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theurgists · 7 months ago

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⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE INEVITABLE PULL ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: on the night of her twenty-first birthday, ellie find herself in the one place she asked jesse not to bring her. a strip club.

warning(s): 18+ smut, modern!au, stripper!reader, mentions of alcohol, alcohol consumption, dudes in clubs being jackasses, jesse being a wingman ( thank you bestie ), dry humping ( a little?? ), fingering ( reader!receiving ),oral ( elle!receiving ), a one night stand, essentially. not proof-read!

a/n: yet another one-shot i'm bringing back. i do have a little 90s ellie drabble in my drafts that I'm working on so definitely let me know if you'd like to see that ;)

You know that feeling you get when you walk into a place you don’t want to be in? A feeling so uncomfortable that it makes you involuntarily bounce back and forth from the heels of your feet to the tips of your toes, eyes darting from left to right trying to observe the situation you were faced with.

Ellie was unfortunate enough to be experiencing it tonight as the blood in her veins thumped into the base of her eardrums, her hands in the small pockets of the denim jeans she wore as her shoulders hunched with uncertainty. The air smelt like immeasurable amounts of liquor and what Jesse described as ‘fun times’.

He had coaxed her out of her apartment and off of the confines of her couch on the eve of her twenty-first birthday, a smile on his face as he landed a pat with an open palm on the back of her right shoulder which rattled her, a grimace curling onto the skin of her lips. Playing the scenario back in her mind now, it seemed as if he considered her feelings which didn’t end up being the case. Sometimes, Ellie would find herself filled with slight guilt for even having the thought of her friend being faintly ignorant — but it oozed out of him as he weaved his way through the teeming club. She was barely one for small parties, preferring to linger in the corners away from unseen eyes, processing what was laid before her in the form of passing bodies.

Finding herself experiencing how it felt to be somewhere more open — more suffocated — made her stomach tie in the tightest of knots.

Blowing a puff of air out of her throat, Ellie felt annoyance creeping up within her as the bone of her shoulder collided with someone else’s.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going.”

Through the tumultuous beat of hip-hop music, those seven gruff words reached the canal of her ears causing the soles of her shoes to squelch on the scuffed polish of the club floor as she turned around. Deep lines formed between her eyebrows as she scowled, her fingers curling into the palm of her hand, teeth gritting together.

“The fuck?”

Ellie didn’t know whether to consider it a blessing or a curse that no matter the situation, her mouth couldn’t just stay closed even with multiple attempted efforts. It worked out for her in less violent ways fifty percent of the time. Whereas, the other fifty percent caused adrenaline to pump in her veins so quickly that her body would shake slightly, growing numb as if to prepare for whatever damage would arise.

People tended to underestimate how much damage swirled around her balled fists due to her average stature and the fact that she was a girl. She knew better than to let things progress further, not only for the sake of not wanting to deal with it on her birthday but for the poor patron who’d most likely end up losing if he decided to take the unknown risk of a fistfight. Especially with her.

“You fuckin’ heard me.” The man towered over her, dark eyes riddled with drunkenness and a bubbling fury as she looked up at him through low eyelids, a smirk appearing at the corners of her mouth.

Through her peripheral vision, she could see the stares of other club-goers as they observed the altercation with interest, curious to see who would throw the first punch. It would’ve been Ellie. Seriously, she was so close to cocking her fist back just to swing it into his aging face but Jesse had a knack for knowing when his friend got into trouble because he appeared next to her before she could blink, fingers grabbing at the back of the plaid button-down she wore, trying to de-escalate the painstakingly icky tension as those who were unaware continued with their night.

“Woah.” He dragged out in an airy laugh, snaking himself in front of Ellie in case things went south. “No problems here, right?”

Not trusting herself enough to not utter a single word, Ellie turned and let her feet carry her straight to the bar at the far left corner, jaw tight as she found an empty spot to slide herself into in hopes of getting herself a drink as it had just reached one in the morning. If she had the option to restart the first hour of her birthday somewhere else, she could, but beggars can’t be choosers — and Ellie was far from being a beggar.

Locking her eyes onto her choice of liquor, she let the music creep back in her ears once more as her eyes clouded over, scanning the crevices of her brain for the pros and cons of having a couple of shots throughout the night, or just getting a glass straight-up.

Clearing his throat, Jessie weaseled his way next to her before grabbing the bartender’s attention, his pearly white teething glistening under the neon lights that shone through the darkness, eyes shamelessly roaming across her body as she bit her lip flirtatiously.

Ellie couldn’t roll her eyes, itching to have a drink in her grasp to ease the small jolt of nerves that would pinch her every couple of seconds.

“Can I get angel’s envy on the rocks?” She asked, avoiding looking at the lady behind the bar as she nodded curtly.

“Sure thing, honey.” Turning to Jesse, her back arched slightly as a means to pop her chest in his face a little more. The only thing that was stopping her from leaning closer was the countertop between them as she spoke lowly.

“And for you, baby?” She drawled, voice slow. She already had a couple of drinks, which was evident through her shameless attempt at flirting which the dark-haired man seemed to be into for some reason.

His lips quirked up, arms crossed over each other as he went to rest them on the bartop, eyes boring right into her soul.

“Same thing.”

Ellie took the opportunity to observe her surroundings even further. Eyes moved from the people sitting in small round booths and velvet chairs to the stage that sat front and center, one of the main reasons why she had been brought here tonight. A pole stood upright under the bright white lights, metal practically sparkling, blinding her as if to make its presence more known to her than it already was.

In life, there were a lot of firsts and Ellie had gladly experienced them with pride, diving headfirst. However, this was a completely different ball game that filled her with a small enough amount of discomfort that caused her to scratch at the nape of her neck.

“Y’know, the least you could do is say thank you for having me deal with your shit.” Jesse chuckled jokingly, fingers jutting outward to slide the glass toward her which she took without a second thought.

Although Ellie could sense the humor in his voice, the bitterness she felt seemed to overpower her brain before she could correctly process her words. “The least? You could’ve been a little more considerate when you decided on where to take me on my birthday.”

She leaned closer to him, having to raise her voice to be heard through the music. “A fucking strip club. Really?”

Raising his glass, he just smiled smugly at her which caused her eyes to roll to the back of her head for the second time that night before he clanked it with hers in a toast. “To being twenty-one.” Tilting the chilled cup toward his mouth, he downed his whiskey in one go before shaking his head to rid of the burning in his throat. Ellie followed right after, letting her eyes screwed shut as heat ran into the pit of her stomach.

“God that was fucking awful.”

All Ellie got in response was Jesse’s arm over her shoulder as he stood on the tips of his toes, neck craning over heads as if he was looking for something in particular. Before she could ask, his eyes lit up, her body moving forcefully as he dragged her away from the bar and in the direction of a booth that was mostly empty beside three other people occupying a small section of space. Jesse’s friends.

Truthfully, this night seemed to be getting worse as she watched Jesse slide himself in before moving in his seat, the leather squeaking as it rubbed against his clothes. Ellie licked her lips, tasting a hint of the shea butter chapstick she had applied to them earlier in the night, body growing rigid as one of his friends stared at her with wavering uninterest.

“Who are you again? He slurred, lazily pointing a finger in her direction, swaying in his seat slightly.

Ellie’s reply was simple and cold. “Ellie.”

Jesse slapped him on the back, sending his torso to push forward and some of his liquor to fall out of his shot glass and onto the table in front of them. “Seth shut the fuck up.”

Seth opened his mouth, lips in the shape of an ‘o’ before his face contorted into one of amusement, “Oh” He chuckled.

If Ellie was being honest with herself, she didn’t remember his name either. Jesse’s friends weren’t people she would necessarily surround herself with if she was looking for company. On occasion, she’d stop at Dean’s house ( the name of the only one she bothered to remember, only because he treated her like he would any of his other guy friends ) with him only because she got to smoke for free, and she’d never pass up free weed.

Moving to sit, Ellie lowered herself before breathing in through her nose, the lighting dimming above her almost instantly as the song that was playing came to a pause before another one followed behind.

Confusion grew on her features as the sharp clank of heels could be heard from where she was, just a couple of feet away, in the third row of seats right smack in the middle. She didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t as if she was well-versed in the club universe because she hadn’t been in one before tonight.

She heard Dean hiss behind his teeth before whistling loudly, “Damn.”

Averting her gaze toward center stage, she could feel her cheeks warm as she stared at you. Your hair fell down your shoulders in loose waves, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth before you smiled warmly, red nails gliding up and down your hips before you swayed them side to side seductively, moving to the rhythm of the music. Hoots and hollers filled the expanse of space, bouncing off the walls and directly into her ears.

“Fuck, she’s hot.”

Ellie was thankful for the darkness that enveloped the room as the crimson flush on her cheeks darkened in color even further. She shuffled back into her seat, keeping her gaze locked on your body as you spun around the pole, the string of your black thong hiking up your hip just a little higher, something she swore only she noticed.

With her gaze boring into your frame, she watched as you swung one leg over the other, spinning on your heels before lifting yourself off the stage using the pole, your grip tightening as your feet moved in place.

This feeling in between her legs, the ache she got from just seeing you was otherworldly, she felt wrong about it. She didn’t even know you ( as badly as she wanted to now ) to be feeling the way she did. The butterflies in the pit of her stomach fluttered so aggressively that they felt as if they were crawling out her throat as her breath hitched.

When the money appeared, adorning you as if it was rain falling, she melted into the leather of the booth. Her eyes widened before a cough emitted from her throat, her heart picking up its pace as your eyes darted across the crowd and she swore you were staring at her as you crawled on all fours in front of the stage.

So, the only natural thing for her to do was stare right back at you, keeping her gaze locked on your low-lidded eyes before letting someone lift the band of your thong to place a wad of cash, their fingers lingering on your bare hip for longer than necessary before you gracefully danced away.

You were a goddess, clad in her most seductive armor that nobody could lay a finger on. Ellie could tell by the way you carried yourself, head held high and body swinging low as cash surrounded you. As awkward as she felt, she sure hoped she didn’t look the part because your eyes were still on her.

A small smack to her arm caused her to twist her head in Jesse’s direction, a frown on her face as she tried to stare at him through the darkness. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

His eyebrows raised in amusement, lips pressed together to keep himself from laughing aloud. “It’s okay you know, to stare, that’s why we’re here.”

Putting the palms of his hands out, he gestured around him as if to prove a point.

Ellie tutted before she grabbed a loose strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear, grabbing at the new drink that miraculously appeared ( he must’ve grabbed it off of one of the guys ) before gulping the rest of its contents down, lips puckering as her lungs developed a burn that only Hennesey could give her.

“This is the last time I’m letting you drag me anywhere without telling me first.” She huffed, blowing out a breath that caused her cheeks to ache slightly. She averted her gaze to you again, this time watching as you left the stage, signaling the end of your set as people cheered and whistled.

“That was something, I’ll tell you that.” She heard Dean say, his hands traveling down to his pants to try and conceal the very noticeable boner that had tented.

Ellie pulled her lips back in a snarl, teeth out in the open as an uncomfortable expression reached her features, skin near the corners of her eyes creasing as she narrowed them in his direction. Men were fucking gross — and the way he sat there, licking his lips hungrily as if he’s made up his mind to go after you tonight — only furthered that thought into the front of her mind.

The leather seat dipped slightly when Jesse took the initiative to scoot himself closer to her, leaning down to yell, “Was I right?”

Ellie glanced at him through low eyes as the scent of weed hit her nose, merely shrugging in response before lifting herself and pulling down the ends of her shirt, the cotton material having ridden up.

Se suddenly found herself staring at the bar a couple of feet away from her, coincidentally landing her green eyes on the dip of your back, the bands on your thong littered with cash still. You looked fucking amazing. Your hair was now bunched up in your right hand as you fanned your neck with the left one, your crimson-painted lips moving quickly as you spoke to the bartender she felt herself loathing after their earlier interaction. If you could even call it that.

A high-pitched whistle beside her pulled her out of whatever thoughts consumed the spaces of her mind. It was none other than her friend, moving his head to stare at who she’d been eyeing. Finally, he saw you in the crowd of people squished at the bartop, and then his brown eyes moved toward Ellie’s face. He knew she wasn’t going to approach you willingly, even if the desperation to speak to you was written across her face in big, bold, lettering. So, he decided to be the devil — or the angel — on her shoulder.

“Go talk to her, make a move.”

Ellie wanted to laugh. The urge bubbled up in her throat like bile, and she let it go. Giving him the most genuine chuckle she’s given him all night, shaking her head from side to side. “I doubt she’s into girls.”

For some reason, considering that as an option made her mood dampen slightly. Anyone here could see the confidence that exuded from you, it lingered in your sweet perfume when you’d pass by people and she was pretty sure she was falling victim to it.

Shrugging, Jesse let his lips pull into a frown, urging her further. “You don’t know that.”

That was true, she thought as she shamelessly stared you down, her sweaty palms at her sides as she tried to inconspicuously wipe them on the denim of her jeans. Relenting, she felt her heart quicken as her feet carried her toward where you were standing under the neon lights of the bar.

You looked even prettier up close, your unique features burning into the part of her brain where long-term memory was, trying to soak you in before you noticed she was there.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Ellie was a goner. Your voice was sweet and sultry, low with a hint of fatigue weaved in between them as you kept your eyes down, your nails tapping against the glass in front of you.

Ellie cleared the blockage in her throat before answering. “Uh yeah, it was nice.”

Licking your lips, you still kept your head low but she could see you staring at her from the corner of your eyes. “You were staring.”

So you did notice her looking at you, which meant that you were indeed looking at her as you danced flawlessly on stage. At least she wasn’t going crazy.

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks for what was the tenth time, she stuttered, trying to look anywhere, the confidence she once had evaporating as your light laughter reached her ears. “Everyone was staring.” She managed to spit, biting the inside of her cheek.

“I wasn’t looking at everyone else though…”

This made her smile, slightly bashful that you had said those words to her. Maybe you were just naturally a flirt, seeking thrills on sweet-talking club-goers only to leave them wanting more once you left. Oddly, she decided to entertain you by twisting her neck in your direction, the tattoo on her arm taking all the attention as your eyes burned into the skin peeking from under her jacket.

You continued, “You stick out like a sore thumb, but it’s okay. I like seeing new faces.” Sliding your glass in her direction, you watched with curiosity as she picked it up, swirling the contents in the glass, ice cubes clinking against each other before she let the rest of it slide down her throat.

Ellie wasn’t a big drinker and she was sure she’d feel the consequences of her choice in the morning, but being next to you — talking to you, was worth whatever hangover would greet her in the morning.

Pushing for a conversation, you asked her a question. “So, did your friends drag you here or something.”

Unbeknownst to you, that was exactly the case which she confirmed by nodding. A dry laugh came from her mouth, causing her to cringe at just how fake it sounded but you didn’t seem to mind. “Uh, yeah, that’s exactly it.”

You turned your body toward her fully, lifting at the strap of your lacey bra, your breasts moving upward just an inch but it didn’t go unnoticed by Ellie as her eyes landed on your chest for a fraction of a second before she was looking at your face again.

‘How’d you know.”

“You look uncomfortable. This isn’t your thing?”

With that question in mind, Ellie felt the vibration of the music in the soles of her sneaker-clad feet, so loud that her body hummed along with the music, the smell of weed burning the hairs in her nostrils as giggles bounced into her ears. “Not really, it’s my birthday so my friend brought me.”

Your eyes lit up, pearly white teeth contrasting against the dark tint of your lipstick. “Happy Birthday to you then,”

Ellie moved her mouth to reply with a small ‘thank you’ but the bartender appeared in front of the both of you before you asked her for a shot which she gave you quicker than she had taken Ellie’s drink order. She watched as you slid it in her direction like previously, a smirk decorating your lips as she made eye contact with you, putting the rim of the shot glass between her lips and letting it snake down her throat, the sensation of the burn causing a sharp intake of breath.

Goosebumps littered your exposed skin as you felt a sudden dull ache grow between your legs. The tension was bouncing between you, deflecting off of the invisible barrier that loitered, cracking just a tad before you backed away. “I have to go now, but it was nice talking to you…”

“Ellie.”

Giving her one last smile, you nodded. “I hope I’ll see you around soon.”

She waved with a hand, lips pursed as you turned on your heels and disappeared behind a metal door labeled ‘staff only’.

Usually, every girl Ellie’s ever had an interaction with ended up with her itching to move away from the situation she dragged herself into, jaw tight and teeth grinding together. It was different this time, probably because it was you. The fact that she had no clue what your name was, intrigued her beyond the point of no return. She found herself stuck on you despite having a conversation that lasted all but five minutes — which felt like thirty seconds.

Sighing, she made her way back to Jesse and his extremely drunk friends. Dean and Seth were shoving each other like fucking five-year-olds bickering over something stupid, their faces inches apart that Ellie felt like she was intruding on a private matter.

Sitting down again, Ellie let herself endure the two hours in silence next to Jesse as the night wasted away, more drinks being spilled, annoyance growing. She didn’t know how long she was glued to that seat when she made her way outside the double doors, breathing in the fresh air that she took for granted, sighing as she ran a hand through her short auburn hair, the rings on her fingers clattering together as she did so.

At this point, it was just nearly three in the morning. The dim street lights illuminated the empty street, the leaves on tree branches swaying with the wind in the direction it whipped in. An occasional leaf swayed to the ground as she sat on the curb, the skin of her palms peeling from the roughness of the concrete.

“I’m fucking serious, Willow.” Moving her head in the direction of the voice, her heart skipped a beat as you stood there with your jacket in hand. You have changed into more comfortable clothes. Your thong is now replaced by pink sweatpants, baggy as they hang low on your hips, and a tank top in place of your bra. Glancing down at your shoes, she could see the white Nike socks keeping your feet warm from the cold, a pair of slides on your feet. You were arguing with someone, that much was obvious.

The girl in front of you towered so high, it was almost threatening but you didn’t falter in your stance. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she spoke with malice. “You don’t think I’m not? You can come here and dance half naked for some fucking cash but can’t text me back.”

