#and how the fuck do i feel safe in my apt after this.

[dyslexicempress]

:-) time to get a good ol baseball bat. tw for ??? just general like. home invasion?? stressful subject?? man idfk.  under the cut. 

over the weekend some fucker destroyed the lock that separates my apartment from my upstairs neighbors apartment. the guy took a screwdriver to it, and promptly ripped the screws out. he managed to get into my apt, didn’t steal or damage anything, but he messed with some of my stuff. entrance mat being all cattywumpus, kitchen utensils out of whack, etc. could have been worse. didn’t hear anything bcs I had earplugs + headphones at max volume in, as my neighbors were partying until fuckin 4:30 am. the guy who did this is... not one of my upstairs neighbors, but was a guest at their party. according to them, they saw him with the screwdiver, but didn’t bother stopping him from breaking the lock and entering my fucking apartment. cool.  

thank god I lock my bedroom/bathroom doors before going to sleep, so there’s that. I don’t know if he rattled my doorhandles, or tried to get into my bedroom-- he had a fucking screwdriver. he sure could have. don’t know if there were multiple people in my apartment either.

but I’m. not exactly enthused, or feeling safe in my own apt rn. 

[autumnalhalcyon]

.

[allthehumanflaws]

The Umbrella Academy S4

If you haven't completed season 4 please don't read any further

This is my complete rant- I just ughhh ohkay

So the ending huh I don't even know what to say. I don't know what that was. Was it just me or did someone else also presume that Viktor would be the one dying?? Why did all of them die? It seems so rushed. Just 5 minutes between Five realizing what's gonna happen and what they need to do and then just bam it's over i'm sorry what the fuck- I had so much hope and thrill and passion going into this season all doomed.

Don't even get me started on the Five and Lila thing. hey stevie when some of the people said they'd like to see a number five romantic subplot...... THIS IS NOT WHAT THE MEANT!?!? You're tryna tell me Five "survived 45 years in an apocalypse killed hundreds and thousands of people and the board of directors of a deadly commission just to get back to his family and keep them safe" Hargreeves the Five Hargreeves who had many a year and opportunity to find himself a woman after joining the commission but stayed loyal to a fucking mannequin fell in love with his brother's wife after 7 years of being stuck with her? SPECIALLY after he specially told Diego that Lila wouldn't throw all that away he fell in love with her and was heartbroken when she didn't throw that away????? What of the frenemy dynamic? What of the 'you killed my parents in cold blood' part of that equation? All gone cause of what? I see no point or use of that in the already fucked storyline? I don't even know what to say.

Luther had NO character this season. He's just a big soft bag of fluff I mean i don't hate that not at all but like... and his powers were just reduced to what... accidentally breaking an alarm clock and jumping of a stage into a crowd of women? yay i guess. And WHERE WAS SLOANE? WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?

Klaus oh my poor heart- a germaphobe. Really a germaphobe? Of all the things he could've been. When the grave scene happened where they were shooting outside and he covered his ears I got so excited like yes yes Vietnam Klaus... I mean yeah he's traumatized but I thought they'd work with that even just a little bit but no. None of that just terrified of ghosts druggie Klaus.

Allison Hargreeves - I have a vent about her already posted. And there it seems I hate her and maybe a little yeah but that means there was like a pacific load of area they could've worked with but no? none of that. She is just back to normal a little scared but that's all. "Since Ray walked out!" THAT"S ALL WE GET FROM RAYMOND CHESTNUT!? What why how when under what conditions??????????? Nothing?? Huff man. I know this is too much for one season and I know they couldn't have included everything in one season but they had such a great show. Such a brilliant show. Season 3 was a very apt ending. It was perfect to be very honest, this is just uncalled for. All the characters are so not who we as viewers were shown for 3 seasons which is why I feel it feels more like a disappointment. Yeah without their powers they'd be different, but they're just not them anymore.... Anyway I should probably sleep.

Tell me what you think of all this :)

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

"Secrets in everything: Letters, neighbors, and things only walls will tell you"

Hello everyone! I'm so sorry that i haven't posted a fic in a while! it seems like i only post one every two to four weeks at this point ughhhh anyways ive written this fic for a friend but also for yall as well so i hope yall like it! after this fic im gonna work on an ask then so ill hopefully have that up soon for the person who sent it in! A little picture collage will be coming VERY soon lmao i didn't have time to make one yet. This fic all started when i was having some Minghao brain rot and stumbled upon this prompt about wifi names: "apt 203 is loud as fuck" "apt ??? say it to my face bitch" strangers to lovers and shit ya know? i cannot express how sorry i am that this is late! I put it in my que and since it didn't post when i wanted it to, i tried posting it on my own and it wouldn't let me. in summery: never using que again

anyways here are the warnings/info: cursing, smut, Very heavy on the smut, speaking of sex like it's something you need and not just want if you squint, slightly hinted at romance between hao and reader i guess idk, but you could just as easily read it as friendly affection, Minghao gets drunk and is a wee bit stupid, reader is on top, reader is referred to using they/them pns but has a vagina and tits, and a very nice ass that minghao likes to grab throughout this fic lmao, Minghao is thirsty for reader, reader is thirty for Minghao, Minghao keeps how he made the wifi name a secret from reader but it eventually comes out at the end, mutual masterbation.... through a wall if that makes sense, oral sex (f. receiving) hand job, protected sex (be safe, ya'll), shitty ending lol, friends to friends with benefits, writing out sex dreams? Minghao says something while drunk and can’t undo it although he wants to

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper”. This is in no way is meant to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone~

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Thoughts lead to desires, desires lead to actions. Thats what kept replaying itself in Minghaos head the second he hit enter on his phone to change his wifi name. He'd heard it when he was a kid. Somewhere he couldn't quite remember. But now, suddenly, it was burning so fresh in his mind he couldn't get it out. He sighed to himself as he put down his cup. Looking down at his phone screen with and various other wifi names popping up bellow the words he cannot believe he just wrote. "apt303isloudasfuck"

He really shouldn't be doing this. This is why he shouldn't drink, he thinks to himself. Especially since whenever he saw you rushing out to work or school, or wherever you carried yourself to each morning. He swears his heart does a flipping routine.

And this? If you found out it was him telling everyone in the radius of your apartments that you're loud? It could ruin whatever you two don't already have. He thinks that maybe he'll just try his best not to be seen by you. Like, ever again. The problem with that though is how you both need to leave at about the same time to get to wherever you're going. And besides, maybe he did kinda want to mess around with you a little bit. Maybe that'll teach you to keep it down. If it wasn't loud music then it was some... other noises. Sounds of you, moaning and groaning. Making a mess of yourself behind his wall. Or, maybe somebody was the one making your words incorrect and moans fall from your lips.

or maybe the latter was your roommate. Cause as much as he didn't want to admit it, he didn't want to believe it was you who was getting pleasured by other people. Cause damn, he really wanted to be the one making you moan like that. He didn't even know you, so who's making you cum shouldn't be any of his concern. And it wasn't! Much. He wants to be the one making you feel good, bringing you to orgasm with his tongue. And he didn't like to think about the fact that other men were making you feel the way he wanted to.

But, none the less, whenever he did hear you, with only the thin sheetrock wall between each of your headboard. Thin enough to where he could hear you so clearly as if you were right there in front of him. He sure did enjoy the verbal show you put him through; fisting his cock until his tears made him bleary eyed and he couldn't take it anymore- his hand drenched with own cum from orgasming a million times along with you but still never feeling relived. So he always kept going until the pain of overstimulation was too much to bare. For you, all for you.

That was when one night he realized he didn't hear anyone else moaning along side you. Come to think of it he never really did. Sure, sometimes but not every night. that meant you were pleasuring yourself? The sounds started so suddenly he didn't have time to react. The thought of your fingers pleasuring yourself, pumping them in and out of you, covered with your slick and rubbing your clit? It drove him crazy, It was music to his ears. He could listen to your beautiful sounds forever.

He didn't even have the time to pause the show he was watching on his phone, taking his other headphone out of his ear so quickly that it landed off the surface of the bed. Where his headphones ended up wasn't really a concern for him. Cause in that moment all he could think about was you. He could always rewind it later. That is, if he ever could stop pleasuring himself to the echoes of your voice, even after you stopped. Cause for him, once he started he could never stop with you. You were too addictive for him. The way to talked, the way you'd always leave a little note with the bundle of mail you'd drop off at his door when ya'lls would get mixed up. Whenever he'd come home to see it he couldn’t have been more glad for apartment numbers to get mixed up and a mail person who did their job a little too quickly at your building sometimes. Albeit he was a little sad he didn't catch you; but he liked the look of your handwriting-- it was cute, he thought.

but fast forward a little later and he’s starting to write back. And not just when you mail gets mixed up, either. Just little sticky notes he taps on your door ending with smiley faces and exclamation points. You start writing him back, too. And before you two know it you’re sharing notes ripped out of full notebooks with arrows pointing to the back because you still have more to say but never enough room. He seems so easy and just oh so caring through this words the more you two find yourselves awaiting the pages you’d put in the others mail boxes. Finding yourselves excited more and more for the familiar hand writing inked on clean white paper. You two talk about anything and everything. But don’t be fooled, cause minghao spends the better half of his dinner time making sure each and every letter in his letters to you are legible. He feels like a little schoolboy trying to impress you with his neat handwritten and well detailed sentences. But he can’t help it; he just wants you to think he’s somebody. Somebody worth spending your time with and talking to. He doesn’t know why but he feels like, especially with the more he’s talking to you, he wants you to view him as someone cool. Great, he thinks. Now he definitely sounds like a little kid.

would you mind? He asks himself. Would you mind that he’s a little desperate for you? So desperate that he lays in bed and stays awake a little longer now because he wants to hear your sweet voice react as you pleasure yourself again for the hundredth time? He hopes not. But, just like that new Wi-Fi name he’s chosen for his router, that’ll stay between him and his apartment’s ceiling. The thing he looks up at in both instances. Sometimes when he gets reminded of what you’d think of him if you if it ever got out that he wrote the “apt303isloudasfuck” and how he doesn’t understand why he still has it up. And the other time he looks up at the ceiling is with his mouth agape, his lips wet from his tongue running over them with each torturing stroke of his hand over his bulge in his pants. The fabric constricting him to were it was painful every time. But not wanting to stop touching himself for long enough to slip down his pants. (The response on the Wi-Fi thing only comes after they talk o each other face to face. “…and when he checked his phone again, looking down at the bright alumina red screen with tires eyes, there was another name quite similar to the one he put down as his one. ‘Apt???sayittomyfacebitch’

he slammed down his phone onto the nearest surface (which just happened to be his lap. Yeah… not the best idea) but believe it or not he wasn’t really thinking about that right now. You responded?? Well, he doesn’t know who would call “apt???sayittomyfacebitch” a real response like oh, I don’t know, “yeah, my day’s going great.” But you noticed? Well then again it would be pretty hard to disregard when your apartment is getting dragged through the mud with a wifi name. But this made him even more worried. This means you’ve definitely seen it. And based on what you said…. You were probably looking for the person who wrote that. What if you found out it was him? Is this why you were taking an interest in him all of a sudden? No, he believed in his ability to conceal it from you enough to know you’d never find out. That’s when, with this new information clouding his good judgment he just had to grab the neatly folded paper from his bedroom desk and walk out his door. A little potted plant was the only thing separating yours and his places of residence from each other. One put up and watered every Saturday morning. He patted down the backside of his hair as he made sure not to ruin the paper he so neatly folded for you. Realizing he forgot tape to stick it to your door, he was About to go and get some when he heard movement behind the heavy door that lead into your apartment. rustling of footsteps and cloths. And before he knew it your face had appeared in front of him, door swung into your foyer. He couldn’t just leave now. You had seen him. So he tried his best to put on a not awkward smile as your eyes lit up the dim outside hallway he was standing in. Your presence seemed to replace the light bulb that had been missing the fast few days in the overhead lights. “Hey, Minghao. Nice to see you.��

you remembered his name?? His name? The person who let everyone know how loud your apt was? Of course you did. What else? You’d started off almost each and every letter to him with his name in one way or another. Oh great, now he was thinking about all of your letters to him. Everything you had shared with each other from the depths of both of your hearts. How the fucking hell was he supposed to look you in the eyes when you knew how, when he was in high school, he had fallen on his actual face trying to reach his pencil when it had fallen underneath his desk. Leaned too far out of his chair and then boom! Face planted. How was any human being supposed to look someone they considered a friend in the eye when all you two did was trade letters to each other because of your busy schedules? Not to mention how he’d been stupid enough to let it slip that he can barely open a bag of chips without it busting out the bottom too. But, he remembers, it did make you laugh. So maybe he could do this. He’d made you laugh and carried quite deep and just plain old nice conversations with you over letters for months. What was so hard about doing them with you face to face?

He gave you a smile as you slid to the side. “Hi. I was just dropping your note off.” He says. How could you be so cool calm and collected, he wondered. Meanwhile, you were asking yourself the same thing about your neighbor. The neighbor you couldn’t stop thinking about. The way he talked to freely with you, how you two just seemed to click after the first note; bouncing off of each others jokes and becoming friends. You’d considered giving him your number but you kind of liked getting to know him off paper through his best hand writing. You’d never tell him, but you secretly had a pile of folded papers in the top drawer of your desk you’d written out of him. Never sent. And probably, considering the contents of those letters, never will be. He shows you the folded note, this time on different paper, you notice. You take it out of his hands as you gesture for him to come inside. “Are you sure?” He gulps. You looked at him like he was crazy, shrinking back a little. “Dude, get inside.” You chuckled. He wasn’t usually like this. You think back to all the letters he’s sent you. And come up with not much to make you think he’d be like this around you. You certainly didn’t want him to be like that. after all you’ve talked about with each other you’ve come to know someone, even if it is only over paper… someone who you consider a friend. That’s another reason why you could never send him those letters. They had… things in there that two friends wouldn’t never think of the other. Or at least admit them out loud to them. But, with the way he handled himself now, which wasn’t that much different from his letters. But more uptight now that was standing by your coat hangers by the door and bending down to take off his shoes. You didn’t know what, but something was off with him. He was jittery, lol he had just snorted a two cups of sugar on the way out his door. His eyes darted around like he was in an awkward setting. So, you tried you best to make him as comfortable as possible.

you lead him through your apartment and into the living room. He took a deep breath. He wants to tell you that he’s not always like how he is now: palms sweating, and unable to talk much. You just overwhelm him to the point where his mind is clouded and his actions seem off. It shouldn’t be a problem for him though, you talk to each other multiple times a day. Like, full on conversations. But now it all feels just a little too real with you hovering over him as he sits down on your sofa, trying to remember that you’re both friends. He comes back to earth with you weave you hand in his face. You laugh nervously at his distraction. “You didn’t hear a thing I just said, did you?” Shit shit shit. This really isn’t a good look for him. “No,” he hangs his head low for a second, “im sorry I didn’t.” You lean back and seem to relax a little bit. It almost looks like you’re just as in need to relax as he is.

Just didn’t have have the horrible talent of not being able to hide it well. It wasn’t his fault. He was already trying his best not to get hard. Having to not act nervous and flustered over seeing your pretty faces too? That was a lot to ask of Minghao. That’s why he sat down. And why he was crossing his legs in hopes of trying to distract himself from the yearning for you inside him. For him to have all of you. For him to make you sound just like you do when he hears you in your room. God, all he ever dreamed of now was you writhing is pleasure above him as he tongued your clit. Or you wrapped some tightly around his cock he felt like you were trying to choke him and make him cum. “I said my roommate isn’t home.” Oh, so you did have one, “and asked if you wanted something to drink.” It made him feel strangely comforted though, that you also were feeling the same as him.

He agreed readily. Finding it easy to make room to spend more time with you. You came back not a couple minutes later and ploped down next to him, your chin in your palm. You didn’t want to admit it, but fuck he looked so beautiful in person. It made you wanna curl up on your sofa and immerse yourself in him all day. You’d be content with just staying here and doing just that, making up for All the missed times where you could’ve been already. But no, you kept yourselves mostly behind the pen and paper. Scribbles and commas became your only form of sight into what the other looked like. You didn’t even realize how long you’d been carrying out your plan to stare at him until he shifted a little farther back into the cushion. “Is it just me or is that way more awkward than it should be?” He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. And then getting a sickly little whispering reminder of how he was now: drink in hand, phone in reach— was not that unlike the situation where the secret he has to keep from you now came about. But no, he can’t think of that right now. He’s trying to keep his mind free of anything that could jeopardize your friendship. And thinking of the one thing he’ll never be able to tell you might do the trick if he doesn’t stop. But strangely, the idea of you finding out— the idea of you strongly telling him to take the fucking thing down doesn’t do anything but make him want you more inside. You telling him-- no, ordering him to take it down.He didn't know what or why, but it made him reach all new kinds of levals of excitement. Anticipation of what you could do to him. How you’d moan for him and writhe under his touch. The possibility we’re endless and he couldn’t stop thinking up new ones.

There’s an un spoken rule between the two of you… both of you made noise. Noise that neither of you really minded because it brought you so much pleasure. But in all your writings to each other, you’d never talk about it. That was the rule: don’t bring up what happens at night. A Thought Leeds to a desire, and a desire Leeds to an action. So you tried not to talk about it, no you even theirs noting to think about it, was there?

All you needed to do was get through this night. As... friends. Because that was what you two were-- friends. Noting more, noting less. Didn't matter than you imagined him every night you were alone and needed relief. Him and that cute smile of his. Him reaching up to fix the light in your little corner of hallway on your floor of your apartment. The way his shirt rode up, exposing his waist. God, you'd do just about anything to have his skin under your fingers. Feeling the softness of his tummy.

"So you said there's some shows you never got to watch because you dont have the streaming service?" You shook your mind out of its dangerous thoughts. providing an easier environment not to pounce on him; less... tempting when you were thinking of watching tv with him and not being on top of him. His shirt on the floor. He nods, leaning impossibly closer to your already heavy breathing form. Didn't he realize the effect he had on you? You gulped, hopefully not loud enough to hear. You didn't need this to go anywhere that wasn't what normal friends do. "My roommate pays for one of the places that show you were talking about plays on." You look him dead in the eyes as you reach for the remote.

You had planned on just doing so as a question to him weather he wanted to watch anything. But it turned into the most arousing staring contest youd ever been a part of. You looked into his eyes, forgetting to blink. You felt that if you did you might miss commenting about the way they flickered and shone. There was something else in them, though. His pupils were blown wide. somehow making his eyes even darker. You wondered what he could be thinking about. But that didn't really matter, did it? Because what you should've been focusing on was how to move away from him

You were so close you could feel his body heat like a radiator. How was he not sweating? You felt like the sun was right in front of you. Meanwhile, Minghao was wondering the same thing. The ac kicked on at just the right time because he didn't know how much longer he could keep himself from visibly overheating. That was the last thing he needed right now. You got up on your knees to reach for your glass. Why did you have to do things that drove him wild? Did you know deep down that you were torturing him with every move? It was stupid and desperate for him to have to control himself so much after the little you were giving him. It wasn't much, but it was teasing him. It all made him crave more. It was childish and desperate of him to be like this with you. But he didn't really care anymore. After knowing you-- even if it was only from swapping letters, he couldn't get enough of you. If you ever stopped taping letters to his door then he'd beg on his knees for you to continue. He didn't care that it seemed desperate because it was. He was. Desperate for more of you. Just like he was now. So much so that when you leaned forward again to pick up the remote to turn the volume up of a show that he'd been wanting to watch for months, but somehow with you it sounded like background noise. He couldn't pay full attention to it for the life of him because You were Right There. Next to him. Smiling and chuckling and genuinely enjoying what you were watching with him. The smile he hoped beyond compare that youd have when reading his letters. He'd only seen it a few times in person, but, a feeling bubbled up into his chest. The same one he feels every time reading your writings to him.

He felt and aching in his groin. If his eyes weren't as wide as saucers before, then they definitely were now. He didn't even need to look down. More afraid to than anything. If he took his eyes of either you or the tv-- things that he wanted to be real, things that were real... Well, he doesn't know what that'll do but he doesn't want to acknowledge it thats for sure. He really doesn't want it to be real. This cannot be happening. Not here, not right now. but How could he not be half hard when you could lean over and kiss him right now if you wanted and hed let you? How could he not be half hard right now with you looking so god damn otherworldly? When all these plush sofa cushions made him want to do was to bring you on top of him and rub you on his thighs and cock until you made a mess on his sweats? It was impossible. He searched whatever space was left in his near thought cleared, empty and short circuiting brain, using what he thought where his last few brain cells that weren't occupied with you to think of what to do about his problem. His eyes landed on a pillow on the back of your sofa, likely moved out of the way for more room. Quickly as to avoid suspicion, he glided it down from its perch and on top of his growing erection.

Little did he know that you had turned the tv up to drown out your own thoughts. Thoughts you didn't need of him. Never doing you any good other than frustrating you further. Making you desire him more. Nearly an hour later and you two had sunken further into the sofa... and each other. Thoughts lead to desire, and desires lead to action. That was what you had to keep repeating to yourself over and over until youd hopefully get the point to stop thinking of those beautiful, soft looking lips. Didn't help that his tongue was fucking darting out to wet them every two seconds. You couldn't help but stare at them. It wouldn't hurt if you just leaned a little closer, would it? Friends cuddle on their sofas while watching the tv all the time.

And your ac was running a little high. But instead of getting up to turn it down like you usually would have to, I don't know, not waste your money. You stayed just like how you were, grateful for the excuse you could readily have available to you if he asked. But to your surprise he didn't. Although he did press the pillow more firmly into his lap. If you didn't know better you would've thought the pillow was made of gold or something. Like it was his teddy bear or something. You couldn't even think of anything else besides how badly you wanted to push both the pillow and preferably also his shirt off of him and shove him down into the sofa.

This was pathetic, you thought. A new low for you, even. This was your first time spending more than a couple minutes with the guy face to face and... not like it was awkward. No, not at all. You had been friends for six months or so over letters. But being with him. No, being so fucking close to him on this damn sofa was making you desire him even more.

That was it, now! Great, you'd already crossed one line of thinking about what youd like to do to him. Now you were starting to desire it, too. Not much longer and you feared you'd take action on those thoughts and desires. You really needed to make your self think of anything anything that would save you from this self induced peril.

"Did you see that weird ass wifi name?" Your words almost made minghao jump out of his seat. Steadying his pillow over his lap (his stupid fucking boner still hadn't gone away) And clearing his throat, he finally responded. "Oh? That? No, I haven't. What is it?" He tried sounding airy, nonchalant, free as a bird. "You know, that wifi name that had popped up what, about six months ago?" You seemed to ask yourself the question, pausing for a minute before continuing, "Around the same time you and I started talking. It says-- actually, lemme pull it up right now. Its fuckin hilarious." You whip out your phone before he could say another word and before he could even take another calming deep breath you were reaching over him, check pressed up against his upper arm, showing him the wifi name he made but couldn't tell you about. Why does he keep it on there anyways? He doesn't really want to even admit the only to reason he's come up with to himself. One was that yeah, your apartment was loud and it felt nice to have this. Even if you could one day find out and ruin whatever this thing he had with you was. Number two was that maybe it did make him painfully hard to think about what youd do to him if you found out. Use his cock for your own pleasure for hours until he was crying from overstimulation? Tell him not to cum until you tell him to, touching him in ways that'll make him let out embarrassingly loud noises for you, telling him that if he came without permission youd punish him cause he was a bad boy? Everything that could happen? He couldn't get them out of his head

"That's weird." He chuckled, scratching behind his neck, "Never saw it." He seemed nervous. But you were kind of liking his blushing face and puppy dog eyes. But Really? You thought. For some reason, your shitty building interfered with even the best of wifi providers. So most people had to reconnect their devices to their wifis every once and a while. Maybe he was on a part of the building where it wasn't as bad? Or maybe he paid extra for better wifi? It didn't really matter.

A little later at you had gotten up to refill both of your drinks. Little did you know Minghao had followed right behind you. He didn't really know what that said about him, all he knew was that he didn't want to be separated from you just yet. Even if it only was for a few minutes. He hadn't had his fill of you. Though, he doesn't think he ever will. You could feel him behind you. His presence, just like every other time he talked to you, was heavy as lead in the air. You could smell his cologne, too. And you didn't mind that the smell would linger in your apartment and stick to your sofa for longer than he'd be here.

You didn't, however, really pay much mind to how close he was. Nor did he, honestly. Neither of you really could care or complain, though. As when you turned around you came face to face oh so closely with your houseguest. The gap between you was small enough to where the cups in your hands pressed neatly against his chest, making your knuckles dig into his skin enough to feel his body heat. Also close enough were you could feel how much he really enjoyed being so close to you. You backs away, not nearly as fast as someone caught in this situation would usually be like.

Although missing your presence so close to him, he knows he needs to pull away from you. You were probably grossed out because of him now. And yes, maybe one day he would've told you how he feels, this was not the way he wanted it to go at all! He can't believe he just did this-- not remember the thing he's been trying so hard to hide? He wishes he could go back in time and slap himself in the face for even thinking that getting up without something to cover his crotch was a good idea. To his surprise though, you smile at him knowingly. And before either of you has a chance to think about what you're doing, you pull him closer to you. Just like you had been before. Expect now theres no barriers of fear between the two of you.

His hands fall limp at his sides. Yours slide up his torso. Both of you wanted this; to move closer. But it seemed like just as before, neither were going to make the first move. But you liked him this close. And even if noting was going to come of what you had just done besides nervous laughs and turning heads in the future, you would be glad to have his body this close to yours in your memory. His hands ghost your hips. A shiver runs its way up your spine at the phantom touch. "Was that a good sigh?" He asks. Lost in the throw of everything about him, you hadn't even realized you had let one out. "Of course it is." You say, trying to bring him even closer. You see him swallow hard before bringing his lips closer to yours.

It takes all of your willpower-- a source that was already dramatically dwindling once he got here. To not yank him in and smash you lips to his. Something you've been wanting to do for a while. But with his hands planted so wonderfully on your hips: firm but still delicate enough to never crush a flower. You're not sure how much longer you can hold out. He takes the next step: leaning a little closer to you. By now your faces are mere inches apart. "This is bad..." He whispers, his fingers now hooked in your belt loops. Because, he knows that if he gives in now, he'll neve able able to stop. Wrapped around your finger. "Maybe," you whisper, tongue darting out to lick your lips, an act his eyes followed with concentration. You loved the look-- wide eyed and begging, it looked beautiful on him. You wanted more. "But this is the good kind of bad, hm?" You suggest. He nods slightly, still focused on your lips. Not like you aren't with his. As you close whatever gap was remaining between the two of you. Prohibiting you from being as close to him as you wanted. As you desired.

This felt so good, so natural. A blissful feeling you adored with all your heart. Even only a few seconds in. Minghao really wanted to take this slow, take his time with you. But the aching in his pants were starting to become painful. A glorious moment of feeling his lips on yours later and he's pushing you against your kitchen counter. His kisses becoming as urgent at yours. You never really tried to be gentle. After the first kiss-- the first second or two of him kissing you? You would be dumb to hold back.

He pressed himself into you even more. His knee slotting between your legs. His mouth was hot. Same as the growing feeling in the pit of your stomach. He parts his pretty lips-- the same ones youve had dream after dream of wrapped around your clit. You moaned into his mouth when he stopped gasping your belt loops like they were life support and griped your hips with newfound vigor. You deepen the kiss even more, something you weren't sure was possible.

His weight on top of you was driving you crazy. He pulled away from air, breathing heavy into your mouth. Your name on the tip of his lips. You couldn't stand not having them on you again. You felt his body tense when you pull him back to you. But this time your lips only ghosted his, fluttering over them. Only making him want you more. Before moving to the soft skin of his neck, leaving a trail of kisses there that made his body go slack against yours.

Your fingers prickled and tingled as you slid your hands up his bare back, his shirt already halfway untucked. His tongue explored your mouth with vigor. At a time like this you were grateful for the counter to support your weakening legs. Not like you were really thinking of that anyway now, though. All this time you only had one thing in your mind: to make him want you, to be on top of him making him moan for you without let up. But now you weren't too sure if you were going to be the only one doing so. You couldn't hold back anymore. You needed to feel some sort of friction. By now your underwear was soaked ; you could feel the fabric cling to your wet pussy. All you wanted was for him to take them off of you. Pulling them to the side to finger would be just as good. You didn't care, you just need something form him. Anything.

"Fuck--" You inhaled sharply, grinding your hips against his thigh. Your apartment was getting colder no doubt . But even with his back exposed neither of you were shivering. Both too lost in how you made each other feel. You couldn't seem to get enough of him. Even if you've been reading his letters every day. Your fingers made their way to his beautiful, soft hair-- hair only and angel would have. So pretty and otherworldly it seemed unreal under your fingertips. As he moved down to your next. Though his lips never seemed to want to leave yours. He spent a while on your jawline, kissing in the spot where your neck met your face until it was beautifully numb. The good kind of numb that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. The spot would no doubt the tinder later on in the day. But you felt oddly pleased to have a reminder of him on your skin for as long as you could. Even after going a little further down to lick and gently press his pretty lips to the front of your throat, he still chased your lips like a man deprived of your kisses as if he didn't have them a moment ago. But once he fully focusses on his task he is unstoppable.

Every drag of his tongue on your felt like a delicious mix between torture and heaven. The feeling he was making erupt inside you was like no other you'd ever felt. And you never wanted him to stop. Of course, with the first coherent though in your brain for him to never stop, he did. This time his eyes finding yours, having a question in them. You nod. and with that he goes even lower. Your color bone becoming wet and sticky with his saliva. You pull his hair down to keep him there. You're still moving on his thigh. But it isn't enough. Not like it ever was. God, what you'd do in that moment to have his mouth on your pussy. He emerged back up to your face, looking at your with needy eyes. A second later and his lips are on yours. He melts into you, begging looks never forgotten as you flip him around so that now he was flush with the counter. He makes a sound of agreement as you start working on his neck desperately, just like he had done with you. With the thought of his fingers, his thigh was long forgotten by the both of you. Now you didn't think that it could ever do justice when all you could think about is his slender fingers and how they were gliding up your sides right now.

He tilts his neck back to give your more access as he bucks his hips into you. Both things you wish you had thought of sooner. "I-I-" He mumbles, not really knowing what he was going to say anyways. Even with just your lips on his neck, words dying in his mouth, all he can think about is them as you make your way up and down his skin there. All he can think about is ho soft they are. All he can think about is how they'd feel wrapped around his aching cock that was now pressed up against you. And now that all hes thinking about is having more of you he can't help put let out a strangled moan, as it rips from his throat he realizes that it's probably too loud for something as little as you sucking on his neck. But at this point he doesn't really care. He just wants to you to know how good you're already making him feel.

As soon as you pull his shirt over his head was as soon as his expression changed. His eyes seem to focus on reality now, breathing starting to steady. The look of need and pure fucking lust for you stays the same though. You plan on making it stay that way again and again. Even if you don't get to do anything more than kissing with grinded with him. Just to see the look in your eyes would be enough to bring you to your high on your own. "I dont wanna do this here. bed?" he asks with puppy dog eyes. How could you refuse him?

he grips your ass and kneads it-- strong grip, but with a kind of softness you can't deny, as you lead him to your bedroom. More like stumble into it, your lips never leaving each other. Locked with the key thrown away. To involved in the kiss he nearly bumps into the door frame of your bedroom. You jerk him away, finding it endearing when he chases the plush of your pretty lips. He realizes the you’d just saved him a bump on the head. “Well, guess that’s on walking backwards. Maybe—“ no time to think. You grab his hands with a primal, animalistic strangled sound. You needed him. Now. You grind into his lap, trying to find some sort of relief in the fabric of his pants and the flesh of his thigh. “Ah— don’t stop” he whines out, head thrown back like this was the best thing in the world he’s ever felt. At your hands. you almost stop in surprise. But his words have such an effect on you that you don’t think you can. Now you have to keep feeling him.

He doesn't know why or what came over him, but in a flash his hand his wrapped around your wrist and bringing it to his crotch, helping you feel how hard he is through his pants. "Shit— baby. See what you do to me?" Where this sudden courage came from, he doesn't know. But you have to know how crazy he is about you. you have to. He needs you to know. You shiver at the feeling of him beneath your hand. You nod at him, barely trusting your own words. You continued to rock into him, clenching your teeth. He reaches down between the two of you, watching his fingers as they snake right were you need him. Even if still covered in the confines of your pants. (Neither of you thought you could ever hate clothes as much as you did in that moment. They weren't doing you any good.) the wonderful feeling of him on your clothed pussy felt like no other. Now that you had a taste of his fingers, just as before with his thigh and just like a second ago with his hard length, you could never go back to something smaller. It just kept getting better and better. Now that you felt his fingers, noting else could compare. The desire for them was about to lead into action. But you couldn't care less. "I-Is this ok?" He asks. And youre taken aback. Him? Asking if you liked it when you couldn't even think straight enough to keep sucking on his neck like before, resorting to pressing a few kisses there in the meantime.

"You're doing great." You say, trying to keep any shakiness out of your voice. You dont want him to know how much of a n effect he has on you. He searches for your clit in a way that only made you want him more. Was he teasing you or was this real? You couldn't take it anymore: you unbutton your jeans and slide them down a bit, taking his hand and shoving it down to feel your wetness. He audibly gulps. Hard. You doesn't think he could ever move from this position: with his hand warm and damp with your arousal. When he doesn't do anything, his hand just idly underneath you, you say, "What? Nervous baby?" You laugh. Almost condescendingly. He gets the point a second later, shaking himself out of his daze. He wonders what this all says about him-- that he can't function the minute his hand is on your pussy. You grind yourself on his hand, his palm brushing against your clit every time your rock yourself on him. The fucking sounds in the air. Minghao doesn't think he'll be able to last very long with the obscene, almost pornographic squelching and panting he hears ringing in his ears. He finally takes his fingers into your ruined underwear, other hand that was feeling up your ass goes to your face, bringing you in for a hard and passionate kiss when he glides them inside of you.

At this point the kiss doesn't surprise you, you've come to have an inkling that he likes them. Or maybe, he just likes having them with you. It was bad, you knew that, but you didn't really care either way. Too lost in how his fingers curled inside of you just right. You were so warm, so wet and tight. He could just imagine what youd feel like on his cock. Meanwhile you? You didn't think you ever felt something so easily good. Just in an instant, he made you feel like he had everything you wanted and then some. Things you couldn't imagine just beyond your reach. You reel your head back and squeeze your eyes shut tight, trying to focus on not cumming so fast. He bucks his hips up onto your wet heat when he saw your face.

How was he making you feel this good? To the point were you were sighing and groaning and looking so fucking good? If his fingers weren't knuckle deep into your pussy, and his other hand wasn't pressed flat on the skin of your back, he'd pinch himself. Was this real? It sure didn't feel like it. Your hand his still on his wrist, holding him just were you need him. Forcing him to stay there. It wasn't like he'd ever want to leave you thought. He can't think of a single better feeling right now than your warm and tight pussy. He doesn't think the feeling could ever leave his mind if he could ever peel himself away from your bed once this is all said and done. But secretly, there's two things he doesn't know if he should admit yet. One: that he wants you to ask him to stay. He knows its only three in the afternoon... or at least it was when he got here.

(Thats another thing, ever since he go there all sense of time seemed to leave his brain. vanish along with his sanity into thin air.) He doesn't want to have to think about "when this is all said and done" and he has to tredge his way next door to his own bed. His own bed where all he'll have are the memories of you writhing and panting for him. Because of him. The ghost of your around his fingers, dripping onto his palm. And number two: is that your iron grip on his wrist did noting but turn him on more for you. Which, Minghao didn't even think was possible until now. But something about you making him stay right there where you needed him, helping him make you feel good... Something about that made his brain cloud and fog up enough to almost slow his pace inside of you. He guessed he just liked it when you took charge of him. Even in small ways like these. "Mmhm," You sound pleased, your hand never leaving his wrist and the other never leaving his bare torso, almost silently asking him to stay down, "Just like that." And at that moment he doesn't think he could ever feel better than how he does with that look on your face. You needed more. It was stupid, really. To just keep taking and taking and taking. But it looked like he was enjoying himself just as much as you were. "Please--" his beg meets your ears as you look down at him. His smooth skin under your hand, his pretty waist and nipples, everything,

"Eyes open..." For a second he seems lost for words, now desperate in his movements against you "I need to see you." Your lids snap open at his request. You couldn't see any reason to deny him. And it wasn't like you didn't want to take a moment to let his body sink into your mind. You run your hands up and down his torso, feeling every inch of him. Minghao shivers at the contact just like you did him but he doesnt make one move to turn away. How was he so god damn sensitive? And just from you feeling him up, too? But you wanted to remember what he felt like. The dip of his hips to his pronounced collarbone. The way his hair fanned over your pillow like a halo. He really was an angel.

But you felt like he was teasing. Giving your just enough to keep you begging for more. You got the feeling he wasn't doing it intentionally though. No... he seemed too nice for that. But no matter if he wanted to or not it was getting frustrating to have him playing with you like this. No outcome to his torturous actions. "Angel..." You call out to the man with the plush kiss blown lips that made you wanna devour them and then kiss away softly the harshness youve ensued on them. He breathes hard at the nickname, wishing to hear it fall from your lips like a prayer anytime youd have him all to yourself. Just. Like. This. He nods, your eyes never leaving his lips as his tongue darts out the wet them. He's been doing that all day. He had to have known what he was doing. He had confessed in one of his pretty written letters that he always brought chapstick with him. You weren't sure if you were glad he forgot it or mad at him because of how much you wanted to cum. "Don't tease." What was opposed to be heard as a light instruction, came out more like begging. But, to be honest. It wasn't like you were doing anything different in your heart. You wanted noting more than to cum around his fingers. So, just as before, the desires of the heart seep though your carefully tapped up cracks.

