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anewinternational · 2 years ago

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A Traveller’s Guide to Lost and Later Songs

For those who may appreciate some background detail, I offer below my workings.

All audio references refer to recordings from the secret playlist, “Lost and Later, Early Days”- here

#1 - Loverboy (19/01/13)

On the cusp of lost and later, this song is something of both. Written in the months before the revolution (earliest demo in the files is dated 19th January 2013), I was imagining something like Gene Pitney sings Misirlou, produced by Joe Meek. I remember Loverboy getting its debut at a Hogmanay show in Glasgow’s Old Hairdressers. Halfway through the song, a jolly fellow in high spirits took to the dancefloor and did “the dance of the two ales” (a self-explanatory dance which requires no partner). I took that as a positive sign: the booze equivalent of two thumbs good. Loverboy retained its place in our live set until the Fabulon pre-production rehearsals. Then, at a summit in the Laurieston bar with producer-in-chief Colin Elliot, the Politburo decided that Loverboy’s face didn’t quite fit the new regime (see also “Ghost Light”). The song committed the youthful folly of trying to say everything and be everything to all people, rather than seeing a world in Blake’s grain of sand. Its sprawling structure didn’t quite hang together and forgot the golden rule of pop music: get to the chorus, get to it already and get there by yesterday (people are busy you know and we don’t have time for your three-minute instrumental breakdown). Compared to “Valentino”, its more popular elder sibling, Loverboy looked like the scruffier black sheep of the family who, perhaps if freed from the burden of fitting in with its peers and trying to impress, may yet come good. It needed time; time that we didn’t have back then. These days, well, it often feels like there’s nothing but time, even as it ebbs away until, all at once, the day has gone, a little like that line in Hemingway’s “The Sun Also Rises”– “How did you go bankrupt?" Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly.” Anyway, whether we realise it or not, time is, and always will be, pressing. So, Loverboy come in, come in from the cold and tell all the others too, for now is the hour of the outcast. Pariahs of the world unite. Tonight, we run with the underdogs. I still remember where all the bodies were buried and there is going to be a reckoning

#2 Ghost Light (14/04/10)

A synth-pop devotional in praise of the light, 14th April 2010 at 9.50am is the earliest noted record in the archives for this one. It sounds uncharacteristically early in the morning for me but, as the politicians like to tell you, statistics don’t lie. The night before, I had been out drinking with my friend Paul Tasker of the Doghouse Roses. We decided to round off a very enjoyable evening with whisky and tunes back at Paul’s flat during which I remember Paul modelling a beautifully made Swedish Army greatcoat which he’d picked up somewhere or another on the internet. He cut quite a dash as he marched smartly up and down his living room, swaying his whisky to and fro with a martial air. Among various other pressing issues up for discussion that evening, Paul mentioned that he had an old synthesiser he was looking to get rid of and did I want it? That sounds like a laugh, I thought, and we settled on the princely sum of £20. The next morning, I woke to find I was now the proud owner of a Yamaha SK10 Symphonic Ensemble. There it was, propped against the wall of my bedroom. Oh well, I thought, I had certainly woken up to worse. I plugged it in, switched it on and quickly realised that I had got lucky here. What a lovely noise. I thought of arcades and 1980s computer games, John Hughes movies, pastel-coloured leg warmers.... There was a string setting that sounded just like Phil Oakey and Giorgio Moroder’s “Together in Electric Dreams”. I was instantly transported to a childhood kitchen scene - my sister and I doing the Sunday dinner dishes whilst we listened to the Top 40 on a state-of-the-art Sanyo transistor radio and singing along to “Electric Dreams”. Then, light speed forward 20 years and dancing to the very same song with my friend Dan Mutch in an empty and just about closing Edinburgh bar after stopping in for one last drink, two children trying to stay up past their bedtime. Like happy news, unexpected and unlooked for, the song soared euphorically out of the bar’s massive speakers as Dan and I pushed our drinks aside in shared joy to find that the dancefloor was there all along, like the yellow brick road, right underneath our feet and we didn’t even notice it. Music is time travel. I’ve often thought that the synth pop wizards were really piano balladeers, heirs to a grand tradition but operating under different conditions, in different times. Pop by other means. Pop, of course, must always be by any means necessary, or at least by any means available, but I wonder what Vince Clarke would have created if he found himself behind a baby grand in 1920s Broadway, or if Cole Porter was given a Moog to fool around with. A lovely sound can in itself be an inspiration. The SK10’s string setting made me feel like it was hard to go wrong. A riff seemed to present itself immediately to me; then it was just a question of which chords sounded good beneath that riff. Being something of a musical illiterate, I often play wrong chords. But sometimes the wrong notes sound better than the right ones. It can, at times, be hard to keep up with my mistakes. I tend to be a music first writer. I travel lightly and assume the lyrics will meet up with me later on, somewhere further down the road. In the meantime, my notes-to-self include: - make a joyful noise along to the music - which words does this noise sound like? - what does the music make me think of and/or feel? This one made me think about disco lights. Yes, that’s what I’d do. I’d write a song about disco lights. And so, the song began travelling under the name “Gold Silver”. “Gold Silver” made it as far as the “Come to the Fabulon” studio demos, recorded in Red Eye Studios, Clydebank in 2012-13. Although there was a variety of styles among these demos there is, you might say, a fine line between variety and anomaly. In this context “Gold Silver” sounded like a completely different band and, much as that in itself appealed to me, the song was, by majority decision, disappeared around the time of the Fabulon album rehearsals of 2013. During a band meeting in the Laurieston Bar with producer-in-chief Colin Elliot (see also “Loverboy”), I distinctly remember “Gold Silver” being given its marching orders, packed off to the Siberia of Song. I believe the term “Eurovision reject” was used. But remember: we throw nothing away. And another thing, while we’re here; I really like Eurovision. I remember Drew Barrymore’s lines in “Donnie Darko”, about how the words “cellar door” were considered by many to be the most beautiful in the English language. A matter of taste, of course. For me, as a Eurovision fan, the most beautiful words I ever heard were “Come in Helsinki”. So, “Gold Silver”, a song out of time and place, found itself banished to the margins, perhaps until some future time, maybe our Eurovision entry. Or our lockdown album. Come the lockdown, the band’s campaign shifted to the home front. With the mobilisation of all able-bodied songs – past, present and future - I found myself dusting off “Gold Silver” only to notice I hadn’t quite gotten around to finishing the lyrics (so much of life is about managing disrepair). This was around the time of the closing of the theatres when the image of the ghost light, a tradition I’d never heard of until then, began to do the rounds. The image and idea of the ghost light made me think that the lights in the song needn’t only be on the dancefloor; a thought which gave the song its final title and helped me to finally finish that thing I started on a bargain £20 synthesiser one hungover morning, 10 years previously. I think the ghost light is a noble tradition, an arresting image and an eerie reminder that there will be times when there is no light other than that which we create for ourselves: in the empty theatres, clubs and bars; in song, in dance and in every whistle that tries to charm the darkness.

#3 Drunk is a holiday (1996-2021)

“Ought we to be drunk every night?" Sebastian asked one morning. "Yes, I think so." "I think so too.” ― Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited The chorus melody for “Drunk is a Holiday” came to me, perhaps fittingly enough, in the middle of a hangover. I would date that hangover at around 1996, back when I was living in a bedsit in the Southside of Glasgow. The TV series of “Brideshead Revisited” was being repeated on Saturday evenings around then and I remember staying in to watch it over the course of several weeks. It helped to keep me off the booze. My favourite scene was the one with Sebastian and Charles, lounging by a fountain and sipping champagne in a decidedly louche manner. After their minimal, yet solemn exchange, as quoted above, which felt like a pact or vow, Sebastian falls into the fountain with his bottle of champagne. I remember applauding the telly at that bit. I, too, wanted to fall into fountains with bottles of champagne. Unfortunately, I was unemployed at the time and my limited means meant opportunities for such indulgence were few and far between. But picking up the guitar, the songs and all that - that was free. I often have musical ideas far beyond my capabilities of actually realising them. Sometimes it takes me years to catch up. Although the chorus melody came easily enough, I had no idea what to do with it. I tried marrying it off to all manner of unlikely suitors but nothing lasted. Then, other, easier songs came along and the melody was set aside until some later time, to be confirmed. The next recorded sighting was 2006 on a home demo. By this time, my circumstances had improved so that I had managed to upgrade my humble abode to a hovel in Partick. I was, more or less, gainfully employed to the point where I could even, should I choose, buy my own bottle of champagne, if not quite my own fountain. One evening, whilst buttering a slice of toast in the kitchen, a stray verse suggested itself to me which carried echoes of that chorus from what you might ironically call my Brideshead Days. I dusted down the old chorus, tentatively placing it next to this new verse and felt a little shiver as they clicked snugly together like missing jigsaw pieces, lost to one another all these years. It was good news from a former life, music as time travel. A more advanced demo in 2008- including bass, drums, guitars and early lyrics- shows that we had begun working on the song as a band and it was by then travelling under the name “Drunk is a Holiday”, perhaps in reference to its origins. But after this, the trail goes cold once more. I presume the song must have been deemed too cheerful for the last Starlets album in 2009. Soon afterwards came ANI’s Year Zero and in the post-revolutionary era which followed, songs about champagne and fountains would have been dimly viewed as irredeemably bourgeois. And so, the song was lost again. Or not lost, perhaps never really lost at all, rather searching. Or waiting. Waiting for its time to come, for the world to change once more and a reappraisal of all that was previously taken for granted; when we, not spoiled for resources, would once again find a virtue and a new aesthetic in making the best out of what we have. Mend and make new. Nowadays, I navigate my way through our strange new world by bicycle. I finally finished writing “Drunk is a Holiday” when the last of the lyrics came to me in the Summer of 2020 whilst cycling through the Dovecote country, somewhere between Yoker and Whiteinch and approximately 24 years after watching Brideshead Revisited. “The calm, beguiling Until you’re smiling Our little slice of forever* to be whiling” All of the above is not necessarily to say that the song itself is worth the wait. That is not, of course, for me to say. 24 years in the making is, after all, a fair bit to live up to and perhaps its origins will prove more interesting than its arrival. But it was worth my wait and I’ll go as far as to say that, yes, I am fond of it. If forced to describe the song for publicity purposes, I’d maybe offer something along the lines of “Music Hall as Synth Pop”. Whatever “Drunk is a Holiday” may or may not be, lyrically it is very much in the tradition of “write about what you know”, so if it all sounds a little woozy here and there, well, I’m afraid that’s because so do I. As a final point, if there are any time-travellers reading this, may I ask a small favour? Should you happen to be passing through 1996 any time soon, could you please pass on a message to my former self, if he’ll listen? Please tell him that future Biff asks that he be of good cheer. Tell him he finally finishes that song that he started. Tell him that he hasn’t given up, that he’s still trying to keep his promise. *This line is a nod and tip of the hat to Jenny Lindsay’s spoken word show “This Script” from which the line is “borrowed”. Other significant nods, tips and borrowings (although I prefer the term “references”) include to and from Warren Zevon’s “Carmelita”, a favourite at family sing-songs when I was growing up. Originally posted in December 2020

#4 Yesterday’s Already Light Years Away (No demo exists. Approximately 1997)

One from the analogue years, there was no demo recorded of this song at the time, or after. From around 1996 until 1999, the band rented a rehearsal room in the Maryhill Burgh Halls. From the studio next door, we inherited an unwieldy electric piano (affectionately christened “The Coffin” by Craig) and on which I stumbled across the song’s tinkly melody. My bus home from rehearsals crossed Jamaica Bridge, over the Clyde and out to the occasionally sunlit uplands of Glasgow’s Southside. Gazing out of the top deck window, I used to see blankets tidied away neatly underneath one of the bridge arches and wonder who slept there. The lyrics began with that thought. I remember clunkily playing through the song a couple of times in band rehearsals. When I looked around the room afterwards, all band members’ faces seemed to communicate the same reaction, namely, “Whit are we meant to dae wi that?”. A fair question. Some songs are not suited to the rough and tumble of the rehearsal room. Too much bang and crash. In this case, a slide rule and calculator may have been more useful. There’s a bit of an unusual structure to this one and I can hear echoes of my obsession (still current and ongoing) with Prefab Sprout’s “Steve McQueen” album. As stated above, there was no demo recorded at the time, but the song hung around awkwardly for a while, like a wallflower at a dance, before quietly slipping away into the shadows, lost down the lesser travelled corridors of my mind. Once in a while I would catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye but when I turned around it was gone again. After 25 years of rattling around in my head and without even a demo to its name, “Yesterday” can stake a fair claim as the unlikeliest character on this unlikeliest of records. A shy one, strange and a little awkward, this song may well be no one’s idea of the belle of the ball and, I would say, it is all the better for that. It is one of my favourites on the record. Some songs, and people, are not easy to know but, given the chance, will dance a dance all of their own.

#5 Ride the White Horses (29/03/10)

First demoed as an instrumental in a live home recording by Mark and I, dated 29/03/10 (see secret playlist) In the spirit of Martin Mull’s “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture”, here’s a song about painting, partly inspired by James Guthrie’s “Hard At It” which can be found in the Kelvingrove Art Gallery. I like to find inspiration in different artforms. One is less likely to be sued for plagiarism. At the time of writing, this song has been played live once only, at a solo show in Arnhem on 22/10/2010, when it was still shiny new and I must have been keen to try it out. After the last note, not one person applauded. Not one. Not even polite or pitying applause. Nada. Nil point. Ha ha ha. Cue tumbleweed. Character building. I daresay I could have taken the hint there and then but I’ve always been a bit stubborn that way. I am right and the world is wrong. Sooner or later the world will realise the error of its ways. Until then, if an idea is worth believing in, it is worth a world of indifference, worth all of the lean years for all of the meantime (even if it all turns out to be meantime). So, here’s to another time and place yet to come; to some other night in some other room where some one person hearing the song may feel just glad enough to clap hands. Then, at long last, from lost into later, the song will have found a home. NB. For further reference material (and dancing about architecture), please see Eduardo Chillada’s “The Comb of the Wind”

#6 What You Came For (11/08/2018)

The first of the Later songs. The initial melody came to me whilst on a jolly through to Edinburgh for the festival, somewhere in between Kilderkin and the Waverley Bar. As I recall, I was temporarily between drinks and loitering outside a newsagent whilst a friend bought tobacco. Ideas tend to come to me when my guard is down, maybe when drifting in or out of sleep, or sometimes, as in this case, when in a dreamlike state. A cool summer breeze eased down the Royal Mile, calming my fevered brow. I must have started singing to myself. Tum-te-tum. Tourists milling by occasionally glanced at me, the singing jakey; perhaps thinking I was one of the local characters, a little bit random but harmless enough. “Hey”, I wanted to say, “I’m a tourist here myself”. There must have been some presence of mind still functioning as I recorded the tune on my phone with the title “Yeahyeahyeahs” (it reminded me a little, at the time, of their song “Turn Into”- I always liked that one). The tune must have been rattling around in my head for a while after that as further developments of the song can be heard on subsequent phone recordings made, by the sounds of it, on trains, waiting on buses and first thing in the morning after dreaming about an idea for the middle eight- https://on.soundcloud.com/SAaj7 The last recorded sighting was 24/09/18; a live take of a rehearsal by the band but by then the Dark Carnival was rolling into town and everything went supernatural for a while.

#7 Something of the Night (18/12/18)

Our Hallowe’en number and another of the Later songs, the only previous recording of this was a live rehearsal dated 18/12/2018 - https://on.soundcloud.com/VNeEW Clearly influenced by our imminent descent into the underworld, this one could well have ended up on the Dark Carnival album had it been a little less late. Inspired by B-movies, Bela Lugosi, Vampira, Ed Wood, Nosferatu, “Monster Mash”, “Foul Owl on the Prowl” from “In the Heat of the Night” and, yes folks, the theme tune from “The Professionals”. I wouldn’t imagine the lyrics require any elaboration, with one possible exception: for anyone unfamiliar with the Scots vernacular of “looking for a lumber”, this phrase is used to describe someone “out on the pull”. Of course, the versatility/ambivalence of the word may well become all too apparent the morning after the night before, should last night’s “lumber” turn into this morning’s “lumbered with”. It can be a confusing language, particularly nowadays when nuance has become so terribly unfashionable. I looked up “lumber” in both Oxford and Cambridge English dictionaries but its use as a singular noun (e.g. “Did ye get a lumber last night?”) receives no mention. That, of course, may well be a whole other story. This song is, I am proud to say, a thoroughly reprehensible character (although clearly somewhat ridiculous). Like its fellow travellers, it was, at the time and for one reason or another, considered inappropriate. Maybe so. Or maybe it is, to paraphrase Lloyd Cole, inappropriate but much more fun. This will be the one they remember us for. Featuring bonus wolf howl.

#8 Swirly (04/03/2009)

It’s swirly, man.

The first demo is dated 04/03/09 at 1653h, just in time for tea. Around this time, I was beginning to collaborate with my friend Ally Kerr on his songs, working towards his album “Viva Melodia”. I’d say it was a productive time for both Ally and myself and I was enthused by his maverick, can-do attitude. I remember sauntering home from Ally’s one night after an evening of beer and songs and suddenly a melody began rattling around in my head. In the spirit of creating a language out of whatever is inspiring us at the time, I began singing, as placeholder lyrics for the melody - “Ally’s good, Ally’s fine, Ally’s hot to let you know”. As a placeholder title to match the lyrics, I thought “Swirly” suited its woozy, spiralling mood. Last time I looked, the title was still there. The song felt promising up until the moment of truth in the rehearsal room, when it became sadly apparent that we, the band, couldn’t really play it very well. We tried a few times but it didn’t half plod where it should have swirled. It quickly became another of our songs to be shelved and filed under “Far too much like hard work”. Some songs are contrary: you have to record them before you learn how to play them, odd as that may sound. At the time of recording, we had never played “Swirly” live. Instead, it was stitched together according to a vague but ambitious wish list sent to long-suffering producer Colin Elliot who was tasked with performing pop alchemy on our humble, home-made fare. Swirly was the first of the lockdown songs to make it out into the world, the first single and original Lost and Later Song #1. After the initial morale boost, then came the challenge: if this is possible, then what else is? The sensible thing would have been to say no. Nice idea but walk away. To say no is easier, quicker. To say yes is harder to live up to, will take far longer. Maybe even a lifetime.

#9 Everything’s Alright Fine (31/12/2020)

Second latest of the Later songs, born in a hangover and hummed into my phone, just in time for Hogmanay. I was stumbling through the no man’s land between last night and the night to come, fighting a rear-guard action against a horde of demons calling me bad names. Some hangovers can look so big they can pass themselves off as all sky, all horizon and all hereafter. There is nothing but and nothing beyond this. Abandon hope all ye who enter here. It is important then to remember that this is only a temporary psychosis caused by lack of fluids. Drink water, have some soup, take a nice, hot bath; back to basics, be humble, hit reset, switch off and on again, add in some calculated distractions. All well and good in theory. However. Once upon a hangover, one penitent Sunday and a personal low point to date, I was unable to keep my fluids in place, so to speak. Another test of character. When even a humble glass of water is beyond us, we must accept this additional level of abasement and find our new level. There is, of course, a fine line between humbling and humiliating but never mind. One hasty rummage in a cupboard later and I emerged triumphant with a bathroom sponge. Eureka. I wet the sponge - not soaked, dampened only - and repaired to the sofa. I began with wetting my lips only - so far, so good. I then built up to occasional discrete, tactical sucks on the sponge, hoping to take on fluids by stealth, under the radar. I had in place a cunning strategy. All I needed now was some covering fire, a decoy, a distraction. I switched the TV on, hoping for a gentle Sunday matinee from a bygone age to gaze at longingly whilst sucking on my sponge. The screen crackled into life with a brassy fanfare straight out of Hollywood’s golden era. In a marvel of fortuitous timing, I was just in time to catch the opening credits to the Sunday matineé. Perhaps my chances were, at last, beginning to take an upward turn. Then, as I lay on the sofa, sucking cautiously on my sponge and still lamenting my terrible thirst, the screen announced the afternoon feature as- “Humphrey Bogart stars in…. “SAHARA!” You’ve got to laugh. Humour is our short circuit, cutting off the path to insanity. Or maybe, in the language of the movies, it heads us off at the pass. That hangover was from another time, a lion of its kind, whereas the hangover of 31/12/20 was a pussycat in comparison. Damage was sustainable; fluids acceptable; soup, a dawning possibility. A few minor demons were off on a toot but the mopping up operation was well underway. I would gather them all up like naughty numbskulls and put them back in the jar, until the next time the lid pops off. So, taking deep breaths, I repeated like a mantra – “Everything’s alright, everything’s alright..”. Tell it ‘til it’s true. “Everything’s alright”. “Everything’s alright what?”, came the answer, one of the more stubborn demons. “Everything’s alright fine”. “Why two words when one would do?” said the demon. “You protest too much”. The above processing of information and damage management often takes a musical form. It is good to take notes throughout. You never know what you might miss. Humphrey Bogart won’t always be there to help you through your hangovers and some courses you’ll have to plot alone, making your own entertainment along the way. Meantime, and remember, this may well all turn out to be meantime, everything’s alright fine.

#10 Intermission – (Voice recording of initial idea recorded on 10/11/20)

Transmissions from Planet Zoom- a melancholy android plays remembered sounds from Planet Earth; an ice cream van, a seaside organ, elevator muzak. Refreshments are available in the foyer.

Welcome back folks.

#11 A Chemical Dream (20/01/04 - 01/09/08)

Another of the lost souls, “A Chemical Dream” dates from around mid-late noughties and, woozy and anaesthetised as it may be, I imagine it must still have been deemed far too jolly for the last Starlets album. Then, come the revolution and post Year-Zero, songs about chemicals would, of course, have been cancelled due to high levels of bourgeois decadence. I picture “A Chemical Dream” as the sound of Sunday morning coming down; dawn is breaking and night’s spell of enchantment is slowly lifting, but maybe the imminent crash will be sustainable, a new beginning. Song as dream sequence, through the highs and lows of hedonism, thematically we are, of course, in familiar territory here. Never mind. We must work with what we have. Even when it feels like nothing.

#12 What Boys Do (10/7/16) “And you know all our boys Are really girls at heart” -The Imposter, Elvis Costello

“What Boys Do” started life in 2016 with the working title of “The Replacements” (see link), as the initial idea reminded me a little of the brilliant band of that name (as an irrelevant aside here, I would like to boast that one of the treasures in my collection is a cigarette packet signed by Paul Westerberg). I don’t remember too much about writing this but there are many things in my life that I don’t remember too much about and perhaps this is for the best. If called upon to explain myself as regards the title, I would draw attention to the lyric - “All the big talk and then we’re through But that’s just what boys do” As a boy of a certain vintage, I grew up in an era when society’s expectation for its menfolk was to be strong, capable, uncomplaining, tough, undemonstrative, to never show weakness. That’s a fair bit to live up to. Hence the big talk. And all that goes with it. The song itself sounded, once again, so unlike anything else we were doing at the time that I didn’t know where to put it (we are an anomaly even to ourselves) and so off it slipped, into obscurity, last seen in 2016. A six-year sentence to the Lost and Later files is, of course, relatively lenient when compared with some of the other songs (see “Drunk is a Holiday”). Then came the days of the new pestilence and lockdown during which, with nothing better to do, and having exhausted all other far more pleasant possibilities, I thought, oh dear, I might as well work. In the early demos there were concerns that the heavy guitars could sound a bit ploddy and pub rock so we decided a healthy dollop of glam was required and during the recording of the song, I often asked myself - “What would the New York Dolls do?” *. So, I added some “oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ohs" and bought myself a feather boa. I wore the feather boa whilst recording the vocal and that helped to get me in the mood. Still, I had my doubts and, come the mixing, I expressed concern over my vocal performance in an email to our producer Colin Elliot, signing off with - “My only worry is that it may not be camp enough”. Colin was happy to reassure me on that point and replied- “Don’t worry, it’s always camp enough” * “What would the New York Dolls do?” I would strongly recommend we ask ourselves this question whenever facing difficult circumstances, in whatever walk of life and certainly never less than once a day... although probably not whilst driving or operating heavy machinery.

