved into an exploration of what might've happened if sabine had *lived* and gotten to be happy.

so it's an au where she and jack run away together and start a new life in a new state. it's super emotional and tender and sweet and writing it is really cathartic and healing for me. i'm also using it as an opportunity to explore concepts that are tried and true multi-lefaiye classics: mental health, trauma, queerness, and how they all blend together at times. most of all, though, it's about healing.

i'm including an excerpt under the cut!

It’s just after two in the morning on a Saturday night in mid-2007, and for the last time, Sabine Lemoyne stands alone in her childhood bedroom.

She’s had this room since she was eight, and the decorations haven’t changed much in the following decade. The walls are the same soft, muted purple she adored growing up, plastered with posters for old movies and bands she hasn’t listened to in years, and it nicely complements the pink shag carpet beneath her feet. Her immaculate bedspread is bright and cheery, covered in colorful illustrations of grinning flowers and vibrant greenery. Her favorite childhood stuffed animal, a little pink cat named Eevie, sits on the desk across from her bed, watching her with vacant glass eyes.

Her room has always brought her some modicum of comfort, a sanctuary of peace and solitude in a tumultuous world, but now, standing in the mausoleum of times long since passed, it feels stifling. She can’t breathe in here.

Sabine has to leave. And that’s exactly what she intends to do.

The duffel bag on her bed has been packed for days now, and she’s only just finished packing the backpack leaning against it. Inside the duffel bag, she’s packed clothes, books, and an extra pair of shoes; the backpack, meanwhile, holds her toiletries, six hundred dollars in cash, and two laminated folders. Inside one folder are two bus tickets, set for departure in one hour.

[desirepathzine]

Revisiting Just Kids

Patti Smith's first published memoir, Just Kids, has cemented its status as one of the greats. Enchantingly told, an endearing portrait of two artists, Smith and her lifelong twinflame Robert Mapplethorpe, coming of age in late 60s/early 70s New York, while also chronicling the legendary Chelsea Hotel.

Every time I go to an art museum, it's in the gift shop. Every time I see a BookTok video recommending memoirs, it's usually there. When Patti sang Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Rey at a concert a few weeks ago, the pinned comment referred everyone to read Just Kids.

Just Kids entered my life shortly after its publication in 2010, when I was twelve years old. I was a kid fascinated by punk, The Runaways were my favorite, but I knew that everybody I loved honored and respected Patti Smith, even though her music didn't really mesh with what I had going on at the time. But she was the godmother of punk and I needed to know what the big deal was. I had read a few of the more shocking and exploitative rockstar memoirs, perhaps a little too early for a largely very sheltered 12 year old. I was anticipating something with stories about life on the road, the dangerous life of making punk rock (I was 12, let her dream), and lots of stories about other legendary musicians and artists.

I picked up Just Kids shortly after my birthday expecting to be scandalized and fascinated. That's not the kind of book it ended up revealing itself to be.

Instead it was a sweet, poignant, minutely remembered, and very moving story about two people who were meant to experience life and art together. I wept openly several times reading it. Even at 12, not quite grasping everything I was reading (I would not look at a Mapplethorpe photograph for many years after reading this book, I was too young!) But it opened up the possibility within me that art was going to be something that I was going to live for too, and that it could happen.

I'm 26 now. And I'm about to move out of my childhood bedroom, something I had meant to do earlier in my life, but. It was 2020 when I graduated college and that didn't work out. I'm moving back to a big city, with a steady normal 9-5 to stay alive, but that's not what drew me back to the city. Art did, and does, and will continue to do so.

As I've been packing and sorting and paying too much money to do things necessary for my survival, I decided to do my re-read of Just Kids that I inevitably do every few years. I think the last time was in the twilight days of the covid lockdowns, when I was waking up at 2pm and going to bed whenever I could get my brain to quiet enough to let me rest. I remember reading it while rehearsing for my church's Hanging of the Green performance in high school, a fellow choir member chastising me for its back cover, which featured Robert and Patti kissing in a photobooth. I brought it with me on my last trip to New Orleans, but was too busy traversing the city to begin the re-read, so it sat in my backpack observing our hotel room quietly.

I finished it last night, sitting around boxes packed of everything I have accumulated in my life that is worth taking with me to the next chapter. The ending, with Robert passed and Patti left to tell their story, always gets me, but it really touched me in a way that felt like I'd finally grown into myself as an adult, as an artist, and as someone who was willing to do anything they could to create what they needed to create.

I have been anxious, afraid, overwhelmed; all of the big emotions that come with going out into the world on your own. Just Kids has been a balm on me, in many ways.

Because the book has been in my life for so long, there is an immediate sense of nostalgia when I pick up my old copy, the first paperback edition with the simple black and white cover, still somehow holding together despite all the places I've taken it and all the times I've read it. There is a comfort to its worn out pages. I know exactly where all of my favorite passages and photographs are, it is dogeared and loved. So as an object that has been in my life for so long, there is something comforting about seeing it in my backpack or feeling it in my hands again.

Just Kids also soothes my fears about going out into the world in a real way. It's not that nothing bad or strange or upsetting happens within the book, in fact many things do, but it is the fact that there is perseverance, friendship, romance, and magic in the world that can outweigh the fears and hardships of survival.

But mostly, it reassures me. Patti and Robert's devotion to their art, to each other, to pursuing their artistic heights, and to the community of friends that surrounded them and would support them in return, it's beautiful. I can get tunnel vision when going into a new task or situation. When I audition for a new show, I always think it's going to be me alone in front of a table of people who are there to judge me. I always forget about the camaraderie of those in the audition greenroom with you, of the stage managers that make sure your blazer collar is smoothed down, the ADs who make sure the water stays supplied, and that those people judging you at the table are just people at the end of the day trying to do what you're doing: create something great. It's been the same with moving and working: I picture myself alone at a desk and thrown into the waters of my new work. But that's not how it will be. There will be people. There will be community. I'm already connected to the arts community, as well as the musical subcultures in the city where I will move. I go to their goth nights, I go to exhibition openings at the museum, and there are at least two waiters at my favorite cafe who know my drink order when I stop by for the carb up for a night of dancing.

Art cannot be made alone. I will not be alone. Just Kids reminds me of that.

[bloodymary83]

“I Found Puppets Living My Apartment Walls” by, Ben Farthing Part I

“I Found Puppets Living in My Apartment Walls” by, Ben Farthing is more of a dark comedy than the Splatterpunk it is advertised as. It is refreshing to read a Splatterpunk book that does not include plot unrelated CSA for merely shock value in an effort for the author to prove how much of an “Edge Lord” they are. This book has spelling, grammar and punctuation errors, along with run on sentences. It doesn’t really bother me since the story is actually interesting but, if that bothers you, you may want to skip this book. The Publisher is Dread Farthing (Sounds Self Published) which explains the mistakes (This is not shade. If you’ve ever poured over a story for countless hours you tend to not notice everything. Author probably doesn’t have an editor it could be just the author doing everything by themselves even big publications make mistakes.) It’s also harder to get taken in by a large publisher which is a shame because, this author actually has talent. This book is only 156 pages so it is more of a novella it is part of a series called,”I Found Horror”. For a shorter book my review is actually longer so this will be in two parts. ⛔️ Spoiler and Trigger Warnings this book is intended for 18+ audiences only reader discretion is advised. Graphic depictions of violence, gore, self harm, mental illness, emotional abuse, child d*ath and depictions of the occult are in this book. Brittany and Johnny grew up watching their puppeteer Grandfather bring their beloved childhood characters to life in R -City Street (a show very similar to the long running Sesame Street) before, the show was cancelled for an unknown reason (urban legend states that it was due to a stage light falling on a child resulting in their d*ath.). Brittainy and Johnny’s grandfather was discovered to be missing during the C*vid epidemic. After a year their grandfather was proclaimed d*ad by the US Government. Cousins Johnny and Brittany were informed that they would need to collect their grandfather’s belongings from his apartment so the space could be sold to new renters. Their Grandfather’s apartment building is the old studio where R-City Street was recorded. The studio had been renovated into apartments after the cancellation of the show and all former performers for the studio were offered free lodging there as a thank you for their decade long work. Brittany, even in her adulthood is still an avid fan of R-City Street. Some of her fondest memories are of when she and her cousin Johnny would visit their grandfather during the summer and watch him perform from the live audience. John has not kept his childhood enthusiasm for the show but still remembers it fondly. On the first night there, Johnny decides to sleep in his grandfather’s old bedroom. During the night John has a nightmare. He sees his grandfather’s old puppet Swoomie hovering over him menacingly. Swoomie is a 5ft tall puppet like Grover from Sesame Street. Swoomie takes his long felt finger and pokes Johnny looking for a response but, Johnny is paralyzed with fear and does not move. Swoomie slumps back into the shadows and disappears. Johnny must have fallen back asleep because the story continues with the next morning. Johnny finds a clump of blue fur in his grandfather’s bedroom puzzled as he goes to show his cousin Brittany. Brittany brushes off the whole incident saying it was just John’s mind subconsciously playing tricks on him due to the stress of not finding their grandfather. Brittany goes about cleaning and packing up items to be removed from the apartment. John does so as well until a he notices a pencil stuck in his grandfather’s bedroom wall. He goes to pull the pencil out noticing the wallpaper is attached with velcro and underneath is a “ Coraline” type pathway leading into the original studio of R-City Street. Brittany hoping to find the original puppets runs off leaving Johnny behind.

[vividwritinglove]

next door XII - a Pierre Gasly series

thanks to every new follower and the comments I receive for this series ❤️ means a lot to me!

————————————————————————

pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader

warnings: fluff + smut (again) at the end 🔥

word count: 3K

————————————————————————

Pierre's family was anything but thrilled that he would not be spending New Years Eve with them as planned. Especially his father seemed to be a little disappointed in him. Everyone's mood was a bit dejected and Pierre felt very guilty because of it. He retreated to his room to change for dinner and the following midnight mass in church.

He heard a soft knock at his door.

"Come in!" he said without hesitation as he was putting on the golden cufflinks with his initials on, that his father had given him for Christmas last year.

"Pierre?" his mother asked timidly, slowly entering his old room. She had to grin at the sight of him sitting on his by now too-small bed, it had been a long time seeing him in his childhood bedroom.

Pierre looked up from his wrists and couldn't quite interpret the look on his mother's face, "Maman, the last thing I wanted to do was ruin anyone's holidays..."

"No, no, no, Pierre." she said immediately and rushed towards him to sit on the bed next to him, "No one is mad or angry with you.".

She immediately calmed him down and put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him, "We're just a little confused. It's pretty spontaneous after all.".

"I know." sighed Pierre, scratching the back of his head, "But it feels different this time."

"What makes her so different?" his mother asked, genuinely interested, smiling at him encouragingly.

And then he talked about you: how you wrapped him around your little finger at first sight, how incredibly well you can talk to each other and you two were directly on the same page, that you and him share the same sad fate and he finally feels that he has someone at his side who can also handle and support him emotionally. That you are the smartest person he ever met, which has great taste, not only in interior but also in fashion and on top of that, you are an excellent cook.

Pierre's mom watched her youngest son very closely as he euphorically talked about you, gesticulating animatedly as well. It seemed really different this time and she was genuinely happy for Pierre. He lived so far away from her and she wished nothing more for her child to live a happy and content life and have someone by his side that will be there for him no matter what and love him unconditionally.

"She sounds like a fabulous women." concluded Pierre's mother as he finished his praise of you. Pierre nods in agreement, smiled at her gratefully and hugged her, "You're going to love her."

"Well, just bring her along next time!" she suggested, continuing smiling and stroking his cheek affectionately, „And don’t worry about Papa! He’s going to be fine.“.

"Merci, Maman."

Pierre spent 2 wonderful days with his big family and lots of good food. He really enjoyed the time together with his parents and brothers. For the new year he wanted to spend much more time with them and wants to bring you to every single family event, so they can experience how amazing you are.

~ ~ ~

The last 2 days you were completely under pressure. You rummaged through your moving boxes for your summer clothes, which you had not yet unpacked, because it was simply not necessary since it is winter. You also didn't want to pack too much, so that Pierre would probably declare you crazy. After 3 hours you were satisfied with your selection of clothes and brought everything into your bedroom, to start packing your suitcase. The rest of the time until the departure you looked for travel information about Tulum and watched "drive to survive" on Netflix. You make it to season 2 and especially Pierre's story gripped you a lot. From sadness to anger, pretty much every emotion was represented in you during the episodes. Pierre already told you that the show portrayed some storylines a little too exaggerated, but after all it was still true.

Pierre kept sending you photos of himself and his wonderful family. He celebrated a chaotic but harmonious Christmas with them. Just as he had wished and imagined. You are very happy for him and can hardly wait to see him again.

Finally the time had come - you were already sitting in the shuttle to Milan airport that Pierre had organized for you. He got you a VIP treatment, which was a little too much for you. Pierre wanted to spoil you and therefore the best was almost not good enough.

You quickly arrived at the airport and checked in. You were escorted to the First Class Lounge, so that you can wait undisturbed for boarding to the flight to Paris. It was easier to fly via Paris because there was a direct flight to Cancun from there. Pierre had really thought of everything and so far it has been going like clockwork.

Almost 2 hours later you landed in Paris and were again brought to the next First Class lounge, where Pierre was already waiting for you. As soon as you saw him you rushed towards him and hugged him tightly like you hadn't seen him in weeks. Pierre was very happy about your reaction. Now he was sure that you felt safe around him. It was the best confirmation he could have received. He wrapped his arms tightly around you and lifted you a little, his face in your open and soft hair. Finally he had your scent in his nose. He had wished for nothing more than to be close to you again.

"Hey you!" you said grinning and kissing him lovingly.

"You? Last time you called me babe..." laughed Pierre, after he pulled away from your lips.

You rolled your eyes at him, but then joined in his laughter, "I was hoping you forgot."

"Never!" still laughing, Pierre kissed you demanding afterwards.

Pierre and you sat down at the big window front and watched the planes taking off and landing.

"Are you excited?" asked Pierre, he had been watching you the whole time and noticed the nervous bobbing of your leg.

"More than excited." you said with a smile and looked at him gratefully. You put your arms around him again and nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, "Thanks, babe."