You scoffed, clicking your tongue while taking a small step back. “This is my job, I’m obligated to come here.” You gestured toward the club with a finger, wilding pointing before jabbing the same finger into her chest. “I don’t need to text you. You’re not my girlfriend, remember?”

Licking her lips, the gears turned in Ellie’s brain as she weighed her options. She could intervene, ask what the problem was, be your knight in shining armor — but she decided against it. Her palms grew sweaty once more as she continued to watch the interaction.

The girl breathed through her nose, nostrils expanding as she took in a deep breath before balling her fists at her side, something you didn’t seem to notice as you stared into her eyes with what could only be described as hatred.

“Fine, have it your way then.” She walked away, angrily stepping toward her car a couple of feet away from you, opening the door with such force that it nearly broke off. “Don’t expect me to take you back when you come crawling with those fake tears of yours.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving your jacket closer to your chest as you watched her get in her car, tires squealing loudly as she peeled out of the parking lot, leaving tracks on the pavement.

Turning around, you saw Ellie staring at you but still pressed against the curb as you walked over toward her, embarrassment creeping up on you in the form of warm cheeks and pressure behind your eyes. Tears.

Rubbing at your nose with the back of your hand, you gave her a tight-lipped smile before bending down to join her. “Did you see everything?”

She could see just how embarrassed you were as you pushed the nails on your finger toward your mouth, biting at them nervously. Nodding, she spoke lowly, “Yeah, was that your ex-girlfriend?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded curtly. “Sadly,”

Not knowing what else to say, she just sat there in silence, enjoying the quietness of the outside world with you next to her. The silence wasn’t awkward — quite the opposite as she no longer felt nervous or out of place as a couple of minutes passed, glances to each other being shared throughout.

Ellie was growing tired, eyes riddled with a hint of sleep and the extended feeling of desperation urged her to take herself home. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she pressed the side button as the screen lit up, the clock on her home screen reading 3:15 am before she turned it back off again. With a yawn, she lifted herself off the curb, stretching her limbs as some of them cracked at the sensation of no longer being hunched over uncomfortably.

Turning to look down at you, she saw that you were already staring up at her with doe eyes, lips etched into what seemed like a permanent frown. “Do you have a ride home?” The words left her mouth before she could process them and she wanted to smack herself right after.

Nodding, you jerked your head toward the black double doors, “My friend’s a bouncer, he usually walks me home since I don’t live far.” You don’t know why you said the last part, internally face-palming at the fact that you gave her a slight hint as to where you lived.

She didn’t know if it was appropriate to ask if she could walk you home. Even thinking about asking you sent her heart racing wildly inside the expanse of her chest. But, tonight was full of risks and she liked to consider herself a risk-taker — so she bit.

“I can walk you if you want.” She spoke quickly, rushing to explain her thought process. “I’m just saying because it’s like three in the morning and -”

You laughed loudly, slapping a hand over your mouth after it had left you. “I’m sorry, I'm just laughing because it’s kind of cute when you ramble.” You expressed, nodding as you rose to stand next to her causing her to scratch the back of her neck before tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. “But yes, I’d appreciate it if you did.” She promised that if she were able to turn into some form of mush, she would’ve in that very moment that you said her name.

The walk was nice, to Ellie at least, as you talked to her about your job and the other girls that worked there. She listened with interest although she wasn’t a big gossiper, asking you questions about certain things to let you know that she was listening to every word you said, hanging onto them. She saw how your steps slowed after walking around four blocks before coming to a complete stop in front of a lone door, the redness of the metal sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of the street.

All she did was stand there with her hands in her jeans pockets as you fiddled with the knob, wedging your key inside before pushing it open.

“This is me.” You sighed, stepping inside the dark hallway, turning to face her as you leaned your cheek against the cool edge of your front door, fluttering your eyelashes. “Do you want to like… come in and have a drink? I know it’s almost four in the morning, but I feel bad for taking up your offer of walking me home since it’s your birthday and all.”

Ellie knew that if she declined your offer, she’d find herself on her bed, wishing she had taken you up on your offer for another drink. Like she said earlier, tonight was all about risks. She’d greedily take this one.

The nod she gave you sent shivers up your spine, her body moving inside your house as a means to shield herself from the chill night air. The temperature difference made her realize just how buzzed she was as she stood in the darkness of what she assumed was your living room.

From behind her, she could hear the little ‘plink’ of the light switch as you flicked it on, light flooding the room.

“You can place your coat here if you want.”

She turned, raising her eyebrows to see what you were talking about until she saw you hang your jacket on a hook near the door, a hand behind you to take hers from her. She shrugged it off quickly before handing it to you, watching as you stood on your toes to hang hers on the hook above the first one hammered into the wall.

Moving past her into the kitchen, she had no choice but to follow as you lit the room once more, the small island catching her attention immediately due to how messy it was.

As if you were reading her thoughts, you spoke with some embarrassment in your voice. “I would’ve cleaned up if I knew I was going to be bringing guests over.”

She eyed the items around the small area before shaking her head. “No, it’s okay, this allows me to scan for conversation topics.” Was it weird that she said that? Well, you didn’t seem to think so as you laughed heartily from your stomach, hands pulling at the fridge handle, browsing at the limited options of liquor.

“Uh… do you want a shot of tequila or a glass of Rosè?” She heard your muffled question to which she answered quickly.

“Tequila.”

“Alright, my kind of girl!” You exclaimed happily, setting the bottle down on the island and grabbing two shot glasses from one of your wooden cabinets.

Twisting the lid off, you poured the liquor into the small glasses which caused her to stand across from you, drunken eyes watching as you handed her one. She took it before staring into your eyes once again, hungrily this time, as you rubbed your thighs together under her gaze.

The both of you tilted your head back in unison, downing the shot quickly before you waltzed to where she was standing, eyes never leaving hers as you brought your face closer.

You didn’t know why you did what you did, and neither did she quite frankly as she stood, stiff and with ragged breaths as you closed the small gap between the two of you. She immediately returned the kiss, her back digging into the edge of the island counter, as you pressed against her, grabbing the shirt she was wearing, tugging it with need.

With a hand snaked around your back, she moved the other to grab the back of your neck, forcing your teeth to clash against hers as her tongue made its way into the deliciousness of your mouth. You moaned, entwining yours around hers wetly, her warm breath mixing with yours.

She met you all but four hours ago, and here she was, in your house kissing you as if her life depended on it.

Her hands moved to your ass, squeezing through the material of your sweatpants as hard as she could when you ground your hips against hers, wanting to dissipate the aching throb between your legs.

Noticing this, Ellie moved her hand to the front of your sweats, fingers dancing down your naval and onto your folds, opening them slightly to rub at your clit. You whined, pressing your forehead against hers with a hand on the nape of her neck, squeezing slightly. The action caused her to rub at your swelling bud even faster, keeping note of the way your face contorted into one of pleasure, your eyes in the back of your head.

“You like that, hm?” Seeing you like this, your body pressed against hers leaving little to no space to even breathe made her the wettest she’s ever been.

You only put your head in the crook of her neck as a response, teeth grazing at the skin below her ear as she shuddered, your slick pooling into her hand when a finger entered you, stretching you oh-so deliciously.

A sob ripped from your throat, your teeth digging into her neck as you bit to keep yourself from being too loud. Ellie couldn’t help the groan that escaped her when she felt you nipping at the base of her neck, stomach tying into knots at the thought of even just getting to fuck you.

“Oh, my g-god.” You stuttered, paying extra attention to the finger that was moving in and out of you quickly, grinding yourself onto it lower, with such haste that you just had to scream out.

“C’mon, baby, I know you can say more than that.” She slurred encouragingly into your ear, the hand on your ass pulling you even further into her as she shoved a second finger in without warning.

“Feels so fuckin’ good.” You were boarding on tipsy at this point, and not just on alcohol, but the feeling of her fingers as they wormed their way back inside you relentlessly.

You heard her chuckle, “That’s it, that’s right.”

Her breathing in your ear, chanting praises, the sensation of white heat building up in your stomach became overwhelming as you clenched around her fingers, releasing all your built-up sexual tension. Or so you thought because when Ellie slowly put her fingers that were previously inside you into her mouth and sucked them dry, you went almost animalistic.

“Sit on the counter.” You purred, eyelashes fluttering at her, your lids low with arousal and drunkenness.

Ellie wasn’t one to find herself obeying others, especially in sexual situations, but for some reason, she found herself doing exactly what you said with a slight tint to her cheeks that wasn’t just from the excessive amount of alcohol she had consumed throughout the night. This hangover was gonna be a bitch.

You loomed over her, arms on either side of her, palms pressed against the counter. “Let me taste you.”

The pattern of her breathing changed, making her chest rise up and down quickly before she uttered something almost incomprehensible to you. “I’m not the one usually receiving.”

The smile that you gave her was devious as your hands toyed with the button of her jeans, “Please?” You found it pathetic at the way you begged her, but you didn’t care, not one bit as she nodded her head, letting you unclasp the button before you tugged them off along with her black briefs, throwing them somewhere in the kitchen to find later. She felt the cool marble of the countertop against her bottom as she grasped at the edge of the counter with her ringed fingers, looking down at you with so much lust behind her eyes that you could’ve just come for the second time right then and there.

“I’m gonna make you feel good.” You hushed, kissing the inside of her thighs with fervor before swiping your tongue over her cunt, lapping at her juices as they leaked onto your tongue. You sucked harshly at her clit causing her to sob once, hands digging into your hair as she ground her hips into your face further.

“Mhm,” You moaned into her core, feeling her throb against your mouth, tongue flicking quickly at her clit, her arousal mixed with your spit sending her mind to an entirely different planet as her eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.

You were staring at her the entire time, your arousal wetting the material of your underwear, making them stick to your folds as you shuffled your hips to move into her more, feeling her shake above you.

“O - oh my god, fuck.” She whined, lip quivering as her legs shook, an orgasm so intense that she grew numb, letting her spend get sucked onto your tongue before you removed yourself, dabbing at the sides of your mouth with a finger.

Ellie Williams was completely fucked and love-drunk on you, and she didn’t even fucking know you.

#ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou #tlou part 2 #tlou2 #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams

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andersonfilms · 11 months ago

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#BRAINROT! — abby anderson x reader

abby never thought she would be so lucky to have an opportunity like this. the two of you were roommates, two peas in a pod unable to be separated until ellie had won your heart. filled with anguish, abby had tolerated your relationship for the past two years. putting on the bravest face, being supportive, letting you lean on her through the lows of ellie.

ellie wouldn’t see it this way.

your girlfriend, seemed to grow an ugly green head at the burly blonde’s wondering eyes. ellie had made her case many times, trying to convince you abby wanted more than to be your best friend during your relationship. she wants you. stupid, rage fueled arguments started by her always ended up with a curse of roommate’s name. all roads lead to abby, especially your big blow up fight a few nights ago.

ellie gave you an ultimatum, her or abby.

both of them were here at the new year’s eve party with jesse as rhetorical hosts and you decided to stew. angrily, bitterly stewing. ellie didn't have the right to push someone out of your life just because she felt jealous. someone you care about, one of the few people who fully understands, helped you through your lowest moments and ellie expected you to just cut ties, as if it’s easy. as if you want to.

ellie is sitting next to dina on the couch and abby just made her way outside on the patio to watch the fireworks. the god awful turning feeling growing in the bottom of your stomach, nerves boiling over as rhea adrenaline pumped through your veins because you knew.

you knew, you knew, you knew.

the person you couldn’t leave without, the answer became clear when forced upon you.

you watch the clock as it winds down.

11:57

she didn’t speak a single word all night. all you were welcomed with were puppy eyes and a bleeding heart each second you refused to talk with her. ellie’s green orbs caught wind of your own, looking at her. you know she loves you, even when she can’t help it when she becomes crazy jealous, only spurring out insane nonsense. in her own way, she does but the anger her father left is drowning you, making it inescapable. she wants you to come to her, you know she does. even if ellie is mean when she’s afraid, she irrevocably in love with you.

but you can’t. because ellie knew you better than you knew yourself. you knew she didn’t want to be, but her eyes filled with regret as yours resembled pity. it beamed as brightly as a full moon on a starless evening, tears in her eyes as you made yourself across the living room to the back door.

11:58

your senses are met with the smell of cigarettes and cheap tequila, but you see her sitting beside herself away from her friends. she’s on a bench swing, rocking her body weight back and forth. she looks perfect with a beanie as her locks lightly framed her chin.

she’s anxious, forefinger picking at the label in beer, condensation making it easy for it fall away. abby wonders if everything will leave just as easily, you mainly. tonight at least she does, you hadn’t spoken a word to anyone really. she wonders if she did something wrong, if she’s hurt you in any type of way. abby hopes she’s just in her head too much because she can’t stand the thought of you hurt at all, but especially by her hands.

abby is pouting so badly, she misses you going up to her. until your weight sends the swing moving slightly, before she digs her feet into the wooden planks. you grab a swing of her beer, a drink you ate but you’ll need all help you can get if you still want to follow through with this.

it isn’t because this is difficult, it’s the easiest thing you’ve done all year. it terrifies how quickly you made the decision once you picture a life without her. you can’t see one, it’s not a possibility at all.

11:59

“c’mon, what you are you doing out here? it’s almost midnight. go find ellie, bub. is everything good?” abby says, but you almost don’t catch a thing she’s saying. you’re looking at her lips, licking your own in anticipation.

“it’s cold, too. where’s you jacket?” abby doesn’t wait for you to respond. she peels of your bomber, wrapping it warmly over your shoulders.

“i guess, i don’t know, i got distracted. i’m perfectly fine, abby.” you say, getting lost in beautiful blues. never really appreciating them like you should. if she let you, from this moment on, you’d never stop.

you’re leaning in closer to her, right hand resting on her thigh, and abby’s more confused than ever.

“are you sure everything is alright? why aren’t you trying to find ellie?” abby furrowed her eyebrows, trying to put the pieces together but nothing was fitting.

“i know exactly where ellie is.”

“okay….” abby looked at you skepticism glazed over her face.

the people you love, friends and family, they start count down from sixty.

“can you tell me what’s going on?”

“ellie wants me to make a choice and i’m making it. so just, sit there, ring the new year by my side and let me, please?” you begged.

“she really said it’s me or her?” abby whispered out, trying to hide the small grin trying to break out. all you did was give a nod.

the counts come down to twenty when abby asks another a question. “your girlfriend of two years gives you an ultimatum, and you’re deciding to sit with me.” the blonde is having a hard time believing you, slowly putting the pieces together one by one.

“yeah, there’s isn’t anyone i’d rather be. it’s you abby, i-it always has been.” you move your head so you can look at her, the two of you are leaning in closer, it’s when you notice the love in her eyes. how deeply it flows and god you hope it flows all over you. maybe it’s been there all along, just waiting for you to be there, waiting for you to feel the first drop.

12:00

everyone’s cheering as abby’s lips meet yours and dear god are they perfect. luscious, bottom lip separates your own as her calloused hands cradle your face as she angles the kiss deeper. abby pulls you closer as she handles you with all love in the world. you forget where you are and you’re moaning into the kiss, allowing abby to slide her velvet tongue in your mouth, claiming you for the first time.

the moment she’s imagined is more perfect than she deserves but she takes it anyways. abby can’t believe it as she pulls away, forehead resting against her, looking at you like you just the placed the world in her hands. and in a way, you kind of did.

“if there was ever any doubt, it’s always been you, too. but, i’m pretty sure you already knew it. i’m not one for subtly.” abby kisses you once more, and now you know this is how it was always meant to feel.

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roosterforme · 11 months ago

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Adult Education Part 13 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jessica's fraternity fundraiser is the most popular event during alumni weekend. While that should be enough to guarantee she's smiling all night, an unwanted guest turns up to make sure that doesn't happen. Jake is set on taking care of her, but he desperately wants her to open up.

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of smut, angst, swearing, mentions of cheating, frat boys, 18+

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

"Come on, Hangman," Bradley grunted. "You're acting like you've never been to a frat party before."

Jake watched him adjusting the keg of beer in the enormous tub of ice on the back porch of the fraternity house. "We're supposed to carry this inside?" Jake balked. "Why? It's going to make a mess."

"Jesus Christ, Jake. You need beer to play beer pong."

"We played it with champagne at your house on New Year's Eve," he countered, just to irritate Bradshaw.

"Yeah, and it low key pissed off my wife. Just help me carry this inside before both of them get mad at us."

He and Jake struggled with the keg and dropped it off in the back hallway where the exceptionally nerdy looking frat boys would be able to access it to fill up the crystal cups between rounds. In fact, one of them was coming over now, all dressed up in his tuxedo.

"Excuse me, sir. Can you help me move some of the ping pong tables?"

Bradley looked absolutely disgusted as he said, "Only if you stop calling me sir." Bradley went off to help him while Jake found Jessica in the kitchen going over the menus with the culinary students. She looked gorgeous, and he wanted to get his hands on her, but there was a soft crease between her eyebrows that told Jake she was starting to stress.

"What can I do?" he asked when she glanced his way.

"Can you check to make sure you can hear the string quartet everywhere?" she asked him. "Everyone should start arriving in about ten minutes."

"Of course." Jake walked around the entire downstairs of the sprawling Victorian house, and after a minute he realized the quartet was playing Hot In Herre by Nelly. Not only could he hear it everywhere, it also sounded incredible, and he had to fight the urge to start dancing.

When he walked into the main living room, Bradshaw and his wife had their backs to him while they threw a few test shots at one of the tables. Jake had to appreciate the juxtaposition that Jessica had achieved here. It was an elevated college experience for adults.

"Let's try this out," Bradshaw mumbled, stretching like he was about to compete in an event at the actual olympics. "I honestly don't love that Jess didn't go regulation with solo cups," he complained, aiming at the crystal glassware lined up at the far end of the table.

His wife wrapped her arms around him and said, "Come on, Beer Boy. You can do it."

"Not with you hanging all over me, I can't," he said, but in such a loving way that Jake rolled his eyes. Bradshaw was soft and sweet for literally nobody but his wife.