#13 Starlight International 16/10/18 @ 7.39 am

This song arrived, more or less fully formed, in a dream. On waking, rather than rolling over, perchance to dream once more, I had the wherewithal to grab my guitar and record it into my phone. There’s something about the state between sleep and waking that makes for fertile ground for the imagination. The mind is no longer on its best behaviour. Notions such as sensible, adult behaviour become a laughing stock. Ha ha ha ha. Fuck that. Chaos creeps in, many-fingered and dancing to the beat of a different drum. We were in the middle of our Dark Carnival incarnation at the time and I found myself singing “Baby you’re a supernatural” at the chorus so this became the initial working title. Later on, I thought the word “international” scanned a bit better and could also make for our signature tune. Then “Starlight International” suggested itself. It all sounded rather glam and, inspired by Bowie’s starman/spaceboy fantasies, I thought “Of course! A space ballad”. The band as cosmonauts, into the Great Unknown, to infirmity and beyond. If I wasn’t afraid of heights, I wouldn’t mind signing up for the space game. As long as I didn’t have to wake up too early and as long as I was home in time for tea or at least, last orders.

#14 Boom Boom Cannonball (27/9/17)

The riff idea came to me at a Slim Cessna’s Auto Club gig. In days gone by I would have forgotten it with the next passing fancy but thankfully nowadays there are voice recorders on phones to help people like me along. In the “boom idea” recording you can hear me singing the riff over the noisy chaos of the live gig in the background (foreground as background, sadly, is often the way at live gigs). As noted previously, every recipe needs a healthy dash of chaos, this time provided by the noise and heat and sweat of a small club gig. The band are bangin and I’m several beers in. Charge on.

It was never going to be pretty. It demanded much huffing and puffing and a-panting and a-grunting, like Leonard Cohen sings the Army of Lovers or a surprise Eurovision entry by The Hormone Monster. Cheesy, sleazy eurotrash with a honking, stonking dose of the horn. Yes, yes, yes...it may all be considered thoroughly inappropriate, but I have no concerns. In order to be cancelled, one has to be scheduled in the first place.

#15 The Strangest Thing (1/3/21)

Latest of the later songs and yet another to come in a dream. I seem to spend half my life in a dream, the other half in denial. In this dream I found myself running through the dimly lit labyrinth of a post-apocalyptic Venice whilst battling some strangely attractive zombies. I didn’t know whether I wanted to fight the Zombies or....well, you get the idea. It was all a bit Lara Croft meets Sigmund Freud. The end of the dream felt like completing a level. I outran the zombies only to find myself running down a dark alleyway into a dead end, at the end of which was a drinking fountain. As I approached the fountain, I saw there was a secret button in the middle of the fountainhead. Ooh. I pressed a secret button and the fountain began to sink into the ground whilst playing the doorbell melody you hear at the beginning of the song. That was the dream. Pure spooky man. My dreams are rarely light-hearted. Never mind. I try to see them as free entertainment, the brain’s bonus section. Lockdown recording felt like a clean slate, like we could sound like anything we wanted. It liberated us from the bang and crash of the rehearsal room (fond as I am of that). I suspect “The Strangest Thing” would never have blossomed in that environment. I should be grateful it wasn’t written 25 years ago. If you are in a hurry, I would say this is not the song for you. If you are not in a hurry....may I suggest you make yourself comfortable, maybe with a glass of something lovely. Let us take time out from the world. The chaos will still be there tomorrow. Just not the way we left it.

#16 There’s Barely Enough Time to Breathe (no demo exists)

Another one from the analogue years, approximately 1997-8, around the same time as “Yesterday’s Already Light Years Away” and similarly born out of my obsession (current and ongoing) with Prefab Sprout’s “Steve McQueen” album. This was another one which didn’t suit the rough and tumble of the rehearsal room. Quite simply, we didn’t have a clue what to do with the song and so we stood around looking at it for a while, somewhat vacantly, like dogs watching a card trick. So, no demo for this one. You can’t record what you can’t play, or so we thought until making this album. Never let a lack of technical ability get in the way of a musical idea. Music is too important to be left to musicians. That’s what I always say. Lyrically, this one was in part inspired by the line “Another lifetime is the least you’ll need” from Jonathan Coe’s “The House of Sleep”. I loved the book and the character Sarah, a narcoleptic who can’t tell the difference between her dreams and her waking state and so talks to people about her dreams as though they were widely known world events. How marvellous. I used to think I might be narcoleptic until it dawned on me that I just find much of life terribly dull. As a younger man, I was sacked from jobs for falling asleep. Fortunately, I wasn’t a bus driver. Or anything important, really. I managed to blag a place at university purely as a way of avoiding work, only to then regularly fall asleep during lectures. I remember falling asleep during a History lecture (the last words I remember hearing were something about “demography in the 18th century”) only to wake up some time later, startled to find I was surrounded by an entirely new group of students, all eagerly taking notes on a talk about tectonic plates and volcanic rock formations. I was too embarrassed to get up and leave so I sat as inconspicuously as a recently snoring man in a room full of bright-eyed young Geology students could until I gradually found myself being drawn in by the subject, fascinated. Wow. What tumult and drama we walk above. It’s amazing we can make it to the shops in one piece. I failed History that year but I could probably tell you a thing or two about Mount Vesuvius. So, anyway, getting back to the song, lyrically, I can hear the struggle to reconcile my world view with what then seemed to me the outrage upon my personal liberty that was working for a living. Work, the foulest of all four-letter words and the enemy of sleep. I have never been a morning person and wake up begrudgingly. I then believe in due process as observed in the form of at least one hour of coffee and denial. After an hour, I may then deign to talk to you, but it will probably be about the dream I just had. I carried this song around in my head for 25 years. I am beyond happy to see it finally set it free. Thank you, dear band, thank you Colin Elliot. The more dreams I can make come true, the less there are to haunt me.

#17 Freediving (1/3/12)

Another late developer, more lost than later, “Freediving” took 10 years to record. Mark and I occasionally get together to work on the guitar arrangements, an activity which has come to be known as “The Biscuit Sessions” (these would be mid-week affairs, involving nothing stronger than ginger snaps and PG Tips). The earliest documented recording of this was 1/3/12 at 1906h, a rough idea we must have bashed out in between biscuits. A further demo from 22/12/12 (0020h) shows a more realised structure although it was still instrumental at the time (I didn’t yet know what I was writing about). The song felt subtle and elusive, never quite settling and I think back then, we made the mistake of trying to rush it, control it, rather than allow it to breathe and gradually reveal itself. If you love something, set it free. If it’s meant to be, it will come back to you. And it did, around nine years later in the long, echoing days of lockdown when time all of a sudden felt like a surplus (a mirage, I know) and little pockets of hitherto unimaginable breathing space emerged, a coming up for air in the midst of all the horror. The music itself made me think of water. It felt fluid, tidal. I thought of the intimacy of underwater where the above world becomes muffled and hushed and how, perhaps in that escape lay the appeal of freediving, not an activity I had given much thought to until watching the film “The Big Blue”. I remembered the scene from the film when the two central characters, friends and rivals for the crown of World Freediving Champion, become bored at a glitzy party and, aching to escape the inane cocktail chatter, decide to jump in their host’s swimming pool and hang out down at the bottom of the deep end. I also thought of Kino the pearl diver from Steinbeck’s “The Pearl”, Kino bursting triumphantly from the depths as cupped and glistening in his hands was the oyster in which lay the pearl of the world. Finally, I thought that whatever is or isn’t down there, pearls, tranquility or nothing at all, in the dive alone may be found a freedom which, if we never get our feet wet, we will only ever guess at.

#18 Those First Impressions (approximately 2007)

For Billy Mackenzie

#19 The Night Will Take You (original demo dated 9/11/10)

It’s the last song of the night folks. If you don’t ask that beautiful stranger to dance now, the moment will be gone forever. We impersonate that which we admire, try it on for size in the hope that someday the outfit may suit us. Back in Starlets days, we used to cover “Science Fiction/Double Feature” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I still think it’s the most romantic song I’ve ever heard and one of the few songs that, whatever I’m doing, should I hear it playing, I have to stop and listen to it (I am not a man to be left in charge of a group of toddlers, or a combine harvester). Travelling for many years under the nom de guerre “Glitterball”, in another world, or perhaps in yet another dream I once had, "The Night Will Take You" would soundtrack the closing credits of a John Hughes movie. Preferably one with Molly Ringwald. Good triumphs over evil, love over death, and all those eternal human legends which settle our score with reality. Some nights, when the lights are low and the music's right, I start believing all over again. So, if you’re dancing, I’m asking. Always will be.

#20 Lost and Later Theme (5/3/19)

A street musician duets with a synthesiser. Written on accordion, this early recording is more bum notes than melody but you can hear the tune gradually emerging - https://on.soundcloud.com/BrFXc It was partly influenced by a barrel organ street musician I once heard - (see “Rue Daguerre, Montparnasse” on the secret playlist). I loved the song but never found out its name. It sounds like some old, jolly, French drinking song. If anyone recognises it, please do let me know, thank you. Anyway, welcome to the end of the pier. Don’t jump off just yet. You might miss something. The view is lovely and on a clear day you can see, if not quite forever, at least as far as next Tuesday. To quote many a firm but fair barkeep at closing time, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here. Actually, no, that’s not true. You can stay here. You can live here. I do.

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hmslusitania · 3 years ago

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75+77 for buddie

75. Bed Sharing + 77. In Vino Veritas

I didn't mean to actually end up turning this into a ficlet but, uh, anyway here we are. I think it’s my penance for the fact I’ve had two prompts from you in my inbox for literal months that I haven’t gotten to yet 😬

tw: alcohol use. Nothing happens with it, there isn’t even drunken kissing, but they are drunk for this ficlet, because as the prompt says, there is truth in wine.

-----

The wedding goes off without a hitch.

Buck has never been happier to see Maddie happy. He’s done this one before – walked her down an aisle – but he likes this one so much better than the last time. He likes everything about this wedding better, from the groom (Chimney, of course) to the setting (a vineyard, with the entire attached villa rented out for the wedding party to stay at).

But the party’s wound down now. Mr and Mrs Lee are watching Jee-Yun, and Maddie and Chimney have been bundled off to the bridal suite, and the only people left in the main reception hall are Hen and Karen, slowly revolving in place together even though the music stopped maybe an hour ago.

All that’s left is for Buck to go find his room.

Of course, when he does, it’s full. Buck considers the scene before him, hands on his hips, and finally shakes his head. The three boys – Harry, Denny, Chris – have constructed a pillow fort out of all the bedding in Buck’s room and are sound asleep, still in their formal wear.

Buck’s phone looks a little blurry when he pulls it out to text Athena, Hen, and Eddie to let them know exactly where their boys are, and then he’s got to find somewhere else to sleep. He tiptoes past the kids to get his toothbrush from the bathroom, and as is so often the case, notices exactly how drunk he still is when he catches sight of his own face in the bathroom mirror.

He collects his toothbrush and talks himself down a little and then heads off to try and find somewhere to sleep that hasn’t been utterly ransacked by eleven-year-olds. He only makes it halfway down the hall before he stumbles into Eddie, who seems soberer than he is for all of three seconds before he starts plucking at Buck’s suspenders.

“You’re wearing suspenders,” Eddie announces, hooking his finger under one of the straps and letting it snap back against Buck’s chest.

“Yeah, it’s fancy,” Buck replies. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Chris, I was gonna check on Chris,” Eddie says. He plucks at Buck’s suspender again and giggles at the snapping sound it makes.

“Chris is good, they made a fort in my room,” Buck says. “So I was gonna sleep on the…”

He trails off when he realises he doesn’t actually have an endgame here.

“On the?” Eddie prompts.

Buck shrugs broadly, and with the amount of wine he’s had that night, it messes with his equilibrium enough that he tips backwards. It’s only Eddie’s fingers wrapped around his suspenders that keeps him from going over.

“On the other side of my bed,” Eddie says, and starts pulling him down the hallway. Buck can barely walk backward while he’s sober, so he’s very impressed by Eddie’s ability to do so now.

“Can I borrow your toothpaste?” Buck asks, because it is suddenly the most important thing in the world that he brush his teeth.

Eddie’s face goes deadly serious. “No,” he says. He lets go of one of Buck’s suspenders to open the door behind him and pulls him inside. “No, man, there’s a line in friendship and toothpaste is just—”

Before Buck can do more than tilt his head, confused, Eddie breaks and starts giggling again.

Buck’s never really seen him drunk before, he realises. And when he’s been tipsy, it’s been on beer. Wine-drunk is a whole different ballgame.

“No, of course you can use my toothpaste,” Eddie says. “Do you need to borrow my toothbrush, too?”

Buck holds his own up obligingly.

Brushing your teeth when you’re drunk and giggly and your best friend is also drunk and giggly and keeps bumping into you while trying to brush his own teeth turns out to be a challenge, but they somehow make it through and finally collapse on Eddie’s bed.

They start off in their full suits from the wedding, but after lying there for a few minutes, Buck sits up – ignoring the sudden surge of dizziness – and takes off his jacket so he can slip the suspenders down off his shoulders. He lays back down, spreading his arms out flat across the surface of the bed to try and get his head to stop spinning. A moment later, Eddie sits up and removes his already loose tie from around his neck and drops it off the edge of the bed, followed quickly by his jacket. When he lays back down, it’s on his side and Buck only notes that they forgot to turn the lights off when he realises he can see every detail of Eddie’s face while Eddie stares at him.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Eddie asks at something that is probably supposed to be a whisper.

“Yes, absolutely, please do,” Buck says.

“I love weddings,” Eddie says.

Buck grins at him, oddly endeared that this is a secret.

“Shh,” Eddie says, pressing a shushing finger to Buck’s lips.

Buck goes cross-eyed trying to see Eddie’s finger, and Eddie goes cross-eyed doing the same and then shakes himself.

“I mean, shh,” he says again, this time pressing the finger to his own lips.

Buck makes his best solemn, nodding face.

“Not – not the big ones? With the frilly white dresses and the bridezillas and the terrifying mothers-in-law and stuff,” Eddie says. “But the ones like this where – where you know the sky could fall down around everyone but it would be okay because the people getting married love each other so much.”

“It was nice,” Buck agrees. “Nicer than the last time Maddie got married, too. That was a big frilly dress wedding. I didn’t like that one.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose in distaste. “What about the other weddings you’ve been to?”

It’s hard to tilt his head sideways in confusion when Buck is already lying down but he gives it his best effort. “What other weddings?”

“The other weddings you’ve been to,” Eddie says, which is just the same thing he said before but in a statement instead of a question. “What were they like?”

“I haven’t been to other weddings,” Buck says.

Eddie gasps. “What?”

“The only weddings I’ve been to are Maddie’s,” Buck says.

Eddie doesn’t seem able to comprehend this. “What about your cousins and stuff, though?”

“Don’t have any,” Buck says.

Eddie makes a face at him like this is utterly unacceptable. “Well, when we get married, it’ll be like this. It’ll be nice.”

Buck’s heart does a full three-sixty in his chest. “Say that again?”

“Maybe not a vineyard? Like, somewhere – I don’t know, but I like this with everyone staying over, maybe like a cabin or something? I don’t know,” Eddie says.

“Eddie, we’re not dating,” Buck says.

The look Eddie gives him would be funny in any other circumstance except Buck is way too drunk to handle it right now.

“We’re not?” Eddie asks.

“No,” Buck says. And then, suddenly, he’s second guessing himself. “I don’t think we are, at least?”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Eddie replies. “We should be dating.”

“Obviously,” Buck agrees. “Probably, like, years ago.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Duh.”

“Duh,” Buck echoes, and then bursts out laughing. When Eddie starts laughing again as well, Buck rolls over and tucks his head into Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie wraps and arm around him and Buck hooks a leg around one of Eddie’s.

They’re still entangled when the sun comes up.

Fanfic Trope Mashups!

#the ghost ship scribbles #9-1-1 #buddie #9-1-1 fic #buddie fic #the ghost ship answers questions

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katyasrussianaccent · 3 years ago

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you're so golden (corpse x reader)

Summary: You're a faceless youtuber that sings cover songs. What happens when a certain faceless streamer slides into your DMs after you cover one of his songs?

Author's Note: Don't hate me! This was gonna be a cute chapter but then I decided against that. Credit to @moontwinkles for the spilling scene idea. Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

The sound of your alarm wakes you from your slumber with a suddenness. Bleary-eyed, you roll over to turn it off, letting out a small sigh as your body and brain start to awaken. You’re going to meet Corpse. You’re going to meet Corpse. It bares repeating in your mind; the prospect still not quite registering.

You haven’t had the greatest sleep, your mind racing most of the night; skittish little thoughts that had you tapping your toes on the mattress in agitation as you struggled to turn them off. Sunlight streams through the cracks in your blinds, a warm glow painted in stripes on your wall. It was going to be a good day, tiredness be damned.

You get up, stretching your arms out as wide as possible and relishing in the relief as your muscles unclench themselves. There’s a little spring in your step as you walk to the bathroom, to wash your face and brush your teeth. You aren’t nervous as you pick out your favourite outfit, instead you feel excited. It’s funny how little scraps of fabric and thread can impact your mood so much, but you smile at your reflection, the feeling of confidence is nice, albeit rare.

The rumbling in your stomach signals that you need to eat something before you leave. Nothing too fancy, just some toast and a glass of juice. You can feel the nerves start to grow a little, the food sits heavy on your tongue, forcing you to swallow it. You grab your phone, scrolling as you chew. You go onto Corpse’s twitter, smiling at the picture he’s posted.

Out of curiosity, you go onto his likes. You always find his likes interesting; the random things he’s added gives you more of an insight to his thoughts and feelings. You chew the inside of your cheek as you scroll down past girls with perfect skin and bodies; your previous confidence now feels a little misplaced.

Deciding against letting it ruin your mood, you close the tab and go to grab your bag before locking your door and heading to your car. You text Rae to let her know you’re leaving and she replies almost immediately to wish you luck. Sitting in front of the steering wheel, you exhale as you start the engine and begin to drive. This was really happening. When Corpse had asked to meet, you were shocked. While you had discussed it, you had been under the assumption it would be a while before it happened. You just hope you don’t make an idiot of yourself; a tendency you had when you were nervous.

While you love the city, there’s something about driving on the open road. No noise, just the sound of tires on concrete. The scenery remains the same; nothing but trees and the occasional house far in the horizon. You’re meeting him in Santa Barbara; a place you’ve been to once in your life, so it might as well be brand new. It’s halfway between both of you, and while it’s still a few hours drive, you’ve got good music and some sunshine to keep you happy.

The drive flies in and before you know it, you’ve arrived. You’re meeting at a cafe that sells bubble tea; it was Corpse’s recommendation. It’s a charming little place, with white table and chairs on a cobbled patio area. The building itself is white brick, plant pots decorate the window sills and there’s a small crowd of people waiting in line. You turn off the engine, and grab the perfume out your bag, the smell of peaches invading your nostrils. With one last look at yourself, you exit your car and make your way to the cafe.

You’re not sure how you’ll find him, being faceless and all. A quick scan of the people around you, your eyes zero in on a figure dressed all in black, leaning against a wall that’s slightly in the shade. There’s butterflies in your stomach as you look at him from afar, your feet apparently unable to move on their own accord. He stands out amongst the brightly coloured outfits of everyone else, and you can see the sun glint against the chains on his jeans.

“Hi,” you greet, your hand going up to half-wave at him. He’s handsome; pale skin and cheekbones that disappear under the fabric of his mask. A mop of black curls are atop his head, falling out in different directions, and he brushes one off his forehead as he looks at you.

“Hey,” he replies and you smile a little. There’s a thick fog of awkwardness between you as you both take each other in, though trying not to look so obvious about it. You feel under scrutiny as his eyes move over you, and you meet his gaze before you both look down at the ground, a faint blush on your cheeks.

“How was the drive?,” you ask at the same time he does, causing you both to laugh. “Oh. Uh yeah it was good, thanks, how was yours?”

“Yeah it was good,” he replies, his eyes still on the ground.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

You scream internally as your eyes dart around, looking for something, anything to break this awkwardness. It shouldn’t be like this, you have such great chemistry on the phone and online, but there’s nothing right now. Is it you? There’s a niggling in your brain that says he was fine until now; until he saw you.

“We could go, uh, into the cafe? Get some food?” he suggests, breaking you from your self deprecating thoughts. You nod and you follow him to the door. He opens it and you dodge out the way as it narrowly escapes hitting you in the face. Corpse mutters an apology as he walks in, his eyes glued to the ground.

You order together; you get yourself a boba tea and a burger and Corpse does the same. He pays without saying anything to you, and while the day’s isn’t going quite as you pictured, the gesture makes your cheeks warm. You desperately hope it gets better. Maybe you’ve misread the situation and the chemistry you felt you had was just friendship on his part. Friends flirt all the time, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.

Your food arrives and you sit in relative silence as you eat. The times you do speak is stilted, full of one word answers and obvious observations. You go to reach for your boba as Corpse goes to grab salt, and the movement of his hand plus the crampedness of the table pushes your own hand back towards you, knocking the cup all over your neck and chest. Corpse shoots up in a speed that shouldn’t be human, his hand full of napkins as he comes towards you. The liquid is cold against your skin, and you look down to see your outfit now ruined, the fabric sticking to you in wet patches.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, I’m so sorry,” Corpse says, his tone panicky as he dabs at your neck. He continues to dab, his hands pressing at the neckline of your top and if this was another time, you’d feel all fluttery at his hands on your skin. But it’s not, you’re uncomfortable and the day has sucked so far and all you want to do is go home. He discards the napkin onto the table and grabs another, his fingers warm against your collarbone as he presses the tissue. He doesn’t realise that he’s travelling downwards to your chest before he presses once, twice, before retracting his hand back like he’s been burned, the napkin falling to the floor. “Uh fuck, sorry, I didn’t realise I - “

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. “I’ve always wanted apple scented boobs, guess I can check that off my bucket list.” It’s a failed joke but humour is a defence mechanism for you, even if it’s not very funny. Corpse widens his eyes a little, his gaze fixed on the napkin that’s on the floor.

He hands you some more napkins and you clean up a little more. Your skin feels sticky, and you smell of artificial apple; but the apple isn’t sweet, it’s bitter and slightly unpleasant.

“Uh, I should probably go home and get a shower, I feel like I fell into a vat of sugar,” you say, standing up and grabbing your bag.

“Oh, yeah, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so clumsy,” Corpse replies. You can tell he feels awful, and while you sympathise, he’s not the one that’s just had almost a full cup of boba spilled on him.

You shake your head, “It’s fine, really. I just feel really gross. Don’t worry about it.” You smile in what you hope comes across as reassurance.

“Let me walk you back to your car,” he says. You nod and walk out together in silence; something you had gotten used to throughout the day.

“Have a safe drive back,” you say as you get to your car.

“I will. Let me know when you get home?” he asks, and you nod.

“Shall do. Goodbye Corpse,” you say, opening the door and waving at him through the window. He waves back and you watch him through the rearview mirror as he disappears out of sight. You feel like an idiot for believing this was going to be good, like you ever had a chance with him. You’d been saying it since the start; that it wouldn’t work, you had nothing in common, nothing to talk about. And you were right. Sometimes you hated being right.

You turn the engine on and sit there for a second, your head pressing against the steering wheel. What a waste of time this was. Grabbing your phone, you tweet quickly.

“Oh well, let’s go wallow in self pity,” you whisper before driving off.

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#my fic #corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband x female reader #corpse husband x yn #corpse husband imagine #corpse x yn #corpse x you #corpse fic #corpse smau #corpse imagines #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fic

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sunjaesol · 4 years ago

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written kind of caffeinated, kind of stoned, kind of sleep-deprived juke | 2043 words | pure fluff

He knew that, rationally, he shouldn’t do it. The word “boundary!” blared in his head and the whole thing was really inconsequential and it was so stupid, but Luke simply couldn’t help himself. Was it because of his crush on her? Most definitely. Should that awareness stop him from doing dumb shit like this? Yes, except here he was.

While Julie was at school, she accidentally let the lights in her room on. And so, Luke poofed from the studio into her room to turn them off. Saving power, right? Doing the right thing, being a good person, definitely not going into her room because it was her room.

There was something relaxing about the space though. A sense of serenity falling on his shoulders every time he stepped inside and let his eyes wander and settle on new nooks and corners he hadn’t discovered yet. F+J scratched in the wood of her wardrobe, a box of pretty seashells, four tubes of the exact same mascara in her vanity. It felt familiar and human and simple and so, so Julie.

He flicked the lights off, the only light source being the sun pouring in and casting the room in a gentle glow. Her pink walls were gentler now, the colour of peaches and reminding him of summer nights with his boys on the beach. (It also reminded him of Julie’s peach deodorant that always hung around her and involuntarily made him zero in on her. Alex would argue he was always looking at her, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that the thought of peaches only held fond memories - new memories that now included her too.)