Minghao slows his movements, no doubt making you even more mad at him. But whats in his mind now could top anything hes done with you. It's been in his mind for a while now. And, in the end, he was never that strong willed when it came to matters of you. He told your just what he was thinking. though, it terms of trying to keep this friendship a strict friendship he was doing a horrible job at it. But, just as previously stated, a thought becomes a desire, and a desire will soon become an action. But now, he remembers something else from that saying: "it will then become sin." But the thought of you on his face, your thighs suffocating him and nose buried deep in your wetness sounds like heaven to him. The exact opposite. He'd been thinking about it for too long, then for a while he'd been desiring your like that, now he was finally asking. It seemed like it took forever to get out of his mouth. Hopefully like the taste of you on his tongue, refreshing when he licks his teeth. "I need you on my face." His words left you dazed. He finally stops his movements, his fingers still deep inside of you. "Angel, what--" "I need you on my nose." He nods his head once, beckoning you higher up on him. You slide a little further up on him, his fingers coming out of you with a sound he doesn’t think he can ever forget. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take. He fucking needs you on his tongue. Lapping up whatever you give him. Its not like you don't want to. No, it's something you've dreamed about for months. But as you start to get in your head about it, your thoughts turning from excited to worry. A comforting hand runs up your back, effectively letting you know he's right there with you. For you. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to. At all," He assures you. You nod, taking a breath. "Of course i fucking want to." You slide up onto his chest a little more. Shit, he can feel you dripping onto his stomach. How the fuck can he not cum right now? How could anyone not cum when you're on them like this? "Please, I just wanna make you feel good." He whispers.

And how could you ever deny him of his request? With his voice horse like he’d been screaming and his eyes pleading. You bring yourself to his face. His arms hand limp by his sides as if he wasn’t playing with your bra strap two seconds ago. “It’s ok.” You reassure him. He nods. His hands going up to grip your hips, slowly lowering you down onto his face. His tongue already hanging out and read for you. Just like his hard dick still in the painfully tight confines of his pants. He’s so fucking warm and wet. You can barely take the sensation. He starts moving the muscle a second later, giving you no time to adjust for damn great it felt to have him on you. You’ve waited too long for this. Having to control yourself around him and his fucking beautiful face. Him and his stupid body that was so nice all you wanted to do was sit atop it and stay there. His hands and voice that always brought you back to your bed at night. Your roommate was almost never home before you so that gave you the perfect opportunity to get yourself to relax. And also at the same time make him feel just how much of a effect he had on you. You always knew he walks had to have been thin— you could practically hear every other thing the man did on the other side. You always thought that had to be a bad thing. Now you see that it could be just as good.

Even better with how beautifully he responded. Giving you a taste of how he’d sound in person. How he’d be. A melody to your ears and quite the sight to see. In fact, that was exactly what you were thinking as you leaned back, his tongue still working wonders on you just by its slow and steady small mow vents. You could tell Minghao was still just testing the waters. And you’d never dreams of rushing him. No matter how much it felt like he was everywhere you didn’t need him. First on your outer pussy lips. You crying out at his tongue slid up and down your pussy-- rubbing just hard enough in a way he learned that made you clench your fists in pleasure. Then he was dipping the muscle in your needy and clenching hole. You didn’t want to admit it but you didn’t think you ever wanted anything more than to take him in at that moment. You let your hands roam freely on his chest behind your back, stretching your muscles as you felt his soft silky skin run along your finger tips. His tongue runs up and down your folds. It was sloppy, and somehow needy like his kisses. But it still felt like heaven.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, you can't feel his skin under your palms anymore because of how mind clouding the sensation was. Did he know was he was doing to you? His eyes were watching your face intently, searching for signs you liked whatever he was doing. He grips your hips even harder, but you didn't care about finger nail marks or bruises when he brought you even closer to his face. Now flush against him, his nose bumping your clit in a way that made your head reel. He gets to work on making your cum. It seems as if his only goal he's ever had now is to bring your to your high. It's all he can think about. Sure, his bare torso was shivering under the coolness of your ac but now it was hot as fire under your touch. He dips his tongue into your gaping hole again, liking the reaction your give him more than anything.

"Stick your tongue out?” A mix of a question and a demand, he happily obliges. You rock yourself onto him. His mouth, his lips, and his tongue. Trying to bring yourself to orgasm even faster. Your thighs locking around his head and cutting off most of his hearing. But he didn't mind. Now that he got a taste of you, he'd let you do anything to let him get it again. But why was he thinking of if he'd ever get to have his tongue buried inside your perfect pussy again when he was just getting started? hes going so fast wit you. too fast. he wants to take it slow (as if having oral sex the first time youre together for more than thirty minutes in person is slow) He wants to take it down a notch. So it doesn't end so fast. He needs you so, so fucking much. But he'll be damned if he can't take his sweet time with someone like you.

He takes charge again, running his tongue in circles around your clit. You tug in his hair to bring him closer as his warm palms slide up your back, playing with your bra strap. He brakes concentration on making little kitten licks along your clit for a second. So fucking good but torture still. He takes a brake to look into your eyes. Even fore a second. A frustrated grunt from you is what follows. "What're you doing? Keep going." You pant out. He keeps going, but no faster than before. Kitten licks turn into leisurely tasting your arousal in his mouth. Not stopping until every inch of him is coated in your slick. His lips and chin must be wet by now; he can feel your slick dripping down from his chin to his neck. it might've just been from all the teasing, but you were dripping this much for him? All for him. He thought. Running that sentence in his head no short of a hundred times and almost tasting it in his mouth. Because, wow. he was finally finally here. With you in your bed. Making you moan. He was finally the one who drew those sweet noises out of you. In the same place where he hears you almost every night. But this time it was him making you loose control of yourself and penetrating the walls with your noises. He could finally see you… and hear you in person. He was in heaven. Seeing what your face looked like when you pussy was getting played with.

Another one of your pretty moans spurred him on, quickening his pace because he thinks he'll die if he doesn't get to hear more of you right now. His tongue slides up and down your folds before getting to your clit again, making you let out a sigh of relief when the wet muscle mets your there. He can barely breath with his nose and mouth pressed so tightly up against you like this. But the wet and perfectly soft but stiff enough to make you go crazy. His fingers ghost up your legs, almost tickleing them, making your spread them wider for him. Fuck, he thought, a few mintutes in and he has already in love with your pussy. You scent, your taste. Everything. Not too far off from what he felt around you anwways. Noting new on his part. But this-- him brining you heat closer to his face so he can better lick and suck at you, that was new. But the good kind of new. A type of new that he wanted to always remain. Not something to try out once then never use again. The specail type of new that only makes you burn for more. Thats all he wanted with you-- more more more. Whateve more you were willing to give him he'd happily take.

The tip of his tongue dips inside your hole again, gaining the same reaction as last time he did so: you moaning his name out like a prayer. "Mmh," You pant, "right fucking there" Your hand that was preciously travailing down to undo the buckle on his pants stop abruptly, you, unable to move with his nose rubbing at your clit just right. He licks a long stripe up from your dripping hole, gathering all of your arousal he can on his tongue, to your clit. "You taste--" he bucks his hips up into the air when your warm fingers reach his hips, wanting noting more than to keep going. He knows he looks desperate, but in all truth he is. He really is. He just can't help himself. "Fuck, ah! You're perfect, so fucking perfect baby." He takes a break from eating your pussy so beautifully to look up at you. His dark eyes glossy and hooded, something primal and needy behind them just waiting to burst. And on other times, you would've shoved his face right back into you to get back to work. But this time all you seemed to want to do was to take in his handsome face. Just take a breath and marvel at it for a second or two. He licks his lips. His fucking perfect lips that are wet and messy and blown wider and have plumped up from all the kissing. And from how hard he had bee practically making out with your cunt a second ago.

Your juices are running down his chin but neither of you dare wipe it off. A reminder of how much he wants you, and how much you want him. You wonder how he's this worked up already. You hadn't even touched his dick. But god, did it make you feel powerful. You almost break into a laugh as he pants, one of the things, along with his heartbeat, that are in sync with yours. You don't really remember how it happened, but it did. And you for sure ain't complaining about it. You can almost hear his thoughts asking you what you're laughing about in his eyes. Then, before you can even say another word, he realizes. And in a spur of the moment decision, an act of bravery on his part, he takes your hand that was rubbing comforting circles on the back of your neck into his, making you bring your hand sliding down to his crotch up with it for comfort, he doesn't complain. "You really don't know how fucking good you taste?" He sounds surprised. Nearly addicted.

You've tasted yourself before, everyone has, right? It was definitely a distinct, flavor, but not really anything good or bad. It wasn't disgusting, wasn't delicious. You couldn't really fathom anyone loving it until Minghao. You had an inkling he had a bit of a oral fixation, you'll keep that in mind for next time, you thought. You shook your head no, and without another moments of hesitation, almost as if the world would collapse if he waited another second, he crashes his lips into yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth. He made your taste yourself on him. It still wasn't the best flavor, but something about the whole thing made you wanna cum on the spot. His tongue explored your mouth, coating you with your arousal still on his tongue. He needed you to understand how worked up you got him. How much he loved you taste. He needed it. He brakes the kiss with a whine, leaving you to chase his lips.

But still, more than anything you want him on your heated core. You want to cum. You snake your hands down to the waistband of his pants once more. "God, you're so good." He mumbles against you, the vibrations of his words that really, neither of you really knew what they meant, because, words like that could mean a millions things but also none, but damn did they sound fucking beautiful in his mouth. The vibrations that rattled your core felt so good that your had to stop yourself from sinking into him. You lean forward, your hands now planted where they were on his chest.

Your compose your self, finally, spitting into your palm a couple times. And he’s bucking into noting by the time you slide your hands down the front of his pants. He shivers when you touch his dick. He's so fucking sensitive from behind in the tight confines of his pants he thinks he'll blow any second. You start to pump him, though torturously slow. He groans again, and you pull him deeper into your pussy by his hair. Somehow it looking messed up like this makes him look even more attractive. And at the moment, you're more than done with the notion that you can't think of him like this.

"D-don't tease." He stutters out, barely being able to fucus now that you're touching him like this. He presses out another sound that makes your head reel. How, even though being as distracted as he seems, he's still able to keep a steady pace on licking you to your orgasm you don't know. The feeling of the weight of him in your hands is unmatched by any other you've felt before. By now, no more spit is needed, he's leaking out of the tip of this cock so much (the same one that you're rubbing your thumb over) to the point where he's making his own lubricant. His pre cum seeping in between your fingers and running down your hand as you pump him slowly. You could tell form the beginning that he didn't need much to cum, that he was trying not to for a while now. But you couldn't just have this time with him and not doing something of the sort, right? You'd be a fool not to take the chance and run with it. If Minghao were standing his knees would've already given out a log time ago. A muffled, "don't stop." comes in a plea from his mouth underneath you. "Wouldn't dream of it, angel." You assure him as you pump him faster. He gives a wet kiss to your clit, making your cunt even wetter and messier than before. He rubs his tongue all over your wanting slit.

You grind into his face again, chasing your orgasm. And he whimpers. A sound so delicate you wish you could bottle it up for youserlf and keep it forever. He's leaking like crazy in between your fingers, and groaning into you. His heart is racing like he'd just run for an hour. The sounds that are coming from him tonguing you are driving both of you mad. It's all just so wet and messy. But neither of you would change that for the world, liking it that way. He doesn't care that his pants are sticky and messy and that if he'd pull them back up all he'd be met with is a sopping wet patch on his on the front side of them And you don't care that your sheets are probably going to be ruined after you're done with him. At this moment in time all you two want to focus on is getting the other off. That's it. Plain and simple. His cock twitches in his pants with the next sound of ecstasy you make for him.

And he can't hold it in anymore. He squirms in your grasp, trying to keep himself focused. Senescing he was on the brink of cumming, you pump your palm around him faster, wishing your other hand could help you touch what you could not reach. You're fast and calculated, running your fingers along the length of him just right. The feeling of your hand, smooth as silk on him, is all too much to bare anymore. He shakes and quivers under your touch as he spilled into your hand. Gripping your waist so hard it feels like fire. He's sorry, he really is. Bu the needs something to hold onto while you're making him feel like it was dead and now being brought back to life. He groans into your cunt, never stopping his licking, trying to taste as much of your as he can as he cums. His voice, although muffled, lets out an unmistakable keen. He tries to still himself but the sensation is too much. You squeeze the base of his cock to ease him though his high. And his hands slide up and down your thighs. If he could he'd hold your arm in perfect place where it was. But when you kept it there anyways he felt like he wanted to give you the world. "G-god, thank you baby You're so good." His head can't stop spinning inside him as he spills his seed into your palm. "I-I" He can't speak. It's warm, and messy, and so fucking wet and it's all over your hand and fingers and you're still fucking him with your hand, not bothered by the thick liquid on you. Somehow that only turns him on even more. The wet squelching sounds picked up right back after they started, this time not from him and his desperate tongue.

"Fuck" He pants, his mouth still agape when you roll on him. Much to his dismay. If it were up to him he’d have your perched like royalty on his face for as long as he could. Your pussy blocking off his air supply as before and your thighs locked so fucking right around his head he can’t hear. Just. As. Before. And just as before he’d like to cum along with you in your bed again and again. Your soft sheets already feeling like heavenly clouds to him under his bare back. He's been dreaming of this, writhing in his sleep and waking up annoyed at himself, and at the situation of you not being there when he opens his eyes. He's been dreaming about you touching his cock again and again. Ever since you started letting him hear you at night by yourself, in your bed, fingers doing what you had secretly wanted him to do all this time.

He'd been imagining your moans-- the ones that he'd hear spill from your lips like fine honeyed tea, that he was the one causing you to sound like that and imagining himself just like how he was with you here: you on his face and his sensitive throbbing cock in your palm. He'd imagined himself making you cum and you squeezing the fucking life out of him in return. Making you cum... making your express beautiful sounds because of him and making you feel good. That was another thing on his mind lately. He stopped trying to make it go away, too. Opting to excuse himself from whatever he was doing and running for the nearest bathroom before anyone could see the tent in his pants. Sometimes forgetting to lock the bathroom stall in his rush to relive the tightness in his pants. It's all he can think about. Ever. Your cum on his tongue. What face you'd make. He already heard the sounds. And oh, did he want to hear more of them. The mere thought of it filled him with a sense of renewed vigor.

He spits on your clit, making the whole thing ever slipperier. Allowing him to glide his tongue up and down you even easier. Coaxing another moan out of you. You want to cum right then and there. He's giving you all you need. Everything you ever needed. The extra pressure on you that he's applying makes you wonder if one of those letters you couldnt send got to him about what you liked. he truth was, that, somehow got throughout the haze of pre orgasm bliss you were giving him, each pump of your hand making him more and more hopeful of the pending high that was to come. And sorted through what made you make the most noise. He wants you to feel good. If he just felt that good from just your hand then whatever he's doing must not be enough. He wonders if he's being selfish for a moment, but then you throw head back as your grind into his face, barely any noise of pleasure coming out because of how good it was all feeling. How good he was for you. And he knew he was on the right track.

"Please, I need it." He groans. Sounding more like a beg than he wanted to. "You feel so god." You wonder how he can reduce you to a whisper just from his tongue alone. One things for sure, you didn't wanna stop. "I-" Your shaky voice surprises even you,, "Right there, minghao!" You grip his hair a little tighter. HE can tell that you're close. Though you sounded even better in person when you were about to cum. This time on the flat of his tongue. "Go ahead," You hear from him, "Please baby. Cum on my tongue." Your high comes when your gazes meet-- fiery and sharp with pierced lust, but also wanting and soft enough to look at and just melt. Melt away everything. Strip away anything that was hindering you from feeling this way on him. Because of him. You moan and groan on top of him, not knowing where to look as his tongue works on you still through your orgasm. Never once stopping, wanting noting more than to collect your arousal on his waiting tongue. The pleasure he's still making your feel-- even as the final shock weaves of you still runs through you. Feeling like you body was being pushed and pulled from him and his torturous tongue moving against you. Because of him and what he's done for you.

He finally stops when you literally have no more to give him. But you still feel so fucking wet, dripping, even. Granted, some of the slick was Minghaos saliva coating your folds. But, for once you're spent. Not able to even hold yourself up. You'd talked a big game before this. Before he sunk the first kiss into your neck and ran his tongue up your pussy. You hadn't known how needy you could be until you saw his torso naked and felt the weight of him in your hand. you certainly hadn't expected for him to take so much out of you. But it was a good kind of tired. Not the kind where you wish fore more to be done but you can't give any (though, in all honesty, you wouldn't mind feeling him on you like this a second time.) Not the type of tired where your muscles ached and you felt like collapsing. But all you wanted to do was to fold into him. You felt tired, but no short of satisfied. When it was just you at night. Just you and your fingers and him on the other side of the wall. You could go on for awhile. Wanting, needing him to hear you. You never wanted to stop until you feel asleep. But with him under you like this... you couldn't quite explain it, but you were satisfied with staying close to him for a moment. And you did-- giving you two a minute to recuperate. Somehow it didn't feel forced. Sure, you were at the edge of your seat to continue with him, but you felt nice. Just taking a minute with him.

He guides you down onto his chest, his hand on your back. Warmth fills you like never before. Starting at the middle of your spine where his palm rested like an anchor, and springing forth to your neck and down you legs. Your hand drags itself away from his stomach and glides up his neck to his handsome face. Your head seems to fit perfectly in the crook of his neck. His mind starts to reel with all the possibilities of what could happen next. Who could say something next. What would you say, if anything? Or would you just lead him out your door? What would he say? But most of all, he thought of how it would be if you'd ever do this again. Maybe going further the next time. He'd die a happy man tasting you, but he still yearns to feel you. How he longs to be inside you.

But, for now. He was perfectly happy with just staying like how you two were-- his arms encircling your back and yours flat on his chest. He wants to stay like this. Not just until the both of you have recovered from your orgasms, but he wants to have you like this again and again and make you let out those beautiful noises until your throat is dry and your fingers are sore from gripping onto the sheets and his hair. He sighs contently. "Don't get too sleepy. We're not done yet."

His thoughts of fucking you again had to fall away, along with the taste of you fresh on his tongue. Something he wanted more and more every day, but something he was son beginning to realize he wasn't going to get, having to settle for the memory of it instead, fisting his cock to it-- and the sounds of your fucking moans. Unlike before though, it wasn't just a far away dream that floated to him whenever he heard you on the other side of his wall. IT was something that was a reality for him. Maybe just for a moment. But it was real and it happened. And now that his desire became a reality... all he could think about was how he wanted to feel you on him once more. Now that he got a taste he doesn't know how he survived without you for so long. God, he was so stupid not to have been having you in bed sooner. It was his new favorite thing. never leaving his mind like a good song he'd never get tired of. Now that it was real inside his mind, something that actually happened instead of a hazy image in his mind for him to dream about, he spun constantly with the thought of you. Over and over, never stopping as a thread in his stream of consciousness,. When he goes next door to his apartment later that day, all giddy and closing the door behind him and sliding against it like a person in a romance movie, he thought he'd never experience a better feeling. That was until, even though, just like the sounds you made for each other remained in the others apartment and never talked about, never mentioned until behind separate closed doors, you'd hadnt ended up on top of him or him in your bed like before... that was until you had come over after one of his letters had said something about him going on a date.

He didn't want to, really. But it had been nearly a month and, to his surprise one of his co workers had asked him out and well-- the truth was he did want to turn them down. HE really did. But they were always to nice to him. And besides, you had talked about setting him up with one of your friends. And as both options felt horrible to him, he'd rather not break the news to your own personal friend that he was never going to lust, and find attractive, and want to go out with anyone but you. He'd rather your friend not have to tell you that. He wanted you to be happy with your decision to set him up, and that if you did he wanted it to work out well. And that was why it couldn’t work: even while thinking of being set up with another person he couldn’t dare think of what that person might like about him, hoping they wouldn't be disappointed by him. But he could only think of how you'd feel if something you'd been working hard to set you failed.

This one, (and very much casual sounding by the look of it) date with his co worker didn't have to mean much right? No strings attached, no commitments. He liked the coffee shop they had suggested, and half prince anything sounded good to him. But here you were, in his bedroom. The same place where he had made that dreaded wifi name. The same name that he had tried to change when he go home from your place a couple days ago, and had been trying since. But whatever he did was to to avail. He was glad beyond compare that you hadn't asked for his wifi passcode. At this point he wouldn't even know what to say to cover it up. And it wasn't like this was something containable, either. He'd heard other tenants laugh about the name, agreeing if they were on the same floor or directly bellow you. What he spread about you? He felt like it was wrong more than anything else now. No longer filled with that sense of "what the fuck am i gonna do if they find out?" But now, his worries become background noise as you stand with your back turned to him, rifling through his closet on a mission to find him some "more self respecting clothes than what You described." Or, at least thats, what you told him in the last letter you taped to his door this morning.

He can barely focus when your gorgeous back, the same one he ran his fingers up and down not many nights ago, is turned to him? And how could he focus with well, all of you standing right before him? Trying to help him. Being so lovely and wonderful. True, just like you have always been with him. At least in his eyes. And all for no good reason anyways, because in all honestly he doesn't even like the person much at all. But, given how much time as passed before youve even brough the time you've spent together up. And how the wall is still separating you, maybe this'll help him to stop hanging onto to you. Even if it doesn't go anywhere, because, he's kind of hoping it doesn.t But still, maybe getting a so called taste of someone else to will bring down his want for you. You noticed something is up with your friend when he hasn't responded for a good couple minutes. You wave your hand in front of his face to get his attention. "Hello! Welcome back to the land of the living." You elongate the ends of your first at last words, hoping to make him smile.

For you? Always. Anytime

He rubs a hand over his face then through his hair, messing it up in the process. Did he really not know how much of an effect he was having-- pulling all this shit on you? "I sure don't feel it." He groans. God, it sends a shiver up your back. 95% Percent of it because your friend is sad, the other five percent he well, you hadn't heard his groans in nearly a month and fuck, you wanted to hear them like that again. You shake the memories from you mind as you place another shirt on his dresser into the "yes" pile, coming over to him. He's splayed out on the bed. A sight to see, really. Using his arm as a pillow and a blanket thrown over half of him, at this point mostly just bunching it up and laying on it. "Whats wrong?" you say in a sign songy voice, trying to make light of the situation. He chuckles, thinking you sound way too much like a mother with your eyebrow raised for your own good right now. "Jus' thinking about about why we've already spent thirty minutes on this. I leave in an hour and a half." Because i need more time with you before you go. "NO, really, what's going on in that pretty little head?"

He shrugs, trying to stay nonchalant. It didn't work on you though. He huffs like a child, rolling his eyes like a brat, flopping into his bed. "Just scared about the date." He says, keeping it simple. And yes, he wasn't lying at all. But he definitely wasn't stressed for the reasons he wanted you to think he was. You scoot a little closer to him. God, any closer and you'd practically be sitting on his lap. No, no. He seriously needed to stop before his thoughts became out of hand. Though, he wondered if it was too late for that. He wanted you to think he was beyond excited for the date-- that, other than his outfit he'd been thinking of it for days and couldn't wait. Now, he was thinking of taking the long way and claiming that he fell asleep or forgot his phone or something. But as stressed out as he was about this, he couldn't be an ass about it. So, he was going to try and make it on time. He didn't want to make his co worker think he didn't care about them. Cause he certainly did... like youd care for a cup of coffee so as to not spill it. But you? He cared for you like his own body. Unfortunately, you didn't fall for his see though crystal lies. "Well, yeah, I knew you were scared. But are you sure you should be?" He looked at you in question, fearing he might've just blown his cover, "Shouldn't you be nervous? Maybe even stressed out. Hell I know I would be, you've shown me their picture." You chuckle, he smiles. His eyes shine with glee like they always do when he smiles. Just like his eyes shone as you lay in bed together in peace. His chin on your head made you never want to leave his arms. You playfully nudge him. "As cute as they are..." You dip your head around to meet his gaze. You're leaning down and around and its an awkward looking position but you don't care.

"Really, Minghao, what's the matter?" "I wanna go on this date; I promise--" "Nobody said anything about you not wanting to go?" You say, your eyebrows raised in expectantly as if to tell him, you're not getting away from this question this easily. The truth was, you didn't really want him to go. You'd much rather have the rest of him in bed with you. But up until now you were going to suck it up because it seemed like he was happy about it. Now it seemed he didn't want to go either. "I'm just--" He sighs, running a hand through his hair just for it to go straight back into place, "What if I'm not into them?" He thinks it best to just tell you. I mean, what's the harm? A lot of people aren't into other people. Maybe now, as much as he didn't want you to have to, maybe you could help him come up with an excuse. Maybe you'd just have to give him one. "Sorry, I can't come because my next door neighbor said they're gonna fuck me lmao catch ya later ttyl" You know, better than that. Thats what he wants. Fuck more than anything. Thats why he'd doing this--- not only because youre his friend and he needs someone to unload that heavy feeling he's got onto someone, but also to give you an opening to hand him an excuse to stay. "What if?" You repeat. In a tone that said: tsk, either you do or you don't. "You're right" He sits up as if this just hit him. "I'm not into them. Like, at all." "Isn't that how it's supposed to work when you first start to 'get to know somebody'?" You ask, head tilted like a puppy. He thinks its the cutest thigh he's ever seen. "Yeah, yeah. You go out with them because you like how they've talked to you, three times and the very vague vibe and because they're cute, then you start to be 'into them', into them." He says. "Hao," He perks up at the name, "Looks like you're not too shocked by what I said. You already knew this, or?" You let your sentence trail off for him to answer. Damn you and you being close enough with him to pick up what he was feeling. It was really barely turning out to be in his favor.

"Maybe i wanna do something different with my time." He says, voice low and sultry, looking no where but your soft lips that seemed to be begging and calling for him, inviting him in with ease. "Yeah?" You ask, your voice for once not taunting but rather as soft and whispering--- only for the two of you to hear, no wall in between, "And what might that be?" He answers you with a kiss-- soft as his lips, it is. Sucking on you bottom lips so gently you can't help but moan into his mouth. His teeth grazing it so lightly it almost feels like tickling. Soothing and calming as you press yourself closer to him, hand reaching over to rest on his hip bone. spreading warmth and rubbing where you had previously squeezed nearly a month before. The two piles are messy and unruly on his desk and you had planned on picking them up by now but right now you couldn't care less. Noting else on you mind besides his lips and how needy you felt because of them. Because of him. You pull away, just for a second, to look at him. He's beautiful. Handsome beyond belief, really.

And it doesn’t take but a minute to get him hard against you, tent in his pants pressed on you just as before. Without a second thought you push him further into the bed and he pulls his shirt over his head. You scan his body. And your core throbs with need when you see him. His mouth hangs agape as you rub his skin as sensitive nipples. He bucks up into you in search of some sort of friction. It probably wasn’t the best idea to be doing this. He has a date, for fucks sake. And here he was getting his neck kissed by you. But right now, you didn’t really want to think about that. More concerned with getting his lips on yours again. He whines as he tilts his head into the pillows, giving you more access to his neck. “God, you’re like a dog in heat.” You whisper against his skin. He chuckles and runs his hands down, down, and down until finally stopping at our ass. Resting his hands there. You start kissing down his soft body. He’s so lost in the feeling of you that he doesn’t think to control the endless stream of consciousness running out his brain like water out a open tap. “I’m sorry. I’m so so so sorry” he whisperers, words barely heard over pants and little groans he can’t help but let out. He wants you to know how good you make him feel. Couldn’t be anyone else.

“whatre you sorry for, pretty boy?”

You raise your head a little to meet his eyes, belt discarded on the floor along with this pants. He doesn’t look like he wants for answer. And you know, as hard as he is, he isn’t that close. You stop all movements of kisses and hickys on his thighs that nearly shake with want for you to go where he needs you. He tugs you up closer to his face but your shirt, the same shirt that a second later he’s pushing up so he can kiss you tummy and waistline. And as good as his lips on your hipbones feel, you can tell there’s something wrong. You move his hand away from your shirt pushed up to your bra. He looks up at you. This time with more that just lust in his eyes. And that worries you. He seems scared, begging. Not for you to touch him, though. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling—“ you cut him off. “No, but I think you’re feeling some type of way and you’re not telling me.” You start to worry that he’s having second thought about this. I mean, he was supposed be getting ready for someone else. He turns his head away. “It doesn’t really matter.” He says. You scoff. “You’re a bad liar. Now tell me.” You speak softly, thinking it may be something you did. After a second, he realizes that he needs to speak what’s on his mind. It wasn’t going to do either of you any good if he just stayed quiet about it. “Please don’t be mad…” he says quickly. You raise an eyebrow at him-- quite the funny sight if he wasn't a little scared.

you move a little bit off of him, still staying close to give him room to breath, straightening out your shirt. “But it was me.” You looked confused. God why did you have to look to cute when you’re confused. It was really messing his apology speech up. “I’m sorry but it was be who made that Wi-Fi you’re always talking about. It tried— you won’t believe how much I tired to get it off but it won’t let me.” His constant rambling turns into background noise for you. He was the one who did that? All this time he was the one who made you worried that you might get evicted because of noise complaints? “Now, I didn’t completely mean it in a bad way! It’s just, well, i-I hear you?” Why was that a question? Either he did hear you and he liked it like how you wanted, or all this time he’d been putting on headphones and canceling your noise for him out. Shit. Did this have anything to do with our nice he was to you? You felt like you were dreaming. Was the serious? He couldn't have, right? I mean, it wasn't like you were particularly hurt, contrary to popular belief because the guy was still rambling on in front of you. You had to grasp his arm tightly to get him to stop. "huh?" He wonders aloud. "Listen, I have no fucking idea why you'd do that, but I don't hate you for it." You start to laugh,

"In fact, it's even kinda funny." His eyes are questioning, inquisitive, wondering if you really mean what you say. "I was pretty drunk... Not like thats an excuse." He said, still sensing how you must've still felt a little miffed. "I think its my time to ask you whats the matter." He puts a hand on your thigh, trying and succeeding in being comforting to you, when a not so comforting silence falls over the two of you. "...None of this was for some sort of compensation, right?" You ask, feeling your stomach sink, not with the anticipation of what would come after his feverish kisses to your hot skin, but now because... what if he couldn't answer that? What if it took him a minute? That was how you'd know this whole thing wasn't a rooze-- a plan to make you think that it wasn't him. In your heart you knew he wouldn't. As little as youve known him and as much as he was a drama queen, Minghao couldn't do something like that. Not to you, not to anybody.

Y/N!" He genuinely sounded hurt by the even mere suggestion. Then, realizing that, well, he didn't have the right words at the time and that, even if he did words alone might not do much. He gets up with a rush. "Wait, here." He nearly runs out the door, almost forgetting his shirt. "Hao--" You chuckle. Why does he seem so excited ? You wonder. But, just like with everything, he was a wonder. He peeks his head back into the room, reaching for his clothes with a shy smile up at you. His whole face seems to brighten. The last thing you hear is the faint clicking of his belt as he hurries out the bedroom door. He rushes back in the same way he came. But now holding a letter. "I wanted to give you this earlier. But this seems like a better time than anything." He explained, "with the date and everything... I just figured it would look stupid." You open the letter and start to read, it looked half finished. But the paragraph inside tells you all you need to know. In synopsis: he views as someone very special in his life. He cherishes you to the ends of the earth. And with what he's written down, it only solidifies how he'd never do anything to hurt you. Your head starts to turn up before you're even done reading. "Listen I was never that concerned--" "Just like old times--" you both say at the same time. "Sorry, I've been thinking about saying that since I started writing it." He mentions. "I thought so." You said. God, how do I know you so well. He knows he's written something else, but he also know sees you haven't read it yet. He doesn;t say anything, though, preferring to leave you to find it on your own when you're ready. He gestures to you like; and you were saying? "Hao," A feel good shiver runs up his spine at the nickname, "I never was that concerned with it. Sure, it stung a little to know that someone complaining about my apartment." He starts to say something, but you cut him off.

"And I know you're sorry. And I've heard horror stories about your wifi provider before." He smiles at you, beath calming down, not sounding like he's run a race as a second ago. He looks unreal. Other worldly, even. So fucking beautiful. You can't think of another word to describe him. Every single one you've tried seems to be a little off. You werent expecting such an actual explanation. And he didnt just leave it at: "Well, I was drunk so you can't blame me." His actually made sense, too. And, from his track record, and even from today. You could tell he was telling you the truth. One look into those deep brown eyes and you knew that if he had the power to he wouldve long changed it. And if he wasn't drunk he wouldn't have made it. "But there's one thing I don't know... I knew you were drunk, but, anything you'd like to tell me that spurred this on?" You sit there, pulling his body towards yours, starting to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. It was on backwards. He shivers as your fingers graze his heaving stomach. "Yeah." HE says simply, "But not how you think!" You chuckle. "What?" You question, "You don't mind the loud music? So... is there, anything else?" You say it like there could be anything in the world that caused him to make a jab at how "loud your apartment is." "Your noise." HE looks into your eyes, referencing how you'd make yourself cum every night. So close but way to far away from him. He wanted to start rambling about how he doesn't mean tot hear it... but, it looked like, but your smirk you wanted him to. You wanted him to get riled up and desperate for hearing you in person. And thats just what he was. "I'm glad you've finally said something about that. Looks like I've accomplished what I wanted for the year." You breath out a laugh.

So he has unsent letters just like you? You think back to your drawer of your nightstand or the shoebox by your desk. There lay, dormant and gathering dust, all unsent letters. Letter deemed a little too early in the friendship to send, letters describing dreams or thoughts youve had of him where he's been gripping your hips as you rock on hid dick, him begging you for release as you chase your own orgasm, even one letter asking him a stupid question about some show you bother watched, you remembered the answer soon after and diced to start a new one on a fresh sheet on paper. But you still kept it and held onto it like it was a precious gem. Your fingers stop their teasing movements the waistline of his pants and tell him to wait there, same thing he told you. You come back with letters, you more than him. His eyes tell you he's interested. But also: "hold on, you too?" He reads them and smile each time he turns to another. Making little remarks and comments here and there. "You know, there's something else in mine as well." He says, flipping to one of the last ones-- the ones with detail after detail of your conscious when it came to him. About how you wanted to have him and what you wanted him to do to you in your bed. Or his, it didn't really matter as long as it was with you. "Fine. Read the rest of mine though." You say, wanting, no, needing him to know what you thought of him when he wasn't beside you. You eyes flicker down to the arrow to the font of the letter in your lap. You flip it around to see his number, clear as day, staring at you in your face. (With a little note that says: how come we never did this before?) and a little, delicate sketch of the first flower pressing he'd ever given to you whine you mentioned something about them neither of you can really remember. You pressed the note onto your thighs, smoothing it down.

"You know i never minded when you sent me pressings, right?" There was noting to make you think he was about to ask, but something told you it was in the back of his mind. He nods, barely listening as he read the letter about the dream you had about fucking him like both of your lives depend on it.

And with the growing need on your pants it sure felt like it did.-- You call his name a couple times but to no avail. “come back down to earth, angel. I’m not done with you yet” you climb back onto his lap

A second later his lips are on yours. "Fuck," He whines, "You really wanna do all that to me?" He doesn’t sound repulsed at all, he now craves the thought, desire pools in his stomach for him to feel you. All of you. Wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock like how you described. He leans on top of you, making you push down into his plush bed, his mouth more eager than the first two times. You didn't; think that was even possible. You pull away, him left chasing the feeling of your lips on his. It felt so god he'd be happy if he died there. "Call them to cancel?" You beam. A moment after he sends them a quick apologetic text, here he is, grinding into your thighs, trying to fuck himself on the pillowy flesh you so lovingly provide for him. “what is it angel? You wanna be inside me?” You ask him, smiling to yourself as he nods, gulping. Your lips are ghosting over his as you slide down on him. His fingers are inside of you and making you cum in an instant when you drop your pants. Curling and pumping just how you said he did so in your dream. And the instant his cock has sprung out of his pants, ready and waiting for you, you're starting to move in a way that makes you feel like heaven is in your grasp as he swallows your moans with a kiss.

“G-god I—“ his words are cut short as he bucks his hips up into you. The stretch you feel inside your cunt feels fucking amazing. Noting like ever before. lips hovering against his once more as you start slow movements on him, the force of them still making you move from his mouth to his eyes. Slower, now but deep as ever. HE runs his hand up your back, his brain too foggy to think to take off your shirt fully like his-- to match him, fully naked in his bed. It's something he's been dreaming about ever since he first heard you moaning from the wall behind him. even though the condom he can feel every inch of you. You’re so warm and wet and so fucking tight and slippery-- the way he glides in and out of you, always drawing pleasured sounds from the both of you drives him so crazy he can barely take his eyes off of his cock disappearing into your pretty pussy over and over again. fascinated by how a ring of your slick starts to form around his cock, sticky and thick. He wants noting more than to see you lick it off of him. Or for him to get a taste. You fuck yourself on him, not like he wants anything else. He rubs circles on your back, your thighs bare as he grips onto them to ground himself. Your hands fault against his chest for leverage, you seem to never tire of the delicious feeling of him. "What're you sorry for?" You ask him, leaning down to his earlobe and nibbling it. Almost as a reminder of how stupid it all is, you chuckle at his inability to speak when you squeeze his cock particularly tight.