Pierre had to grin at the nickname and puts his arm around your shoulder to pull you even closer to him.

A few minutes later you were sitting in your seats in the plane, getting comfortable for a nearly 11 hour flight. You couldn't wait to be in the sun, it had just been way too long for you to take a private trip and most of all you were looking forward to spend time with Pierre and what he had in store for you.

The first hours of the flight passed by quickly. You buried yourself in an eBook on your iPad and Pierre took a nap. After a while, you looked at your phone and checked your social media accounts, especially Instagram.

You didn't care about the amount of likes or follower. For you, social media was just a communication channel to be connected with friends and acquaintances around the world and share some nice pictures with them. Pierre's follower count was utopian for you, never would you want that much attention. The pressure behind it, to constantly post and give your fans what they expect from you, was unimaginable to you.

Since Pierre followed you, you've had hundreds of requests from people you didn't know. Among them mainly fan pages and many younger women, probably also fans of Pierre. It triggered an uneasiness in you. Your privacy is incredibly important to you, so you left the requests unanswered.

On the contrary: you went into your settings and restricted your profile even more, only friends were able to message you now. Likewise, you sorted out your already low follower count. Only people you really knew were among them now.

"What are you doing?" Pierre asked curiously. He had been watching you for the last few minutes, meticulously cleaning up your Instagram profile and making it inaccessible to any strangers.

"Just taking precautions." you said casually, going through your previous posts to weed them out as well.

Pierre was completely different in that regard. He could handle the media hype and got a lot of training because of his job.

"Are you ashamed of me?" he asked teasingly.

Your head snapped up at him, "Of course not. The internet can be a scary place sometimes...".

Pierre nods at you in agreement, "So I'd better not post anything about you and our vacation?".

You think about it long. You had nothing to hide, but serving up your life on a silver platter to everyone was just not your style.

"By season's start, everyone will be wondering who this beautiful, gorgeous and above all extremely hot woman at my side is." Pierre said confidently, kissing your temple with each compliment.

"Such a charmer!" you grinned.

"It should actually be my middle name!" he joined in your laughter, "But seriously! I want you to come with me!".

"We should talk about this again at a later point." you offered him diplomatically. Pierre was not satisfied with your answer, he had hoped that you would be happy to travel around the world with him and support him live on site at the race weekends.

"Pierre, this is all new to me. I've never dated anyone in the public eye before!" you explained to him as you noticed his crestfallen expression, "I want this with us, I want you! But just give me a little time to get used to it, okay?".

Pierre nods and pressed a passionate kiss to your lips. You're really different from his ex-girlfriends and maybe that's the key to a long and working relationship.

For the rest of the flight you watched series on Netflix, your favorite shared series is Peaky Blinders. The flight was very pleasant, but you two were still exhausted and desperate for a comfy bed. Fortunately, you didn't have to wait long for your suitcases and the transport to the resort was already ready for you. A driver was waiting in the entrance hall of Cancun airport with a sign of his and your initials, so no one would guess it was Pierre at first glance.

The transfer to the resort in Tulum took another hour, so you finally arrived around early afternoon. Pierre quickly checked in and with a golf cart you were driven to your beach bungalow. You couldn't get out of your amazement. It was pure nature around you and you were relatively far away from all the other guests, so you got the feeling to be completely alone here with Pierre.

Pierre chatted briefly with the page boy and tipped him as you stood on the outdoor terrace of the bungalow, admiring the view. Besides a large daybed, there was a private pool with a Jacuzzi. Only a few stairs lead directly to a private beach area.

You closed your eyes and greedily soaked up the warmth of the sun rays. That's exactly what you needed after all the stress of moving and the new job and also because of the winter in Milan. An energy boost spread through your body, that made you smile and a few tears of joy ran down your cheeks.

Pierre watched you as you walked to the wooden balustrade and seemed to soak up the surroundings. He walked up to you and hugged you from behind. He pulled your cotton blouse over your shoulder and kissed the exposed skin tenderly. With pleasure you rested your head against his and snuffled a little.

Abruptly Pierre stopped kissing your shoulder, turned you towards him and cupped your face with his hands.

"Mon cœur, what's wrong?" he asked softly, looking at you with concern. His thumbs wiped over your tears of joy. You smiled slightly and put your hands around his wrists, "Nothing. I'm just happy.".

Relief spread through Pierre, for a second he thought he had brought you too quickly into something you didn't want.

"It's so incredibly beautiful here. I want to enjoy every second with you." you said in a soft voice and Pierre pressed a passionate kiss on your lips.

"I hate to say this, but I need to check out the gym here..." murmured Pierre as he reluctantly breaks away from you, "Pyry has already sent me tons of exercise videos and workout plans."

"I get it. March isn't that long away."

"You know when the season starts?" asked Pierre, puzzled but also impressed.

You nodded confidently, "Even that the winter testing will be in Bahrain."

Gobsmacked, Pierre looked at you and had to kiss you again, "Wow. You really don't do things by halves."

"I keep my word."

"Will you be okay without me?" asked Pierre with a grin, although he already knew the answer.

You looked around demonstratively and your gaze lingered especially on the daybed, "I think I'll be fine."

You winked at him and now you pressed a kiss on his lips, "And now go. I don't want to be the cause of Pyry's anger."

Pierre laughed and jogged back to the bungalow to put on his sports clothes. You, on the other hand, enjoyed the sun for a little while and then decided to put on the white bikini Pierre gave you and get a tan on the daybed.

"Unfair!" groaned Pierre as he saw you in the bikini. He would’ve loved to grab you and spoil you with his tongue on the big and comfy bed. You left him without a comment, grabbed your iPad and sun hat and strutted towards the daybed.

You enjoyed lying in the Mexican sun and reading a good book. After almost 2 hours, it was too warm for you and you needed to cool down. Since you and Pierre wanted to have dinner relatively early, you decided against the pool and went for the large rain shower in the bathroom, which was partly an outdoor shower. Pierre really hadn't promised too little, it was paradise and you just couldn't believe that you were here with him.

You quickly get rid of your bikini and examine your newly gained tan lines. It amazed you, how quickly you got a tan. A little recovered, you jumped into the shower and let the cold water run over your heated skin. You were just in the shower as Pierre entered the bungalow. A good workout was behind him and he was extremely satisfied with the gym equipment.

He went straight to the terrace to greet you, but found the daybed and pool empty. He was about to go down to the beach when he heard the water running in the bathroom. The bathroom door was ajar and he pushed it open lightly. His eyes were immediately on you. You stood sideways to him and he watched as your hands ran over your beautiful naked body. Within a few seconds, Pierre was hard and licked his lips excitedly. He also had noticed your tan lines immediately. He couldn't help himself but needed to go in the shower as well. On the way to you he undressed himself and carelessly dropped his clothes on the floor.

"Mind if we save some water and shower together?" he asked cheekily as he stepped up behind you. Immediately you felt his hands on your hips and his hard cock against your butt. You had to grin, sex in the shower was just what you needed. You turned to face him and ran your hands over his chest and cross necklace.

"I was already wondering where you’ve been..." you muttered against his lips and kissed him along his jawline and down his neck. Pierre enjoyed your kisses and the cool water on his skin. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and groaned slightly. To you he was the most beautiful man you had ever met.

You continued your kisses and now lingered with your lips on his collarbone. You lowered your hand and grabbed the base of his cock. Pierre now moaned louder and had to look at you.

You slowly began to jerk him off and moved your kisses back up to his mouth.

"You're driving me crazy.." Pierre sighed into your mouth before kissing you passionately and entering your mouth with his tongue. He wanted to feel you and also slipped a hand between your legs and massaged your clit directly with a finger in circular movements. You gasped loudly into the next kiss and increased the pace of your hand.

"Putain! I have to fuck you right now.” Pierre growled and already wanted to leave the shower to get a condom. You hold him back by his hand, which was still between your legs.

"I have an IUD." you almost sobbed. You couldn't wait a second longer. Pierre thought about it for a brief moment, he trusted you and turned you around. He gave you a light slap on your butt, because you were so impatient for his cock and pushed you against the cold glass wall. As your nipples touched the cool and wet glass, you whined and spread your legs further for him.

Pierre ran his cock through your wet and glistening folds a few times before he entered you fully. You both moaned in sync. You had to smile at the familiar and awesome feeling of being filled by him. It was even more intense this time for Pierre as he fucked you raw. He began to move quickly and thus found your G-spot relatively quickly.

"Pierre, I.. I.. am about to cum." you whimpered.

His hands moved forward from your hips over your stomach. One went up and wrapped itself slightly around your neck, gently but firmly pushing you back into him. The other went between your legs again and stimulated your clit once more. You couldn't believe how fast he was able to make you cum.

"I want to hear you." Pierre whispered in your ear and shortly afterwards an intense orgasm overcame you. Your muscles tensed up and you only got tighter for Pierre. The thought of filling you up with his seed was too much for him and shortly after you he came hard and violently as well.

———

taglist: @hungryhungarian @scotlynaurora @justthatgirlxox @hannahholland1811 @dr3lover @pleasantducktimetravel @iamasimpingh0e @thatonesexycancerian @ophcelia @hello-sunshine-x @savannah-elliott

[noramoons]

by my side — part three

pairing: lee minho x fem reader (afab)

genre: bodyguard au, (slight) enemies to friends to lovers

rating: mature/18+

word count: 7.5k

warnings: language, mentions of violence, stalking, mentions of weapons (guns/knives), use of alcohol, more to be added

summary: you’re less than thrilled when your CEO father appoints you a bodyguard—especially when that bodyguard is a childhood friend you haven’t seen in years. but there’s far more to him (and your father’s business) than you know.

previous | next | masterlist | also posted on ao3!

So—this is a problem. Without a doubt.

You're suddenly far more aware of Minho's presence around you. Everywhere. There's butterflies in your stomach when you brush shoulders in the kitchen in the morning, or when he opens the car door for you, that sure as hell weren't there before. Christ, you even find yourself overthinking the texts you send to him letting him know your plans for the day after your classes now. What on Earth is wrong with you?

You scrounge within your subconscious for those feelings of dislike you'd first felt about Minho once he'd showed up seemingly out of nowhere in the living room of your apartment—how annoying he'd been, how persistent he'd been about sticking to the job he'd been assigned and doing nearly everything in ways that would purposely get under your skin—but those feelings are nowhere to be found. Every time you try to dig deep for those emotions again, you're met with a reminder of the Minho you'd seen that night in the parking lot, and then later in your shared bathroom—he'd been so unlike the man you'd known up until that point. Rather, he'd been more like the boy you'd known as a child, albeit with more scars and a haunted look in his eyes that you know wasn't there ten years ago.

This train of thought still always leads to the question that's been on your mind from the beginning, really. You haven't seen Minho in ten years after his family had seemingly packed up in the middle of the night and left—in that span of time, something had to have happened to him to make him this way. You want to know.

You also know it's none of your business. Minho had practically said it himself when he tried to correct you for being concerned about his wounds; this is clearly just a job to him, after all. Nothing more than that—do you really have a right to know what's caused that kind of a shift in the man from the boy you once knew?

It's that internal struggle that leads you utterly conflicted about what to do about Minho (and whatever the hell these feelings might be that you feel now whenever your eyes meet). If you were a better, more mature person, you think you'd probably sit down with the man and have a conversation. Establish some boundaries over what he's comfortable sharing, and then ask what's been on your mind.

Unfortunately, you are not that idealized version of yourself—and the easiest solution to the Minho problem is to just avoid him altogether until you can sort out the war raging in your mind about him.

This, of course, is much easier said than done, especially considering the man is being paid to watch your every move—but you know Minho notices your sudden change in attitude. You don't fight him on every change in schedule he suggests, and your responses to his cheeky quips aren't nearly as creative as they once were—you'd have to be blind to notice the way his gaze lingers on you now when he drops you off for your classes, or when you tell him goodnight from the living room and head to your bedroom. He knows something's wrong; you just aren't sure if he cares enough to ask you.

That was what you had thought, at least—it takes two weeks after you started practically avoiding him for Minho to corner you. You're supposed to be on your way home from your day of classes—Minho driving the two of you back to your apartment, of course. It's taken you a moment too long to realize that Minho hasn't started the car yet, and the two of you are just sitting in the parking lot, in silence, for some reason unbeknownst to you.

But Minho breaks that silence soon thereafter, the keys to the ignition clutched in one hand with his other hand on the wheel. "Y/N," he starts, quietly. "Did, um...did the other night upset you?"

You knit your eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He turns to look at you. "You know what I mean. The man in the parking lot trying to take your keys. It's okay if that freaked you out, honestly—I'd be more surprised if it didn't."

Oh—that's what he's talking about. Not the way you were practically drooling over him tending to his wounds shirtless in your shared bathroom. Well—you suppose that's a relief. Isn't it? "Oh," you start, somewhat lamely. "I mean...yeah. It bothered me, certainly. I just don't want to feel helpless like that, you know? That was the whole point of having pepper spray, of all things, on my keys, but that guy still got a cut on me anyway. I don't know," you say, realizing you've started nervously rambling. "I guess I just wish there was something else I could've done there. I know the whole point of having you around is to watch out for things like that, but you won't be keeping an eye on me forever."

The ghost of a smirk dances across Minho's lips for a brief instant. "Only if you're lucky."

You ignore the sudden rush of butterflies that seem to manifest in your stomach once those words reach your ears. "You know what I mean. I've never had to feel nervous about these kinds of things before, you know—someone spying on me or making threats because of my dad?"

Minho shrugs. "Well, that guy in the parking lot wasn't connected to your father. He did let me know that, at least. That really was just some freak who wanted your car."

Your eyes widen. "So you did hear from him, then? My father?"

He nods. "Sure. He told me when I gave him my weekly report that his men had spoken to the guy."

That sinking feeling suddenly blooms in your chest—but it's one that you know all too well when it comes to your father. Disappointment. "So he knew someone had tried to rob me. Didn't bother to see if I was okay, or anything."

Minho's voice is much quieter, now. Gentler. As if he knows to tread carefully. "I won't defend that man to you. I'm sure you aren't surprised by him, but—it is shitty. I'll agree. I'm glad you're alright, if that means anything to you."