Alright. The lights were off. He did his good deed. He should go back to the boys…

His feet moved on their own accord and plopped down on her bed, sinking into the mattress. His hands caressed the soft comforter, a smile tugging on his lips that thank the fucking music gods, he could still touch and feel things. He would’ve gone insane in an instant if they weren’t able to be in contact with anything or anyone. It was unfathomable to Luke - not hugging Reggie or massaging Alex’s shoulders or grabbing Julie’s hand. To him, music was just another way to share that sensation of contact with people. Didn’t matter if it was loud and rough or quiet and intimate, a ballad or a rock anthem. Connection: that was all he ever needed.

His fingers slid further and suddenly he was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Oh, man. Now he really couldn’t leave. Her bed was so comfortable! Definitely better than the mattress he had at his folks or, even worse, the couch. That thing broke his back the last months. Ha, Luke noted bitterly, maybe it was better that he hit the bucket then. Rather dead and setting the stage on fire than living with a hernia, right?

Though Luke still slept (habit? he guessed?), he has never felt sleepy. The boys just hung around or hit the streets and then eventually felt that tug of human normalcy. “Maybe we should go to sleep, guys. Big day ahead.” He didn’t dream. It was just black. It wasn’t unwelcome; just… empty.

But here, laying on Julie’s bed and letting his eyes blur and rest, Luke felt sleepy. Sufficiently exhausted. He didn’t know where that sudden slam of the hammer came from, but he kind of liked it. It made him feel like he was the one that went to school today, or had a tiring shift at some fast food shack, or played a gig. He stretched himself like a star, grinned as all the joints in his back popped, and then rolled on his side. Fucking heaven.

‘What’re you doing here?’

The faraway voice lulled the groggy Luke awake. He felt like he was hit by a truck. Where was he?

‘Hmph?’

She chuckled, his mind speeding up at just the sound and realising that shit, he did fall asleep on her bed and she caught him. His eyes cracked open, coming face to face with an amused Julie hovering on the side of the bed. His brain supplied him with the thought that she looked pretty, reminding him once again that yup, he still liked her. A sheepish smile crawled on his lips.

‘Hey, Jules.’

She rolled her eyes and then roughly pushed him to the other side of the bed. He squeaked, grabbing onto the comforter as to not fall off and gawked at her.

‘Dude!’

‘This is my side of the bed,’ Julie said, pointing at the indent he made. ‘If you’re going to sleep here, it’s on the other side.’

He let out a relieved breath. ‘You’re not mad?’

‘Depends.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why were you in my room?’

Waving his hands towards the ceiling, he muttered. ‘Your lights were still on.’

His reply visibly mellowed her, so much that it kind of surprised him. Her smile melted into those she gave him whenever he found a gnarly lyric or impressed her with a riff or met her halfway for the mic onstage. During those moments, it was hard to deny there wasn’t more, that both knew there was more, but couldn’t really do anything about it. It was really depressing. “Yeah, Jules, I’m fucking crazy about you. Wanna make out and hope I don’t disappear the next day?” Even his impulsive streak wasn’t that extreme.

He hadn’t expected her to smile like that right now. Not when he laid on her bed and her hair was begging for his fingers to slip through and the spot he slept on was still warm. He almost poofed away. Were they going to touch on the “more”? Was this it?

‘Thanks,’ she eventually whispered, eyes dropping and meeting his again with a shyer smile and he knew he was sporting the exact same. A beat passed between them, eyes locked and unwavering. His fingers twitched.

‘Uh…’ Mustering back some rationality, he said: ‘Do you want me to leave, or?’

Her hands stretched out. ‘No!’ Face twisting to something he could only describe as “cringe”, she went on a little calmer. ‘You can- it’s fine. I’m just going to do some homework anyway.’

He watched as she and her backpack found a place on the bed, both very close and very far away all at once. It shouldn’t be intimate, but it was. He was seventeen and she was sixteen and he was pretty sure his crush wasn’t completely one-sided and she just allowed him to stay. There wasn’t music or a guitar or a songbook to hide behind and it sort of terrified him. But in a good way? Like when he went cliff diving and stood at the edge, stomach whooping at the thought of jumping, or when he was at the top of a rollercoaster and the cart slowly began to tilt. It was that. The feeling of quiet exhilaration.

All of that just cause Julie sat next to him bend over a history worksheet. Get a fucking grip, dude.

He didn’t know how long she worked on her homework or how long he stared at the ceiling, hands weaved beneath his head, but it mustn’t been long. The weight shifted and suddenly Julie’s head fell on her pillow with a sigh.

‘No, no, no, Julie,’ he teased, ‘gotta keep those grades up, right?’

She rolled on her side to stick her tongue out. ‘Very funny. You maybe don’t remember it anymore, but school’s exhausting.’

Luke also shifted on his side, chuckling. ‘Jules, it haunts me. That’s why I dropped out.’

‘Cute pun.’

‘Thanks.’ And then, because Luke was never one to overthink: ‘I like this.’

That smile of her came back, the one he always wanted to see. Her eyes crinkled and her lips slightly parted and so incredibly beautiful. He heard music when he looked at her. Death became sweeter if it meant he’d get to stare at the girl of his dreams. It was a morbid thought, but then again, he didn’t deem himself dead whenever he was around her. Luke probably felt so alive around her that it surprised him later on that he wasn’t.

He wasn’t a ghost. Not to her. She didn’t need to tell him for him to know that.

Julie tentatively held her hand out in the space between, palm up and smudged with ink. When he placed his on top, fingers barely intertwining but the sensation like a shot of oxygen, she murmured: ‘Me too.’

They didn’t plan for it to become routine, but it also felt kind of inevitable. Nearly every day, Luke would go to Julie’s room when he knew her day at school was nearing its end and waited on her. She’d come in and briefly recapitulate the day (usually some story regarding an annoying teacher and Flynn with a killer comeback), sliding down on her side of the bed and hold his hands. Some days, her fingertips quietly wandered the lines on his palms, some days his did. It was always quiet. Though the only ones in her room, they whispered. This wasn’t a secret (the boys were keenly aware where Luke spent his afternoons), but it felt wrong to speak at a normal volume when the other was so close.

As the days progressed, they shifted closer. Not intentional, but once again inevitable. Everything about them felt like that nowadays. The longer he was around, the more he realised that this - the bond he shared with Julie - was always meant to happen. Whenever his thoughts meandered to those cosmically impossible ideas of serendipity and couldn’t wrap his head around it, Julie was always there with her smile to bring him back to earth. Or, well, to bed.

And then one day, Julie came home from school, saw him, and without saying anything, crawled right into his chest. His heartbeat didn’t pick up like he expected. It eased and relaxed, sinking deeper into the matress as his eyes fell shut from pure fucking bliss and hugged her closer. Her peach deodorant overwhelmed his senses in the best way possible, burrowing his face in her neck and her smile stretching against his sweater. She was warm and perfectly fit into the curve of his body and he was in love. The acceptance should’ve ached, but it didn’t. How could he think about tomorrow when Julie Molina was wrapped in his arms?

Time froze those afternoons. As long as she kept her head on his chest, as long as they didn’t leave the bed, their island, then nothing could hurt them.

One afternoon, when the sun was reflecting pink and purple splotches on the walls and he was contently dissecting each curl, his heart so full it could explode, he said it. ‘I wanna do this forever.’

He felt her chuckle. ‘Inspecting my hair like a monkey, or…?’

Luke squeezed her closer. ‘C’mon, Jules.’

Her giggles quieted, chin sliding up his chest to look at him. If she found devotion shimmering behind the green, she was correct. He hoped that the warm flickering in her brown ones was the same.

Her voice was small. ‘You do?’

He nodded, every movement too big or too loud, afraid it would ruin the perfect quietude surrounding them. The room melted away, her face all that was left. Before he let the tug in his chest (the same thread that looped them in this embrace) guide him closer, she got there first. Julie surged upwards, barely needing to close any distance to softly find his lips. He cradled her cheek, warmth brimming from every pore on his skin, love pouring from his lips onto hers. It was short and sweet, but their smiles as they did were anything but. It felt like the first flower blooming in spring. Giddy, he kissed her again. He loved her. (It was inevitable.)

Julie hummed an unknown melody in his ear, lilting and just as giddy, her fingers circling right above his heart. It stammered to blend with hers. Luke met her gaze, noses brushing and smiles private and eyes adoring. She loved him. (It was inevitable.)

‘Then let’s do it forever.’

#aight imma head out #juke #jatp fanfiction #not on ao3 cause its too inconsequential lol #julie and the phantoms #otp: i think we make each other better

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years ago

Text

it's in the blood // this is tradition

Summary: Children inherit all sorts of traits from their parents. Not all these traits are good.

"My reputation preceded me before I was born."

[ charlotte & lola au ]

A/N: 2292 words. Halsey's new album killed me on the spot. i talk a lot about the next gen being mirrors of their parents, but i'd like to go into detail about that not necessarily being a positive. @misscharlottelee this made me feel things. i love these kids.

Warnings: overdose mention, addiction discussion, mentions of drug abuse.

Penelope Dingley-Lee

Tommy can count the amount of times he'd seen Razzle truly angry on one hand, and here and now he can see it again, written all over his neice's face. He'd thought she would look like Charlie when she's angry, and occasionally she does, the way her lip curls derisively, dismissively, that's very reminiscent of his cousin, but here and now, her blue eyes are hazy, cloudy, and her lips twist with an irate arrogance that is worryingly familiar.

Angry and high and wearing clothes that don't quite match, in this moment she's exactly her father's daughter.

She's been in the papers again. Her tits have been in magazines again. Tommy bites down on his instinctual desire to repremand her; she'd call him a hypocrite, call him an old man, tell him to keep his opinions to himself while she could still buy his sex tape out of a shady car boot down the street.

Charlie was like that too, on occasion, wit too quick for him to keep up with. When she got into a mood like this, Tommy didn't have to worry so much; usually Razzle would egg her on, but knew when to pull her back.

"It's my god given, motherfucking right to go feral -" he'd heard Charlie back in the eighties holler at three in the morning, high on amphetamines and waving a gossip rag above her head. Razzle would be on the sofa, equally fucked up, but gazing at her like she hung the stars in the sky.

"Lola gets photographed at least once a month stark naked along the strip like it's a sport, why is my Playboy shoot a national crisis?! My tits are fantastic!"

"They are, my love," Razzle nods seriously, and Tommy pulls his pillow from beneath his head, trying to either block out their voices through the thin walls, or maybe smother himself. The girl beside him, the groupie whose name he doesn't know, asks blearily why there's so much yelling. Tommy doesn't answer.

A week later, Tommy is the one to bail out Charlie and Razzle for public indecency, and they're both beaming from ear to ear.

Here in the present, Penny is draped out on the sofa, laughing low and pleased as she watches TV.

"TMZ blurred out my tits," she snorts, "cowards."

"Penny..." he can't help the faintly disappointed notes in his voice when he says her name.

"Thomas, I've read The Dirt," Penny fires back venemously. Hypocrite he hears in her tone, you have no power over me.

There's something hollow in her eyes in the photos he sees of her in the papers. She wears her father's inflluence and her heart on her crushed velvet sleeve, on the arm of a shallow, pretty, band boy who plays badly and loudly. But she laughs louder, though tthe sound is low and unconvincing if anyone bothered to listen hard enough, and Tommy wonders if he has enough dark hair dye left for when that boy breaks her heart.

Jupiter Lee

Tommy is proud to watch Jupiter on stage, but he is afraid.

Their anger is something he remembers from Lola, the way they cling to the past with vitriol echoes their mother, but on stage, they drink up the attention, get high off the love the audience gives, and he sees himself in those moments.

A child of addicts, Jupiter had drawn lines in the sand for themselves that they refused to cross; no alcohol, no drugs, and they'd stayed loyal to that. But highs come in all forms; they simply picked a different kind of poison without realising.

On stage, halfway between the gutter and a god complex, Tommy knows the smile they wear all too well.

Rebellion from Jupiter didn't shock the world like it did when it was Penny's name in the papers. Jupiter's trajectory was spot on in the eyes of the public, but rebellion wouldn't be the thing that broke them.

Once, so long ago that it's a miracle the memory survived, Tommy remembers asking Lola what she would be doing if she wasn't with the band. Lola gave him an easy, bleary smile, laughing sweetly when she told him that one way or another, she'd be here. In the moment it overwhelms him with love. In hindsight it breaks his heart.

"Come on, I think this is inevitable," Jupiter smiles on television as an interviewer asks them the same question; if they weren't making music what they'd be doing, "as if I'd do anything other than this."

'Don't you know where I come from?' is left unspoken, but Tommy still hears it.

He tries to picture himself in a life without the world at his feet the way he has now. No image comes to mind. Nothing else makes sense. Even if he wanted to do something else, wanted to grow up to be something else, he couldn't even begin to picture it for himself, tragedy and all.

They play their parts. They let history repeat itself. Jupiter makes mistakes Tommy and Lola had already learned from. Penny plays Jupiter's conciousness until the role grates on her nerves, diving head first into chaos, taking Jupiter with her with little convincing.

Tommy remembers this too.

When the world looks at Penny and Jupiter, they like to remember how Lola was seen as a bad influence on Charlotte, but forget that Tommy would have followed Charlotte in to Hell without hesitation.

Leo "Seo" Sixx

Lola has google alerts set up for her son, Seo, because he disappears for months without warning. Tommy asks how he is, and Lola looks to her phone with a tight smile, telling him that he's competeing in a skateboarding competition in Prague. She learned that from Twitter.

Seo comes and goes without warning, and talks to his siblings more than his parents. He loves them, but he hasn't allowed himself to stop for years. He doesn't know how. Then again, neither did Lola or Nikki.

"Jupiter thinks a lot about legacy, don't they?" He's in Tommy's kitchen, eating a poptart, when Tommy returns home one friday evening. He's waiting for Penny and Jupiter to finish getting ready, the three of them going out.

"Do your parents know you're in town?" Tommy asks with faint amusement, though there's a twinge of guilt in his gut when Leo considers that he should probably let them know. Says he forgot. Tommy's not sure if he believes him; like his parents before him, he tends to leave a lot unsaid. It's part of his charm, the world seems to think, but Tommy knows all to well how deliberate of an act it can be.

"Jup's got all this stuff in their head about legacy and who they should be," he continues his earlier thought, "which I guess makes sense, they tie a lot of themselves up in their identity," he shrugs, then, "I don't know Leo."

Tommy's not sure if he's talking about the grandfather he's named after, or himself.

"You've given this a lot of thought," Tommy says quietly, humouring him.

"I think a lot," Seo responds, "I've been thinking about going back on my meds, its weird being off of them." Of course this concerns Tommy, who knows objectively that Seo isn't his kid, but he's close enough that Tommy feels like he's allowed to be concerned. "I'm worried a doctor's note isn't going to be enough to let me compete at the Olympics on speed," falls too casually from Seo's lips, alarming Tommy in an instant. Though it must clearly show on his face, as Seo breaks out into an apologetic grin, "dextroamphetamine, for my ADHD. I've been trying to wean off it for the Olympics, it's been hard -" but his next words, said so blithe, so casual, have Tommy's heart stopping in his chest as he's thrown back thirty years, "I've been on them since I was like eleven years old; it was great, I could think, like the right amount, but now I... I think everything. I feel everything. Its a lot." He shrugs, like he didn't just become an echo of his father.

Seo's parents both died twice from overdoses, and now their son feels like he can't function without amphetamines.

Objectively Tommy knows that they work for Seo, that he's not abusing them he simply uses them to help him function, but the irony is not lost on him. It's a lot to unpack. He doesn't think to ask about the Olympics; it slips his mind until he sees Seo and a silver medal on his Twitter feed.

Lola calls Tommy in tears. She's proud, but she wishes she'd known, wishes she'd been able to watch it live, or go over and support him in person.

No-one in Seo's life seems to fully know or understand his intentions or actions, no-one can predict his next move. He puts up a bright facade, but like his parents before him, he does not trust the world to know him.

They don't know where he goes in the few months after the Olympics, all they know is that he doesn't come home.

Cerie "CerieThree" Sixx

Since she'd turned sixteen, Tommy has never seen Cerie Sixx without a smile. That is a very deliberate choice that she's made.

She's made a choice to rise above the percieved grime of her origins. She's halfway across the country, smiling for a camera she can control, editing her image before she lets it out into the world. Cerie Three - even the name the world knows reflects this; she's picked apart the context she was born into, disecting it, deciding which was useful to show the world, disposing of the rest.

She speaks warmly to her family, from what Tommy can gather, but the people on the peripheries of their life seem more like associates in the coldest sense of the world. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes half the time when she sees Tommy, and she shakes his hand when her brothers will hug him. The internet is closer to her than he is.

Cerie looks the most like her mother of all her siblings; she's 21, the exact same age Lola was when she met Tommy, but half the time he can barely see the resemblence. Lola had let the world see a villain at that age; Cerie had learned from that, had rejected that, rejected the cold, hard humanity of her mother's fronting. Cerie wanted to be perfect. Cerie had to be perfect, hyper aware of her own image, like her siblings seem to be, but the way she'd so effectively shaped her public identity was kind of terrifying.

Perhaps this was what it was like for people who didn't know Lola, only allowed to know the image she put out into the world, or people who only knew Nikki for his stage presence.

But the more Tommy thinks about it, the more he remembers just how effectively Lola had wrapped the band around her little finger when she set her mind to it, how she talked her way around exectives despite being dressed like she'd woken up in the gutter and fucked up on any number of drugs. Lola understood people, and it seemed Cerie did too.

Cerie Sixx, twenty one, doesn't stop creating content, doesn't stop studying, and doesn't stop smiling. Two of those three things are inhereted traits, inhereted determination, and the third is a choice.

Cyrus Sixx

Though Cyrus had inhereted much of his parent's musical talent, the same way Jupiter had, Cyrus had also inhereted a love of the high life. Even so, he's so full of love, kissing his mother on both cheeks before he goes out to get shitfaced in the bars she was decades before he was even born.

He works hard, at his job, on his music, but his partying matches it just as well. He knows exactly how far he has to fall before he meets the depths his parents' had sunk to, and though he doesn't voice this, his arrogance comes across in his actions.

There'd always be someone to pull him away from swan diving to rock bottom. He takes that for granted, and keeps getting closer and closer.

The only one of Nikki and Lola's children who still lives at home, he's the only one like them in the way they'd feared.

"He's going to have more success than he will ever be able to comprehend," Nikki had told Tommy, the day after Cyrus had been admitted to hospital after staying up for four days while high and obsessing over a song he had been working on. Nikki had found him having a fit after having fallen from his desk chair. Now, sitting on Tommy's patio in the sunset, he looks tired, he looks afraid, "if he doesn't end up killing himself first."

A month ago, the fire department and the police had to pull him, kicking and screaming and bareass naked from a tree in the middle of town. His parents had bailed him out, had felt a familiar sting of guilt as they find themselves reminded of their own youthful exploits. They repremand him, of course, but they both know the only reason they stopped climbing trees was because there had been no-one to pick them up after.

Nikki sees himself in his sons mistakes, but he'd had to learn concequences the hard way.

Tommy loves his family and all it's strange branches, as well as their raucous youth, but his closest friends were some of the most volatile people he'd known, and somehow he'd forgotten that as time as taken people and memories from him.

But these children were made in their image.

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #razzle dingley #nikki sixx x oc #tommy lee x oc #razzle dingley x oc #the dirt #motley crue #the dirt imagine #motley crue imagine #charlotte&lola #lola & charlotte #the angry lizard writes #the pack

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

Note

so maybe another devil in a new suit drabble 👉👈 maybe jk meeting oc parents or like more interactions w oc and jks parents/sister

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. pg-13. tags. mentions of coconut!kook dancing (and the whole reason i wrote this tbh), cute banter, idk. just a lotta fluff, a lil bit of grinding, y’know. wc. 2.7k. beta reader. none other than @hobi-gif. i love you always! author note. oh look... it’s me... posting something... after sixteen hundred years. womp womp. this truthfully didn’t go the way i planned it to but i hope you enjoy regardless!

It really shouldn’t surprise you. Frankly, it doesn’t.

But it is a little funny.

There are about six girls gathered in a gaggle around your boyfriend, all desperately vying for his attention as he presents a neatly gathered bouquet to his little sister. Jisoo’s all smiles, completely over the moon with pride and riding that high as she rightfully should. (She’d done incredibly well, closed out the showcase with a fluidity you could never even dream of.) She doesn’t even notice her friends staring at her brother with hearts in their eyes, each one red in the face and not from exertion.

(That, or she doesn’t care. Maybe she’s grown used to it - the whole having-a-heartthrob-for-a-brother thing.)

It’s actually quite cute, if only because you know Jungkook doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you. Can feel it in how he keeps bouncing his gaze back towards you, dimple winking from deep within his cheek each time your eyes meet. He’s like a child going back to his favourite toy, momentarily distracted by tittering laughter and his sister’s sunny smile but always coming back to you. The knowledge warms you from the inside out, drags a satisfied smile across your lips.

You wonder whether he notices the attention or if it’s just another part of his life. (You think he must know. These college students don’t really hide it well, too handsy for their own good, years of growing up in semi-close proximity instilling a certain confidence in their motions. That, and because Jungkook is quite possibly the least intimidating person you’ve ever met.)

“Thank you for coming!” It’s Jisoo, flushed and excitable, round eyes as bright as her brother��s as she crosses to you. This had been her moment - her time to shine - but you appreciate the effort she makes to include you, finding you within the crowd. “I was a little nervous but…” A shrug rolls her narrow shoulders, shakes her dark hair from its loose coil.

You’d seen her practice before this - watched the long videos she’d regularly send to Jungkook - but seeing her in real life motion was an entire league of its own. Dancing was her calling, every bit of her made for it. There was just something lyrical about the way she moved, how her hips rolled, limbs seemingly guided by the rhythm of the music. A grace you’ve never had, even on your best day.

“You shouldn’t have been.” You’re beaming right back at her, sisterly reassurance on your tongue. “You were amazing.”

Whether she believes you or not - you think she does by how her cheeks grow ten sizes and her eyes are all but swallowed whole by the expression - she’s gracious, accepting the compliment with her blinding smile. (She really was like Jungkook like that.)

“You guys should come to a class one day.” By that, she means a class she helps teach every once in a while. You’ve heard about it on more than one occasion, seen the choreography posted on Instagram and YouTube.

Still, you don’t expect that, brows shooting high. Laughter filters past your teeth, springing off your tongue. “I am not a dancer and I doubt your brother—”

Now it’s Jisoo’s turn to wear surprise like a neon sign, expression splitting with giggles of her own. “Wait— have you not seen Kook dance?” The way she says it is incredulous, Bambi eyes sparkling with what looks like mischief.

“No?”

“Your sister told me something.”

You’ve never seen this particular brand of worry on his face, eyes even more comically wide than usual, whatever words he’d originally meant to speak dying on his tongue. He looks like a literal deer caught in the headlights, one of his nicknames suddenly very apt.

“What did she say? She likes to embarrass me.” True. Jisoo and Jungkook had a textbook sibling relationship, full of teasing and mockery and copious amounts of love. “Whatever she said, don’t believe—”

“She said you used to dance.”

“Oh.” Oh? You hadn’t expected Jungkook to deflate so easily, relief flooding his features. “Yeah, I did. In university.” He’s utterly unbothered by this knowledge, attention back on the soondubu jjigae he’d been shovelling into his mouth. “I had some friends who were dancers, so it was good exercise.”

“I want to see.”

His answer is immediate, despite the heaping bite of rice and stew in his mouth. “No.”

You whack him across the shoulder, startling him into clattering his spoon on the countertop. It leaves a messy red streak across marble but you’re dragging his attention back to you with a firm glare, fingers cradled under his jaw. “I want to see.”

Talent apparently runs in the family, you realise halfway through the third video. Jungkook moves with the same assured movements his sister does, with power and grace and a confidence that frankly baffles you. He treats the practice room like a stage, running through the motions so fluidly you almost have trouble believing it’s your man on the screen. (Not that he’s particularly ungraceful. It’s just surprising, like watching a dog walk on its hind legs.)

“So, what happened?” You say it so conversationally, innocently, with eyes that mimic his own. From the corner of your periphery, your boyfriend shifts, hand flexing over your knee. There’s the furrow between his brows, the subtle tension in his jaw. Worry.

“What do you mean?”

Your own hand waves toward the screen, where the image of Jungkook from over half a decade ago sits paused. “You were so…” You’re not sure what you mean. There are just so many options to describe the literal baby boy on the television. Young? Confident? Round? (You can’t get over his haircut, though you suppose you can’t hold it against him.)

Jungkook simply stares at you, waiting for you to find whatever words you want to use. Despite the uncertainty that swims somewhere in the depths of his eyes, he’s endlessly patient. Always so soft when it comes to you.

“You had a coconut head.”

Laughter explodes off his tongue, entire face screwing up with amusement. “Are you serious?”