"You never once complained about that when we were in college," she mused, kissing the side of his neck when her eyes met Jake's. "Oh look. Another fuckboy."

Jake laughed in response and made his way over to her as the fraternity boys ran around and started pouring glasses of champagne for everyone who was about to arrive. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me," she replied with a grin while her husband made two shots in a row, the pinging of the balls against the crystal making a satisfying sound. "We should play later as long as everything is going smoothly. Fuckboys versus hot ladies."

"Hot, smart ladies," Bradshaw said as he made another shot. Jake got his ass kicked by the two of them on New Year's Eve, but he was more confident he could win with Rooster as his teammate.

"Here you go, sir," the nerdiest of the boys told Bradley, offering up the champagne flutes on the tray. He growled and snatched one up before handing it to his wife at the same time Jake caught sight of his girlfriend in the kitchen with another guy's arms wrapped around her.

"What the fuck." He wove around the tables and ducked through the doorway where Jessica was laughing with an extremely attractive man in a purple suit that somehow didn't even look hideous on him. And then she gave him another quick hug before releasing him.

"As soon as you invited me, I dropped everything," the other guy said. "It's not every day you get a chance to look at the beautiful Jessica Reed."

"Stop it, Dev. You're being too sweet. I already can't thank you enough for all the beer."

Perhaps the most disturbing thing was the fact that Jessica looked calmer in the presence of this Dev guy that she had for the past hour, and that didn't even account for the way he was looking at her. Jake cleared his throat loudly.

"Jake! Come meet Dev Borah!"

When they clasped hands, Jake tried his best at an intimidating handshake, but Dev looked completely unfazed by it. Then he said, "I've heard a lot about you from Bradley. Aren't you the guy who tried to pick up his wife before you realized they were dating?"

Okay. Jake officially hated this guy. He could feel himself blushing, and Jessica was looking up at him with wide eyes. He didn't try to pick up Bradshaw's wife when he met her. Not exactly. He'd put his foot in his mouth a little bit that day last year, but not to the extent Dev was making it out to be.

"I get it though," he told Jake. "She's beautiful. But so is Jessica. You're very lucky." He slapped Jake on the back before he said, "I just need to run out to my Porsche and grab those gift cards for the silent auction. I'll be right back, Jess."

"I swear I didn't try to pick her up," Jake insisted as soon as he was gone, but Jessica was already laughing at him.

"She's hot. I get it," she replied as she hugged him. "And I'm sure Dev just wanted to give you a hard time."

Jake rolled his eyes as she tucked her head under his chin. "Are you all set, Baby? I think people are starting to arrive."

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

-----------------------

An hour later, Jessica was pleasantly surprised. The Kappa Pi house was completely packed. It almost felt like a real frat party, but the partygoers ranged in age from thirty to seventy. They'd already gone through countless bottles of champagne and one of the kegs of beer from Beta Brewing. Jake and Bradley were carrying another iced keg inside to the back hallway where the empty one sat.

"Thank you," she told Bradley who was flushed from whatever he was drinking. He immediately returned to dance with his wife to the string quartet playing Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg. She'd received so many compliments on the music selection, and everyone was gushing about how delicious the beer was. She just sent the trays of food out of the kitchen, and now the beer pong tournament was underway.

"You're killing it, Reedy," Jake whispered next to her ear before kissing her. "You got this frat thing on lock." Her heart swelled with pride at his words. Then a tall man in a tuxedo strolled her way with a champagne flute in one hand and a glass of beer in the other.

"Are you Dr. Reed?" he asked over the noisy crowd and the music.

"Yes," she replied as he shuffled his drinks so he could shake her hand.

"Dr. Gregory Michaels. I just wanted to let you know that I've been coming to alumni weekends for thirty years, and I was a member of Kappa Pi. In fact, I lived in this house my senior year."

"Did you really?" she asked as he smiled and looked around.

"It feels exactly the same," he told her with a laugh, and she turned to smile at Jake. "I also wanted to let you know that this is by far the best and most entertaining event I've ever attended. My wife is playing beer pong for the first time with a guy in a backwards hat, and I've never seen her have so much fun. I'll be sure to mention this to Dean Walters when he and I have our next golf outing."

"You know Dean Walters?" she asked, her knees nearly giving out. The dean was like four steps above Brian Conley. There was no way Brian would be able to be a complete dick about her tenure if she had the damn dean on her side.

"I don't just know him. I used to be his math tutor when we were undergrads together. I'll put in a good word."

When he turned and walked away, Jessica giggled and jumped up and down before she took Jake by the hand and led him away from the kegs. "He knows the dean," she hissed as she pushed her way through the back door. "He's putting in a good word."

"You deserve it," he replied in the relative darkness of the back porch as Jessica pushed his back up against the exterior of the house. He smirked as she came to stand between his legs and kissed him. "You deserve everything."

Jake's hands were on her hips, bunching her dress up inch by inch until he slipped his warm hand inside the slit. He wrapped his hand around her thigh, caressing her with his thumb as he pulled her snug against his body.

"Who's going to give it to me?" she whispered against his lips. "You?"

He moaned as he palmed her ass. "Yeah, I'll give you everything." Then she laced her fingers through his hair and rubbed herself slowly back and forth along his suit pants as he groaned into her mouth. "Jessica." His voice had a pleading quality as he grew a little harder for her. She felt good right now. Almost powerful. "Baby, please."

As Jessica dragged her right hand down along his body to his pants zipper, Jake's head tipped back. "You think anyone will notice me on my knees?" she asked teasingly as she pulled his zipper down.

"Fuck," he whined, but just as she got her hand wrapped around him through his underwear, she heard someone calling her name from inside the house.

"Dev's looking for me," she said, kissing his jaw.

"Well I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't love it if he found you with your hand in my pants."

Jessica giggled. "Just hold that thought for later tonight." She got him zipped up again, and when Dev popped out on the porch and found her, she was kissing Jake, but in a much less compromising position.

"I need you to verify the silent auction winners," Dev told her. "And then I need you to have a glass of champagne with me."

Jake grunted, but Jessica squeezed his hand to silence him. "Coming, Dev," she told him before turning back to Jake. "Let me check on everything, and then just maybe we'll have a minute to play a game of beer pong. I'll meet you in there."

And then she placed one more filthy kiss on Jake's lips before going inside.

-------------------------

Jake sipped his champagne while the crowd around him seemed to move in unison to the cover of Jay-Z that the quartet was playing. It looked like everyone was having a great night, and Bradshaw was no exception as he taught a woman who was easily twice his age how to play beer pong.

"You need a partner?"

Jake turned to see a young woman eyeing him up and down with a hopeful smile. Damn. A few months ago, he'd have said yes. And he would have probably ended up sleeping with her either here or back at his condo before kicking her out in the morning.

"I'm here with my girlfriend." He walked to the other side of the table where Bradshaw's wife was dancing with her own champagne flute. "This whole thing seems successful, right?" he asked.

"Very," she replied. "Look at everyone! That guy's like eighty years old! He's also a huge donor to the college, and he's dancing like nobody's watching."

Jake cracked up. "Meanwhile, everyone is watching." But she was right. Everybody was rocking their formal wear while tossing ping pong balls like there was no tomorrow as the night wore on.

Then Jessica and Dev emerged from the kitchen, and she came right for him. "Jake, I'm freaking out. I got an email that said I sold all of the tickets available for tonight. And, the items in the silent auction went for a ton of money!"

"I'm not surprised," he replied, pulling her close to his side. "Not one bit. Congratulations."

"You're up!" Bradshaw called out. "Get your ass to the other side of the table, Reed. Hangman, you're with me." Then he kissed his wife, "Get down there with Jessica, Sugar."

"You're about to lose so fucking hard, Beer Boy."

The crowd had started to thin out now, and Jake watched the fraternity boys clean off the table and set up fresh glasses filled with overpriced beer for them. "Ladies first," Jake said, rolling the balls to their end of the table. And that was when he learned that not only was he nowhere near as good as Rooster and his wife, he was also terrible compared to Jessica.

After the ladies sunk both of their shots, Bradley said, "I hope you're ready to drink." And then when Jake missed his first shot, he got a glare in response. "How are you this bad? You went to college."

"I didn't play beer pong. I was busy making out with girls."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "I managed to do both at the same time very successfully. Isn't that right, Sugar?"

She responded by making another shot followed by Jessica. "Shit," Jake muttered.

"Can we switch partners?" Bradley whined. He tried to walk to the other end of the table as he drank his beer, but his wife just pushed him right back to Jake.

"It's not our fault we're exceptionally good at math," she said before returning to Jessica's side.

"Come on, Jake!" his girlfriend cheered. "You can do it!"

But he missed again. It was almost comical how easily the ladies won, and they only had to drink one glass of beer toward the end of the match. Bradshaw's wife danced around while she drank it, and then Jessica made the final shot.

"I taught her everything she knows!" Bradley shouted as he made his way back to their end. "My wife is a badass."

Jessica was laughing as she ran around the table toward Jake. "You're terrible. Do you need lessons?" she asked sweetly.

"Lessons from you?" he asked, kissing her hard. "Sign me up." But then his gaze caught on the one person he knew could ruin her night and would absolutely love to do it.

-----------------------

When Jake started easing himself away from her and rubbing his hand along her back, Jessica looked up at him. "I'll gladly teach you how to suck less at beer pong. Actually... I wonder if I could turn it into a physics lecture topic," she mused.

"Baby, he's here."

Jessica spun around so fast, she had to fix her glasses as she set eyes on an irate looking Brian Conley. "We need to talk," he told her with his hands on his hips like she was a small child.

"About what?" she bit back, already feeling her body tensing up as Jake, Bradley and his wife stood at her back.

Brian was looking around the room in annoyance at the handful of alumni guests still playing beer pong and hanging out. The string quartet sounded louder now as the house had emptied out a bit, and the song was suddenly grating on her nerves.

"Meet me in the kitchen," Brian growled, storming off toward the back of the house.

Jake's hand was on hers immediately. "You don't have to talk to him right now, Jessica. Tell him to schedule a meeting for next week."

But she shook her head. "I'll be right back."

She passed Dev in the hallway, and he looked handsome and happy as always. "I need to get going, but cheers to a successful fundraiser. Call me if you want to come up to Beta. You can even bring your boyfriend. I guess." His smile was bright, but she had to force one in return.

"Thanks for everything, Dev." And as soon as she was alone in the kitchen with Brian, her smile vanished. "What can I help you with?" she asked him, swiping her sweaty palms on her pretty green dress.

He shook his head at her like she was something to be pitied. "You know... I spent all evening working through the numbers, trying to come up with a total amount of money raised through the science department for alumni weekend. And while your numbers seemed to look pretty good, you didn't account for the astronomical amount you wasted on kegs of this designer beer. And when I show up here to question you about it, you're practically drunk and playing the games you set up for paying guests."

Jessica's jaw dropped. "I'm not drunk! I haven't had anything to drink all night!" Brian rolled his eyes. "And I played one round of beer pong with my friends. If you hadn't noticed the event is ending now. It's nearly midnight."

Brian laughed. "You think someone from the math department is your friend? Jessica. You're delusional."

"Call me Dr. Reed," she ground out, fists clenched at her sides as tears stung her eyes. "And I'm not delusional."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Everyone in the science and math departments believes you're nothing but a slut, and I can guarantee your friend falls into that category." She started shaking as he added, "Now tell me how much you spent on the beer so I can deduct it from the profits of your event."

"I didn't spend anything!" she nearly screamed, frustrated beyond belief and tired of being belittled. "It was donated!"

Brian's laughter filled the space, bouncing off of the stainless steel appliances and tiled floor. "Donated? By whom?"

"The owner of the brewery!" she nearly screamed. "He donated things for the silent auction, too."

His gaze bore into her face as a look of disgust filled his features. "Jesus Christ, Dr. Reed. You got thousands of dollars worth of goods donated to you by the brewery owner? How many men are you sleeping with?"

Jessica's face fell further, and she had a hard time swallowing. "I'm not," she whispered, fingers going numb as her fists shook. "I didn't."

"You're so unprofessional. And you expect me to give you tenure? On what basis? You can't even get through an alumni event without fucking up and making yourself look bad."

"On the basis that I'm great at my job!" she shouted. But her voice shook on the last word, and she was mortified that she was about to cry in front of him. There was no hope. The tears were right there. And as her jaw quivered, she felt the first tear roll down her cheek.

"You're a damn joke," he replied maliciously, but then she felt a warm hand on her back between her shoulder blades.

"What the fuck is your problem, asshole?" Jessica turned to her right to see Advanced Calculus in the kitchen, steadying her with her firm hand. "You think you're so slick, but you're not smarter than us. Where's your PhD from again? The University of Jackass online?"

"This has nothing to do with you," Brian told her, face stony. "Now if you don't mind, we're having a private conversation."

The other woman laughed. "It's no longer private when I can hear you berating Dr. Reed in the next room."

Brian seemed to fumble for a response as he said, "This is none of your business."

Jessica was shaking as Advanced Calculus said, "Actually, you made it everybody's business by telling lies and starting rumors, Dr. Conley. This is a university, not a sleepaway camp."

Brian took a step closer to her and hissed, "Do not think for one second that I can't fuck with your career path, too."

But she just smiled and inched even closer as she loudly said, "You're not in charge of my tenure."

Then Bradley was in the kitchen, too. His wife wrapped her arm around Jessica's shoulders as Bradley went chest to chest with Brian, towering over him. "Why the fuck are you talking to my wife that way? Huh?"

Brian sputtered for a response, but Jessica could barely breathe. It felt good to have people in her corner for once, but now she was terrified that Bradley was going to punch Brian.

"I asked you a question," Bradley growled before he turned to his wife. "What's this guy's problem, Sugar?"

Jessica would have laughed if she wasn't already crying when her friend said, "I think he got his PhD online."

And then Jake was there, head on a swivel as he surveyed the situation and saw a few more stray tears slip down Jessica's cheeks. "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

Bradley's wife laughed sardonically. "Jake, have you met Brian? He thinks it's okay to spread rumors and insult women who are smarter than him, and then he holds it over their heads."

Jessica watched Brian's face turn a pasty shade of white as Jake took him by the shirt collar and shoved him against the refrigerator. "No. Please don't hit him," Jessica begged as she cried. "He's not worth it, Jake."

But her boyfriend looked a little deranged right now, and she could see the malice in Brian's eyes.

"I've had just about enough of you giving my girl a hard time. It's like you're begging for this." Jake shoved him a little harder, and Jessica had to look away.

"Oh, shit," Bradshaw and his wife said in unison, and she was too afraid to look.

Jessica felt the other woman's arms wrap around her as she called out, "Jake, look at Jessica! She's upset."

When Jessica peeked through her tears, she saw Bradley bear hugging Jake's arms to his side as he fought to get to Brian. But when Jake turned to look at her, his features softened, and now it looked like he was fighting against Bradley to come her way.

Brian pushed away from the refrigerator and stormed out of the room, but not before he said, "We're not finished," as he pointed in Jessica's face.

Bradley released Jake, and Jessica was a little afraid he was going to go after Brian, but he didn't. She was wrapped up in his arms with his lips on her forehead as he whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I made you cry more."

Jessica shook in his arms, terrified that her career was now over. Shaken once again by how hard Brian was trying to ruin her. Jake's kisses and soft words did little to soothe her as she closed her eyes and sobbed.

"Take her home," Bradley said, his voice soft but commanding. "We'll get everything cleaned up here."

Jessica tried to argue, but Jake scooped her up easily in his arms, and she didn't fight him. She closed her eyes, forcing air into and out of her lungs, and a moment later she was sitting in his truck.

--------------------------

Jake started the engine, but before he shifted into drive, he leaned across the seat and brushed Jessica's hair away from her face. "I'll take you back to your place?" he asked softly. More than anything, he really wanted to drop her off and then go pound the shit out of Brian, but when she nodded and reached for his hand, he put the truck in gear.

She remained silent as she held his hand, only occasionally swiping at her tears and looking out the window. If he knew she wanted to confide in him, Jake would sit and wait with her for as long as it took her to get the words out. But he didn't want to push or ask the wrong things. He knew she could have a bit of a hard time opening up.

He parked his truck, and scooped her up, careful not to mess up the fabric of her pretty dress. As he carried her into her apartment, he realized just how exhausted she must be. Her arms were around his neck, but she just sniffed and buried her face in his neck, trusting that he would get her inside to safety.

When Jake set her on her bed, he reached for the lamp on the nightstand. She looked wrung out even in the soft lighting, and he reached for her shoes. As he turned to take them into her closet, Jessica crawled up to her pillows with her dress still on, so he only took the time to remove his own shoes and his jacket before climbing in with her.

Once he had his arms wrapped around her, she let her cheek rest on his chest. Her breathing evened out, and she seemed calmer. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly, holding her close.

She shrugged, and when she spoke, she sounded faint and almost broken. "There's not a lot to say. Brian is trying to ruin my career."

This was not the first time Jake wondered how someone could dislike Jessica. His mind was swirling with the possibility that he was holding a grudge after she broke up with him. He'd been thinking that for weeks. As he pressed a kiss to her hair, he asked, "Why, Baby? How is that possible?"

Jessica's body tensed up in his arms before she took a few shaky breaths and eased her cheek away from his chest. She was crying again as she looked him in the eye and whispered, "He and I were dating. And then we were sleeping together. For weeks. And I had no idea that he's married and has two kids."

--------------------------

Brian Conley is a dank ass bitch. We hate him. If Jake doesn't respond just right, I'll have to kill him. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 14

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ugh-yoongi · 2 years ago

Text

by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg

(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)

✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader ✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door. ✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff ✤ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will. ✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame. ✤ WORDCOUNT 20k ✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist." ✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡ ✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.

so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions / or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.

There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.

Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.

What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.

You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.

Him, if you were a betting man.

You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.

Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.

You already know which one Yoongi is.

From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.

Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.

You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.

instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling / they don't tell you what you know you should want.

Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.

You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.

“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.

Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.

Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”

You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.

“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.

“Okay. How were the holidays?”