Somehow, it feels better than him saying he's sorry. Saying he feels sorry for you, that he feels bad—it would've only made you feel worse. So you look up at him, offering him a small smile. "It does mean something to me, Minho. But...you're right. You probably won't be around here forever. So, I...I want to be prepared for when you aren't. I want to be able to defend myself when you aren't around to do that."

Minho knits his eyebrows, thinking. "What do you mean?"

"Like how you tackled that guy and pinned him to the ground that night. I want to know how to do that."

"Self-defense? Sure," he says, nodding. "I could show you a few things. Besides—if you knew how to take better care of yourself after I'm gone, it might help me sleep better then. Who knows." He grins.

And there it is again—that funny flurry of butterflies taking home in the pit of your chest. Does he have any idea what kind of effect he's having on you? God. You hope not.

"I know a place we can go," Minho continues. "There's an older gym downtown. We can go tomorrow if you want—the place is always closed for cleaning on Saturdays."

You're still so dazed from his last remark that you don't stop to wonder how Minho would be able to get into the gym on a day that it was closed. In retrospect, you'll wonder later, maybe you should have.

By the time tomorrow arrives, Minho drives the two of you down to the gym, letting the two of you in the back entrance without so much as a single alarm or siren. You follow him through what must be the employee entrance, walking into the actual gymnasium and watching as Minho climbs into the boxing ring. He beckons you to follow him with a hand.

You aren't completely enthused. "So...how'd you say you know how to get in here?" you ask, carefully.

Minho smirks at you, but there's something tinged at the edge of it—a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't think I did say, actually."

Alright—clearly you've crossed a line. And Minho isn't exactly someone you'd like to piss off, especially not before he leads you in some kind of self-defense instruction, so you fully drop the issue, not saying another word as you take his hand and follow him into the ring.

"Okay," Minho starts, placing his hands on his hips. "Let's go over the basics, first. Posture. If you're getting in a fight—or defending yourself," he corrects with a wink, "you need to keep your fists up at all times."

You do as he says, raising your closed fists in front of your chest, your left slightly further forward than your right.

He nods, satisfied. "Good. Hit me."

Your eyes widen. Starting like this? Right off the bat? "Minho," you say, laughing, "I don't want to—"

He lunges forward at you, his fists suddenly raised, and if it weren't for your sudden and fully instinctual leap to the side, you're sure Minho's fist would have connected with your nose.

You open your mouth to politely ask what the hell that was, but he beats you to it. "Your opponent won't give you a chance to talk it out. You got lucky with that guy in the parking lot—you won't always get lucky like that. You've got to be prepared for them to swing at you, no questions asked. So keep your hands up."

You raise an eyebrow at him, but you put your fists back up near your chest. "So...what? This ends when I get a hit on you, then?"

Minho's smirk grows. "Oh, if you can get a hit on me, I'll call it quits for today, and we can go right back home. I'd be delighted, actually."

You frown again, just about to make another snarky reply when he crosses the ring, standing behind you and placing a hand on your waist. Your breath hitches before you can stop yourself as he lightly taps your right leg with his foot. "Keep this leg straight, too. Don't want you to fall over," he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You offer a condescending smile when he moves to stand back in front of you. "Right. I'm sure you'd hate—"

Minho moves quicker than you can react this time, and when he sidesweeps your knees with your leg, your back is on the floor of the boxing ring in an instant.

He's hovering over you just as quickly, that smirk plastered over his face as he extends a hand towards you to help you up. You swat it away, pushing yourself up off the mat before you bring your hands up in front of your chest again. "Let me guess," you say, giving him a fake grin of your own. "Should've cut the talking?"

He beams at you. "Look at you," he says, grin widening at the obvious irritation on your face. "Such a quick learner."

You tilt your head to the side for a moment. "Let's go again."

Minho's grin only grows, raising his fists once again. "Look for the opening," he says. "When you get this close to someone, there's only a few options you can take. You'll find one."

The rest of your first training session goes just about the same way—either narrowly avoiding Minho, or ending up with your back on the floor of the ring. In a way, though, it feels good—that pent-up aggression from your father earlier and from Minho's constant irritation is all pushed out of you with every punch you throw. Even if you don't land a single hit on him, swinging out at something feels like you're preparing yourself for something to come—something that you'll be better prepared for now than you were before.

That feeling of satisfaction fades later that evening, though. You're getting ready for bed, pulling on your pajamas and reaching for the edge of the curtains to pull them closed when you feel it. It's an unusual feeling, but a familiar one all the same.

Like you're being watched.

You look outside, down onto the street below you, but nothing is there aside from the usual passerby. You think for an instant to tell Minho, but the thought of walking into his room (your guest room, technically—but it hasn't been that in months, and you know it), of seeing him in his pajamas, sends heat rushing to your cheeks—so you simply shut the curtains and lie down, praying for sleep to overcome you as quickly as possible.

You train again with Minho next weekend. And the weekend after that, too. After a month of training, you're getting better—and Minho's noticing it, too. He'd been going easy on you at first, something you were somewhat appreciative of at the time, but now you know he's upped the ante. He's quicker, throwing faster punches that are harder to avoid—but you've grown quicker, too.

"You're swinging too wide," Minho informs you, stepping closer. "You might as well put up a neon sign that tells me what your next move is going to be."

You dodge his kick. "But if I get too close—" you duck from his next swing—"you'll just grab my arm."

He nods. "It's about finding the space in between. The opening, remember? I told you that very first time we did this."

You rolls your eyes. "Right. You explained it so well then, too."

Minho laughs. "I'm serious. You'll know an opening when you find it."

You clench your jaw as you take a deep breath. You take a step forward, engaging in the same ritual you have for the entire session now—alternating your focus between trying to hit Minho and blocking his punches. You swears he's moving faster today than before, faster than you've ever seen him. Maybe you're finally seeing him give his all in a fight.

You've just blocked a cross, ducking to return back to your usual stance before you see it.

The opening.

It's like everything slows down. You can see so clearly what his next move will be—judging by the way he's shifting his feet, it'll be a sidesweep, intended to knock you to the floor again—and you take advantage of his moment of decision.

You start to lift your own foot, as if to look like you're about to deliver a kick of your own. Once he sees it, you take the moment to set your stance in front and lean forward, accelerating your arm towards his face and feeling the skin of his lip split instantly under your knuckles.

You panic for a split second before you remember that this was the point—the entire goal of you training with Minho was to land a hit on him.

Besides, Minho seems almost in a daze. It takes him a moment of realizing what exactly just happened before his thumb comes up to swipe the blood off his bottom lip.

You swallow back your instincts to ask him if he's okay. He certainly never asked you that when he was knocking you to the floor for hours. "The opening," you say, voice somewhat less steady than you would've preferred. "I found it. You said you'd be delighted if I could get a hit on you. Remember?"

He looks back up at you, grinning through the blood on his teeth. "Well, Y/N—consider me delighted."

And you feel your heart soar.

That feeling of pride in yourself and your growing abilities continues with each session. It isn't until a month and a half after you've started your weekly self-defense sessions with him that you notice that unusual feeling again as you move to close your curtains—the fear of looking down on the street and seeing something. Someone that you'd know.

You push it away once more.

The third time the feeling arises is within a matter of days, and this time you can't stop yourself. Every instinct in your body is urging you to step away from the window, to do anything but look down—but you do anyway.

It's a man, standing right beside the trees near the front of your apartment building. And he's looking right up at you through your window—there's no doubt about it. You aren't far up enough that you can't see the way a smile curls up his mouth when your eyes meet.

You instantly move from the window, heart pounding, and practically run to tell Minho as quickly as you can. As you pad quickly through your room and into the hallway, a memory suddenly resurfaces at the forefront of your mind—there was a time when you were younger that you'd thought you were being followed, too. You'd walked home that day, and he was there. You'd gone to school the next day, and he was there again, too.

You'd told your father when you'd come home that day, but he brushed your words aside like they were meaningless. The creation of a only child with an overactive imagination, he'd said. "There's no one following you." And sure enough, you hadn't seen him again—but that memory suddenly popping up makes you much more worried than before. You have this sudden, terrible feeling that Minho, with his occasional snarky attitude and quick wit, will react the same way.

He's fast asleep on the guest bed, but one light push at his shoulder has him blinking awake, looking up at you intently. "Y/N?"

The worry in his voice pulls at your chest unexpectedly, but you push past the sudden feeling. "Minho, I—I think there's someone outside. Downstairs, I mean—someone outside the building. I saw him in the window."

You stand with baited breath, waiting for him to tell you you're out of your mind. That you're seeing things. That you just need to go back to sleep.

He doesn't break eye contact with you as he blinks once. Twice. Then he's reaching across the bed for his pants, tugging them on over his briefs before pulling on his shoes and glancing up at you again. "I'll be right back," is all he says before he walks out the door.

Your heart pounds after the door closes. He's going to make fun of you when he comes back for being so skittish. So childish, afraid of shadows in the dark—you feel your stomach twisting at the thought. Surely there couldn't have actually been someone outside your room, watching you. You're seeing things—your father had to have been right all those years ago.

You make yourself drink a glass of water while you wait for him to come back. Five minutes pass. Then ten. Then fifteen. You're just about to walk down there yourself and figure out what the hell is going on before you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket.

l.m

> [photo]

You open up the photo attachment before nearly dropping your phone.

It's Minho, standing outside the police station that you know is dozens of blocks away. Like an idiot, he's taken a picture of himself with that normal shit-eating grin, and you'd smack him through the phone if you weren't feeling at least half a dozen conflicting emotions at the sight.

l.m

> your dad's on his way. he said he recognized the guy. i talked to him before turning him in

y/n

< you talked to him ??

l.m

> he didn't talk super well after a few right hooks, i'll be honest

You're not sure if the shallow laugh that leaves you is more from anger or frustration. You decide to just call him. Luckily for you, Minho's feeling gracious enough to answer.

"Hello?"

"What...what the hell happened?" you ask, trying not to give away the shaking in your voice.

The way Minho hesitates makes you think you were probably unsuccessful. "You were right," he says gently. "He was following you. Has been for weeks, now."

"How do you know?"

"He told me everything," Minho says simply, as if that should be enough. "Most people do after a few hits."

You laugh that nervous laugh again. "Minho, you beat him up?"

"After he pulled a knife on me? Certainly."

That uneasy feeling in your stomach grows. "A knife? Are you okay?"

But he laughs at that—that light, carefree laugh of his. "Of course. He said he'd been paid by one of the shareholders from the Answer Pharmaceuticals company to follow you—it's what he'd originally threatened your father with months ago."

You remember that first time your father brought up having a bodyguard, bringing Minho to your apartment and telling you he'd been receiving threats at work—of course the threats had been about you all along. How had you been so stupid as to not put the dots together?

"He finally followed through on it, but you were smart enough to catch him before he did anything. It's a good thing you spotted him tonight—he said he was going to try to make a move into your apartment within days. Use you as a ransom chip against your father. I wouldn't have let that happen, of course," he adds. "But I'm really proud of you for spotting the guy—maybe I'll ask your father if you can be my bodyguard next."

You know you should laugh, but you can't quite seem to make the sound leave your throat. You aren't sure how you feel. You aren't sure how to feel. "So...they've got him there? And my father's on the way?"

"Mmm-hmm," Minho answers. "You won't have to worry about him anymore. Or any of this, in fact. Your father sounded pretty happy on the phone to have this figured out—I'm sure he'll be suing Answer in the morning. He might have me stick around for a few days just to make sure everything's done, but that guy didn't seem like a criminal mastermind to me." He laughs again. "I won't be taking up your precious space in your apartment anymore."

You should probably be happy about that. Maybe a few weeks ago you would have been.

You aren't now, though—the thought of Minho leaving you on your own again provokes feelings that are the exact opposite of happy.

"That's...that's really it, then?" you ask. "Your job's finished?"

Minho hums a yes. "All done. Are you alright? I'm sure that must have been pretty scary to see from your window."

You give the same hum in response. You aren't sure if you're entirely alright—but you're as okay as you can be, now.

"Okay. Good. I'm glad you'll be safe now."

Even as that statement sends warmth through your chest the second you hear it, you still aren't entirely convinced. "Doesn't it all seem...I don't know. Too easy?" you ask, hesitancy obvious even to your own ears.

"It's not always a big conspiracy, you know," Minho replies. "Not like in the movies. Sometimes people are just lazy and get caught. Sometimes things just end." He seems to mull over your words, still, though. "Why? Did you see something else?"

"No," you answer. It's the truth.

But that uneasy feeling still doesn't go away.

~~~

The soft hum of Minho's music bleeds into the living room, where you're trying desperately to finish yet another essay for school (while simultaneously ignoring the fact that Minho's currently packing up his things into his duffel bag).

It's truly over now, all of it. You'd found out through Minho (which he'd found out through your dad—god forbid you actually hear firsthand anything about the man who'd been stalking you, of course) that the man had indeed been an employee of Answer Pharmaceuticals, and so had that man who'd tried to steal your car in the gym parking lot all those days ago. That first man had been a test—a trap to see what you'd do. What you were capable of. He'd alerted the other man, who'd followed you home after that incident, finding out which building you lived in, and it didn't take him too long to find out which apartment it was, either.

You're pulled out of your own recollections by the sudden buzz of your phone on the coffee table in front of you.

yejin <33

> hey! ik it's been a minute, we rlly missed u in florence :/

Christ—you'd nearly forgotten all about that "girls weekend" you had planned right before Minho had arrived, all those weeks ago. It seems so trivial now, but it had felt so life-threateningly-vital at the time—of course, you know a little bit better what that feels like, now. You almost feel like a different person than the one who had planned that trip originally, now—what did she know of any of this? Of stalkers, or being used as a piece in between a feud between your father and his business competitors, or whatever the hell it is you feel towards Minho now? You don't even think you'd recognize that version of you now.

yejin <33

> we're thinking about going downtown tonight if you're interested tho?

> hana's bringing her bf so you can bring yours if you want!

You let out a snort at that. Yejin still thinks Minho's your boyfriend—you'd never had a chance to correct what Minho had said that first night you had gone out, back when the two of you were constantly at each other's throats. A soft smile tugs at your lips at the memory—all that bickering at the start had been so pointless, it's almost comical to look back on, now. It was much less complicated than your feelings now, however—and that sudden thought sours the split second of contentment you'd felt.

Still, though...before Minho had arrived, you'd spent plenty of weekends drinking away complicated feelings. It had worked well enough back then—why not give it another try now?

You walk over to Minho's room (trying not to remind yourself that it will be your empty guest room once again this time tomorrow) and gently knock on the doorframe.

Minho turns around to face you, setting aside the shirt he'd been folding to place in his bag. "Mmm-hmm?" he offers as a response to your appearance.

"My friend Yejin wants me and some other friends to go downtown tonight. You're invited too."

He quirks an eyebrow up at that. "I'd better be invited. I've still got...fifteen hours of being your bodyguard," he remarks after a quick glance down at his watch. "Yejin, huh? Didn't you go out with them when I first got hired here? And they thought we were dating?"

"Only because you said we were," you remind him, scolding him teasingly. "But they, um—" you let out a nervous laugh, in spite of yourself. "They all still think we're dating, you know."

Minho's grin, of course, only widens at that. "That's fine with me. My undercover skills could use some work—who knows where I'll get shipped out to next, you know?"

That additional reminder that this is your last night with Minho feels like a sudden knife to the chest, but you try to swallow down the feeling as much as you can, offering him a faint smile in response. "That's true, I guess. I...I'll let Yejin know we're going, then?"

He nods. "Sure. I'm almost packed up, anyway. Just let me know when you're ready to head out, and I'll drive."

A light chuckle leaves you at that. "You're going to drive? You want to be the sober designated driver amongst a bunch of twenty-something college students?"

Minho laughs right back at you. "How bad could it be?"