“You did!” Admittedly, the cut had somehow worked on him but it’s so reminiscent of grade school haircuts you can’t help but focus on it, too distracted by the glossy sheen to offer much else. “I guess I get it, though.”

“What do you mean? Everyone had that haircut—”

“In first grade, maybe.” He sticks his tongue out at you then; you scowl in response.

“What do you get?” As always, he’s perceptive, immediately aware of your carefully knit brow, the thoughtfulness that fits itself around your teeth like gleaming white veneers and holds his attention hostage. He’s grown used to it over the months you’ve been together - knows you cling tight to things with an iron grip, turn them over and over until you’ve made sense of it in that brain of yours.

“The crushes.” You look affronted, almost appalled at the realisation. He bursts out laughing, broad palm coming down upon your bare leg in a smack. (He apologises profusely when you complain.)

“What’re you talking about?”

Your nose is wrinkled, velvet strands dislodged by the shake of your head. “All your sister’s friends. They’re in love with you.” Jisoo had even agreed, laughed about it when you’d commented on it at the recital. Something about them having grown up with Jungkook, obsessed with the image they’d retained of him since university. “But you were a coconut. You wore Timberlands and drop-crotch pants. You weren’t even that cute.” An exaggerated shudder slips over your shoulders.

“I was nineteen.” As if that makes it better. Your judgment doesn’t lessen, the lines running the bridge of your nose only deepening.

“Still. Embarrassing.”

Your boyfriend truly is the best sport, rolling his eyes at you in the same instance he reaches for you, tugs you closer with broad palms, affection searing into your skin. “Well, luckily, no more Timbs. No more bowl cut.” He nuzzles into the warmth of your neck, spreads your knees wide over his hips. The sound of his laughter melts into your throat, dresses it in heat deposited by your breath. “Are you jealous again?”

He doesn’t even get a verbal response to that. Just a heavy glare and two hands squishing his cheeks. “Absolutely not.”

It comes up again in bed, your head on his chest, his hands on your hips. He asks it quietly, conversationally, with a twinkle in his eye that makes you want to smother him with one of his many pillows.

“You’re sure you’re not jealous?”

“I’m not,” you grit, paired with a roll of your eyes and a little snort from your nose. You really aren’t. Those girls are inconsequential, irrelevant. They’ll never amount to what you are to him and that’s just a simple fact. He’s yours - something he reminds you of day in and day out, both verbally and in action.

(You love him for it, appreciate it more than you can possibly begin to explain. There’s a certain bliss to be found in the knowledge that you’re loved. A warmth that rivals even that of the sun on the summer’s hottest day.)

“Then why’re you pouting?” What he really means is why aren’t you smiling. You don’t pout often - at least not in the same ways he does.

“I’m not,” you repeat for what feels like the sixth time.

“Smile for me.”

You do the opposite - throwing your eyes in an exaggerated circle. It earns you a pinch to the side, a tender sting blooming beneath ink-strewn fingers.

“Really—“ When he looks this earnest, it’s hard to deny him, “you’re sure everything’s okay?”

At most, you can sigh perhaps overdramatically. Fold your awkward limbs upon his and bury your face into the crook of his neck. You’re not jealous of those girls, no.

You’re envious of his talent - the simple fact that Jeon Jungkook is, by all definitions, a golden boy. God’s favourite, with his heart wrenching smile and easygoing charm and grace that seems almost surreal. There’s not a single thing wrong with him - okay, except for his bad habit of never answering his phone and always messing up the top sheet and the fact that he absolutely never ever puts the cap back on the toothpaste tube - and it’s absurd. Utterly, absolutely unfair.

But you can’t say that.

“Baby,” he hums, threading the sound of his voice among your hair, tucking the soft syllables behind your ears. “Talk to me.”

You relent - a little. “You’re too good.”

“Too good?” The depth of his laughter rumbles your bones, tickling your insides when it vibrates out of his chest. “At what?”

A hand gesticulates wildly. You’re not sure what it looks like, how close it is to hitting Jungkook in the face. You’ve still got your face pressed to the warmth of his skin, greedily siphoning his sunny radiance with your cheek. “Everything.”

Despite how he laughs - cackles, really, so adorable and high pitched it’s breathy - you know he knows what you’re talking about. You’ve given him a hard time about it before.

“I’m not good at everything, ____.”

He’s somehow even good at making you believe you’re wrong. That’s a feat in and of itself.

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Whatever!” Whether he acknowledges it or not, he’s stupidly gifted. Everyone and their - even his - mom knows it. “Don’t believe me then. I don’t care.”

“Then why’re you making that face?” It’s almost comical that he’s calling you out for your expressions when he’s the king of funny faces, throwing his features into exaggerated (and adorable) masks. (Maybe he’d just rubbed off on you?)

“I’m not,” you huff, exasperated but not quite. Still soft over his skin, velvet on silk.

“You’re so cute.” Sometimes, you think he really is just a child - too happy with putting you on a pedestal and praying at your altar. Devoting himself to you when you’re nothing but a bag of flesh and bone, dressed in designer fashion and wrapped up with a satin ribbon made from sarcasm and candor. (Not that you mind. Who would argue if they were offered such love?) “I still think something’s wrong but…”

It’s a smart tactic. He doesn’t press you for an answer, opting to let it linger between you. Settle like bothersome lint until you offer it yourself.

When you relent - because you always do, unable to shut out the sunshine that practically pours out of him - you’re quieter. Not shy, but bashful. Uncertain in a way you very rarely are. “I’ve always wanted to dance.” So much so, you’d begged your parents to enroll you when you were younger. Demanded lessons upon lessons - only to fail at all of them. Rhythm simply didn’t exist anywhere in your body.

“Really?”

You’re pulled from your safe haven, shifted until your entire point of view is filled with Jungkook, his starry eyes and his fluffy fluffy hair. There’s that look he sometimes gets - full of wonder and adoration - when he learns something new about you. As if just the smallest tidbit of knowledge opens up a whole new world.

“Yes?” You’re half regretting the admission. He looks like he’s up to something, all the cogs in his head turning in perfect tandem.

“I’ll teach you.”

“Hard pass.”

Like a hot air balloon, he deflates, mouth rounding sweetly. (If you didn’t know better, you’d assume the man was made of cotton candy, semi-sweet chocolate heart where the real organ should be.) “Why not?”

“I do not dance.” It’s nothing but a statement of fact, firm and unyielding.

The pout evolves, swings down into a frown that drags his eyebrows with it. “You could dance.”

“No, baby—“ So you’re a little frustrated, all your childhood memories pricking beneath your skin. “I do not dance.”

“Why?” He’s upright now, tugging you with him as if you weigh nothing. His way of turning the conversation serious, pulling you from the warmth and comfort of the bedsheets to this. (He’s still holding you, hooking his big broad hands over your hips, so you don’t mind.)

“No rhythm.” Unable to keep a beat. Two left feet. The list could go on and on, according to your ballet instructor.

“Not true.”

Your brow quirks, mirrored by his as if in challenge. You almost swat at him - so close your hand twitches on his shoulder. “Very true.”

(Why does this conversation feel so familiar? It’s déjà vu.)

“Is not.” Your boyfriend seems insistent, as if he knows better than you. (He doesn’t.) Stares up at you with those pretty eyes and has the audacity to grin when you roll your own, ready to rebuff him.

Because you’re in bed, the one place where you defer to him whether you like it or not.

(You do like it, though. Love it, in fact. Just like you love him.)

“You’re graceful,” he hums, bridging the gap between you with a forward roll of his shoulders. “You’ve got rhythm.” The hand on your hip grows firm, guides your knees to spread wide on either side of him. With each brush of his lips - tender little brushes, endlessly sweet and reassuring - he pushes and pulls, dragging you across his lap. “You can do anything you want.”

You’ve almost forgotten the topic of conversation, preoccupied by how he guides you in languid circles. How the cotton of his boxer briefs feels against the sensitive inside of your thighs. The weight that grows between your legs and nudges indelicately against the soft fabric of your thong.

All part of his plan, of course.

“Your body’s the most beautiful thing in the world, ____.”

When he looks at you like this, you think he might be right. You’d believe it if he kept saying it, sparking desire through your limbs until they’re jellied and loose.

(How he sees right through you - cuts straight to the core of your insecurity - you’re not sure. It feels almost like a superpower, something unquantifiable, unbelievable. He’s too good for you, always. So kind and loving, pressing his belief in the form of his mouth, the tender edge of his teeth when he kisses you slow slow slow.)

“You’re perfect just the way you are.”

#anon.eml #incoming.eml #jungkook.doc #work.zip #drabble.zip #jungkook au #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #devil.doc

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divine-bangtan · 4 years ago

Text

- sugar & spice (m) jjk & kth

➻ summary: “Your assistant Jungkook has been harbouring secret feelings for you, the sweet bakery owner, for some time now. But what will happen when Taehyung, handsome, smooth as ever and mysteriously new to town comes along to sweep you off your feet?”

➻ Kiki’s Delivery Service!AU

➻ word count: 20.8k

➻ pairing: older baker!reader x baker assistant Jungkook x upperclass Taehyung.

➻ warnings: angst, reader doubts herself a lot, unprotected penetrative sex (pls keep this a fantasy only and wrap it), oral m. and f. receiving, spitroasting, creampie...hehe, food play, mentions of mxm, pregnancy, pregnant sex, lactation, squirting, anal fingering, anal sex, double penetration, daddy kink, and somehow also tooth rotting fluff.

➻ A/N: Thank you to my lovely cutie pie and fellow cherry koo enthusiast @gingerpeachtae for beta reading this for me! 🍒💜 The age of the reader is totally up to you! I’m absolutely in love with this AU, it’s the fluffiest yet the filthiest thing I’ve ever written yet. If you’re wondering about the time period, the film is set in a kind of alternate 30s though it’s not confirmed.

Moodboard I Music

It started with the gardenia.

The first time Taehyung visited your bakery he had left behind a small white flower on the bakery counter when you weren’t looking, startling you in the most pleasant of ways when you nearly crushed it with your hand. You lifted the petals to brush the tip of your nose as you sampled the sweet scent, a blush warming your cheeks as you remembered how his charming smile had you flustered and fretful yet so endeared. However, what was not lost on you was the meaning behind it. Secret love.

“...Miss?” A voice trailed off, disturbing you from your wandering thoughts and turning your attention to the customer right in front of you. “May I please get four apple danishes, a loaf of bread and a box of orange poppy seed muffins?”

“Sorry, yes of course! One moment please, hey Kookie?” You called in a singsong voice as you slipped into the back workroom. “We’ve got another order for orange poppyseed, how long will they be?”

Your part-time helper came in the form of Jeon Jungkook, but you liked to call him Kookie due to his sweet nature. He was six feet tall, ridiculously muscled and had an adorable bunny smile. He did most of the oven work, tending to the fires and cleaning in the kitchen, but helped you with some of the baking as well. He was particularly gifted at making the most exquisite citrus flavoured cakes, and had more recently been trying to perfect cream puffs.

“Not long, noona. They’ve been very popular lately,” he mused, dimples etched deeply into his cheeks as he grinned. A smudge of black from the coal darkened one, and you couldn’t help but tut.

“Of course they are, they’re delicious and it’s going to be spring soon...also you have soot on your face again, Kook,” you informed him, wiping it away with an endeared smile. The gentle tingle of the bell alerted you to another customer entering the store, and you hurried back out the front to continue running your popular business.

“Sorry, the orange poppyseed will be ready soon. Are you happy to wait?”

“Of course!” The young lady remarked, tilting to the left slightly to get a glimpse of Jungkook.

You remember the day he had come by your bakery, spotting the sign in your window stating you were looking for a kitchen hand. It was over three years ago now, the young man had just moved here for a change in scenery and was looking for a job. The picturesque seaside town provided the perfect scenery for his hobby of photography, and he was saving up to buy a better camera than the second hand one he currently owned.

It was astonishing how quickly he grew and matured in that time as well, hitting almost a second puberty and growing tall and filling out very nicely. The ladies in the town didn’t miss it either. It was a shame he was so shy around them, looking so out of place with a blush dusting his cheeks when he would catch a flock of them whispering to each other about if the cute baker was seeing anyone. They certainly weren’t coy about the way they would stare at his bulging biceps as he hoisted around the large trays of steaming fresh bread loaves, or wouldn’t hesitate to ogle his behind when he squatted to reach the lower shelves behind the counter. If only he could get a clue, but alas, he was absolutely oblivious.

After about ten minutes Jungkook emerged from the back room to refill the glass display with his cakes that would no doubt be gone within the hour. He handed the young lady a bagful, and flustered when her fingers brushed a little boldly over his.

“These are really delicious, Mr. Jeon. I would even dare say they’re my favorite. Perhaps you’d like to join me later and we can share them?” She asked him, a glint of hope in her eyes at the way he gawked at her.

From how pretty she was, you didn’t blame him. In fact, a tiny inkling of jealousy unfurled within you, wishing that you could have handsome men line up the way women did for him. Sure, the young man may have wiggled his way into your heart, setting down roots that began small but steadily grew, but he didn’t seem to return your fledgling feelings. A small smile found its way onto his face - nothing like the one you got from him every morning when you opened up the shop together - but nonetheless he was still smiling at her.

“Or you could even give me a private lesson on baking? I just had my kitchen redone, it’s so grand.” The young woman suggested, but it was when he started becoming flustered for a response that you realised how uncomfortable he was, and how grotesque and ugly it was for you to be jealous in the first place. “The bench is just the perfect he-”

“I’m afraid Jungkook is working right now, and business is really quite demanding at the moment,” you interrupted, causing her sweet expression to sour. “Remember the wedding at the end of the week? We’ve got a lot of orders to finish up on.”

If looks could kill, you’d surely be six feet under from the bitter expression she shot at you. She huffed and gathered her things, leaving without her usual generous tip. Upon her disappearing from sight, Jungkook let out a long breath, shoulders slumping in relief.

“Thank you noona, I really didn’t like the direction that conversation was taking,” he murmured, looking off into space like he was having a traumatic flashback before shuddering violently. “I can close up shop, you should have an early finish for once, you work too hard.”

You opened your mouth to protest but he shushed you, insisting. “No really, I got it covered. Thank you again, noona.” He swooped in to peck you on the cheek before pushing you toward the back. Powerless against his inhumane strength, you had no choice but to be ushered halfway up the stairs before he bounded back down and returned to the shop.

When you reached the top of the stairs your black cat Jiji was quick to rub around your ankles, purring and meowing for food. You chuckled softly at his dramatic antics, more than once having to shoo him away as you fill his bowl with wet food, scraping the bottom of the tin. Some got on your fingers and you scrunched your nose in distaste, wiping your dirty fingers on your apron before untying it and placing it in your washing basket, absentmindedly wondering what you could do.

You supposed you could always finish off the spread for the wedding pastries and, most importantly, the cake. Sketches were strewn across the coffee table, and you sat down on the couch with a huff, vowing to finish it by tonight. Your eyes were drawn to a photograph of the couple, arms around each other in a sweet embrace as the photo was taken. It was the day they were examining the potential wedding venue, you remember how she gushed about the amount of flowers in the garden when she left you the photographs. Her wedding cake was to be white and have lots of iced flowers on each tier, it was simple yet so beautiful. She seemed happy. You wondered when you would find someone who would return your love the way her fiance seemed to, if his look of adoration was anything to go by. Then you remembered the gardenia, and how you met the young man you gave it to you.

It was getting quite late in the day and your shop normally had a few stragglers around this time, however, this evening it was empty. You had your head stuck in the display case, reaching far in to wipe down each shelf. The soft ringing of the bell on your door didn’t reach your ears, nor the footsteps that made their way to the counter.

You jumped in fright when a face appeared in front of yours, slightly warped through the glass. He stared for a moment too long before you hurriedly freed yourself, dusted off your apron and smoothed any frizzy baby hairs you knew would probably be sticking up. He was impeccably dressed in a white shirt with a button up vest that was almost gold in colour, shimmering in the afternoon sun. From the looks of his attire he surely came from money. As his head turned to the side you noted he had a lovely profile and the rest of his facial features were mostly symmetrical. Lucky bastard, you knew many people who would kill for the natural beauty he so effortlessly possessed, the type of beauty that simply couldn’t be bought. However, the small signs of weariness did not escape you as his eyes took in your little shop. Finally, they landed on you and strangely you felt the need to squirm.

“Good evening, sir,” you greeted politely, wondering if he would be entitled like most of the good looking, rich folk.

He stepped up to the counter. “I hope I’m not keeping you, am I? If it’s too late, that's alright. Though it would be a shame, I’ve been told very good things about this place and I’m exhausted.” His jacket was slung over one arm, hair wind ruffled and a pair of thin wire glasses balanced upon his well-set central nose. It wasn’t unusual for wealthy people to pass through this coastal town on their travels, though they rarely came this late to the bakery.

“No no, I’m not one to turn away a valued customer, what can I get for you?”

“Coffee please, I’m dead on my feet and I need to stay awake for a little longer.”

You nodded, well practiced hands already beginning to brew his drink. “Long journey? I take it you’re not from around here, and we do get a lot of travellers.”

“Very observant, Miss. I’ve just arrived to manage the large branch of my father’s shipping company that’s located in this coastal town. I was told it had very pretty scenery, but nobody told me it also has very pretty bakers here.” He remarked with a sly grin and you almost lost your grip on the coffee cup at his brazen compliment. He chuckled softly at your lack of response, not wanting to make you too flustered. “May I sit?”

“O-Oh, yes. Of course,” you stammered, kicking yourself for your stuttering. You were normally a fairly confident girl, yet all it takes is one handsome stranger to reduce you to this? Get a grip. He bowed softly in thanks, before turning and draping his jacket over the back of one of the chairs. You found your line of sight wandering down his back to the behind of his well tailored suit pants. The ladies in the town are going to eat him alive in the morning, he’ll soon forget about you and this little place. Yet, you found yourself slipping a small vanilla slice onto the plate beside his cup as a little welcome gift, adamant that you weren’t trying to impress him.

“Thank you,” he said, sounding more than a little tired. Incapable of thinking up a coherent response you bow quickly, spotting the fingerprints all over the glass of the display cabinet and set to work cleaning them. A soft groan makes you whip your head back around to look at him, did he get hurt? What if you made his coffee too hot and he burned himself or his tongue? His face was scrunched up almost as if he was in pain and he licked his lips a few times, seeing them moisten from his tongue caused you to swallow hard.

“Oh wow - this, is this vanilla?” He suddenly asked, and your eyes widened, he seemed more alert and staring at you now that his cup was empty. “I’m more of a dark chocolate person but my my, this is delectable. Normally I don’t drink coffee, but given how exhausted I was it was welcomed. The sweetness of the vanilla balanced it out perfectly, thank you. How much is it?”

“Oh no! The slice is on the house, consider it a little welcome to town gift,” you insisted.

His sweet expression faltered and he tutted, standing slowly and gathering his things. “If you aren’t going to tell me then I suppose this will have to do,” he sighed, pulling out a note far too large for the price of any of the little pastries in your shop from his wallet. You gasped and went to grab it and give it back to him, but he snatched it away before his other hand captured yours and the money was pressed into your palm along with...something else? Before you could think of what it might be, he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to the back.“It was lovely to meet you, Miss...?”

“Oh, um. Y/N.”

“Y/N...what a beautiful name.” With that he left the bakery, disappearing into the dust pink evening, the little bell attached to the door softly jingling. You realised your hands were trembling from the press of his petal-soft lips, and when you opened your palm to look at the money there was also a small white flower. A gardenia? Where did he get that from?You hadn’t seen any around town.

You picked up the slightly dried-out flower from a few days ago, twirling it in your fingers and smiling when you could smell it still held a strong aroma. The fresh one from this afternoon was still in your apron pocket, and you fished it out from the washing basket gently, trying not to damage the petals. An idea popped into your head for scent bags, and you jumped up to rummage through your shop supplies for a brown paper gift bag.

It hung in your wardrobe nicely, and would make your clothes smell lovely. He’d only given you two, but maybe he was going to bring one every time? Where were they even coming from? He- you stopped your little tangent of thoughts, cursing yourself for getting so hopeful. Surely he pulled that trick with every young woman he met. You weren’t going to lie, the second time he left you a flower you got your hopes up. But the amount of women who walked about the town with a flower in their delicate gloved hand gave you your doubts.

As a distraction you threw yourself into your work, finalising the ingredient lists, accounts, designs and much more for the wedding cake and patisseries. Your mood was lifted somewhat, after all, that was your passion. Many days as a child you had helped your grandmother in her little kitchen. You reminisced back to the days where she taught you the secret recipe for her pumpkin scones, now one of your bestsellers.

Some time later you decided enough was enough, as your eyes grew heavier and increasingly difficult to keep open. The rest of your work could wait until tomorrow and you gladly flopped down on your awaiting bed, resting your stinging eyes for five minutes. The lamp on your bedside table casted a soft glow about the room, and you didn’t remember drifting off to sleep.

Soft chirping met your ears, muffled on one side where your face snuggled into the pillow. You groaned when something wet and feather light brushed against your cheek a few times. A louder, more piercing meow made you crack your eyes open to meet large green ones, a rumbling purr starting.

“Morning, Jiji.”

Your limbs were stiff and aching, you almost thought they might creak like the old wood of your floorboards if you were to stretch a little too hard. A huff of discomfort left your lips, annoyed at yourself for nodding off so easily without washing or even brushing your teeth. As you rose from the double bed in your small yet comfortable upstairs flat, your muscles protested but you gripped the ensuite bench for support, working hunched over your coffee table for long periods of time never ended well. However, it’s where you seemed most focused. Wincing when you took in your unruly hair and puffy under eyes in the mirror. Nonetheless, it was nothing a warm shower couldn’t fix.

The steaming hot water ran over your shoulders and felt like heaven, relaxing the tension and chasing away that early morning chill that was only just leaving as spring fully came around.You lathered a generous amount of shampoo and your favourite sweet smelling conditioner which you only used for special occasions, such as if you were going to bump into a certain special someone today.

Loud meows came from outside your bathroom, only increasing in volume as you cracked the door open, still toweling off your damp locks. “Okay okay, at least let me get dressed first. Stop acting like you’re going to starve, I actually think you’re getting a bit fat Jiji,” you mused as you finished pulling the dress over your head. Your eager feline bounded into the kitchen, and you went to follow only to jump in fright as you entered the living room.

Curled up on the couch that was a little too short for him was a fast asleep Jungkook, looking so peaceful with his cheek squished against one of your too hard decorative pillows. Jiji trotted over to the couch, jumping up without a care in the world and sniffed at his face. Jungkook’s nose wrinkled at the wet ticklish sensation, cracking his eyes open and moving to sit up. When he spotted you looking at him through half asleep eyes, he froze. You quickly thanked the heavens you hadn’t walked into your living room without any clothes on as you sometimes do.

“Did your bicycle chain snap again, Kook?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the hair on one side of his head sticking up, not looking you in the eye as he nodded sheepishly. You sighed, this was the third time now and you were becoming angry with the repairs shop. “That’s it, I’m buying you a new one or something, anything would be better. I know you’re attached to that thing but it’s so old now. I just don’t want you getting stranded,” you fussed softly, pinching his chin and making him look at you. “Now go wash up while I make us some breakfast. There’s some clean clothes of yours in the laundry that you never took home, you can change into those.”

“Thank you noona, really.” He beamed, pulling you in for a warm hug that instantly had you melting into his embrace. Your hand found its way into the back of his long dark brown locks, scratching his scalp softly drawing a shiver from his large frame. Unconsciously his arms tightened around you and you let out a soft noise, causing Jungkook to release you instantly. He murmured a soft apology, scrambling downstairs to the laundry. You laughed to yourself at how funny he could be sometimes, blissfully unaware at the fact that he was running away so you wouldn’t spot the rapidly growing tent in his pants.

A short while later he emerged from your bathroom, still shivering slightly from the cold water but he was feeling extra refreshed. The appetizing smell of whatever you were cooking wafted into his nostrils and he plopped down at the kitchen table while toweling off his wet hair. His eyes followed your figure as you moved about the kitchen, and the domesticity of it all made his heart flutter. How he wished things would be like this every morning.

He knew he was staring again, openly admiring your side profile and his eyes couldn’t help the way they trailed further down. You had a little stomach from all the sweet things you sampled, and Jungkook sometimes couldn’t help the way he stared at your hands smoothing over your apron. His mind wandered until he was imagining how beautiful you’d look pregnant with his baby. His cock twitched in his trousers at the mental image of your belly swollen as you squirmed naked on soft white sheets, whining softly for him to fill y-

“...Kook? Jungkook!” You yelled out, waving a wooden spoon in his direction and his jaw snapped shut and he sat up straighter. “There you are, you sure do zone out a lot, don’t you? For the third time, can you set the table please?” He stood up a little too quick almost causing the chair to topple over, and you laughed softly. He was an odd one alright. “Must be interesting things you’re daydreaming about,” you mused while serving the eggs onto the plates, and it was a good thing your back was turned or you might have seen the way Jungkook almost dropped the cutlery all over the floor.