The thought had long done turned into a desire, and you couldn’t have imagined a better action for you two to take.

End~

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thank you all so much for readin!! Please leave some love like comments and or reblogs if you liked this! Also I will be coming in to edit this a little very soon so I’m sorry if it’s not good at the moment @jasminexox5 @impuritywritings @jjjzzz @zozjella @mimisxs @itz-yerin @toorauz @daechwitabaddie

(if youre username isnt underlined im sorry that i couldn't tag you! im not sure why but sometimes with tagging it doesn't show up) If you'd like to be a part of my permanent smut and or fluff taglist please comment on this post! if youd like to be a part of my smut taglist please have something in your blog bio telling me youre not a minor thank you! the previous action is not necessary if you want to only be a part of my fluff masterlist. So please specify which one

[ram-bam-writes]

1. Holy shit, thank you: I actually wanted to read it, but assumed you wouldn't drop the essay. Lovely piece of work, especially the poem. Kind of gives me insight on how you view him.

2. Even if you are over it--sending you love and healing. I was also a medically neglected kid, and it's a feeling to hear other's experiences. Not sure what to name it yet still.

3. Bio bitch, as a term made me laugh. It was unexpected and apt! A new one.

4. I love your humour--your writing belies your personality, which very faceted (this is a compliment, idk if it comes across the way I intend) and a mix of humour, weathered-hey-so-it-happened-and-I-survive, and reason.

5. "I blame circumstance for it all" gasping at the brevity and impact.

6. The way you weaved in mental health with this? Immaculate. It's a perspective I haven't even thought of before, and thank you for sharing that, genuinely. It was lovely, and one of the nicest I've came across this year.

7. Thank you for tagging me! I might have missed it, I wasn't checking my notifs. Very kind of you :)

8. Ps-- "I need this man to fuck me through the mattress " and subsequent notes? I hope both sides of your pillow remain cold.

1. Ehehehe, I'm not shy about posting my work. I like sharing things I've written, especially like that one, because there's more to it that I think is important. And thank you! I think I've written over 8 pieces of poetry for/about him, now. I truly am obsessed.

2. I think that's the biggest part of why I wanted to share it. So much happens to people as a kid, and sometimes it's easy to self-blame or even believe you to be the only one. I like sharing experiences so people know they ain't alone, even if that's not necessarily a good thing (if that makes sense, given we shouldn't have gone through it I'm the first place). I think one reason I'm happy I'm comfortable talking about it is for that reason. I want people to feel safe around me, and I reckon they can do it easier if they know I've been through hardships similar to theirs. Might make them more comfy talking to be when they need help

3. One of my personal fav's :>

4. Writing was actually what helped me get through it all (I suppose over-it might be the incorrect word, since it's less about getting 'over' what happened, rather getting through/past it and accepting what happened was bad and continuing to thrive in the face of hardship). I'm in love with that analysis; I hadn't noticed I had such a style, but the more I think about it, a lot of my work flows that way (I've done an informational one on explaining what watercolors are and the tools involved, while slipping in a few narrative paragraphs about how it brought be out of my SH and depression.

5. :>

6. As someone who was actually tested for DID and Schizophrenia because of how *badly* I'd dissociate to these worlds of characters, I figured it was something to point out, especially with how it started and what it turned into. Once my therapist made the connection after ripping open my childhood with such precision, I felt like it was something that needed to be expressed. I think there can be guilt to loving a character (especially if the Fandom has bad people in it), and I don't want there to be. I think the characters you like may reflect what you didn't have as a child, or the exact opposite, and sometimes is needed to have a sense of... completion within yourself. Characters you love can be a big part of your identity, I reckon, too.