~~~

The answer, Minho finds out, is disastrous.

In your defense, it's been a while since you've gone out drinking—your tolerance has dropped far below what it used to be. On top of that, it's been a stressful semester, not even including the mess that being unknowingly used as a pawn in a squabble between two adult pharmaceutical CEOs has been. You'd known classes were only going to get progressively harder, but you've never had to pull an all-nighter to study for an exam before—and it's not even finals week yet.

So you don't think you're entirely unjustified in getting practically wasted.

You've lost count of the number of shots you've taken at this point, holding on to the bar with one hand and the shot glass in the other.

Yejin glances behind you for a moment, grinning. "I'm glad you guys are still together. You're really cute."

If you were sober, you'd probably bristle at the statement—however, you are far, far past that status. So far that you turn around and blow a kiss towards Minho, who's been standing a few feet behind you the entire time you've been perched beside the bar with your friends.

You aren't sure what you thought his reaction would be, but you're certainly surprised when he closes the distance between the two of you and slips an arm around your waist. He smiles at Yejin too. "I'm glad we're still together too."

You're unbearably aware of the weight of the arm around you—it's the only thing you can even focus on, now. You spin around to face him, and his hand instinctively slides further down your side, settling on your upper thigh.

"You're warm," is what you manage to get out, glancing up at his soft brown eyes. He is warm—the skin of his palm resting on your flesh practically ignites a fire within you, burning you up from the inside out.

The skin around his eyes crinkles as he grins down at you knowingly. "Am I?" he asks, somewhat teasingly.

You nod, fully serious. "You are. I don't want you to let go of me."

Minho's smirk only widens. "Okay, funny girl. I won't."

"Never," your drunken tongue adds, reaching out to clutch on to the sleeve of his jacket. "Please."

You're drunk, but you're not drunk enough to miss the way his eyes flash with something dark at your words. "How many shots have you ladies taken, again?"

You turn your gaze over to Yejin. "Four, right?"

She giggles at you, a glass delicately perched in her hand that you don't remember being there before. "I thought it was five."

You laugh at that too, the action surging warmth through your chest again and making you feel lighter than before, still seemingly hyperaware of the fact that Minho's hand is still wrapped around your thigh.

A few of your other friends rush back over to the bar, smiling teasingly at you and Yejin while they order another round for themselves. They're accompanied by a few guys you've never seen before, and one of them glances your way. You watch his gaze travel up your leg, pause for only a brief moment when he sees Minho's hand, and then continue upward. He must be drunk—maybe even more so than you, because he dares to shoot you a flirty wave followed by a wink from across the bar.

Minho's hand tightens on your thigh immediately. He pulls you closer to him, pressing your back completely flush against his chest before he slings another arm over your shoulder, tilting up his middle finger at the poor drunk soul.

The guy's droopy grin fades, and he returns the gesture back towards Minho.

You can feel Minho move to let go of you and walk towards the man, but you spin around and grab hold of his jacket zipper. "Don't," you say, tugging him back close to you. You cup both hands around your mouth before letting out a stage whisper. "You're not actually my boyfriend, you know."

Minho waits until he's seen the man walk away, but he glances back down after a moment to shoot you a look, grinning at you sarcastically. "As far as they're concerned, I am."

That gives you an idea, pushing yourself forward off the barstool as you turn back around to face him, grabbing his hands in yours as you do. "Let's dance, then. If you really want to convince them."

You can practically see the gears turning in his head, but you don't give him a chance to hesitate. You tug at his hands, urging him to follow you towards the dance floor—and to your surprise, he does. Yejin and the rest of your friends see you walking away from the bar, but they cheer, whooping and hollering as they follow the two of you out onto the dance floor. It quickly becomes a whole crowd, bodies occasionally pressed against each other as you all sway and twist to the music, thudding in your ears and pounding in your chest—but it doesn't bother you in the slightest. Maybe it's the copious amounts of alcohol running through your veins, warming you from the inside out and bringing a smile to your face before you're even aware of it, or maybe it's Minho's hands that have slipped around your waist, holding you protectively against him with a faint grin still on his lips—whatever it is, you know that for a moment, you feel safe. Happy. Protected, in a way that you haven't in what feels like months.

You lose track of the time, swaying against Minho, his hands never leaving your side as he looks down at you, affectionate bemusement never leaving his face at the state you're in. You aren't sure when Yejin had even left, but you eventually see her coming back from the bathroom, hair now tied into a ponytail and looking much more tired than before. She offers you a sarcastic wince. "I'm heading home," she says. "Mina's paying for the Uber, thank God."

You raise an eyebrow at that. Yejin has always been one of the most carefree people you've known, so her suddenly starting to worry about money seems unbelievably out of character for you—but you're immediately distracted from your thoughts once you feel a sturdy hand squeeze gently at your waist. "That's probably our cue too," Minho suggests, gesturing towards the door with his head.

You stick out your bottom lip in a pout. "We can't do a shot for the road?"

Minho laughs, and the sound fills your chest with lightness nearly the same way the alcohol does. "From a professional standpoint, I don't think you need anything else to drink tonight, except for a tall glass of water."

You raise your eyebrows at him now. "Going out drinking and dancing is professional, now?" you tease.

He rolls his eyes at you playfully, taking your hand in his as he tugs the two of you towards the door. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a perfectly professional bodyguard this entire time."

You begrudgingly follow his lead towards the door, following him outside as he holds the door open. The cool night air is unbelievably refreshing on your warm skin, and you take a moment to drink it in before turning back towards Minho. "You sure are good at getting into the act, then. I'd almost think you liked me, or something."

Minho almost drops the car keys trying to let you in the door—certainly no correlation to what you've just said. "What I'd like to do is get some water in your system, ma'am."

It isn't long before you're doing exactly that, sprawled across your couch in your apartment after the brief car ride home with a glass of water beside you on the coffee table.

Minho turns around from the sink after pouring his own glass. He frowns at you, pointing at your nearly-full glass. "That doesn't look like you're drinking it to me."

You wave his words away. "I'll have some after I wake up. I'm gonna sleep right here."

Minho rolls his eyes at you. "If you fall asleep on the couch like that, you're just going to complain to me all day tomorrow about how much your neck hurts. I can hear it already—'Minho, why didn't you tell me to move? What kind of bodyguard are you, anyway?'"

You scoff at him, sliding further down on the couch before closing your eyes. "I would never say that."

He returns the scoff. "Sure you wouldn't," he replies coolly—and you have exactly three seconds of thinking he sounds much closer than he was earlier before a pair of hands slide underneath your body, lifting you off the couch and hauling your body against Minho's chest.

You open your eyes in surprise, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck nearly out of instinct. "And what do you think you're doing, exactly?"

Minho starts walking out of the living room. "Taking you to your room so you don't give me a headache tomorrow about your headache," he answers, not even looking down at you as he passes the doorway into your bedroom.

You're just about to spit out another few words of protest before Minho's laying you down gently against your sheets, unfolding your blanket so you can sleep underneath it. The action sends heat to your cheeks before you can stop it—you hope Minho just thinks you're still ridiculously drunk if he happens to notice.

"Alright," he says, standing back up. "Can I get you anything else before you go to sleep?"

You cross your arms indignantly. "What about that oh-so-important water? I left it in the living room when you picked me up without warning."

Minho extends a too-wide smile at you. "Of course, ma'am. I'll be right back."

And he is, returning only seconds later with your glass in his hand while you clap sarcastically. He bows mockingly after depositing the glass on your nightstand.

"Anything for you, Miss Y/N," Minho says teasingly after standing back up to his full height.

"Anything, hmm?" you ask in the same tone.

You hadn't meant for it to sound so scandalous—but the minute the words leave your mouth, you know there's something different in the air between you and Minho.

"Mmm-hmm," Minho replies, his voice laced with careful precision now. "Anything."

You stare at him, standing above you—that slight crease of worry between his eyebrows, his beautiful dark eyes, the way his jacket stretches against his powerful arms and shoulders—and you reach for him.

You can tell he isn't completely sure what you're doing, but he takes your hand, kneeling beside the bed as you move your other hand to stroke his hair. "Thanks for coming with me tonight," you whisper.

Minho swallows. "Of course,” he offers as a quiet reply.

There's a moment of knowing silence, both of you staring at each other and feeling your own heart pounding in your ears.

But Minho takes hold of your hand in his hair and gently lays it back down at your side before moving to stand up. "Not now," Minho says, his voice suddenly softer now, that familiar edge of knowing to it. Of course he'd known what you were thinking—and he'd known it was a bad idea, just like you. "I'm not doing this while you're drunk." He pushes your hair off your forehead, pressing a chaste kiss to the skin there before standing back up and walking to the door. "Tell me if there's anything else you need, Y/N. You know where I'll be."

"But you'd do this if I was sober?" you respond to his previous statement, your heart practically thundering out of your chest as you pose the question.

Minho turns back to look at you, that all-too-familiar sad smile across his lips as he stands halfway in the doorway. "Goodnight, Y/N," he says instead with that softness still ever-present in his voice, leaving your room for good this time.