Later that day you were busy finishing up with another customer, carefully placing the cakes you had finished icing this morning into her basket.

“Fourteen gold pieces, please. I hope the party goes well, I can’t believe he’s seven already,” you remarked as you placed the coins into the blue register. The two of you gushed over her adorable son, who peeked at you over the top of the counter, and you quietly slipped him a small cookie while his mother wasn’t looking. He shyly thanked you, and you were so enraptured in his chubby little cheeks that you didn’t notice the way all conversations around the bakery fell silent for a moment. The little bell on the door rung, signifying someone had entered and you noticed the movement in the corner of your eye but ignored it in favour of waving goodbye to the little boy. He waved cheerfully in return, a small bite already taken from the biscuit, his other hand clasped in his mother’s and you sighed. Children were something you’d wanted for a while, but you tried not to dwell on it as you wiped away the crumbs left on the counter.

After a moment you grabbed your notepad from the pocket of your apron, rounding the counter and making your way to the table where the new patron had seated themselves moments ago. However, you stopped abruptly when you recognised him as the man who had left you the flower not long ago. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in his profile. He settled into his chair, leaning back and hooked an ankle over his knee so his legs were comfortably crossed, and the movement accentuated the slight bulge of his crotch.

He placed a book on his lap and flicked through the pages, his hand coming up to adjust the thin wire spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose which had slipped a little, and from where you were standing you could see he had a little freckle on the tip. What was it with handsome men and having a cute little freckle? Jungkook had one under his lip which he often grumbled about being there, but you often told him it was rather endearing.

His tongue darted out to wet the tip of his finger and he smoothly flipped the page, the movement definitely drew your eye. Fuck, even his hands were beautiful, now you were nervous and your feet seemingly glued on the spot. The tip of your pen tapped against your little notepad, leaving small dots on the paper and you muttered angrily at your fidgeting. What were you so nervous for? He was just another customer, he never even told you his name. You took a tiny step forward, only to stop when you saw a young lady take a seat opposite him.

Large doe-like eyes suddenly stopped in front of you, Jungkook’s mouth parted as he stared at you in confusion, that freckle now right in front of your eyes. “Noona? Are you okay?” He asked, a hint of concern evident in his tone. Your eyes dropped as you snapped out of your slight stuper, only to land on the swell of his bicep as he carried a tray filled with freshly baked bread. God, what was wrong with you?

“Yeah of course! I just, um...realised something. Would you mind seeing if table four needs anything?” You risked a glance around Jungkook’s large frame, only to lock eyes with the man you’d just been staring at. The alluring chocolate colour of his eyes sent a jolt down your spine, and you jumped back behind your assistant. To make things less awkward you snatched the first thing that was in your sight as Jungkook moved away to place the tray down. You happened to grab the cloth you were just using thankfully, beginning to frantically wipe the side of the counter. God you were so stupid. Of course he was a complete flirt, he’d only been in town a few days and was already drawing in multiple women, yourself included, with his deceptive charm.

You picked up a basket to wipe away at the crumbs underneath, but as you were putting it down a throat cleared beside you. The leather shoes that came into your view looked expensive, and your stomach dropped. As you lifted your gaze the curious expression on his face made you suck in a tiny breath, and unable to look away you dropped the basket back onto the counter. Unfortunately, it was too close to the edge and began tipping over, he surged forward suddenly to attempt to steady it behind you, effectively pinning you against the counter with his form. You gasped when suddenly his cologne bombarded your senses with warm, spicy cinnamon and...apples? The likely expensive scent made your knees feel weak, and the warmth of his arms pressed into your sides had your heart racing. His efforts were in vain, however, as the basket toppled to the ground, and small bread rolls scattered across the floor.

The tip of his nose brushed against your scalp, and he hummed pleasantly. “Your hair smells lovely today, Miss (Y/N),” he observed, and you swear your heart was about to give out from how rapidly it was thundering in your chest. So he noticed.

“Oh, thank you Mr…”

“Taehyung. Mr. Kim if you please, but Taehyung will do just fine.” Even as he spoke ever so casually, he made no move to step back.

His gaze dropped to your heaving chest as you were breathless from the proximity and palpable tension. Suddenly, it occurred to you that the neckline you had picked today was rather low cut, the fabric around your bust a little strained with each breath you took.

You wanted to stay exactly where you were, quivering with excitement from being pressed right up against him. However, embarrassment got the better of you, a blush coming on strongly to your cheeks and you slipped out from the cage of his arms and kneeled to the ground. Thankfully, he couldn’t see your flushed state as you grabbed the pieces of scattered pastry. You felt unease rise within you when he crouched down beside you, dropping the bread back into the basket as well.

“Oh no, please don’t worry about that Mr. Kim. I can manage myself, besides this is my fault. Clumsy,” you scolded yourself quietly, shaking your head.

“No, it’s fine. I thought I might catch it but apparently my coordination is not as good as I thought,” he chuckled, silence filling the following moments as you continued to grab the bread. “You must keep pretty busy, huh? It’s a good thing you have your boyfriend to help you out.”

Your eyes widened at his assumption. “Oh-no no, Jungkook’s not-he’s not my boyfriend. Just my assistant,” you explained, feeling your cheeks heat up again as you avoided his gaze once the two of you were standing, no longer crawling around the floor. The counter was covered in crumbs and flakes from the bread and suddenly you were very interested in picking at them. “I’m far too old to be his girlfriend anyway.”

You couldn’t see the frown breaking out across Taehyung’s face, but as he opened his mouth to protest Jungkoook came striding over. “Noona, is everything okay? It’s not like you to drop good bread,” he questioned quietly, coming to stand just a little too close. The image of him acting like your guard dog came across your mind, hackles raised and ready to fight off any threats to his territory. You so wanted to be but you didn’t belong to either of them, they deserved much better. The young girl who was sitting with Taehyung only moments ago was looking over with concern at the tense atmosphere. Jungkook still stood uncomfortably close, silently challenging the man still standing in your personal space unabashedly.

“Yeah Kook, I’m good,” you replied, reaching out and gently patting his bicep. He looked at you suspiciously, not quite convinced but he nodded and slinked out the back anyway. Taehyung almost glared at Jungkook for another second before stepping back, however, he still stood quite close. Both of you hovered for a moment, you could sense he wanted to ask something. Not even a moment later, he did.

“The wedding this weekend, I was just wondering if you would be attending? Someone mentioned you were making the cake for it, among other pastries.”

“No,” you blurted out the obvious lie, all of a sudden taken aback by his question. Was he asking you out? The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as you sensed another pair of eyes on you, coming from his table.

“Oh,” he muttered, looking a little dejected. “So...you won’t be there? They’re friends of my family actually, so I’ll be in attendance.”

“No, sorry. I have another engagement, but Jungkook will be there!” You reiterated, not sure why you were lying to him. His expression soured momentarily, and another patron wandered up to the unattended counter. You were thankful for a way out and hurried away from the awkward conversation. He fidgeted with the brass button on his creaseless vest for a moment before slumping back into his seat. The nerve of that man! He had another girl with him, watching the whole thing unfold and he had the disrespect to practically ignore her. She certainly was beautiful, just like him. Definitely the type of woman that was more suited to him, rather than something so ordinary like you.

Jungkook came past just as you finished up with another customer, but you flagged him down before he could escape. “Oh Jungkook! I actually have a favour to ask of you…”

Stupid. That’s what you were. You sulked about the catering room, plating the little pastries for after the reception desert taking place soon. While you had an unmeasurable and intense focus when it came to your work, your passion, right now you couldn’t help but be on edge. The knowledge that Taehyung was around somewhere had your stomach churning with anxiousness at the thought of running into him, after blatantly telling him you wouldn’t be here.

At least, it wasn’t entirely a lie. You really thought you weren’t going to be here as Jungkook had eagerly agreed to be in your place right now. Part of you wanted to test what he wouldn’t do for you. However, when he came to tell you he’d actually been offered some photography work tonight you couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in his eye. That was something you couldn’t bear to take away from him. After you told him to accept the offer he halfheartedly protested, not wanting to disrupt your plans. But in truth you could tell he was disappointed he wouldn’t be able to go, and you weren’t having a bar of it.

So here you were, checking each iced flower on the tall wedding cake meticulously for any that had fallen off on the trip here. Every few seconds, however, you threw a glance over your shoulder for a certain Mr. Kim.

“Y/N!” Someone behind you exclaimed, the voice definitely male and you froze, slowly turning to prolong the inevitable. When the groom’s face was the only one you could see your shoulders slumped in relief and returned his smile. “It’s...it’s beautiful, thank you so much. You’ve made my fiance very happy. Oops, wife I should say!” He quickly corrected himself, cheeks flushed red no doubt from the champagne, the glass he held fully and freshly bubbling.

“It’s certainly my pleasure. While I love baking itself there’s something so special in seeing where my goods go,” you observed, peeking out into the main hall where everyone sat about finishing the main course. “However, my work here is done I think.”

Right as you finished speaking the bride wondered in looking for her now husband, the moment their eyes met a giddy smile broke out on both their faces. The action caused your heart to clench in your chest as she reached out and slotted her hand into his awaiting palm. He drew it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles and she looked away with a grin, suddenly noticing you standing there.

“Oh, Y/N! Are you leaving? Already? Won’t you stay for a drink?”

“I-um...maybe not.” You chewed on your lip. “I really must be going.”

“Just one drink, please?” She insisted, taking the glass from her husband and pushing it into your hand. When she pouted at you in such a way, it was hard to say otherwise.

Well... just one drink won’t hurt.

Two hours and definitely more than one glass of champagne later, you finally bade your farewell. A gust of chilly air rushed past you as you made your way outside, making you grip your arms where goosebumps were forming. God you wished you brought your jacket, how could you have forgotten? At least it was cooling down your cheeks which were flushed bright red and warm from the alcohol you’d had. There was no way you were driving home this evening, you’d have to call for a driver. Or perhaps you could walk as it wasn’t too far. Deciding the latter would be sufficient - and cheaper, not to mention - you set off in the direction of your bakery, weaving around the pedestrians on the footpath.

Other than the wind that picked up and drew a shiver from you, you began to think this wasn’t so bad - until your intoxicated form stumbled on an uneven paving stone. You hit someone square in the back, grabbing the back of their coat to steady yourself as you garbled a hundred apologies. By some miracle the man didn’t fall down and you thanked the heavens, only to take it back as he turned to look at your flustered face.

Low and behold, there stood the very man you were trying to avoid. Kim Taehyung.

“Miss (Y/L/N)? Well, what a pleasant surprise,” he said with a smirk, while embarrassment burned a hole right through you. “What brings you here?” Of course it was just your luck you’d bump into him - literally - right as you were almost out of there. He looked delectable as always, dressed head to toe in finely tailored clothing. His pants were pressed with a perfect crease down the middle of each leg, fine jacket fitting his broad shoulders perfectly. The hat he was wearing, however, captured your attention and you almost forgot he asked you something.

“Oh! I... um... well, you see, I-,” you managed to get out. Words! Use words you fool, you scolded yourself internally. Something about the man in front of you rendered you speechless, yet he only gave you a small smile and waited patiently for you to find your words, stepping back a bit and slipping his hands into his pockets.

Still, your mind remained blank. The hilarity of the situation hit you and a giggle bubbled forth from your lips. You smacked your hand over your mouth, feeling your cheeks flush with warmth from the numerous glasses of champagne you’d downed. Taehyung looked at you with an endearingly curious expression, brows furrowing with a chuckle.

“And what, pray tell, is so funny?” He asked quirking an eyebrow, the fact that you failed to answer him did not go unnoticed. You tried to speak but only more laughs came out until your shoulders were shaking with the action, tears welling in your eyes.

“Your hat is very funny, why is it so strange? It’s lopsided, and flat. What’s this little thing on top?” You reached up to flick at it, not realising how close you had gotten until you softly bumped into his solid frame.

“Woah, easy there (Y/N).” The words were whispered huskily right into your ear as he steadied you, and you found yourself trembling from his touch as you were caught off guard. “Wouldn't want you to trip and hurt yourself, now would we?”

“N-No, of course not,” you replied, flustered and he eyed you carefully. After a moment he released your arms to shuck off his jacket, and before you could blink it was dropped around your shoulders. The material felt expensive and warm and the delicious smell of his cologne filled your senses, the spicy scent of toasted cinnamon causing you to turn to putty.

“It’s cold tonight,” he observed, looking up to the cloudless sky. You followed his gaze, admiring all the bright stars twinkling in the twilight. This moment was something you wanted to treasure forever, where you stood thinking about nothing but now nice the sky looked and a beautiful man had offered you his jacket to keep you warm. Alas, it had to end eventually. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

His words brought you rushing back to reality, and you looked at him suddenly. “Oh, I was just going to walk but I can call for a driver it’s fine, rea-”

One stern look from him had you shrinking back into the jacket, he was not taking no for an answer and you nodded sheepishly. The hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention as a cold shiver gripped your bones, only intensified by an icy gust of wind. His hand slid across your shoulders, pulling you into his warm side as he guided you in the direction of where he must be parked.

Being the gentleman he was, he opened the passenger seat door for you, and once you were safely in he slipped into the driver's seat. There was a long stretch of comfortable silence as he started the ignition and smoothly pulled out onto the road, his hand not on the steering wheel resting dangerously close to your thigh.

“The hat, it’s called a beret. My younger sister bought it for me while she was studying in France, I should have introduced her the other day.”

“The... other day? Have I seen her before?”

“Yes, in the bakery when our little... accident happened,” he reminisced with a small chuckle, once again finding amusement in your embarrassment.

Suddenly it dawned on you, the young girl he was sitting with when he came over to talk to you. That was his little sister. You were glad he didn’t, seeming as though you’d just made an absolute fool out of yourself in front of her. No wonder she looked so beautiful, they came from the same pool of blessed genes. Silence filled the rest of the journey, and before you knew it the car was no longer moving, Taehyung was opening your door for you again and you stepped out.

The heavy material of his jacket slipped from your shoulders and you handed it back to him as another chilly gust swept past. He accepted it gratefully, putting it back on immediately and shoving his hands back into his pockets. Well, it was now or never you decided.

“Would you… like to come in for a drink?” You offered before you could psych yourself out.

“I don’t really…” he trailed off and immediately you feared you had been too bold.

“Oh. That’s fine, no trouble at all,” you murmured dejectedly.

“I mean, I don’t drink alcohol. Not if I can help it, I don’t find the taste very pleasant. That and I don’t hold myself well. Some tea would be much appreciated, though,” he proposed.

“Yes… yes, of course. It would be nice to warm up a little.” Uncertainty hung in the air, looming over your head for a moment too long before he nodded.

“That would be very nice, thank you.”

Your hands fumbled with the keys, loud jingling making you wince as you missed the lock a few times. At this point you’d sobered up quite quickly, the shake of your hand being caused by your nerves betraying you instead of the champagne. It had been quite a good hour since your last glass and you were no longer feeling the effects. Taehyung’s warm hand closed over yours, steadying your shaking fingers and your breath hitched as the metal key slid smoothly into the lock. It was relatively dark and you were glad only the faint light of the streetlamp guided you as you cracked the door open, trembling in anticipation of what was to come. The two of you slipped inside the dark bakery, shoulders brushing as you turned to shut the door and lock it behind you.

“So… what do you fancy?” You asked, turning to look at his figure which looked all the more enticing half in the shadows. “A cup of tea? Some chocolate croissants, perhaps?”

He only shook his head slowly, taking a step toward you. “What do I fancy, you ask? Well...you.”

“M-me?” You asked, your insides doing a flip in excitement.

“Yes. You like croissants? I bet you’d love Paris, so many incredible pastry chefs there, among… other things.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a very romantic place, I could take you one day? I’d like that… ” he trailed off and you blinked quickly, unable to look away from his gaze.

“Not just for the pastries?”

“Not just for the pastries, petal.”

He backed you up against the now locked door, eyes piercing yours with an intensity that made your abdomen clench; however, there was something else in his eyes. Something softer, and you felt that sweetness in the way he ever so slowly pressed against you. The first brush of his lips against yours was not hurried and needy like you expected it to be, and when he pulled away you felt an ache in your heart so strong it left you breathless.

“Taehyung…” you whispered, breaths beginning to grow heavier as your nerves dissipated to be replaced by lust and longing. He whispered your name back, before sweetly capturing your lips once more, his tongue demanding entrance to explore your mouth which you easily granted. Your fingers fisted in the lapels of his jacket, creases forming in the perfectly ironed material as the feeling of his tongue forcing yours into submission drew a moan from you. A large hand cupped the back of your head so you didn’t hurt yourself as he pressed you harder against the door, the kiss growing hungrier with each lave of the hot, wet muscle. You guided him back, shuffling blindly around, neither of you daring to interrupt your locked lips or even take a breath. Your back bumped into the counter and finally you broke apart for air, looking at your surroundings, somehow you’d ended up behind the bakery counter.

Taehyung’s hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you flush to him, and the action drew a gasp from you as you were pressed right up against his solid, throbbing length. The searing heat of it could be felt even through the layers of clothing that still separated your flesh, and your pelvic floor clenched around nothing in retaliation. Suddenly his hold on you tightened and he hoisted you smoothly onto the counter with very little effort. Now that you were at his level he wasted no time in getting right back into it.

“I wondered why it is that you haven’t been swooped up by anybody yet,” he mused between the breathless kisses you’d been enraptured in, fingers still gripping at your soft flesh through the thin material of your dress.

“There are plenty of other-mmf, pretty and young women in this town, certainly more attractive than I am. Why me?” you whispered against his lips, still pinching yourself that this was really happening. God, it’s been so long since you’d been with a man. His kisses trailed down your jaw, the warmth of his lips pressing into your sensitive neck.

“Hmm, I suppose,” he hummed, pausing to nibble on the spot just below your ear and you tipped your head back to allow him easier access. “They are very much like flowers, blossoming under the male attention they so desperately crave. They’re only pretty to look at, but that’s it. They might as well be just an accessory. Whereas you, sweet thing, are so much more.”

“B-But... I’m a bit older than you. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Not at all, I really don’t give a shit noona. If that’s something that really matters to people, then they’re shallow and can’t see past something that’s really not that significant.” He growled right into the shell of your ear, his nimble fingers finding the easiest way to remove your dress. You thanked the heavens that you normally close the blinds when you lock up, because Taehyung made quick work of stripping your clothes from your body.

You slid off the counter to kick off the garments that had pooled around your hips, throwing them away into an unknown corner of your shop. Goosebumps arose across your bare skin, and Taehyung’s seized the soft flesh of your hips, hand kneading and moulding, pulling you flush against his hardened cock. He was so warm, and he let out a strangled groan as you reached down to palm him over his trousers. At your coaxing, his cock only seemed to swell further, impossibly large now and he rocked in your hand for friction. The tug on his foreskin only made him moan more, and you were enjoying the way he let his guard down. His mouth found its way to your bare shoulder, sucking pink marks along your neck and collarbone so he quieted somewhat.

You whimpered when his hands moved down to grab the globes of your ass, groping them and pulling the cheeks apart. Cool air hit your dripping centre and you whined louder, clenching around nothing again. Taehyung relinquished your neck to stand to his full height, smirking at your flushed and needy expression. His eyes trailed down to drink in your naked skin, but he was still fully clothed. Feeling a little exposed, you moved to cover up your bare body. After all, you had a sweet tooth and you did pack a few extra pounds as a result of that. Most of the time you didn’t care, however, in this moment you were particularly caught off guard and feeling a little self conscious.

“Uh uh uh, I don’t think so sweetheart,” Taehyung purred, grabbing your hands that were snaking up your torso. “Don’t you dare hide yourself from me, not when you’re this beautiful.” He hoisted you back up onto the counter hastily, almost knocking over the jars of toppings and chocolate syrups you had left there. His hand snatched the glass bottle that almost fell, and he smirked like the cat that got the cream. “Caught it this time.”

Without warning he dropped the bottle on the bench and swooped down. His mouth closed over your nipple, hot and wet and you moaned at the feeling, hands coming up to bury themselves in his golden curls. Taehyung nipped and swirled his tongue around the peak with a growl that grew louder the harder you pulled on his hair, giving you no warning before switching over to the other one. Lithe fingers snaked up to pinch and twist your spit-slicked nipple, making you squirm underneath him. Now that both aching peaks were being lavished with attention you squirmed, no lover had ever spoiled you this much and it made you all the more eager to touch him too.

Your hands gripped at the lapels on his expensive jacket, uncaring if it would tear as you attempted to push it off his wide shoulders. He laughed softly against your chest as you whined, straightening up to slowly shuck the garment from himself, never taking his eyes off your heaving chest that was shiny from his ministrations. He peeled off his top half, tugging at his dress shirt until each button popped open slowly revealing smooth honey toned skin to your hungry eyes. Your fingertips reached out to smooth over his chest, bringing little goosebumps to the surface. He had such a lovely body, his pecs firm and full, yet the most delicate and defined collarbones you’d seen on a man. Taehyung’s shoulders were broad with a thick, vascular neck you just wanted to sink your teeth into, and to top it all off his jawline was chiseled like a work of art. Your palms trailed higher and you sat up so you could run them over the expanse of his shoulders and upper back. He shuddered at your ever so gentle touch; fingernails raking featherlight down his back, drawing a soft moan from his lips which you swallowed with your own. You dragged your nails over his hips and dipped the tip of your finger into his navel. He flinched at the action, his stomach clenching away. When you ran your palms over his abdomen he broke the kiss abruptly, turning his face to the side. He didn’t have the most defined stomach, yet you didn’t mind one bit.

“Taehyung, you don’t have anything to be ashamed of either,” you pressed a kiss into his jawline. “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” you whispered into his skin. Except for Jungkook something in the back of your mind quipped back and a small sense of guilt arose within you. You knew he felt jealous of your interest in Taehyung, but that was something that could be dealt with another time.

The man standing in front of you turned back and pressed his lips to yours again, groaning when your hand slipped past the waistband of his underwear to grip his bare length. It throbbed as you gave it a few experimental strokes, satisfied at the way he let out an animalistic groan. His hand suddenly gripped your thigh, and he smothered you with his form until you had to let go of his length and lay back. His fingertips were likely leaving indents in your flesh but you didn’t care, not when he was so close to where you desired him most. “Please,” you whimpered breathlessly. His fingers parted your thighs, swearing softly when he touched your folds to instantly have his fingertips coated in your arousal. He paused, lifting them up to inspect them unabashed, drawing his fingers apart to look at the strings of slick.

“Fuck. You want me that badly, huh? Such a good girl, so wet and eager for me.” His words made you clench, and he definitely felt it as he lightly ran his fingers through your soaked folds, admiring the way they glistened. Taehyung easily sunk two fingers knuckle deep into your heat, crooking them to seek out that sweet bundle of nerves. Needing to feel his lips on yours again you whined while leaning forward, begging him with your eyes. Quickly he obligated, ever the attentive lover.

After a while your clit was throbbing, crying for his attention. He reached over into one of the jars next to the display cabinet, which you used to touch up any pastries that needed more powdered sugar. A generous amount gathered on the top of his thumb when he dipped it in, and before you could realise what he was doing that same thumb was planted firmly on your pearl of nerves.

“Taehyung! Mmf, oh my god. That feels so good but you’re gonna give me a yeast infection, fuck.”

“Mmm, not if I lick you clean.” He swooped down, tongue lapping at the now gooey sugar that had somewhat dissolved with your wetness. He suckled at your juices, tongue swiping through your folds against his fingers that were still buried before he trailed up to your clit. His lips pulled the little bud into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth, the nibbling teeth causing your hips to jump at the stimulation. God, his tongue felt like heaven and sin all at once, never before had anyone made you feel this good. Certainly, you’d been missing out in all your previous experiences. His hand reached out, grabbing the bottle of chocolate syrup you’d left on the counter, and he looked over to see what other sweet concoction he’d found.

“Mmm, perfect. Open wide sweetheart,” he smirked. Confused, you opened your mouth slightly to which he found most amusing. His fingers withdrew and you whimpered in complaint before your knees were gripped firmly and pushed apart, spreading your legs wide open for him to see. He drizzled a little of the chocolate syrup onto your glistening folds, a few drops sinking into your entrance. The bottle was quickly dropped onto the counter and his tongue was quick to follow the droplets, shoving the appendage deep into your pussy to chase any of the chocolate before it got away from him. “Fucking hell,” he groaned against your cunt, voice muffled. “This is definitely the best thing I have ever tasted in my entire life. I feel like I could die right here.”