It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn’t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.

“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”

“And why is that?”

Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”

“Can you expand on that?”

You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”

“That’s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.

Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.

He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't / you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”

This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.

“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”

Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.

There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—

So when you ask, "Is something wrong?" I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”

—because that’s how it is, how it goes.

“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”

There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”

And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.

Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—

“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.

He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.

“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.

“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”

You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.

“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“

“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”

“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.

“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”

“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”

Yoongi slams the door behind him.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.

i am waiting for that sense of relief / i am waiting for you to flee the scene / as if you held in your hand the smoking gun / and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.

You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.

It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.

Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.

He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.

“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”

You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”

He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”

There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.

Does Yoongi still consider you his home?

“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Can we talk about it now?”

Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.

“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”

Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”

His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”

Is that why… “The song?”

Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”

“Okay.”

“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”

“Can you now?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”

“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”

That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”

“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”

“But you are.”

Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”

“Relationship euthanasia.”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”

“What would that even look like?”

You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”

Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”

“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”

You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”

You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”

“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.

Still standing, even after a hurricane.

i need you so much closer, so come on.

Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.

Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.

“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.

“S’the afternoon, baby.”

Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”

Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.

You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”

“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”

He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”

You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”

He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”

“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”

He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.

You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.

Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.

“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.

“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.

Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.

So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.

Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”

“The one in Oakhurst?”

Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”

“How long?”

A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”

You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”

You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”

He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”

“Me too.”

“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”

After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.

He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.

“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”

Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”

You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.

“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”

You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.

(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)

But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”

The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”

“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”

Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”

The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.

“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”

It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.

If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.

“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.

“Your mouth.”

He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.

He’s not so gentle after that.

Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.

You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.

As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.

“Fuck, fuck—”

Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”

(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)

You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.

And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?

You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.

You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.

“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”

It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.

Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?

Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.

“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.

You think, Another dying star.

“Did I hurt you?”

You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.

“Baby, talk to me, please—”

You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?

“I’m sorry—”

You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.

Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.

Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”

Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”

He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”

He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.

He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.

Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down / but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.

There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.

A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.

It’d gone like—

(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”

“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.

It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.

So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”

“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”

“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”

“But—”

“Put it in the bowl.”

A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)

—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.

You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.

But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.

First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.

“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.

Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.

So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.

“And why is that?”

“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”

Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”

You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah?”

You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”

“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”

If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”

“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.

“You’re able to take the time off?”

Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.

Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.

What’s good for him is good for you, after all.

“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”

Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”

From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”

He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”

Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.

i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.

“Hi.”

Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Are you all packed?”

You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”

Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”

“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”

“With what?”

“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”

“How much are you bringing?”

“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”

You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.

The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.

It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.

So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.

—

“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.

You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”

He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”

That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”

You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”

“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.

You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”

“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”

You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.

Which you give. Freely, without thought.

(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.

Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.

You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)

—

Oakhurst is small.

Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.

You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.

A place that makes you smile.

You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.

Yoongi laughs anyway.

There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.

He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.

When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.

You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door / have been silenced forevermore. and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. it seems farther than ever before.

There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.

“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.

So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.

Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.

—

Yosemite is hard to put into words.

You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.

So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.

The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.

“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.

Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.

All you have to do is water it.

—

The weather in the village is bitter cold.

Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.

Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.

Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.

Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.

So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.

“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”

“What do you mean?”

A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”

You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”

“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”

It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”

“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”

That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”

Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.

And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”

It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”

Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”

“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”

A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”

“Leave?”

He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”

You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.

“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”

Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.

(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)

and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air / began to pass through every pane of weathered glass / and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.

Yoongi’s birthday is soon.

Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.

You think thirty will look good on him.

The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.

So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.

You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”

“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”

“I went to the grocery store.”

“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”

That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”

“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”

He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.

“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.

“But I saw strawberries in there.”

“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”

As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.

—

Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.

You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.

He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You: He just left. Coast is clear.

Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours

You: No you haven’t

Seokjin: 499 hours*

When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.

“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”

It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.

So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.

Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”

“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”

He just sends you A Look.

—

You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.

“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”

“SURPRISE!”

Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”

Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”

Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.

“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”

“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”

“How did you—”

“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”

You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—

(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”

“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”

“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)

—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.

So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.

This one doesn’t hurt at all.

—

Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.

That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.

Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.

And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”

“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”

“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

—

By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.

By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.

“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”

He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.

“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”

“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”

“Real answer, please.”

You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”

His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.

“Am not. Ask me why.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”

“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”

“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”

There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.

“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.

“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”

Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.

—

(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)

i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine / i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late / and i should have given you a reason to stay.

The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.

Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.

And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.

There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.

But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.

And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.

Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?

So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.

(Everything reads like an attack.)

“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”

How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.

So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”

Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”

He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”

(Something that’s true.)

it felt just like falling in love again. and it felt just like falling in love again.

On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.

As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.

It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.

So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.

You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.

Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.

When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)

The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.

On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.

Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.

And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.

So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.

[interlude: monday morning]

(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.

This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)

looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try / to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

“Should we go home soon?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.

Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.

But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”

It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”

Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.

Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”

“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”

“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”

You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”

“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”

“Just seventy-five percent?”

“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”

You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”

“Not this shit again—”

“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”

“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”

“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”

“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”

Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”

“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”

“That you extended with my money.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

—

Saying goodbye is hard.

As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.

Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.

On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.

But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”

“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.

He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I’ve had this stuck in my head for days.”

You nod. You listen.

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”

You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back. so this is the new year.

It’s the thirtieth of December.

Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.

Good riddance.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.

You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

—

Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.

There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.

(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)

“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.

“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.

—

There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.

She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.

A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.

There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.

Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.

(Like each other.)

There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”

“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”

Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”

You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”

His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”

Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”

Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.

Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.

“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”

You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?

“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.

You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”

You are, and you do.

So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.

Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.

You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.

You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.

Another home.

—

(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.

Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.

You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)

if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.

i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.

i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

#btshoneyhive #btswritersclub #kvanity #bangtantheatrenet #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfiction #bts angst #yoongi imagine #bts imagines #bangtan #yoongi

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lostcherise · 1 month ago

Text

Green Is the Color

pairing: jesse pinkman x f!reader

summary: Jesse - a friend, a roommate, a fool who's hopelessly in love with you. He did his best keeping his feelings on check, but it all unraveled after one night you brought a guy home. (this is based on a request by @madzzz0797 my lovely mutual)

warnings/tags: roommates!au, pining, jealousy, allusions to masturbation, light angst (if you squint, i really need to improve on that), jealous jesse, smut, oral (m and f receiving), p in v,

word count: 8,237 (i'm sorry?? don't know what happened there)

Lady, lady love me, 'cause I love to lay here lazy.

Soft and distant singing was your alarm for the day, definitely a gentler sound than the angry robotic beeping of your digital alarm clock. A sleepy smile crept its way on your lips, your eyes still shut, and you snuggled deeper into the pillow with a content sigh. You rustled about a few more seconds beneath the covers, before you bravely opened your eyes and welcomed the warm glow of a sunny Sunday morning.

We got everything we need right here and everything we need it's enough. Just so easy when the whole world fits inside of your arms.

The singing grew louder as you made your way down the hallway to the kitchen, accompanied by some occasional clanking of utensils. Walking on your tiptoes, you tried your best to be as stealthy as possible, it was a rare occasion to get to listen to Jesse sing. Your smile grew, and you bit your bottom lip fighting the urge to laugh at him. Although he was off key at times, you somewhat enjoyed his singing voice; just as buttery smooth as always.

Like waking up too early, maybe we could sleep in. Make you banana pancakes, pretend like it's the weekend now.

With his back still turned to you, he kept on singing, only interrupting himself for a celebratory 'yeah bitch' after successfully flipping a pancake into the air, to which you failed to contain your laugh, so much for stealth.

"Shit," Jesse whipped his head back to look at you. So much for a greeting. "Good morning." he smiled, face a tomato red and quickly redirected his attention back on the stove and he really hoped you hadn't noticed the rosy hue adorning his cheeks.

"Good morning," you smiled back at him. "How come you're cooking breakfast?" you peered over his shoulder, the pancake batter bubbling to life before Jesse flipped it to reveal the golden brown bottom.

"It's my turn to make us breakfast for the weekend, remember?" Jesse noted the obvious, with a teasing raise of a brow.

Realization hit you, sleep ridden eyes widening softly. "You're right." you bumped his shoulder with yours.

You smiled at the little tradition you two had created a year ago, a year after living together as roommates. Each weekend you guys took turns to cook breakfast for one another. It had all started after you had seen Jesse cook for the first time, what you later realized was his favorite choice of breakfast food - huevos rancheros. Initially, it had come as a shock to you, he really gave off the impression that he hardly knew how to boil an egg, which you also had admitted to him. And that's when he took it upon himself, as a personal challenge to prove himself and made it a house rule that you alternate cooking breakfast for each other on the weekends.

"Banana pancakes on the menu today, m'lady." Jesse informed you in a fake posh accent.

"God, you know your way around a lady's heart." you sighed, with a resting palm on your chest, and placed a quick peck on Jesse's cheek. Before he could even register what had just happened, you were already setting the fully stacked plate onto the small white worn down kitchen table, right next to the small kitchen stand that housed various appliances you had no room for in your guys' small kitchen .

When you weren't looking, with your back turned to him while you set up the coffee maker, Jesse moved to graze the spot your lips had left their fiery mark on. His cheek still burned beneath his touch, even after one minute had passed- as if the blood coursing through his veins had suddenly transformed into molten lava burning him on the inside out. See, ever since you and Jesse had moved in together, he found himself in a rather sticky predicament.

He was in love with you. And you didn't know. And mostly likely did not share the sentiment. And that's why he kept his mouth shut about it, and opted to suffer in silence.

Even now to this day, two years after his big revelation, he was scared. Scared of how much he loved you, scared of how one day he'd wake up and decide that he would come clean, two years was a long time to keep to himself after all, and risk losing his most meaningful friendship yet. It had been two years since that one night Jesse had come to surprise you at the end of a very tiring day of work and evening classes. He remembered how your brows were furrowed, while you hugged an oversized hoodie you had confiscated from Jesse's clean laundry two weeks prior, closer to you. Your head was hung low, and you were paying no mind to your surroundings, so much so that Jesse had to honk to get your attention.

And the moment your mood shifted when you had noticed him, was the first time his heart swelled up in his chest. How a wide grin stretched on your face, and how you had jogged excitedly over to his beloved Monte Carlo. The second time was just minutes after you had gotten in and and he had suggested you drop by your favorite ice cream parlor for a much needed pick me up. Jesse took much pride in being able to read you so well and know what you need in an instant, and that's how he had come to the conclusion that night that we was falling for you at light speed.

Deep down he knew that no good was bound to come out of this situation he had created for himself, but to his defense that wasn't entirely his fault; you had your part to play in this too. With the way your eyes twinkled when the sun shone just right during the golden hours of the day, the way they crinkled at the corners every time you laughed at a sorry attempt of a joke he would make, the way your nose would scrunch in distaste whenever you didn't like something, the way your plush lips pursed whenever you were deep in thought, the way your smell lingered on for just a few fleeting seconds whenever you would leave his side. You smelled like a mix of pears, oranges and jasmine, which in turn reminded him of being bundled up on the couch on a cozy autumn afternoon. And Jesse would be a liar to say that he didn't often dream of spending most of his days like that with you.

A series of expletives left Jesse's mouth, which in turn had your attention. You whipped your head back, just in time to see a black disk being discarded into the bin. "Mmm, crispy." you mused, scrunching your face in mock delight with a shimy of your shoulders.

"Shut up." Jesse flipped you off, but the smile dancing on his lips showed no annoyance.

With a playful eyeroll, you set two steaming cups of cheap drip coffe on the table. Jesse soon followed, a sugar jar on one hand and a bottle of maple syrup on the other. You stacked a couple of of pancakes onto your plate and proceeded to drizzle a bit of maple syrup on top, all the while Jesse threw in his fifth spoonful of sugar in his coffee. "I'm still surprised you have teeth." you quipped.

"These bad boys?" Jesse bared his surprisingly straight pearly whites at you. "Nah, they've been through worse." he shrugged and proceeded to take a sip of his coffee flavored syrup with a hum. And he was right; he'd been four years sober and you couldn't be more proud of him. Although he hardly believed so himself, Jesse had really managed to turn his life around. Getting kicked out of his aunt's house at just 19 was the start of a long journey towards recovery for him. At first the path was lonely with a lot of setbacks. His first struggle: passing his SATs and getting accepted to college. That was when you had come into the picture and that was when the steep uphill towards the top was less bleak with you on his side.

"That's why you should appreciate them more." you countered, left cheek all puffed and rounded, filled with sweet pillowy goodness that you washed down with bitter coffee, the contrasting flavors on your taste receptors sending happy signals to the neurons in your brain. Another bite, another appreciative hum that resembled a moan a little too much. With a quirk of a brow, you shot Jesse a quizzical look that fell unnoticed as he was too busy shoveling food in his mouth while fidgeting on his seat.

What you did not know was that at that moment, Jesse was fighting his own personal hell; trying to get those sinful sounds of yours out of his head. You really had no business moaning over some banana pancakes, he wasn't even that great of a cook; you had to be exaggerating on purpose. If that was the case, then you had definitely gotten what you wanted.

Oblivious, you continued eating, almost quietly. Almost. After every two bites or so, you'd sneakily slip a quiet moan that would have Jesse twitching in his pants. "You know what I think?" you asked, swallowing the last bite of your pancakes. "Ditch business," you pointed a fork at him, before grabbing another pancake from the now smaller stack. "Go to culinary school." To which you earned a disbelieving snort from him.

"You know what I think?" it was Jesse's turn to ask you that. He leaned in, his eyes gleaming with something more as they studied your face and in those seconds you took the chance to drink him in too. The five o'clock shadow that accentuated his chiseled cheeks and jawline, his eyes; the bluest oceans you often found yourself helplessly drowning in, the way the corners of his lips quirked into a smirk. "You pretend you like my cooking so you can get in my pants." he teased, his tone lower than usual.

"What would you do then?" you asked, surprising even yourself with your fowrward question. Part of you wouldn't mind if Jesse would brush it off entirely, pretend nothing was ever said, yet curiosity was eating at you from the inside. What would he do? What did you want him to do? It so seemed that Jesse was more dumbfounded at your brazeness, as he was a sputtering mess, wide eyes avoiding yours entirely, seemingly more focused on finishing his breakfast. Surprisingly so, another small part of you grew disappointed as seconds ticked by and Jesse remained silent, downing the last sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

"Gonna hit the, uh," he paused to clear his throat, voice thick and strained. "Hit the shower..." Jesse jutted his jaw on one side, the tip of his tongue rolling beneath his cheek and without saying much else, getting up in a hurry. Your gaze trailed his retreating form, until he disappeared into the hallway, and inside the bathroom.

A few seconds pass, before you decide to go back to your room, that was conveniently next to the bathroom. The sound of the shower running resonated through your room in a low, steady hum. You crawled into bed and closed your eyes as you laid there, relaxing.

Until you heard it.

At first you thought your mind was playing tricks on you, but no, you heard it again. A little louder this time. With your eyes transfixed on the ceiling, your mouth fell open as you let out a silent gasp. There it was again, it was almost being drowned out by the water running, but being right next to the bathroom it was hard to miss the sounds of Jesse moaning. Heat rushed to your cheeks, it felt so wrong, as if you were intruding in on his personal time. You could leave, hang around in the living room, until he finished, literally. Or, you could lay there and listen to Jesse struggle to keep his voice down, his sinful whimpers growing a tad louder as he brought himself closer to the edge.

"Jesus." your heart was threatening to burst out of your chest at high speed. A familiar burning traveled all the way from your chest and nestled in your abdomen, your body pumping with a feeling you couldn't exactly put your finger on. Out of their own accord your thighs squeezed and squeezed until you could get a semblance of euphoria, but it was not enough. Jesse's muffled moans grew in frequency and a few curse words slipping in here and there, and you could hear the urgency in his voice.

"Oh....fuck." it was long and drawn out, and it was like music to your ears. Silence fell from the other side of the wall other than the water hitting the shower tiles, which also stopped after a minute or two. Your heart was beating so fast, you could hear the blood pumping in your ears, because what the fuck had just happened? You had just eavesdropped on your roommate masturbating and you enjoyed it. With a swift swipe of your tongue over your dry lips, you let out a sigh and turned your head to glare at the top drawer of your nightstand.

With a scrunch of your brows, you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, and reached inside for your old trusty pink vibrator. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, an alien sound leaving your lips as you sucked air in, and stared at the small yet wondrous toy in your hand. It sort of felt wrong that you were so turned on by your roommate jacking off, but you were so dead set on chasing your own high at that moment that you gave no second thoughts, and the toy buzzed to life.

The next weeks were pretty much spent trying not to think about that one Sunday morning, so much so that you sought temporary solutions in going out on dates, but to no avail. You couldn't quite put a finger on what it was, maybe like the fact that you looked for Jesse in all the guys you had gone out this, 'but Jesse...' always lingering in your mind as an afterthought to every little thing. You didn't know what it was exactly about that morning, but it had awakened suppressed emotions you hadn't even realized you had, or had chosen to ignore them. Only one guy, Andrew, was deemed worthy and made the cut, and that was only because he had earned the least amount of 'but Jesse's out of the previous ones, so he had earned himself a third date.

That is how you had ended up stumbling in inside your dark apartment, your tangled bodies hitting your entryway stand in a frenzied state of kissing and groping.

"Shh," you mumbled in between kisses, but that only seemed to spur Andrew on, and he let out a throaty moan the moment your fingers tugged at his golden brown hair, that very much resembled Jesse's. "Be quiet, you're gonna wake my roommate up." you broke the kiss with a whisper and blindly dragged him towards your room.

Meanwhile, he tried to attatch his lips wherever he could, whether it were along your arms, the side of your neck to which you moaned, only because your mind was wandering off to a certain someone. "I can. Question is," he paused, his lips overing just above your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin. "Can you?" Easy there tiger, was how you truly wanted to respond, yet you masked it with a moan. He was sweet talking you the entire time but his words fell unnoticed as they mindlessly slipped from one ear and out the other. Clothes were being discarded in a frenzy and soon enough you found yourself tangled in between the sheets with the almost stranger.