You don't know how you're ever going to fall asleep now—you're still slightly dizzy every time you close your eyes, not to mention the mach speed your thoughts are bouncing through your brain at, nearly matching the thud of your heart in your chest. Still—despite everything, sleep still does eventually manage to overtake you, as it always eventually does, and you let yourself stumble into another dreamless sleep.

~~~

The first thing you do in the morning is reach for the water—Christ, your head hurts.

It's not long before you hear a soft knock at your door. You're half-expecting him to gloat, to come in your room with glee as he tells you how much his head doesn't hurt and how good he feels this morning, not the slightest bit hungover.

But he doesn't. Rather, the look on his face as he peers in the doorway is nothing more then worry. "Hi," he says quietly, shooting a small wave your way.

You return the gesture, somewhat weakly. "Hi," you croak out.

Minho winces. "Feeling alright this morning?" he asks, moving to sit beside you on the side of your bed.

You shrug, quickly draining half the contents of the glass in your hand. "I've felt worse. I'll be alright once I get up, I think."

He frowns at that. "I don't think we're doing anything today—I don't see why you can't stay in bed until you feel better. Give yourself some rest."

You smile a little at that. "Oh, come on. What happened to you ordering me around about getting out and staying healthy?"

He returns your expression. "Those orders do not apply for a hungover," he says, gentle chiding in his tone. "Believe me—I'd know."

You take in his face for a moment, staring at the genuine concern spread across his features for probably longer than necessary. "I appreciate this, Minho," you start. "All of this. I know you're getting paid to make sure I don't die, and I suppose that includes not drinking myself to death, but—thank you. I do really appreciate it."

A smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth. "Of course, Y/N. I'd do this for you even if I wasn't getting paid." He seems to reconsider his words after a moment. "Well—maybe I'd have to consider a small commission. I don't know."

You let out a small laugh. "I'd still appreciate it anyway. I appreciate you. And I...I meant what I said last night. All of it."

Now he's the one staring at you for longer than necessary. Trying to tell if you're teasing him or not—but you hope he knows you wouldn't dare. Not about this. "Y/N..." he starts. "I meant all of it too. I'll always look out for you."

You're suddenly aware of how close he is—your legs are quite literally an inch away from brushing each other. This space the two of you have created is clearly intentional, neither one of you wanting to cross any boundaries.

Well—you hadn't wanted to until about fifteen seconds ago.

This time, when you reach out towards Minho, he grabs your hand before you can touch him, gently intertwining your fingers. He glances down at your hands and back up to your face, gaze lingering around your mouth for only a split second before he cups your chin with his free hand and presses his lips to yours. He's kissing you.

He's kissing you.

It's soft, gentle, both of you still afraid of making the other uncomfortable—that is, until you lean up with your free hand to slide a hand through Minho's hair, and the sigh he lets out into your mouth sends a cascade of butterflies through your stomach. You pull him tighter against you, and he reciprocates, moving his fingers from cupping your chin to twirling through your own hair, taking firm hold of the strands as he deepens the kiss for an instant—

And then he stops.

Minho lets go of your hair, practically shoving himself away from you as he collects his breath, standing up away from you beside your bed.

You stare at him, chest slightly heaving. "Minho," you say, a little breathier than you had intended. "I—"

"I can't," he says, shaking his head quickly. He won't even meet your gaze. "I'm sorry, Y/N—I shouldn't have done that. I—I can't do this."

Confused doesn't even begin to describe how you feel. "I...I don't understand," you say, slowly. "Is there something—"

But he just shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he says again. "I can't." Without any further explanation, he turns and heads for the door of your apartment, closing it hurriedly on his way out—leaving you and your apartment quiet and alone once more.

a/n: hello again besties !! i am so sorry for the delay on this one 😭😭 ik you all waited a while again for this update, i really did not anticipate it taking this long but Real Life has a funny habit of getting in the way of things—july was a bit of a wild one for me to say the least. but i so appreciate you all waiting for this chapter, and i hope you’re able to enjoy it anyway !! thank you so so much for reading this update, i hope to see you all in the next one very soon too 🤍🤍

taglist: @hyunee1 @staaa96 @freckledquokka @marylala @ddaeing @jigglymoof @obaebarbs @sftyens @jeyelleohe @leeknows-wife @lizsvcks @xcookiemonsteer @taetae19 @awkwardnesshabitat @elizabeth11moreno @slinekyu @mulligrubsss @hyunjun-jpeg @yuchan-stole-my-heart

bolded usernames could not be tagged!

©️ noramoons 2021-2022. do not translate or reupload my writing.

[frogtanii]

iwaizumi was... overwhelmed, to say the least.

the past few days had been such a whirlwind of change that hajime could barely properly process, much less appropriately react to it all, so he behaved much like a zombie, saying yes when prompted, signing papers when told, and packing up what was his entire life for the past 11 months.

wow. iwaizumi collapsed on his bed as he scanned his now barren bedroom. he’d been here for almost a year and yet, all his belongings were in boxes within a couple of days.

hajime couldn’t keep the disbelieving chuckle from escaping his chest as he leaned back on his bed, dark brown eyes trained on the ceiling.

it felt like he’d spent such a large chunk of his life trapped in this house, under the foot of the woman who he thought he’d marry but in reality, he’d been in little leagues longer than he’d been in love.

iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. yeah, “in love”. it’d been about a week since his whole life started to unravel and he had hardly seen, let alone spoken to meiko throughout that entire time.

over text, she’d sworn up and down that she loved and cared about him but as she passed by him packing his things a few days ago, she’d barely spared him a second glance.

hajime wasn’t going to lie. it hurt. he’d opened his heart up to her, something he didn’t do easily, and she’d taken his trust and used it to twist him into her weapon.

he always believed he was stronger than this — he’d never forget his mother telling him so when he was younger. he had fallen and scraped his knee yet he refused to cry to keep from upsetting his mom. iwaizumi existed to live up to what his mother thought of him but here he was, completely enveloped in meiko’s shit, doing her dirty work and following her bidding like some mutt.

god, toorū was right. he really was her bitch.

“i could hear you thinking from down the hall, iwa-chan.” speak of the devil...

oikawa stood at his doorway, leaning against the frame with a posture that seemed relaxed at first glance but if you looked a little closer, you’d notice the tenseness in his shoulders and the tightness of his smile.

hajime quickly sat up on his bed before motioning for his old friend to enter. “uh, yeah,” he began, his voice cracking a little from disuse, “i have a lot to think about.”

the light haired brunette let out an understanding hum before wandering into the room, sharp observant eyes darting to look at all the empty walls. “looks like you’re all packed.”

“pretty much,” iwaizumi nodded before the room fell into an awkward silence, the two childhood friends completely avoiding one another’s eyes.

“look, i-“

“iwa-chan, i’m-“

they both paused for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound carrying into the hall and throughout the house.

hajime wiped a few stray tears from his eyes, shaking his head at their awkwardness. “you first, shittykawa.”

toorū gasped in halfhearted mock offense before quickly sobering up, training iwaizumi with a completely serious look. “i’m sorry and before you go on some bullshit, self sacrificing rant, you’re not the only one to blame for what happened to our friendship.”

he sighed while making his way to iwaizumi’s bed, sitting down gently beside him. “i should’ve known better, okay? i shouldn’t have let my jealousy and insecurities get in between us but i guess i got swept up in the attention, yknow? meiko is actually charming when she wants to be.”

iwaizumi nodded in agreement, knowing all too well how compelling meiko could be. the room fell into a more comfortable silence as both boys escaped into their thoughts, questions about the future of their friendship flitting throughout their minds.

“oh!” oikawa was pulled out of his own head at hajime’s exclamation, his eyes moving to observe his friend dig through his pockets to procure a thick white envelope. “here. i’d like you to give this yn.”

all toorū could do was nod, his brain short circuiting at the sight of iwaizumi’s apparent kindness to the woman he tormented for so long. “uh, what’s in it?” he ventured to ask, his soft hands toying with the sealed envelope flap.

a soft chuckle came from across the bed. “don’t be so nosy toorū, just give it to her, yeah?” oikawa rolled his eyes but obliged, the bed creaking as he stood to his feet.

“so... this is it, huh?” it was like the reality of the situation was just now sinking in — they hadn’t been close in a while but iwaizumi was still his best friend and he wasn’t quite ready to let him go.

they’d been through so much together, practically growing up together and now, they’d only see each other on holidays, if even then, and then he’d never be invited to hajime’s wedding as his best man as they’d planned and he also wouldn’t be the coolest uncle/godfather of iwa’s children and—

“fuck no,” hajime scoffed with a bright grin on his face. “thought you were gonna annoy me til the end of time shittykawa. don’t tell me you’re quitting your job now.”

the hidden meaning behind iwaizumi’s words brought tears to oikawa’s eyes and before he could stop himself, he launched his body into iwa’s arms. hajime hesitated, his hands stuttering at toorū’s sides as though he’d forgotten how to hug but the feeling passed, his arms winding around his friend’s lithe waist.

“‘m gonna miss you hajime,” oikawa’s voice came out as a broken whimper, his arms tightening around his shoulders.

iwaizumi hummed instead of responding, too afraid of his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. they stood there for a moment but the honk of the moving truck outside signaled the both of them of their limited time.

hurriedly, oikawa wiped the tears off his cheeks before waving awkwardly at iwaizumi as he left the room with a friendly, “don’t be a stranger.”

and then he was gone.

toorū finally allowed himself to collapse into sobs on his best friends empty bed, his palms pressing into his eyes as he sat there and just let himself feel.

apparently, he wasn’t crying very quietly because it took only a few moments for you to find him, your soft footsteps alerting him to your presence. oikawa scrambled to wipe away what he knew was an unattractive mixture of tears and snot as you got closer.

you were one of the last people he wanted to see him like this.

“hey,” you whispered, standing a few feet away from him. “um, i know this is probably a bad time but i just wanted to thank you for apologizing? back at the awards show?”

toorū sniffed as he looked up at you with confusion written on his face. “what? you shouldn’t thank me for apologizing. ‘s common courtesy.”

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “well, not always. so, thank you.” finished with your piece and not too keen on lingering where you weren’t wanted, you moved towards the door but were swiftly stopped before you got there.

“um, here. it’s from iwa-chan.” you gaped at the thick envelope oikawa was handing you before taking it and opening it, a low curse falling from your lips.

inside the package was a dense wad of cash, more money than you’d seen in months. accompanied with it was a letter, written in beautifully loopy handwriting.

you shut it quickly before oikawa could see, stuffing the envelope deep within your pocket where you could access it alone in the depths of your room.

“do you wanna come eat? last i heard, bokuto and tsumu were doing a cooking competition and i’m sure it’ll be fun to watch.” you were severely thrown off by the money and letter but you were determined to show toorū that you’d accepted his apology and were on your way to making amends.

he gave you a shy nod and trailed behind you to the kitchen, the loud sounds of fire and screaming coming from down the hall. you wanted to focus on the fun and merriment but the envelope was practically burning a hole in your pocket.

later that night, you finally got the chance to open the letter and read it, your former manager’s words bringing tears to your eyes.

dear yn,

i’m probably the last person you expected to hear from. you probably didn’t want to hear from me at all if i’m being honest and i don’t blame you. i know there is nothing i can say that could make up for what i’ve done to you but i’d like to try.

i’m sorry. those words don’t nearly express in and of themselves how truly remorseful i am but they needed to be said. there’s no excuse for how i treated you — not meiko, not my stress, absolutely nothing.

you deserved my common decency and respect and i didn’t give that to you. instead, i abused my position and made your life hell. i’ll never forgive myself for that.

uh, i bet you’re wondering what the money is? i promise i’m not trying to pay you off, it’s just all the money i’ve denied you since you moved here. i have a lot of wrongs to right and this is one of them.

sorry, i’m not very good with words but i just wanted you to know that i’m very sorry for everything that i’ve done. and i’m in no place to make demands or anything but i just wanted to ask if you’d keep an eye on oikawa for me.

he’s strong but he’s also vulnerable. he might be a pain in my ass but he’s my best friend and since i can’t keep him from drowning, i was wondering if you’d do that - not for me but for him.

anyways, this letter is shit but i suppose you get the gist. use the money for whatever you want and if you’re as unselfish as i’ve heard, you don’t owe me anything. you don’t owe me money, kindness, or forgiveness.

take care of yourself,

iwaizumi hajime

℗ poker face

so... this is it

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - soooo m back :D hopefully this is the last of my mini hiatuses!! this chapter sucked to write but i’m not mad at how it turned out?? pls let me know how i did skjdkd don’t forget to feed me <3333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[open--till--midnight]

Meet the Parents

eskel x gn!reader (i think, please let me know if it isn't so i can fix it)

warnings | language, 18+ content, no proofreading because fuck the rules

wc | 2.2k

part of the Love Letters series

---------------------------------------------------

For several years you and Eskel have loved one another. Years before that, the greatest friendship either of you had ever had started, and it carried on into your romance. You shared almost everything about yourselves, but there were some things that remained in the dark. It wasn’t on purpose that you hadn’t spoken to Eskel about your parents. There just never seemed to be a good time.

It had been so long since you’d last seen or spoken to your parents. They didn’t know where you were, where you had been, or who you were with. But you wanted them to know.

Your parents had moved from your hometown shortly after you had. They understood you had a hard childhood there, with prejudice against witches residing in almost every soul there. And they regretted not taking you away from there sooner, but they had no excuse, really. So, they spent every moment trying to make it right and to show you they really did care.

In their new house, they made sure that you had a bedroom there. They painted it your favorite colors and filled it with things that reminded them of you. It was kept clean and ready for your arrival which they hoped would come soon.

They didn’t doubt that you would come back, but it was hard to keep that hope sometimes. The continent was a dangerous place and with the war and the abundance of witch hunters, it was hard to be optimistic.

Little did they know that you would be making a surprise visit with your witcher. Part of you knew that they would accept him with open arms, they weren’t ones to judge others. But there was another part that worried for him. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable if your parents acted strange about him.

Because of this, your plan was to make a small visit before deciding if it was a good idea to winter there.

The other witchers had already sent word that they would not winter at Kaer Morhen, so you would see if this would work before spending the winter in a cold empty keep. There was only one thing left to do, ask Eskel.

Though you knew you could talk to him about anything, you were still nervous. You wanted him to say yes to your plan. But you also didn’t want to upset him by switching up your routine. You figured the best time to ask him would be over dinner, so that’s exactly what you did.

“So none of the others are going to Kaer Morhen this winter?”

He nodded, “Well, I think Lambert is still going. Why?”

“I was wondering if you-” You paused, looking down at your plate, wishing you had thought about what exactly you were going to say, “Would you like to meet my parents? I thought that maybe if you got along we could stay at their home for the winter.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t an upset ‘oh’ but more one of shock. It was shock that someone, you, would want your parents to meet him, a witcher.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s just I think they’d like you and they got a new house in a much kinder town-” Eskel interrupted with his delayed response.

“Of course, I’d like to meet your parents. You think they’d like me?”

“Yes, Eskel! They will love you!” you beamed at him. “I’m so relieved you said yes.”

Eskel reached across the table and held your hand, “Y/n, why wouldn’t I.”

So in the next week, you packed your things. It was a long trip to your parents' house, but thankfully it would be an easy one. You would be able to stay on a path the entire time.

“You look nervous, dear.”