With each delve of his muscle you could feel your skin prickling with heat and anticipation or the climax that was beginning to build. Your neglected nub was once again attacked by lashes of his tongue as he pushed his fingers back in, now intent on watching you fall apart. “That’s it petal, good girl. Come for me, that’s it.”

Without mercy he suckled on your clit and your legs shook as that tension began to release, waves of pleasure spreading through your whole body. No noise came forth from your lips for a few seconds, however you quickly broke that silence and cried out loudly with each wave of your high, Taehyung’s fingers still thrusting to draw out your orgasm.

“Please,” you whimpered, looking up at him almost in tears.

“Please what? Use your words,” he growled, already pulling at his belt and letting his pants and underwear fall around his ankles. “What do you need, tell me sweetheart.”

“Need your cock. Please please Taehyung, I want it so bad.” His hand that was soaked with your juices reached down to fist his hardened length, a few drops of precum dripping onto your abdomen. He groaned loudly at the sight, at the way your eyes twinkled in want when you looked at his throbbing appendage. “I want… god I want to suck you off so bad, but I fucking need you. Now.”

The thought of it had him swearing softly, imagining you on your knees before him. He almost came there at the thought of sinking his cock in between your pretty lips, feeling the back of your warm, wet throat constricting him like the perfect girl you were. However, you looked so beautiful spread out across the counter, he’d rather keep you right where you were. Besides, he was so worked up, he really didn’t need your first impression to be of him finishing too early. “Another time, my sweet. Right now I just really need to be inside you.”

To emphasise his point, the head of his cock ran through your glistening folds, the friction on your clit causing your legs to twitch in overstimulation. “Kim Taehyung, if you don’t put your dick in me right n-oh!”

Your sentence turned into a gasp as the tip of his dick pushed at your entrance, and the first inch sunk in with a little resistance from how much your walls tried to clamp down, welcoming the intrusion. He bent down over the top of you, possessively capturing your lips with his as the rest of his length split your walls, sinking in to the hilt. It was like heaven, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered what being stretched by his girthy cock would feel like. As if he couldn’t be any more perfect, of course he had to be so well fucking endowed. It almost hurt how big he was, you noticed as your pussy fluttered and clenched around him. Almost.

Moments passed where both of you simply panted heavily, his face buried into the crook of your neck. “One second, just give me one second or I swear I’m gonna cum. You feel like fucking heaven, noona.” You nodded, incapable of coherent words in that blissful moment.

“Such beautiful tits,” he groaned as his mouth sucked marks across your collar bones, lips seeking out a peak to torment once more. “Tell me, sweet thing. Who’s tits are these?”

“Yours, Tae. Oh god, they’re all yours.” Came your breathy moan, the strands of his honeyed hair tickling your skin as he dragged his face over to the other nipple.

“Good girl,” he quipped. “What about this pussy, hm?” To emphasise his question he slowly pulled his length from where it was buried in your cunt, driving it back in with an even slower thrust that had you keening desperately at the delicious burn.

“Yours, yours! Just fuck me, please!”

“Well, since you’re such a good girl who asked so nicely…” After a second he straightened up, hands gripping your hips tightly as he withdrew only to bury himself in your cunt again, hips smacking into the flesh of your ass from the force of his thrust. Once he could tell you had adjusted comfortably to his size he picked up the speed, beginning a much faster pace, the sound of skin slapping filling the otherwise quiet bakery. You threw your head back over the counter, the slight feeling of blood rushing to your head making the sensations of Taehyung’s cock all the more intense.

Neither of you heard the key opening the door, nor saw the figure that froze in the entry, unable to see anything from outside due to the drawn curtains. Jungkook's eyes were wide much like a deer caught in the headlights, drinking in every inch of your exposed skin. Your heaving breasts looked deliciously perky with the way your head was thrown over the counter, noises he’d only ever dreamed of hearing spilling forth from your parted lips. His shocked expression soured, however, when he realised it was Taehyung standing between your spread legs, his cock plunging into your centre and making your face twist in ecstasy. You hadn’t realised he was there yet, eyes closed and still making little mewls with each of Taehyung’s thrusts, now deep and slow, almost teasing you. The elder looked up and simply smirked once their eyes locked, just who he’d been hoping for. Taehyung was the obvious alpha male, and he could see the way Jungkook’s pants were already straining.

“Mmm, harder... please,” you cried out, ankles locking around Taehyung’s waist so he couldn’t stop what he was doing.

“You want me to fuck you harder, noona? You know ever since the first time I saw you, I’ve fantasized about taking you nice and hard over this quaint little countertop. Have you, noona? Or perhaps you’d been too busy fantasizing about your little assistant, hm? You’d love to have him fuck you like this you dirty girl, isn’t that right? Answer me, or I’ll stop.” He teased, voice becoming a little strained with heavy breaths. His eyes were still locked on Jungkook, mocking the astounded boy.

“Oh god, yes. Fuck yes I’d love to have Kookie fuck his noona like this, oh fu-I think I’m gonna come again Tae.”

“Already? Are you gonna come thinking about Kookie?”

“Yes, hng-ughh Tae, and you! Gonna come, o-oh, because of you!” You cried, each syllable growing in volume the closer you grew to your orgasm.

“Go on noona, show me how much you love my cock,” he permitted, thumb coming back to your clit to pinch and rub the bundle of nerves, pushing you toward your climax. Right as you began to peak, he hooked your legs over his shoulders and began furiously pounding into you. The new angle and pace had you hurtling into a powerful, leg shaking orgasm which made Taehyung curse. You looked so beautiful, and you had a little audience for him to show off to. You were screaming so perfectly, perhaps you secretly knew Jungkook was watching the whole exchange.

When you came down from your high, panting and swearing softly he pressed a kiss to the inside of your leg. “You’re so pretty when you come, my lovely. Don’t you think so, Jungkook?”

Your eyes flew open to see an upside down, very shocked Jungkook. The two of you were at a standstill for a moment, before you quickly tried to sit up and cover yourself. Taehyung’s hand was gently pushing you to lie back down, he suddenly leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Noona, (Y/N) darling. Don’t you want sweet little Kookie to join us? You want to suck him off while I fuck you nicely, hmm?” His words sounded so sweet, and you clenched around him at the very thought. He chuckled, that was just about all the confirmation he needed. However, he waited until you nodded, not going ahead without your clear consent.

When Jungkook saw you nod, he was in complete disbelief. You wanted him? His length throbbed painfully in the confines of his pants, feeling so tight it might almost rip through the fabric. Despite being upside down, you could still clearly see the outline of the colossal bulge.

“Come here,” Taehyung barked, tutting in annoyance when the younger man still seemed to be rooted to the spot, too stunned to move. “Jeon, I suggest you move your ass if you want your dick sucked.” At his words Jungkook snapped out of his stupor, eagerly striding over to stand above you.

The younger man was impatiently undoing the buttons on his pants, pulling them down and grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head, forgoing the buttons altogether. His length sprung forth, already looking angrily red and leaking copious amounts of precum.

The temptation to taste him was too strong, and you stretched your neck to run your tongue along his dripping cock, pressing sloppy kisses, all the while looking up at him with innocent yet sultry eyes. He swore softly at the sight, pulling back to allow your lips to envelop the head of his cock, tongue swirling around his slit to gather the salty drops which kept leaking. He whimpered loudly, finally knowing what it felt like to sink his cock between his noona’s lips. You relaxed your gag reflex, eyes raking up his body. He was definitely a sight to behold, a sheen of sweat already glazing his glorious chest, making his abs - seriously, how did this boy have them - even more drool worthy. Although you were already drooling.

His eyes were glued to your mouth, and the way it easily took his cock with each gentle thrust, he was careful not to make you gag. Although, you had other ideas. Your hands sneaked up, gripping the flesh of his bare behind as you relaxed your throat, feeling his hips jerk as he slid in the rest of the way and bottomed out. He groaned, whole body shuddering in pleasure, unable to stop his hips from jerking forward to chase the euphoria he found between your lips. The rather hard thrust had you choking a little, eyes tearing up but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when Jungkook was being so vocal, moaning and cursing so much you were sure anyone outside could hear. When you gagged again, inhaling deeply through your nose he pulled back, giving you a small reprieve and letting you breathe through your mouth. It was at the moment the man standing between your legs, who had been enjoying the show decided it was time to remind you of his presence.

You cried out sharply when Taehyung’s throbbing length buried itself into your sopping heat once again, the movement jolting you and causing Jungkook’s cock to sink back into your throat. He began to swear as both men thrust into you, using your body to get themselves off. Hungrily, like he thought he might never get the opportunity to witness this again, Jungkook’s eyes raked over your soft body. The way your breasts bounced with every thrust, nipples stiff and slick from his elder’s mouth. Then your wonderful thighs, rippling each time Taehyung drove his hips into them. Jungkook always knew you would have such a beautifully soft body, he just wanted to knead you with his hands and run his tongue over every inch, every curve you had. There was so much slick shining on the inside of your thighs, loud squelch noises from each time Tae’s cock pushed into you. He wasn’t going to last much longer, not with the way moaned and swirled your tongue around his length.

After a few minutes Taehyung could feel how you were clamping down on his cock again as it dragged against your sweet spot with each thrust, you were getting close once more. His own pleasure twisted sharply in his abdomen, tightening dangerously quickly. The pad of his thumb pressed down on your clit once more, rubbing furious circles to get you to finish before he did. “One more, I want you to come one more time for me, noona. For us.”

Your climax came to a peak and you squealed, Jungkook’s length popping out of your mouth to make way for the wails of pleasure as your legs shook. You reached out to pump him in your hand, and the sound of your moans as you came was all it took for Jungkook to swear and suddenly he was coming too. You took him back in your mouth quickly, grabbing his hips and pulling him so his cum spurted to the back of your throat.

“Fuck! Oh my-oh fucking hell noona, oh,” he all but yelled, whole body trembling as he climaxed.

Suddenly Taehyung could hold on no longer either, he stilled and you moaned louder as warmth flooded deep inside you as he came, your pussy clenching unconsciously at how good it all felt. Jungkook whined in overstimulation when he pulled out, but your lips drew the top of his cock back into your mouth to suckle at the remains of his salty release, the sensation of your tongue lapping against his frenulum almost too much for him.

He pulled out, your tongue licking your lips to collect any remains as you bathed in post orgasm bliss. Taehyung’s cock softened, slipping out of your swollen pussy as the three of you panted, catching your breath.

Jungkook leaned on the bench, looming over you and he flashed a hopeful smile. The same that made your heart flutter so innocently each morning, the slightest glimmer of potential for something more between you two. However, you’d just sucked him off while another man fucked you.

Now that the hazy headspace had cleared, embarrassment came forth unbridled and you couldn’t stand to be around a moment longer. You slipped off the counter, wobbly legs barely able to support you as you hastily picked up your clothes. It seems that Taehyung had the same idea as he was quickly dressed, buttoning up his shirt and snatching his jacket up off the floor.

“Well…” he began with, looking between the three of you. “Looks like you two have something to talk about. I’d best be going, see you around.” With that, he was out the door. Gone. It brought your memory back to the first time you’d met him, watching him walk out of the door. Things had been so much more simple then, when you weren’t sleeping with two men at once. You didn’t waste another second dwelling in the awkward tension between you and Jungkook as you rushed upstairs without another word.

The next three weeks were awkward to say the least. Conversation was somewhat scarce between both yourself and your assistant, and you feared you’d forever ruined your relationship with him. Jungkook was barely conversing with you, and whenever it was necessary he gave one word answers at best.

It was now that you realised he always used to say things such as let me do it, or I made extra of your favourite. It was in the small things, the everyday gestures that your feelings began to steadily blossom, nothing like the grand and unrealistic romance you so desired. Now Jungkook felt so far away, perhaps he despised you now. All because you had to be stupid and greedy, turning a blind eye to the blessing that was right in front of you all along and pursuing someone you have convinced you were good enough for.

Since that night, Taehyung had not been back to the bakery.

In fact, you had not heard from him at all. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t shed a tear or two over it, after how sweet he’d been in the beginning. The larger part of your conscience, the more irrational part urged you to wait around like a stupid damsel in distress. Hoping that maybe he would walk back in through that door with the little jingle of the bell and make you smile like the idiot you were, pretending nothing had ever gone wrong. But the more rational part wanted to beat that other part to a pulp, it was far more likely that he had been sweet, like honey for one reason. To lure you in like the silly little fly you were, walking right into his web. How many other girls had he been with in three weeks? Was that really his sister, or did he just tell that to women he’s luring in to make them let their guard down? Just like you had. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping, it was a perfect day, but strangely a little warm. Beads of sweat rolled down your temple, and you wiped them away with the back of your arm as your hands were covered in flour and dough. God, it was unusually warm this morning.

You turned around from your workstation, looking for your rolling pin on one of the other benches. Incidentally your eyes met Jungkook’s and his gaze darted away abruptly, pretending to also look for something. Guilt gnawed at you, knowing that you had caused his embarrassment. After all, you confessed you wanted him in the way he wanted you and then proceeded to mope after Taehyung, not looking at him twice.

You took your anger out on the innocent dough, squashing it angrily between your fingers absent mindedly. You kept muttering see you around in a mocking tone before realizing it was now over kneaded. Great, now you had a suitor on the run, an assistant that was giving you the silent treatment, and your bread would be flat and overly tough. At least your favourite apricot jam would make it taste better, and you couldn’t help craving another serving you mused as you cleaned the sticky dough from your hands.

The delicious smell of the fresh bread wafted from the racks where they rested, and you sought out a tray that had mostly cooled. When you pulled it out, resting the heavy tray on your chest as you normally did, you yelped and dropped it on the bench with a loud bang. The apple that Jungkook had been about to chop skidded across the floor as he dropped it and rushed over to you.

“Noona! Are you alright?! What happened?!”

You gritted your teeth and breathed in through your nose, wincing at how unusually sore your breasts were. Jungkook reached for your cheek, and his hands in your face smelled strongly of apple juice, almost burning your nostrils with its potency. Sudden nausea gripped at your stomach, twisting your insides and making you feel queasy. You pushed past Jungkook and sprinted up the stairs, hearing Jungkook’s heavy footsteps right behind you. You barely reached the bathroom before you fell to your knees, heaving over the toilet bowl to empty your stomach.

“(Y/N)!” A distressed Jungkook cried out from the doorway before crouching down, hands still incredibly gentle as they reached to sweep your hair out of the way. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?!” An answer didn’t make it past your lips however, only more of your breakfast. Jungkook was audibly panicked, but still rubbed comforting circles on your back as you continued to throw up. “That’s it, get it all out,” he murmured.

Your mouth tasted foul and as soon as you stood up you were reaching for your toothbrush. He was glued to your side, picking up a cloth to wipe away at the vomit that was on your chin, still asking a million questions. Embarrassed, you waved him away even though the tender action made your heart squeeze. So he still cared? “I’m fine Kook, I just don’t know why I’m throwing up all of a sudden, I didn’t eat anything that was off…”

He was still insistent on fussing, telling you to go to the doctor if you couldn’t explain your sudden illness. You wondered back into the bedroom, wracking your brain for any inclination as to why it might me, thinking of your symptoms. Your gaze landed on your little clock on your dresser which displayed the date, eyes widening when things began clicking into place. Your period was also a week late, you had sore breasts and morning sickness. You slapped a hand over your mouth muffling the distressed whine that left your lips, words not coming to you at the moment from the shock.

You were pregnant.

Jungkook tentatively touched your shoulder making both of you flinch as the initial shock wore off, and the harsh reality of it came crashing over you. Your eyes flickered to Jungkook’s wide ones, concern evident at the tears brimming in your eyes. “Noona? (Y/N)? What’s wrong? Why... Why are you crying?” God, he was so innocent sometimes, of course he hadn’t caught on yet.

“K-Kook,” you all but whimpered, voice breaking from the way your throat constricted in an attempt to hold back the sobs. “I-... I think I’m pregnant,” came your confession, barely audible, but Jungkook’s ears picked it up well enough. You could barely look him in the eyes, your own watery with tears and you sounded so defeated.

He crushed you to his chest, his arms enveloping your frame in a warm hug, and you never wanted him to let you go. The sobs came forth unbridled now and you buried your face into the crook of his neck, drenching his shirt with your tears.

“Is it really such a bad thing?” He whispered to you between shushes. “Noona, you know I’ll always stick by you, right? No matter what. I’ll be here even if that bastard isn’t,” he murmured and you trembled all the more from his sweet words.

You pulled back so you could look him in the eye, offering a weak and watery smile. “Oh Jungkook, I really don’t deserve you.”

“Nonsense,” he chastised quickly, a warm thumb coming up to wipe away the wetness on your cheeks. “I really like you noona, like a lot.”

“I do too, Kookie. God, I’m so sorry,” you chuckled, pinching his dimple softly before burying your hand in your apron for a handkerchief. “I just thought, you know...you’d want to be with someone a bit closer to your a-”

Your words were cut off when Jungkook covered your mouth and nose with his own handkerchief, wiping away the snot and you had no doubt you looked a complete mess. Blubbering away and confessing your feelings to a younger man, knocked up by another.

“I don’t want to hear that, ever again. Okay? Besides I’ve been fantasizing about calling you my girlfriend for as long as I’ve been working for you. Do you have any idea how happy I am right now? I don’t care about not being the father of this child, as long as I have you by my side I know I can do anything.” He pecked your lips suddenly, prompting a brighter smile from you which warmed his heart to see you no longer upset about everything. You snaked your arm around the top of his shoulders, grinning as he brought your lips back together. You melted into his arms as you deepened the kiss, but he flinched back a bit.

“What? What’s wrong? Did I do someth-”

“No, nothing’s wrong it’s just...your mouth kinda tastes like vomit still. Sorry.” The two of you burst into laughter, a bit of lightness in the otherwise serious situation. You moved back into the bathroom to begin scrubbing your teeth clean while Jungkook, unable to relinquish you from his hands as if you’d disappear if he let go, kept rubbing comforting circles on your hips. He looked deep in thought. “I’ll get a hold of Taehyung, I promise. While I know you probably despise him right now, I think he has a right to know about the baby.”

Silently you nodded, uncertainty and nervousness swirling deep within your stomach. Jungkook was right, you should tell Taehyung but what would his reaction be? Would he be angry? God, he seemed so nice, so genuine. Maybe it really was just some elaborate plan to seduce you, how many other women had fallen prey to his charms you wondered. Perhaps this was not the first time a woman had tracked him down after being knocked u-

“(Y/N)? It’s alright, just don’t dwell on it okay?” His hands trailed up to rub your shoulders, drawing a long sigh from you. “We’ll make an appointment with the doctor first, yeah? Just to be sure. I’ll even come with you.”

You turned and buried your face into the crook of his neck again, so over the moon to have such support. You don’t know what you did to deserve this, to deserve him.

“Do you think people would mind if we opened… a bit late today?” You asked him, fingers creeping up his chest to play with his collar as you looked at him suggestively.

He wrapped his muscular arms around your shoulders, giving you a soft squeeze. You whined at the action, causing your tender breasts to ache. In retaliation you reached down and groped the firm flesh of his behind. Instantly he bucked forward, seeking friction and pushing his quickly hardening length into your abdomen.

“You mean..” he gaped, beaming down at you with an expression so endearing and so excited it made you giddy. Firm hands found his chest, and you guided him back out of the bathroom and pushed him onto the bed, immediately tugging at the buttons on his work pants. His swollen cock sprung out immediately, already rock hard and dripping precum, so eager to finally bury itself in you completely.

He helped you to yank his trousers down quickly, shoes and all getting kicked off in a hurry. You swore you could hear his shirt tearing a little as he ripped it over his head, his hair becoming messed up in his haste Jungkook yanked you into his reach so he could strip you, much like a child at Christmas, uncaring about the poor wrapping paper and eager to get to his present. Fighting him would be useless with the way your eyes drank in his impressive physique.

Once you were completely bare you grabbed his shoulders, clambering on top of him and reaching between the two of you to grab his dick, running the leaking tip through your damp folds. As you sunk down a few inches you had to stop, the stretch from just how fat his cock was leaving you breathless for a moment. Tiny rocks up and down allowed your walls to adjust before you took a breath and bottomed out, Jungkook threw his head back, exposing his deliciously thick neck to your hungry eyes. The urge to mark it was far too strong, and you didn’t hesitate to bend forward to suckle on the skin, little red and purple marks blossoming.

You immediately got to work grinding your hips back and forth, only seeming to drive Jungkook even crazier. After a few minutes he pushed you to sit back up, the need to see your body again too much yet he couldn’t decide where to look. Your breasts swayed in his face with every rock of your body and it was so hard for him to resist bucking his hips upwards. The sight of your pussy lips swallowing every inch of his throbbing cock again and again was truly something to behold, and it felt a thousand times better. Or your beautiful face, contorted in the most blissful expressions, consumed by the pleasure. At a particularly loud moan you let out he thrusted up, grunting at the feeling of you clenching around him.

Jungkook seized your hips, planting his feet on the bed and began pounding his thick length into you without mercy. Caught off guard, you collapsed onto your hands at the sharp spike of pleasure in your belly, your cries muffled as you buried your face into Jungkook’s damp neck. He too smelled heavenly when you were this close, his natural woody musk overloading your senses with each sharp inhale of breath.

He sat up so you were face to face, the position rather intimate, but was quickly bending down to draw one of your nipples into his mouth, nipping softly. “Ah! Be g-gentle, please Kookie. They’re so sensitive right no-ow.”

“Mmm. Can’t wait ‘til they’re all heavy and swollen with milk, I bet you’d taste so sweet noona.” He practically growled, suddenly possessive at the thought.

“Kook! Oh my-oh god, harder. Please please harder baby. You gonna fuck your noona nice and hard?” You begged, running your fingers through the dark, curly locks on his head. Quickly he gripped your waist tighter and flipped you onto your back in an impressive show of strength, quick to re-acquaint you with the delicious stretch as his cock buried itself back inside you and resumed a brutal pace. He was a rather energetic lover it seemed.

“You feel so good noona, oh my god! Fuck I-I’m not gonna last much longer, not when I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Ugh, it’s okay baby. I’m mfph almost th-there, oh!”

Your arms anchored themselves on his broad shoulders as you jolted from the force of his thrusts, one hand snaking up to thread into the dark hair at the nape of his neck and he whined louder between laboured breaths. Right as he let out a long high pitched moan you felt his whole body tremble, warmth gushing deep in your abdomen as he came. However, Jungkook was ever the soldier and continued on slamming his hips into yours and you finally tipped over the edge. Your walls clenched and fluttered, eyes rolling back into your head. Yet he still continued even as you felt the sticky mess of his cum getting pushed deeper with each thrust, more still filling you. The sounds you were making must have been bothering the neighbours, slapping skin and cries of ecstasy. But neither of you could help it because it had felt like heaven. God, why hadn’t you done this earlier?

When the waves of pleasure finally subsided he dropped onto his forearms, cock going limp and slipping out of your abused pussy.

“Noona.” His chest heaved with his efforts but he couldn’t resist nuzzling into the crook of your now sweaty neck, and your heart clenched with the affection. “That was amazing, so much better than I ever could have imagined. Well...have been imagining.”

“Jungkook, baby,” you breathed, panting heavily. “I’d love to stay like this forever but I’m gonna dirty the sheets, can you grab me a washcloth from the bathroom please?”

He pecked your cheek and sprung up immediately, kicking off his pants that still clung to one leg so they wouldn’t trip him and headed toward the bathroom. Your eyes dropped to his bare behind and you all but drooled, it truly looked so much better without his pants obscuring the view.

“Or,” you began and he paused, turning back to you as you flipped on your side, attempting to strike a seductive pose. Rather it seemed he was the seductor, unknowingly posed like a Roman statue, his body half twisted in a way that accentuated all his best features while gravity accentuated your worst. However, his eyes raked over your figure, insatiable. “How about we just take a shower together? Save some water, hmm-oh Jungkook!” You squealed as he easily hoisted you up bridal style, pecking your lips.

“I think that sounds like a very good idea, shall we?” He asked, carrying you in the direction of the bathroom already sporting another semi.

Three weeks. You were three weeks pregnant, the life inside you so tiny yet had already become such a huge part of your life in just one day. Jungkook was still diligently stuck by your side, and earlier today he’d tried ringing Taehyung’s office to try and speak with him. However, he was told that the elder was not available. All that could be done was to leave a message with his secretary.

You pondered what he might say as the two of you walked arm in arm on your way home from the doctor’s office late in the afternoon. Again, two parts of you rationed with one another. He did just start a new job, perhaps that would explain his absence for almost a month.