The nightstand lamp cast a soft glow on his features, your eyes scanning his face, searching for a sense of familiarity. You found it in his eyes, the same hue as Jesse's yet they weren't the same at all. Andrew leaned down to bury himself in your neck, and your eyelids fluttered shut and pictured the only pair of blues you were longing for, while Andrew worked his way on your body, set on getting you there. The room was filled with noises of you, moans mixing in with the rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin, that only grew faster by the minute. There it was, that familiar burning growing within, ready to envelop you like a wildfire. With furrowed brows, you tried to consentrate on it, trying your damn hardest not to let it slip away. Above you, Adrew groaned hotly, his rhythm growing sloppier by the second, and his hips stuttered as he stilled inside you and spilled into the condom.

And just like that, the fire dwindled.

Jesse dragged his feet across the hardwood floor, sluggishly making his way to the kitchen, dragging a hand across his bed ridden eyes and face. Despite having splashed his face with cold water, he couldn't get rid of the sleepiness, maybe a cup of coffee would do the trick. As he neared the kitchen, he heard rustling and your muffled voice, probably talking on the phone, he assumed. He neared the kitchen entrance with a smile, ready to greet you and his entire mood shifted.

Where Jesse normally sat on the kitchen table, when he would share his meals with you, was another man. Jesse's heart plummeted and it felt as it was being cut to pieces with a blunt butterknife, slow and painful. Maybe he was overreacting, but the way that stranger had moved the chair to be closer to you, the way his body was shifted close to yours, and the fucking way he was playing with your hands while you talked; it drove him over the edge. His chest heaved and he clutched the hem of his oversized graphic tee, trying to keep the little green monster growing inside him at bay.

You giggled at something the guy said to you and Jesse's chest constricted, only he got to make you laugh like that. At that moment, your gaze lifted up and connected with Jesse's, surprise painted on your features for just a couple of seconds, but you hid it with a smile. "Jesse, good morning. I made extra coffee for you." you pointed at the coffee maker.

"Mhm, morning," he mumbled under his breath. "Thanks." he tried a little louder, his voice coming out broken from the lack of use and all the pent up emotion that tightened around his throat.

"Andrew, this is my roommate I was telling you about." you turned your attention to the guy next to you. "Jesse, this is Andrew."

"Hi." Andrew greeted Jesse after a beat of silence. "You know," he chuckled dryly. "I thought your roommate would be a girl, to be honest." his laugh dying out as both you and Jesse remained silent, you only giving a polite smile in response and Jesse glared at how he was still holding your hand. He didn't even know this guy, if it was serious, surely he would know you were seeing somebody, so why was holding your hand as if you two were dating?

"Why, you'd feel less threatened?" Jesse grumbled coarsely. In turn, Andrew's smile fell in an instant, his lips pursing in an o shape as he tried to process Jesse's comment. Just as shocked at Jesse's sudden aggressiveness, you momentarily pushed your head back and frowned in surprise, your eyes holding a silent conversation with his, to which Jesse merely shrugged in response. Quietly, he grabbed his favorite mug - it was a Billy the Puppet mug you had gifted him on his birthday about a year ago - poured himself some coffee and left the kitchen without a word.

Once in the livng room, the TV came to life, Jesse flipping the channels mindlessly until he settled on some Seinfeld reruns. Ten minutes into the episode, he heard your voices approaching, yet he didn't turn his head to look as you bid Andrew farewell. Although, from the corner of his eye he was able to catch a glimpse of Andrew leaning down on your level and pecking you on the lips just as he was leaving. Jesse's top lip curled, the jealousy eating him up on the inside; that should've been him. And that chance was lost on him because he was a fucking coward, he had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. It's just that he hadn't expected it would hurt him so much and he was being unreasonably selfish for wishing things wouldn't work out between you two.

The TV screen went black, which earned you an angry scowl from Jesse. "Yo, I was watching that!" his tone raised.

"What was that?" you asked in the same tone, chucking the TV remote at his chest. Jesse's frown deepened, whispering a silent ow, while he rubbed the sore spot of impact.

"What was what?" Jesse asked indignantly, emphasizing his t's.

"Back then," you stated obviously. "In the kitchen?" you pointed at that direction, trying to get your point accross.

Jesse let out a sarcastic snort. "Just stated the obvious." he replied more calmly this time, his eyes locked in on yours.

"Well," your chest puffed out as you took in a deep breath, the motion catching Jesse's gaze, making his mind briefly wander off to somewhere else. "It was rude." To which Jesse merely scoffed at as a response.

Silence fell over both of you, the tension grew and a frown resurfaced on Jesse's features again. "Look, I-" he paused to clear his throat, also recollecting his thoughts in the meantime. "I'm sorry. I'll be nicer next time." If there will be one, Jesse wanted to add but he would be treading on thin ice after that.

"You seem to like him." he pointed out, taking in a few seconds to study your face, yet he couldn't really put a finger on the emotion painted on it, it almost gave off a vibe of uncertainty. "How long you two been goin' out?" he questioned hesitantly.

"Not long." you shrugged, tucking a strand behind your ear, then rubbing the base of your neck. That is your tell when you're nervous, Jesse noted silently to himself. "Third date was last night."

Ah. Jesse's brows rose momentarily, the corners of his lips turning down and h,e let out a soft hum. He was aware of what happened on the third date, however, he wasn't expecting for him to have slept over. Maybe it was growing more serious faster than he thought. The monster inside him grew, its angry green vines tightening around his heart, causing his brain to paint pictures of you and him tangled in between the sheets, touching you in places Jesse could only do so in a wet dream.

"Well, I hope it goes well." he lied through his teeth, topping it off with a smile, in hopes of sounding more sincere.

It had, much to Jesse's disappointed, but he tried to keep that to himself, save for the sneering looks he'd throw Andrew's way the times he'd show up at your guys' apartment. All the while, Jesse tried to keep his distance the following weeks, because to himself that was the best course of action, which was turning out to be a terrible idea. Because he wasn't a regular friend, and stepping down to that status seemed to be hurting him more than not being able to be your boyfriend. In the midst of it all, he was also hurting you, it was painted on your face every day. Mainly the reason why he'd be cooped up in his room on his free time, to avoid seeing the hurt look on your face.

Jesse was no stranger when it came to addiction, you were his vice. The most addictive drug he had ever been on; his highest highs, his lowest lows, and he was going through major withdrawal symptoms. Avoiding you like that was doing serious damage to his psyche. He was trying his damnest to detach himself from you. However, the harder he tried, the more he felt the urge to crawl into your bed, curl up against you, hold you tight until his body would mold into yours and the two of you would finally become one in the most literal sense.

Saturday morning had rolled, and Jesse having woken up first, made himself a cup of coffee. He had dragged his chair right next to the open kitchen window, blowing smoke from his cigarette outside - you hated it when he smoked it up inside the house, especially in the kitchen. After one long drag, he took a sip of coffee. Cigarettes and coffee, breakfast of champions, he thought and chuckled dryly to himself.

"Jesse, we've talked about this before." your voice sounded defeated.

"Cigarette's outside the house." he argued.

"Barely." you scoffed with a shake of your head, moving to open the hood fan to get rid of any lingering smells. No reply came from him, but him putting out his cigarette when he was barely finished with it, was enough of an answer for you.

After a quick inspection around the kitchen, you realized the sink was empty, no dirty dishes cluttering the basin, all counters and kitchen table empty, too. "No breakfast today?" you mused, unable to hide the sadness in your voice.

Jesse replied indifferently with a grunt. "Nah, fridge was empty."

Exasperated, you let out a huff through flared nostrils. "What's up with you?"

That question made Jesse stir in his seat. "Dunno what you mean." he replied with a curt jerk of his shoulders.

You move to stand near him, leaning forward to catch his avoidant gaze. "Jesse, we barely talk? And even when we do it feels as if it's done out of necessity. Also, you never," your tone increased and you followed with a pause, just for the added dramatics. "Ever, forget our weekend breakfasts." Jesse's silence fell heavy between the two of you, a disappointed scowl gracing your face. That's what upset Jesse even more, he'd rather have you be annoyed, angry at him, than disappointed. Anything. Anything but disappointed, because he feared that's when he would start losing you.

Torn at the turn of events, Jesse was beginning to second guess his method and it seemed he was left with the only option he had left. That, of course, was to come clean, which was much easier in theory.

"Don't you have like a date to go to?" Jesse asked, dismissing your previous comments entirely. His lips were formed in a tight line, he was unsure of why he was asking that, knowing the answer would hurt him.

"Actually... we broke up two days ago."

"Yeah? Why?" Jesse kept his head hung low, however he lifted his gaze to study you. There was a large hole at the hem of your shirt, it had once belonged to him and even used to be one of his favorites, up until one time it got snagged in the dryer. It had become your go to sleep attire from then on. Your finger kept tracing circles around the edges of the hole nervously.

"Don't know, I broke up with him. It felt as if something was missing."

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm good." your voice brightened a bit, the usual perk in your tone almost there. "He was more bummed than me, though." you grimaced and shrugged it off.

Jesse simply nodded in response, this time really lifting his head to properly look at you and he swore you looked as if there was something else lingering at the tip of your tongue, but you kept your lips sealed. Instead, you asked, "Wanna grab waffles?"

The drive back home was silent, the only sound in the car cabin was the occasional slurping of your lemon flavored slushy. Although, you had somewhat tried to maintain your weekend tradition, your shared breakfast seemed more forced than having a date with a guy your mom had set you up with. Without having realized you had just arrived home, Jesse had just pulled the handbrake up, the croaking of the lever breaking you out of your trance. On the way up the stairs, Jesse kept his pace up a few steps ahead of you, the soles of his Nikes screeching as they rubbed against the stairs. The flesh of your bottom lip was trapped beneath your teeth, the corners of your mouth also forming a harsh frown. A dull pain shot through you when you dug your teeth in deeper, while you tried to bury your frustration building up within. You were losing your best friend and worst part of it all was you didn't know why.

First thing Jesse did once he set foot in, was chuck his black beanie on the hallway stand, most of his sandy brown hair was sticking out in various places in a disheveled mess, while the ones closer to his face stuck on his skin, a shade darker and wet with sweat.

"Jesse."

"Jesse." you repeated sternly, not accepting his low grumble of a response.

"What?"

You bit your lip again, the frustration brewing in your stomach making you nauseous. "You tell me."

"There's nothing to tell." Jesse feigned confusion, again. He kicked off he shoes and trudged to the living room, plopping himself on the sofa, the old piece of furniture groaning beneath his weight. You followed in, only seconds after, each step growing more powerful as frustration turned into anger.

"Don't play dumb with me. Tell me what's going on." you demanded as you stopped to stand in front of him, between the couch and coffee table.

Jesse's forehead wrinkled in exasperation, his icy blues bore into you. Though, just for two seconds and they fell back on his lap.

"You've been avoiding me, and don't you dare," you pointed a finger at him just as his head snapped up, his mouth moving to say something, "Don't," you paused again, closing your eyes and exhaling, "Don't you dare deny it."

Jesse sat there stunned and accepted your outburst in silence, because he wasn't dumb to not know it was well deserved. Your eyes left his form and darted up to the ceiling, feeling the corners tickling with fresh, warm tears that threatened to spill. "I feel... I feel like I'm losing you. I'm losing us." you cried into the ceiling. "I'm losing us and it hurts."

"Yeah, well loving you hurts me more." Jesse snapped, jumping up to his feet. "Every day hurts because I'll always be your best friend, your-your r-roommate," he spat those words out as if they were poison. "It fucking hurts how you try and find happiness in other guys, yet it never works out. I-I could make it work out, but you won't give me a chance." he was yelling at this point, his neck red and strained while his voice ripped through.

Dumbstruck you stand there with your mouth agape, your mind in a state of delirium upon hearing Jesse's confession. Your stomach was doing somersaults and if you felt nauseous before, then now you definitely felt like throwing up. It seemed as if it was your body's natural response at that point.

"I want to be happy for you, I do. Call me selfish all you want, but I can't stand you looking happy in somebody else's arms - like that bitch, Andrew." Jesse spat his name.

"I wasn't." you whisper, and upon Jesse's silence you continue, "I wasn't happy with him, I mean. That's why I broke up with him; because in every thing he did, I kept searching for you in him and it was never going to work out." you confess, waiting for Jesse's response. His eyes darted left and right as he was trying to process your own confession.

He sized you up, lingering for a little longer on your lips. "So what does this mean?" he asked lowly, voice tired and hoarse.

"Just fucking kiss me, dumbass."

In light speed, his lips came crashing down on yours; teeth clashing and all. It was by no means what you would usually describe as a perfect kiss, though it was full of raw and pent up emotion, so much so that you were flying on cloud nine. With every move of his lips against yours, he unleashed the sea of emotions into you; that way he wasn't drowning anymore, that way he could finally stay afloat with you by his side.

"I love you too." you whisper softly against his lips, before pulling him in for another kiss, more gentle this time. You use your body to push his back down on the couch, landing with a loud thump. Automatically, your legs are on either side of his hips, your core nestled against his thigh when you opened up your legs to shift yourself to sit closer to him on his lap. Your hands held on his cheeks while you moved to kiss every inch of his face, your thumbs caressing loving shapes on his skin. Settling with a ghost of a kiss on the corner of his lips, you move to nuzzle your nose against his, your foreheads touching.

"I want you, so bad." his hot breath fanned against your face, it tickled your lips and you closed the gap between you to satisfy the itch. Slowly, but surely, you felt yourself melting into him with each passing second, with each swipe of his curious tongue against yours. Jesse's kisses were like a drug, and now that you had finally had your first taste, you were already hooked. His cheeks burned hot beneath your palms, also loving the contrast of the soft skin on his cheekbones, with the roughness of his four day stubble. Reluctantly, you moved your hands away from his face, resting them on his shoulders, massaging them and moving to do the same on his chest and then back up.

Meanwhile, Jesse's hands were on your lower back, too hesitant to move down to squeeze the slopes of your ass. "I want you to touch me."

Jesse groaned, his hands immediately taking heed of your command. While his hands were preoccupied, he moved down to attack your neck with a trail of blazing kisses, stopping once he had found that sweet spot that had you writhing on his lap, where it turned into biting and sucking on supple skin, selfishly branding your skin purple. All the while, your hands slowly crept down his abdomen and up his shirt, memorizing how every inch of him felt. Thinking that it would be easier to do so without a shirt on, your hands found their way on his hoodie, peeling it off his shoulders. Jesse abandoned his post on your neck for a few seconds, so he could pull his t-shirt off his head, his upper body completely bare; he was all lean muscle.

"Take off yours too." he mumbled, his hungry mouth attatched to your neck once more.

"Mhm, no." you giggled as he playfully bit you.

"Not fair, mine's off." Jesse complained. His deep, gravelly voice rumbled against your skin, causing electrifying bursts of pleasure to vibrate thoughout your entire body. His hands were off your ass, already hitching your sweater up, his nimble fingers moving up to trace the outline of your unclad breasts. "Shit, no bra?" he bit his lip and broke into a wolfish grin, making heat rise all the way up to the tips of your ears.

Your hands abandoned their resting place on his chest and moved above your head. Jesse lowered his head, but his big blue eyes stared up at you his pupils blown out from all the love and deep want he held for you. Ever so tantalizingly slow, he pulled your sweater up inch by inch, placing hot open mouth kisses on each inch of skin slowly revealed. Once the garment was fully off your head and on the living room floor somewhere, he buried his face in the valley of your breasts, his nose rubbing against the mounts of flesh, as he took a hardened nipple in his mouth.

Not once did his eyes leave yours, his powerful gaze along with his gentle assault on your nub had you moaning and clenching around nothing. His lips curled around your nipple sucking it even further into his mouth, all the while his tongue curled around it. The pent up need and desire was accumulating in your chest and it felt like a nuclear reactor about to go off. Jesse moved to pull back from your breast, only after softly biting and grazing his teeth on your soft flesh, causing you to take in broken breaths.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" he said and rested his chin on your chest. His eyes were wide open, literally and figuratively, so open he was allowing you to look in to all those feelings he had tried to keep hidden; for the first time in years he had the chance to be really open with you without any fear whatsoever. At a loss for words, you simply pulled him in for a searing kiss, fingers coming up to tangle at the roots at the back of his head, his own mimicking your actions. Too lost in the moment, you started grinding down on him, feeling him harden through his baggy sweats.

"Let me help you with that, hm?" you whispered hotly in his ear, biting on his earlobe and tugging harshly, earning a shocked moan from him. You pulled back just in time to see his face flushing a beet red and you smiled smugly. You took your own sweet time as you slid off his lap, not wasting any second to leave his chest and abs unattended, making sure his skin was marked. Teasingly, you halted for a moment, your lips hovering over his clothed length for a couple of seconds before you made contact with him, mouthing his cock over the cotton fabric of his sweats. His thighs had now replaced his shoulders as your resting place, and you made sure you massaged him as your curious hands worked through their ascent towards his waistline. Immediately, your fingers hooked around the elastic bands of his sweats and boxers, pulling them both down with a swift movement; Jesse slightly moving his hips upwards to assist you.

His hardened cock sprang free and you took a moment to drink in the sight of him, all spread out on the couch, flushed and naked. Your thighs rubbed together, the heat in your core increasing just by looking at him. Wanting to savor this moment, you started slowly kissing your way up his inner thighs, until the tip of your nose bumped against his balls. Teasingly, you took one in your mouth, swirling your tongue around. A strained curse was heard above you and you lifted your eyes to see that Jesse's were shut, his face contorted in pleasure. Your hand was wrapped around his shaft, idly moving up and down in a circular motion, coming all the way to his tip to collect the bead of precum, and rubbing it all along his length as you stroked your way back down. Your mouth found its way on his other ball, repeating the same rolling action with your tongue, before moving to put both in your mouth.