Eskel walked beside Scorpion, on whom you were seated. You could see that his jaw was clenched, it would surely give him a headache soon.

“Just a bit, nothing to worry about.”

When he looked up at you, the emotions were clear. There was anxiety written across his brows, but his eyes were overjoyed. You had assured him that your parents were no stranger to social outcasts and that they would have no issue in accepting him. And the ferocity in which you assured him this forced him to believe you.

“I know, you’ll do amazing. Eskel, you’re amazing. And they will love you.” When your smile reached your eyes, the tension in his jaw receded, taking its place was a smile of his own.

“Look! I think that’s it!” You hopped off of Scorpion, stumbling for a moment when your feet hit the ground. You wished you remembered to walk once and a while, horse riding really wasn’t for you.

After Eskel took care of the horse, he took your hand and walked to the door. You gave him a squeeze before knocking. Almost immediately, your mother opened the door and enveloped you in a hug.

“Oh, y/n! You didn’t tell us you were coming. Oh! Look at you!” Your mother held your upper arms gently, looking you up and down. “And is this-?”

“Mhm. Mother, this is Eskel.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, my dear.” Your mother, too, embraced your lover. Her hugs were always so sweet. Even when you didn’t want to be touched, her arms were always welcomed by you. And you could tell Eskel felt this as well. His face turned from shock to something so calm and beautiful as he returned the hug.

When she pulled back, her hands slid from his arms to his hands and she gave them a squeeze.

“So sorry, I should have introduced myself first.” She gave Eskel her name before he promptly told her she had no need to apologize. She hugged him again, the wide smile never falling from her lips.

“Come. Your father is inside, he’s cooking supper.”

You gave Eskel a knowing look. You had told him numerous times how good your father’s cooking was. It was a relief that your mother wasn’t trying her hand at it tonight, as hard as she tried her food was always inedible.

As you entered, you were hit with the aroma of the many spices your father owned. They had been carefully chosen and measured, cooked, and added to their respective dishes. On the road, it was rare to have a luxury of this kind, but this was their normal. Maybe it would be yours, too, over the winter.

“This must be Eskel.” Your father wiped his hands on his apron before hanging it over a chair. He walked towards you and hugged you as well as Eskel. Your family was full of huggers, there was no doubt about that.

Your father was just as pleased as your mother upon meeting your lover. Due to this, you could see all the tension in his body slip away. You weren’t sure when the last time you’d seen him this relaxed was.

When dinner was served, your mother took a trip to the basement and returned with a bottle. What she lacked in culinary prowess, she excelled in winemaking. She took great pride in her work. Her winery was how they made enough money to move into this lovely home in a new town.

Once everyone was seated, chatting started. Of course, they lightly grilled Eskel. Nothing too overbearing, they merely wanted to know who their child loved so dearly. When they brought up his occupation, it was only with genuine curiosity and they kept it lighthearted. Because Eskel took pride in his work he had no issue talking about it. Especially now that he had you with him, it wasn’t as dreary as it had been.

They never brought up marriage or children, they silently planted firm boundaries which did not go unappreciated. Besides, these things weren’t important to your parents. You were happy, and that’s all that mattered.

“It’s been so long, y/n, I’m sure you’ve met so many interesting people.”

You nodded, “Yes I have! Eskel’s brothers are wonderful,” Eskel gave you a look that said oh come on, “Ok so maybe they’re a bit prickly but they are good company. You know the princess of Cintra?” Your mother smiled widely at you, urging you to continue, “Her name is Ciri, and she wants to be a witcher, she’s pretty damn good at it, too. And then Dandelion, he's a bard. I’m probably closest to him. I wouldn’t have met any of them if it weren’t for Eskel.”

“Dandelion? The famous one?” Your father’s eyes widened. “You know him?”

“Mhm.”

Your parents seemed proud of who you’d become and the company you kept. To them, you had done exactly as they wished. You had built your own life and surrounded yourself with people you loved and who loved you.

When dinner ended, the four of you moved into the living room. The fire was lit and everyone had a cup of tea in their hands, it was perfectly cozy. You had tucked yourself under Eskel’s arm on the couch opposite your parents. When you weren’t talking, a comfortable silence would fall upon the room.

“We have a room for you, y/n. We made sure there was an extra when we bought this house, it’s yours to come and go from as you please.”

You thanked them, warming at the thought of them thinking of you while buying their new home. “That reminds me. I have something I’d like to ask you.” Your parents nodded for you to continue.

“The keep where Eskel grew up is where we usually spend our winters. But this year, only a couple of them who normally go aren’t coming. So we were wondering if we could spend this winter here. Just long enough for the snow to melt and then we can go back on the path.”

Your mother looked as if she was just waiting for you to stop talking, “Of course, you can. As we said, you are free to come and go whenever you please.”

“Stay as long as you want.” Your father finished for her.

You and Eskel stated your thanks before the two of you headed to bed.

Not being able to form words due to your happiness, you hugged Eskel tightly once you got to your bedroom.

“I really didn’t have anything to worry about. That went better than I ever thought it would.”

“I told you that, silly.” You pecked him on the nose before starting to undress, “Now I’m very tired and if I don’t get to sleep soon, I will get very cranky.”

“As you wish.”

****

About half the winter flew by without a hitch. You would eat breakfast as a family and then go your separate ways until dinner, which was also eaten together. Sometimes you and Eskel would walk through the town, only if it wasn’t too cold. If it was, he would insist on staying inside where it was warm.

Your favorite days were when you would go to the lake. It was only five minutes from your parents' home, in the forest behind the house. The trees surrounding it were covered with ice, just as the top layer of water was.

There was an ornately carved wooden bench right at its edge, that is where you liked to sit. At least until you couldn’t feel your toes, then Eskel would haul you back and sit you in front of the fire. But today was warmer, with only an inch of snow on the ground.

When you both tired, you returned to the house. The walks back were always pleasant, your hand in his, talking about anything you wanted to talk about. You went to bed straight after dinner, today had tired you out and you wanted energy for tomorrow.

Your parents had told you that they would be out of the house for most of tomorrow and they would most likely be gone before breakfast. This gave you the opportunity to finally have an intimate moment with Eskel. With your parents always there, you hadn’t had the time. But tomorrow you would, so now you wanted sleep.

****

The morning was peaceful, you woke up to Eskel glancing down at you laying your head on his chest.

“Goodmorning, lovebug.”

“That’s a new one,” you smiled against his lips.

“Just trying it out.” His tone was teasing, and so were his eyes. So it begins.

Your hands roved over his body as you pressed your lips softly to his. Eskel swiftly lifted you on top of him, giving him a better opportunity to feel you up too. His hands had just started teasing to lift up your shirt when the bedroom door opened.

“Oh, gods! Oh, no! I’m so sorry!” Your mother looked mortified, quickly shutting the door so you could only slightly hear her apologies. “I- oh, I just wanted to tell you that breakfast is in the oven and that your father and I are leaving. Uhm, goodbye!” And with that, you heard fast footfalls down the steps, some talking, and then the front door shutting.

“I guess that’s on us, huh?” Eskel grinned at you, eyes asking permission before finally lifting your shirt off.

“Yes, sir, I think it is.”

[initiala]

Oh hai.

It's not dead or abandoned! Remember how I started this for @cssns​ 2018???? Just, y'know, life happening, and also several global catastrophes. But it turns out that writer's block is really cured by procrastination, which is why I was able to finally figure out some spots I was stuck on while not packing up my apartment to move.

Please enjoy this overly delayed post-wedding fluff and smut.

Also on AO3 and FF.Net

______________

The holidays weren’t really something she paid attention to, not after her parents died. Her mother had loved any excuse to have a party and Emma had grown up with the nondenominational trappings of Christmas in their house, but the tradition had died with Snow and David when she was sixteen. She normally spent the last week of December pulling extra shifts at work, covering for people who had families and wanted the extra time off, and never had a second thought about it. The Pack had their own holidays, particularly around the solstices, but nothing compared to the warm, colorful parties of her childhood -- and frankly, nothing ever would. 

So when their short honeymoon fell over Christmas Eve and Day, Emma didn’t think anything of it. Killian made no indication that he celebrated it, and when they returned home on Boxing Day it was to a chilly apartment without any of the decorations that dotted the windows up and down their street. She turned up the heat a little while Killian took their bags back to the bedroom to be sorted out, and she double-checked the windows were locked tight while turning on a few lights in the living room.

The colorful twinkle outside meshed with the light snowfall in a way that made her heart twist painfully in her chest, a flash of her mother’s laughter ringing in her ears and a brief memory of her father cornering her mother under the mistletoe. Her thumb went to the band on her finger, a lump forming in her throat, and she remembered why she normally worked herself to the bone this time of year.

Work was a distraction from missing them.

“Emma?”

She whipped the curtains shut to put an extra layer between the cold glass and the warming room, between herself and her memories, and turned to face her husband as he came into the room. “Love, what’s wrong?” She shook her head, but his large hand engulfed her own as it went to discreetly wipe at her eyes. “Darling, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this but I can smell when you’re sad,” he said, his voice soft as he pulled her into his embrace. “We’ve been home five minutes, you can talk to me.”

Fuck, she hated talking about her feelings and her parents and particularly her feelings about her parents. But she’d promised -- she’d vowed -- that she’d be more open and honest with him, and she was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to get lucky and guess what all of this was about. She hadn’t told him enough about her parents to let him put all of the pieces together. “I just… I miss my parents,” she said softly, and let him hold her as he made a sympathetic noise and murmured soothing things in her ear. “Mom really loved this time of year. She threw the best parties, one year she actually got fairies to make it snow inside and me and the other kids had a snowball fight. She loved the colors and the whole family thing and she really loved the smell of pine trees -- it kind of gave my dad a headache. But we made it work because Dad always said how it put an extra sparkle in Mom’s eye and he loved her enough to put up with it. I normally try to work a lot through this time of year, everyone wants extra time off, but I was kind of hoping this year we could have some new memories to make this time of year less sad. And it helped, it really did, but then I just saw the lights outside and the snow and it just… it hit me a little harder because I’ve been trying so hard not to think about them. So I miss my parents and I’m sorry this time of year is going to suck no matter what and--”

Killian shushed her softly and she realized she was crying as he thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “If I’d known… well, I don’t know what I would have done. I can’t blindfold you everywhere -- well, I could, but not in the fun way --” He grinned as she swatted him on the chest. “So testy, my love. You don’t have to be sorry about missing your parents. You just need to let me know, so I can comfort you or let you sit and mourn them in peace, or drive you to distraction. And if I need to do so more this time of year, well, let it be my burden to bear. You don’t have to bear this alone, Emma, you can always rely on me.”

And didn’t that just make her get teary all over again? “How the hell do you always know the right thing to say?” she asked, burying her face in his chest.

“Because I’m magic,” he rumbled under her and she pinched his side. “And we’re too alike, you know. Now, what do you need?”

She sniffled and took a breath, taking mental stock. They really needed to unpack and get everything sorted out for laundry, but while that would keep her hands busy her mind would wander and she really didn’t want to keep thinking about the past. But she knew that leaving everything until tomorrow or the next day would bother Killian; she didn’t want to be alone right now, either. “Can we bring the bags back out here and watch TV while we unpack? I know you just put them away but--”

He was already nodding, though, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you need, love.”

Since he’d been the one to put them away and she was being the emotional asshole, she figured it was only fair that she bring the bags back out. She had no idea how he’d done it all in one trip, not with how narrow the hall was and how much she disliked scuffing her baseboards with the wheels, and surreptitiously eyed them as she made multiple trips back and forth.

No scuffs. “I’m magic,” she mumbled in a sarcastic imitation of her husband’s accent, shaking her head.

Killian had the TV on to the classic movie channel and the unmistakable scent of chocolate lingered in the air. “Dash of cream liqueur, whipped cream, and cinnamon,” he said, handing her a mug as she sat down.

Emma smiled into it, letting the warmth of the drink and the liqueur slide into her belly. “Did I ever tell you Mom’s the reason I like this?”

“Mm, no.”

She watched as he deftly unzipped the largest bag and started sorting through it; she’d done little more than toss everything in without caring about wrinkles, and the whole thing reeked of sex and wine -- they’d had not nearly enough of both over the last few days, but apparently enough to let the scent sink in to all the fabric. A different kind of warmth settled under her skin, but she wasn’t in the mood to act on it just yet. “According to my dad, Mom drank this all the time when she was pregnant with me. Her biggest craving; not that she didn’t like it before, but it was like another level. So then it became our thing, once I was old enough to have some, just sitting together on the couch or in the kitchen or wherever, with our matching cocoa with cinnamon.”

Killian glanced over at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and her heart swelled suddenly with reaffirmation of how much she loved him. His bangs fell over his forehead in a way some might call rakish, but when he looked at her like that -- lips quirked up in amusement at his own joke he was about to tell, unable to hide his glee at his own cleverness -- she could only call it boyish. “Sweet tooth before you were even born, eh Swan?”

Maybe not a joke then, but teasing, like they were twelve and he was pulling her tail. “I’m a wolf of taste,” she said loftily, setting her mug aside and pulling up another suitcase to go through. “Unlike some mangy curs around here.”

“Mangy cur?” Emma squeaked as she found herself pinned under him on the floor, his nose brushing against hers and heat flooding her body. His grin promised absolute filth, the hard length of his body pressed against hers deliciously, and the scent of his arousal was enough to make her dizzy. “Didn’t realize we were comparing pedigrees here, princess. Too bad you’re stuck with the mangy cur and not some stuffy purebred.”

“I happen to like the mangy cur,” she whispered, their lips close enough to tease.

“Good,” he growled. “Because he likes you too.”

She moaned into his kiss, which was far gentler than she was expecting, and he let up on her arms enough to allow her the space to embrace him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, then down his back, where she teased the patch of skin revealed by his sweater riding up. “Emma.”

He pulled back and she smiled at how he already looked wrecked. She glanced over his face, refamiliarizing herself with the little details she already had memorized but still loved looking at: the old scar on his cheek, the ginger hairs in his beard, the little freckles and the way his eyebrow seemed to jump up on its own when he got curious about something. He caught her eye with his again and one corner of his mouth ticked up, a sudden shyness in the way his eyes darted around, like he wasn’t sure she was staring at him . “What?”

She shook her head, reaching down and slipping her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, earning a surprised -- and pleased -- noise from him as she pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I just… really love you,” she said when they parted.

His cheeks reddened, but just around his cheekbones, and she loved that she knew that detail about him. If she was further back, she’d be able to see his ears turning the same color, and if she really got to him she’d be able to get his nose to match. She liked the way he could get around her, quiet and unabashedly himself, someone who couldn’t take a compliment seriously and waved off words of praise. It drove her a little crazy, but she’d made her vows to voice her feelings to him and she was going to make good on those vows.

“I love you too,” he said, his nose brushing against hers, and he leaned in to kiss her again.

The laundry could wait.

 ---------------------------------------------------------

“ There she is!” Ruby hollered, ignoring the glares from the other bar patrons.