Three days, the more rational part of you argued. It was a common rule you’d heard the women gush about over tea in your shop, that no suitor was too busy to contact you at some point in three days. If they didn’t then you simply weren’t a priority for them, not that it mattered anyway. You were loyal to Jungkook now, he was certainly a priority to you.

But there was something about Taehyung, the extent of his genuine nature was incredibly difficult to fabricate. It kept nagging at you in the back of your mind, to just wait, to give him the benefit of the doubt when he finally did come forward. Or maybe you were just being hormonal and making things up to comfort yourself. A distraction was what you needed.

You tipped your head back to breathe in the fresh air. The sky was dusted with a pretty pink and orange colour as the sun set, and you thought would make a nice picture.

“Oh, by the way. I never asked you about the job you got, taking photographs, did you have fun? It is what you came here for after all.” A heavy sigh followed from the man by your side, which definitely caught your attention. “Jungkook? What is it?”

“It was alright, I probably could have enjoyed it more. I just couldn’t help but feel really disappointed the whole time. I wanted to like it more but I just... couldn’t,” he trailed off with yet another deep sigh, his fourth this evening.

“What do you mean? Is it not what you want to do anymore?” You questioned, bringing your other hand to his arm to rub comforting circles. He shook his head, fumbling in his coat pocket for the keys and unlocking the door.

“No, it’s not what I want anymore. As a hobby I think it’s okay, but I’ve completely fallen in love with working here, with baking,” he paused before pushing the door open, turning back to you. “But most importantly, (Y/N). I’ve fallen in love with you. My beautiful noona.”

Your eyes sparkled with tears. “Oh, Jungkook. I-”

“You don’t have to say it back right away. Take all the time you need, I’d wait for you forever.”

He began to head inside but you grabbed his arm firmly, and he looked back at you with a startled expression. “I do, I absolutely do. The feelings, they’ve always been there but I’ve just been afraid to act on them. But... I do love you, more than you know.”

The pure expression of elation that spread across his face made your heart ache, and you just had to kiss it, to kiss him. He let out a little gasp of surprise when you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him to you, pressing your lips together. It was only when you let out a little shiver that he pulled away, ushering you inside and away from the nippy wind.

Now that you were significantly warmer you let out a long yawn, fatigue making your eyelids feel heavy. Jungkook pulled you to him again, pressing a kiss against your hair, the action would never cease to make your heart flutter. “I’ll lock up, you go upstairs to bed noona. I love you,”

“Goodnight Jungkook, I love you too,” you murmured back sleepily with a smile. Reluctantly you slipped out of his warm arms, making the treacherously long haul up to the first floor where your dwelling resided. Once he was sure you’d safely made it up the stairs, he fished around in his pocket for the keys, turning around to lock the door. However, he froze at the figure who stood looming in the doorway.

Taehyung.

You awoke later to the other side of the bed cold and empty, the feeling of a rough tongue licking at your cheek.You stirred with a groan, waiting for the grogginess to subside while you waved your cat away, hearing him pounce onto the floor and out into the kitchen. His demands to be fed grew louder and louder until you simply couldn’t ignore him, and you dragged yourself out of bed to the empty kitchen. Once Jiji’s bowl was filled and he was happily eating you noticed how quiet it was. That’s strange, where was Jungkook?

The clinking of silverware and a light on downstairs caught your attention. You scratched the back of your head in thought as you made your way down into the back room, but when you emerged at the bottom of the stairs you froze.

“Noona!” Jungkook suddenly exclaimed, rushing forth and the loud scrape of the chairs as both men shot up caused you to jump a little. You put our hand out to stop him approaching and he paused, your shock only grew when you noticed Jungkook was sporting a black eye, and he squirmed on the spot while you gawked at him. While you were concerned, you had something - well someone - more important to address. “Um… Taehyung is back… ”

“I noticed, Jungkook,” you gritted, trying to keep a strong front in front of them.

Moisture sprung to your eyes and it made Taehyung’s heart clench, seeing you look so similar to a cornered animal. One wrong move and you would likely bolt back up the stairs. You were frustrated with yourself because you didn’t expect to cry immediately, but seeing the father of your unborn child proved to affect you more than you thought it would.

“(Y/N)... ” He began, taking a small step toward you, his arms reaching out with the urge to comfort you. However, you gave him a dirty look which had Taehyung quickly retracting and not coming any closer. “I know you’re upset… and angry… and confused-”

“Correct,” you quipped.

“But there’s an explanation, I promise,” he pleaded, waiting with baited breath before you crossed your arms and gave a tiny nod heavy with trepidation. “I wanted to come and see you personally the following morning, believe me I truly did. But something happened with my father and the company, I had to go overseas urgently.”

“For almost a month? You couldn’t have at least written to me? A telegram? Even a goddamn smoke signal was too much effort for you?”

“I did! I wrote you a letter and left it here early in the morning before I left, I even put my return address on it so you could write back to me while I was away. I was waiting to hear from you, and the whole time I thought you’d gotten my letter and didn’t want to see me anymore, because of Jungkook.”

A tiny twinge of guilt arose within you, your gut instinct had been right. He had tried to do the right thing. “I’m sorry Taehyung, I didn’t get any letter from you.” You truly were apologetic, a part of you now wished that things had played out differently and you’d given him a chance. But you couldn’t change the past now, and Jungkook was rooted firmly in your heart. Besides, if you had to choose between the two, you’re sure you would never be able to come to a decision.

“I apologise for leaving so quickly that day, but I needed some time to think as it wasn’t just the two of us anymore. A third party had become...involved. But before I could see you in person again I had to go. Hopefully you’ll accept this,” he trailed off, gesturing to a small box on the table. Gingerly you slipped past him to pick it up, gasping when a small glass flower was inside. “When I was in Paris, I saw this in a shop window and immediately thought of you and the first time we met. Finally I got you a flower that won’t wither away and die.”

“Taehyung...it’s lovely, but I don’t really think it’s appropriate for me to accept gifts like this from you anymore. I love Jungkook now. Any contribution from you from now on should be for the b-” You stopped your words suddenly, did Jungkook tell him yet?

“The baby? My...baby. Yes. Jungkook told me.” His eyes flickered down to your stomach. “Oh (Y/N), I’m so sorry this happened to you. I’ll support you one hundred percent, I should have been more careful.”

“Well… we should have been more careful. But you’re not mad?” You questioned, chewing on your lip nervously.

“What?! Why would I be mad at you? I… God I just want to touch your stomach so bad. Can I? Please?” He practically begged, and you felt a laugh bubble up against your will. You’d never seen him pout before. Gently you grabbed his hand, guiding his large palm against the flat of your abdomen and unintentionally pulling him closer. At his proximity your heart rate picked up, old feelings stirring at the warm cinnamon you could smell on him. No, you couldn’t think of him that way anymore.

You diverted your gaze, instead making eye contact with your lover Jungkook while Taehyung rubbed soft circles on your stomach. Things would be… unconventional from now on, to say the least.

“I just...don’t want to miss out on this,” Taehyung whispered. “Watching your belly grow, feeling the little kicks. I don’t have a child yet, and I’ve always been so excited to be a father. But it’s a shame things turned out this way…”

“Which is why we wanted to talk to you (Y/N).” Jungkook suddenly piped up, having been unusually quiet and relaxed this whole time. “Hyung… I mean Taehyung and I have been speaking all night.”

“I got the message from him and came to see you as soon as I got back, only to watch you kiss him instead. I must admit I was incredibly jealous and originally I planned on talking calmly, but that’s not quite what happened. We started fighting, and then we started... kissing.” He admitted, looking slightly abashed. You, however, were utterly shocked and kept looking between the two trying to imagine such a thing.

“Wait...what?! You two kissed? Each other?”

“Well, yes and then it escalated.” Taehyung murmured with a smirk, peering over to Jungkook. He looked nervous, his hand coming up to touch the back of his neck. That’s when you saw it, many more marks peeking out from under his collar than what you’d left on him. “One thing turned into another and, we ended up having sex. Your table is wobbly now, sorry about that, but this kid’s stamina is no joke.”

Your jaw almost hit the ground, a whole mix of different emotions hitting you. The first being sorrow and betrayal, tears once more beginning to well in your eyes. But you quickly felt yourself growing angry, after all your partner had technically cheated on you with another man.

“Jeon Jungkook, you treacherous whore,” you snarled, rubbing your temples at the headache this confusion was bringing you. “I just have one question...why? I thought you two hated one another.”

“We just couldn’t see past the jealousy we both had over you. But once we actually started getting to know one another a bit more, we actually realised we have a lot in common and are willing to explore that further.” Jungkook explained. “I think the three of us could make it work, that way everyone is happy.”

“You mean… we’d all be together? You’re both okay with that? You actually like each other?” You questioned, to which they smiled and nodded. On the one hand, you would get to have what you’d secretly desired which was both men at the same time. The idea had your heart skipping a beat with excitement, thinking about all the sweet words they’d say, and soft mornings you’d share. How well you’d be taken care of, in many ways. But what if things didn’t work out? What if they grew too jealous and the relationship deteriorated? Apprehension weighed heavily in the air. However, if you never even gave it a shot you would never know what could have been.

“Noona? Do you need more time to think about it?” Taehyung asked gently. Did you? You looked up at both of them, their soft gazes making you feel like the most treasured woman in the world. Ever so subtly their hands brushed together, fingers intertwining. Something in your gut told you this was the right thing to do, and you reached up to take a hand in one of theirs.

“I’m willing to try.” You told them, biting your lip to soften the huge grin.

“Really?!” They both exclaimed in unison, eyes wide and you were suddenly tugged into their embrace. Uncontrollable giggles consumed you, and you pecked each of them on the lips.

“I have a feeling the three of us will go together like sugar, spice and everything nice.”

It was still rather early in the morning, the sun only very faintly peeking through the curtains in your bedroom window. Still, your body was beginning to make its demands known no matter what time it may be. Jungkook was warm against your back, his arm slung over your waist, and you couldn’t stop the way you squirmed and panted softly. God, you had woken up so aroused it was almost painful. At your excessive movement he pulled you tighter to him, and you gasped at the feeling of his morning erection pressing against the soft flesh of your behind. He grumbled something unintelligible into your neck but you didn’t care, you needed him right now.

“Jungkook,” you whined, turning to face him a little more. “Please baby, please.”

“Oh?” He definitely heard you loud and clear as he raised his head, but before he could even say more you threw your leg over his hip and began grinding your sopping apex against his clothed length. The angle was awkward but you didn’t care as it provided some well needed friction.

Immediately his hands gripped at your swollen breasts, fingers pinching your sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of your nightgown, and you cried out from the sudden pleasure. “God,” he growled in your ear. “You need me that much, huh? Can’t even wait until Tae gets here?”

“No, I can’t wait. I need you right fucking now Kookie, please.” There was desperation in your tone now, and you sounded like you were on the verge of tears.

“Alright noona, of course. You know I could never say no to you,” he whispered into your cheek, pressing a soft kiss there. His hands travelled further down your body, smoothing over your swollen tummy like he always loved doing. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this, aren’t you? So desperate for me, begging to be stuffed full of cock. I can’t wait until I can fill you up with my cum and get you nice and pregnant again, with my baby.”

You rolled over onto your knees, propping your weight on your forearms. Jungkook groaned at the sight it presented him with as your gown slipped down your back, your weeping cunt glistening with your arousal, so engorged and throbbing with your pregnancy. He shot up, coming to kneel behind you so he could get a closer look. Jungkook ran his thumb through your folds, cock aching at the way you clenched and whined. There was so much slick, he couldn’t believe how wet you were, a little leaking down and dripping onto the bed from his ministrations. You became pliant, pushing back against his fingers as far as your stomach would allow, desperately wanting him to bury them into you, anything to ease that empty feeling.

“Careful sweetheart, gotta make sure you and bub are okay first,” he murmured into your ear, hands smoothing over your stomach again as he placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. “Let’s take this off.”

His hands bundled up the bottom of your night dress, patiently waiting until you lifted each knee off the bed so it wasn’t caught and gently peeled it from your panting form. The cool morning air nipped at your exposed skin, every inch of you flushed hot. You leaned back, Jungkook’s chest plastered to you, your puffy nipples hardening quickly when Jungkook pinched them between his fingers. Milky droplets began beading and dripping down your front, drawing a long moan at the sensitivity of them.

“You’re so amazing, oh my god. Do you have any idea how often I’ve imagined you like this? So perfectly swollen and pregnant, so incredibly fertile. Breasts so soft and brimming with milk. You’re such a good girl for Hyung and I, you’re gonna let us fill you up again and again aren’t you?” He continued his groping while whispering filthy things in your ear, you were so worked up it was almost painful.

“I-If you keep doing that, uhh fuck Kookie, baby. I think I might come, oh.” At your whining he gave an extra hard pinch, and little droplets of white sprinkled across the bed sheets, some dripping down your chest onto your stomach. He relented for a second to tear off his pajamas in record time, giving you barely a second’s warning before the hardness of his scalding cock was sliding into the cleft of your asscheeks, a moan breaking out from him at how soaked it got. With one hand your fingers twisted in the bedsheets, the other trying to reach behind and line him up. However, he chuckled and gripped your wrist to stop you. So close yet so far, and you began muttering a sting of incoherent and almost hysterical gibberish, undecipherable other than the occasional please. Given how wet you were he easily sunk in, and it made the stretch of his girth a little more tolerable as he bottomed out with a curse. His teeth bit softly into the flesh of your bare shoulder and you whimpered loudly as he drew back to sink straight back in at a torturously slow pace, always giving you a few seconds to accommodate his thickness. The teasing was driving you near insane, but thankfully he had such a fat cock it still felt incredible. He was always so gentle to begin with, treating you as if you were fragile. However, as he said before he could never say no to you. Once you really whined and whimpered for him to go harder, boy did he give it to you.

He adjusted his hands on your soft hips, gripping them tighter so he could tug you back onto his length as he began slamming into you. Loud slaps filled the room as his pace quickened, pounding eagerly from behind and you wailed, this angle always making him feel so much deeper than usual. “You just get more beautiful everyday, ugh,” Jungkook huffed in your ear, voice strained from the feeling of your velvet walls gripping him eagerly.

Your softness dug into his hip bones as his thrusts grew more powerful, his incredible thighs flexing with the brutal pace he set. Pleasure twisted in your abdomen acutely, the pressure building up easily with your swollen belly. “Jungkook, I’m gonna come already. You feel so good baby, oh!”

At your words he used his impressive strength to pull you against him even more, the angle had his cock rubbing against that special spot and your high hit you harder than it ever had. You reached up and behind you to anchor your hands on his thick, vascular neck, sweaty skin sticking slightly. Your thighs trembled right as you began to peak, and just as the door swung open and you locked gazes with Taehyung. You felt a delicious pressure release in your abdomen as you gushed with a broken shriek, clear fluid squirting all over the tangled bedsheets. He watched you with eyes blown out wide, grip on the doorknob so tight it almost broke and you couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled back into your head. Each jolt caused your ever growing breasts to sway, and the way your hands were above your head only accentuated all your lovely curves which he happily consumed with his gaze.

Jungkook let out a few loud, high pitched moans as he released inside you, the warmth making you shudder as you began coming down from your orgasm. A warm, sweaty forehead pressed against your back as you both panted from the effort, Jungkook’s hands steadying you as you lay down onto your side. The shortness of breath was really beginning to kick in now that you were almost five months pregnant. Wordlessly you reached out for Taehyung, making grabby hands at him as he set his things down and shut the door.

“Good morning princess.” He stalked over to the bed, eyes raking over your glistening body, also flicking back to take in Jungkook who had flopped back against the pillows. “Do you want more? Does daddy get a turn?” He leant down and whispered in your ear as he pressed kisses all along your cheek. You whined and nodded yes, immediately seeking out his lips with your own. God, you just came but you were always ready and wanted to feel both of your lovers, so insatiable these days.

“Good morning my sweet,” he murmured, bed dipping under Taehyung’s weight as he joined you. His fingers ran through Jungkook’s dark curls, and he bent down to capture his other lover’s mouth in a sweet kiss, the younger tugged Taehyung toward him and eagerly began pulling at his clothes.

While the two of them locked lips and stripped you scooted up and flopped onto your back, skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat and legs wide open to accommodate your ever growing stomach. Both men’s gaze immediately fell to your core, looking so pretty with Jungkook’s cum slowly dripping out. Taehyung couldn’t resist, he shifted toward you, dropped to his stomach and pushed your legs further apart. “Look at you, such a messy girl. Daddy should clean you up, hm?” You bit your finger coyly, head clouded with lust as you nodded. Taehyung took another few seconds to stare at your engorged centre, his breath fanning against your wetness causing you to squirm before he quickly dipped down to run his tongue through your folds, groaning at the mixture of sweet and salty taste. He lapped up the juices, tongue seeking out your clit and drawing it into his mouth ripping an almost scream from you from finally getting stimulation on your sensitive, blood fattened nub.

Taehyung started to moan louder, and you lifted your head up until you were almost sitting - you had to otherwise you wouldn’t be able to see past your growing stomach - only to find Taehyung still had his head buried between your legs. However, Jungkook had his own agenda, and his teeth nibbled at one of Taehyung’s buttcheeks before his tongue dipped down between them. One hand snuck down underneath Taehyung’s hips to stroke at his cock which he had previously been grinding against the sheets.

You’d quickly learned that Jungkook had a bit of an oral fixation, he was obsessed with leaving hickies wherever he could. More than once the two of you would be working early in the morning, then the next thing Jungkook would haul you up onto the unoccupied part of the workbench and eat you out. You had to have a door installed that separated the back workroom from the shop because of his high libido, though as he grew more explorative you’d also have to scold him about food safety.

The elder sat back on his knees, a hand coming to sink two fingers into your sopping apex. His thumb rubbed circles against your engorged clit, and with each thrust of his wrist he pushed out some of the thick white mixture. Now that he was sat up, Jungkook crawled up and laid on his side, coming to lap at the drops of precum on his erect length. The elder pulled his hand from between your legs and popped them into his mouth, a soft groan accompanying the taste he so adored, the cum of both his lovers combined.

“Kookie? Can you go again, baby?” Taehyung asked, his other hand gently threaded into his hair to ease him off his member. Jungkook nodded eagerly, pumping his own cock in his hand, already hard again. The stamina that boy had frightened you, once you were ready for another baby he’d have you pregnant again in no time. Taehyung motioned for him to lay on his back, and gently guided you over to where Jungkook was propped up with his head resting against the pillows. You turned around and straddled his hips with your back to him and he sat up a bit to steady you.

“Are you okay to keep going? You’re not too tired?” Jungkook whispered in your ear, to which you quickly nodded. No matter how tired you were, you rarely turned down sex with your two lovers. However, on the odd occasion that you did want to rest instead they had no qualms, as they happily indulged in their own intercourse often. The sudden need to twist around and kiss him overcame you and you whined softly, seeking out his lips. They were both so sweet and attentive, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

“Kook?” You murmured. He hummed in response, a warm palm soothing on your arm. “I love you, so so much.”

He couldn’t suppress the grin that broke out across his face no matter how hard he tried, because he was so undeniably happy. “My (Y/N), I love you so much, more than you could imagine.” He leaned forward to peck your lips again before an insistent tap on your thigh brought your attention back to Taehyung.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered, already pouting at him for a kiss as well. “I haven’t forgotten about you. I love you too, Taehyung.” At your words he seemed to melt a little, his lips brushing against yours over and over in soft little pecks.

“I love you too, petal. All of you.” He touched your stomach gently, also looking back at Jungkook behind you. The hand that was just on your tummy came up to cup your cheek, however, you’d grown quite impatient and turned your head to draw two of his fingers into your mouth.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” he hummed, smiling as you suckled while looking up at him with wide eyes. The sweet tone turned to a growl as you dropped his hand only to bend down, now practically on your hands and knees, and licked a stripe up his fat, throbbing length. The taste of his salty precum had you keening, popping the tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the head. You lapped at his frenulum, occasionally running your tongue across the slit to catch the droplets as they continued to bead.

Jungkook behind you kneaded your soft rump, pulling the cheeks apart and running his tongue from your clit up to your tight hole. Your excessive juices mixed with his cum made for a perfect lubricant as he lapped at your rim, his thumb coming to spread the slick around it and you clenched at the threat of intrusion. He watched in fascination as you clenched again, lightly pressing on it to test the resistance. Given how wet you were the digit sunk in easily, and you immediately clamped down. Taehyung growled as he felt the vibrations of your moan on his cock, his hand threading into your hair softly. Jungkook worked his thumb in and out of your ass, giving your muscles time to slowly relax. A thrum of excitement rushed through you as he pulled the digit out, only to slick up two more fingers and ease them in carefully. You always got a bit more worked up when you knew you were going to have both men at once, it felt incredible being so full of them.

“God noona, you’re taking my fingers so well. You love getting your tight little asshole played with, don’t you? Such a good girl.” Jungkook hissed, scissoring the digits until he could work in a third finger. You pulled your lips from Taehyung’s cock with a pop sound, the pleasure was so overwhelming, especially when Jungkook’s thumb came to rub circles on your clit.

“Are you close again, princess?” Taehyung asked, stroking your hair. You nodded furiously, pushing back to try and get the younger’s fingers probing deeper.

“U-Ugh! Daddy, Kookie! I’m com-oh!” you didn’t even finish your sentence before your orgasm washed over you, toes curling and skin tingling with the euphoric feeling. Jungkook’s fingers continued to rub against your sensitive walls, the completely unique feeling causing you to clench even harder. When your cries subsided you slumped back a little and Jungkook withdrew his hand. “Please,” you whimpered, pouting and looking between both your lovers.

“Please what, my love? Use your words.” Taehyung ordered.

“Want more, want you both.”

“Oh? Is one cock filling you up not enough for you? Greedy girl,” he tutted. “Can you sit back for me? Want Jungkookie to fuck your ass while I have your pussy?”

Your empty orifices clench at his words, wanting so desperately to be filled and to feel the push and pull of both their lengths fucking you. Eagerly you nodded, reaching down to touch your clit again but Taehyung’s hand grabbed your wrist.

“Did I say you could do that, hm?” He growled, tugging your hand away. Your eyes widened at his commanding tone, shaking your head slowly. “What did I just tell you to do?”

“Sit on Jungkookie’s cock, daddy.”

“Exactly, go on then,” Taehyung growled, the softness of his hands as he helped you move back contradicting his tone. You hovered over Jungkook's length, the tip pressing against the seam of your ass. A faint gasp escaped you as he ran the head of his cock through your folds to soak it in the wetness dripping from you, before moving back to line himself up. Ever so gently he pressed the tip against your asshole, applying a soft pressure, coaxing the muscles of your rim to loosen.

Gradually your ass relaxed to grant him entrance, the head of his cock slipped in aided by your excessive slick. Once he pushed past that initial resistance the rest of his silken length sunk in easily, creating a delicious stretch and you moaned. Taehyung drank in the whole image, watching the younger's cock bottom out as his hips met the flesh of your behind and you sat fully impaled on his length.

Your pussy fluttered and clenched rhythmically, more droplets of your nectar running down to coat Jungkook’s heavy balls. The feeling had him crying out with a choked whimper, you were so tight and warm and he was so sensitive from only just coming.

Gently you rested back against his chest, Jungkook’s torso propped up safely by your pillows and your legs flopped open wider, beckoning Taehyung forward. The elder man sauntered over to you both, his precum dribbled down to join the mess between your thighs as he drew closer, rubbing the tip of his cock through your soaked folds.

You squirmed, unconsciously opening your legs wider for Taehyung to swear softly at the view he was blessed with.

“Daddy, please. Want you too,” you whined, pleading with your eyes as well. You continued shifting and grinding, making Jungkook’s grip on your hips brutally tight. He might leave a few bruises on your soft flesh but he couldn't help it, not when you felt so good. Besides, he would kiss it better later.

“Hyung-” He grunted, not able to get anything else out as he felt Taehyung’s fat cock push into your empty cunt, the thickness still stretching you despite how wet you were. In one smooth, slow stroke he bottomed out and a choked cry was torn from your lips at how full you were, already teetering on the edge and so close to tipping over. In a desperate lust filled haze your hand shot down to rub at your clit furiously, jolts of pleasure still shooting through your abdomen even though both men weren’t moving.

Instead of stopping you this time, Taehyung watched on with a smirk as you rocked yourself back and forth slightly, so desperate for release. He withdrew his cock slightly from your walls and you cried out in displeasure, pussy trying so hard to suck him back in. However, not a second later he plunged back in to the hilt slowly, right as Jungkook pulled out only to fuck back into you. The room filled with your loud cries, nothing got you to moan quite as loud as when you were stuffed full with two cocks, and not to mention the grunts and groans from both men as they picked up a rhythm, one thrusting in right as the other pulled out.