With a lewd sound, you pulled away, a string of drool connecting his balls and your mouth. Collecting more spit, you spat on his tip and slathered his girth with it. You took a moment to examine the sight in front of you, moving to lock gazes with Jesse, both of you looking at each other with lust blown eyes. Biting your lip, you teased your way to his tip, beginning to suckle on it gently. After a few seconds of only paying attention to his head, Jesse was growing impatient, trying to thrust himself further into your mouth, "Fuck, you're killing me." he let out a high pitched whimper.

Almost sorry for teasing him, you bob your head up and down, easing him on gently against your tongue, allowing your jaw to get used to his size as you took him deeper, inch by inch. Finally, with a low hum your nose bumped against his pelvis the moment you took him all in. You'd never been so full. Pulling away for a much needed breath of air, you returned to the task ahead of you, with much more vigor, suppressing your gags as you rhythmically bobbed your head up and down his shaft; making sure to hollow out your cheeks for extra suction.

Jesse was a whimpering mess and his sounds took you back to that day you had overheard him pleasuring himself, the memories of that day fueling the fire burning within you. Your own moans vibrated against his cock, making his whimpering moans grow in volume. The wet patch on your underwear just reminded you of how much you also longed for his touch, but you kept on gowing until you felt your jaw numbing, only then did you pull away.

Your lips urgently met his in a frantic, yet passionate kiss. "I want to feel your lips on mine." you whispered lowly.

For a second, that left Jesse confused, given how he was just kissing you, until realization finally clicked and he immediately sprang to action. Your positions were now reversed, helping Jesse unbutton your jeans as his trembling hands struggled. "I'm sorry, I'm a little nervous." he apologized, seemingly embarrassed.

"Me too." you reassured, unzipping your pants and letting them peel your jeans off of you; the pair of pants meeting its fate on the floor along with all the other discarded items of clothing. You were left in just some old pink cotton hipster briefs; your choice of underwear clearly showing that you hadn't been expecting this turn of events. Though, to Jesse you still looked hot, hell, he'd think the same if you even wore a sack of potatoes. He gulped loudly, his eyes transfixed on the large wet spot in the middle of your undies; God, you were soaked.

Unlike you, he skipped the teasing entirely, diving straight into work, ripping your panties off of you and delving into your pussy. He was eating you like a man starved, nose buried up all up in your pussy, constricting his airflow, but he didn't care, he was ready to suffocate. Just then, he made it his life's mission; to die nose deep in your needy pussy, the thought bringing him utter bliss. With just one taste of you, he was already drunk on your taste.

He hummed against your center, his tongue moving in circles around your swollen clit in a steady motion that was bringing you closer and closer to seeing stars. Breaking away for a much needed breath of air, he angled your hips forward closer to the edge, throwing your legs up wide and open. He kneeled a bit further, taking a mental picture of the sight in front of him. "I'll never get tired of seeing this." he moaned, angling himself lower to proceed on pleasuring you. His tongue lapped up all your juices and slid in and out of you; your soft muscles tightening around him. You glanced down on him, noticing how his right arm was moving up and down stroking himself while he ate you out. His voice vibrated against you in a low moan, and you felt your thighs quake as you were nearing to the edge.

"Please, I need you." you begged, tugging at his hair in a motion for him to stop. Funnily, Jesse seemed to be more disappointed than you, not being able to get you off at least once before he was inside you, but if you were so willing to forgo that part, then he didn't mind; anything to keep you happy.

Soon enough, Jesse found himself sitting on the couch once more with you straddling his lap. Your hand moved in between you, grabbing on the base of his dick, angling his tip right at your entrance. Given how wet you were, you sank down on him with ease, and you sat unmoving for a few seconds relishing in the way he filled you up just right, as if your bodies were made for each other. Jesse's hands found their way on the flesh of your ass, squeezing you lightly and moving to grind your hips against his in a motion for you to start moving. With no further need for instructions, your hips began rocking up and down in a familiar motion on his length.

Jesse's right arm snaked around your waist, holding you down and pulling you in, flush against his chest, while his other hand moved to cup the side of your face to bring you in for a kiss. It was the gentlest kiss you'd exchanged thus far, his lips slow and deliberate against yours. You moaned against his lips, your clit occasioanlly rubbing against his pelvis, each time you gound your hips as you came down on his cock, causing your walls to tighten around him as you were a few steps away from nearing your release. Jesse was too, given how he couldn't contain his moans and whimpers, accompanied by a series of praise for you.

"You ride me so well, baby." Baby, such an ordinary word, yet it had you reeling with a flurry of emotions. You didn't mind though, in fact you should get used to that now.

Your ass slapped against his thighs rhythmically, the set pace quickening with each descent.

"Oh, God baby, I'm so close." you whined and pressed your forehead against his. You stopped going up and down and started to grind your hips against his, seeking the much needed friction on your clit to bring you over the edge.

"Let it out for me, let it all out." Jesse whispered before he pulled you in for yet another kiss. Angry red scratches marked his chest and you dug them even deeper once your hips stalled their movement. Your orgasm ripped though you in a hot white flash and your thighs trembled with pleasure.

Not given even a second to recollect yourself, Jesse gripped your hips so hard they would be bruised tomorrow. Angling you a bit higher, his hips began pounding into you in a fervent pace. Your hands steadied themselves around his neck, your fingers locked in around the roots of his hair. They were a bit sweaty, but so were yours and you truly didn't mind. All you cared about at that moment was to get to see him come. His breath came out in broken gasps, mingled in with some moans here and there and beads of sweat collected on the corners of his brows. Overstimulated from your previous orgasm, you felt your walls tighten around him once more, a telltale sign of the fire igniting within you once more.

One of his hands left your hip and moved up to brush away loose stands that were sticking to your sweaty forehead, his touch featherlight and sweet, in contrast to the way he was fucking into you like a madman. "I'm gonna come." he groaned.

So lost in bliss, all you could do was nod. His pelvic bone was hitting against your clit, just the right way for you to clench around him and come undone once more. You came so hard your breath was knocked over and you felt like passing out. Jesse hissed, your cunt still pulsed around him and it sent him over the edge with a groan. His already tight grip tightened even more the moment he spilled into you, coating your walls white with his cum. After a few seconds, his moans died out and his head slumped back on the couch and looked up to the ceiling. "Shit that was..."

"That was amazing." you both spoke at the same time and broke into a smile.

You were still on him, he was still in you and if it weren't for his cum dripping out as his cock softened you would've stayed like that a little longer. However, afraid to make a mess, Jesse got up to grab a clean washcloth you wipe you both clean. Once you were both all wiped up, you laid down on the couch in a tangled mess of naked limbs.

Both of you remained quiet, there was no need to say anything for the moment was perfect as it was; you on his chest, hearing the steady drum of his heart, him drawing soothing patterns on your back. Seconds after, though it was Jesse who broke the silence as a thought occured to him.

"Whose room are we gonna sleep now?"

tags: @madzzz0797 @nika-sophie05

#jesse pinkman #jesse pinkman x reader #jesse pinkman smut #jesse pinkman angst #jesse pinkman fluff #breaking bad #smut

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elvishdemigod · 2 months ago

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If I had a nickel for every red haired girl with Telepathy and/or Prophetic powers-

From left to right, top to bottom: Theresa - Class of The Titans Jean Grey - X-Men Rachel Elizabeth Dare - Percy Jackson April O'Neil - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2012) Gwen Tennyson - Ben 10 Atom Eve - Invincible Miss Martian - DCU Bloom - Winx Jesse Faden - Control

(If there's any more, let me know and I'll update it. As this seems to be a reoccurring thing for some reason)

#elfdemiposts #red hair #x-men #jean grey #tmnt 2012 #april o'neil #rachel elizabeth dare #rachel dare #theresa cott #pjo #class of the titans #gwen tennyson #ben 10 #atom eve #invincible #miss martian #dcu #winx bloom #winx

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chaoticsomeone · 1 year ago

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Heartrender!Reader x The Spiderverse Characters

Headcanon

(Im new a writing so i'm giving this a shot)

| Heartrenders have the ability to manipulate the body. They can snatch the air from your lungs, slow your pulse until you fall into a coma, or even literally crush your heart—all from a distance |

Seeing/when told that you put a villain into a coma

Miles, Miles 42, Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla?

Miles Morales

Doesn't know whether or not he should be afraid or amazed. (Hes more amazed than afraid)

Immediately asks alot of questions

"So can you actually just murder someone in a second?"

"Can you hear/feel people's heartbeats?"

You told him yes to both of that questions and he just goes "That's amazing. How did you get your powers. I mean we spiderpeople get bit by spiders but what about you?"

"I'm born with it" you said smiling

More wows

He continues asking about it again but now 'scientifically'

(Miles x Gwen) Asks you if you can find out whether or not gwen likes him

(Romantic you x him) Asking you out buy bringing you to a science museum

(Platonic) He got tickets to a science museum for you and the crew

You showed him and the others that you can manipulate a heart on display to move

(Romantic) melts and heart speeding everytime you impress him even though he knows you can sense it

Miles Morales (Earth-42)

(Romantically) Fell in love with you the moment you walked into his dimension with the spidercrew even though he doesnt know anything about you

Think its cool that you're a heartrender

Asks you to slow down the other miles's pulse

He tells you he ships the other Miles and Gwen

Asks you to make them both blush and get a higher heart rate near each other

You both laugh together

Thinks you're the coolest person he has met when Hobie tells him how you put someone into a coma so easily

Asks you 2-3 questions but thats it

Will actually ask you politely to come with him on one patrol to help him put his enemies into a coma for a few months so he could take a leave and break

Gwen Stacy

First time you told her she asks you to knockout a villain just for jokes

When you actually did she was shocked and a little bit afraid

When you told her you 'accidentally' put them into a coma she was like "Wow"

(If platonic)Secretly annoyed that Jess didn't adopt her too because she wants to be your sister

(Romantic) Has a crush on you but is wary so that you dont detect her heart rate

Shes just listening closely to miles basically interviewing you

At one point asking you to help her at a science fair when shes teaming up with Miles to perform a trick on people

The trick being making them pass out for a second then bringing them back

Hobie Brown (Im sorry idk much abt him)

Says smth along the lines of "cool, try doing it to Pav and bring him back out of it"

After this he asks you to come to his universe to give the people he dislikes a heart attack.

A painful one

Proud of the science fair you and Miles did

Pavitr Prabhakar

Same reaction as Miles

Continues asking stuff with miles

Like "So you can actually know if someone has a crush on you?"

Becomes happy when you say yes

Asks you to come with him to meet Gayatri

At the end of the three of you meeting he asks you if you felt Gayatri or his heart beating up

Blushes and becomes giddy when you tell him both of them has a high heart rate near eachother

(Platonic)Eventually becomes best friends in crime and inseperable

(Romantic) both him and Gayatri became close with you and asks you to date them(?)

Miguel O'hara

Wary of you

Asks Lyla to watch over you during missions

Keeps a close eye of you to make sure you don't distrupt Cannon because you aren't a spiderman

When Jess recruited you he wasn't happy

Gave you a long speech when he learned that you put someone into a coma

Told you about dont do that or that or this when it is this that just to make sure you dont disturb cannon

Warms up to you eventually

Keeps you close to help him calm down sometimes

Jessica Drew

Recruited you even though you aren't a spider

Trained you to do combat outside of your powers

Genuinely adopts you

Looks out for you

Defends you against Miguel any day

You helped her name her daughter

You always is there to help her with her pregnancy by checking on the baby's heartbeat and all

If she has a health issue you are always the first she calls (everyone too tbh)

"That's my girl" when you put that one villain you and the others were fighting into a coma.

Lyla

Watches over you every second of everytime because of two things

Miguel or

Just pure curiosity of your powe4s

Reports back to miguel in an instant when you put the villain into a coma

Writes/keeps track of everything she knows about heartrenders

Interviews you with Miguel and Jessica every now and then to aks if you found or learnt anything new about heartrending

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elliesmainhoe · 11 months ago

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New Year's Day

Ellie Williams x Fem! Reader

summary: you and Ellie host your first ever New years Eve party, and as you both clean up the mess your friends had left in their wake.

Content Warnings: alcohol?, nothing really just fluff tbh.

(based on 'new years day' by Taylor Swift)

there's glitter on the floor after the party.

as your eyes flickered open, the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume immediately hitting you, immediately feeling regret of offering up yours an Ellie's shared apartment to host your friends annual New Year's Eve party.

"g'mornin' pretty girl" a rough voice rasped out, the feeling of your girlfriends hands brushing through your hair as you both slowly awoke from your slumber on the leather couch.

the sight of Ellie was amusing for sure. hair tussled and frizzy, your lipstick mark on her cheek and glitter speckled around her face from the cheesy sparkly 2024 glasses you had forced her into wearing.

"morning Ells."

girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby.

dinas arms wrapped around you in a goodbye, promising you to send the pictures of you and Ellie kissing under the fireworks that you watched on your balcony and thanked you for the cheap champagne and food.

you glanced over your shoulder to see Ellie talking to Jesse, who looked just as... worn out. soon her eyes focused back on you as the two approached you and Dina. Jesse's hand reaching for dinas, dinas free hand interlocking with Jesse's, her occupied one clutching her heels that she had given up on wearing a long time ago.

after bidding each other farewell Dina and Jessie left your apartment, Dina walking barefoot towards the elevator. a smile graced your lips, you'd been there too. who hasn't? dancing too much where heeld feet turn blistered and sore.

candle wax and polaroids on the hard floor, you and me from the night before, but

after the door closed and the last person left your messy apartment, Ellie's arms snaked around your waist, synchronised sighs leaving both of you as you looked around the post-party mess.

melted candles that used to be standing proud in cake now discarded on kitchen counter tops. an old Polaroid camera laying on the couch, pictures it produced scattered around like a treasure house.

there was one of the cake

the champagne

you and Ellie dancing

you sitting on Ellie's lap, head resting on her shoulder

your lips touching in a tender kiss while fireworks explode behind you.

don't read the last page, but I can stay when you're lost and I'm scared.

new year means new challenges and as Ellie's lips press softly against your temple, swaying side to side in eachother's embrace, moving to the sound of Ellie's humming a song you can't quite remember the name of, you know it'll be alright.

"I love you" you whisper softly.

"I love you too" comes the reply.

and your turning away, I want your midnights

you remember the fun from last night, the cheers of triumph after winning a stupid party game, the clinks of champagne flutes and the sensation of the bass of the music that shook the floor.

but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

but now here you both are, kneeling on the hardwood floors as you pick up empty bottles of beer and discarded glasses of half drunken wine glasses and flutes of bubbly.

the smile on your face is beaming despite the thudding headache your hangover had so kindly given you. the warmth in your chest still blossoming. the boring clean up feeling just as special as the night of fun before.

you glance up as Ellie silently puts various items in a large trash bag, her eyes meeting yours. and just from the loving glint in them you knew so well, you could tell those feelings were reciprocated.

you squeeze my hand three times at the back of the taxi, I can tell that it's going to be a long road.

you think back to yesterday, your group of friends piling in the back of a taxi after you had partook in pre drinks at your all time favourite bar. and now you were all on the way back to the apartment you had so enthusiastically decorated with gold '2024 ballons' and gold tinsel.

Ellie's hand was wrapped in yours, her thumb brushing over your knuckles as she squeezed three times, a gesture you knew too well.

three squeezes, three words.

love.

you.

you squeezed back four times.

love.

you.

too.

I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe or if you strike out and you're crawling home

2024 will be the fourth year you and Ellie have been together, four years. the road was bumpy, you both had the highest highs followed by the lowest of lows, but there was one thing that stayed constant. the warmth you felt when you looked at her, and the feeling of you heart growing more and more every word she spoke of endearment.

and Ellie felt it too, which was why a diamond encrusted ring was hidden in the back of the closet. this would be the year she popped the question.

Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you. Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you. Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you And I will hold on to you

New year's day came and gone, polaroids now hung on the wall by the front door, a ring now adorning your finger. Dina was giggling through the phone as you jokingly scolded her for not telling you that Ellie was going to propose, that the girls spa day and manicure was all a ploy for good engagement pictures.

Ellie sat behind you on the couch after grabbing you both drinks from the kitchenette, pressing a kiss to your forehead and waving to Dina who waved back.

"oh God you should have seen it, Ellie, Joel, Jesse and me all huddled into the poor jewelers shop downtown- I'm honestly surprised we weren't kicked out." she laughed. "but I think it paid off- I mean, you're never going to be able to shake Ellie off now, she's going to hold onto you forever, I pity you." she joked which was swiftly replied by Ellie in a middle finger.

Please don't ever become a stranger, whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

Ellie's face was flushed and red, her soft hair falling in front of her face covering up the tears that stained her rosy freckled cheeks, your hands interlocked, both ring fingers dressed in golden rings.

"I now pronounce you wife and wife. you may kiss the bride."

the world seemed to slow, the congregation of guests vanishing as you both leaned in, lips meeting as the sound of muffled cheers hit your ears. you could feel the way ellies lips twisted into a smile as you kissed.

as soon as you pulled apart you heard the joyous laughter resonating from her chest as she offered you her hand, an offer you gladly took.

your footsteps land in sync as you walk back down the aisle.

3 squeezes, 3 words.

love.

you.

4 squeezes, 4 words.

love.

you.

too.

•••••••••••••••••••

A/N: I had to describe holding hands one too many times. anyways HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

NOT PROOFREAD

#the last of us #ellie williams #lesbian #wlw #ellie williams fic #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fluff #happy new year #tlou 2 #ellie tlou

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cardcaptorsakura96 · 8 months ago

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About Last Night-Chapter 6

Fandom: Supergirl

Characters: Kara Danvers, Lillian Luthor, Lena Luthor, Andrea Rojas, Lionel Luthor, Lex Luthor, Clark Kent, Alex Danvers, Eve Teschmacher, Jess, Bruce Wayne, Diana Prince, Winn Schott

Summary: Lillian Luthor is eagerly wanting to get to her daughter's destination wedding. However, a couple of detours with the docile Kara Danvers changes her life in a big way.

Rating: Mature

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Lillian sighed as she hung up the phone.