7. I figured you might wanna see it :>

8. I've never heard this turn of phrase so I pray this is a good thing... ehehehe

~~~~~~

Much love 🩶🪽

~Hermes

[mysicklove]

1.It's such a peculiar feeling, I'm an outdoorsy guy. I drink my coffee black. Work on my car, love working with my hands and fishing but when we play it's like all that fades away. I lose any need to prove myself and it's freeing. Lol as dumb as it sounds I just kinda melt.

2.Overstimulation is great! It's the perfect mix of pleasure/pain. Depending how it's done it can be soooo incredible. Being assaulted by multiple sensations, not being able to decipher what feels the best and worst. Your mind literally can't process it all and goes into a haze where everything just blends. Lol I'm a big fan

3.Mmmm I don't really "see" her it's kind of a feeling more than an idea. It's someone I feel safe with, someone I trust and I do mean TRUST. Someone I would go to nearly any length to make happy. It's like I'm not looking for a dom I'm looking for a best friend.

4.It 100% can be, you can rapidly find yourself doing something you don't want or feel not right with. But that's the importance of trust in situations and relationships like these. All I have to say are two words and I know she would drop anything and everything and make sure I'm okay. I've also experienced it to where as things are happening I'm okay with them but once I'm out of that fog it hits you and that is just as scary. This is why aftercare is soooo important.

5.YES! it goes along with the submission like its yet another layer of me giving in and giving her full control. Tie me up put a blindfold on and do whatever you want to me. It drives me wild and I think the power trip does it for her too.

6. I've personally never got the whole leather or latex "thing" maybe because it gives a slightly bad guy/girl in charge feel. If she likes it go ahead but it's not a positive or negative in my mind.

7. If she really wanted to try maybe. I'd be more apt to having a more dominant person with her than another sub at her beck and call with me. Sounds weird but I'd much rather be her only sub.

8. It's 100% different. It's so much more in depth I guess you could say? The build up is completely different and once you finally do get there you are riding wave after wave of pleasure. From what people have said it's pretty similar to how the opposite gender feels orgasms.

9. Definitely NOT a myth. Not to go into to much detail but I had experienced my first about a week or two ago and it was insane! I wrote about it on my page if you are at all interested.

10.Oh boy. This topic always makes me blush. They are the most infuriating thing ever. And yet something about it deep down does something to me not just physically but mentally. Putting it on or better yet having her put it on and seeing that lock click never fails to give me chills. It's a full submittal to their will. Even if at that point I wanted to play with "it" I can't and something in my head LOVES relinquishing that power. It makes me instantaneously feel subby. It takes the whole concept of you can look but not touch idea and ramps it up 1000%. Once it's on its hers. She decides if she wants it played with or not and it's a rush.

11. Turn ons that really get me? First and foremost are marking like hickeys or bite marks, let everyone who happens to catch a glimpse of them know that I'm yours. Edging and denial are way up there too, the buildup compounding on itself over and over are so intense and it drives me wild. Lastly audio, whisper into my ear all the fucked up things you want to do to me, tell me I'm a good boy, tell me what your going to do in detail. I LOVE the sound of my doms voice especially when she gets into it. Her tone changes her voice gets ever so slightly deeper and it never fails to make me feel more subby.

questions from here

we talked a bit on messaging, but thank you for feeling comfortable enough to share! i really enjoyed seeing your perspective on this :)

[lovelykhaleesiii]

rewarding myself for sending emails with some thots.

alright bestie, I also agree that bigger guys are the things I go for, because of that protection feeling (but also they tend to be warmer to my always cold self), in fact my crush on aemond is low key an anomaly and it's definitely due to the whole morally ambiguous vibe.

but I am not there to blabber about my (terrible) tastes in fictional men, but I wanted to say that:

1) oh yeah, the idea of riding his thigh is definitely good because I feel like babe would be like 'we are going to be married, we can do stuff. even all the way', but you are a bit worried about it and are like 'what about this?' (he might also attempt 'to go only the tip pls').

it's safe to say that now he is looking even further to your first night and definitely showed you off to aemond the day after as he brought you to the training grounds to see him train. listen, he might not enjoy the swordplay as his brother, but sign him up to impress the ladies! also bonus if he overpowers aemond in some ways because of his body and he is like that annoying sibling going like 'say that you surrender!' while aemond is just like '... I just wanted to have a nice day'.

2) I just wished to say that yeah, his weight and chubbiness might entail that some positions in sex might not be done, anymore, which makes him sad for two minutes before he realized that you can now explore other options and he is like the apt pupil for these things, always trying new ways and having fun in general. just as long as you reward him with honey cakes right off your hands (or tits, he isn't picky)

thotty thoughts with you are my favourite 💖✨

listen we can both agree our taste in men are diverse but worrisome 🤭

omg yesssss! Aegon would definitely try to convince you he’ll be super duper careful with only just the tip in, saying he’ll pull out immediately if he feels himself on the verge of exploding 🥵 you probably only let him closer towards the wedding night!!!

oh yeah, he’d definitely overpower Aemond when he can!! Aemond’s speed is unmatched but once Aegon gets him into a hold it’s game over, there’s no point fighting 😫 *consider me swoooon*

fuck yes, he’s so upset he can’t perform some of his all time fave positions nor can he go on for long (needing breaks in between each round) but he loves seeing you WORK !!! the way your body adjusts and is flexible to cater for his larger body. how small you are against him & now that he can easily pin you down, I- 😫🥵🥵

I need Aegon pinning me down, holding me against my wrists over my head, with cakes and sweets all over my bare tits, as he eats and sucks off me !!!!

[monimolimnion]

I posted 11,344 times in 2022

That's 4,097 more posts than 2021!

35 posts created (0%)

11,309 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@jollyfanasties

@itsrapsodia

@charmps-you-grickly

@freakinflipflop

@4ragon

I tagged 4,014 of my posts in 2022

#ofmd - 1,064 posts

#wwdits - 917 posts

#queue - 109 posts

#goncharov - 92 posts

#unreality - 74 posts

#seascape tag - 68 posts

#help - 48 posts

#lauren - 46 posts

#drawtectives - 35 posts

#oh my god - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#the day after i saw this post for the first time i hung out with my friends and we had the most cursed conversations in ubers both there and

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Kindred [Chapter 12 + Epilogue]

name: Kindred fandom: Ace Attorney | Gyakuten Saiban pairing: Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth/Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright wordcount/chapters: 13/13, 96k additional tags: miles adopting pess: the fic!, it'll take a while but we'll get to narumitsu eventually i promise, set during disbarment but no AJ spoilers bc i haven't played it yet, Plot Lite(TM), very mild disbarment-typical angst, Slow(ish) Burn, References to / characters from AAI 1&2 but no major spoilers, COMPLETE!

summary:

Her ears prick up at the sound of his voice, but she doesn’t move. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm afraid. I suspect that I am not very good at this." Miles would feel silly to an extreme for speaking to her like this, except for the way that Pess thaws, ever so slightly - her tail twitches, her head dips a little from its stiff posture, and she huffs out a long breath, heavier than her shallow meter from before. "I'm aware you don't understand me, but I am quite certain that I understand you, Pess, at least a little. And I want you to know you are safe with me in this house, and that this will be your home so long as you are happy here.”

Against his better judgement, Miles Edgeworth adopts a dog.

Read it on AO3!

74 notes - Posted August 8, 2022

#4

not to bang on about it, but i think the Goncharov Phenomenon and the new Defunctland video being released at the same time is kind of. apt?

in the documentary Kevin spends an hour and a half in agony about his existence as a youtuber/artist/documentarian, agony i recognise and deeply resonate with, and comes to the conclusion that work doesnt have to be "great" to be worth it. that seriousness and importance is not something worth trading off joy for. that it's not actually a bad thing necessarily that sketches and memes take off and stuff you worked hard on doesn't, even if it feels bad in the moment

his point being that creativity is worth it even in isolation, that even the "real" virtuosos have no regrets about producing work that is less important, and that it's about whoever you touch with the work, no matter how shallow or simple the work may seem, and no matter how shallow or simple the impact might be on whoever you touched.

you still touched them, didn't you?

i think it's obvious why this resonates with me quite so much - in a fandom context, as well as where that intersects with my work in games, my ideas for novels that might not get anywhere, and what i "should" be doing to be considered a proper writer

and that's why goncharov is such a fantastic fucking example.

the entire POINT of goncharov is that it doesn't mean anything. and because of that, it can mean everything at once. the outpouring of creativity in unison from seemingly all corners of tumblr is no less beautiful because it is couched in memery and an inside joke. the analysis speaks just as much about the context of our zeitgeist as it does the film that doesn't exist. the art, the writing, the music. everyone taking whatever craft they've built for themselves and using it to reach out to each other for no reason other than it's fun.

it is worthy of doing, in and of itself.

my god. humans just need an excuse to create beauty sometimes because we'll do it about fucking anything. and i think that's wonderful

90 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

#3

ok. hear me out. i have thoughts about nandor’s list of ideal wife traits.

ive seen posts that are like 'it's a list of traits guillermo has!' reading it as a nandermo hint, as well as posts that say 'guillermo has the exact opposite of those traits to show that nandor is in denial' and i really don’t think it’s a direct 1:1 of either of those at all

it's pretty clear to me that the list is first of all much more literal than that - the show isn't always trying to indicate something aside from literally what it's talking about (the traits of the wives he re-deaded during the montage) and while i love reading into things as much as the next guy i think this list really was just written to serve the joke more than anything

BUT. but. it's also something that is much more indicative of nandor's inner workings than it is a straight up list of things he likes about guillermo but won’t admit to because, well, let's list the traits -humble, an excellent listener, not petty or slovenly or vain or manipulative, never asked him to shave off his beard, not smarter than him, warm and wanted to be with him (🥺), kind, a good haggler, merciful, horny, and has a sense of spontaneity and fun

to me this reads almost as if it's a classic comphet 'oh i just have high standards' kind of bent thinking. half of the traits seem to actively contradict another item in the list! this is the exact kind of thought pattern that happens when you are so divorced from your actual Self that you don't actually even know what you want - if i just have a reason that every relationship isn't perfect, an excuse for it to never be right, then i don't have to face what is genuinely happening inside me. if i have a formula, then i am safe. 

i would argue that the list is actually three separate things: 1: things nandor genuinely does want in a relationship (which do tend to line up with guillermo's own traits, or the ones he has made most visible during his servitude) 2: things that would be good for nandor’s personal development and therefore he does not want to be challenged on them (especially by a near-stranger as his wives have become to him - the fight scene is the big example here, since his reaction to guillermo in the same context was so different, but also i’m including things like not being smarter than him, etc. these are largely Also traits guillermo has, and are the ones pointed out by the posts arguing that the whole list is about guillermo in negative).  3: the other things are just quibbles because he is a petty little bitch but we been knew that already

to me his total misread of marwa's personality at the end of the episode is so starkly obvious for those exact reasons - he doesn't know what he wants at all, and it's not as simple as his subconscious having all the answers in a direct negative for us to superimpose guillermo on, either. because divorcing yourself from your emotions and anything remotely difficult to process for 400 years is bound to have some sort of impact.

also i am deeply certain that nandor was largely the same (read: an asshole) even while he was still human, too, but that’s a topic for another time

118 notes - Posted July 16, 2022

#2

287 notes - Posted February 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

thinking about how nandor calling all his partners wives is a clever way to have him very explicitly handwave heteronormativity and establishes him as someone who doesn't even register the modern sexuality zeitgeist BUT still places him as the sole husband: still centers him as the man of the house, the one waited on hand and foot, the one in charge, and the one ultimately aloof from a relationship that is supposed to be a partnership (there being many wives notwithstanding).

and how if, in the end, guillermo refuses to be nandor's wife and insists on being his husband that it sings in total synergy with the entire storyline thus far - it would be guillermo learning to own himself, his sexuality, his self worth, and refusing to be a doormat, and nandor accepting that change is part of life even when you are undying, and that he cannot always be dominant in order to avoid being vulnerable, and in fact needs a partner that will challenge him

in this essay i won't

1,634 notes - Posted July 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[gretagerwigsmuse]

i was just going to message you that i was thinking about these two earlier while listening to some 30s and 40s music! i’ve been on pins and needles since last chapter and am so glad we got to see both of their pov’s because i don’t think i could’ve lasted another chapter not knowing what happened to either of them after chapter 13! which like was partly what i was thinking re anya, but not totally so it was perfect. i can’t wait to find out where she goes from here (girl get your stuff from the apt and get o-u-t out of there! get on the next boat to london or something to meet up with your man!) and am praying bradley meet up with the right people (though tbh the wrong ones probably wouldn’t have put that much effort into hiking and going to the airfield but you never know). n-e-way i can’t wait for what happens next and have my fave parts below! 💕

“Don’t draw any attention to yourself once you get on the train,” Your voice is so close and clear that Bradley is suddenly back in that small room, in bed with you. A moment in time when this was all just a plan. A rough sketch. Bradley’s reality was entirely between those four walls. You’re laying on top of him, naked, soft breast pressed against his chest. - i also want them to go back in that little attic room, everything was so much easier and smaller that last week

How bravely you faced danger. Because Bradley remembers how softly your voice was when you admitted you didn’t want to die. - fuck fuck fuck this is so good

Looking back, Bradley can barely remember the hike. Let alone the train ride. It already feels like everything happened in the past—a different lifetime. He’s lived so many now. - i love this and was actually thinking of the two of them in that little room in the forest with all the snow

Sitting there, the sounds of the forest suddenly intensify. Bradley can hear how the wind picks up through the crowns of the trees. Leaves rustle, branches creak—something small is scurrying through the underbrush. A mouse or a squirrel, perhaps. Bradley focuses back on chewing. The food still tastes like nothing. - something about this paragraph just ratcheted up my blood pressure like it’s so still and quiet and there’s nothingness and he’s just There

You were not just part of a mission—he is pretty sure it was not just a mission for you anymore. It wasn’t for him. - oh bubbe 🥺 it wasn’t for her either

You would never fully admit it, but the reason you really didn't like doing crossword puzzles with him is not because you couldn't take on the challenge—it's because he would always guess the answer faster than you. And as it turns out, you are an adorably poor loser regarding intellectual pursuits. - i love all these little details of them, it’s so precious. i just want to be back in that attic room just the two of them too (the contact is stressing me out) and i love that this is what’s keeping bradley sane and less stressed

What Bradley would give to see you frown at him again, just knowing you were safe. - the little wrinkle between her eyebrows

The small square of cloth stays securely tucked in the breast pocket of his coat. Close to his heart. Bradley’s hands are so dirty he’s scared to even look at it. Sometimes, he brushes his hand over the pocket, imagining he can feel the folded edges through the thick fabric. - he doesn’t want to get it dirty! he doesn’t want to mar it!!! oh bradley!!! he can feel it through his pocket!!

He’s not sure if his brain is playing tricks on him through the sleep deprivation, or his heart is trying to protect him in the most horribly cruel way—but the memory that was once so clear, seared into his mind’s eye, is playing out just a little bit differently every time he thinks about it. - god i fucking hope so like i’m so stressed about bradley and i’m so stressed about anya and i need them both to be okay

Every time he thinks about it, the knife twists a little bit more, not allowing the wound to heal. Somewhere, he doesn’t want it to. He deserves to suffer. If - if something happened to you, it’s because of him. The pain should be all his. - 🥺 i hate it stop

“Bradley, my love,” Your whisper floats through the air. The slightly lilting syllables of his name—only you say his name like that—still send shivers down his spine. It feels so familiar. - this entire sequence was so good! i loved that anya kept floating in and out and that she called him “my love” ☺️☺️

You can wish, you can dream—but realistically? If you both make it out alive, god knows how long the war will be. He will have forgotten about you by then. - this fucking kills me so much because they’re never going to forget each other, not really. i know bradley is losing memories of that moment at the train station and what happened, but he’s stressed and currently not getting enough oxygen lol, but they’ll never forget each other i know and trust you ✊🏻

Your heart sinks further as you realize you’ll probably never find out. Bradley filled your head and heart with so many dreams; perhaps the kindest thing you can do now is dream for him. He’ll make it out. He’ll be safe. He’ll return to Virginia Beach and live out his days in peace. Maybe one day you can find peace in that. - fuckkkkk fuckkk fuckk mila i’m telling you all i want is for them to be alive, be WITH each other, and go to the ocean! (andlivehappilyeverafter)

Now that the maelstrom of emotions and panicked thoughts in you has finally stilled, you can feel it. The weight of the realization is crushing—it’s just not adding up. - yes yes yes trust your instincts!! i agree i’ve never liked jan, there was something about how he interacted with bradley that i didn’t like

The only person that you could speak freely to. The only person who could truly see you. Bradley was the only person that knew you—the person you are now, the person you’ve been forced to become. - i love this and it’s so true, bradley say her as someone extraordinary and so so capable while everyone else was doubting her

She’s wearing your skirt, the rusty color blotted with the blood flowing from her head. - i thought something was going to happen to eva and god i hoped i was wrong!!! there was something with the skirt that tripped me up! fuck i really liked eva and i wanted them to one day get to talk about all of this freely and for anya to tell eva about bradley. poor eva she didn’t deserve this at all and i know anya is going to blame himself

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 14 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 7.9k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Library

Chapter 14: Shadow Waltz 

Bradley sinks into his seat before his legs might give out from under him. What did he just see? 

His breath comes out in short bursts like he can’t fully draw a breath before it forces its way back up from his lungs. 

It’s like his throat is being constricted. Why didn’t he call out? He could have jumped. Pulled the emergency brake and jumped out. Ran to you. Warned you.

The thoughts are coming and going in quick succession, nothing fully taking hold. Burying his head in his hands, Bradley tries to calm himself. Eyes screwed shut, he replays that moment over and over. The figure closing in on you. You’re oblivious. Why didn’t you turn around? Didn’t you hear the footsteps?

Why didn’t he call out?

He could have done something. Helped you. Saved you. The doomed scene replays in cutting sharpness every time he closes his eyes, leaving his insides quaking. Every heartbeat is like a sledgehammer coming down. 

Bradley doesn’t know how long he sits there, hunched over on the hard wooden seat, backpack weighing him down. Everything is distant like he’s not really there.

He is stuck in the moment you disappeared.

“Don’t draw any attention to yourself once you get on the train,” Your voice is so close and clear that Bradley is suddenly back in that small room, in bed with you. A moment in time when this was all just a plan. A rough sketch. Bradley’s reality was entirely between those four walls. You’re laying on top of him, naked, soft breast pressed against his chest. Even now, it feels more real than the jerky cadence of the train. Fingers gently caressing the quickly forming scars on his face, your tone is distressingly businesslike. “It’s your one chance, Bradley.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” He replies easily, leaning into your touch, lips brushing against your fingertips. Your hands are warm.

But you never said it would be at the cost of you. The thought shoots through him like lightning, distorting the peaceful scene and drowning it in panic. Your giggle sounds strange in his memory, the once beautiful sound.

Time passes strangely; Bradley has no sense of how many stops the train has made, how many people flittered past him. Everything is a blur. The city is far behind him now, replacing the colorful buildings with green hills and lush forests. 

The train should take several hours before it reaches its destination. You told him so. Finally, Bradley’s breath evens out. It’s not the first time he’s seen someone seconds before their demise. Hell, he’s been the cause of those doomed final seconds plenty of time. He’s seen his brothers-in-arms go down in a ball of fire. 

He remembers all of them.

But it was never supposed to be you. No matter how blasé you were when you told him you could have died many times over already. How bravely you faced danger. Because Bradley remembers how softly your voice was when you admitted you didn’t want to die. 

No matter how much he tries to calm himself, focus on his breathing, and steer his mind to here and now, the strange tension won’t leave Bradley. It’s like a cold hand wrapped around his neck, setting him on edge. He is far from safety and should focus on the task at hand. Your sacrifice—the icy fingers tighten, constricting Bradley’s breath for a second as the realization that you might be dead sets in a little bit deeper—he cannot let your sacrifice be in vain. 

He is alive because of you.

He needs to go to the coordinates that you got for him. Find his contact. Get instructions. And get out.

It’s deep in the afternoon when the train stops in a nondescript town near the southern border. Most people have gotten off in the last large city about an hour ago—when Bradley looks up, only two other people are left in the wagon.

This is the place.

Getting up, his muscles and tendons creaking in protest, Bradley disembarks. He’s been sitting the whole journey but feels like his body has been through a marathon. Tiredness is seeping into his bones, overflowing from his brain. 

He looks around. The station is no more than a concrete slab and a small abandoned building in the middle of the forest. A single dirt road leads up the forest—the only sign of life is a sliver of smoke billowing up through the trees. There must be a house there.

“The station is here.” Your voice is eerily close again. Leaning over the table, one knee on the chair, your finger prods the map. Bradley leans closer. The map is slightly too large for the small table, with one side hanging off the edge. His compass, which he didn’t even realize you had, is in your other hand. 

“From there, you need to head…” You narrow your eyes as you think. The little crease between your eyebrows suddenly becomes evident again. “South-west.” You conclude.

“That will take me in the opposite direction of the path,” Bradley observes, his fingers brushing against yours as he traces a route over the green fields of the map. Nothing indicates there is anything for miles in that direction.

“Look for a game trail,” You look up, your face so close to his. Even now, Bradley can smell your soap. “A small path in the high grass, an opening in the underbrush.”

Your fingers follow his toward the small ‘x’ you’ve drawn on the map, the exact spot of the coordinates. On the map, it’s in an indistinct area in the middle of the forest. There are no marked paths or landmarks around. It has to be. It’s a delicate balance, as it needs to be a spot where you wouldn’t wander past wholly by chance but is also not terribly suspicious to be waiting there. 

Bradley will know when he sees it.

As suddenly as you appeared before his mind’s eye, you are gone again. Not even the smell of your soap lingers in the spring air. Opposite the dirt road, a trail of flattened grass disappears into the forest. Just like you said there would be. 

As he starts walking, he tries to remember how you looked as you did the mental math, trying to figure out how long he would be walking, figuring out which train to get. Your lips were pursed, still hunched over, fingers tapping against the map quickly.

“It should take me about 90 minutes,” Bradley offers. Your eyes flash, almost defiantly, as if you’re determined to prove him wrong. Mouth open, like you’re about to say something, he can practically see you do the math in your head.

“Yeah, 90 minutes sounds correct.” You finally admit, although not without difficulty, pulling away from him. It makes him laugh—you’re so determined to figure it out and do everything right. To eliminate every variable, be ahead of everyone and everything. But distance and speed calculations are daily chores for Bradley. There’s a surprising amount of math involved in flying—had he known that before he enlisted, he might have paid closer attention in school.

The track doesn’t stop when he reaches the forest. There are no markers, but the path between the blueberry bushes and ferns is clear. Now that he is sure no one is around him, he digs his compass out of his pocket. Heading south-west. Ninety minutes. 

Bradley glances around. It’s quiet—no one seems to be around. Although he’s only a few meters into the forest, it’s secluded.  Quickly slipping the backpack off his back, Bradley digs through the neatly packed contents. You’ve taken so much care getting him everything he’ll need; you had it all thought out. For a moment, Bradley’s movements slow. No. He needs to be on time. From the bottom of the backpack, he pulls his carefully wrapped gun. It feels strange in his hand, even though it’s his—he hasn’t seen it since you took it from him months ago. Unwrapping it, Bradley inspects the piece. It’s clean, and it’s still loaded. 

He desperately hopes he won’t have to use it. He has no spare ammo—it’s a tool of last resort. Choosing not to dwell on it, he double-checks the safety before tucking it into the waistband of his pants on his back. 

There is still no sound but for the forest. It doesn’t bring him any piece of mind.

Looking back, Bradley can barely remember the hike. Let alone the train ride. It already feels like everything happened in the past—a different lifetime. He’s lived so many now. The small room under the roof in Prague is just as far away as his barracks room in England. But the anxiety stays—it wanes in moments, only to come back full force suddenly as his thoughts inevitably turn back to you. You’re so intricately woven into every aspect of his life in the past months; almost nothing doesn’t remind Bradley of you.

The sun is streaming through the pine trees. In the forest, the air is cool despite that. Bradley needs to keep pace. Glancing at this watch, he knows he should soon be coming up to the rendezvous point—just ten more minutes.

His stomach growls. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, too distraught to eat anything on the train. Everything is still just passing by him. Bradley isn’t hungry. When he was in boot camp, fresh out of high school, he was never hungry either—so much was weighing him down. His mother’s death, Mav, and the horrid reality of boot camp. But Bradley also knows it’s not about being hungry; it’s about survival.

A clearing appears—although clearing might be too much credit for the sudden widening of the path. It’s just a few meters across where the ground has been walked bare to the mud. Overgrown with moss, a large log peeks out on the edge of the clearing.

This should be it—nothing strange about a weary traveler sitting on a log to rest. 

Bradley sits down heavily. The hike wasn’t strenuous, and the weather is pleasant, but the ever-present tension and the feeling of being caught between fight and flight are steadily sapping his energy. Unwrapping some of his provisions, he chews mindlessly. The bread, the cheese—everything tastes like nothing to Bradley right now. The water in his canteen isn’t in any way refreshing; it instead feels like it’s a stone on his stomach, weighing him down further.

Sitting there, the sounds of the forest suddenly intensify. Bradley can hear how the wind picks up through the crowns of the trees. Leaves rustle, branches creak—something small is scurrying through the underbrush. A mouse or a squirrel, perhaps. Bradley focuses back on chewing. The food still tastes like nothing.

From here on out, he has no idea how long or far he has to go. He has provisions to last him several days, hoping it will be enough. Sitting on a large log in a quiet forest on a sunny afternoon is strange—Bradley feels like he should be running, fighting, doing something. Anything. Not just sitting here, waiting. 

But right now, he can’t go back. Neither can he go forward. Bradley is precisely where he needs to be right now, and it’s out of his hands. Truly, everything had been out of his hands the moment that night fighter tore his fuselage to shreds with a well-aimed salvo of bullets. 

It was easier to just go along with it when you were by his side. It distracted from his doomed fate well enough and for long enough. But now, Bradley feels more powerless, more aimless than before. Despite all the precautions, it might not have been enough for you. To save you.

For all you did to save him.

Deep inside, the cold rationale of years of training, years of seeing comrades die, and the many decisions Bradley has had to take are clear. Going back for you would mean you both die. It would render everything you’ve done for him useless. You fulfilled your mission. Now, he has to fulfill his.

He doesn’t want to think about that now.

Bradley swallows heavily, trying to get the acrid taste out of his mouth. You were not just part of a mission—he is pretty sure it was not just a mission for you anymore. It wasn’t for him.

A pack of cigarettes is tucked into one of the backpack's side pockets. Just when he reaches for it, tension creeps up his spine. Bradley is not alone anymore.

The man appears suddenly like he just materialized in the clearing. Not a twig that snapped under his boot, not a rustle of leaves as he moved. His face is tan; the skin is weathered from this sun, aging him. He looks at Bradley top to bottom—the man is dressed like a tramp in old and faded clothes, patched up with mismatched fabrics, holding himself awkwardly, almost as if he's injured, but his eyes are sharp. Discerning.

When Bradley observes him a bit closer, he notices the man's boots are outfitted with new soles despite his overall shabby appearance. 

Grinning, he tips his hat.

“Flash.” His voice sounds raw, like he hasn't spoken out loud in years.

“Thunder.” Bradley replies automatically. The man grins a little bit wider but doesn't say anything else. Bradley waits for him to say something, to introduce himself, or to start a conversation. However, the man seems comfortable in his silence, simply grinning at him in a friendly manner, beckoning Bradley as he starts walking off the path into the thick of the forest.

He passed the challenge; this man is the contact, of that, Bradley is as sure as he can be under the circumstances. And while it's not like he expected this to be a hike between friends, the clearly self-imposed muteness of the man is unsettling.

Quickly repacking his rucksack, Bradley leaps up, following the man. 

They walk, with only a drink break, until dusk. The hilly terrain is turning more rugged, with boulders sticking up from the forest floor higher and higher. When the man finally stops and motions for Bradley to sit down with him, pulling out a tin of beans from his pack, Bradley cannot help but ask.

“Where are we going?” 

The man, focusing on prying off the lid of the can, ignores him, scarcely looking up to acknowledge Bradley even said anything. Hesitantly, Bradley starts unpacking some of his own food—bread doesn't sound so bad now. The long hike hasn't done much to make him any hungrier. But he needs to eat. And bread is better than the cold beans the guide seems to be spooning down without blinking, anyway.

After what seems to be a much too short time, they are up on their feet again, walking through the dark forest. He sets a relentless pace for all the posturing the guide does to appear awkward or injured, he sets a relentless pace.

Bradley can't help but try again.

“How long do we have to travel?”

No reply.

“Are we going to walk all night?” He grumbles under his breath, annoyed now. The guide is the first person he has spoken to, besides you, in months. The only other people he ever saw were your fellow resistance fighters—the officer from the signal corps and his angry sidekick. The disconnect from everyone and everything around him is a constant irritation, like a weeping wound.

“Patrouille.” 

The sudden, raspy reply has Bradley snapping his head up.

Pointing west, where the sun is rapidly setting, he continues: “Kaserne.”

The guide simply turns around and resumes his path as if that explains everything. German wasn't exactly on Bradley's curriculum, and languages weren't his strong suit. You would know. And if you didn't know, you would probably figure it out, if only to to outsmart him.

You would never fully admit it, but the reason you really didn't like doing crossword puzzles with him is not because you couldn't take on the challenge—it's because he would always guess the answer faster than you. And as it turns out, you are an adorably poor loser regarding intellectual pursuits.

What Bradley would give to see you frown at him again, just knowing you were safe.

So they travel at night. It’s cold and dark—the ground uneven and slippery, as you warned him. When dawn breaks, they hide in the undergrowth or caverns scattered through the mountainside. Bradley feels like he hasn’t slept in days, but neither has he been fully awake. He is sure he can hear your voice somewhere between dreams and waking. It’s always so close like you’re next to him on the cold ground—your breath ghosting over his skin as you whisper to him. He can hear but can’t see you; he’s scared to look around, only to find nothing. 

The small square of cloth stays securely tucked in the breast pocket of his coat. Close to his heart. Bradley’s hands are so dirty he’s scared to even look at it. Sometimes, he brushes his hand over the pocket, imagining he can feel the folded edges through the thick fabric. Imagining you are still with him, however intangible.

He scratches off the wax from a match with shaking fingers before lighting it. The faint light from the burning tip is the only clear shape he can see. Everything else is formless, different shades of dark. In the absence of snow, like when you led him down the mountain, there is nothing to reflect the starlight. It makes the forest feel emptier and darker—the sound echoes louder, and strange noises travel.

His mind is leading him in circles, down a well-worn path.

By now, Bradley has replayed those last few seconds of you on that platform so many times in his head, he’s not even sure anymore what he saw. Were you grabbed? Did they run past you? Did you turn in time?

He’s not sure if his brain is playing tricks on him through the sleep deprivation, or his heart is trying to protect him in the most horribly cruel way—but the memory that was once so clear, seared into his mind’s eye, is playing out just a little bit differently every time he thinks about it. You turned. You moved out of the way. Dashing past the figure, you hid in the winding medieval streets you know so well. You would be alright. 

You have to be.

The cold rational pierces his heart, but Bradley knows he has to accept it. He made the right choice. He shouldn’t have turned back—you wouldn’t want him to. Every time he thinks about it, the knife twists a little bit more, not allowing the wound to heal. Somewhere, he doesn’t want it to. He deserves to suffer. If - if something happened to you, it’s because of him. The pain should be all his. 

As the days and nights melt into each other on the way to the airfield, Bradley is less and less sure of what he actually saw. Just existing is sapping him of every bit of energy now. The food you have packed for him is running low, and Bradley would kill for a hot coffee by now.

The guide doesn’t answer when Bradley asks how much longer. Whether he doesn’t understand or chooses not to understand is moot. It’s not like Bradley has the energy to argue with him. He just wants to get out of here.

Three nights in, Bradley feels like he's at his limit. The dark, the silence, and the uncertainty grate him to the bone. But he has no choice but to carry on. Gritting his teeth, he keeps walking. His feet hurt. His head hurts. His heart hurts.

The torch's strange moving light, deep at night in the cold mountain air, gives Bradley more time to think than he is comfortable with. There is nothing to distract him from himself. People pay good money for a hiking holiday in Europe, but Bradley can't help but be bored. It's like every emotion is slowly getting filed down to a stump. 

It didn't take him all that long to figure that "patrouille" was German for patrol—freely inferring that "kaserne" is a base or stronghold of some sort, which is the reason they travel at night. Barely enough of a challenge to keep his mind occupied.

When you are continuously exposed to danger, when your fight or flight instincts are constantly kicked into high gear, everything becomes dull. The tension and anxiety are always there; they are just so constant they are now background noise.

Sometimes, when Bradley wakes up and he sees the open sky above him, his heart clenches. Like he expected to wake up somewhere else. Like he wanted to wake up in that small room again. At the same time, it fills him with dread. Making his heart race in panic. The idea of being locked up in a small room again terrifies him.

Another long day and an even longer night go by.

It’s late, pitch black all around, when Bradley feels tarmac under his boots for the first time in months. It’s a strange feeling. He has no idea where he is or what day it even is, but the tarmac and the vague smell of jet fuel lingering in the air feel familiar. 

As they emerge from the forest, Bradley looks around in awe. This is an airfield. In the middle of the mountains, shabby and clearly long abandoned. But an airfield. 

This must be it.

At the far end of the runway, he can make out the familiar, terrifying shape of a German warplane. 

A man disembarks from the cockpit of the plane, waving them down.

Bradley walks around the plane, inspecting it with fingers trailing over the body. He's been up close and personal with many makes of enemy planes, but never like this. It's fascinating in the most morbid way.

The men are talking to each other in low voices. Circling the plane, Bradley sees it's a one-seater.

“Am I flying?” He asks, interrupting the tête-à-tête between the two other men. Finally, he receives a full verbal reply—although it comes from the other man, a rather young-looking and even younger-sounding man, and not the guide.

“With me, yes.” As he steps closer to Bradley, he can now see he is dressed like a pilot. A German pilot, specifically, the iron cross displayed prominently on the collar peeping out from this thick lambskin jacket. His accent, however, is very precisely British—too precisely, it’s almost caricature-like.

Bradley doesn't get time to dwell on it, or ask any follow-up questions, as he is quite unceremoniously and forcefully helped into the hold where bombs are normally stored. The pilot hands him another jacket and together with the guide, they slide an oxygen bottle into the hold with Bradley.

“It gets quite cold, I'm afraid.” Everything the pilot says sounds strangely rehearsed, like he never held a conversation in English before. “Put on the mask when we reach altitude.” He adds.

Bradley just nods. The guide is grinning at him again, simply tipping his hat in greeting. 

“Thank you.” He replies, nodding back at the guide just before the hold closes.

It's safer for everyone if no one knows everything. Not even names. That also means you will never know who you owe your life to.

Oxygen mask clutched in his hand, Bradley closes his eyes. The sound of the engines, the smell—it’s like coming home. Not the home where he wants to be, but the one he knows best. Despite his nerves—this is the most dangerous part of the journey, relinquishing the last bit of control that he had—he starts dozing off.

Bradley is exhausted, physically and mentally. It’s bitterly cold.

He can feel your weight draped over him as he slips out of consciousness. He can smell your soap. Bradley’s fingers brush over his breast pocket. 

“Bradley, my love,” Your whisper floats through the air. The slightly lilting syllables of his name—only you say his name like that—still send shivers down his spine. It feels so familiar. 

The engine's drone fades into the background, warping into a soft hum. 

It’s not cold anymore. Bradley can feel the sun on his face, and he knows, without opening his eyes, that he is home. It’s high summer, and he’s sprawled out on the beach. And you are here with him. His heart soars at the realization—but his eyes are so heavy.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Your sweet voice sounds distant and incredibly close at the same time. Bradley blinks heavily against the burning sun. You are leaning over him, your hair blowing around your face. The sky behind you is cloudless, such a heavenly blue. 

Bradley’s limbs are heavy; he feels like he can’t move. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he wants nothing more than to see you. He can see you again. He still wants to tell you so much—the words stick in his throat, tongue paralyzed. You’re smiling down at him fondly. The summer sun is bathing you in a warm light, casting an ethereal glow around your body. 

“Shhh,” Your fingers trace over his lips. “You need to breathe.” 

Bradley blinks slowly. He is breathing. Like you can hear his confusion, you giggle—the teasing sound wrapping around him in impossible patterns, like it’s carried on a gust of wind. 

“You need to breathe,” You reiterate, grin still on your face, hands cupping his face. Brushing your nose against his, Bradley allows his eyes to close again. He’s fighting to stay awake. He wants to stay here with you. 

“The air is getting thin, my love,” Your voice sounds strangely distorted, overlapping like an echo without a source. His thoughts are sluggish, struggling to comprehend what you could be talking about. 

“You need to breathe.”

Your voice sounds more urgent now. Bradley peels his eyes open; you’re still smiling down at him, your face not betraying any of the urgency in your voice. Reaching out, his fingers trace over your bare shoulders—your skin is so warm from the sun. The silty sea air is crisp, brushing through your hair. Bradley shakes his head, still lacking the strength to say anything. He shouldn’t have to; all you need to do is lean closer and kiss him.

As if you can hear his thoughts, you move toward him again. Your lips are brushing against his tantalizingly. Why do you insist on teasing him so? Don’t you know how worried he has been? How much he has missed you?

He reaches out for you, limbs heavier than lead, intent on closing the space between you. Bradley is not in the mood for your games and teasing—not right now. He needs assurance you are okay. You are laughing, so light and carefree, but he wants to feel you. His fingers tangle through your hair, pulling your face to his.

“Put on the goddamn mask.” 

The sudden loudness of your voice, callous and commanding, like it’s been amplified to an almost deafening volume, forces Bradley’s eyes wide open. His heart is racing. It makes no sense; you’re still smiling above him. The blue sky is flickering with darkness, like someone is playing with the lights. 

Suddenly, Bradley’s neurons start firing again, and he forces the mask clutched in his hand over his face. As the oxygen fills his lungs, it’s like he’s waking up: the strength returns to his body, and his vision sharpens.

Unfortunately, all he sees is the darkness of the hold. 

It’s bitterly cold again. 

***

“Let me go!” You jerk yourself back so violently, desperate to free yourself from the iron grip in your arm, you nearly send yourself keeling backward, pulling your assailant with you. Stumbling, he pulls you back harshly, using his much more extensive and heavier form against you.

“Don’t make a scene!” He barks at you.

You never liked Jan. But now you hate him.

“Make a scene?” You hiss venomously, digging in your heels. “You’re dragging me through the train station like livestock.” 

You know people are watching, although they hurry past you without a word. People don’t like getting involved—no one wants trouble. You’re dressed for a day out in the country; Jan is wearing an old, ill-fitting suit. You make an odd pair if you were just walking down the street, but arguing like this, you’re practically a sideshow.

A man in a dark coat passes, staring at you both a little too long, disapprovingly. The moment Jan’s grip loosens, you yank your arm away from him, clearly awkward under the man's stare.

“Stop being so goddamn difficult,” He bites at you. “And start walking.”

You want to tell him to go fuck himself, turn on your heel and leave. But there’s a reason he made it out here. After the decimation of the resistance network, the survivors split off—some staying in the city if it was safe enough, like you. Others reformed as partisan fighting groups because their identities were leaked to the authorities, and they couldn’t reintegrate into society like Emil, or simply because they saw that as the way forward, like Jan.

As much as you hate to admit it, as much as you despise thinking about it now, Jan’s sudden appearance means something is happening. It’s probably urgent, but it’s undoubtedly important.

For five seconds, for five fucking seconds, you want to not think about the war. Whatever message Jan has for you should wait. You want to crawl into bed and cry, mourn having to say goodbye to Bradley.

Because you will never see him again.

You can wish, you can dream—but realistically? If you both make it out alive, god knows how long the war will be. He will have forgotten about you by then. 

You always knew this; you felt it in your bones, especially in the last few days. You set yourself on fire to silence that nagging voice in your head, so determined to experience everything about Bradley that you could, to the point you allowed yourself to believe him. Truly believe him, even just for a few days. Because no matter how much you want to soothe your hurting heart with his sweet promise, the illusion that he will come back, you need to face reality. The world didn’t stop. People are still disappearing, still dying. Every day, you still wake up in a country under brutal occupation. And Bradley is gone.

But you’re not even getting a chance to feel sorry for yourself, you think angrily. Crawl into bed and cry, drink too much with Eva, and probably cry some more—normal things.

Except you haven’t had a normal day in years.

Blinking rapidly to stop the tears, hands jammed deep into your pockets; you follow Jan like a child being led to detention. He walks several meters in front of you, stride confident, weaving past people—you follow, trailing, practically dragging your feet. To the outside observer, you are two strangers just going in the same direction. The streets around the station are busy; trams are thundering, cars are honking, and people are pushing past.

Shoulders pulled up; you stare at the tips of your boots as you walk. You can feel the corners of your mouth pulling down. At this point, you can’t even pretend to look neutral. You notice Jan turning into a side street from the corner of your eye. The narrow alleyway leads into a backstreet, connecting the city center to quiet residential areas. Sighing, you follow. 

However, he takes another turn, legging it to the park behind the national museum rather than veering further up the hill, away from the crowds. Jan doesn’t look back at you once, assuming you’re following.

Your curiosity won’t allow you to turn away and go home. So, with a face like thunder, you shuffle after him. It’s a beautiful day. You hate it.

It’s good for Bradley, though. It shouldn’t be cold tonight. And at least it won’t be raining as he hikes to the rendezvous point. You hope the weather stays mild; you hope he stays safe.

Your heart sinks further as you realize you’ll probably never find out. Bradley filled your head and heart with so many dreams; perhaps the kindest thing you can do now is dream for him. He’ll make it out. He’ll be safe. He’ll return to Virginia Beach and live out his days in peace.

Maybe one day you can find peace in that.

The gravel of the park path creaks under your boots. You wonder how much further Jan will walk to ensure you’re not being followed—it’s making you impatient, but you know better than to stop him or start looking around to confirm that no one is actually following you. Glancing at your watch, you realize it’s not even noon yet. The day feels so much longer—the rollercoaster of emotions seems to have expanded time. It feels like you’ve lived full days in just a matter of hours.

Jamming your hand back into your pockets, you descend the pedestrian underpass leading out of the park under a busy road. The rolling thunder of cars, trams, and trucks resonates through the walls of the underpass, almost overwhelmingly so. Jan stopped walking halfway through—he is lighting a cigarette, waiting for you to catch up.