Emma also ignored the knowing looks on both Ruby and Dorothy’s faces as she shrugged out of her coat. She knew her hair was mussed and she had beard burn on the side of her neck -- Killian had a particular fondness for this dress and the lack of coverage it provided -- and she was definitely late for their night out, but she only felt the slightest hint of guilt over that. Besides, both Ruby and Dorothy knew what it was like to be newly mated, so they could cut her a break. “Hey, thanks for saving me a seat.”

She flagged down a waitress to take her drink order and then grabbed a handful of peanuts. “So… how’s it going?” Ruby asked in a sing-song.

“Babe.” Dorothy elbowed her.

“What? She’s got sex hair and she reeks of it. If that’s her excuse, she’d better dish.”

Emma rolled her eyes, cracking open a shell. “We didn’t have sex, thank you, he just… made it hard to leave.”

“Oh I’ll bet something was hard.”

“Ruby.”

The waitress arrived with Emma’s drink and they ordered one of those mixed appetizers platters to share, as well as another round of drinks. Emma gulped half of her drink after the waitress left again before saying, “I won’t kiss and tell.”

As Ruby made a face, Dorothy reached for her own peanuts. “Some of us appreciate that.”

Emma downed the rest of her gin and tonic; she hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate it, and seeing as how this was a wolf bar the drinks were made to match their metabolisms, but this was the first time she was getting to hang out with her friends since her wedding and she wanted to have fun. Tipsy, ridiculous fun, with no husbands and no responsibilities. Girl time. Catch-up time.

Only, she realized as the conversation started to actually move towards catching up on each other’s lives, she just had stories about Killian.

“Okay, I forbid you to talk about your husband for thirty seconds,” Ruby said, pointing a french fry at her for emphasis. The appetizers had been replaced by entrees, and Emma rolled her eyes as she took an enormous bite of her burger. Fine, she’d just chew instead. “You have to have been doing something other than banging each other silly or going to work.”

Emma took her time with her food, drawing out Ruby’s challenge and taking some small joy in the agitated tick in her friend’s eyebrow. “Well it’s not like you don’t know what I do for work,” she said finally, reaching for the ketchup. “And we’re in a post-holiday lull, so it’s gonna be a bit before things get interesting.”

“One of us has got to get a different job,” Ruby declared, while her mate rolled her eyes indulgently.

Emma didn’t bother to respond, instead flagging down the waitress for another G & T. There was definitely a happy buzz going on under her skin and she wanted it to continue; the burger would only dull the effects before too long.

“Bitch on the prowl, ten o’clock,” Dorothy said suddenly, looking towards the door.

Emma and Ruby turned to look, with what felt like most of the bar’s patrons and staff following their lead. A woman she didn’t recognize was taking off her coat, revealing a dress that would send normal humans rushing to her side in an instant; here, it only added to the allure of her scent. She was obviously in heat, unattached, and looking to rectify the situation.

Already two men were walking towards her, jostling one another to make her acquaintance first; Emma just looked back to her tablemates with a look of resignation. “They’re not wasting any time,” she said.

“Neither is she; she must be the first one of the season,” Dorothy said, watching the situation near the door with mild interest.

“Just glad it isn’t me this time.”

“If there wasn’t any concern about like, us not being turned into a science freak show, I would absolutely watch our version of a trash dating show.”

“Babe, we have too many seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list as it is,” Ruby said.

“Correction, we don’t have enough seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list.”

Emma glanced back at the display happening on the other side of the bar, letting the sound of her friends teasing each other blend into the rest of the noise. This woman was definitely taking no prisoners, making eye contact with one of the men while her hand rested almost possessively on the arm of the other, her lips spread into a wide smile. Hell, she was charmed by this kind of display, especially when the woman demurely glanced at the second man under her lashes for a moment. Maybe Dorothy was right about a dating show… She watched as the woman laughed at something one of the men said, throwing her head back to give everyone a good look -- and smell -- at her neck, and Emma found herself dazedly wondering when she might be able to slip away back home and ravish her husband.

“Oh no, we’ve lost her.”

“Pheromones side effect, tragic really.”

She blinked back to attention. “What?”

Ruby looked annoyed, but Dorothy at least seemed sympathetic. “She’s still in the honeymoon phase, babe, it’s gonna be a while before everything settles down. The coming season doesn’t help.”

“Okay, you can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Emma snapped. Her drink had been refreshed without her notice and she downed it. “I get it, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up about Killian and whatever.”

Ruby started to respond, but Dorothy silenced her with a look. Whatever silent argument they had, Ruby lost and she huffed as she went back to her meal. The reaction stung -- it’s not like Emma hadn’t sat through hours of Ruby pining and then gushing over her own mate, she could stand being the recipient for a while -- but Emma felt it wasn’t worth it to argue and ruin the evening by just turning it into a fight.

Eventually, they started talking again, Ruby breaking first with some pack gossip. The night never got to the raucous levels any of them might have hoped it could get to, but was overall a nice time and Emma even forgot about getting her feelings hurt. It felt good to get out of the house for a while with friends -- but when someone wolf-whistled as the woman in heat from earlier waltzed out with an entirely different man clutched possessively at her side, Emma thought it might be even better to get back home to her mate.

Even short periods of absence seemed to make the heart grow fonder.

 --------------------------------------------

As the new year rolled through to its second month, Emma and Killian quietly celebrated the one-year anniversary of their meeting, marveling at how much had changed in just a year. Killian noticed that Emma seemed to greet each day with increasing wariness, and his own awareness of the mating season coming into bloom turned into some kind of insatiable itch under his skin.

He’d never participated in mating season before meeting Emma. He’d been soured from pursuing any sort of relationship after the disastrous affair with Milah, and even when he’d been half underwater with alcohol he’d decided he’d never again get snared by any she-wolf’s trap. And to his embittered mind, mating season was just another trap, luring men into siring pups or trying to turn a one-night tryst into a long-term commitment. Even after he’d sobered up and straightened himself out, he’d still felt the sting of rejection in his phantom limb and did his best to stay occupied and aloof in spring.

Until Emma.

He’d known from the start that she was different, that chance encounter with her packmates. She had fire, and the way she’d immediately come at him on the offense had piqued his interest immediately. Then the wind had shifted and he’d immediately known what the source of the problem with her packmates had been, the full-blown scent of a bitch in heat burrowing down to awaken his most basic instincts. He’d done his best to remain a gentleman and let her walk away, as she’d clearly had no interest in acting on her own hormones, and once her scent faded on the wind he’d walked away as fast as he could without rousing anyone’s suspicion. He’d thought that was the end of it, until a chance meeting at a bar led to a delightful night of conversation and drinks…

And the most wonderful, passionate woman he’d ever had the pleasure to offer himself up to the next day.

Poor love had been so miserable when he’d come to see if his magical hangover remedy worked for her that he’d hardly reacted to the overwhelming bouquet of Emma in heat. He’d acted immediately to try and rectify the errors in her spice cabinet, mixing his potion and letting her recover. And as he tidied up the mess he’d made, it became increasingly hard (in many senses of the phrase) to ignore the fact that he was absolutely surrounded by pheromones and the obvious lingering scent of everything she’d done to relieve herself of the ache over the last several days. And when she’d emerged from her blanket nest again and stood there with only a shirt and her knickers and legs that went on for miles and giving him every last chance to run before they’d do something they’d regret?

He’d never wanted someone more in his entire life, mating season or not.

It wasn’t long after he returned home, he realized that long weekend in her bed (and her shower and her kitchen… and one particularly enjoyable occasion with her back pressed to the window and the lights in the living room turned off to keep the outside world in the dark to their activities) would never be enough for him. Liam accused him of moping, his friends thought he needed to get out and meet someone new to get Emma out of his system.

Looking up now, watching her enter the room shyly and holding out a simple padded envelope, he knew just as well now as he’d known then: he could never get her out of his system, even if he tried.

“What’s this, love?” he asked, accepting the envelope from her as she settled in the crook of his arm.

“Early valentine’s present,” she said simply.

They had a reservation at a restaurant that day, so he was a little confused as to why she didn’t want to simply wait until then. “Any particular reason why this is an early gift?”

Her scent changed, a little surge of arousal, and amusement laced her voice, “I kind of figured it was safer to give these to you in private.”

Well now he was intrigued. “Very well then, thank you and I accept.”

Reaching into the envelope, he felt photos -- a stack of actual printed, glossy photographs. He glanced down at his wife -- fuck, he’d never be over that, his wife -- and watched her chew her bottom lip nervously as he pulled the photos out. 

Each photo featured Emma in some way, posed and primping and perfect in all her glory. These weren’t amateur photos by any means, and even her hair and make-up looked like someone else had done the job -- not that Emma did poorly at her own appearance, but she wasn’t one to add such accentuation to her eyes to give them that smoky effect. Killian swallowed hard as he went through each photo, his heart thumping especially loud in his ears: Emma looking directly at the camera in some sort of modernized glamour shot; Emma from behind, shot from the waist up, looking coyly over her shoulder as she slipped a shirt -- was that one of his? -- down her arms to expose her back beneath a wave of blond curls; Emma laid out on dark satin, her hair spilled around her like a halo, wearing what was definitely one of his button-downs and nothing else from the way she gripped it closed. “Emma, how did you--” his throat felt nearly as tight as his pants as he paused at the next photo, her eyes downcast as she lay on her stomach, the curve of her breast visible in the opening of his shirt.

“I am people who know people,” she said simply.

On and on it went, all of them sensual or titillating without pushing the envelope enough to qualify as lewd, until the last one: she reclined on her side, propped up on her elbow, on a pelt that matched her own. Completely bare, her back faced the camera, her hair spilling down her shoulders as she looked to the side, not quite looking over her shoulder but enough to give the viewer a look at her demure profile in an otherwise completely shameless photograph.

“Jesus Christ, Emma…”

She rested her head against his shoulder, by all appearances merely a content wife who was pleased her husband liked her gift, rather than the mischievous seductress she truly was. Minx. “You like them?” she asked.

“Very much. And may I add, excellent call on a private viewing,” he murmured, nosing her hair. “Had anyone else even glimpsed these, I would have had to rip their throats out with my teeth.”

She hummed and he grinned as her scent flared. “The whole murderous, possessive alpha male thing shouldn’t be such a turn on,” she commented, and squeaked as he hauled her up in his lap.

Placing the photos on her lap, he tapped the last one with one finger. “This one should be blown up and professionally framed, I might hang it up in my office. Your arse is a work of art, love.”

“It is,” Emma agreed, “but wouldn’t that go against the whole ‘if anyone else saw these I’d kill them in cold blood’ thing?”

He tweaked her nose; she really was a terrible mimic of his accent. She always made him sound like a Mancunian somehow. “I didn’t say it had to be the main office, and while I admit that intimidating any potential contractors to a better profit turnover would be better, I can’t say I’d be able to get much work done with such a distraction.”

“And it being in your home office would do any better?”

“Well,” Killian said, drawling on the l’s, “for one thing, I wouldn’t have to travel far to take care of any, ah, problems that might arise from a viewing.” Emma snorted, no doubt feeling exactly the sort of problem he spoke of pressed against her bottom. “Though why would I need to look at this if I have the real thing waiting for me?”

“Who says I’ll be laying in wait for you?” she asked, poking his chest. “If our history says anything, I’m the one who pounces on you the moment you walk through the door.”

“Or sooner.”

“Or sooner,” she said. Looping her arms around his neck, she tilted her head. “You really like them?”

He opened his mouth, prepared to remind her that he’d already answered that, but then he noticed the slight furrow of her brow, the nearly invisible downturn of her lips, her wide eyes flicking between his as she tried to read his expression. Killian softened, in several ways, remembering how difficult she found it to be vulnerable; he suspected the act of posing and taking the photographs had been easy -- Emma was a beautiful, confident woman and she knew it -- but now came the hard part: seeking approval. “I love them,” he told her seriously, tightening his hold around her. “A pale substitute for the real thing, but this on my desk,” he flitted through the photos to the glamor shot, “will remind me of the gorgeous woman I have waiting for me at home. And get me through the long , hard days when we don’t see one another.”

She gave him an overly patient look at where he’d emphasized his speech. He leaned down and kissed away the wrinkle between her brows, breathing her in. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone such as you, my darling, but I’m grateful every day to whatever thread of fate drew us together.”

Her breath hitched and her arms tightened around him. She shifted, tilting her head up to kiss him; the intensity of it nearly overwhelmed him, telling him without words how much she loved him and appreciated what he’d said. He felt her fingers in his hair, grazing the sides of his face and neck, her lips moving against his with a hunger he recognized well. “Let’s move these,” he rasped, doing his best not to just throw the pictures all over the floor, “before we make a mess of them.”

Killian gladly let Emma take control then, pushing him flat on his back on the couch and straddling him. “Show me what you really think,” she said, and whipped her sweater over her head, the offending garment falling almost protectively over the stack of photographs on the floor.

 ------------------------------------------------------

The dream started the way it always did: she was sixteen again and her body wasn’t cooperating as she tried to climb the height to the challenge grounds. Most of this was pulled from memory, the sounds of her mother and Regina fighting, the bitter cold, the tang of blood on the wind, but while the stones under her were covered in ice and snow, she’d been able to climb with only a little trouble. She’d been more worried about what she’d find than making sure her feet were going in the right place.

In the dream, though, it was like moving through molasses. Images came in flashes -- her mother lunging and scoring a blow on Regina’s side, Regina’s snarl and the moonlight glinting off the ceremonial silver knives, her father bleeding to death on the ground. Her voice stuck in her throat as she tried to scream for help, like her mouth was sewn shut.

She was helpless to stop what was happening; she always had been, and even in a dream she couldn’t change the reality that her parents had been murdered in front of her.

But for the first time she was able to get to the top, only to find Regina fighting Killian instead of Snow. He had no knife, no weapon at all, swinging wildly with his fist and kicking where he could, but Regina seemed to have the upper hand as she dodged his every move. It looked like she was completely fine with letting him tire himself out first before she had to do anything; Emma tried to scream, tried to get them to stop -- why would Killian be fighting Regina? -- but her mouth wouldn’t work.

Killian lunged and Regina dodged with ease, moving on the offense for the first time as she slammed her elbow into his back. He fell with a cry and suddenly a rifle was in her hands. A crack sounded in the frozen night and then Killian lay still on the ground.

Her body moved, freed from whatever had trapped her in place. Regina was gone, and Emma flung herself at her mate’s form. He lay sprawled on his stomach, a dark, wet patch spreading across his back in the same place where he’d been shot last fall. She packed snow against the wound, an animal cry ripping from her throat in a desperate plea for help. She turned him over, trying to see if he was conscious, but he was white as death and as cold as if he’d lain there for hours instead of moments --

Emma woke, a scream stuck in her mouth as she fought to get the blankets that were tangled around her and constricting her movements off. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tumbled to the floor; the solid impact shook off the confusion between dreams and reality, but it couldn’t get the image of Killian bleeding out in the snow out of her mind. She curled in on herself as her mind blended it with the same sight of her parents that she’d relived over and over again for more than a decade, her chest aching as she tried to stifle her sobs.