“That’s a relief. Bruce and Diana were way more understanding than I thought they would be.”

Kara leaned back in her seat, sighed, and said, “I am just glad that they were so forgiving. Still not sure how I am going to look them in the eye when we see them again.”

Lillian gave a small smile while gently grabbing Kara’s hand and rubbing small circles across it causing Kara to look up at her startled.

“It is like they said. They don’t hold anything against us this weekend especially since this was a disgruntled employee’s fault. The only thing we can do now is focus on what is ahead of us.”

Kara smiled and said, “You’re right. Thanks for that.”

Lillian gave a soft smile and said, “No problem.” Lillian stretched while looking out the limo window and said, “Besides, there are other more pressing things that we need to be conce…”

Kara looked up quizzically at Lillian noticing that she stopped in mid-sentence and asked, “Is there something wrong?”

Lillian frowned while looking out the window and murmured, “Possibly.”

Lillian turned to Jess curiously and asked, “Did something change with our flight plans? I noticed that we are on the tarmac instead of going to the traditional loading gate.”

Jess nodded and said, “Decisions were made that after yesterday’s…events, it may be better to use the jet that Bruce Wayne provided for us instead of taking a commercial flight out.”

“Oh,” said Lillian slightly flustered. “It would have been nice to be made aware of such changes.”

Jess nodded and said, “I am sorry about not saying anything sooner, but honestly given everything that has happened, this was the least worrisome of the damage control that I had to try to be ahead of the last twenty-four hours.”

Lillian winced at that statement. She leaned back in her seat and sighed.

It is stupid of me to get upset over something minuscule like that. Change in flight plans is a minor blimp in comparison to the shit show that has been my life the last day or so.

Lillian looked up towards Jess with an apologetic smile and said, “I am sorry for snapping Jess. You have gone above and beyond the call of duty this weekend. Not knowing about the flight change is inconsequential compared to everything else. I shouldn’t even have complained to begin with because the private jet is definitely an upgrade. At least I don’t have to worry if I am sitting next to a creep like I was last time.”

Jess laughed nervously and said, “It is not a problem. I am just glad that things will be running more smoothly from here.”

Jess rubbed the back of her neck.

One can only hope at this point.

As Jess was guided to her seat on the jet, she noticed there was a manilla folder on top of it.

Must be the plan that Lex wanted me to follow.

Jess quickly grabbed the folder and sat down at her seat to peruse its content. She frowned at some of its content and went to her phone to double verify some of the claims it made inside. After verifying everything, she stared at the file baffled.

It is true what they say. A good ruse is one that has morsels of truth sprinkled throughout it. Hopefully, Lillian and Kara will go along with it.

Jess looked up to see Kara fluffing up her neck pillow and taking out an eye mask to go to sleep and Lillian was busy typing away at her computer.

Jess cleared her throat to get the women’s attention. They looked up at her startled.

“I wanted to go over the itinerary about our flight and destination before everyone gets comfortable.”

Lillian frowned and asked, “Other than we are going to Ireland and will probably sleep during a good portion of the flight, is there really anything else that we need to know?”

Jess nodded and said, “Well, it is going to take us longer to get to Ireland than originally planned.”

Lillian looked at her hesitantly and asked, “Why?”

“We chose the jet route because we honestly weren’t sure what type of state that you would be in when you guys woke up….”

“That’s understandable….” said Lillian warily.

“However, this particular jet is not equipped to make long flights overseas. For that reason, we will be making a layover on Mr. Wayne’s private island to refuel and also to change flight staff since the ones with us are currently working overtime to accommodate our schedule.”

Lillian looked at Jess hesitantly and asked, “Okay, how much downtime are we looking at?”

Jess laughed nervously and said, “One day. Possibly two if the tropical storm that they are tracking veers and hits the island.”

Lillian leaned back, groaned, and said, “It may have been better if we had actually taken commercial. I know that a lot of this was planned out so we could have discretion, but…”

Jess raised up her hand which caused Lillian to stop.

“I understand wanting to get out as quickly as possible, but if we had tried to take commercial, it would have taken us longer to get there.”

Kara raised an eyebrow and asked, “How is that even possible?”

Read the rest on AO3

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infernalodie · 2 years ago

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 || 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬

“𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯' 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦'𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯“

Inspo: Kehlani - Change Your Life Kehlani - melt

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Black!Fem!reader

Summary: She just wanted to melt into you and give you every ounce of love possible...

Warnings: Just endless fluff.

Words: 1250

Winter was in full swing with the gusts of wind hitting the walls of the house you shared with Dina. Snow falls from the dark afternoon sky and builds along the edge of each window along the sides of the house. The visual of the snowfall with all the lights in Jackson brings calm to your mind as you sat on your couch drinking a cup of cocoa. Dina is out with Jesse, leaving you to enjoy a peaceful Christmas Eve by yourself with the sound of some music you recorded with the help of Joel.

Most days, you managed to enjoy this time by cooking, baking, cleaning, or napping. But you had this gnawing feeling in the back of your mind that you couldn’t scratch. Perhaps it was the excitement you felt for Christmas or that you were going to be given a day off from work tomorrow. Except, this constant annoying feeling came in the form of a tall, beautiful, sexy, auburn-haired girl by the name of Ellie Williams; your girlfriend.

Patrols had been getting a little more demanding since Maria and Tommy wanted people to spend a peaceful Christmas with their families. So, that meant patrol members had to pull extra weight and spend more time out so that when Christmas day came, everyone could celebrate it. You paid your due, but Ellie was on her last shift tonight, yet you didn’t know when she would be back in Jackson. But you guessed that you would be snowed in and forgotten for the night until tomorrow when she would likely steal you from Dina for Christmas. Something you wouldn’t at all mind.

Running a hand through your hair, you snuggled deeper into the couch. Blanket tight around your shoulders as you watched Treasure Planet for the 10th time in 3 months. Toying with the bracelet Ellie had given you for your guys’ one-year anniversary.

A knock at the front door made you flinch. Letting out a short sigh before standing up, keeping the blanket wrapped around you as you jogged to the door. Opening it a crack and peeking out to see the girl you’d been needing for hours.

“Hey, baby,” Ellie greeted, eyes clearly heavy from exhaustion, but lips curving into a smile upon finally seeing you. A large giddy smile cut across your lips as you opened the door wider for her.

“Patrol go alright?” You inquired softly, closing the door behind Ellie, who kicked off her boots with a grunt. Leaving you to snicker in amusement and moving to the coffee table that you began to clean. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Robbie was late to switch out with me, so I was there longer than I should’ve been,” Ellie complained, taking off her jacket. “Then I ran into a few Runners that would not fuck off and then Maria talked my ear off when I got back. So, I am really hoping I can just hold you and not have to be bothered anymore.”

Her honest and endearing answer was accompanied by her crashing on the couch right behind you. Calloused hands grab your hips and turn you to face her. A shiver runs down your spine as you look down at Ellie, who lifted the hem of the old shirt of hers that she gave you, and pressed her lips against your stomach. Letting the fabric fall over her head with her arms wrapped around the back of your thighs, keeping you in place as she absorbed your warmth. Your caramel-toned skin has been the greatest gift given to her over the years of knowing you. You were always there to hold her and how soft you felt compared to her rough hands, you were practically an angel. Just what she needed in this dark hour of what was supposed to be happy.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that I don’t plan to talk your ear off,” you chuckled, eyes fluttering shut when feeling Ellie kiss along your waistline. “But I am not in the mood for sex either.”

“What?” Ellie asked with a laugh, her voice muffled by her trying to conquer each inch of your body. Lips are hungry for more and more. “I thought you were always wanting sex whenever we’re alone.”

“How do you know we’re alone?” You asked, voice filled with amusement.

“Dina would’ve come out of her room and started complaining about her day,” she stated. “Then I would force you to walk with me back to my place, in the cold of the night, and then we would have enough of a reason to fuck. We could just do that, you know.”

You couldn’t contain the laugh that fluttered from your lips, feeling Ellie carefully stand to her feet. Head sliding further up against your stomach, then your chest. Cheek pressed against one of your tits with a smile on her wet lips.”Have I ever told you that your boobs are great pillows?”

“Yes, many times, babe,” you sighed, stripping your shirt off, and- leaving you in a sports bra. Ellie kissed you softly, hands resting on your hips as she pulled you closer. Pelvis’ pressed together as you took her face between your hands, smiling against her lips. “This does not mean sex, Williams.”

“I know,” she said, parting barely a breath away. “I just missed you. That’s all.”

Soon enough, the both of you had settled on the couch, continuing your viewing of Treasure Planet. Ellie laying her head on your chest, using your two beautiful breasts as fluffy pillows that she was on the brink of passing out from. Yet, she wanted to stay awake and continue to feel the tips of your fingers run up and down her back. The fabric of her shirt bunched around your wrists as you helped lull her to sleep.

She didn’t know how she even got to call you hers. The two of you met four years ago, greeting her and Joel on your first day of scouting. At first, she wanted to tear her ears off from how much you rambled on and on about stuff. But as she got to know more about you, she picked up on your behaviour. The flush of your cheeks whenever she looked in your direction or the incapability to meet her gaze. And in what was genuinely years to realize, she figured out how you felt about her and she finally realized how she felt about you.

But never once did she believe herself to be worthy of you. Although you weren’t brutal like most of the survivors she’d surrounded herself with, you had a heart of gold that you wore on your sleeve. Finding times to smile and be thankful for what you got when all hope seemed lost. You were her guardian angel, her light at the end of her tunnel, the reason for her to live. If she had the choice, she would want to melt into you, both of you becoming one and able to love one another closer than anything possible. Because that was what you deserved and she wanted to give you all the love possible.

There was a long pause of silence with only the sound of Jim Hawkins talking to Morph. But you felt Ellie adjust on your chest, resting her chin in the centre of your chest, giving you a tired but loveable smile as she said, “I wish I could melt into you, baby.”

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tenelkadjowrites · 2 years ago

Text

No Secrets at Christmas - Part Two - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)

PART ONE HERE. FINAL PART HERE.

🎄 Summary: With a sudden turn of events having unfolded, you will finally have Seonghwa the way you have always dreamt of.

🎄 Word count: 5.5k

🎄 Genre and warnings: reader with brother’s best friend. fem pronouns for reader. oral sex. unprotected sex. dirty talk. creampie.

🎄 Tags: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @iusrene - @yunhofingers - @foggyinternetchaos - @multihoe-net - @spiderrenjunfics - @whatudowhennooneseesyou - @jess-1404 - @just-here-to-read-01 - @lilhwahwa - @btsreader12 - @talkbykhalid - @rdiamond2727 - @inneratinyrebel - @8tinytings - @mrszackfoster - @xirenex - @likexaxdaydream

this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa in any way, shape or form.

In the bright light of the morning sun, the world now looked like a different sort of thing. At some point while you slept, a fresh layer of heavy snow rushed in, covering everything in sparkling white. It is the perfect weather for Christmas Eve – made even more perfect by the sudden, dreamlike turn of events the night prior.

Seonghwa is still in his room by the time you wake up, shower, and change clothes. Either he is asleep or too busy having a moral crisis to come downstairs. In the kitchen, only Hongjoong is there, fumbling sleepily with the coffee machine.

“Where is everyone?” You inquire, practically skipping into the room.

Hongjoong, in his vastly oversized black sweater and baggy sweatpants, manages to successfully hit the correct button for coffee and the machine comes to life.

His back still to you, he replies, “I think your parents are asleep and your brother went out to try to find donuts. I told him to bring coffee. No offense but I hate the brand your parents buy.” Hongjoong turns around then, blinking a couple of times. “Aren’t you cold?”

He is talking about the shorts you have on – yes, those shorts, the very same ugly pair of gingerbread men shorts that is the entire reason Seonghwa’s thoughts and feelings about you shifted. How could you not wear them after his Christmas confession? You had to dig them out of one of your drawers, long forgotten in the bottom but once discovered, they were slipped on with no hesitation.

“Don’t slut shame me.”

Exasperated, he rolls his eyes. “I’m not. I’m legitimately asking you if you’re cold because we got another heavy snowfall overnight.”

“Maybe a little bit,” You get very close to him, dropping your voice down to a whisper, “I have to tell you something.”

Hongjoong catches the glint in your eye and stops, his hand reaching towards the now filled coffee cup. “The last time you had that look on your face, it was after you slept with your old coworker we ran into at that boring BBQ last summer,” A flicker of surprise crosses his face, “Are you telling me that something happened between you and –”

It is then your parents burst into the kitchen in a similar vein of the fish entering the Krusty Krab while declaring ‘rev up those fryers’ from Spongebob. Hongjoong drops his face into an expression of general pleasantness, greeting your parents, his coffee forgotten.

You pluck the mug off the counter, knowing Hongjoong was going to let it go to waste anyway, and the kitchen is quickly lost in the hustle and bustle of the morning. After fixing Hongjoong’s coffee to your liking, you sit on one of the stools near the counter, your stomach grumbling. You do hope your brother brings back donuts.

Momentarily distracted by the prospect of donuts, you don’t hear Seonghwa coming down the stairs. It isn’t until he steps into the kitchen that your entire body reacts to seeing him like an electric shock to the system. Straightening up at the counter, your eyes immediately begin to follow him, as they always do and always have.

This morning, Seonghwa is in a white long sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of casual slacks. His sandy blonde hair is still a little mussed up from sleep but he looks alert as if multiple cups of coffee have already been consumed.

His eyes scan the room as he says good morning to everyone, his gaze going over you as if nothing happened last night. Nodding in your direction, he turns his attention to your parents as they ask him how he slept.

You aren’t fooled by how nonchalant Seonghwa is being. You know better now. Pretending to see you just as the annoying little sister is a role he slid into easily the past year after his feelings towards you changed. Hongjoong is glancing at you and Seonghwa, brief confusion on his features as he can’t pick up anything different that would make sense to what you urgently tried to tell him earlier.

It is then your brother returns, donuts in hand, along with better coffee, everyone clamoring for both items. Before you can get up to claim a donut as your own, Seonghwa brings a cup of steaming hot coffee towards you, sliding it across the counter.

“Do you want a donut?” He asks quietly, his slender fingers curled around the disposable coffee cup.

“Yes, please. One of the –”

“I remember your favourite,” He murmurs, pushing away from the counter to retrieve one.

Surprised, you watch Seonghwa gently nudge past your brother before he can inhale all the donuts. You know that you’re staring, and you really shouldn’t be, but it is impossible not to look at the curve of Seonghwa’s neck, or the way the shirt lays against his back or even the little smile he throws at a terrible joke your dad makes.

In the chaos, Hongjoong shimmies up to the counter, clutching his new coffee cup, glancing at you and then Seonghwa and raising his eyebrows a couple of times. All you can do is give a quick nod which makes him gasp so loudly that your brother looks over.

“This coffee is unbelievably hot!” Hongjoong exclaims with an over the top gesture of blowing on his hand as if he burned it, “Wow!”

“Uh, well, the lid does say Caution: Hot,” Your brother remarks.

“I’m still waking up, you know? Just…underestimated it.”

Seonghwa turns around, two donuts on a small plate, circling the counter to your side. It is then his eyes land on your exposed legs, realizing what you are wearing. He recovers smoothly; only you noticed the brief lapse in movement when it sunk in what you had on. Sitting down, he puts the plate on the counter in between the two of you. One is your favourite kind and the other is his. Hongjoong delicately turns around to face the kitchen in a natural gesture but you know he is trying not to stare and make it obvious he knows something has happened to change the dynamic between yourself and Seonghwa.

“Thank you,” You tell him, reaching for the donut and taking a bite of it.

“Why do you have two cups of coffee?” Seonghwa asks over the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.

“Hongjoong was gonna waste his because he’s picky.”

“Am not,” Hongjoong mumbles, still not turning around.

“And I’ll drink both his coffee and the one you brought me,” You finish.

In the casual flow of conversation, Seonghwa acts no differently than before. No extra attention is given to you, no more glances than usual. He even sits at the counter the same way, slightly leaned forward, his fingers drumming against the countertop occasionally as he listens to someone talk. In fact, the only indication he remembered last night had been that brief pause upon seeing you wearing the shorts.

Until about twenty minutes into the conversation, with everyone in the kitchen and just you and Seonghwa on the other side of the counter. That is when he lowers his hand casually without anyone noticing and rests it lightly on the top of your leg as though he is waiting to see if you would push him away.

The touch is slight but a warmth spreads over your body, so intense that it is like stepping out into the sun in the middle of summer. Seonghwa doesn’t change his tone or shift focus off the conversation but his hand moves towards your inner thigh where he squeezes. Casually, you look downwards – the sight of his hand against your thigh is a thrill, making your stomach swoop, the sweetest dream a reality. If it were possible, you would take a photo of it just so the sight never leaves your memory.

After breakfast, you are in the laundry room, wishing you remembered where you put your winter coat. Everyone else had already gone outside for the morning but it is too cold to do so without bundling up a bit as well as changing out of your shorts. As much as you like flitting around in them in front of Seonghwa, you aren’t looking to get hypothermia.

But as usual, you thought the coat was somewhere in your closet and when it wasn’t, it led to you steadily rummaging through the house trying to locate it. You hadn’t packed one, just assuming your old one would be around here.

The sound of the laundry room door softly opening gets your attention. Looking over your shoulder, you see Seonghwa entering, gently shutting the door behind him.

“Hwa,” You say by way of greeting, “I can’t find my coat.”

“Is that what is taking so long? I was sent back inside to ask you what was taking so long.”

“Sent or volunteered?”

He gives a small wave of his hand, which definitely means he volunteered, and approaches you. Turning around to face him, you make a small noise of frustration.

“I thought the coat was in my closet but it isn’t. Hey, you didn’t take it, did you?”

Seonghwa, taken aback by your comment, makes a strange choking noise, the colour immediately flooding his cheeks in a satisfying way. “What? No! No, I – I don’t – that isn’t a habit of mine!” He sputters.

You shrug. “Figured I’d ask.”