The further you walk down the stairs, the louder the noise gets—it’s practically shaking the walls. It’s like stepping into a liminal zone, the sparse artificial light looking strangely ominous, with no trace of the sunny spring day outside. And the stench. God. Stale alcohol and piss - it’s so penetrant you swear the air feels heavier, like a haze, as you arrive at the bottom of the stairs.

You swallow heavily, unsure if you want to keep breathing through your nose but also not really wanting to open your mouth.

Sauntering up to Jan—the smell of the cigarette amplifies the underpass's stench in a wholly new, disgusting dimension—you send him a suffering look.

“Really?” You force out, unable to keep the disdain out of your tone.

The way Jan is moving has a measure of frustration to it; the way he flicks the ash off his cigarette is a little too fast, his shoulders squared, and his movements a little too sharp. He ignores your rhetorical question.

“The Gestapo is looking for you.” Jan doesn’t look at you, keeping his gaze averted toward the end of the empty underpass.

“What?”

It’s like a bucket of ice suddenly dropped down your stomach. Your heart is suddenly beating a mile a minute. Panicking, you grab Jan’s sleeve, forcing him to look at you.

“What do you know?” You demand forcefully, trying to keep your voice stable, but the panic is rolling off you in waves.

“Someone saw you -” He jerks back, but you don’t let go of his sleeve. “Look, I don’t know. All I heard was the Gestapo was looking for a cleaner of your description who works at the Ministry of Interior.

“Why?” You’re desperate now, grasping at any straw to get in control of the situation. “And who told you that?

“You know I can’t tell you that,” He sounds contrite, gazing down for a moment, taking a drag of his cigarette. “But you need to get out of the city before they arrest you.”

Stunned into silence, you finally let go of his sleeve. Jan’s round face looks pained, his eyes darting around the underpass. You are breathing hard, the noise from the underpass in your head now, roaring and pounding. You can’t think. The stench is burning your nostrils, choking you. 

“Go stay with your parents out east.” He adds, not unkindly. “Just until this all blows over.” 

You shake your head.

“I need to go home.” You can’t articulate why, but you need to go home. You need to get clothes. Pack. You need to burn your false identities before they search the place. Yes, that’s it. Home. 

“No!” Jan grabs your shoulder, shaking you out of your reverie. “Don’t go home. Get the first train out of here.” 

Where is this sudden urgency coming from? It’s not like he just led you on a walk away from the central station. You feel a strange twinge in your stomach, but it’s so slight you barely acknowledge it. 

“No,” You force out. “I must go home first—I can’t just leave.”

“Yes, you can.” 

“I can’t!” Your sudden exclamation echoes. Jan, whose face is growing red splotches from frustration, clamps his hand over your mouth, silencing you. Tearing yourself away from him, you bite your tongue not to scream at him again. He throws up his hands before digging out another cigarette. He doesn’t offer you one but focuses his angrily shaking fingers on striking a match.

“This isn’t a game.” Jan cuts at you. He keeps his gaze averted like he’s too furious even to spare you a look. You are just shaking your head like you’re trying to shake your thoughts into place—to start making sense out of the chaos. In any other situation, you would never let any comment like that from anyone, but especially not Jan, go without defending yourself. Fuck.

“I’m going home.” You leave no room for argument, turning on your heel. 

“Is he still here?” 

The question makes you stop dead in your tracks, the blood rushing in your ears drowning out the noise around you. You feel that twinge in your stomach again, stronger this time. One thought suddenly looms large over the chaos in your brain, silencing everything: you can’t make sense of this because it doesn’t make sense.

“I can help-” 

“The mission was completed.” You cut him off flatly, not turning back to face him. Don’t elaborate. Biting your lip, your mind races to put the puzzle together. Something is off. You can feel it in your gut. It just doesn’t quite fit.

How did Jan know you were at the station? 

If he knew you were there, he must have seen Bradley.

And if he didn’t see him, what did Jan think you were doing there?

Slowly, you turn to face Jan again, blinking, face wiped clean of emotion. His movements are sharper now, like he’s going through the motions forcibly, never looking anywhere for more than a few seconds. He’s shuffling in place, like he wants to run from the situation, but is rooting himself in place.

As you finally take the time to observe Jan, you realize his movements don’t look like frustration. They look like nerves.

Now that the maelstrom of emotions and panicked thoughts in you has finally stilled, you can feel it. The weight of the realization is crushing—it’s just not adding up.

Trust your gut.

It’s like the world suddenly jerks into movement again. The noise is picking up into a deafening roar, the stench so heavy it’s misting over your eyes. Your body sets in motion before you can fully rationalize what you are doing. You need to get out of here.

You’re halfway up the stairs out of the tunnel when you hear Jan screaming at you, his lumbering footsteps closing in. Now is not the time to stop—lungs burning, heart pounding in your throat, you push on. You have a head start, which is your only chance to outrun Jan, who is larger and stronger than you. Nearly tripping over your own feet in your mad dash to get away from him, you cut through the shrubs surrounding the park, branches whipping against your body. When you think back to the moment later, you have no idea how you summoned the strength to scale the iron-wrought fence, nearly pivoting off the top as you tried to avoid the pointy spears decorating the top.

Don’t look around. Don’t look around.

You have no idea if Jan is still following you, but looking around will slow you down, and you can’t afford to lose a single meter of your head start. Blind panic is your fuel now. 

The main street is busy. It’s nearly lunchtime, and people are filing out of offices into shops and restaurants. You’re attracting attention, dressed so casually, running like mad—but you can’t stop now. A tram is just leaving the stop, bells ringing loudly. If you go a little bit faster, if you push yourself a little bit harder—desperately, you reach out, your fingers only brushing against the open balcony's metal handle for the departing tram.

You are breathing so hard, your focus singular, to get out of here; your heart nearly stops when you hear Jan calling out your name. He’s so much closer than you anticipated.

Straining, a strangled sound escaping your lips, you push harder. The tram is speeding up, you only have seconds left.

You can’t miss this tram.

It one final burst of energy that you didn’t know you still had in you that propels you forward just enough to grab onto the metal bar. Using your momentum, you jump, crashing onto the rear balcony unceremoniously, bashing your head and elbow against the dirty floor. 

You stay down for a moment, your mouth completely dry, spleen aching, head throbbing.

It’s a good thing Bradley left today. If the Gestapo really is looking for you, you couldn’t protect him anymore. Now, all you can hope is that he makes it out. 

He will. He has to. 

Sitting up, you roll your shoulder back to give your lungs more space as you catch your breath like Bradley showed you. It’s a good thing he isn’t here anymore, but… who can you tell now what happened? It’s like only now you realize that Bradley is not waiting for you at home. It hurts.

He’s no longer there to kiss you, ease your mind, and help you navigate this situation. Despite your ceaseless attempts to convince yourself that everything about your time was temporary, a lightning-in-a-bottle moment between two lonely souls and nothing more would ever come from it, the realization is dawning on you that you’ve grown accustomed to having him around. 

The only person that you could speak freely to. The only person who could truly see you. 

Bradley was the only person that knew you—the person you are now, the person you’ve been forced to become.

And he accepted you.

Suddenly, you feel like crying again. Sitting on the dirty tram floor, people staring down at you as they pass—you feel so incredibly alone.

Finally getting up and dusting off your pants, you enter the tram, trying to blend in with the crowd. A part of you wants nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this whole goddamn day.

But you can’t ignore what Jan told you—his story doesn’t add up, but surely he wouldn’t lie about the Gestapo looking for you. It’s not even a question of why; plenty of things you have done could get you arrested at any point. Stealing, forgery, break-ins, harboring a fugitive… 

So it’s a question of what—how much do they actually know? And how much more information will they want to extract from you?

Your head is still throbbing—from the impact, the confusion, and the tears you’ve been holding back the whole morning.

Whatever happens next, you need to get rid of any evidence. If the Gestapo wants to pin something on you, they will find a way, but the line ends with you. You will not give them anything that could lead them to the others.

That’s the least you can do.

The closer you get to home, the worse you feel. It feels like lead is being poured into your boots, making every step harder. You are completely unsure of what to do now. After you get rid of the evidence, what will you do? Should you stay with your parents like Jan suggested? Wouldn’t that put them in danger?

You can’t even think about that right now.

Your stomach is churning by the time you unlock the heavy wooden door to your building. Something is wrong, and if your head weren’t feeling like it was about to explode, you would probably have stopped to examine your gut feeling. But you don’t have time. The quicker you get this done, the better.

Blindly, you make your way up the stairs. Voices of neighbors are echoing through the halls—it’s strange for so many people to be out of their houses. You are not in the mood for building gossip, so you hope you can slip into your apartment without any nosy aunties catching you. As you reach the first landing, you hear someone call your name. Can you pretend you don’t hear them? You keep your head down, legging it to the next flight of stairs at the far end of the landing. 

However, before you even make it to the first steps, your downstairs neighbor blocks your way—despite her being old enough to be your mother, she exudes so much class it’s age age-defying today her normally carefully coiffed blonde hair is… well, messy. Flyaway hairs are sticking out of the casual bun on the back of her hair. The sleeves of her normally crisp ironed blouse are wrinkled as she rolled them up in a hurry. It’s certainly not how your appearance-conscious neighbor, in all her vanity, would ever show herself.

“Anna, don’t go upstairs,” Worry is etched on your neighbor's face, her piercing blue eyes imploring you to stay. She is holding you by your shoulders. It’s an almost motherly gesture—it’s possibly the strangest part of an already confusing situation. You’ve known this woman for the majority of your life—she lived here before your family moved in. But you think that in all those years, you may have at most shaken her hand.

You don’t have words. Unceremoniously, with an incredulous frown, you pull away from your neighbor, pushing past her on the stairs. You break into a jog going up the stairs.

Today can’t end soon enough.

Something changes in the air the moment you reach the top of the stairs. Your neighbor’s voice still echoes through the hall as she screams out your name. Her frantic footsteps are coming after you. The second-floor landing is unusually crowded; more neighbors are looking at you in shock. 

It’s like you walked on stage for an audition, unprepared. Eyes are on you from every angle, staring. 

Why is the door to your apartment opened?

You should have stopped walking at that moment. You should have listened. Turned around.

But you speed up. You need to know. You need to find out exactly what happened.

Tearing through the doorway, you immediately slip on the soaked wooden floor. Clumsily, you break your fall by planting your hand on the floor. Your palms take the brunt of the impact, the ache ringing all the way up through your shoulder, your hands getting coated in the sticky liquid covering the floor as you scramble to get up.

But you cleaned up all the coffee this morning.

There is commotion behind you, but it could be on the other side of the world as far as you are concerned.

Because across from you on the floor, in the semi-darkness of the apartment hallway, Eva’s lifeless eyes are staring at you accusingly. 

She’s wearing your skirt, the rusty color blotted with the blood flowing from her head.

note | sorry i was going through some shit and stuff and I literally just finished writing the missing scenes - sorry for any oddities, it's almost 1am here, I will revise this tomorrow again but I also felt bad for taking so long

taglist |@katieshook02 |@gretagerwigsmuse |@yanak324 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut | @notroosterbradshaw | @eli2447 | @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog | @m-1234 | @phoenix1388 | @galaxy-moon | @indigomaegrimm | @annathewitch | @kmc1989

[daechwitatamic]

Trip || KTH

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Trip || a KTH one-shot by daechwitatamic (masterlist)

Pairing: KTH x female reader, JJK x OC, JHS x OC

Genre: f2l, fluff, camping!au

WC: 22k

Rating: M - minors DNI

Summary: Your gigantic crush on Kim Taehyung is so bad that you drop whatever you’re holding every time he speaks to you. Your dirty liar of a best friend SWORE to you he wouldn’t be on this camping trip, but he is. Luckily, the trip gives Taehyung the chance to see you in a new light, admittedly with some help from his best friend (and definitely hired spy) Park Jimin.

Warnings: socially awkward oc, introverted oc, a few injuries including a bad sprain and a deep cut that will require stitches – some scenes of basic first aid as these are handled and there is blood involved, cursing, drinking, kissing, groping, breast play, like two seconds of grinding, a disgusting amount of soft affectionate feelings 

Notes: This is for @/thebtswritersclub Summer Project, for the “camping/hiking” prompt. I hope y’all enjoy! Thank you to the Mods who organized the event!

Huge thank you to @/kookstempo for beta-ing, for helping me choose snippets, and for dealing with my bible-book summary process. Another thank you to @/cherrysoulth for the beta job, much appreciated!

I did, in fact, steal the Douchebag Jar from The New Girl, so if you work for them, don’t sue me, just enjoy the kpop fanfiction that I make zero dollars from. I also stole “chaos gremlin” specifically as a direct description of Park Jimin from @/m-yg93, so, hey, thanks for the apt description.

“Hey, so… I know last week I said he wasn’t… but apparently, Taehyung is coming on this trip.”

You almost drive off the highway.

After you correct your car - the back seat of which is laden with backpacks, coolers, tents, camping chairs, and other gear – you shoot your best friend a look. She smiles at you sheepishly from the passenger seat. There are lakes as far as you can see on either side of the highway, water glinting silver under a mid-afternoon sun, the highway slicing between them like a snake through a puddle.

“How long have you known that?” you ask her suspiciously. You wouldn’t be surprised if she’d known the whole time and had just lied to you when she first asked you to attend a camping trip with her boyfriend and his friends. She knew you wouldn’t have agreed if you knew Taehyung would be there.

He makes you too nervous. You just can’t enjoy yourself when he’s at events. And honestly, you’d thought a camping trip would be safe. Taehyung’s charming and really fucking hot, but he seems a bit pampered to you. You can’t really imagine him roughing it.

Not that you’re all really roughing it – the campsite is the kind with bathrooms you can walk to that have showers and real toilets, even though you have to walk a bit to get to them.

“I just found out this morning,” she tells you earnestly. “I promise. I know that you’re doing me a favor by coming along – I promise I wouldn’t do anything to make this suck for you. Not on purpose.”

It’s true. Delia’s only been dating Jungkook for about four months. Lately, they’ve been getting a lot more serious, but there’s still a lot of firsts that they’re going through, and going away together (with his group of friends, no less) is definitely a first. She’d begged you to come for moral support, even though you – like Taehyung – are pampered. The flushing toilets had been one of your conditions. This is also why she’s in your car keeping you company instead of in the car with Jungkook, even though you know Hoseok is bringing his girlfriend and they are most definitely sharing a car.

You resist the urge to press your head to the top of the steering wheel in distress. 

“Del,” you say, and stop. You don’t even know where the rest of the sentence wants to go. Your stomach is churning.

Delia presses her lips together, giving you a deeply sympathetic look. She knows well that you’ve been crushing on Taehyung since the first time you met him – the same night Delia and Jungkook hooked up for the first time.

She also knows it’s a crush that renders you stupid – suddenly clumsy, unable to form full thoughts or coherent sentences, all logic leaving your body with the air from your lungs every time he smiles anywhere near your vicinity. 

(“Girl, stop tripping,” she’d tell you. “He’s a nice, normal guy! You need to get it together!”)

It’s bad. 

She’s told you before she’s never seen you like this, and you always tell her it’s because you’ve never been like this.  And you’ve never even been alone with him, never had a serious conversation. Your inability to be normal around him is literally just from what you’ve observed about him in group settings. Imagine if you actually had, like, depth in your conversations? You’d have to board the nearest rocket to the damn moon.

It's so embarrassing.

But as beautiful as Taehyung is – as effortlessly charming, and secretly clever, and slyly funny – he’s also unattainable. Or, at least, it feels that way when you join Delia to hang out with Jungkook’s crew. Taehyung’s never been unkind to you – in fact, he never acts aloof. He’s friendly and welcoming – they all have been, every time. But there’s something about him that makes you think he’s hard to really know, like there are parts of himself that he keeps close. You also can’t help but feel like he must be out of your league with a face like that; not that you’re insecure – you’re not – it’s just that he’s hotter than almost everybody on the planet. 

You also know – from Delia, who heard from Jungkook, who heard from Jimin – that he went through a pretty rough breakup about three months ago.

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s cool, and beautiful, and you… can barely even function as yourself when he’s around. It just doesn’t make sense to pursue it. You’ve tried to avoid joining Delia to hang out with the guys if you know he’ll be there, preferring to hang out with Delia and Jungkook when they’re with Jimin, or Seokjin.

It just feels simpler that way.

“It’ll be okay,” Delia tells you, tapping her phone against the top of her leg. “It’s a big group going, he’ll be easy to avoid.”

You do your best to level a stare at her without taking your eyes completely off the road.

“Del,” you say flatly. “We’re spending three nights in the woods together. There is nothing to do but sit around and talk to each other. You know what’s going to happen. I’m going to look fucking stupid the whole time.”

“You won’t,” she says, flapping a hand, like she herself hasn’t witnessed you absolutely malfunction in Taehyung’s presence several times.

“Don’t lie to me,” you grumble, looking back at the road ahead of you.

She pats your leg amicably, and you spend some time in companionable quiet as the dark forests rush by outside the car’s windows.

It’s late afternoon when you arrive, pulling up to the little wooden booth where you check in. The girl inside, in a khaki uniform, goes over the campground’s rules and directs you to the two adjoined campsites that the boys had booked online.

It’s clear that you’re the last to arrive. Three cars are parked at the sites, and there’s already two tents erected.

As you park, Jungkook makes his way over, waiting to greet Delia with an arm around her shoulders and a press of lips to the top of her head. She beams, glows, all that shit. You busy yourself by starting to unpack the trunk and the backseat, starting with the cooler.

“Let me help with that,” says a deep voice behind you, and you drop the end of the cooler you had been pulling out of the car. It starts to slip to the ground, and you scramble to catch it. A second pair of hands steadies it with you, veins prominent.

“Thanks you. I mean, thank you. Thanks. Sorry,” you mutter, your words tripping over one another, your eyes on the ground. On the other side of the car, Delia is literally covering her face with her hand, shaking her head. You feel like your face is on fire.

Jungkook comes around the car to rescue you from yourself, taking one handle of the cooler and helping Taehyung carry it over to the picnic table where the food will be stored.

“Jesus,” Delia says, materializing next to you.

“I’m going home,” you deadpan. You feel shell-shocked, you can’t even process what a disaster you are. You didn’t even make it twenty seconds without embarrassing yourself.

She rubs the top of your back bracingly, as if you tell you to buck up. Face still flaming, you work on untangling the tent from the camping chairs, carrying it over to the empty spot.

“We have one more tent to go up there,” Jungkook calls to you. “We’re putting two tents on each campsite.”

“Okay,” you tell him. “I wasn’t going to set it up yet, so we can figure it out.”

The boys start working on the last two tents while you and Delia finish emptying out your car. The third girl in attendance, Hoseok’s girlfriend, wanders over and introduces herself as Suz, and offers to help organize everything as you unload chairs and food, beer and bug spray.

Between the seven guys, it doesn’t take long to set up the two remaining tents, spacing them evenly across the campsite so that all four tents make a horseshoe around the fire and the picnic tables. You and Delia start setting up the camping chairs around the fire. At the picnic table, Yoongi’s opened the first case of beer. His can opens with a hiss, and you watch several heads turn in that direction.

“Yes,” Jungkook says, already moving to grab two.

“Great decision making,” Jimin praises, hopping over a cooler as he makes his way over.

“As expected of our appointed Campsite Leader,” Taehyung says, but you notice that he doesn’t go for a beer. He already has a plastic cup in his hand; you wonder if he’s not a beer guy.

“I deeply do not want to be Campsite Leader,” Yoongi protests after taking a swig of his beer. “Make Joon do it.”

“Joon?” The three youngest guys speak almost in unison. The tall man in question flushes, laughing a little with self-deprecation.

“I think you misunderstand,” Jimin says, pulling the tab on his own can. “We’re trying not to die this weekend.”

Hoseok’s girlfriend, Suz, looks up in alarm from the camping chair she’s claimed.  

“Nobody’s going to die,” Hoseok assures her, smiling lightly.

Delia groans loudly. “Now you’ve jinxed it,” she tells Hoseok, tone scolding.

For a while everyone just chills. Jimin hooks up a Bluetooth speaker and music plays beneath the steady flow of conversation. Hoseok, Suz, Taehyung, and Namjoon walk down to the lake “just to check it out”. With Taehyung gone from the campsite, you relax, settling into your folding camping chair and releasing a deep breath.

You’re startled when something cold touches your hand; looking around, you see that Delia is trying to pass you a beer.

“Bless you,” you tell her.

“You need it,” she says, giving you a look that would piss you off if it came from literally anyone else on the planet. “You’ve got to relax. He’s just a normal person. You have to act like it.”

“Shut up, please,” you tell her through a fake smile hiding gritted teeth. You’re very aware of how close to earshot Jimin is.

“I’m just saying,” she says, wandering back to Jungkook’s waiting lap.

“Well stop,” you grumble, open the beer she’d handed you.

Yoongi and Seokjin seem to be heading up grilling for dinner, huddled around the fire with tongs. Jungkook watches them even as he talks quietly with Delia, who perches on his lap happily. This leaves you with no one to talk to except Jimin, so you do, hoping he didn’t hear Delia’s big mouth.

“Have you guys done this before?” you ask him.

He turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in question as he processes what you asked.

“Oh,” he says. “No, not really. I think a few of these guys have – definitely Jungkook – but not as a group like this.”

“Should be fun,” you muse. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Morning hike, I think?” Seokjin answers you from across the fire, where he’s opening a package of meat to grill. Beside him, Yoongi clicks the tongs absentmindedly, his eyes far away. “They were going to do the Red trail.”

“Isn’t that the hard one?” Delia asks, stopping rubbing noses with Jungkook long enough to re-enter the conversation.

Yoongi comes back to planet earth and tells her, “It’s the more challenging of the two we picked, yeah. But it’s not hard.”

“We thought we should save the easier one for the last day,” Jungkook explains, leaning around Delia to look at you. “We’ll be tired by then.”

“Define ‘not hard,’” you request dryly. “Some of us aren’t gym rats.” You cast an accusatory look at Jungkook.

“I’m opting out,” Seokjin tells you as an answer. “I’ll do the Blue trail with everyone the day after, but no thanks to the Red trail.”

“It’s really not hard, he’s being a baby,” Yoongi assures you. “It’s actually a shorter distance than the Blue trail, it’s just that it’s steeper.”

“There are some sections that are kind of rocky,” Jungkook tells you. “Make sure you wear shoes with good tread.”

“Got it,” you say, nodding. You have decent hiking boots; you’ll be fine.

By the time the crew that went to the lake wander back into sight, you’ve absently finished your first beer. You toss the can to Jimin, who’s closest to the bag you’ve all designated for empties. He also takes the liberty of fishing a fresh one out of the cooler and tossing it back to you – right as Taehyung gets close enough to call, “Is dinner ready?”

You drop the beer in the dirt.

Jimin grimaces and you close your eyes with a sigh, and then lean down to retrieve the can, wiping dirt off the top with the hem of your shirt.

“The meat’s done,” Jin answers Taehyung’s question as the group file back into camp. “What do we want to do for sides?”

You go quiet as the group discusses. You’re the least picky eater you know, so you can’t really add to the conversation. You’ll be happy with whatever they come up with. You sit quietly, sipping your beer, looking around at the group and listening.

Taehyung slips into the chair next to Jimin and starts talking to him quietly about the lake – you gather from the conversation that they want to take the canoes (which are still atop two of the parked cars at the campsite) out tomorrow or the next day. Suz snuggles on the chair with Hoseok, mirroring Delia and Jungkook on the opposite side. Namjoon plops into an empty chair and asks you, “Do you hike much?”

“Much, no,” you admit. “Maybe once or twice a year. And I’ve never been here before. It’s really pretty.”

“The views from the top are wild,” he tells you. “That’s why we picked the Red trail – it’s tougher, but it’s worth it from the top.”

“I can’t wait,” you tell him. You’re very aware of Taehyung’s eyes on you from somewhere in your periphery.

When the food is agreed upon and fixed up, everyone takes turns rising to get what they want. As you all settle back into your chairs to eat, conversation dies down to nothing. You can hear the scrapes of forks against the paper plates, birds calling down by the water, the shouts of some kids staying at a campsite that must be just out of sight.

After eating and cleaning up, you decide to walk down to the lake since you haven’t seen it yet.

“If you go straight that way,” Taehyung tells you, using his whole arm to point, “you’ll meet up with a dirt path that leads right down to the beach. You literally can’t miss it.”

“You’d be surprised,” you tell him with a small smile. “But thanks.”

“I can go and make sure you don’t get lost,” he offers, voice light.

“No,” you shake your head. “You already went, that’d be silly. I’ll be fine by myself.”

Delia kicks you as you walk by, and you refuse to look. You can translate the kick perfectly – it means “oh my god he offered to go with you.”

To which you’d reply, if you were speaking, “It doesn’t mean anything, he’s just being nice.”

You head in the direction that Taehyung had pointed out, passing several other campsites on your way, including the one with the yelling kids. There are about six of them, various ages, playing some very brutal form of freeze tag. There is tackling involved. With a small smile, you carry on.

Past two more campsites, both with older couples tending to their campfires, you find the dirt path as promised. It leads you past a Rangers’ station, as well as the shower and bathroom buildings, which you mentally file away for later. They’ll be harder to find in the dark, you figure.

It’s not much longer before the path slopes dramatically, leading down to the beach, grass gradually giving way to sand. There are a few people walking along the beach, but no one in the water. You find a spot that seems out of the way and sit, sand soft between your toes.

Out across the water, the sun is dipping low, almost completely out of view. Its reflection dances and shimmers and you let yourself sit there feeling still and peaceful. Delia’s one of your favorite people, and you like Jungkook a lot for her, and his friends have always been so nice, but sometimes it’s hard for you to be “on” with a group of people for a long time. You take this time, watching the sun disappear inch by golden inch, to recharge in the silence.

Eventually the golden hour fades to blue. You watch the sky grow darker and darker, stars coming out one by one, each time you blink another four appearing. You’re about to rise and head back before it gets dark dark when you hear familiar voices behind you. It’s Del and Jungkook, coming down the path hand-in-hand.

“We were sent to rescue you,” Delia informs you with a grin.

“I need to be rescued?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you brush sand off of your butt and thighs.

“Taehyung certainly thought so,” she says suggestively.

“What does that mean?” you ask grumpily. You don’t love that these conversations happen in front of Jungkook, but you’ve accepted that what Delia knows, he knows too.

As far as you know, he’s kept his mouth shut.

She shrugs innocently. “He was very concerned about you down here by yourself, that’s all.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “He was not very concerned,” he counters. “He just mentioned that it’s dark now and it might be tricky finding the way back alone.”

You say nothing, leading the way back up the path. It is different in the dark, but you would have been fine. 

You can hear your campsite before you can see it – Hoseok’s laughter carries across the night, harmonizing with Suz’s sharp giggle. You can hear Jimin’s voice, but you can’t make out what he’s saying, only that he sounds defensive. Below that, you can hear the quiet chords of a guitar.

It’s clear as you approach that the mood has shifted at camp. Liquor bottles, juice, and soda have been placed on the picnic table next to plastic cups. Yoongi, looking a little red in the face, leans over his guitar with a look of avid concentration. Seokjin is laying on his back across one of the picnic benches, looking sideways to argue heatedly with Taehyung about god-knows-what as Jimin laughs heartily, one hand on his aching stomach muscles.

“You found her!” Namjoon says, smiling.

“I wasn’t lost,” you assert. “I knew exactly where I was.”

“We thought you’d come back when it got dark,” Suz says, her dark eyes wide. “I wouldn’t want to be down there alone.”

“I kind of liked it,” you admit. “I like the part of dusk when it’s like… every time you look away and then look back, there are more stars than there were a second ago? We don’t really get to see that at home.”

“That’s true we don’t,” Namjoon muses. You head to the picnic table to mix yourself a drink; judging by the glassiness of Jimin’s eyes and the loose chuckle Hoseok is emitting, you have some catching up to do. Delia sidles up next to you to make her own drink and she gives you a loving hip-bump that makes you giggle.

“Careful, you’ll spill the vodka,” you warn her.

“No spilling vodka!” Taehyung calls from across the circle, overhearing this. “That shit was expensive!”

“See?” you say to Delia. “This is expensive vodka and you can’t spill it.”

As you finish making your drink, you’re aware of a pair of eyes watching you from the other side of the crackling fire. You try to ignore this piercing gaze, sip at your drink to make sure you made it right, and find an empty chair around the fire to claim. Even once you’re seated, you can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. You try to avoid eye contact, watching the ice cubes float around the top of your mixed drink, twinkling as they reflect the firelight.

When you think it’s safe, you flick your gaze in his direction. He’s finally turned, talking to Jungkook. The firelight dances on his face, showing his sharp jawline, the structure of his cheekbones, before casting him in darkness once again.

After a while, Delia comes to sit by you, leaning against your shoulder. His arms and lap now free, Jungkook also unpacks a guitar from the car, and he and Yoongi play together, riffing and vibing. You lean back against Delia and close your eyes, content to listen.

“We should figure out the sleeping arrangement,” Namjoon says from the chair next to you, and you and Delia both turn to look at him. He’d been so quiet, you’d forgotten he was sitting there.

“Honestly,” Taehyung says, his voice flat and a little sour, “I vote to give the couples their own tents. We have the space. And no one wants to see that.”

Everyone does some mental math at that.

“It’s going to be two tents of three and two tents of two regardless,” Hoseok reasons. He sounds like he’s trying to come off like he doesn’t care either way, but it’s obvious he wants a private tent for himself and Suz.

Delia turns to look at you, guilt etched on her face. You had kind of thought the two of you would share a tent. It had somehow not occurred to you that she might want to snuggle with her boyfriend. And Taehyung’s exactly right – you don’t want to share a tent with her and Jungkook: those two can’t keep their hands to themselves for a minute.

So your options seem to be: tent with Delia, tent with Delia and Jungkook and get a free show, or tent with two of Jungkook’s friends that you don’t know super well.

Cool.

Delia is giving you puppy-dog eyes now. “I’m sorry,” she whines. “Can I puh-lease do a tent with Kookie?”

“You want to put me in a tent with two of these guys,” you clarify flatly.

A chorus of objections rises from around the circle.

“We are very nice,” Seokjin asserts, brows furrowed.

“You should be honored to listen to Namjoon snore all night,” Taehyung tells you, also trying to look severe, but his lips twitch.

“I am wounded,” Namjoon says, clutching his chest dramatically.

“You can join ours,” Jimin tells you quietly. While everyone else hurries to tease you, he seems to sense that you’re having some actual trepidation about the plan. “It’s me and Tae – we’ll give you a lot of room. He always ends up snuggling with me anyway.”

“Hey!” Taehyung calls. “Way to put me on blast, dude!”

“Is it true, or is it not true?” Jimin demands, and Taehyung pointedly looks away, tipping his cup to take a drink. “Exactly.”

Del is still sticking her entire lip out, begging.

“God, fine,” you say, exasperated. “But I swear if we have to hear you-.” You let the threat go unsaid and she reaches up to squish your cheeks affectionately.

“You’re my favorite best friend ever,” she coos, your whole face squeezed between her thumb and fingers.

“Tdank youf,” you try to say.

“And I’m your favorite, too,” she says.

“Andf yer muh fay’rite tchoo,” you say.

Satisfied, she releases you.

“That was hot,” Jungkook announces.

Suz levels a finger at him. “Douchebag jar,” she demands.

“The jar isn’t here!” Jungkook protests.

Suz shakes her head. “I don’t care. Hand over the dollar, douchebag.”

Jungkook grumbles, but starts digging in his pockets.

You all spend another half hour around the fire, the guitar music slowly fading out as the boys get tired – or tipsy. Conversation loops through time as you share stories from when you were little kids (tv shows you all remember from Saturday mornings, common household dynamics, who had the scariest mom) up to your college years (first time getting properly drunk, the worst professors you’d ever had, crazy roommate stories). You’re all laughing so hard your stomach hurts, pointing at each other and shouting as you find things you have in common.

“My mom forgot me at the mall once,” Taehyung admits as he chuckles, and Jimin and Hoseok howl, doubling over in their chairs. “Literally left me in the parking lot.”

“I know this story!” Jungkook shouts between bouts of laughter. “She didn’t forget you, you got out of the car!”

The laughter doubles in volume. Taehyung’s eyes are squeezed shut as he laughs, his grin taking up half his face. Jimin pounds his knee with a fist, gasping for breath between cackles.

“My parents did forget me at the grocery store,” you pipe up. The boys take deep breaths, whining as they try to stop laughing so they can listen, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of their eyes.

Delia looks at you, eyes wide with recognition. “I remember that. You were like twelve!”

“Wow, really?” Namjoon asks. “Usually when parents forget a kid, they’re little.”

You shake your head, smiling at the ridiculous memory. “I’m one of six kids,” you explain. “My mom always did a headcount, but she forgot my sister had a friend with her. It was really my fault for getting distracted.”

“Six?” Taehyung echoes. “That’s wild. Where do you fall in the line-up?”

“Third oldest,” you tell him. “I have an older brother and an older sister, then two more younger brothers and one more little sister.”

“I could never,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “I’d lose two kids every time we went anywhere.”

“Too bad, baby,” Delia jokes. “I want ten.”

“Ten!” Jungkook shrieks, practically pushing her off of his lap. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Yoongi, Seokjin, and Namjoon are sharing the second three-person tent, and it’s not much later that they take one of the lanterns and go to set up their sleeping bags. You expect them to come back to the circle when they’re situated, but when Yoongi unzips the front of the tent and emerges, he heads down the path towards the bathroom buildings instead, his toothbrush in hand. Jin follows him, and then Namjoon joins them after returning the lantern to the picnic table for someone else to use.

“Should we get ready, too?” Jimin asks. You look at Taehyung to see his response, but they’re both looking at you.

“Am I Tent Leader?” you joke, surprised. Delia groans, booing at you.

“You can be if you want to,” Jimin shrugs. “I know you’re in an uncomfortable spot having to share with us when you don’t know us that well. I just want to give you a little agency.”

“Yes,” Taehyung says, tone playful, nodding enthusiastically. “Agency. That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

“You were not,” Jimin kicks at him.

“We can set up if you want,” you shrug. The boys rise, grabbing the lantern that Namjoon had left on the table, and you head to the car for your sleeping bag and overnight bag.

The boys have taken the middle and the right side of the tent, leaving you the left third. The lantern hangs from the top of the tent, casting long shadows as you all maneuver around each other as you set up. Twice, you bump into Taehyung as you both circle your areas, getting everything just right. You both mutter apologies, and once, he rests his hand lightly on your elbow, as if to steady you even though the collision had been quite gentle. You face burns and you sit heavily on your sleeping bag, digging through your overnight stuff in search of a toothbrush and some pajamas.

“Namjoon-hyung!” Jimin calls through the tent wall.

“Yeah?” Namjoon calls back from the last tent in the line.

“What time do you want to leave in the morning?”

There’s silence as Namjoon considers this. You locate your toothbrush, your pajamas, a hairbrush, and a pair of slide-on sandals. You remove your sneakers and slip these shoes on, bundling up the rest of your goodies and heading back out towards the fire, making sure to zip the tent behind you.

The circle is full of empty chairs now, the fire burning low. There are lights inside all three tents now, shadows visible as the people inside move around.

“Probably we should be on the road by seven,” Namjoon says from inside his tent, and Jimin makes a noise to indicate he heard but doesn’t love what he’s hearing.

“Del?” you call. “Or Suz? Either of you want to walk down to the bathrooms with me?”

“Oh,” Suz says, sticking her head out of her tent with Hoseok. “Yes, me, please. Will you wait while I get my stuff?”

A few minutes later, the three of you make your way down to the buildings, stepping carefully in the dark. Behind you, you can hear a few more of the guys coming.

You pee and brush your teeth, changing into your pajamas. They’re a short and t-shirt set, but the material is thin, so you opt to leave a bra on. Damn, you hate to sleep in a bra, you haven’t had to do it since college. But you just feel a little less weird about the tent situation that way.

When you return to the campsite, Yoongi is pouring sand over the top of the fire to put the rest out. Jungkook is moving his guitar case back to the back of his car, the headlights illuminating the trees in the distance. Delia waits patiently at his side, the keys in her hand.

“You got it?” you ask Yoongi as you pass by.

“Yep,” he says easily. “It’s out. All good.”

You head back into your own tent. The lantern has been removed from the top, but Taehyung’s got a gigantic flashlight turned on, and it sits in the middle of the tent with its beam aimed at the ceiling. Taehyung is inside his sleeping bag already, in the middle.

Right next to yours.

Of course.

Who needs sleep anyway, right?

You settle into your sleeping bag, staring at the blue ceiling above you. A moth flutters against the nylon fabric, wanting to escape.

You fish out your phone and check to see if you have any service. You have one tiny bar, so you try to see if you can get a text to your mom to go through, to let her know you made it safely. You probably should have done that when you’d arrived. Oops.

“So, are you excited for the mountain?” Taehyung asks, startling you so much that you drop your phone on your face, spluttering.

“Fuck, ow,” you whine, covering your smarting nose with a hand. You can hear the rustling of Taehyung’s sleeping bag that indicates that he’s moving.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice a lot closer than it was a second ago.

Taking a steadying breath against the stinging pain at the center of your face, you remove your hand. Taehyung has wormed his way out of his sleeping bag and kneels next to yours. He’s peering at you, brows furrowed with concern. He’s holding your cellphone out to you in one hand, and you reach out to take it. Your fingertips brush his, soft as moth-wings, before pulling away again.

“I’m fine,” you say, voice hushed. He’s so close to you.

The zipper of your tent suddenly slides up, and the moment – if it was a moment, and not just your overactive imagination – is broken as Jimin makes his way back inside. Taehyung goes back to his space, and you all settle in. After confirming that everyone is ready, Taehyung turns off the big flashlight, pitching you all into darkness.

You lay there, staring up, letting your eyes adjust, listening. You can hear gentle rustling outside the tent – branches in the breeze, tall grass bending with the wind, maybe even birds or bats. You can hear the low timbre of someone’s voice a few tents away – Namjoon or Yoongi, talking quietly with the other guys. You can hear the faint sounds of music – another campsite that hasn’t settled in for the night yet, though they’re thankfully pretty far away by the sounds of it. You can hear Jimin moving his feet back and forth inside his sleeping bag, the deep huff of his breath as he gets sleepy.

Closer, you can hear Taehyung breathing, soft and slow. You want to roll to look at him, to see if there’s enough light from outside that you can see his closed eyes, the slope of his nose, the pout of his pretty lips. But god forbid he could see you looking, you’d die of mortification. Instead you keep looking straight up, your breaths slowly coming to match his long inhale, his slow, whistling exhale.

Eventually, the chatter in your mind melts into gibberish, and then darkness, and you lose yourself to sleep.

When the alarm on your watch buzzes to wake you, your first coherent thought is that you must have made a mistake when you set it. Outside the tent it’s bright, but your eyes and your body are telling you it is way too early. You open one bleary eye to see that, yes, it is in fact the time you wanted to get up. You wanted to eat a little bit and pack a backpack before the hike, and you know the guys wanted to get an early start before it gets too hot.

You roll over, expecting to find yourself face to face with Taehyung. Instead, it’s clear that he abandoned his sleeping bag in the middle of the night and currently has one arm and one leg draped over top of Jimin. You smile, endeared.

You sit up as quietly as possible – though, you have a feeling you could be as noisy as you want and not wake those two – and start shifting through your big duffel bag. You find athletic leggings, a purple sports bra, a tank top, and a pair of thick socks – what you don’t want is blisters from your hiking boots halfway up the Red trail.

You gather the clothes, as well as some toiletries, and make your way out of the tent.

Seokjin and Namjoon are already up, sitting at the picnic table.

“Morning,” Namjoon calls.

“We made cowboy coffee,” Seokjin tells you. You feel a spark of excitement, but then he continues with a cheerful, “It’s terrible!”

“I guess I’ll pass, then,” you say with a little smile. “Did you use an egg?”

“Tried,” Namjoon corrects. “We tried to use an egg.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “Better luck tomorrow, cowboys.”

After getting dressed and ready down in the bathrooms, you head back to your tent to throw your stuff back in your bag. The boys are still conglomerated into one shape, but Taehyung seems to be at least partially awake now. Jimin, not so much.

“Morning,” Taehyung croaks, one eye barely open.

You can’t help your tiny smile. Who let him be so cute? “Good morning,” you tell him. “Are either of you coming on the hike? We’re leaving in about twenty minutes, if you are.”

Taehyung closes that eye again and groans loudly in protest, which in turn wakes Jimin, who whines and stretches. Still smiling, you shake your head and head back out to the picnic table, knowing you’ll need some food if you’re going to tackle a mountain today.

As you’re eating a protein bar and a yogurt, the rest of the crew wake up, filtering in and out of the tents and down to the bathrooms. Delia waves at you sleepily on her way by, and Suz a few minutes later. Taehyung shuffles past, eyes still mostly closed, hair messy. He’s followed by Jungkook and Hoseok.

When you’re done eating, you pack a backpack: water bottles, granola bars, first-aid kit, bug spray – the works.

You take two cars to get to the trailhead. Jungkook drives you, Delia, and Taehyung. Hoseok drives himself, Suz, Namjoon, and Yoongi. Seokjin, as promised, is staying at the campsite and Jimin isn’t even awake yet.

It’s slow going – Yoongi was right, it’s steep. A lot of the trail isn’t even dirt, it’s big rocks, and you’re using your hands for balance as you make your way from one to the next.

“I think you’d have an easier time without that big backpack,” Delia tells you, then teasing, “Did you think we were going overnight?”

You frown at her. “Don’t come crying to me when you run out of water and want one of my four extras. Or when you’re hungry and you want freshly sliced strawberries.”

This gets Taehyung’s attention. “You brought strawberries?”

If it had been Jungkook, or – hell – even Yoongi, you’d probably have said, “Yes, and I’ll share if you’re very nice to me today.” But it’s Taehyung, so what comes out of your mouth is just a barely audible, “Mhm!”

He graciously ignores your inability to speak, happily telling you, “Strawberries are my favorite.”

Delia comes to your rescue. “Y/N always shares, don’t worry.”

“Everything I packed is for the group,” you agree, getting yourself under control.

The group stays close together, helping one another up as the sun rises and the air grows hotter. Often, the guys will climb a new ledge and turn around to help pull you girls up. Jungkook helps you a few times, and Yoongi, and Taehyung; his fingers linger on your wrist as you lean your weight forward to help propel you up and over.

Only one of these makes your heart flutter like a fool.

You all take a break about halfway up (according to Jungkook), sitting on some rocks by the trail’s side, passing around water bottles and – yes – the tupperware full of strawberry slices.

“It’s going to feel amazing to go in the lake later,” you muse, wiping sweat from your forehead.

“Oh god, I can’t wait,” Delia agrees, closing her eyes, daydreaming of jumping into the dark water.

“I can’t wait to eat,” Jungkook counters.

“You literally said that with a mouthful of food,” Yoongi points out.

“This doesn’t count, it’s just fruit,” Jungkook says, waving a hand. “I want meat.”

The whole group titters at this, and he rolls his eyes. “Whatever, I want protein, is that better?”

“Not really,” Suz tells him lightly, still giggling.

Taehyung nudges you as he passes back the strawberries, which are gone but for a few slices. “Thanks,” he says. “Those hit the spot.”

“What else is in the magic bag?” Jungkook asks, peering over.

“Uh,” you say, unzipping the top and shifting it around to look. “Granola bars, mostly. You want a peanut one?”

He makes a grabby hand and you toss him a bar, which he catches deftly. You drink some water, enjoying the coolness of the shady spot. A guy with a dog passes you all on the trail, coming down from the top, raising a hand in friendly hello. The guys bum-rush to pet the dog.

“We should probably get moving,” Suz says after a minute of this, glancing at her watch, breaking up the dog party. “If we want to be at the top before noon.”

The rest of the way up goes much like the first half – a slow, careful pace and a lot of helping each other up and over rock ledges.

Near the top, you lose your footing. You’d braced a foot near the edge of the ledge you were trying to climb, but your foot slips and your body follows. You slide with a yelp, and someone steadies you by cupping your elbow with a firm hand, another high on your back.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he says, voice deep enough that you have to try not to shiver. The rest of the group doesn’t seem to have noticed that you two paused.

“Thanks, Taehyung,” you say, a little breathless. The slip had kicked up your adrenaline and your heart pounds in your stomach, in your fingertips, at the edges of your vision. “Shit. That scared me.”

“Go carefully,” he tells you, something firm and insistent in his tone. He climbs the ledge that you had slipped on and turns, holding out a hand  to you. You take a quick breath and grab his hand, scrambling as he pulls you up to join him.