It was late, but she hadn’t gone to bed as Killian had still been at work. She’d dozed off on the couch, something she hadn’t done in a long time—in the last few months, the combination of Alice’s crystal magic and the ever-present scent and feel of their mating bond in the bedroom had helped ease both of their night terrors. Their den represented safety and security, giving them peace of mind to rest easily.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Emma took deep breaths, trying to calm down. She reached for where she’d left her phone, using the hem of her shirt to scrub her face dry with her other hand, and checked to see if there were any messages. A few warm tears leaked out still, even as she checked the time and noted that Killian had texted not long ago to let her know he was on his way home.

As if on cue, the sound of keys in the hall reached her ears, and a moment later they scratched at the lock and then the door opened. “Sorry I’m so late, darling, I—what happened?”

He was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. She lay her head against his shoulder gratefully. “Bad dreams, it’s nothing.”

“Sweetling, the fear-scent hit me full in the face when I came in, it’s not nothing.”

His heartbeat under her ear soothed her, some of the lingering tension in her shoulders easing with the steady thrumming. Her arms went around him and his hold tightened, just a little, as if he could protect her from her own demons just by holding on tight.

She wished he could.

“Bad dreams,” she said again, clearing her throat after her voice came out thick. “A lot of the same, mixed up together in a shitty new brain cocktail I didn’t order.”

He knew about the recurring dream with her parents, and the newer ones from the incident in the fall, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to put together what she meant. He kissed the side of her head. “I’m sorry, darling. Why didn’t you just go to bed?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here. I was waiting for you to get home and just nodded off.” Her book, forgotten until now, lay face-down on the floor, pages bunched up and wrinkled now from when it had fallen from her lap in sleep. “If I’d known you were staying that late I would have just gone to bed.”

Killian sighed. “I’m sorry. I was working on a contract and needed feedback from the overseas partner; it’s morning in Singapore so I knew I could get prompt replies. I should have said something earlier.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I still feel terrible.” He kissed her again and stood, bringing her up with him. “Come on, let’s have a nightcap and you can tell me how to make it better.”

She smiled wanly. “I just need you. That’s all I need to make it better.”

Emma allowed him to lead her to the kitchen. “You have me, Swan, you know that. You’ll always have me.”

 -------------------------------------------------------

She woke slowly to the gentle, teasing press of lips against her own. There was a murmur in the back of her mind that sounded like ‘ wake up, darling ’ and she had the bewildering sensation of being in two places at once before a finger brushed against her neck and arousal surged through her body. Instantly she felt more alert, kissing Killian back with newly awakened vigor, and he groaned as she pushed him back, reversing their positions so she lay atop him. “Cheater,” she accused, only allowing them a moment to breathe before coming together again. 

He stroked her mate-mark once more and the swell of arousal almost hurt; she clenched her thighs together, trying to ease the ache that lay between them, but Killian’s hand moved down, coaxing them apart to tease his fingers between her folds. “So wet for me,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” she said, biting her lip at the feel of his fingers on her flesh, the warmth pulsing through her body, the sparks of pleasure with every stroke. He ducked down, pressing his lips against her neck and she whimpered at the touch, feeling like she was melting into putty in his arms. “ Tease .”

“I’m a cheater, a tease,” he murmured against her skin, punctuating each word with another kiss. “What’s next? Scoundrel ?”

She cried out as his fingers thrust home, filling her with that delicious stretch she craved. She could feel him moving his fingers inside, teasing her further, and she didn’t know how she wasn’t just soaking his hand with how turned on she was right then. With each thrust of his fingers, he seemed to lift her up and it took her far too long to realize it was a combination of his own urging and her unconscious compliance as she rose up above him. She threw one leg over his waist and felt the head of his cock bump against her thigh; Killian withdrew his fingers and she looked down to watch him rub her juices off his fingers onto his cock as he took it in hand, quickly positioning himself in place for her to sink down on top of him. "Oh fuck me," he moaned as she began to move, her lips finding his mate-mark.

His fingers dug into her hip as she rode him, skin slapping as she chased her pleasure. The combination of their teasing each other’s mate-marks was driving her nearly insane with lust -- she barely noticed when she peaked, the need for more clawing its way through her veins. Killian protested when she lifted herself off him, but he seemed to pick up on the general plan when she turned and got on her hands and knees.

She gasped, sharp and shallow as he pushed in again, her hand grabbing a fistful of blanket for purchase. He felt so much bigger this way— always had since the way he’d taken her that first time. "If we're going to do this like animals, might as well look the part,” he’d said then, and she certainly felt like an animal now as she pushed back onto him in earnest, back arching and throat rough as she keened, pleading for more.

“Greedy girl,” Killian panted through grit teeth, his hips slamming against hers as she cried out. “Drenching my cock, begging for it.”

“ You woke me up,” she retorted, gasping again as he hit a good spot. “There--do that again, fuck .” His hand found her hip again, nails stinging into her skin just enough to pull a groan out of her. Again, he snapped his hips forward, but it’s less frenzied than before, sharper, calculated, and the breath that punched out of her lungs at the next thrust felt laced with fire. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, felt her heart stutter at the way his mark stood out dark against the morning light.

She slipped against the sheet, nearly buckling, but his hand was there before she could, sliding up the length of her torso to curl his fingers around her shoulder. Too-fast, she found herself surrounded by him, his weight half-draped on top of her as he pulled her flush against him and oh, oh . Fuck tumbled out of her again as she twisted to claim a rough kiss. Distracted, his hips slowed at the contact, but she pushed back again with a roll of her hips.

The hand on her shoulder urged her down, his weight shifting off her back as he reared back and her head pressed against the mattress. The angle was just right, a keen tearing from her throat as he resumed speed, driving into her hard and fast and -- “ Fuck, Killian! ”

His hand slipped under her, between her legs, found their way to her overstimulated clit and teased, drawing circles around it and pressing--

Killian’s phone started to vibrate on the nightstand. Emma felt her orgasm slip beyond reach for the moment, her concentration broken, and she groaned in frustration. She didn’t even know what time it was, but it had to be too early for anything but an emergency. “Killian, you should see who that was,” she mumbled, her head shifting against the mattress as he pounded into her.

Her husband snarled and that sent a little thrill down her spine, reigniting what had been lost. “Whoever it is should fucking know better than to call when I’m balls deep in my wife.”

She had no idea how to articulate how absurd that was, but he moved his hand again and squeezed her breast, leaving wet streaks of her own arousal along her skin and her core clenched around him in anticipation. He exhaled sharply, another little growl escaping him, and she pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She felt his fingers move along her skin, dancing up her back and nails scratching just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, until they found her mate-mark once more and started tracing around it, lightly circling, pressing just enough--

She saw stars. Burst of color behind squeezed eyelids and an impossible wave of pleasure crashing through her, her legs feeling numb and buckling under her as he rode her through her orgasm until she heard a grunt signaling his own. She slid weakly down onto her stomach, her skin still tingling and her core still shuddering, dragging air into her lungs as fast as she could to try and calm her racing heart. She felt the bed shift behind her, heard Killian’s heavy breathing, then felt him settle between her legs. Before she could fully understand what was happening, she felt his nose brush the sensitive seam of her ass, and then dip lower as his tongue found her dripping, abused, and still fucking aroused cunt. “ Jesus --”

Emma tried to push herself up on her elbows, tried to army-crawl up the bed and away from her insatiable husband’s questing tongue, but he satisfied himself with only a few laps before pulling away. She twisted, flushed and glaring at the smug grin on his face. “Who’s greedy now?” she asked.

“I do love the taste of us together,” he admitted, righting himself and settling back on the pillows.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and summoned all of her strength to get up and go clean herself. Wobbly as it was, she managed the trip to the bathroom and even brought him a washcloth to clean himself up before giving her weary legs a rest and laying next to him. The heady feeling of arousal still burned inside, though more like a smoldering ember pile than the full-on inferno he’d worked her into before, but she pushed it away; she wasn’t in heat yet and her body had limits.

For now.

“So what was that for?” Emma asked.

“Do I need a reason to wake my wife and lavish her with my attentions?” She poked him in the ribs, a particularly ticklish spot, and he squirmed. “Cut it out,” Killian said, giggling. “Your smell woke me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “My smell?” she asked, her voice flat. “You know, from anyone else those might be fighting words.”

He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “And far be it from me to challenge you, darling. No, I believe it may be close to time, your scent has… shifted somewhat.”

Emma let her head fall back with a groan. Motherfucker. Well, it was to be expected; it’s the normal time for her to go into heat, it was just… the worst. Though, having a mate would make it exponentially easier than previous years; she had that to look forward to, at least. She just hated being completely ruled by her hormones, hated having so little control over her own body. And of course Killian would be the first to pick up on it, of course he’d know her so well that he’d pick up on even the slightest change in her scent. Idly, she wondered if he could tell because he’d smelled her in full-blown heat before, but in truth she believed he’d know any changes in her body and her scent almost before she did.

Puts the kibosh on any cutesy surprise things whenever we get around to having pups , she thought wryly.

“Judging by your enthusiastic response, you’re still unhappy about the prospect,” Killian remarked.

She sighed. “It’s not that. I love nothing more than using you as my personal sex toy, I just… hate everything else about it.”

“We could try a last-minute honeymoon,” he suggested. “We did talk about going somewhere this spring.”

“It’ll be wicked expensive, not to mention both of our bosses would kill us for leaving so last minute. And don’t even try to tell me Liam would be understanding, he’d find something to harp at you about.”

“Technically I’m my own boss.”

“Yes, but what captain leaves the helm to go fuck his wife silly for a week?”

His teeth flash in a grin that sends a shiver down her spine. “I’m sure plenty do, particularly when the captain’s wife is as beautiful and alluring as you. And I do have minions to keep things running, you know I don’t do everything right?”

“You have to stop calling your officers ‘minions’.”

“I pay their salaries, I can call them what I like. Besides, which is less of a mouthful, Chief Operating Officer or minion?”

“Coming from the man who takes an hour to tell a five minute story.”

His grin widened. “One of the many charms you love about me.” She rolled her eyes and the bed shifted as Killian reached for his phone, which pinged a reminder that he had a missed call and a voicemail. “Though I could have reason for it, seeing as how one of them called at a most inopportune time.”

Emma worried her lip between her teeth as he listened to the message, the tinny voice reaching her ears perfectly as questions even she knew could have waited a few hours were relayed. If he was right, and it was reasonable to assume he was, then it would be easier to just combine the honeymoon and her week in heat. It was extremely annoying that there wasn’t any way to really tell when her body would go into heat, outside of paying attention to signs like any subtle changes in scent, and they couldn’t have planned this ages in advance. The thought of paying all the last minute booking fees made her skin crawl, but she also knew he wouldn’t suggest such a thing if it wasn’t feasible.

Marrying up a couple of tax brackets was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Killian tossed his phone back on the bedside table, muttering darkly to himself, and she settled against him again. “How about this,” she started, “we take today to make sure a quick getaway isn’t going to be a problem, and then go in a couple of weeks? I don’t think it’s going to happen in the next few days and we need some time to get our shit together.”

“Eloquent as always, Swan,” he said. “And the full moon is next week, so we should schedule around that as well.”

Remembering that gave her another sense of relief: for some reason, it wasn’t common for their kind to go into heat the week of the full moon. Some did, but it was extremely rare, and always led to complications with the litter. She thought it might have something to do with how her monthly shifting stopped when she’d been pregnant before, nature realizing that changing forms while pregnant wasn’t good for the mother or the fetus, but it wasn’t like there was anyone she could ask about that. Again, something else that the more scientific-minded of their community were studying, but it was difficult.

And it wasn’t like there was The Scientific Werewolf Monthly to publish any of that research.

Maybe there should be.

“Well, that settles that,” she said, her mood buoyed by the lunar calendar. “We’ll go in a couple of weeks. Plunk me on a beach somewhere that’s not Boston in winter and I’ll be set.”

Killian’s expression was a thrilling mix of joy and sin. “Then I’d better make sure it’s a private beach, because I have no plans of letting you wear anything more than a bikini the whole time we’re gone,” he said, shifting to loom over her as he spoke, the last words breathed against her lips before he caught hers up in another kiss.

 ----------------------------------------------------

The wave of pleasure that had been building inside finally crashed over her, sending ripples up to the top of her head and down to the tips of her toes. She sighed, sated for the time being and pushed away the latest of her spent toys, reclining back on the silk maroon sheets to watch as he took his leave from her bed. They all knew the drill, the men lurking in wait for her summons; she hated for them to linger, but she did indulge in the view as they stumbled away from her room.

For now, though, Regina was tired. That was the third one today, and it was barely noon on the first morning of her heat. She rolled her head on her neck, as much as she was able, joints cracking and muscles stretching. She wasn’t a young pup anymore, as difficult as it was to admit some days, so while being ravished three times by three different, handsome young things in one morning certainly sounded like an ideal way to spend one’s time, it was proving to take a toll on her.

She didn’t like to think too much about what that would mean.

She didn’t care for the reminders, the lines at the corners of her eyes getting a little deeper if she looked too long, the silver strands she kept carefully colored, and now her body tiring a little sooner than it had the year before.

Any slip might give rise to rumors, and rumors often lead to those same men lurking downstairs foolish ideas about power.

No, for now she would rest a bit, take lunch, and assess what else she could do to keep her hand on their leashes until just the right moment.

Her phone rang midway through lunch. Annoyed, Regina answered in her usual, clipped way. “This had better be important.”

- She’s leaving town for a week, her and that British wolf of hers. My sources say it’s probably their honeymoon, but we have to remember the season. If she comes back pupped-- -

“I can make my own conclusions, thank you Sidney,” she snapped, her mood darkening. “Keep tabs on them if you can, and the Nolans. We may have to move faster than anticipated.”

She hung up before he could agree to anything -- it didn’t matter, he didn’t have to agree. He just had to follow orders.

She sat still for a moment, staring at her plate, then moved suddenly, throwing her tablet against the wall. The news that Emma Swan, previous heir apparent to the pack she now ruled, had taken another mate after all the work she’d done to destroy that last relationship had sent her into a rage that kept her people on their toes for weeks. She didn’t need any reason to allow support of any kind for that little bitch to rise, and a newly mated pair with a fresh litter on the way would definitely give reason for people to remember and feel sympathy for the girl. To start rumors or petitions to restore her place.

To revolt.

She’d put in too much work expanding, improving, and keeping her pack in line to let the memory of the old alphas resurface.

Snarling, Regina got to her feet. Rage mixed with arousal, the need to take control of something overpowering anything else, and she pressed the intercom that would summon another one of her playthings to the bedroom.

She hoped he had stamina, though she didn’t quite care if she ended up breaking him in the end. He was easily replaced, just as all the others were.

She was in control here. Not them. Not any of the hotheads she dealt with on a regular basis.

And never, never Emma Swan.