He crosses the small space suddenly, his hands reaching for your hips, pulling you towards him. You gasp in surprise as his hands run up and down your waist. His body is incredibly warm and he has the same look in his eyes from last night.

“Are you trying to drive me crazy?” He mumbles as his hands glide downwards.

“Yes,” You admit as his hands find your ass, squeezing so hard that you are pushed against him and can feel how stiff he is.

Seonghwa lets out a low growl from the back of his throat, burying his face in your neck. It isn’t just the fact he is hard that lets you know he desires you – it is in the desperation that comes off him in waves, in the way he grips your ass.

His words are muffled as he goes, “Why are you so hellbent on crushing me? You know how badly I want you and that I can’t let things go any further and then you come downstairs in those fucking shorts.” He sounds anguished.

The force of his hold on you has pushed your back against the wall, smushed in between the washing machine and shelves. Your hands are holding onto the bottom of his shirt, your breathing uneven, pussy already wet with desire.

“Consider us even for all the years I wanted you and you didn’t even know I existed,” You reply quietly.

In a ragged voice, Seonghwa goes, “That’s unfair.”

His hands leave your ass, skirting up along your hips once more as he drags his lips across your neck to your jawline, pausing there at the tipping point. This close to him, his body against yours, your heart beating so hard in your chest that it leaves you breathless, there is a sudden intimacy that is different from last night. That still had some sort of distance to it versus now which is all physical touch.

Then, with the briefest hint of hesitation, as if logically Seonghwa is aware of all the reasons he told himself not to go further, his lips brush against yours in a touch as light as a feather. Your hold on his shirt tightens, knuckles turning white from the force of it, your mouth opening against his as he finally kisses you.

For so long, you have dreamt of all the ways Seonghwa would kiss you. The fantasies ranged from romance book levels of absurd to something casual and simple on a date. But not once did you think it would be a clandestine kiss in the laundry room of your parents house on Christmas Eve.

Not that you were complaining.

As the kiss deepens, Seonghwa’s hands roam over your body as if he can’t get enough of you, as if the last year has pushed him to his limit and patience. Groping your tits through your shirt, his tongue pressing against yours, you know he would fuck you on the spot if possible. Your hands move upwards to his hair, gripping the blonde strands as the kiss grows more desperate. He groans quietly, squeezing your tits harder, almost grinding his hips against you –

“Hey!” A voice calls out from somewhere in the house, “You find your coat yet?!”

Your brother’s voice is like a bucket of cold water tossed in your direction at the worst possible time. Seonghwa leaps away as if you suddenly turned into a frog, guilt etched across his features as the door to the laundry room opens.

Your brother peeks his head in and throws something at you – the coat lands at your feet.

“I found it in mom’s closet,” Your brother explains, “Now, come on.”

He leaves immediately, barely even glancing in Seonghwa’s direction who has collected his features into the neutral expression typically worn around you. Shrugging, you snatch the coat up and shimmy past him to go change when his hand gently rests on your shoulder, getting your attention.

Tilting your face towards him, Seonghwa leans down slightly, his lips close to your ear as he whispers in a strangled voice, “Will you come to my room tonight?”

A shiver runs down your back as your eyes lock with his. He swallows hard, the nerves clear in his gaze, constantly struggling between the desire for you and what he deems is improper.

“See you then,” is all you murmur back before exiting the laundry room, your heart racing.

Christmas Eve is usually spent in a languid fashion, watching movies together, sipping hot chocolate, watching Hongjoong struggle with wrapping gifts that he saved until the last minute. All these things still occur but it is different in a way that no one else knows (minus Hongjoong, who is only aware the dynamic between you and Seonghwa has shifted but there has been no time to fill him in completely). There is the subtle way Seonghwa’s eyes now follow you across the room or the snow covered backyard, the appearance of him at your side anytime you need something, the manner in which his hand will rest on your lower back when no one is looking.

It is exhilarating in a way that doesn’t seem real and you are soaking it up. You want to take those ugly gingerbread men cookie shorts and hang them up in a gold frame back at your apartment. In all the ups and downs of crushing on Seonghwa, from when you two were just kids and he was all awkward long limbs and smiles, to the sad swoop of your stomach when he seemingly didn’t care about the dress, it oftentimes felt as if ever having him was an embarrassing dead dream.

But now…

As the last Christmas movie of the night wraps up, your eyes flick over in the direction of Seonghwa who is across the living room, stretched out on the love seat. He looks comfortable, in the perfect position to snuggle with. The lights from the Christmas tree seem to dance across his skin in multicoloured hues.

You keep thinking about that damn kiss in the laundry room. The more time passes, the more you cannot stop thinking about going to his room later.

Tearing your eyes aware from him, you look at the pile of gifts under the tree. It is easy to spot which ones belong to Hongjoong due to the atrocious way they are wrapped, a true opposite compared to the tidy and perfect way Seonghwa has wrapped his. His gift to you each year is always something painfully generic, another reason you didn’t think you were on his mind much. Each time you unwrapped his present, you would try to glean some sort of secret message or indication he thought about you in the way you desperately craved. You idly wonder what he got you this year.

Waiting for the house to quiet down is torment. It was as though everyone had an excuse not to go to bed. By the time you are convinced that your brother is asleep, it is almost midnight. Knowing that everyone will be up early for Christmas morning, you are anxious to get to Seonghwa, aching to know what will happen tonight.

As you creep down the hallway like a thief in the night, you can see the light from underneath Seonghwa’s bedroom. Unlike before, where you were swept up in offering the blanket as an excuse to see him, now the entire dynamic with him has changed. It is hard to believe what has unfolded the last twenty-four hours.

You stand in front of the door, suddenly a little awkward. Are you supposed to knock? Do you just burst in like last time? Aware of how much sound travels in the house, you opt to jiggle the handle a little instead, enough to get his attention but not as loud as a knock.

The door opens a crack, Seonghwa’s eyes peering at you before opening the door wider. You slink inside and he closes the door firmly behind you, the soft locking noise signaling that the things planned tonight are definitely a secret.

The only difference in Seonghwa’s attire is he has changed from the slacks to sweatpants. The warmth from his body comes off in waves and you fight the urge not to snuggle up to him immediately. The temperature has dropped considerably since the heavy snowfall this morning and gone is any semblance of a cute outfit – you are bundled up in warm clothing…although you did put on the cutest pair of underwear that you had packed.

“Everyone asleep?” Seonghwa whispers and when you nod, his eyes fall to your lips, lingering there for a moment.

“I kinda felt like a teenager having to sneak over here,” You tell him, “Only instead of sneaking out of the house, I’m going down the hallway.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, we should both be asleep. You know how early your parents get up for breakfast at that restaurant.” His words say one thing but the way his eyes are looking you up and down says another.

“Okay,” You push past him, heading towards the bed, climbing on it and sliding against the pillows, “I’ll sleep here.”

You stretch out across the bed, letting out a contented sigh. Seonghwa’s shoulders stiffen at the sight of you on the bed, swallowing hard.

“You know that you can’t sleep here. If someone comes in…” Seonghwa is growing flustered again as he approaches the bed, “I don’t know how to…control myself around you. I remind myself time and time again why I can’t be with you in quiet moments alone but then I see you and…” He trails off, looking unsure.

Your heart is racing as Seonghwa gets on the bed, laying down next to you. He seems almost unsure – of himself, of the situation, of how overwhelming the desire is for you.

“What did you do with my dress and underwear?” You ask suddenly.

His cheeks flush immediately – you love seeing how flustered he gets especially since it is about you. “I got extremely paranoid about your brother finding the dress so I shoved it in one of the drawers.”

“And the underwear?”

Now he looks so embarrassed that he can barely speak, mumbling something so quietly that you have to lean closer to hear him. “What was that?”

“This morning. I was late coming down this morning because I was…”

You gawk at him. “You jerked off with them around your dick, didn’t you?”

“Shush!” Seonghwa pleads, eyes darting to the bedroom door, “Not so loud.”

“I’m whispering!”

He turns his face to look at you, the distance between your bodies closing every second as if drawn to one another like magnets. His hand tentatively reaches out for your hip, nudging you to turn onto your side.

In a very soft voice, Seonghwa goes, “You have to be quiet like you were last night. We can’t get caught.”

“Get caught doing what?” You ask innocently as his hand wiggles underneath your t-shirt, fingers hot against your skin.

“Don’t tease me so much,” He mumbles, “Why do you tease me so much?”

And then he is kissing you, his body pressing against yours, arms wrapping around your waist. You make a small noise against his lips, grinding your hips against his. He is already stiff in his sweatpants, his hands splayed out against your lower back to push you more against him as if he can fuck you through the clothing. When the kiss breaks, he is slightly out of breath.

“I’m going to fuck you under the covers,” He murmurs, each word making his lips brush against yours, “We have to make as little noise as possible.”

“Funny how you went from ‘I promised your brother to never touch you’ to ‘we have to fuck as quietly as possible’,” You whisper, your tone light and teasing.

One of his hands goes down quickly to grab your ass, giving it a hard squeeze as he buries his face in your neck to kiss up along the sensitive skin there, groaning a little. “You’re intent on torturing me.”

“Just a little.”

“God, I wanna fuck you.” Seonghwa’s words are muffled against your skin as he starts to yank up your t-shirt, immediately groping your tits, pinching your nipples in between his fingers to make you jump.

He lowers his head to your tits, his tongue flicking out across your nipples before gently biting on them. You shudder, letting out a small sigh as he sucks on them messily, leaving a small dollop of drool on each nipple when he finishes.

His hands roam over your body, groping you wherever possible. It is too cold to fully undress, on top of that if something happens and you need to hurriedly dress, it is better to have just a couple of things to toss on versus everything. Because of this, Seonghwa doesn’t remove your shirt although he leaves it pulled up, your tits exposed. His hands slip into the band of your pajama bottoms, removing them in one hurried gesture before snaking up your thighs. Seonghwa then unexpectedly buries his face in between them, his nose nuzzling against the front of your pussy, a low groan coming from his throat. He bites the side of your underwear, using his teeth to pull the pair lower before removing them completely with his hands.

Bringing his slender fingers to your pussy lips, Seonghwa gently spreads them apart, his face moving back down to slip his tongue in your hole just to taste you. You shudder, biting down hard on your bottom lip to stop yourself from making any noise.

“Your cunt tastes so good,” Seonghwa groans, words muffled, as his tongue dives back into your hole.

You wiggle in pleasure, trying your best not to moan. Seonghwa makes an impatient noise, bringing his hands to your thighs to hold your legs apart as he drags his tongue up along your folds before his tongue presses against your clit. Surprised, your hips jerk but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard. Your hips buck once again, hands flying to his hair for something to hold onto. He seemingly cannot get enough of how you taste and your head rolls back from the pleasure –

And Seonghwa stops suddenly, tearing his face away from your pussy. The sudden absence of him makes you whine which drives him back up your body, one finger pressing against your lips.

“Gotta be quiet, love, you know that.” His breath catches as you urgently rock your hips against him in silent pleas, “I’ll stuff your tight hole with my cock now, you want that?”

Your hands grip the front of his shirt, bunching it up in your fingers, nodding anxiously. You are so turned on that it defies logic and somehow the sneaking around makes it hotter.

There are a couple of minutes of rearranging one another underneath the covers, hoping the large quilt will muffle any of the more innocuous noises. Seonghwa leaves his clothes on, opting to pull down his sweatpants and boxers, his concern at being caught evident. Your underwear is tossed unceremoniously onto the floor as he positions himself at the entrance of your cunt.

Seonghwa pushes in slowly as your legs wrap around his delicate waist, pulling him close. As you do so, more of his cock enters you, causing you to sharply inhale as your pussy stretches to accommodate his girth. Seonghwa shivers, groaning a little before catching himself and trying to fall silent. Buried underneath him and the blankets, you feel small and almost protected.

Seonghwa enters you fully to the hilt, propping himself up with his hands resting next to the side of your head. His hair falls in front of his face as he looks down at you with your shirt pulled up, chest rising and falling quickly with your fast breathing. You feel stuffed with his cock buried inside and as he begins to slowly move his hips, a strangled groan escapes your mouth.

Seonghwa cannot thrust wildly because it would be too noisy, limiting him to a slow and steady pace that only seems to inflame both of you with desire. You grab the front of his shirt, yanking him close to you, his lips opening for a kiss. Pressed up against one another, soft moans tumbling into each other’s mouths, you bring your hips up to meet the thrusts.

At one point, he stops, eyes shut tightly, exhaling slowly and carefully, explaining, “You’re so fucking tight, I’m going to cum if I don’t stop for a sec.”

Adjusting his position, Seonghwa curls his body against yours, burying his face in your neck as he tentatively moves his hips again. Your hands move under his sweater, feeling the muscles of his back underneath your fingertips. He groans against your skin, his breathing uneven as he begins to pump his hips. You love how he feels inside you and your own hips meet each movement, perfectly in sync.

His voice is hot against your ear as he whispers, “I’m gonna cream in your tight cunt, fill it up with my cum, you want that?”

“Y-yes,” You whimper, “God, yes.”

“I want to feel you cum around my dick.”

You shift a little underneath him as he presses his forehead against yours, nipping at your bottom lip as you reply apologetically, “I can’t – I can’t finish like this. The pace is too slow.”

His movement stutters and then stops, leaving you wiggling against his cock as he studies your face for a few moments, turning the words over in his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” You say quickly, “I don’t –”

But Seonghwa gives a stern shake of his head, pushing away from you, the quilt falling off his back. He straightens up, looking down at your body now, his cock still deep inside your wet cunt as he grabs your waist and pulls you towards him, slightly angled now since he is on his knees. Keeping your legs around his waist, he then brings his hand down towards your pussy.

He begins to rub your clit, slowly at first, carefully watching your face as he takes note of how sensitive you are. Surprised by the sudden position change and the pressure of his finger against your clit, you gasp, back arching for a moment.

Seonghwa begins to pick up the speed at which he is rubbing your clit while saying in a quiet voice, more of a hum in your brain than actually aloud, “You think I’m going to be thinking about you constantly the past year, jerking off to you in secret and daydreaming about fucking you only to not feel you cum around my cock? Especially after last night where I got to watch you? No, you’re going to finish for me, love, and you’re going to finish quietly and I’m going to know how intense your orgasm is by the way your tight little hole clenches down around my cock.”

“Hwa,” You groan out an octave too loud as he doesn’t ease up his rubbing of your clit.

“And then after you finish, I’m going to empty my balls in your cunt, fill up your hole with my load and watch you squirm as you take it,” Hwa’s voice is taunt, struggling to keep his voice soft yet understandable.

This time you moan and Seonghwa leans forward, reaching out with his other hand to brush his fingers across your lips, gently inserting them in your mouth. You wrap your lips around them, the moan muffled as your hips wiggle desperately against his hand, pussy tightening around his girth.

“Shush, love, too much noise. Just suck on my fingers and cum for me.”

And you do, your brain deliciously empty for once. The only thing you focus on is how good Seonghwa’s cock feels as you drool against his fingers, the pleasure becoming overwhelming, almost too much, a tidal wave that crests and breaks –

Your orgasm is intense, Seonghwa’s fingers against your tongue as you cum, his hand relentless against your clit, rubbing it quickly as your pussy clenches down hard around his cock.

He inhales deeply as you make tiny gurgling noises against his fingers, drool on your lips, eyes closing from how intense it is. You can feel yourself gushing around his cock and Seonghwa stops rubbing your clit, starting to pump his hips nice and slowly as you ride out your orgasm.

As it subsides, he removes his fingers, strands of spit connecting to your lips, going as fast as he now dares, chasing his own orgasm. He slides back into the earlier position of being curled around you, face in your neck, his thrusts not as patient as they were earlier. Your entire body is warm and heavy from such an intense orgasm.

“F-fuck,” He hisses through clenched teeth, “Fuck, you feel so good. Going to unload in your sweet cunt.”

“I wanna feel it,” You quietly beg, back in control of the volume of your voice, “Please, Hwa.”

He jerks his hips, his breathing ragged, one singular moan muffled against your neck as he climaxes, filling your pussy with his load. You can feel him spilling out inside you, spurts of warm cum in your cunt as he shivers, rocking his hips, trying his best to be quiet.

His movements slow as his orgasm finishes, panting now, going still for a few moments to collect himself. Then Seonghwa gently untangles himself from you, kicking the quilt fully off and rolling onto his back, trying to catch his breath.

You should move and get at least your underwear but it is easier to just bask in the afterglow of fucking him. He brings one hand to your thigh, his grip firm as if to steady himself before sitting up.

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, trying to stay awake, knowing it is impossible to sleep in his bed tonight.

“I wanna see,” His voice is husky as he moves in between your legs, nudging your thighs apart, “I wanna see my load in your cunt.”

“You thought about this before?”

“I thought about this a lot,” He admits, spreading your pussy lips apart with his fingers once again, looking at his cum leaking out of your cunt, “And it’s just as pretty as I thought it would be. Wish I could do this every day, just fill up your pretty pussy with my cum and see how cute it looks afterwards.”

Your cheeks are hot but luckily Seonghwa doesn’t notice because he is too busy staring. After a moment or two, you prop yourself up on your elbows and he finally tears his gaze away from your cunt.

“Need to get back before I fall asleep here,” You explain.

He nods and suddenly looks shy again, as if he can’t believe everything that just happened. “Right, of course. Especially since I’m sure we will be up early for Christmas morning.”

You get dressed, aware of Seonghwa’s eyes on your back, heading to the door and stopping to look over your shoulder. “Is there a gift for me under the tree?”

“Oh.” He looks sheepish. “Yeah but…uh, I wouldn’t get too excited for it or anything. I wanted something just generic enough so nothing seemed amiss.”

“Great, can’t wait to see it.” You are teasing him since so much has changed since he placed the gift for you underneath the tree, “Goodnight, Hwa.”

Looking too shy to reply, he gives a small wave and you slink out of his bedroom.

Christmas morning is just a few hours away.

FINAL PART HERE.

#ateez smut #ateez fics #seonghwa fics #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #kpop fic #no secrets at christmas #100 notes

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