“Thanks,” you say shyly, and he gives you a grin and a salute before turning and following the group up the path.

When the trail levels out, leading from dirt path to flat rock expanse, you all rush out to see. The horizon seems forever away, hundreds of miles unfolding below you in ripples of green. The view takes your breath away, and you walk from side to side of the flat area, trying to see each angle. The rest of the group fans out, doing the same, phones coming out of pockets as everyone starts snapping pictures. The couples take some together – you act as photographer for Delia and Jungkook, as is your usual duty when third-wheeling them anywhere. You take a few of your own, trying to capture the way the foothills start as rolling hills in the distance, building in height and frequency as they near the actual mountain-range.

“Holy shit, wow,” you breathe, creeping closer to the edge, where you can see the lake. It looks literally magical from here, like every folk story you grew up on could really be true. It gives you the feeling that ancient societies, with their strong ties to the earth and its natural processes, were really the ones who got it right.

“It’s really something, right?” Taehyung asks. You’re not sure when he came up next to you – you’d been enthralled by the view, lost in your thoughts as you tried to think about how to describe the way the road cut through the trees like a ribbon, the way the lake glittered and winked in the sunlight.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say, so enraptured by the view that you forget to act like a clown in his presence.

“Let’s take a group picture!” Suz suggests, pulling out her phone. There are a few other hikers enjoying the view, and Suz has no problem getting a young couple to agree to take a picture of your group. You all congregate near the edge – but not too near. You’re painfully aware that in the bunch, Taehyung ended up to your left, and he rests his arm lightly across your shoulders. On your right, Delia wraps an arm around Jungkook’s waist and leans her head on his shoulder cutely.

“One funny one?” Suz suggests.

Delia and Suz are both climbing onto their boyfriends backs, as the rest of you try to think of poses.

“Wait!” Taehyung cries, laughing. He’s laughing so hard he can barely get the idea out. “We’re an even number! We should all do it!”

“What?” Suz asks, confused.

Jungkook’s caught on, and he starts to giggle too. “Tae, who are you offering to piggyback - Namjoon?”

Taehyung’s practically snorting now. “Absolutely not, have you seen how big he is these days?”

Yoongi’s shoulders shake as he laughs. “I’ll go on Namjoon’s back – that’ll be fucking funny.”

Everyone hurries a little, aware that a stranger is waiting for you to get situated so she can take your photo and be on her way. Taehyung turns to you, still giggling a little.

“You’re okay with going on my back, right? I guess I should have asked first,” he says, a little apologetically.

“I’m okay with it if you are,” you say with a shrug. “I’m not the one who has to lift a whole person.”

He waves a hand like it’s nothing and turns and squats so you can climb on. You hold his shoulders firmly, trying not to feel them too much, and squeeze his sides with your knees. He reaches back and hooks his hands behind your knees, giving you a little bounce to get you both comfortable and situated as he stands.

“Hurry up,” Namjoon huffs. “Yoongi’s heavy.”

The four guys decide to make faces like they’re exhausted, while those of you behind held up – including Yoongi – cheese and give peace signs out in front.

“I can’t wait to see this,” Delia giggles as you’re all lowered back to the ground. The hiker hands Suz her phone back. You all crowd around to take a look, sputtering with laughter as you take in how silly it is.

You hate that you notice how good you and Taehyung look together. You just look natural together, like you belong.

When you’re all rested and done taking pictures, Namjoon heads the group back down the way you came; the Blue trail that you’ll do tomorrow is a loop, but Red only goes up and back.

You fall into a kind of trance as you follow the pack back down. Your feet seem to move on autopilot, and you let your mind wander. You’re excited to swim when you all get back down – after eating a big lunch, of course. You wonder if the beach will be packed with families. This beach is only open to those who have paid for campsites, so hopefully it won’t be too -

A loud cry in front of you startles you back to reality. You gasp out loud as you process that Suz is on her hands and knees just below one of the ledges. She must have missed the step or tripped.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” Jungkook asks, hurrying over. Hoseok is already there too, trying to assess the damage.

Suz has tears on her face by the time you catch up. The boys have helped her roll to sit. Her palms are scraped and one of her legs is bleeding a lot from a long gash, but it’s her other ankle that she clutches. You’re slinging your backpack onto the rock in front of her without really thinking.

“Back up,” you tell everyone, and they shuffle to make room. You’ve got tons of first-aid experience from your job, and you can tell already that her cut will need stitches. But there are other concerns here, too.

“Alright, Suz, I know it hurts but you’re okay,” you tell her gently. “What hurts the worst?”

“My ankle,” she says, still holding it. “I slipped on the edge there and-.”

You tune the explanation out, eyeing her ankle – which has already started to swell – and the cut.

“Wipe your hands off as best you can and let me clean them – quickly,” you instruct. Once you’ve wiped her hands with an alcohol pad – she winces, but doesn’t complain – you give her a large square of gauze.

“Hold that on top of your cut,” you tell her, pointing to the bleeding gash. “Press hard, and don’t let up on the pressure, got it? I’ll wrap your ankle – I’m gonna have to take your shoe off.”

She follows directions, wincing again as you do what you need to do to get her ankle wrapped up in an ace bandage. Hoseok hovers behind her, face ashen, his hands on her shoulders.

“Is it broken?” he asks.

“Can you turn it in a circle?” you ask her, just to be safe, but you have a feeling it’s just sprained. She can, and you shake your head.

“Not broken,” you confirm. Of course, only an x-ray can tell for sure - and with tiny ankle bones sometimes an MRI is needed. But the range of motion is a good sign. Everyone is standing in a semi-circle around you three, exchanging anxious looks. A group of four hikers on their way up stop, inquiring if your group needs help.

“We’re okay,” you tell them over your shoulder. “We can get her back down. But thank you!”

The gauze has been pretty saturated, so you give her a fresh one and tape it into place. Honestly, the cut is what you’re the most concerned about.

“We’ll have to carry her the rest of the way down,” you tell the guys. “You should definitely take turns if you need to, and we need to be really careful about going down over the rocks.”

“You guys, I’m so sorry,” Suz moans, covering her face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Taehyung says immediately. “Let’s just get down safely, okay? No one’s upset with you.”

“Shit happens,” Jungkook adds.

“Hobi, you want first dibs?” Namjoon jokes.

The guys help Suz teeter on one foot until she’s up on Hoseok’s back. She carries her own abandoned sneaker. You remember Seokjin telling you you’d need good treads for this trail, and it’s clear she didn’t have that. You pack the first-aid kit back into your backpack and stand.

It’s much slower going the rest of the way. The group basically stops still every time the trail requires hikers to climb down a ledge, everyone helping to make sure whoever is carrying Suz makes it without incident.

It takes over twice as long to get down the mountain than it did to go up. You load into the cars – Hoseok very gingerly setting Suz in the front passenger seat – and head back to camp.

“She’s going to need stitches,” you announce to your car, as soon as the doors close. “I didn’t want to say it while we were still hiking and freak her out, but it’s seriously true. Someone needs to take her into town, like, immediately.”

“Hobi will take her,” Jungkook assures you from the driver’s seat. You relax, settling back and closing your eyes. You feel exhausted; swimming sounded so good earlier, but now that you’re all coming down from the adrenaline rush (not to mention having climbed a mountain) all you can daydream about is a nap.

Luckily, the drive back isn’t far at all. Hoseok’s car beats yours back – you have a feeling he sped the whole way, nerves acting up over his injured girlfriend. Jimin and Seokjin are at the picnic table, and it looks like Yoongi and Namjoon are filling them in on what happened. Hoseok and Suz are still in the car, talking seriously.

When Jungkook puts the car in park, you hop out, going straight to Hoseok’s door and knocking on the window so he’ll lower it.

“You need to take her into town,” you tell him seriously. He turns and gives Suz a look that says, see? Clearly, she’d been arguing that she didn’t need to go.

“Seriously, Suz,” you tell her. “That cut needs to be cleaned and you’ll probably need some stitches in it. And it wouldn’t hurt to get your ankle x-rayed. I don’t think there’s a break, but even if there’s not you might need crutches and some stronger painkillers.”

Her face crumples a little. “I don’t want to leave the trip,” she says, voice very small. “I was looking forward to this for months.”

“You can come back,” you tell her gently. Seokjin is on his way over to the car, his face serious.

“Hobi, are you going to the hospital?” he asks. Hoseok looks at Suz, face pleading. She sighs in defeat, pressing her lips together unhappily. Hoseok turns back to the window, nodding.

“Yeah, I’m going to drive her to the emergency room in town.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jin offers. “That way you don’t have to sit alone while they take her for x-rays and all that.”

“You don’t have to,” Hoseok says, but Jin waves him off, heading to the backseat.

You all crowd around the car to tell them goodbye, backing away when Hobi shifts the car into reverse.

A tentative silence falls over you.

“We need to eat,” Jungkook reminds you, breaking the solemn silence. “Should we make sandwiches?”

The sandwiches, and the chips, fruit, and cookies that accompany them, do the trick – you can feel the group perk up after a good meal. Taehyung and Jungkook show off the pictures from the top to Jimin – who seems like he hadn’t been awake long before you’d all returned. He laughs riotously at the ones of the girls and Yoongi being carried piggyback at the top. Yoongi really hammed it up, opting for a flower cup pose instead of the agreed-upon peace sign. You can’t be mad, the result is too funny.

“I don’t know about anyone else,” Yoongi announces, once his sandwich is gone, “but I need a fucking nap.”

“I was thinking about finding a place to read,” Namjoon says, eyeing the trees near you.

“I’ve been waiting all day to hit that beach,” Delia says. Reason Number 347787 that you love her so much.

“Yes,” you say emphatically. “Beach.”

“Well,” Jimin says, “you’re welcome to walk down to this beach. But Jungkook and I were talking yesterday about going cliff jumping? The place isn’t that far.”

“Is that safe?” you ask.

At the same time, Delia says, “How hard is the climb to the top? Some of us already climbed a mountain today, Park Jimin, instead of staying in bed until one in the afternoon.”

“It’s not hard,” Jungkook assures her. “I’ve gone before – it’s an easy slope up. Plus we don’t have to spend the whole time jumping – we can do it once or twice and then just swim around and relax.”

“Is it safe there?” you ask again, your question having been overlooked for his girlfriend’s.

“Oh,” he says, “yeah. I mean, I’ve gone there a lot. You have to be careful, obviously, like this is not a good drunk activity. But if you’re not being stupid, it’s safe.”

This doesn’t really placate you as much as you’d like, and your stomach stirs nervously. But at the same time, you’ve never done cliff-jumping before, and you’re not sure you’ll get the opportunity again any time soon. So, when the guys and Delia head into the tents to grab their bathing suits and towels, you do the same.

There are only five of you going, so you take one car. Jungkook is right when he promises it’s close – it’s only about a five minute drive once you’re off the campsite property. Jungkook’s phone dings as he parks, and he reads aloud the text from Jin, letting you all know that Suz is being stitched up at the moment, and her x-ray is coming next. You all agree to come check for an update in a few hours, and Jungkook leaves his phone locked in the car.

“Do you want to jump first, or swim a little first?” Jimin asks the group as you load out of the car. There are six more cars in the small, gravel parking lot, but no people near them.

“Should we get used to the water first?” Delia asks. You feel a little better to hear the nervousness in her voice; you don’t want to be the only scaredy-cat.

The body of water you’re at isn’t the same lake as the campsite, though they are close together. Instead, Jimin informs you all as you walk up the path, this is an old stone quarry.

“The water’s much deeper,” he explains. “That’s why it’s safe to jump from so high – no chance of it being too shallow.”

The water is – no joke – as black as ink. You’ve seen dark muddy water, and deep blue ocean before. You’ve never seen anything like this in your life.

Jungkook drops his towel and dives right from the rocky ground you stand on, surfacing with a splutter seconds later.

“It’s cold,” he warns, and you and Delia exchange a look.

“It won’t be so bad once we adjust to it,” she tells you.

“You have to just rip the band-aid off,” Taehyung says to both of you. “Jump in and start swimming – the sooner you’re moving, the sooner it’ll feel less like death.”

“Don’t go into sales, Tae,” Delia tells him flatly. He gives her a wink and runs towards the edge, hitting the water with a splash. Jimin follows closely behind, and they both shriek upon surfacing, making Jungkook howl with laughter.

“Oh,” you say, eyeing the boys, “I do not want to do this, suddenly.”

“Let’s jump and race to the other side,” she suggests.

“Seriously!” Jimin calls to the two of you. “Once you’re in, it’s fine!”

“Okay,” you tell her, the idea sounding like it will work. “To the other side and back?” You eye the distance – it’s not that far. The jumping area is clearly off to the left – you can hear the shouts and whoops from that direction.

She counts you down and you both take it at a run, diving in. The cold assaults you from every single direction as you hit the water, and it’s dark under there as well. You can’t help but shriek, the noise escaping you with a jet of bubbles. Once you surface, you launch to a fast front-crawl. Delia’s got a bit of a lead on you, but you don’t care – the goal is to not feel the cold anymore.

Once you get back to the boys – the race aspect pretty much forgotten – you do feel better. You push your hair out of your face and adjust your suit, treading water lightly as everyone chats and splashes.

Slowly, you all make your way in the direction of the cliffs, your pile of towels waiting for you back where you started. Once you get around the bend, it’s very clearly set up. The jump that’s clearly most popular looms above you, a line of visitors waiting for their turn showing you clearly how the trail to the top slopes gently down to where you are. Then, further down, there’s a much higher jump. No line there, but you see one young woman fly from the top, screaming with excitement until she hits the water, too far away for you to hear the splash.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Delia says, eyeing the higher cliff.

“You don’t have to,” Jungkook hurries to assure her.

“Don’t worry, Del,” Jimin says. “Us chickens can stay down here with the kids.”

“Let’s do this one first anyway,” Jungkook suggests. “It’s fun to all jump together.”

When your turn comes, you all wait for the two teenagers who jumped before you to clear out from underneath. You all link hands, jumping at the same time with shouts and squeals. You’ve got Delia on your left and Jimin on your right, and you hold them tightly. 

The jump isn’t too high, and you’re airborne for what feels like only a second - quick enough for your adrenaline to sing, for a smile to light up your face, for someone to your left to let out a whoop, and then you’re surrounded by cold and dark again.

You lose Jimin, the force of the water knocking his hand from yours. You’re still clinging to Delia tightly when you surface, laughing.

You tread water and look around, doing a quick headcount. Once everyone’s visible, you all make your way to the low area where it’s easy to climb out, ready to go again.

You do this for a while; you go as a whole group a few more times, then in smaller groups or alone. Jungkook abandons you altogether to go to the high jump, but no one else joins him.

“Go with me!” Delia tells you, and you two link arms, rushing to the jump. The boys do spins and flips, getting some scattered, half-hearted applause from the people still in line.

After some time, Jungkook returns, flipping his wet bangs out of his eyes. “It’s incredible. This is kiddie hour over here, that’s a jump!”

“No,” Jimin says flatly, and swan-dives from the ledge, literally escaping the argument like a secret agent.

“I’m with Jimin,” Delia says, her voice regretful. You know she loves Jungkook’s adventurous, thrill-seeking side, and usually she’s up to tag along. It’s part of what makes them a good couple, in your opinion. But Delia’s not the strongest swimmer, and you think the water factor is what’s tripping her up today. “We’ll stay here, right?” She looks at you like she’s already counted your support.

But the thing is… you’re considering the higher jump. It was your whole reason for coming, wasn’t it - to make sure a rare opportunity doesn’t pass you by? To take advantage of a chance to be brave, to put it on paper, to collect the receipts? 

“I’ll try,” you say, your voice startling even yourself. Delia’s mouth drops open, but Jungkook grins, all squished like a bunny.

“Y/N! Yes! Come on, I’ll show you the path.”’

“Bye,” you tell everyone. “If Jungkook gets me killed, please say nice things at my funeral.”

Delia shakes her head. “I’ll say you were a giant fool.”

“My Nana won’t appreciate that,” you tell her with a pointed finger, and then scurry to catch up with Jungkook.

The path up slopes more sharply than the low jump, but at least it’s just a flat path, no rocks or ledges to climb.

“Hey, Jungkook, this is safe, right?” you ask, nerves having a field day. You have so much adrenaline going, you’re almost dizzy from it. And you know it’ll be worse at the top.

“As long as you’re being careful, yeah,” he tells you. “There’s puddles along the top, so don’t run before you jump or you could slip. As long as you have a clean jump, you’ll be perfect.”

“There aren’t, like, rocks at the bottom?” you ask nervously.

He shakes his head. “It’s safe. I’ve been coming here for practically a decade.”

You believe him, but something in your nervous system must not, because your hands are trembling.

Too bad, you tell your body. That’s fine, be scared. I’m doing it anyway. I want to be able to say that I did.

Your resolve crumbles when you stand at the ledge and look down at the pitch-black water below.

“Oh,” you groan, “I don’t know about this.”

“It’ll be fine,” he tells you. “You can watch me.”

That is not going to help, you think, but you don’t argue.

“I’ll jump and I’ll come right back up to check on you,” he suggests. “If you’re still not sure, we can walk back down.”

You nod, and he sets up to jump. He lets out a series of whoops and shouts as he falls - and he falls for a bit - before the water silences him. You watch him surface, further out than he’d landed, and start swimming back to where he can climb out.

You are not sure you can make your legs move. You are not sure you won’t hit a rock on the way down, that they won’t have to helicopter in medics for you. You imagine for a second the phone call your mother will get.

A voice breaks you from this reverie - thank goodness, because it was getting bleak.

“Are you going to do it?”

You turn fast, almost slipping in the puddles Jungkook had warned you about. You throw out your hands to steady yourself, and he reaches out as if to steady you too, but doesn’t actually touch you.

You thought it was Jungkook, somehow getting back to the top in record speed. Instead, it’s Taehyung.

“Why are you up here?” you ask him, your voice still sounding a little like you’re gasping. Your adrenaline right now is seriously no joke.

He eyes the ledge behind you. “I think I want to do it. Are you going to?”

“I was,” you say, “until I got up here and started thinking about all the rocks.”

He nods. “The rocks don’t scare me,” he says, “it’s just the height. I don’t… I don’t do great with heights. My heart is pounding just from standing here and we’re not even at the edge.”

You laugh a little with relief. “You should feel mine,” you admit. “I think I might pass out?”

You both scoot just a little closer, and you look at the general spot that Jungkook had disappeared. He seemed to think it was fun. 

“What if we go at the same time?” Taehyung suggests. You’re both peering over the edge, and he’s reached out a hand, his fingertips butterfly soft, just barely resting on your upper arm, as if he’s prepared to pull you back if you slip. You’re not sure he knows he’s doing it, being protective. It’s so sweet it makes you want to scream.

“What if I land on you?” you laugh nervously.

“I’ll go further down,” he says, pointing. “Plenty of room between us. We can just time it together.”

You chew on your bottom lip. “But that means I can’t chicken out,” you say with a little laugh. “Or you’ll have jumped without me and I’ll look like a dick.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding, “yes, except I also can’t chicken out or I will look like a dick. It’s honestly the only way to trick my brain into doing this. Otherwise I’m going to stand up here until Jungkook comes to save me, and that will hurt my ego.”

You laugh again. “Okay,” you say finally. You’re up here, right? You’d made the decision to do this already. You just need to have a little bit of faith that things will be okay. Sometimes you gotta jump, your Nana always told you, and this time - for the first time - it was literal. 

You can’t wait to tell her about this later.

You both set up, Taehyung moving a good seven feet to your right. 

“Ready, beautiful?” he asks, looking sideways at you, and you almost fall off the fucking cliff. Beautiful?

Whatever your face does in response to this, he ignores it, beginning to count down - “Three…. two… one!”

No time to think about it, no time to second-guess, no time to scramble backwards and cling to a tree: you have to jump.

The feeling is insane - nothing beneath your feet, your stomach flying up to your throat; on your right, Taehyung shouts. Your feet pedal in the air on instinct, and then you slam into the water.

It hurts a little, honestly, and you have to tug your bathing suit bottoms out of your ass before you start pulling and kicking your way back to the surface. When you break out on the top, sucking in a large breath, you find Taehyung treading near you.

“That was wild,” he grins, shaking his head, his wet hair almost covering his eyes.

“Beautiful?” you repeat, your voice a little shrill. 

He laughs, a deep belly-laugh, his smile crinkling his face. “Want to go again?” he asks, side-stepping your small meltdown.

This sobers you a little. “I do,” you admit. Now that you’ve done it once, it’s way less scary. You feel pretty confident you won’t leave here on a backboard. 

You both swim to the area you can climb out; someone, at some point, installed metal rungs into the rock, like a ladder. 

“Careful,”  Taehyung warns you, “you’ll slide like crazy on these.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, slowly working your way up. Taehyung treads in the water behind you, waiting his turn, and you hope he’s enjoying the great view of your ass as you climb. Since you’re beautiful today and all.

He climbs out behind you and pushes his wet hair back, out of his face, which renders you speechless again, the cockiness leaving your body in an instant. You vow not to speak as you start up the path to the top, knowing you’ll trip over your words if you try right now. 

“Hey,” he says. “I wanted to say… you were really cool earlier today.”

“I was - what?”

He grins again, like he finds your spluttering so endearing. “With Suz,” he explains. “You just… I don’t know, you just took charge and got everything sorted. It was really cool.”

You don’t know how to respond to this; you can feel your face heat up even though the rest of you is shivering from the quarry water. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, eyes on the path.

He laughs a little. “It was like seeing a whole different side of you,” he says. “Normally you’re like… well, like this, all shy.”

“I’m not shy,” you lie, like a liar. 

“You seem shy,” he counters playfully. “But I’ve been informed by some secret spies that when I leave you’re much chattier. Care to weigh in on that?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” you demand. “What spies? I’ll kill Jeon Jungkook, I swear to God -.”

He laughs again, a repetitive giggle that has him sucking for breath between each gleeful noise. “It wasn’t Jungkook. But I may have been informed by a little birdie that I make you nervous.”

“Oh, my god,” you utter, absolutely humiliated. Jimin? Had to be Jimin if it wasn’t Jungkook. He had overheard Delia talking to you at the campsite last night. He’s dead. He should have remembered that you’re sleeping in the same tent later. You will absolutely have revenge.

“Can I ask… why?” Taehyung presses, something gentle in his voice, and you realize belatedly that maybe his feelings are a little hurt. This makes you feel kind of bad, and you decide with a sigh that you probably owe him some honesty at this point. You’ve already embarrassed yourself roughly six hundred and fifty two times in the past two months… can you really make it any worse? Might as well go all-in.

“I mean. Look at you?” You laugh; Taehyung does not.

“That doesn’t mean anything though,” he says, and he sounds… disappointed. “I could look… I could look like anything but still be, like, a bad person. Or problematic, or mean, or boring. What I look like isn’t me.”

Something in your chest twinges, and you hurry to do damage control.

“No, I know that,” you assure him. He probably thinks you’re fucking shallow, now. “Believe me, I know that. It’s just that… I’ve also been around you enough to know you’re not - mean, bad, anything like that. Definitely not boring.”

“So, what am I?” he challenges. You’ve reached the top again, and you both stand, suddenly too involved in this tension-filled back-and-forth to care about jumping.

“Nice?” you suggest. “Silly? Creative?”

He scoffs, giving a playful eye-roll, the tension starting to diffuse a little. If you’d offended him or upset him, it seems like he’s starting to let you off the hook. “I’m not always nice.”

“You’re nice to me,” you point out.

“I am nice to you,” he agrees lightly, eyes twinkling.

“Who aren’t you nice to?” you tease. 

“People who kick puppies. People who chew with their mouths open. People who spoil movie endings. That kind of thing.”

You laugh, and he grins at you. 

“What else?” he asks, still teasing, but his tone is lower, his voice deepening. Your body reacts with a shudder that you hope you can blame on the chilly water clinging to your body, dripping from your hair. Heat blooms low in your belly and you force yourself to ignore it and focus.

“What is this, Taehyung’s Compliment Hour?” you complain.

“You have enough material to fill an hour?” He cocks an eyebrow. “I’m flattered.”

You laugh despite yourself. “Douchebag Jar,” you tell him, and he laughs. 

“That thing is going to overflow before we go home,” he says. 

“Yeah, and it will single-handedly be from you and Jungkook.”

He laughs again at this, and then gives you a look that you can’t really decipher.

“So you’re weird around me because I’m nice?” he says. “Just trying to understand.”

You almost jump from the cliff just to avoid this embarrassment. “I’m not weird around you,” you grumble. 

He gives you a look. 

You shuffle your feet, eye the water, squirm under his waiting gaze. “We established that already,” you finally give, and he cracks a small smile. 

“Well for what it’s worth,” he says, turning to finally head closer to the edge, “I think you’re nice, too.”

A noise behind you startles you and you turn to see Jungkook jogging up the path.

“Hey!” he calls. “Glad I caught you. I just checked the time and I think we should head back to the car to see if there’s an update on Suz.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says easily. “One more jump?”

“We have to get down there somehow,” you agree.

The three of you line up - spaced far enough apart to not land on each other - and get ready to jump. Jungkook is in the middle, but you find yourself leaning to see past him, to catch Taehyung’s eye as you ask, “Together?”

He nods. “Together.”

The adrenaline of the jump, the feeling of falling, the bracing cold - none of them hold a candle to the feeling you get, like lightning straight through your heart, when he smiles at you as he says this.

Back at the car, you all stand shivering and chattering, wrapped in your towels as Jungkook checks his phone.

“They’re waiting for the x-ray results,” he tells you, reading the screen. “It should be soon.”

“Let’s head back,” Delia says decisively. “I want to shower while it’s still light out.”

“Yes,” you agree - you hadn’t thought about this, and you’re glad she has. “Me too.”

You all dry off as best you can before climbing back into Jungkook’s car. The drive back to camp takes only minutes, which is lucky because your leg is pressed against Taehyung’s leg, your elbow against his elbow, and you’re cold from the lake and his body is radiating heat, and that’s only one of two reasons you want to absolutely climb in his fucking lap. You’re saved from yourself as the car pulls into the space at your campsite.

What had that you’re nice too meant? Was that Taehyung-language for I like you too? 

When Jungkook parks and you climb out, Yoongi and Namjoon turn to look at you. True to their word before you’d left earlier, Yoongi’s hair looks like he definitely just got up, and Namjoon is still holding the book he was reading, his finger in between the pages to save his spot.

“How was it?” Namjoon asks as you get closer.

“Incredible,” you say, even though the question had been geared more to the guys. “Incredible.”

You head to the tent to grab your shampoo and other toiletries for the showers and meet Delia back outside her tent. 

“The water in there better get hot,” she grumbles as she zips her and Jungkook’s tent back up. “I’m fucking freezing.”

There are four shower stalls, so you take two right next to each other. You close the curtain and set your items down on the bench, organizing what you need now and what you need when you get out. 

As the water heats up and as you shampoo, you chat over the wall with your best friend, filling her in on what happened at the lake.

“Oh my god,” she says. “Wow, so he basically admitted he’s into you!”

“Did he?” you ask. “Did he really, though?”

“Yes,” she says firmly, and you can hear her squirt shampoo or conditioner onto her palm. “You had me at the beautiful thing - that’s classic Taehyung, he was absolutely letting you know. Wow, I wish I could have witnessed it. I haven’t seen Taehyung turn it on to flirt with someone since before - you know. His ex.”

You frown. You’d forgotten that when Delia and Jungkook got together four months ago, Taehyung was still in a relationship. She hadn’t been there the night you’d met him - the night Delia met Jungkook. But Delia had been around them as a couple a few times in that first month with Jungkook - Jungkook’s relationship with her blossoming right as Taehyung’s was crashing and burning.

Full of doubt, you go quiet. After a minute, she says your name quietly, and then once more - insistently - when you don’t answer.

“Yeah,” you say flatly, so she’ll shut up.

“I’m telling you,” she says, as she turns the water off on her side of the wall. “He doesn’t just do stuff like that unless he means it. Okay?”

“Yeah,” you repeat, reaching for your towel. “I hear you.”

When you two return to camp, you’re informed that some decisions have been made in your absence. 

“So I just hung up with Hobi,” Jungkook tells Delia, and you listen intently. “Suz is determined to come back tonight and finish the trip. Hobi and Jin both think she’ll change her mind as her pain meds wear off a little.”

“What does that mean?” Delia asks flatly.

Jungkook explains. “Her ankle isn’t broken but the sprain is bad. She’s on crutches, and she’s on some pain-killers - and antibiotics for the cut, too. Hobi thinks she’s going to end up wanting to go home - what fun can she have camping on crutches, and in pain?”

“That sucks,” you say sympathetically. You’d liked Suz, you were hoping she’d be back.

“It does,” Jungkook agrees. You notice that most of the guys are absent - you wonder if they’re all down in the mens’ showers. “Anyway, we were thinking we’d meet them all in town for dinner at a restaurant? That way she can eat with us more comfortably and she can make her decision from there.”

“Nowhere fancy,” Delia asserts. “I don’t have a curling iron here.”

“Sure, sure,” Jungkook says distractedly, eyes on his phone screen. “None of these places are that nice anyway.”

The drive into town is quite a bit longer than the drive to the quarry. Luckily - or maybe unluckily, you can’t decide - you end up in the car with only Jungkook, Delia, and Jimin; Taehyung hopped in with Namjoon and Yoongi.

“You,” you greet Jimin with narrowed eyes. His eyebrows rise as he clearly tries to remember what he’s done to piss you off. “What did you say to Taehyung?”

Delia turns all the way around in her seat to watch the carnage.

Jimin laughs nervously. “Oh, that,” he says.

“Yes, that,” you snarl. “I know where you sleep, Park Jimin! One sleeping bag over from me!”

“Okay okay okay-,” he says, hands up, like he might have to actually protect his face from you, “but hear me out!”

“Yeah, you’d better have an excuse!” you yell. Delia cackles.

“He started the conversation!” Jimin explains. “He said something to me about how you get all - y’know -.”

He’s too polite to say whatever descriptor he thinks fits the spot.

“So you said what, exactly?” you ask him with narrowed eyes.

“I was sticking up for you!” he cries. “All I said was that when he’s not around, you’re very fun and normal!”

Your eyes go wide. “Did you use the word ‘normal’?”

He seems to look left and right for a nonexistent escape route. “Okay, but! Y/N! He likes you and he was feeling like you didn’t like him because you wouldn’t talk when he was around! I was helping!”

This makes you go still. Delia slaps repeatedly at your knees in excitement. “He what?” you ask, your voice echoing in your ears. “Really?”

“I told you!” Delia squeals. “You didn’t believe me!”

“Yours was a projecture!” you protest. “I need cold, hard facts!”

Jungkook groans, rolling his eyes. “God, it’s like seventh grade in here. You like each other! Fucking do something about it!”

“No need to curse at me,” you mutter, but you turn away from Jimin, deciding he gets to live. For now.

The restaurant is casual, thank goodness, and the trio that came from town have already procured a table. Your car gets there first thanks to Jeon Lead-Foot Jungkook, and you choose seats.

“How are you feeling?” you ask Suz right away. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“I feel great,” she laughs. “Whatever pain-killer they gave me was-.” She uses her fingers to make a chef’s kiss. 

“Yeah, she’s a little high right now,” Hoseok tells you all quietly. “Extra strength Tylenol from here on out, babe.”

The group from Namjoon’s car files in, and it surprises you not at all when Taehyung slides into the empty space beside you, giving you an easy smile.

“Did we miss anything?” he asks.

“Just that Suz is feeling those pain meds,” Jungkook supplies. 

The waitress comes by and takes everyone’s drink order before sweeping away again, off to her next table. You and Delia take bets on whose cocktail will be more brightly colored (it’s hers - bright blue). The atmosphere is relaxed, the lamps glowing orange above the table, the chatter around the restaurant a comfortable background noise. Your drinks come and you order food.

“So,” Delia says to the whole table, over the top of her very blue drink, “you all know how hot I find it when Jungkook boxes, right?”

“We are painfully aware,” you tell her.

“Too aware. Please stop telling us,” Taehyung deadpans.

Jungkook covers his face with a hand, already knowing where his girlfriend’s story is going. It’s clear by the grin on her face that she’s been waiting to tell this story at his expense.

“Well the other night,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect, “he literally started boxing in his sleep. Like, three in the morning, we’re both dead asleep, and he starts punching my shoulder like I was the punching bag.”

Everyone cracks up, and Jungkook starts spluttering in protest, trying to defend himself.

“This is a fun game,” Suz says. “What’s the weirdest - nonsexual - thing you’ve ever had a partner do in their sleep?”

You all think hard, chuckles and giggles floating around the table as you consider options.

“My ex talked in her sleep, you’ve all heard those stories,” Namjoon starts. “She’d straight up give lectures in her sleep. It’d be the middle of the night and she’d be reciting archaeology facts. Sometimes I’d google what she was talking about - it was always true! She knew her shit.”

You all laugh at that, and you pipe up, “I had that, too. A guy I was… seeing… he’d talk in his sleep and if I answered him, sometimes he’d keep the conversation going. It was so fucking funny. One time he told me in his sleep that I had to fix my Pokemon stance.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Jimin asks, covering his giggles with a hand.

“Like, how you stand when you throw the ball, I think?” you giggle.

“What was wrong with your stance?” Yoongi asks, eyebrows raised. 

“I asked him that!” you say, pointing at him in appreciation for asking the Important Questions. “I asked what’s wrong with my stance and he told me - still in his sleep! - that my toes were too pointed.”

Everyone’s laughing, but Taehyung shakes his head through his chuckles. “There’s no way. There’s no way that happened.”

“I wrote it in a note on my phone so I’d never forget!” you tell him, laughing so hard now that it’s hard to breathe. “I swear, I have it written down word for word!”

“I win this one, hands down,” Hoseok says, “and the culprit is right here.”

“Oh my God,” Suz laments. “Don’t tell that one, it’s so embarrassing!”

“This game was your idea,” Hoseok reminds her, grinning. “Those in glass houses should not throw stones.”

“Now you have to tell us,” Yoongi says, swirling his drink in his glass.

“Okay,” Hoseok says, gleeful, as Suz shakes her head, laughing. “So it was the middle of the night, we’re fast asleep, and suddenly this sweet girl next to me screams ‘fuck!’ - like something is wrong, like she’s scared, and she leaps out of the bed.”

“I hate you,” Suz groans, covering her face. 

“I, of course, turn on the light and also jump out of bed, because obviously something is trying to kill us,” Hoseok continues, ignoring her, giggling through every word. “And I’m frantically asking her - what’s wrong, what’s wrong, what happened?”

Everyone’s giggling a little in anticipation as he builds the story.

“So then!” he continues dramatically. “She tells me something bit her - so I’m thinking there’s a spider in the bed and we both start, like, looking in the blankets for it. Please remember that it is ass o’clock and we’ve been asleep for hours already.”

“Oh my god,” you say, giggling wildly. You’re dimly aware that your knee is touching Taehyung’s under the table, but you don’t move it. 

“Then I notice that something on the sheets is red, and being half-asleep I assume it’s blood from whatever bit her, and I scream ‘you’re bleeding!”

Jungkook is practically crying, and Suz takes this moment to point out, “I really blame you for the hysteria. If you hadn’t yelled that, we would have calmed down.”

Hoseok continues to ignore her, too caught up in the magic of story-telling. “So, obviously, I start trying to look for where she is bleeding from. And I start checking her arms and her back and asking her where does it hurt, and where did it bite you and she goes very suspiciously still and quiet...”

“Oh my god,” you repeat. Next to you, Delia snorts loudly, trying to muffle herself.

“So she’s standing there, very silent, and then she goes - in this teeeeeny little voice - ‘I think maybe I was dreaming’.”

Everyone howls, Hoseok especially.

“So what was on the bed?” Yoongi asks through quiet giggles.

“Like, string? Fuzz? I guess off of my pajamas?” Suz says, laughing despite herself. “God, this is so embarrassing!”

Conversation dies down naturally when your meals come, but you notice with a tummy-flutter that Taehyung doesn’t remove his knee from yours, even when he sits up straighter to work on his food.

After you eat and your plates are taken away, you all sit around sleepily as you finish your drinks.

“So, I guess it’s not really a good idea for me to come back to the campsite,” Suz announces, frowning deeply.

“It really isn’t safe,” Namjoon reasons gently. “You’re on crutches and it’s dark. You should be resting and healing - it’s hard to do that in a sleeping bag. Your body will get better faster if you let it rest well.”

“Yeah,” she says glumly. 

“We’ll come pack up our stuff and we’ll head home,” Hoseok says quietly, giving the top of her back a supportive rub. “I know you’re disappointed, but it’s really what’s best.”

“I know,” she says sadly. “I know it is.”

You slowly file out of the restaurant and back to the cars. The drive back is quiet; you’re all exhausted from your day, even sleepier still from the drinks you’d had with dinner and your full bellies. You lean your head against the window, watching as the buildings of town get more and more spaced apart, until they disappear altogether giving way to dark trees. Behind the wheel, Jungkook sings quietly under his breath. Delia splays a hand on his knee.

Back at camp, Seokjin helps Hoseok start taking down the fourth tent. Yoongi eyes the empty fire pit.

“Should I bother?” he asks the group. “Or are we all just going to bed?”

“I wouldn’t mind a beer before we go to sleep,” Namjoon muses, and there’s a murmur of assent. 

“Fine,” Yoongi says, but then adds threateningly, “but I swear to God if I get this whole fire going and then everyone goes to bed in fifteen minutes, I will be seriously pissed.” 

“I’m gonna get changed,” you tell Delia quietly. “You want to come down with me?”

Down in the dimly lit bathroom building, you change into sweatpants and a hoodie - the night’s gotten chilly - and brush your teeth for good measure before you two head back up the hill to the campsite, arms linked, flashlight guiding you along the grassy path.

When you get back, Hoseok and Suz’s tent is down and he’s working on taking the poles apart. Yoongi seems to have the fire almost going - Jungkook kneels beside him next to the circle of rocks, both of them blowing on the embers to get them to catch.

You grab a water bottle from the cooler and settle into the chair next to Delia’s, chatting quietly. Eventually, Hoseok finishes collecting his and Suz’s belongings, and loading up his car. You all gather around the passenger side window to tell them goodbye. 

They both give solemn waves goodbye as Hoseok pulls out of the campsite, heading down the road towards the exit. 

You all sit around Yoongi’s campfire for a while, chatting some but mostly just zoning out, enjoying the crackling fire, the cool night air, the vague notes of music floating from somewhere else on the campground. 

Seokjin is the first to bed, followed by Namjoon. Delia and Jungkook go next, disappearing into their tent with little waves goodbye. 

You’re tired - you’re exhausted - your arms and legs almost buzzing with how much physical activity you did during the day. You want to go to sleep, but that requires moving. You’re half tempted to ask Jimin to carry you. You finally muster up the strength and tell the remaining guys goodbye, slipping into your tent and crawling into your sleeping bag. You fall asleep before you even zip yourself back up.

You awaken again, groggy, mouth feeling like cotton, and reach for the water bottle you’d brought. You can’t have been asleep for that long - you can still hear Jimin’s quiet giggle and the low tones of Taehyung and Yoongi’s voices as they talk quietly by the fire. 

You lay there, trying to get comfortable again, trying to chase the heavy feeling of sleep, but it’s dissipated entirely. Instead, your ears strain to pick up anything Taehyung is saying, and your mind starts replaying the moments you’d shared at the quarry earlier, the feeling of his knee warm against yours at the dinner table. 

Finally, you give up, sitting up completely and running a hand over your hair. You pull on the sneakers you’d left next to your sleeping bag and unzip the tent, stepping out into the flickering firelight. 

The boys stop talking abruptly when they hear the zipper, and you wonder with a flush if they’d been talking about you. 

“Did we wake you up?” Jimin asks as you shuffle to the cooler for another water bottle.

“I don’t think so,” you say, voice a little froggy with sleep. “I just woke up and now my brain thinks we took a good nap.”

“I hate when that happens,” Yoongi says, nodding. 

Then they all just stare at you, and you at them. You definitely interrupted some sort of secret boy conversation. 

“Okay,” you say, giving a huff of a laugh. “I’m going down to the lake. Just gonna… sit in the sand for a little.”

“You’ll be okay down there?” Jimin asks, a little concern in his voice. “Bring a flashlight.”

“I will,” you say, to both parts of his sentence. You grab one of the heftier flashlights off the picnic table and shove your water bottle into your hoodie pocket, heading down the hill to the lake. 

You take your sneakers off at the fence at the edge of the beach, not wanting to get them full of sand. You place the flashlight beside them, so you’ll find it when it’s time to walk back. Barefoot, you continue down the beach until you pick a spot five or six feet back from the water’s edge. The water laps gently at the hardened, wet sand before you as if the lake is a sentient, breathing thing. It inhales and exhales, and so do you.

You’re not even startled when Taehyung materializes next to you, dropping onto the sand less than a foot to your left. Part of you expected him the whole time, you think.

“Hi,” you say wrly, giving him a sideways smile. He returns it sheepishly, as if he knows just how predictable this move of his was.

“Hi,” he parrots. 

“You really don’t like me being down here by myself, huh?” you tease.

He blanches, eyes widening. “Do you want to be alone? I can go back up -.”

“No, no,” you reassure him. “I was just teasing.”

He looks at you, and you can tell even through the poor lighting that he’s uncertain, feeling like he’s encroaching.

“Seriously,” you say again, reaching out to touch his arm, lightly so you don’t scare him away. “I’d like you to stay. Please stay.”

He relaxes a little, and you both turn to look at the sky. It’s cloudless, and the stars are plentiful; you want to drink the entire sky in, stock up, because when you all drive back to the city at the end of this trip you’ll only see about a third of this until your next adventure. Light pollution is no joke. 

For a while you just watch the sky in silence. Then Taehyung says, voice hushed, “I keep thinking about today. Doesn’t this morning feel like four whole days ago?”

You laugh a little, the sound gentle. “It does. The cliffs feel like forever ago, and the hike? That was last week, right?”

He laughs again. “I can’t believe we’re still awake,” he says, and just the thought makes him yawn, which makes you yawn.

“I napped,” you point out.

“You were only in there for like twenty-five minutes,” he says. “That barely counts.”

“I feel pretty exhausted,” you admit. “But it’s nice down here. I like this.”

He gives a hum of agreement. A minute later, when the breeze kicks up and you shiver despite the hoodie, he reaches an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against him. You hesitate for the barest second, and then lean over, letting him pull you flush against his side.

You lean your head on his shoulder and he rubs his thumb along your shoulder blade absently. You can barely feel it through the hoodie and the shirt you have underneath it, but your pulse sings anyway.

“Taehyung,” you whisper. You don’t look at him; you don’t want to chicken out. You keep your eyes on the stars, on the tiny lights across the lake where there are cabins.

“Hm?”

You give a little sigh. You know asking might break the spell. But you don’t like games. And Jungkook was right - this isn’t seventh grade. You’re adults. 

“What’s happening here?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “What is this?”

He squeezes your shoulder once, and you turn to look up at him, waiting.

“You know, twenty-four hours ago you were barely speaking complete sentences to me?” he points out. “And now you’re just throwing down the gauntlet at my feet, like it doesn’t even scare you?”

He’s right. You consider this for a second.

“It’s different now,” you muse. “Something’s… different.”

“It’s you,” he says, like he’s trying to convince you. “You’re different today, and I really like it.”

“You didn’t like me before today?” you say, just to tease, just to twist his words on him a little.

He lets out a noise of protest. “Of course I did - in theory. You have to admit, it’s hard to like somebody who doesn’t speak! Did I think you were gorgeous? Absolutely. But I couldn’t really get to know you.”

“And what’s the verdict?” you prod. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he quips, and you elbow him playfully in the ribs. “Okay, okay!” he laughs. “I think you’re… really capable. And smart, and funny.”

“Alright,” you say, face burning as you fight a smile. “I get the idea.”

“Do you?” he asks, turning to look down at you seriously. “I want to make sure you know - I really like you.”

You smile down at your feet, wiggling your toes happily in the sand. He lets you get away with not answering, the tiny smile you’re trying to fight telling him everything he needs to know for now. He pulls you close by the shoulder again, and you listen once again to the song of the wilderness around you: the bird calls, the rumble of car engines on the highway in the distance, the lake’s sounds as the tiniest waves roll up to the shore, Taehyung’s steady breathing beside you. The sand is soft between your toes, and Taehyung’s body is firm and warm next to you, even as the lakeside wind blows.

Finally he turns, pressing his face close to your hair. You shiver as he whispers damn nearly in your ear, “We should go back.”

You shudder again, and you know he feels it. You hope he’ll chalk it up to the wind, to the nighttime chill. 

“Okay,” you say, proud of how even you keep your voice. Your hands are itching to touch him, to have him keep whispering in your ear like that, to feel his hands on you, to feel his mouth on you. 

You should go back. You need to get yourself under fucking control.

He stands and holds out a hand for you, deftly pulling you to your feet in one motion. You both take a second to brush sand off, and then you head back towards the fence where you’d left your shoes and the flashlight. He’s left a pair of slip-ons right next to yours.

You’re still standing at the fence, eighty percent of your brain trying to tell you down, girl, when the remaining twenty percent takes over. Out of your mouth comes the words, “You know… in the car today, Jungkook said we needed to stop acting like idiots and do something about it. Those were his exact words.”

Taehyung freezes, one shoe halfway on, and looks at you calculatingly, as if he’s trying to determine if you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying.

You are.

Fucking kiss me. You want to scream it. 

“Do something about it?” he murmurs, something low and dangerous making its way into his voice. He takes a step closer to you; you fight another shiver. This suddenly feels like a game of cat and mouse, and you hope you’ll get caught. “You have any suggestions?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Don’t do that. Don’t tease me.”

He cocks an eyebrow, then reaches forward and brushes some hair away from your face. His touch is tender, but his voice comes out like steel when he asks, “You think this is teasing? What’s wrong, you’ve been wanting this?”

“For longer than you think,” you admit, and he smiles, brushing a thumb along your cheek, his hand resting lightly along your jaw. His eyes are on your lips.

“Better not keep you waiting then,” he murmurs and dips his head to kiss you. 

You drop the heavy flashlight and it rolls away from you back down the path. You both ignore it; you’re focused entirely on his lips and how electric they feel against yours, how solid and sure his mouth is against yours, how you’re trying not to gasp from sheer want as his hand on your jaw twitches like he’s trying to keep it relaxed. 

You make a happy sound and relax into him as his mouth opens for you; his free hand falls to your waist, then sinks to your hip, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your hoodie.

Either he’s pulling you in or you’re leaning in or both, but there’s no space between your bodies anymore as he presses his tongue into yours, a contented noise escaping him as he does. It’s lips and teeth and tongues for a long, breathless moment, your arms hooked around the back of his neck as you press your front along his. 

The hand he’d been resting on your jaw slides around, cupping the back of your neck as the kiss deepens. You whimper lightly into his mouth, wanting more of his touch, and he groans in response, his hand on your hip slipping under your hoodie and pressing against the same spot on your hips that it had been, the skin of his palm hot against yours. 

He breaks away from your mouth and kisses a line down your jaw towards your neck, a heart-pounding pattern of teeth then tongue then lips as he makes his way lower and lower.

You breathe out once through your mouth, going almost boneless under his hands, and he pulls you tighter against him as he starts to work his way up to your mouth again, reversing the path he’d just taken. 

You capture his mouth again as soon as it’s close enough, sliding your tongue against his insistently. You curl your fingers in his hair and tug, and he moans against you, the sound making your knees go weak like jelly. God, he sounds good; you want to do a thousand different things to keep him noisy like that. 

The hand under your hoodie begins to move slowly, tracing light patterns along the curve of your hips, up to your waist, then higher towards your ribcage as his mouth continues to make you dizzy. Goosebumps rise along your arms, the back of your neck. You remember - about the same time that Taehyung figures it out - that you hadn’t thrown a bra on since the thick hoodie kept you pretty covered. He gives a tiny growl into your mouth as he brushes his fingers along the underside of your breast once, then twice, before cupping it fully, his thumb rubbing the same languid circles that it had the entire way up your side. You gasp at the contact, breaking the kiss. He takes this opportunity to press his forehead against yours, whispering hoarsely, “So soft.”

You hum in answer, reaching for his mouth again, already missing it. He passes his thumb over your hardening nipple, feather-light, and you shudder under the touch, your fingers tightening in his hair. You can feel him hardening against your belly - god he’s all legs, so tall it’s unfair - and you roll your hips against him. He groans, low in his throat, lowering both hands to your ass and pulling your hips flush against his, upping the friction. You wind a leg around the back of his, trying to get closer, trying to angle it so you get some relief, too, trusting him to hold you up. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and worries it with his teeth, smiling against you when you moan in response.

“Thought you’d be shy doing this, too,” he tells you quietly, still smiling.

You’ve thought about this? you want to ask, but instead you say, “Told you. Something’s different.”

He kisses you again, chaste, sweet, then once more for good measure. You release his hair from your deathgrip, he rubs your ass one time like he’s telling it goodbye and pulls his hands away. You’re both breathing hard.

“We should go up,” he says, regret in his voice. “I’m sure they’re talking about it already.”

“‘Kay,” you say, looking around the dark for the flashlight and water bottle you’d dropped. Would you like to keep kissing? Definitely. Is your body screaming for sleep? Yes. You can’t have both. “Do you see my stuff?”

You find the flashlight first and use it to locate the water bottle in the grass. Once you’re situated, he holds out his hand, linking his fingers with yours as he leads you up the path. Your heart pounds, not settling down even a little. In fact, holding his hand while you walk makes your heart race more than having his hands up your shirt had. 

As soon as you’re close enough to see the campfire, Taehyung drops your hand and steps ahead, leading the way up to camp. You aren’t sure how to take that - was it coincidence? Or did he want to make sure that no one saw?

Jimin and Yoongi seem to be putting the fire out as you walk back into camp, a lantern on the picnic table your only real source of light. Taehyung stops to talk quietly with Jimin, so you slip past him and head to the tent. You give a quick glance over your shoulder before you enter, but no one is paying any attention to what you’re doing. 

You’re still awake in your sleeping bag when the door unzips again and Taehyung and Jimin step through. Jimin’s got one of the smaller flashlights to guide them as they take off their shoes and get ready for bed. You watch Taehyung through the semi-dark, and he catches the glance, stilling. 

 Then, he gives you a tiny, secret smile as he turns and settles into his sleeping bag. 

It’s reassuring. You think to yourself - as Jimin turns off the flashlight and leaves you all in the dark - about what Delia had said earlier, that Taehyung doesn’t play games with women, that he was straightforward with his intentions. You think about his words down at the beach less than an hour ago - I want to make sure you know, I really like you.

Whatever the weird moment upon arriving at camp was, you’re sure you’ll be able to talk about it tomorrow. You have faith that it will be okay. 

You can see the general shape of him in the dark, your eyes adjusting, but you can’t see his face. You think he’s facing you, based on how close his breathing sounds. Your eyes are begging to close, your body aching for sleep. But your heart is aching too - to feel close to him again, to touch him again, to feel his warmth again.

Feeling a little silly about it, you inch your hand closer to his section of the tent, the nylon cool and stiff beneath your fingertips. 

And then you aren’t touching nylon anymore.

Taehyung huffs a very quiet laugh through his nose as he feels your fingers touch his, grasping them quickly before you can pull away. Once he’s sure you aren’t going to take your hand away, he loosens his hold, gently rubbing his thumb along your knuckles, back and forth. You’re smiling in the dark, grateful that no one can see you as you grin like a fool as you give his fingers a reassuring squeeze.

He was reaching for you, too. 

Things will be okay.

You awaken in the morning to something alarming: someone is standing in the tent, hovering over you. You scramble to sit, gasping in alarm, and then somebody says, “Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s okay.”

“Jimin!” you scold, pressing a hand against your chest, where your heart is pounding. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Next to you, Taehyung grumbles in his sleep. He strikes his foot out in Jimin’s direction, but he’s stopped by the confines of his sleeping bag.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin whispers, but he’s fighting a smile. “It’s just that you two were…”

You flush as you remember how you’d fallen asleep - your hand in Taehyung’s hand, both of you reaching across the dark to find one another. Was it possible neither of you had let go in your sleep? 

Jimin seems to read an answer in your face to a question he hasn’t asked out loud. “Wow,” he says, rocking on his heels. “Wow.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, looking sideways at Taehyung’s sleeping form. You want to talk to Taehyung before you talk to anyone else about it. Jimin raises his eyebrows at you, amused, but he does what you ask and slips through the door of the tent. 

You sit there for a minute, quietly, waiting to see if Taehyung will wake up and talk to you, but you hear his breathing deepen and even out again, so you decide it’s a lost cause. You dig what you want to wear out of your bag and follow Jimin’s footsteps out to the campsite.

Everyone else is up already, which makes sense seeing as they all went to bed before you and Taehyung went on your little field trip down to the lake. 

“We’re leaving to hike in about ten minutes,” Delia warns you.

“I don’t know how I feel about a hike,” you admit. Your body feels like it’s been hit by a train. You’re sore from all the activity, but you also only got a few hours of sleep. 

“It’s totally your call,” Jungkook tells you, “but this one is really easy. It goes up that ridge-,” he points across the lake, “then along the top, and then down the other side and around the lake to stop back here. It’s a really low slope, no rocks.”

“Basically, we’re taking a very long stroll,” Namjoon tells you.

You consider it for a second. “Alright, I’ll go down and change,” you decide. You make eye contact with Jimin. “You want to see if Sleeping Beauty wants to join us?”

Delia snorts into her fist and Jimin gives you a playful eye-roll before he heads into the tent. You hurry down the hill to the bathrooms, toothbrush in hand. 

When you return, everyone seems pretty ready to go. You throw together a less aggressive backpack than you did yesterday - if it’s really a stroll, you shouldn’t need as much to eat and drink - noticing that Taehyung isn’t anywhere to be seen. Either he’s down at the bathrooms, or he told Jimin to fuck off and stayed in bed.

You sit at the picnic table, the wood already warm under your skin even though it’s still pretty early in the morning, and lace up your hiking boots. Delia sits next to you and leans against your shoulder.

“A little birdie told me that you and Taehyung were down at the lake together until after three o’clock this morning,” she whispers, eyes on you accusingly. 

“Park Jimin,” you growl, eyes narrowing.

She giggles, then leans closer, lowering her voice even more so make sure the boys don’t hear you. “Nope - Min Yoongi.”

“Why are Jungkook’s friends so fucking nosy?” you grumble.

She elbows you gently. “Well?”

You don’t get the chance to answer, as Taehyung heads back up the path from the bathrooms. You snap your mouth closed and Delia looks at you knowingly. 

“Later,” she tells you, standing, her voice making clear that this is absolutely a demand. Or, perhaps a threat. 

Since the Blue trail loops around, there’s no need to drive to a trailhead; instead Namjoon leads you all through the campgrounds, your group weaving between tents, waving polite hellos to sleepy campers emerging from their tents to fix breakfast. At the edge of the campground, about twenty paces from the last tent, a large wooden sign announces the trailhead, along with a list of guidelines and a map.

Despite promising a stroll, the guys at the front strike a quick pace, heading up the trail. You’re happy to find that it is a gentle slope, normal dirt (no giant rock ledges), and is well shaded - the woods on either side dense with trees and various foliage.

You and Delia naturally slow down, hoping to get some space from the guys so you can gossip in peace. As he passes on your right, heading up to join Jimin near the front, Taehyung reaches over and gives a light, playful pinch to your side, making you squeal lightly before breaking into laughter.

“Watch it!” you tease, and he grins at you over his shoulder as he continues on.

Delia is watching you with wide eyes. “Okay, I need an update now,” she says. 

You giggle quietly, and as you two follow the pack of guys you fill her in on what happened last night - Taehyung straight up saying he likes you, the kissing, how you fell asleep holding hands.

“That’s so cute I might throw up,” she tells you, brows furrowed - the same face Jungkook makes when the food is really good. They’re too alike, those two. 

“It was kind of weird, though,” you muse quietly, aware that you have some space between you and the guys, but not that much. “When we got back to camp, Yoongi and Jimin were still up and he literally dropped my hand, like it was definitely a hide the evidence moment.”

She twists her lips, thinking. “But then he held your hand in the tent?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “So, what was that about?”

She makes a noise like she’s considering this. 

“I’m just gonna ask him,” you decide. “It probably wasn’t a big deal. But just… I don’t know, I don’t want to do a stupid mixed signals thing. If he doesn’t want them knowing, we should… figure that out.”

“Can I just say,” she says, giving you an affectionate little nudge, “that I can’t believe that you’re just totally cool with that - with just asking him point blank? I think I’d be too scared to just say something like that, I’d be trying to figure shit out all covertly.”

You smile at her. “After the forty foot jump yesterday, nothing feels scary anymore,” you joke. “But… I don’t know. He feels… worth it? If this isn’t going to work, I want it to be because of a real reason. I don’t want this to stall out early because we’re too stupid to talk to each other.”

“I want it to work,” she says seriously, looping her arm through yours. “For both of you.”

The trail evens out, which must mean you’re at the top of the ridge. There’s no cool view from here - you’re still surrounded by trees on either side - but the group stops for a water break anyway. 

Delia leaves you when she notices Taehyung heading over and makes her way over to Jungkook, giving his butt a playful pat in greeting. Bless her.

“Good morning,” you say, pressing the top of your water bottle into your lips to hide your stupid smile.

“Good morning,” he echoes, smiling back. “How’d you sleep?”

You shrug. “Pretty good, for the few hours we got. I don’t want to waste our last day here sleeping, but I really might need a nap.”

“We were planning to take the canoes out,” he tells you, “but we checked the weather and we’re supposed to get a pretty good storm after lunch. There’s a whole weather system passing over.”

“Oh shit,” you say, frowning. “That’s kind of a bummer.”

“We’ll make it fun,” Jimin says, shamelessly jumping into the conversation, clearly not having the sense to give you two some privacy the way Delia did. “We’ll be stuck in the tents so Yoongi and I were talking about breaking out the poker set?”

“Yes,” Yoongi says seriously from a few feet away. “Winning money off you dummies sounds like a great way to pass a rainy day.”

“I resent that,” Taehyung says with a playful frown.

“Sounds like the universe really wanted me to have a guilt-free nap,” you say, smiling. “And with the sound of rain? Heaven.”

“We should keep going, if everyone’s ready,” Namjoon tells the group, eyeing the sky above you. He’s right - the sun that had shined down on the campsite as you’d woken up is gone, heavy clouds filling the space between the treetops. “We want to get down there in time to put the tarps up.”

The trail leads you down the other side of the ridge and down to follow the natural path around the far end of the lake. At the front, Seokjin and Namjoon discuss how many tarps you have between you, and where they should go.

“We’ve got four, I think,” Namjoon says, counting in his head. 

“One for each tent, and then maybe we can rig something to keep the campfire dry?” Jin says, thinking aloud. 

When you get back to the campground, it’s already starting to rain just a little - a drop here and there. 

You all get moving with the tarps, covering the tents first and tying them to the stakes that are already hammered into the ground, and then trying to set up the stand-alone cover for the fire. You manage to get it all done before the rain starts in earnest. Delia checks the radar on her phone. 

“This is just the beginning of the system,” she warns you all. “It’ll be light rain like this for a little bit and then we’ve got the actual storm cell coming.”

Beyond the campground, the wind tangles with the trees, the leaves flipping over. Your Nana always told you that was a sign of a storm; you wonder absently if that’s true or if it’s just an old wives’ tale. 

You all eat nonsense for lunch - a few people make sandwiches, some grab fruit, a bag of chips is passed around as the rain changes from “light” to “steady”. The tarp over the campfire seems to be holding up, and you all crowd your folding chairs under it, trying to stay dry. 

“I think if Hobi and Suz had stayed, we wouldn’t all fit under here,” Jungkook observes, from practically your lap. The tarp definitely helps, but it’s clear that as the rain and wind pick up that you all won’t be staying comfortable and dry unless you spend the time zipped up in the tents. 

“Who’s in for poker?” Yoongi asks, as he reaches for the cooler, trying to pull it over to the dry area without getting himself too wet. 

Jungkook starts to speak and Delia jabs him in the ribs, shooting him a look. He closes his mouth, an amused expression settling on his face.

“I’m napping,” you announce, because this has been your plan all day. “I’m exhausted.”

“Yep, we’ll be napping, too!” Delia says brightly. You snort and she kicks you.

“I’m in for poker,” Jimin says. “I got cash especially for this, and I watched a ton of videos, so you better watch it.” This is directed at Yoongi. “I’m much better than last time.”

“Jimin,” Namjoon says kindly. “Every time you lie, you giggle.”

JImin scowls. “Maybe I’ll laugh when I don’t lie, too, then!”

“Poker’s never really been my thing,” Taehyung admits. “I think I wouldn’t mind resting either. Can I come snuggle with you guys?” he asks Jungkook, eyes glinting as he knowingly makes trouble.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Delia says, rolling her eyes with a grin. “I’m not third-wheeling in my own damn tent.”

You pretty much all rise at the same time, folding up the camping chairs and stuffing them into their little bags. Jungkook collects them all and tosses them in the backseat of his car so they’ll stay dry. 

Delia practically drags Jungkook by the hand into their tent, giving you a cheeky wave goodbye. The guys file into the third tent; Jimin pauses and looks at Taehyung. They seem to have a silent conversation - there are some eyebrows and head tilts involved - and then Jimin gives Taehyung a little salute and follows Namjoon into the tent. 

Alone, the rain coming down around you, you and Taehyung stare at each other in silence. Then, he’s closing the distance between you, hands going immediately to your hair as his lips find yours. He grunts, barely audible, fingers tightening behind your head as he gets what he wants. You bring your hands up to grip at his biceps, half for balance and half because you love how they feel under your fingers. 

He leads you backwards, one little step at a time, mouth working against yours, until you’re both in the rain. You can feel it in your hair, running down his arms and over your fingers, plastering your shirts to your backs. Taehyung doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, kissing you like he needs it to live. Arousal blooms low in your belly, your legs shifting with the onslaught of sparks and tingles and need.

Taehyung tears his lips away from yours long enough to whisper, “I wanted to do that all day.”

“Then you should’ve,” you challenge.

You’ve backed up all the way to your tent, and he untangles his fingers from your hair so you can bend down and unzip the door. By the time you climb in and zip back up, the spell’s been broken a little bit. Taehyung turns away from you, bending down by his sleeping bag to dig around in his duffle bag. Finally, he turns back and tosses a towel to you.

“For your hair,” he explains. “We probably shouldn’t stay in these, we’ll get sick.” He gestures at his wet shirt.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why do I feel like you orchestrated this perfectly? Just for an excuse to take your shirt off?”

He laughs, holding up his hands to mime innocence. “No,” he protests, smiling a little. “I just genuinely couldn’t wait until we got in here to kiss you again. I haven’t thought about anything else since last night. Not even food.”

“So, what happened?” you ask, feeling bold. “We were together all morning - why wait?”

He looks at you like he’s calculating.

“I didn’t know how you felt about it,” he admits, voice quiet. You’re aware that Jungkook and Delia are about three feet away, and only separated from you by tent walls. “Like, in front of everyone. We hadn’t, uh-.” He stops, clears his throat, scratches the back of his neck and peers up at you. “We hadn’t talked about that.”

You’re slowly putting two and two together. “So last night, when we got to camp-?”

His eyes find yours. “What?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. He doesn’t even know, and here you’d been thinking about it all day. 

“You stopped touching me the second we were close enough for them to see - I just felt like...”

“Oh!” he says, eyes going a little wide as he realizes how it must have seemed to you. “No! No no no - I just knew I was already going to get teased to hell for following you down there, I didn’t want to drag you into it, too. At least without talking about it first.” 

“I guess I appreciate that,” you say, fighting a smile. 

He shakes his head. “As if I’d subject you to the chaos gremlin Park Jimin without your consent. And Yoongi acts like he’s above it, but that guy gossips. He’s worse than my mom.”

You giggle a little. Taehyung shivers visibly and says, “Okay, I really do need to change out of this. You should, too. I can- um- I can turn around, if you want, or-?”

He’s babbling a little, and it strikes you that he’s nervous. Taehyung, Kim Taehyung, the guy whose mere presence had made you stumble over words and forget how your hands worked, is nervous about you.

Warmth and happiness rise within you, almost enough to eradicate the chill from your rain-soaked tank top. It’s reassuring, and cute, and it somehow - impossibly - makes you want him even more. 

He shuts up, flushing a tiny bit, and reaches for the hem of his shirt. He turns a little, like he wants to make sure you don’t have to look at his belly - as if you hadn’t all been swimming the day before - but you step closer as he pulls the thin material over his head.

“Want to give me a hand?” you murmur. Taehyung’s eyes shoot to yours, unsure. Around you, above you, the rain redoubles its efforts. The walls of the tent shudder and tremble under the onslaught of wind and rain. Distantly, you hear the first rumbles of thunder. 

Then he steps the rest of the way to you, dropping his discarded t-shirt to the tent floor, reaching to take the towel out of your hands. He drapes it over his shoulder and reaches for the hem of your tank-top, his eyes steady on yours. He peels it away from your skin, up over your ribs, over your breasts. You raise your arms so he can pull it over your head. 

You reach around to undo the clasps of the sports bra you’d worn for the hike, but he swats at your hands, going for it himself.

“This one likes to get stuck,” you warn him, smiling.

“I got it,” he assures you, full of confidence, and he’s right - you can feel the clasp give and then he’s sliding the straps down your arms - one, then the other. He gives it a light toss over to your sleeping bag, and then takes the towel off of his shoulder. He’s been watching you the entire time - for signs of uncertainty, or just because he wants to, you aren’t sure - and he doesn’t stop now as he gently dries your arms, your shoulders, your belly, carefully under and around each breast, then around and down your back.

“How’s that?” he murmurs, dropping his hands.

“Drier,” you smile, “but still chilly.”

“Well, that’s unacceptable,” he says playfully, voice so low. You’re about to shuffle into his arms when you’re surprised by a flash outside. The lightning bolt is followed quickly by a sharp, angry crack of thunder. 

You gasp instinctively, then chuckle at yourself. Taehyung smiles at you indulgently and then crouches by his sleeping bag, messing with the zipper. You peer around him to see that he’s unzipping it completely, and then he shakes it out to increase the amount of floor it covers. Instead of standing, he plops down in the center, legs stretched out before him. He looks up at you, head cocked, like a delectable invitation.

Another crack of thunder spurs you into movement, shakes you from your reverie, and you straddle his lap easily, your hands finding his shoulders for balance. He’s kissing you again before you’re even settled in, his tongue stroking yours as his hands splay wide across your back. You shiver into his embrace, your chilly body aching for the warmth that radiates from him. You don’t know if you should blame the cold or the excitement, but your nipples are impossibly hard, and Taehyung moans quietly into your mouth as he feels them brush against the flat of his own chest as you press your body against his.

One hand comes around from your back to cup a breast - the one he’d neglected last night at the lake, as if he’s been keeping score and knows where his attention was lacking. He breaks the kiss to nibble a gentle line down your jaw, his fingers pressing at your flesh, his thumb rubbing circles against the hardened pebble it finds there. When you whine, he turns his head so he can whisper closer to your ear, “Shhh, beautiful.”

You nod, sucking in a quiet breath, and he continues kissing you, continues tracing shapes with his thumb, sending shocks and sparks down the length of your spine as you roll your hips over his. 

The storm has found you in full, thunder cracking and snapping above the tent, barely seconds of silence before another rumble gives its reply. Taehyung’s beautiful face glows white and then dark again as lightning strikes somewhere nearby. 

The rain and wind act as music, guiding your pace as you continue to kiss. You kiss him until your head spins, until your lips burn, until your core aches. You run your hands up his back, down his sides. He twists under your touch, choking back a giggle, and you realize you’ve tickled him. You place your hands flat over the spot, your touch firm enough to quell the sensation.

“Sorry,” you whisper, giggling a little. He answers you with a kiss, one hand still holding you in place in the middle of your back, the other leaving your chest and tangling in your hair again. You find your hands trailing down his chest, between your bodies, landing on the button of his shorts. 

His hand flies to your wrist, and you stop, looking at him quizzically.

He lets out a tiny huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he says. “Half of me hates myself for this… but, I don’t want our first time to be… on a sleeping bag… in a tent… four feet away from Jeon Jungkook. I want to do it right - do it better.”

You can’t help it - you release a tiny laugh, giggling into his neck. Again - who let him be so cute?! 

He leans back so he can peer at you, accusatory. “Are you laughing at me?” he cries.

“No,” you assure him, even though you were, a little bit. “I just didn’t know you’d be so… considerate.”

He pouts adorably, his hands coming to rest on your hips, just above the band of your leggings. “I appreciate the art of romance,” he sniffs defensively and you giggle again.

He gives another defensive sniff at your giggle. Then, almost bashful, he asks, “Lay with me?”

He reaches for a loose blanket from on top of Jimin’s sleeping bag - he’d been cold the night before, stealing spare blankets from the car. You shift off of his lap and he snaps the blanket to spread it out, laying back on his pillow and patting the space next to him. As you slide in beside him, smiling softly, he pulls the blanket up over both of you, rolling to curl up against your back. The feeling of him behind you, warm and solid, is enough to send your mind skipping and singing into oblivion. How can you feel so happy over something so simple?

“Well,” you say quietly, as he brushes some hair off of your neck and presses his lips sweetly to the spot he’d  uncovered, “on the topic of romance… last night I asked you what’s happening with us, what this is. You never answered.”

He considers this, tightening his arms around you. “I guess I got distracted,” he admits, still nuzzling the back of your neck, sending goosebumps racing down your arms even though you two had cooled it down. “I’ve been told I have a one track mind. And you weren’t wearing a bra.”

You giggle. “That’s fair,” you allow. “But I’d still… like to know.”

He shifts behind you, warming his legs against yours. Another crack of thunder, further to the east, makes you jump, and he smoothes a hand down your arm.

“I’m pretty open to the options,” he says finally. “I want to see where this goes, but I’m okay with whatever pace you want. If you want to go home and just talk, we can do that. Or if you want to try dating - I mean, I’d like to take you out. If… you want that.”

You reach up to where his hand is resting on your upper arm and lace your fingers together, giving him a squeeze. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

His hand is reassuring in yours, his arm warm and solid around you. Slowly, you let the cadence of his breathing and the steady pattern of rainfall lull you into sleep.

The morning mood is cheerful and bustling as everyone takes down the tents and packs up the cars, but you feel a bit like you have a heavy heart. While you are definitely looking forward to a real shower and a night in your own bed, you also don’t want to go back to reality, back to work and your apartment and a whole world that until now spun merrily along without Taehyung in it. You want to stay optimistic, but you wonder if going home will pull the inertia away from whatever has started between you.

Your nap the previous evening had been interrupted by Jimin, coming to tell you that the rain had moved on and Seokjin was starting a fire for grilling. He’d squealed, a hand over his eyes, as soon as he saw you two spooning. 

(“Tell me you’re not naked!” he’d cried, which of course had gotten everyone else’s attention. And, well, you were - from the waist up, at least.

“Chaos gremlin,” Taehyung had growled as he reached over to grab your bag so you could find a t-shirt, the blanket clutched to your chest.)

Taehyung spends much of the morning needling Namjoon to let him ride shotgun; he’d ridden up with Suz and Hoseok, so he had to ride home in Yoongi’s car. 

“My legs are too long for the back seat!” Namjoon protests. “I have to sit like a crab!”

“You love crabs!” Taehyung counters. “And my legs are just as long!”

Namjoon pats him on the head placatingly. “I know you like to think that, buddy. But they’re really not.”

Delia helps you carry the cooler back to your own car, sliding it onto the backseat, and then you both go back to get your bags and camping chairs. Taehyung stands by the backseat of Yoongi’s car - accepting his defeat, you guess - and jerks his head when you catch his eyes. 

You toss your bag onto the floor of the backseat, and then shuffle over, pouting playfully.

He gives you a smile and takes your wrist, pulling you closer. 

“Why are you sad?” he asks.

“I have to go back to work tomorrow,” you lament. 

He laughs out loud. “That’s the whole reason?”

You shrug. “I’m gonna miss Seokjin’s shitty cowboy coffee.”

He crosses his arms, biting on his bottom lip to keep his smile at bay. “That’s why you’re sad, huh? That’s your story?”

You smile up at him, caught in your game. “I guess I’m just hoping we really do see this through.”

He looks at you seriously now, arms coming uncrossed. “We will,” he promises. “I told you I want to take you out. I’ll text you as soon as we’re back to set it up.”

“Okay,” you say, voice small, mouth twisting. “If you say so.”

“Trust me,” he says. He pulls you in for a sweet, soft kiss, then tells you, “Scratch that - I’ll text you as soon as I miss you.”

This makes you laugh a little. “Okay,” you say again. “Looking forward to it.”

He goes to help handle the last of the heavier items and you and Delia do a last sweep to make sure you hadn’t left any garbage or recyclables hiding anywhere. Once everything is certainly squared away, everyone calls goodbye to one another and you all head into your respective cars.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” you say, sticking your phone in its little dock and pulling up your map. “Two and a half hours home.”

“Let’s get it,” Delia grins.

Yoongi’s car pulls out first, then Jungkook’s, and you follow. At the exit, each car stops at a stop sign, then takes a left onto the two-lane highway. As you pull up to the stop sign, a notification pops up on your phone, overtaking the map for a split second.

[10:45 AM] Kim Taehyung: hey beautiful. what are you doing friday night?

(definition graphic by my dearest darlingest @/kookstempo)

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving some form of feedback!

You can also find the rest of my work here on my Masterlist :)

[tiffanytoms]

Okay so you’re married, right? So how did you know he is the one? Please don’t say, 'you know when you know'. Cz that's what everyone says and i just don’t get it. Like HOW DO you know? Like is there a list in your mind? If all the things checks out then he's the one? Also, how do you not freak out at the thought of spending a lifetime with someone? Like what if it doesn’t last and then you're devastated? And what if it gets boring? Like what do you do then? Get divorced bcz you're bored? Please help me i need answers.

Haha, hello fellow over-thinker 👋

First up: I want you to know that it gets better. I know it’s a cliche and overused, but I mean it here. I hated dating and found it very stressful, but being in a happy relationship really is like snuggling under a warm cozy blanket on a stormy day (with a plate of 🍪). Shit may be going on outside, but you’re good 😌 So while things may seem like a lot right now, I want you to know that someday, hopefully soon, it won’t feel that way anymore, and all this stress you’re feeling now will have been worth it. (Cheesy, I know 😋)

Now, I can’t possibly say anything that would speak to all personality types, or cultures, or stages in life, etc — so I will just write what worked for me, if that’s all right?

I knew my husband was the one bc of something you actually touched upon… boredom. My husband is the first and only person that I never get bored of. And you’re probably thinking that’s silly, but for me it’s the truth. I’m an introvert with social anxiety, so most of my interactions with ppl (even my friends!) can stress me out/fill me with panic. My husband is the first person who I don’t need a break from when I come home. In fact, he calms me down and is my safe space 💜 I love my parents to smithereens, but even after a few days of vacation, I would always need to do something solo — but with him I was locked inside an apt during the pandemic for over a year and, honestly, it was kinda great 😅

In the past when I was dating, I used to keep all my quirks and eccentricities under wraps. With him, I never had to. I could be myself. That being said, we compliment each other — I feel like being with me has made him more goofy, and being with him has made me try to have at least a little structure in my life 😂 We communicate — everything. If something is bothering one of us, we tell each other and do something about it. We travel ✈️ we want to see the world together, and how can you get bored doing that? We listen, even when the other is talking about a subject that we know nothing about, or wouldn't usually care for. *Cough cough* Harry Potter Erotica™️ for him 😆 I don’t understand half the stuff he tells me about coding, but I love it when he talks about it, bc his face will light up, and I love that shit.

I knew he was the one from how he used to help me do dog walks (one of my jobs) after a hard day of doing his own (much more stressful) job. I knew he was the one when he’d drive my dad to his chemo appointments in the mornings when he knew I’d stayed up all night crying. I knew he was the one when I came home one night super homesick after a long day, and he made me my favorite meal from my home country. I knew he was the one when he never treated me differently bc of my past sexual trauma, but helped me work thru it, and experiment, and bought me toys until I could finally (finally!!!) come. (Yeah, sex can be an important part of a lot of relationships, I don’t like pretending like it isn’t 😉) I knew he was the one because of how he treated me, my family, and the things I cared about.

I knew he was the one bc the thought of spending forever with him doesn’t freak me out. It excites me! Like, let’s fucking do this stupid thing called life together! 🥳

Obviously I just got married, so what do I really know, but we’ve been together for 8 years bc I had some of the same fears as you. I wanted to make sure everything was right, and the thought of it falling apart breaks my heart. But sometimes you gotta take that leap ♥️

Could something happen to one of us? Absolutely. Do I sometimes cry thinking of having to go on without him, or something happening to me and thinking about him and my dog all alone? Yes. I’m doing it right now, bc that thought fucking sucks. But at the end of the day, it’s really true:

Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

So you didn’t want that one cliche, but got a bunch of others instead 🤪 Hope that kinda helped! You got this! 💪

[dolliedarlin]

Hi I’m one of the anons who’s obsessing over the P.A series!!!!! For some reason my brain has been full w diff things that could happen IDKKK! Hope u don’t mind if I dump a few....

TW: this is A bunch of rambling and some grammar errors LMAO sorry

Idk y I c y/n having a stalker💀 this prob sounds rlly weird but hear me out. (To add drama, also I Lowkey wanna c Mina,Sero and kiri get mad idk y-)

Since we all know y/n is the baddest most sophisticated b*tch (sorry idk if I’m allowed to cuss or not LMAO) her Ex lover is still obsessed w her and thinks that they are soulmate even tho they obv aren’t. I feel like y/n knows he stalks her but she ignores it until it gets worst. Like he found out where she lives. (He finds out where she lives while she’s sick which is now loll)

Anyways I feel like Mina would be over at y/ns place and since she’s getting better they are In her living room talking abt who knows what and y/n gets a knock on her door she goes to open it and admittedly closes it looking shocked. Mina being a pro hero is  supposed to be able to read body language. Mina ask her if everything is Alr and y/n OFC (stupid a**) says yes. Mina didn’t want to keep pressing the issue so she dropped it until it became a reoccurring thing with y/n and it’s not just her that noticed. She (y/n) is extremely hesitant to open the door and when she does she opens it a little bit. (And then idk her EX does crazy like breaks into her apt and scares the sh** outa y/n) THIS IS WHERE MY BIG IDEA STOPS 😭😭😭😭😭😭 that was a lotta rambling my apologies

Have a great day dollie!

oh no! please don’t feel bad, it’s always fun for me seeing what you dolls would want to happen next

although i don’t plan on bringing any psycho exes into ‘the p.a’ series, as a writer and an avid daydreamer, i can’t help but play around with this idea 

warning: there are brief mentions of violence ; this is not a part of ‘the p.a’ series but is just a little thought that i just couldn’t help but try my own hand at also ; i didn’t edit this either 😂 so kindly forgive any grammatical/spelling mistakes 

continuing on from your idea...

⏤mina, having the sneaking suspicion that something bad might happen to you that night, notifies the rest of the group later on that day

⏤usually, bakugou was in charge of you during the night and always sat in a chair beside your bed on high alert, ready to serve your every need...

⏤BUT!

⏤now that mina told them about your suspicious behaviour, all of them were put on high alert. 

⏤they all agreed to keep you unaware of their intentions by having bakugou take care of you like usual but they made sure that when on the night patrol, they were close by with their radios on and constantly being hyper aware of the shortest route to your residence from wherever they were situated - just in case of an emergency 

⏤naturally, they trusted bakugou with keeping you safe but that didn’t mean that they had no worries for you at all 

⏤seeing as you usually feel asleep before bakugou switched with the sero, who took care of you in the late evening, you were under the impression that you were alone at home 

⏤your current condition disallowed you from comfortably staying awake so you were constantly tossing and turning in bed, brows furrowed and sweating more than usual

⏤”what is she dreaming about?” bakugou utters in frustration as he continues to wipe away the vastly accumulating sweat rom your wrinkled brows

⏤he wasn’t frustrated at you no no, he was annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t make you comfortable no matter how many wet towels he uses to cook your forehead or wipe your sweat clean off your skin 

⏤as the night progresses, you eventually fall into a dreamless sleep, far too exhausted to continue stressing over your ex with the added burden of your fever on your body

⏤nevertheless, bakugou continues being on high alert at all times except for when he momentarily leaves to room so as to go to the toilet 

⏤this was the perfect opportunity for your crazy ex to sneak into your room via the window bakugou left ajar so as to help cool you down better 

⏤your ex was a creepy and disgusting man - someone that you had grown to dislike the more you got to know him and naturally left as quickly as you were able to 

⏤what followed was harassment to the highest degree, thankfully you were able to protect yourself due to your self defence training and quirk, however, it didn’t take away the shuddering feeling of being watched constantly

⏤you grew paranoid and extremely fidgety over time and eventually filled for a restraining order. unfortunately, that didn’t work and left you to deal with the situation yourself

⏤you were naive enough to think that you had shaken him after a particularly horrible beating he took from you in self defence. he had come at you with a knife but you were able to disarm him and send him limping home with a dislocated arm, a black eye and a bruised ribcage 

⏤over time, you got busy with work and slowly forgot about him, it wasn’t until today that you were reminded of his crazy obsession with you and were thrown into a panic 

⏤believing that you were alone at night and in your most vulnerable state, you didn’t feel safe and sought to deal with the situation however you could, even in your dreams

⏤all attempts were in vain, however

⏤bakugou, returning from his momentary break to the toilet came back just in time to see your creepy ex hovering over your sleeping figure. as if you sensed the unpleasant existence stalking you, your body stiffened under the blankets and you began to breathe uncomfortably, beginning to sweat bucket-fulls once more

⏤not wanting to disturb your sleep as rest was the top priority for you, bakugou crept up from behind the unknown figure and instantly went for his neck, choking him into silence as he dragged his thrashing figure outside, far away from you all the while sending a emergency signal to the rest of the squad 

⏤in no time at all, the rest of the squad arrived and had your crazy ex cornered. at this time he had already been tied up by bakugou and was ready for a quick chat 

⏤”what the hell were you doing with our yn?” kirishima began, sharp teeth grinding together as he clenched his jaw 

⏤silence 

⏤”speak up, we can’t fucking hear you,” bakugou spat as the others glared on from beside him, their eyes piercing through the moonlight and darkness of the night 

⏤”y-yn isn’t yours - that’s the first thing,” your ex finally cracked, giggling creepily in between 

⏤”you’re right,” sero began, “yn doesn’t belong to anyone so why were did you break into her house,” it took everything in sero not to lash out but they needed answers

⏤”wrong again!” your ex sang, “she doesn’t belong to you, she belongs to me! i’m her boyfriend!”

⏤”yn doesn’t have a boyfriend,” kaminari spoke up

⏤”that’s right! and if she did, we would have known,” mina agreed

⏤“that’s because she doesn’t know it yet, we broke up but we’ll get back together again soon” the tied up man giggled to himself, “it’s only a matter of time before she realises her mistake and she comes back to me,” 

⏤the team of heroes didn’t know what to say, they were so shocked and appalled at what they were seeing and hearing that they couldn’t bring themselves to utter a single word of response, they only listened further

⏤”i hoped she’d come back soon, anyway...but i was getting impatient so i had to try and convince her a little more. she’s been ignoring my love for her all this time, she can’t continue rejecting me for long...” he laughs, “i bet she misses it”

⏤“miss what...?” bakugou didn’t want to know but it had to be said

⏤”i bet she misses being with me. she’s so beautiful and so soft to the touch, she always smells good too and she has such a lovely voice - i want her all to myself, she doesn’t deserve to be anybody else’s”

⏤it was then that the team of heroes just about lost their minds. the creep before them didn’t say anything explicit but the madness in his eyes and the harrowing smile he was displaying was off putting. they dread to imagine what a lowlife nasty sob like him put you through but they saw flashes of unforgivable scenes that sent all of them into insanity 

⏤someone so precious to them didn’t deserve any such treatment. you may not have disclosed anything to them strict on being professional but if this man was willing to break into your house...they were fearful to think about what else he was capable of

⏤he deserved a beating from that act alone, actually, and a beating he got

⏤they could’ve killed the guy - they were more than tempted to and it would have been so easy...but he deserved to suffer in jail for his crimes against you so they held back no matter how painful that was for them 

⏤the very next day, under their authority and recommendation, the man was locked up for as many years as they could tally up and seeing as they were heroes, they were able to look into his past documentations and found you had filed a restraining order for him under harassment, assault and a number of other things they grew all the more furious at the more the read

⏤they would prefer it if you didn’t realise what they did that night but the media couldn’t let the story of 5 high class pro heroes sending a singular, beaten man to jail for life

⏤your creepy ex’s battered photos were all over the news and you were so incredibly grateful  

[lady-writes]

I feel like I might be the only nerd who caaaaares, but hey, that what this void is for. So Yeah How Andronika* Became Andromache the Scythian

*Because I know that its technically a typo from where the author changed his mind about the protagonists name, but fuck it I like it so its my HC now 

Basing my guesses of the tiny hints we get out of the comics I more or less settled on this as a cultural path for Andy. I think its a fair assumption that what ever her birth name was is 100% lost to time given the fact that she seems to have chosen to base her extant persona on her time as a Scythian

Andy is born into Dnieper-Donets culture 5000-4200BC.

I’m guessing for the sake of simplicity around Deriivka, since the burials there have the sort of ancestral genetic linkage that spans from 7000 bc to 2700 bc. This technically makes Andy Ukrainian. Andy is born in roughly 4836.

Sredney-Stog 4500-3500BC- Deification

These are the folks who are known for starting the process of domesticating Horses and Andy would have had a hand in that presumably, Also stone axes were a thing so She’s been working with that tool for damn near her entire life. We are still pre Kurgan Burials at this point. The bridge of time between this group and the next is the one that Andy spends as a Warrior God leading her people and given that these are the direct descendent of the culture she was born to, it makes sense that she would feel aligned enough to them to not only fight for them but to lead them. We don’t hear of her doing that ever again after this point 

Yamnaya- 3300-2600BC

Here we start looking as the end of Neolithic cultures towards the first big shift of Andy’s life (apart from the whole immortality thing) metallurgy. Bronze Age baby! This culture is also generally identified as the most likely cultural base for the Proto Indo European Languages, so from this point on, likely until she meets Quynh every language around her will be building off of this base, so its probably less learning a new language and more expanding her vocab.            This is where the kurgans start, and at this point the culture is still working on that horse domestication thing

Poltvaka 2700 2100BC

An outgrowth of the Yamnaya culture, firmly on the Russia side of things. Andy claims the Russians to be partially descended from her people so in general I deferred to that when things diverged. These folks stepped up their production and skill levels with metal and linguistically they are considered to be one of the higher branches on the Indo-Iranian Tree. Another trend in the cultures I leaned towards was picking the ones that spread the best, because I feel like having an immortal warrior among you number would not only be good for morale but once the legends of immortal warriors start flying more folks would probably look to assimilate instead of fight 

Abashevo 2500-1900BC

These guys once again expand on the skills in metalworking and also get around to hitching horses to things for speed, they are early adopters of the chariot. We are firmly in the Proto-Indo- Iranian language group, and these guys are warlike, noticeably so. People are wearing metal decoratively as a social signifier. We start seeing signs of shared culture with the Greeks here too. Given the Greek roots of Andy’s chosen name I think it would be safe to say that Andronika comes into play here 

Andronovo 2000-900BC

This period is really a massive chunk of overlap spread out across a bunch of linguistically distinguishing subgroup but I point it out because the Andronovo culture has a both a hilariously apt name but its an archeological horizon that stretches all the way into Northwestern China at its greatest breadth, and Towards the end of this cultural horizon (in the 1200′s) Quynh dies her first death. Probably a coincidence, but still really fucking cool, that Andy is potentially having sustained contact with proto Asiatic languages and people groups at the time when she starts dreaming of Quynh. Also this means the language barrier between them might not have been too vast!

Srubnaya1800-1200BC

For the history meme geeks playing along at home we are firmly in the time of Ea-Nasir and his shitty copper(1750) Burials are now being done in timber frameworks inside of burial pits under kurgans. Language is firmly Proto-Iranian.  This pocket culture within a culture is relevant specifically because it shows a ton of influence on the Scythian culture, which was one of many to come out of the Andronovo group and when this culture group died it left the Cimmerians and ...

The Scythians 900-200BC- Deification/ Assimilation?

Andronika has become Andromache! The Scythian sub group eventually subsumed and assimilated most of its brother/sister groups from the Andronovo culture as the Scythians spread their territory. This is when Andy was worshipped as a God and there are few options there. There’s Tapati a political guardian, but also a goddess of the home, which may account for why Andy felt so ill suited for the role, The comics also have her refer to herself as a Goddess of War, and the context clues there link that to her formative years as an immortal, before formal worship, and before she decided to walk the earth looking for Quynh. This in a funny was might also account for the fact that Herodotus mentions a war god of the Scythians, literally Scythian Ares, the only god that Scythians practiced physical worship/sacrifice to and the only Scythian God who he uses a Greek name for. Scythian myth also puts a lot of stock in the idea of a First Man or  an ancestor to their Kings and People. Andy may have been seen as a living incarnation of this being esp. considering the apparent genderfluid nature of the priesthood.

The Scythian culture is still largely nomadic, and still living on the steppes but they have contact with Greece Persia India and China. They have distinctive metalworking styles that are being used for art. Scythians are apparently damn good guerilla fighters and possibly developed there own from of writing. The Scythians are another war like people but there’s no telling if Andy chose to have a role in that. I’d think its a pretty safe bet though. Its noted that the engaged at war with almost the entirety of their adult population, including women, and that “no people in Europe or Asia could resist the Scythians without outside aid,” which sounds par for the course.

By the end of the Scythian civilization, Andy is likely long gone. Depending on how long you think it took Andy to find Quynh, it could be anywhere between 1031 bc at the best and 600bc at the worst. By the Time Lykon comes around in roughly 331bc, Andromache has almost certainly decided to stop hanging out with mortals and to just chill out with her wife, wrecking the shit of those who deserve to have their shit WRECKED.

There are also a ton of other cultural groups that Andy may have spent time in or rubbed shoulders with. Hell, if she was as paranoid then about not being recognized as an ageless immortal as she is in canon she was probably bouncing from one culture group to another generationally and that the reason why they all have so many similarities. 4600 years of one woman’s accidental influence.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So yeah that was a today’s rabbit hole. I have the faintest inkling of names i might choose for Andy before Andy so technically I accomplished what I set out to do!

[writerofshit]

(I mentioned briefly a story of how the Stream Team met. This is that story.)

Somewhere in Los Santos, in the late night hours of a Tuesday, a convenience store is robbed. So is one several blocks southeast. And one roughly in the middle of them both. After all, what's more convenient than 24 hour chili dogs on every other street corner?

Cash. Cash is more convenient. So are guns. Hollering, waving one to get the other. Most important, back alleys that twist and turn, snaking away from increasingly distant sirens. Three individuals find themselves running through these alleys, a couple grand each weighing their pockets down.

It's through serendipity and convenience that their paths cross.

The man from the farthest store arrives first. He's done this a few more times than he'd like to admit, so he'd had a plan. Of sorts. Cut through the park, take a few sidewalks like an upstanding citizen, under the bridge and find a fire escape to utilize from there. There aren't any that reach the ground, of course, because he's smart but not quite enough.

And so this is why Trevor is standing in an dark alley, contemplating whether or not the dumpster will give him enough height to reach the ladder, when the man from the middle store appears. He's around Trevor's height, but would probably win in a fight between them, if he were so inclined. He doesn't seem to be, though. He seems shaken, like he's not quite sure how he ended up in this alley. He's holding a gun almost gingerly, as if it might bite him.

Trevor pulls his own gun.

'dont you fuckin' try anything!'

This does not go over well with Matt. He takes a step back, and then seems to remember that he also has a gun so maybe this is even footing. He holds it aloft, finger nowhere near the trigger.

'same, asshole!'

At this moment the robber from the first store arrives, also, of course, with a gun. And a mask. And an entire purple and orange neon fucking suit, actually, topped with a white cowboy hat. It gives them a few extra inches of height they are distinctly lacking, comparatively. Somewhere in the back of his head, Trevor acknowledges that this newcomer could probably kick his and the other gunman's asses. It is not a pleasant thought.

'oh, what the fuck!?'

Jeremy sounds more annoyed and less scared than one would think, considering they've run into an alley only to find two men with guns. Two men who quickly turn those guns on them.

'who the fuck are you?'

The question surprises them all, including Matt, even though he's the one who asked. As it turns out, people have a tendency to say the first thing that comes to mind when in a stressful situation. Such as, having robbed a convenience store for the very first time and immediately finding himself face to face with other apparent robbers. It would get to anyone, probably.

'i don't want any trouble, but i've already robbed someone tonight and i don't give a shit about felony murder!'

Two lies and a truth, is what Trevor has chosen to play, for some reason. In reality, one does not rob a convenience store at gun point if one is intent on staying out of trouble. And he does, in fact, care very deeply about felony murder. Felony murder is the precise reason he'd shot a bag of Doritos and not a clerk. In his defense, the clerk had initially rolled her eyes at him, asked what exactly he thought he'd get out of this. He'd found this question rude.

The truth, of course, is that he did rob a convenience store. That did happen. No take backs.

'so did i!'

Matt and Jeremy speak so in unison it's almost scary. If they didn't know any better, they'd think the two of them had always known each other.

Trevor's gun wavers between them, unsure which is the bigger threat. The guy who clearly has zero experience with guns, or the weirdo who seems to have far too much? It's a toss up, really. So his aim pinballs back and forth, but his finger does not curl around the trigger. He's serious about that felony murder thing.

The air seems to shift, suddenly, and the sound of sirens is now growing closer. This evidently also annoys Jeremy, and they throw a glance over their shoulder to the direction they'd come from. Red and blue lights flicker past.

'shit. ok. we're all robbers, i guess, and we're all fucked if we keep standing here. who's got a plan?'

Jeremy's eyes are staring impatiently at Trevor. Eyes being the only part of their face Trevor can see. And their hands, a plastic bag in one and a gun in the other.

Trigger finger is an apt name.

He glances at Matt, still wild eyed and glancing back and forth. No, Matt probably does not have a plan. He sort of gives the impression that he's never had a plan ever, actually. That perhaps he'd simply woken up here and decided to wing it. So Trevor makes an offer.

'fire escape?'

There's another moment of tense silence. Well, minus the sirens. And oh, helicopters. Even better. Jeremy shrugs.

'good a plan as any.'

And then they're off, brushing past Trevor and hoisting themself up onto the dumpster. He knew it could work. Trevor blinks and Jeremy has caught the ladder, is quickly working their way up. Shit, how does five foot something manage to get that high on a good day, much less in this situation and with a bag and gun in hand?

Matt's gun clatters to the ground, and honestly, that's probably for the best. He's climbing onto the dumpster now, and he mutters something about not signing up for this shit. Trevor reminds him that he apparently robbed someone, so yeah, he kind of did.

Before Trevor climbs up, he shoves his gun into his jacket pocket. Smart? Probably not. Convenient? More so than climbing with a gun in his hand. He follows Matt up the ladder, wondering what happened to his plan. Yeah, the ladder had been involved. Two other people, however, were not.

Above them, glass shatters.

'warning, maybe!?'

'oops. careful, there's glass.'

Jeremy's voice is no longer directly above them. Instead, it comes from one story up and a little to the left. So they've broken into an apartment. Sure, add breaking and entering to the list of charges, that sounds great. But Matt and Trevor follow, because there's not really another option.

Inside the apartment, Jeremy's mask is gone. The suit is quickly disappearing as well, revealing a rather boring outfit of a white tank top and...sweatpants? The true mystery lies in where the cowboy hat has gone to, because that's a hard item to miss.

'do we really have time for this? don't you think someone might, oh, i don't know, wake up and call the cops?'

Trevor doesn't mean to hiss, it's just that he's sure there's more pressing matters to attend to than an outfit change. Continuing to flee, perhaps.

'nobody's gonna wake up.'

They don't even have the wherewithal to lower their voice. It registers to Trevor that Jeremy's bag and gun are missing as well. Had they dropped them on the way up? It was certainly possible. Trevor thinks he would have noticed a gun flying past his head, but there's a lot going on.

'can we maybe not kill anyone? he brought up a good point with that felony murder thing.'

It's the most words Matt has strung together since he'd shown up. It's damn near a whisper, but at least it's progress.

'i'm not- god, can you two shut up? i gotta make a phone call.'

Jeremy yanks the door open, hand carefully wrapped in the fabric of their shirt. For a moment, Trevor thinks they're leaving and steps forward to follow Jeremy. Instead, Jeremy turns and heads toward the kitchen, pulling open a drawer and digging inside it briefly. They come back with a cell phone.

Something dawns on Trevor.

'is this- do you live here? did you break your own window?'

Jeremy doesn't answer. They put the phone to their ear.

'you're gonna wanna hide whatever you've got. and try not to look like you just climbed in through a window.'

And then-

'hello? yes, hi, i'd like to report a break in, i think? i was hearing a bunch of sirens and then i don't know what happened but some guy just broke my window? he ran through and i just- my friends and i are really scared and we didn't know what to do- yes, we're ok, he's gone, but we- you'll send someone? ok, thank you. the address? oh, uh, it's the del perro heights building, apartment 7. should i shut the door? no, don't touch anything. ok- guys, don't touch anything, she said someone's on their way to check on us! thank you so much- no, i think we'll be fine. thank you.'

It's a marvelous performance. Jeremy genuinely sounds like some poor flustered victim of a crime. Trevor would applaud if he thought Jeremy would appreciate it. Almost immediately, their voice is back to normal.

'check things out my ass. they're gonna show up, ask which way he went and never call me again. feel real fuckin safe.'

Jeremy settles themself onto the couch, choosing the spot closest to the door. Matt, who has apparently gotten over his initial terror, wanders into the kitchen. Searching for something to distract himself, if Trevor had to guess. Trevor is still standing in the middle of the living room, dumbfounded. How did a simple robbery become hanging out with other robbers, waiting for cops to show up?

'i'm jeremy, by the way. they won't ask, but y'know. just in case.'

They're flipping channels on the tv, seeming to arbitrarily skip almost a dozen programs. Finally, they settle on one and stand. Trevor recognizes it as an old Disney movie, and desperately wants to ask why the fuck Jeremy has put this on.

'uh, hi. i'm trevor. why are we watching Mulan?'

'matt. oh hell yeah, i love this movie!'

He sounds remarkably cheerful, considering the circumstances. How Trevor had seemingly switched places with Anxious McGee is beyond him. He needs to get it together. He pulls his gun from his pocket and takes it to the kitchen, sticking it in the drawer Jeremy had taken the phone from. There are several other phones of varying price point. He steps back to the living room just in time.

'that's why.'

They don't elaborate. Apparently Trevor is meant to just figure this out on his own, which ordinarily he might be able to do. After the course of events of this particular evening? Not a chance.

But he can't ask, because now there's a cop in the doorway and he's staring at Trevor and that will never be a good thing. Trevor stares back. He has no clue what he's meant to say. Hello? Welcome? He went that way?

'oh thank god! we've been so terrified, we didn't know if he'd come back or what he'd do.'

Naturally, Jeremy has taken lead on this. They're a phenomenal actor, Trevor has to admit.

'did you see which direction he went?'

'toward the stairs, i think. we've all been rooted to the spot, you know, it's so scary-'

Matt freezes in the doorway of the kitchen. He's just out of the view from the front door.

'right, well. you boys did the right thing by calling. can you give me a description of the man?'

The corner of Jeremy's mouth quirks.

'gosh, it all just happened so fast. taller than me, probably, but shorter than you, wouldn't you say, trey?'

Trevor nods, because he's not quite sure what else to do.

'alright, thank you. someone will be in touch with you for an official statement. in the meantime, if you remember anything else don't hesitate to call.'

He's holding a card out to Trevor, of all people. He takes it carefully, like if he does it wrong somehow the guy will know and arrest them all. The card is simply the number for a tip line.

As suddenly as he'd arrived, the cop is gone and they're all breathing sighs of relief. Jeremy closes the door.

'you guys can stay for Mulan, if you want.'

So they do.

Trevor asks about why Mulan again, and Jeremy explains that they assume most people have seen it, could answer any questions about it if they came up. Perhaps, if LSPD officers were less incompetent, they would have. Although if that were the case, they wouldn't be LSPD officers at all.

Matt asks about the window, and Jeremy says yes, they did break their own window. Of course they'd had an actual plan when they'd entered the alley. They were always going to end up exactly here, give or take the extras. Asking for a plan was simply a test, determining the merit in bring them along. They'd passed.

Jeremy asks if they want to stay for Mulan II, which is apparently up next. They do.

Somewhere in Los Santos, in the early morning hours of a Wednesday, three convenience stores are recovering from three separate robberies. Right in the middle of them all, their respective robbers are sitting on a couch together, watching a straight to video children's film.

It is the beginning of something far greater than any of them can imagine.

[palbabor-writes]

Unknown.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x puppy!girl OC

For: @kazooli​ 

Warnings: sex pollen, tw.dubcon, tw.unbalanced relationship, tw.blood/gore, unrequited feelings, puppy!reader, established OC, NSFW/18+only

Word Count: 3681

Notes: the is part of the Evil Exchange! i had a lot of fun with this concept & am so glad i got to take part! this fic does have an established OC & while she is not named, she does have physical descriptions that are not neutral.  

[ 2:15 am, Monday morning ]

He shouldn’t have taken you along. You don’t belong here. 

Your quirk isn’t equipped to deal with something like this [ or is it perfect? since all of your senses are acutely attuned to him, your lips open, tongue heavy between your teeth, drool pooling under your jaw and down your neck, your eyes gleaming with an unnatural sheen as you try to hump against his leg like a bitch in heat ] and you have little in the way of melee attacks, or a true defense. No, all you have is your pretty blonde hair, floppy ears that prick each time you hear him, and that incessantly wagging tail that sticks out from your pert little ass, like a goddamn antenna. You’re absolutely too pure for this, too fucking saccharine, and too damn nice to be here.

Fuck. This was a mistake.

[ 72 hours before the mission ]

“It’s in that old warehouse, the one by the docks.”

“Which one? The images that we have show multiple buildings.”

“The fuck do I know? You only wanted me to ask around about the place. If you wanted me to do the damn job for you, you should have said.”

Shigaraki narrows his eyes at Dabi’s hunched back, doing his best to remind himself that they’re already low on funds, on members, and they can’t afford to lose anything else. Not now, when they’re literally scraping along the bottom of the barrel, yanking out whatever dregs they can find and trying desperately to make them stick.

“Did they give you a time?”

“For the exchange? Yeah, said they’re gonna be down there around 1am.”

“And the date?”

“Date?” Dabi questions, whipping his dark head back to Shigaraki’s impassive face, arching one dark brow. 

“Yeah,” Shigaraki intones, a half concealed snarl lifting his cracked lips. “The date for when this is all going to take place. We can’t send someone down there every night, hoping it’s the correct time. They’ll be noticed.”

“Said they wanted it to be this Monday, something about shelf life. Apparently this shit is better when it’s fresh. Sells quicker, is more effective.”

“How much did they agree to hand over?”

“Fucking–look man, I didn’t grab a cup of coffee with them, or ask if they wanted to go get some lunch. I told them our terms, they agreed and gave me the location, ‘date’ and time. What did you want me to do? Paint their nails? Suck em’ off? If you’re wanting to get into the drug trade, maybe ask a few more questions yourself. Not leave them to middlemen. You act like you wanna be a leader, so fucking act like–”  

A quiet knocking breaks Dabi’s tirade and both men turn toward the closed door.

“What?” Shigaraki snaps, raising a hand to his neck, scritching his long nails against the scars that he finds. It’s a shitty habit, and he knows it gives his agitation away, but he doesn’t care. The sooner Dabi loses his temper and fucks back off to the streets, the better.

The door creaks open and your golden head pops around the corner, hair falling into the empty air as your dog like ears waggle, listening, testing the safety of the room. Your eyes shift from Dabi’s bristled form to Shigaraki and the moment they alight on his stony expression, you smile. 

“M-mister Tomura, um, the others… well, we were talking and heard Dabi shouting… uh, they… I mean… I was wondering if you’ve assigned anyone to the new mission? The one you mentioned the other day?” 

Dabi snorts and you toss his lanky frame a glare, ears flattening along the side of your head. “Yeah, I bet you wanna know who’s going with Mister Tomura. Got news for you girly, it’s prolly not gonna be you.”

Your quivering pink lips are about to form a retort when Shigaraki’s voice croaks out. “Enough. Tell the others we’ll discuss this later. Dabi, don’t you have some recruits that you’re supposed to show me?”

The flame user waves a lackadaisical hand and stands, inky head cocked toward your pouting face, letting his sharp gaze linger against your angry expression. “Soon boss. Told you already, quality takes time. Not that you know that, since all you seem to attract is freaks, like this one.”

[ 21 hours before the mission ] 

 “You’re really taking her?” Toga asks, twirling a small knife between her splayed fingers. “I mean, isn’t she kinda lacking in… experience?”

“She’s the only one who can smell out any fakes. I don’t trust these guys. They might try to offload a lower grade product to us.” Shigaraki explains, tucking the battered case of quirk destroying bullets back into his jacket pocket. In the last 24 hours things have gone from bad to worse, what with the news that Twice couldn’t replicate the serum, and the potential, permanent loss of Kurogiri. He’s not about to add double crossed by some two bit drug dealers to that list.

“You want me to give her some weapons? A knife or something? I’ve got plenty of extra. Can’t ever have too many and besides, I like her. And I know she’ll bring them back, safe and sound. She’s such an obedient girl.”

Obedient. 

That’s an apt word for you. Maybe it’s an after effect of your quirk, or the puppy-like way you act around him [ with that permanently blissed out smile and thumping tail of yours ] but your swift, unquestioning compliance always makes him think of an over eager pet. 

“She’s malleable, and that’s what I need on this mission.”

“Ah! You saying I wouldn’t be?”

“Tch. You wouldn’t even try.”

[ 7 hours before the mission ]

He’s taking you. 

It hadn’t been some kind of dream, he’d really shown up in your doorway, with his red eyes glowing in the low light, his sharp jaw tensed, and told you that you’d be accompanying him. Just you and him, together, alone, on a mission where he’d need to rely on you. Could trust you, would talk with you.  

As soon as he left, you’d flopped back against the ratty mattress that sat in the middle of your room, trembling fingers already shoving the elastic lining of your shorts down, letting you thumb a quick circle over your throbbing, distended clit. In seconds you’re leaking all over your hand, mind whirring, picturing how he’ll look as he walks beside you, listening for the bite of his voice, imagining him telling you what a good girl you are. He’ll be so pleased, so happy with you. Oh, the things he’ll say to you. 

Look at you, you did so well. 

Thank you. Thank you for coming on this with me. 

I can’t wait to take you [ bend you over and ] with me again. 

I can’t wait to [ fuck your little pussy until you’re screaming for me ] get you home safely.

You did such a good job.

I wouldn’t have [ until you’re cumming all over my cock ] been able to do it without you.

You’d make the perfect apprentice, you know?

You really [ such a greedy little bitch ] would.

You’re perfect [ look at how you’re taking me. i’m gonna fuck you stupid, you dirty slut ] and I’m happy that you’re here with me.

That I found you.

Your release builds swiftly. Making your feathery tail ripple over the tattered sheets and your ears tremble in the chilly air. You feel you’re catching alight. It’s too much, and you hate that you’re not taking your time, but you can’t hear his voice as well now. 

The memory of it is fading as Mister Tomura pads away from you, down the long hallway that leads to his room. 

You remind yourself to listen more, as your fingers pinch and twist at your shuddering clit, to memorize every detail of him. You want to see him every time you close your eyelids and be able to picture him again each morning. To wash yourself in that hazy vermillion of his eyes and the timbre of his voice. 

It’s too soon, but your toes are already curling, your back is arching, welcoming the rush of wetness that slips between your shaking thighs. You feel lightheaded, but your dulled senses does nothing to mask the giddiness that keeps bubbling its way out of your chest. 

Tomorrow. Mister Tomura is taking you with him tomorrow.

 [ Mission begins: 1 am, Monday morning ]

 “Um, Mister Tomura… do you want me to go in first? That way you can–”

“No, they know I’m coming.”

“Oooh! So there’s no need for surprise!”

“Correct.”

The dark buildings along the wharf are slowly peeking into view and Shigaraki peers over at your grinning face, his red eyes watchful under the dark hood of his jacket. You look happy, a little too happy. You’re the best choice for this mission, but he can’t shake that uneasy feeling that keeps nagging at the back of his mind. 

Eager is one thing, but you’re practically vibrating with excitement. That tail of yours won’t stop lashing back and forth and each time he sees your ears twitch and your head snap up to his, he’s reminded that you’ll need to be looked after on this. Unlike the others, you don’t have an affinity for combat or a quirk that gives you any kind of advantage in a fight. Nevertheless, you’re a member of the league and that connection affords you certain privileges. 

Unless he has no other option, he won’t abandon you.

As the two of you step toward the fifth warehouse, you lean closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his obsidian jacket, a quiet huff of air falling from your parted lips. “This is it,” you tell him, mismatched eyes blinking up at his impassive expression. 

When he says good, you almost snatch at his arm, and you try to hold back your panting breaths, to not let them slip out, but you know he can see, he can tell. He always can. You feel his sharp gaze passing over you, and sense his blistering annoyance when you subconsciously lean into him a little harder, rubbing your clothed shoulder against his.

“You ready Mister Tomura?” The question leaves you on a whisper and you bite your lower lip into your mouth, wanting him to say yes, wanting him to tell you what a good job you’ve done, finding the location like this. That he’s ready for anything as long as you’re by his side.

“Step back,” he murmurs, lifting three fingers to the door as he shoves it open, the metal wheels screeching into the static quiet of the night.

[ 1:45 am, Monday morning ]

“What’s wrong with her?” Shigaraki demands, releasing the throat of the leader of this de facto gang, sending him crashing across the grimy floor of the warehouse.

“I– koff, koff, I d-don’t… fucking know! She just… shit… sniffed the stuff and started shaking.”

“What’s in it? I’ll give you five seconds.” There’s no time for this and if you’re having some kind of reaction to the drugs, he’s honestly not sure what he’s going to do with you. A villain hospital is out of the question and sensei’s doctor can’t be located. Shit.

“It’s… it’s got some kinda quirk enhancing property… I don’t think that–”

“Five,” Shigaraki begins, stepping over the gristled remains of the others, his red shoes bright against the pools of darkening blood.

“What!? You can’t be serious! Look, man, I’m not the one who manufactured them! I–”

“Four.”

“Oh my God, oh m-my…. look, he said something about increasing the instincts. Making the user less–”

“Three.”

“Libido! It increases libido! I think… no! No! Please! Don’t you–Keep the fuck away from me, you freak! Don’t–I’m trying to tell you! Come on! Please! I don’t–”

Shigaraki lets the man struggle, watching his fruitless scramble across the floor; hands flapping against the gritty concrete with loud smacks, and feet slipping. He looks like a fish on a line. 

“None of those things let me know what’s in the drug,” he informs his prey, blood slicked shoes stepping down, trapping the man under his heel, halting his frantic motions.

“That’s not… not… Y-you said you’d give me until five?”

“Did I?” Shigaraki asks, a wide grin cracking over his face, one hand lowering, fingers splayed, reaching. “Looks like I lied.”

The man’s shrieks quickly turn into deep throated garbles as the decay of Shigaraki’s quirk races up his body, reducing him to a mass of shattered bones, hollowed teeth and gushing ichor. Pity, Shigaraki thinks, wiping his bloodied hand against his dark pants and twisting back to your trembling form. 

You’re whimpering, your voice catching as you try to gulp down a few breaths and your tail is flat, its usual golden hanging lusterless in the darkness. When he steps closer, your head lifts and he can see the hopeful prick of your floppy ears. Your cheeks and the line of your neck are flushed, creating a burst of dusty pink that blends perfectly with your flaxen hair. You look like a doll, tiny and shivering in the cold, your puppy-like features wilted under the weight of the drug that’s coursing through your bloodstream.

“M-Mister T-T-T-omura,” you whine, one hand lifting, straining for him. “I-I feel… I feel… hot. It… it’s too warm. I think I’m… I don’t know if… if I–”

“Can you walk?” He cuts right to the chase, not liking that shimmering line of desperation that’s laced within your words. You look like you’re about to fall to pieces, but he needs more information. He can’t help you, he reasons, pushing down that inner voice that’s screaming for him to step away from your curled body, if he doesn’t know what’s wrong. 

“D-dunno…” you stammer, licking your pastel tongue across your lips, making them slick, pouting them forward. “I don’t… I don’t feel so good.”

“I know,” he reminds you, kneeling in front of you, placing himself within your reach.

In hindsight, it was a stupid move. He knows better. It could have been avoided. He should have paid more attention, not underestimated your tenacity, your want.

Your fingers are under his shirt before he can blink, and before he can breathe, you’re coiling your way into his lap, forcing him to fall to the ground, pressing against him until he’s sure there’s nothing else of you he can hold. “M-Mister… please… p-please! Mister Tomura! Make it go away!”

He tries to shove you off, carefully lifting fingers away, pushing at you with eight digits, hoping you’ll stop squirming. But it doesn’t work and the wet lap of your tongue catches him utterly by surprise. He stiffens under you, his arms falling to his sides, neck rigid, vermillion eyes wide, but you don’t care. 

Mister Tomura smells so nice this close. 

It’s a musty scent, sticky and clammy, but oh, there’s something else under there. Something that makes you think of slickening skin, the rub of your fingers, and the tacky drip that sometimes falls from between your legs. It’s too much; it’s making you feel woozy and your hands shake as they reach for his face, but you want more. You need more.

“Is this ok? I-Is this alright Mister Tomura? Can I pet you? Please?”

There’s no reply. So you continue, lacing your hands into his pearlescent hair and lowering his lips to yours. He feels rough against your soft lips, so you dip your tongue out to loosen him up, poking until he gives you a halfhearted press, the hot exhale of his nose passing over your pink tinted cheek. “That’s right Mister,” you repeat, encouraging him to let you taste more, rutting your hips against the stiffened plane of his upper thigh. “Let me take care of you, Mister Tomura. Can I be your good girl? Hmm?”

When your fingers pad over his crotch, he groans and his back arches. You pull away, awed by his reaction, hoping he’ll be looking at you, imagining how pretty his eyes will look when they’re lit up with the want of you. But his head is turned and his jaw is set in a foreboding clench. “Mist–Mister Tomura?” you blurt out, hands grabbing at the sides of his face, forcing him back to you.

The dark look he fixes you with makes your heart pound and you can tell your tail is wagging furiously behind you. You like it when he looks at you like that. He likely thinks it’s cold, uncaring, but you know. You know the truth, that he wants you. 

Everything inside of you is clattering, rattling at you, screaming out that he wants this. 

“I see,” you begin, your hips picking up their pace, hoping he’ll let you slip your rapidly dampening pants off. “You want me too, right? You want me to help you with that.” Here you pause, lowering one hand to trace up the curve of his clothed cock, cupping at it until he’s gritting his teeth, showing you a bright line of white. “I can do that, Mister. I’ll do anything for you, anything. Just let me be your good girl, ‘kay?”

[ 2:24 am, Monday morning ]

He’s pushed you back, but not too far. Not far enough that your delicate toes can’t reach him. 

It hadn’t taken much to work his black jeans open, just a quick flick of your wrist and a sharp tug and then there he was, his tip red, beads of pre-cum frothing against his slit, weeping downward. Delicious, is all that you could think, and your lips were around him before he could stutter forward. He makes the cutest sounds when he’s shoving past the ring of your mouth, but it’s gotta hurt his hands when he’s clawing them along the ground like that. 

He should relax.

Once you’d worked him over, hungrily slathering over his dripping cock head, and greedily felt him pulse against the flat of your tongue, you’d shifted off of him. He gasped when you let go, and you thoroughly enjoyed the pop that all that wetness made in the still air. 

When you slid your pants over the curve of your hips he’d stood, but maybe this drug had given you some kinda super strength besides that fire that was thrumming in your veins, because after you’d trapped him between your spread knees, he hadn’t struggled since. 

Maybe he’ll like this? Or this?

It’s really just a guessing game now, and even though Mister Tomura isn’t the most enthusiastic player, he is a reactive one.

The mess of your saliva quickly lubricated the arch of your foot and his copious pre-cum and you run it up and down his straining length, pressing the other forward when you hear him grunting, his hips bucking upwards, helping you. 

“You like this Mister Tomura?”

You’re still waiting on your good girl and you hope you’ll do something that ekes it from his clamped lips. But you can wait, after all Mister Tomura likes when you work hard, when you do your best for him. 

He lets out a yelp when you speed up and you laugh, so happy that he’s happy.

[ 2:56 am, Monday morning ]

“Mister! Mister Tomura, please! It… ah… it hurts again. C-can you p-put it… mmm… in… inside me?”

It’s the third time you’ve asked him that question, but he’s not listening to you anymore. Instead, he’s shoving you down, lifting the round globes of your red smacked ass and tracing the heavy tip of his cock over your leaking slit. He presses forward and back, slicking himself with your milky release, tacking your arousal all over him. At some point, something broke within him and you’re still exalting in the heady feel of him over you. 

“M-Mister Tomu–”

“Shut up. If you call me that one more time, I’ll stop right now. Just leave you here, naked, all alone and unprotected,” Shigaraki threatens, reaching around for your swollen clit and giving it a sharp pinch. You quake under his hands and he watches as your puppy ears fall and your tail brushes against his sweat slicked chest. “Imagine what would happen if someone came along and saw you like this? Saw you panting and humping the floor. You look like a fucking dog. Like some loose bitch who can’t think of anything other than the feel of someone’s dick. You want this? Huh?”

He grabs at your golden hair and pulls you upwards, forcing your spine into a u shape, watching as your tongue flops out of your mouth, as your drool falls down your chest. The tiny buds of your breasts do little to catch the saliva, so most fall on your trembling hands and you let out a piteous whine, hoping he’ll show you some mercy. Hoping he’ll fuck you until you can’t think. 

“Answer me.” His voice is iron and you shudder, ass wiggling as you gasp out his name and a chorus of yeses. When his tip aligns with your entrance, it sends a jolt of electricity across your heated skin. 

“Want me to call you a good girl?” he asks, pushing until his bulbous head is just tucked inside that first ring of pink muscle, grunting as you try to take him deeper, your cunt ravenously clamping around him.

“Y-yes! C-C-Call m-me that! T-Tell meee!”

“Then promise me you’ll never touch me again. Promise me you’ll never come near me. Tell me I’ll never have to look at that simpering face of yours and I’ll tell you what you want to hear.”

“B-But Mister… I mean… but… T-Tomu-Tomura. I-I can’t do that. I l-love you!”

“That’s too bad,” Shigaraki hums, jerking his hips forward, feeding you another tantalizing inch of his cock, watching as your viscid arousal gushes outward, coating the flesh of your inner thighs and staining his curled thatch of pubic hair. 

“Because I don’t love you.”

[hangovercurse]

The Things We Can’t Tell Pete About v

Pete and you make amends, but after a series of break ins you end up staying at his apartment when an unexpected visitor shows up.

Colson Baker x Reader

Warnings: Drug use, cursing, heated make-out session

Word Count: 3161

| i | ii | iii | iv |

You spent the next week moping around your apartment, your phone turned off. All inspiration you’d had for writing seemed to have drained out of you, causing you to cancel writing sessions.

After not answering your phone for a few days, Pete came by your apartment, finding you deep in your depression. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you.” He said, taking a seat on the couch next to you. You shrugged, eyes not leaving the TV screen in front of you.

Your brother scoffed, grabbing the remote and turning it off, leaving you with no other option but to pay attention to him. “It’s fine Pete.” You muttered, reaching over to try and grab the plastic from him.

He frowned at you, “obviously it’s not. I shouldn’t have called you selfish and I shouldn’t have made it sound like I wanted you to get your heartbroken.” He explained calmly. He’d been through enough of these episodes himself, so he knew how to navigate the sadness that ran in your blood.

You sighed but didn’t say anything. You felt guilty that he was blaming himself for your mood. In reality, your fight with him was the last thing on your mind.

Pete continued explaining himself, “I’m just trying to protect you, you know?”

You nodded, trying to find the words to respond. “I know.” You whisper, “You’re right, though. Getting involved with your friends would be a bad idea.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “did something happen that I need to know about?”

You took a deep breath, preparing the lie in your head, “no, I just have been thinking about it. You’re right, it would just end up messy and someone would get hurt.”

You could tell he was trying to hide an “I-told-you-so” smirk. “So, there’s nothing going on between you and Colson?” he asked.

You tried to cover the fact that your breath caught in your throat. You guys were pretty obviously flirting the first night, but you didn’t expect Pete to jump to that assumption. “Colson?” You prayed your lie was convincing. “Why’d you assume I was thinking about going out with him?”

Pete raised an eyebrow at you and you let out a fake laugh, “bro, no. I was talking about Douglas.” You lied through your teeth. If music didn’t work out, maybe you could be an actress.

Your brother actually laughed at you for that, “wait, seriously? Doug?” His eyes closed and he leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah, I mean Colson’s hot and everything but that British accent really does things, you know?” You giggled, trying to ignore the sinking feeling from Colson’s name rolling off your tongue.

Pete rolled his eyes, “whatever, weirdo. Trust me, you dodged a bullet. I love Doug, but he could not handle you.” He got up from the couch. “I’m out, just wanted to come check on you. Maybe answer your phone some time?”

You smiled; happy you were on better terms with one of the men in your life. “I’ll try my best.” You called to him as he moved to the door. “Oh and, uh, Pete?”

He turned towards you, the sight reminding you all too much of Saturday night. “I’m sorry for being a bitch and calling you unstable and shit. I mean, you’re an asshole, but that was uncalled for.”

Pete shrugged, “I mean, I am unstable, but thanks.” He waved, leaving your house.

 A few weeks past and things were getting back to normal. You were back writing and editing tracks, Pete and you were talking again, and you felt like yourself. Part of you was glad that things ended earlier rather than later with Colson, so you hadn’t had time to get too attached. Still, the thought of what could have been made you upset from time to time.

You were on your way to the studio one morning when you got a text from your floor group chat.

Wanted to let you guys know, there’s been a series of break-ins in the area. Keep your doors locked. So far no one has been in the apartments, so if you can try to stay somewhere else until they catch him. Be careful floor 5 fam!

Your floor was almost exclusively younger millennials, so you all got along decently. Andy, the one who had sent the text, was actually a pretty good friend of yours, despite you rarely leaving your apartment.

You had an irrational fear of people breaking into your house. You couldn’t explain it, but the thought of being attacked in your own home was one of the worst things that could ever happen to you. Because of this, you decided to text Pete.

Hey, can I stay at your place for a little while. There have been break ins near my apt and I really don’t wanna be there if it happens to me.

You knew Pete was probably rolling his eyes, but you didn’t care. There was no way you were gonna stay in your apartment until you felt safe.

Sure

You have to buy groceries though

Deal

And thus began your week-long sleepover at Pete’s house.

 On day four, Pete walked into the guest room where you had set up camp, finding you scrolling through your phone on the bed. “Hey, Colson’s gonna come over tonight and we’re gonna get high on mushrooms and watch SpongeBob. Wanna join?”

The thought of seeing the blond again made your heart race, but you hid behind a fake smile, “no thanks, I’ll probably stay in here all night and get some work done. Have fun though, don’t bother me.”

“Yeah, you look like you got a lot of work to do.” He said sarcastically but left you to your own devices. “I’m ordering Pizza, I’ll get you one.”

You thanked him, trusting he knew your pizza order by heart by now. Once he left you let out a worried sigh, trying to figure out how you were going to hide the awkwardness between you and Colson from your brother. Hopefully, he would be too high to figure out anything was up.

You were also upset that you had to turn down a night of shrooms and SpongeBob, something you would’ve loved. But you figured you could skip out on one night of fun if it meant avoiding the guy that you probably could’ve fallen in love with if he hadn’t given up on your relationship before it even started.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t as over everything as you told yourself you were, but he had put you in a shitty situation. Of course, you weren’t going to be happy about it.

Three hours later you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, laptop in lap, and headphones in. You’d been listening to one of Lea’s tracks for the past hour, scribbling some general edit notes in your notebook and cleaning up some of the notes with your virtual tuner.

You vaguely heard a knock on the front door but ignored it, focused on adjusting her vocals for the bridge. Truthfully, it wasn’t the best song you’d written with her, but she liked it and she was your boss at the moment, so you did what she asked.

But when there was a knock at your door, you paused, removing one earbud, and calling, “yeah?”

You weren’t expecting to be met with those all-too-familiar blue eyes. “Hey.” Colson said, his confidence fading as you made eye contact.

“Hey.” You replied softly, feeling like his hand was wrapped around your heart and squeezing it.

He cleared his throat, stepping further into your room with a pizza box in hand. “Here’s your pizza.” He handed you the box awkwardly. You had expected him to leave the room after you thanked him, but he lingered for a moment. “You’re not skipping out on tonight because of me, right?”

You raised your eyebrow at him, confusion on your face. “No, I have a lot of work to do tonight so…” You trailed off, lowering your gaze down to the box in your hand.

He nodded, “okay, I just- you told me how much you liked doing shit like this with Pete and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t…” He paused, letting out a breath, “if you want to join, you should. Like I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have fun just because I’m here.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not not hanging out with you guys tonight because of you. I’m just doing work.”

The man nodded again, scratching the back of his neck. “O-okay. I’ll just, uh.” He turned towards the door, moving to leave before turning back to you. “If you get done and feel like it, you should come watch SpongeBob with us.”

You nodded, sucking your lips into a straight line, feeling the awkward tension in the air that you desperately wanted to avoid. “I’ll think about it.” You said and with that, the blond left your room, pulling the door behind him.

You hated to admit it, but even when he was being nervous and awkward, he still managed to be fucking attractive as hell. You let out an annoyed huff, falling back against your pillows and covering your face with your hands.

You then spent the next 45 minutes trying to finish your edits, but your mind kept wandering to the boy with the sky in his eyes and an art museum on his body. Realizing you wouldn’t be getting any work done for the rest of the night, you thought about his offer.

Shrooms did sound good right now, and as much as you hated it, so did spending time with Colson, even if it was just friendly. And now that you had gotten Pete off your back about the events that had gone down weeks ago, he wouldn’t be suspecting anything anyways, especially not if he was tripping out.

Fuck it, you figured, climbing out of your bed and grabbing the box of pizza. You shuffled out of your room and into the living room where the bright colors of the TV lit up the dark house.

“Y/N! You decided to join us!” Pete cheered as you took a seat on the edge of the couch, curling your legs under you.

You giggled at your brothers very faded state. “I got bored of working so, shrooms.” You shrugged, reaching over and grabbing the bag off the coffee table. You could feel Colson’s eyes following you but you tried to play it off.

The mushroom was chewy in your mouth and tasted like dirt, so you ate it as fast as you could, focusing your attention on the tv. You leaned back into the arm of the couch, your legs falling to your side. From the corner of your eye, you could see Colson take a long swig of the bottle in his hands. It was too dark for you to read the label, but you could tell it was some form of alcohol.

Biting your lip, you considered the idea of toying with him, remembering how awkward he was earlier. Deciding he probably would be too high to care; you leaned over and grabbed the bottle from his hand. You brought the drink up to your lips, eyes locked on his and a smirk on your face. He watched as you swallowed the burning liquid, and it was then that you processed just how glazed his eyes were.

Handing him the bottle back, you giggled. Something about Colson being completely faded yet still watching your every move made you feel giddy inside. He smiled at your actions, accepting the bottle, and taking another sip of it. This time you watched him, his Adam’s apple moving with the liquid.

So, you were definitely not over him. Not even in the slightest.

You took in a breath, turning to the screen and waiting for the drugs to kick in. They were playing the episode where SpongeBob had to get a new spatula after his broke, a classic. Every so often you reached over and drank from the bottle of what you figured out was some form of whiskey, probably Jameson knowing your brother. Colson didn’t seem to mind, moving closer to you as subtly as possible so you didn’t have to reach as far. If Pete picked up on anything he didn’t say.

Around the 20-minute mark, the shrooms definitely hit. The lights from the TV got brighter, the pictures seeming to blend together in a different way. You loved this feeling, everything seemed so much funnier and every bone in your body felt 20 pounds lighter.

Your movements felt slower, your limbs turning to jelly. Colson happened to glance over to you, seeing the smile on your lips and knowing, even in his faded state, that you were high. The image reminded him of that first night, you on the same couch passing the blunt to him. Your eyes were glossy and your smile was beautiful then and now.

As the episode ended and rolled into the next, you shifted slightly, your legs starting to fall asleep. You moved to dangle them off the couch when you felt a soft hand on your ankle. You looked over to see Colson staring at the screen, but his fingers wrapped around your right foot, pulling it onto his lap. He then reached for the other one and pulled you so both of your feet were propped in his lap, your back against the arm of the couch.

You sent him a smirk, but if he saw it, he ignored it, continuing to watch the cartoon. His hand ran up and down your leg, sending shivers through your body. You tried to pay attention to what was going on on the screen, but you felt like your entire body was on fire.

You let out a little giggle at the sensations, causing him to glance at you, bringing a finger up to his lips in a shushing motion. You pouted jokingly towards him before turning back to the TV. He continued to look at you, the drugs making every feature of yours pop.

After another episode ended you heard quiet snores coming from the other side of Colson. You looked over to find Pete passed out, head hanging off the side of the couch. You laughed quietly, grabbing Colson’s attention. You motioned towards the sight, making Colson laugh silently as well. His whole face lit up as he took in his friend’s sleeping state.

You moved your feet off his lap, scooting closer to him. Your cross-faded state made you much more confident than you normally would be, and much more reckless. “Looks like it’s just you and me now.” You whispered, looking up at the man.

He smirked down at you, blinking slowly. His eyelashes were so long and pretty, you wanted to steal them. “I guess it is.” He said, voice matching yours.

God his voice was sexy.

In a moment of brilliance, or as anyone else would call it, stupidity, you climbed onto his lap, straddling his waist. He raised an eyebrow but made no effort to move you. Your hands rested on his shoulders, a drunken grin on your lips. “I was really sad when you left.” You murmured, searching his eyes.

He took his lower lip between his teeth, taking a deep breath. “I hated leaving.” He responded, leaning his head closer to you. “Took every ounce of strength I had not to go back.”

You frowned, leaning so that your noses were touching. “I wish you had.” You whispered before closing the gap between your mouths. His lips collided with yours so familiarly, so naturally. Your hands moved to the back of his neck, fingers toying with the hair there. His found your waist, pulling your body further into his.

Every inch of your body was tingling in the best way. You felt like you were flying, adrenaline coursing in your veins. When you pulled away for air you smiled up at him. “You’re really cute.” You giggled.

He grinned, “you’re cuter.” He pecked your lips as you shook your head in disagreement, “yup.”

You both knew better. You had ended things for a reason, a reason that was passed out next to you. But in his arms, you just didn’t care. You kissed him again, deeper this time. You felt like you needed to make up for the lost time.

And Colson kissed you back, missing your intoxicating lips. Your hips started moving against his, the friction in his pants making him moan quietly against your lips.

It felt good, but he knew something wasn’t right. So, he pulled away. “Y/N.” He mumbled, earning a small whine from you. “Shhh.” He shushed you, “we can’t do this, remember?”

You pouted, moving back from him. His thumb rubbed circles into your hip, a frown on his face. “We said we weren’t gonna do this because of Pete.” He whispered.

You sighed angrily, “why does Pete get to tell us what to do?” You asked.

Colson smiled softly, “he doesn’t. But we decided that it was best if we stopped seeing each other.”

“We did!” You whisper-shouted. “Obviously, that doesn’t work.” Colson chuckled at your small outburst, knowing you were right. “Doesn’t this feel right to you?” You asked, pressing your forehead to his.

He wanted to kiss you so bad, but instead he just said, “we can’t do this.”

You pushed yourself off of his lap, a frustrated expression covering your face as you stood up. “You’re both assholes.” You said, making Colson’s eyes go wide at your volume.

He stood up, hand going to cover your mouth so you wouldn’t wake up Pete. “Y/N please.” You glared at him but made no attempt to continue. “You’re right, even if we avoid each other it doesn’t work, so let’s scratch that idea.” He paused and you nodded, agreeing with him. You didn’t care what happened, you just wanted him back in your life. “Let’s be friends. Just friends. We can hang out together and have fun, but we don’t get involved with each other. That way, we won’t be tempted to do this every time we see each other.”

You hated the idea, but you knew it was better than the alternative. So, you let out a small “okay” against his palm. He smiled, removing his hand from your mouth. “I’m gonna go to bed, friend.” You said, backing away from him.

He nodded, a small smile on his face. “Wait.” He whispered, pulling you in for a short, sweet kiss. “Okay, now we’re just friends.”

You let out a small giggle and rolled your eyes, pushing him back onto the couch. “Goodnight.” You whispered, walking towards your room, and trying not to stumble. Your lips held a stupid smile that refused to go away.