Taehyung’s eyes glazed over as he watched his length bury into your sopping, swollen folds over and over with each thrust. The sight made him harden further, heavy balls smacking against Jungkook’s length occasionally where it sunk into your slippery ass. It didn’t take long for your next climax to come, the only warning you gave them was a broken whimper of, “hgn, c-oming!” before your legs were trembling, a little sprinkle of clear fluid gushing forth as your eyes rolled back.

“Fuck-,” Taehyung grunted, quickly circling your clit to help you ride out your orgasm as he looked at the wet sheen covering his abdomen. “This is new. Does having your tummy nice and swollen make you squirt, sweetheart?”

All you could manage was to nod furiously, hips still being jolted from each push and pull. Suddenly the urge to shift positions came forth and you pushed on Taehyung’s chest gently, still trying to find the words after your powerful orgasm that left you feeling like jelly.

He slowed his pace, an expression of alarm appeared across his features and he gripped your hand. “What is it my love? Did we do something wrong? Are you hurt?”

“N-No, I just. Can I go on top please?” You breathed out, fatigue beginning to take its toll. He visibly relaxed, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple.

“Of course.” He eased out gently causing you to wince at the sudden empty feeling when Jungkook did the same a moment later. Your hand gripped Tae’s wrist, tugging him softly so that he turned and flopped on his back on the bed and you swung a leg over to straddle his hips, two sets of hands touching you gently, always prepared to steady you. Taehyung’s fingertips trailed up from your hips, coming to cradle the small swell of your abdomen. The tender moment had you pausing, before you leaned down to kiss the grin off his lips.

You reached down to grip his length, lining him up before you sunk down on him. A content sigh left you at being reacquainted with the feeling you’d come to love and crave. The younger eagerly jumped up to close in behind you once again, his large hands groped the flesh of your ass, parting your cheeks to look at your twitching asshole. He was quick to ease himself back in as well, the elder giving him a moment to adjust before they picked up the pace, and from the way they were both moaning you could tell they were getting closer. You were glad as you were definitely getting tired during the rigorous fucking sessions these two always put you through.

Jungkook’s strength astounded you, he was practically picking you up and pulling you back back onto his length, doing most of the work while Taehyung fucked up into you with practiced ease. It was more frantic now, all three of you driving towards that blissful finish as you often did to start off the morning, although you’d be having an extra long sleep in for sure after this.

Your swollen breasts were now perfectly in Taehyung's face, bouncing with each thrust and he couldn’t resist leaning forward to draw one of your puffy nipples into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. Your moans grew louder at the sensation, not to mention the way his chest began glistening as droplets landed there from the other peak. Not in a million years would you grow tired of seeing one of them latch onto your chest and suckle on the sensitive nubs, particularly now that you were pregnant and lactating. It just made them far more keen, the hormonal men brimming with spunk always ready to fuck their cum into you in whatever hole they could, showering you in praise after for being so good and fertile for them. Jungkook particularly would stare at your belly, definitely daydreaming about you pregnant with his child next. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind too much that you didn’t have his baby growing inside you, it only antagonised him and gave him cause to try and outdo his hyung. It was a blessing you had such high libido or this relationship certainly wouldn’t have worked out so well, but the three of you had somehow achieved harmony.

“I-ugh, hyung! I’m gonna, uhhhh, gonna come!” Kookie cried.

“You can come Jungkookie,” Taehyung growled, his own words strained as his high approached. Jungkook was the one to peak first, pushing his thick cock into the hilt, stilling slightly as the warmth of his cum flooded your ass and he let out a string of high pitched moans. You were next, thanks to Taehyung furiously slamming into your swollen, sensitive cunt. As soon as you gripped him tightly in the throes of your ecstasy, he finally came as well, filling up your pussy with his warm, thick seed.

You collapsed forward onto his chest, panting hard and he pressed a kiss into your hair. “You’re always such a good girl for us, isn’t she Kookie?”

The three of you were dazed in your sweaty, post orgasm bliss, soaking up the sweet moment. The younger man hummed in agreement and parted your cheeks, staring at the copious amount of cum oozing from your spent orifices. You were sore but satiated, happily soaking up the tender moment until Jungkook exclaimed,

“Now that is the best creampie I’ve ever made!”

➻ A/N: This fic took me six months to write...so I would really appreciate a little bit of feedback!

Part Two: & Everything Nice coming soon!

#taekook x reader #taekook fanfic #bts fan fiction #bts smut #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #bts imagine #bts x reader #jungkook imagine #taehyung imagine #bts fan fic

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eutaerpe · 4 years ago

Text

the escapades (m)

pairing — jimin x reader

genre/warnings— smut (oral, fingering, orgasm denial) & college!au, fratboy!jimin, brief e2l, brief ewb, acr universe

summary — the one where there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension, until there isn’t.

notes — 8.3k words of the happiness before the storm i couldn’t write. i realised halfway through this there’s a slight plotwise change in comparison to what i wrote in acr so. yeah. sorry. kudos to you if you find it lol

The first time it happens, you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.

You’re sitting near the end of the table, crossing your legs and playing with the hem of your dress, your lips twisted into a frown. The real reason lying behind the simple decision of having a single, almost infinite table of guests doesn’t, in the slightest, cross your mind; why your idiotic brother would see this as a delightful idea really is above you, but you suppose the valuable genes in the family runs all in your DNA.

You’re playing with the table decorations while waiting for the guests to come, and it’s so fucking boring you regret telling Seulgi no, babe, what the fuck - you even shook your head and decided to sound extra mad at the idea - I won’t sneak in weed.

Too bad for you, she had answered, a cute pout on her lips, I’ll give you an hour before you’re bored out of your mind.

The truth hangs above your head, with a sheepish grin: you just needed ten minutes to be absolutely, drastically bored.

In hindsight, sneaking in weed wouldn’t have been the worst idea: your mother is talking to the in laws, gesticulating excitedly at the idea of kids right after marriage. What the fuck, you text Seulgi, at home trying to get out of bed, my brother has been married for an hour and there’s already baby talk going on at the table.

Seulgi

[12.49]

With the baby talk comes the dick talk

You

[12.49]

Oh no the dick talk

Seulgi

[12.50]

man how can you survive your relatives talking about nonexistent boyfriends without my weed, damn???

You

[12.50]

option a: I’ll tell them I’m dating you

Seulgi

[12.50]

we kissed ONE time

You

[12.50]

option b: I’ll tell them I’m in a relationship with Jeon jungkook

Seulgi

[12.50]

bitch we both know you’re not in a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. he has dimples and long hair and piercings. my sources can even confirm he has a big dick. what do U Have

You

[12.51]

i was talking about my vibrator but go off lmao

anyway I’ve had that D ;)

Seulgi

[12.51]

you’re officially cancelled

when did this happen? I can’t believe you’re telling me over text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.51]

last semester!!!!! why do you think I’ve named my vib after him!!!!!!

Seulgi

[12.52]

because you’re lusting after him like the rest of us mortals!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.52]

I’ve upgraded since then. I’ve leveled up. I’ve seen things People Can’t Even Imagine

Seulgi

[12.52]

just say he got u off and go

You

[12.52]

anyway option c: I scare them away by saying controversial things. Id est: I don’t believe in love. I am choosing my partner solely judging their abilities to finger me under a table when people are around. I am secretly lusting after my brother’s wife. I am trying to get impregnated like in The Sims 2 aka I am waiting for that alien dick.

Seulgi

[12.52]

hate to break it to you babe but that’s literally who you are

You

[12.52]

I literally compliment joohyun’s boobs once and this is the treatment I get

Seulgi

[12.52]

are we not gonna talk about your alien dick kink

You

[12.52]

no kink shaming in this house lady

option d: I listen to their complaints and run

Seulgi

[12.53]

option dick

man sorry I meant option d

You

[12.53]

you didn’t

Seulgi

[12.54]

ur right I didn’t

Option e, also known as I’ll entertain the other guests so I don’t have to talk to you, presents itself in the form of one very hot, very ripped young man sporting the most expensive shirt in the room. You’re only human when you admit to yourself, mental sigh, that he ticked all the let’s get y/n horny requirements in less than fifteen seconds.

You can’t believe Joohyun has kept him hidden for so long from you. Such betrayal ends when your brother, Kim fucking Seokjin, hugs him tight and brushes with utter affection the nape of his neck, gracing him with a warm smile and a heartfelt laugh.

You can’t believe Seokjin has kept him hidden for so long from you.

Well. Scratch that. You can.

Suddenly, the ticked requirements disappear and a giant neon sentence with a very cheap background music impose themselves in your head. WHAT A TURN OFF! they read, the neon red words mocking you; you steal a glance at your brother’s acquaintance one more time - one last time - before slipping your phone in your hands and dedicating yourself one more time at your Instagram feed, scrolling through the most recent pics.

(You stumble upon an extremely rare Jungkook selfie, and you hate to admit you spend the following thirty seconds admiring him before tapping twice on the quality content you’ve signed up for when you joined the social)

You suppose that, even though your brother’s friends with fuckboy tendencies are signed off your let’s get to know each other better ;) list, it doesn’t mean the same goes for them.

So, when the dark-haired young man with a jawline sharper than Seulgi’s retorts after her third beer sits next to you, you reckon you shouldn’t be that surprised.

He acts all casual, you notice while discreetly looking at him; he’s busy taking off his jacket and flexing his muscles, all of this while pretending not to notice you, and you find it immensely cute.

Ah, fuckboys.

“Fuck,” he rasps, lips twisted in a crooked smile, “I didn’t think it would be this hot today.”

“Yeah, sorry, the heat is on me.”

He chuckles in disbelief at your words, eyes turning into crescents.

“Right, there’s always the girl stealing the bride’s spotlight at weddings.”

“Oh! That’s me,” you nod enthusiastically, “That’s one hundred percent me.”

“Groom or bride?” He asks, pointing at the couple with his chin.

“What do you think?”

He looks at you funny, pressing his back on the seat, pondering in silence. Cute.

“Bride. One of Bae’s sorority sisters, maybe? You seem too young to be her age, though.”

“Damn,” you exhale, crossing your arms under your chest, “I can’t believe you got it all wrong. The expectations were low, but I’m still disappointed.”

He ducks his head, still smiling. “Then it’s the groom. How do you know Seokjin?”

Your eyes twinkle with excitement at your next words, but honestly, who can blame you? You’re having fun with this lost, cute chick.

“What’s your take, officer?”

He erupts into a laugh, and you drink in his handsome features; fuck you, Seokjin, for being friends with fuckboys only.

“Alright,” he punches the bridge of his nose, scanning the room, which is slowly filling with other guests. “I’m his friend, and I know all of his friends, which can only mean one thing: option a, you’re one of his ex-girlfriends; option b, you’re one of his secret hook-ups; option c, you’re an old friend from high school.”

“Oooh,” you beam, unrealistically intrigued, “You really suck at guessing, don’t you?”

He laughs, passing a hand through his dark locks, messing his perfectly styled hair. “Ok, fair. Which one was the closest, then?”

“Option d, of course.” You nod, relaxing your features into a sheepish grin, “I’m his much more beautiful and smarter sister.”

You exam his face, now twisting into some sort of what the fuck, such betrayal look, and you take in, for the last time – really the last, this time – his attractive, sculptured face, his full lips, the smoothness of his skin. It’s awful and unfair knowing you two won’t cross paths ever again in your lives, but at least you had some fun messing with him before things could worsen.

“I’ll be sitting in the middle of the table, with my family, if you want to avoid me.”

You wink at him for good measure, and you swear to god he blushes.

Half a wine bottle and two flutes of prosecco down, you realise you underestimated your resident fuckboy.

It happens when you’re grabbing your napkin and channelling your dreamy, happy looks towards the newlyweds, dancing in the middle of the room, their eyes gravitating only towards the love of their lives.

You sigh, pouting for the smallest of fractions, when you feel someone sitting at your side.

“You know,” Fuckboy begins, and you picture him licking his lips as he pauses, “Now I get why he never told us anything more than: I’m not an only child.”

“I know,” you exhale, turning to face him, “Seokwon is the real catch of our family. We’re really protective of him.”

“He’s married. With kids.”

“I was there when the twins opened their eyes, thank you.”

“We thought you were either a small kid or a forty years old woman.”

“Wait,” you tilt your head, “How did you know about us then? And who’s we?”

“We dug into his stuff and he caved in, admitting he had a brother and a sister.” Fuckboy looks at you, eyes dark but reflecting the dim lights of the function room, “Us. The frat guys.”

“Right, the fuckboys.”

He looks taken aback by your statement, bewildered, and you take advantage of his reaction to stand up and head away from him. It’s his words that stop you from doing so, though.

“You don’t know us—”

“—except I do know your pledges and your brothers.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “I prefer to steer away from my brother’s friends, though.”

“Right,” he says, tightening his lips in a hard line, almost hurt, “So, who am I to interfere with your judgmental thinking?” He clicks his tongue, then, a resolute exhale slipping past his lips, smothered by his own tingling despair.

The words hurt.

You don’t know what exactly pinched your senses hard, if the tone or the wallowing sadness swimming in his expression, but, as he stands up and leaves, you’re left facing the cold, hard truth.

The words hurt, you hurt, and you feel guilty.

You say nothing, glancing in the direction of the first alcoholic beverage around, and you fill yourself a glass.

Had it been someone else – had it been another sentence, another less sickening scenario, you would’ve felt proud, righteous. You’re, instead, on the other side of the feelings spectrum, all filled with crippling guilt and a nauseous, pervasive feeling you can’t quite name and pin down.

The guests are dancing around you, moving hand in hand to the rhythm of the pop love song now playing; the ballroom is packed when you let your impulsive side make a choice, eyes following the guy’s composed figure. You can drastically feel the sweat, and the heat the people are radiating, when you stand up and move towards him, the only smiling boy passing his glass from a hand to the other.

You’re close enough to tap his wrist and brush your fingers, which you do; it elicits a gasp from him, all soft, not scathing around the edges yet able to bite you, anyway. It’s the guilt, you remind yourself, looking for a sign of some sort of inclination to accept your apologies between the crease of his brows and tight jaw, and everywhere in between.

It’s sickening—this boy didn’t exist four fucking hours ago. It didn’t even cross your wildest dreams, someone like him. His shape – his silhouette – has left a print in your mind, and no matter how hard you try focusing on something else, someone else, your mind keeps going back to the shape itself.

But you’re a coward, so, while he lets you intertwine your fingers, you admit, voice loud: “I wanna dance.”

He handles you properly, kindly, before pushing you in the crowd and brushing your hips with his hands, all rings and jewellery adorning them.

He blinks twice, biting the insides of his mouth, but he manages,

“Who says I wanna dance?”

Which is a bit stupid, or hypocritic if you might, because he’s swaying you to the rhythm of a ballad the pop love song turned into. You break into the smallest of smiles.

“I want to apologize.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know you,” he says, funnily enough, “But that seems almost unlikely, coming from you.”

“Yeah, you got me there, officer. I was, uhm,” you stare blatantly at his neck, and you suppress the desire to stroke your fingers’ pads on his soft skin, “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t know you. I do know your frat brothers, my own brother, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”

He hums, moving for a small fraction of instants his thumbs on your hips and it’s enough for your breath to catch into your own throat. He nods, which could mean anything, from I accept your apology to go fuck yourself, this is bullshit. You prefer the former option, if you’re being honest, which is the answer you settle for in your head, hazed and absolutely hazed and madly hazed because of his small physical contact.

To put this into the simplest terms, Seulgi’s words, you don’t like this.

“I like dancing,” his eyes tower you and gaze at the other people dancing; you wonder if he’s thinking about them, who they are to you, what role they played in Seokjin’s life, if they’ll show up to your wedding, too. These thoughts popped into your mind unannounced, before, at the table, before the not-really-fuckboy sat next to you and made you feel guilty. Such absurdity; yet here you are, in his arms. Oh god, what would Seulgi think of you if she saw you?

“Good to know, I’m awful at shoulder-hips coordination.”

“Shoulder-hips coordination?” he inquiries, lips parted.

“Uh, body rolls?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I see, you mean classy grinding.”

“I don’t do classy grinding, sorry,” you retort, head tilted to a side.

His smile his amused. “Too bad, shoulder-hips coordination is a nice trait to exhibit sometimes.”

“I prefer hips coordination. Well, hips rotation.”

“Hips rotation?”

“Riding? Is the term somehow unfamiliar to you?”

He flushes, biting back a grin and fixing his gaze somewhere in the crowd. How cute.

“Not at all, it’s nice to meet a hips rotation enthusiast here, though.”

“Statistics say at least a member in each family is a riding enthusiast, did you know?”

“Shit, talk dirty to me,” he licks his lips, pointing at Jin with his chin, “Didn’t peg him for a rider, though. Not at all.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not a STEM major, are you? You’re lacking basic intuition, my friend.”

“Is this your attempt of discovering my major?” – he eyes you, a flick of amusement burning in his orbs – “You’re not very smooth, you know?”

“I have my moments.”

He snorts, placing both hands on the small of your back. You’re at height level with the base of his neck, and it’s fun how your mind betrays you in such moments, providing mental images of your nose brushing against his skin, and you nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Such taunting, invasive pictures. Fuck off, you reprimand your own mind, fuck off.

“I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you taste the name on your tongue, hitting the back of your front teeth. “Jin never talked about you. I’m Y/N.”

“Jin never talked about you either.”

“Of course he never did, I’m prettier than he is.”

His little dimples make an appearance. “You know, you could really steal the bride’s spotlight.”

“That was my ultimate goal all along, even though I prefer the dark side.”

“I,” he licks his lips, and you don’t know why you’re following the gesture, “I meant to say you’re beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyebrows raising, “Are you a charmer?”

“I mean,” he begins, sheepish smile on display, ��I never kiss and tell.”

“Touching.” He smirks. “How sweet of you.”

“You know what else is sweet?”

“Please,” you beg, meeting his eyes, “Don’t say my pussy.”

“Please,” he repeats, same mocking tone, “The possibilities are endless. Your mouth,” he scoots closer, words whispered on the shell of your ear, “Your mouth around my dick,” he almost nibbles your ear, “Your mouth screaming my name.”

“My pussy,” you add, trying not to lose your mind.

“I would never call sweet something I’ve not tasted.”

He raises a brow.

“Are you offering? You’re not very smooth, you know?”

He ignores the last question, tightening his grip. “In the middle of your brother’s wedding? Seokjin’s wedding? I’m not a dick, even though you sitting on my face would be a sight to see.”

“Right?” your voice doesn’t falter for a second, “That’s what I always say”

“Nice to see how we’ve got much in common. But I was thinking of something else, actually—” His face is once again inches away from yours, ear to mouth, hot breath fanning over you bare neck. “I wanna finger you.”

Oh.

“Under the table. Right behind you. Wanna make you whimper.”

It’s almost like being tongue-tied, fumbling for words, body flushing, but you gather somewhere the strength to form an actual sentence, which makes him smirk devilishly.

“I can be very quiet.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Bet you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“When I win,” you say, lying your words on an unrealistically high vote of confidence, even for yourself, “What do I get?”

He licks his lips, slow, savouring the moment. “You get to ride my face.”

“Not your dick?”

“I’m not a fuckboy, baby.”

A comeback of some kind is already on your tongue, but – there’s a kiss somewhere in the following seconds, all wet and tingling and perhaps filled with too many lip bites, but he can’t really blame you when you’ve been brushing your thighs together for the past minute, heat pooling down your belly. It’s enough for you to silently pledge for more, and for him to tease, because he takes a step back, smirk in place and lips reddened, and guides you towards his seat at the end of the table with a hand on the small of your back.

Downhill begins as soon as you sit down, legs barely parted, a minimum space not fitting for his plans, apparently, because the crease between Jimin’s eyebrows grows when he nudges them apart with his hand, the cold metal of his rings cooling down your flushed state. You want to gasp at the sudden intrusion, but the sound is swallowed entirely by his hot mouth on yours, distracting once again, incredibly soft and alluring. This kiss is slow, this time, like he’s taking his time tasting you and learning about the hums he draws out of you, the shyness of your previously biting tongue, and how fast you get lost in the kiss itself. You press a chaste kiss on his mouth, before creaking a space between you.

“I’m starting to think you’re all bark and no bite”

He doesn’t answer, but stares into your eyes with his hooded gaze, and he manages to sneak a hand furtively under your dress not breaking the contact. His skin is warm, but you’re warmer, and his destination is even hotter. He cocks his head, fingers brushing against the soaked, sticking material you used to call panties up until fifteen minutes ago, and he must notice—his eyes grow wider, his jaw tightens and his hand gains courage.

Fuck. This should be embarrassing, getting worked up over dirty innuendos and a kiss or two, but you’re instead feeling flushed and more. More sensitive. More open to the idea of him ruining you, even though that’s not what he’s offering. Or— is he?

The question lies unanswered when his digits rub with a sparkled intensity over both your clothed sex and your inner thighs. It’s a continuous, mellifluous melody, his fingers dancing between the two until he settles on your panties only, and that’s when you almost let out a soft moan; you don’t, he raises his brow, challenging, but you don’t, and instead glance around to notice if someone has his eyes on the both of you, sitting in the furthest region of the fucking smart, endless table.

He raises the stake, flushed: Jimin pushes your panties on one side, petting with his index your exposed self, and you suck in a breath. He continues to do so, face still, closing the distance between you two.

You don’t question the sudden kiss, instead you angle your face and close your eyes and let him press his lips on you. This feels like being drunk, or high, stretching underneath a sky dripping with stars. You cup his face with your hands, his lips so terribly soft and inviting, the smallest of smiles meeting your own chapped and curved upwards lips.

It’s when you’re merely inches away from him that he thumbs at your clit, sensitive and tingling, circling with utmost peace and no speed whatsoever. You pout at little, you realize, which makes him melt either cause of your cute frown -oh, how the tables have turned- or simply because he’s the devil himself, pressing a finger against your entrance and delving it into your heat.

“Cute,” he purrs, kissing you, “Is this okay?”

The crude, hot, nerve-wracking fingering has begun, which makes you, quickly enough, putty in his hands and ablaze with ardour for this man whose rasping voice could kill you.

“Yeah,” you breathe on his mouth, eyelids drooping closed, “Yeah, all good.”

You hum to yourself as he starts pressing kisses on your jaw and your neck, a trail of treacherous flames lighting up your skin, and you have the audacity to sigh under his ministrations, a tiny, strained sound not quite a mewl.

If he hears, he doesn’t show it. You’re biting your own lip when he enters a second finger, filling your searing emptiness.

“Want three?” he asks, voice husky and as desperate as you are under his touch. He adds it when you nod, the squelch louder than before, and you moan, rocking your hips against his fingers.

“Shh, baby,” he coos, placing his other hand on your hips, slowing your movements, “Be a good girl.”

He fucks you deep, fast, fingers clashing against the silky dress you’re wearing and sweat sparkling on his forehead. He swallows another moans of yours, sucking your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You’re close. You’re so close, and it’s only been a couple minutes. You can’t hear anything that isn’t your wet pussy clenching around his fingers, his rhythm ruthless and burning.

“Too bad you’re not coming on my fingers, today,” he says before kissing your neck and emptying your dripping pussy, then proceeding to taste and lick his own fingers in his mouth. He lets them out with a small pop, and it’s the most terrifying sight you’ve ever had in front of your almost watering eyes. “I’m sorry I won the bet, though, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

That’s the high and dry story of how you first met Jimin.

The second time it happens, it’s under completely different circumstances, and, substantially, against your every predictions, it really happens. It takes place, like a once in a lifetime event: there’s an orgasm involved, not due to the very charming and never disappointing Jeon jungkook the robotic version, and instead it involves a rather attractive asshole with a persistent smirk plastered on his face.

Except it’s a lot more complicated than what it sounds, and most of it is Seulgi’s fault.

Your roommate had pouted all evening, because that’s what semi adults do when they’re denied a companion for the night.

“I just wanna get wasted. It’s been one hell of a month, and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”

“I can suggest you a vibrator and a bottle of vodka. Do you settle for that, your honor?”

“The more you talk like this,” all self-absorbed and assertive and cautiously, like when talking to a kid, she begins, hands in her long, mahogany hair, “the more I just wanna push you up against the wall.”

“Sounds to me you just wanna get laid.”

“Maybe I do,” she huffs, hands on her hips, the light of your abat-jour highlighting her golden skin. “Maybe I don’t. What I know is that I wanna get wasted. Come with me, pretty please?”

“Look,” you raise your eyes from the book you’ve been holding, stretching a leg onto the unmade bed of yours, “I just wanna get this fucking paper done. I need,” you grip the phone on the bed table, checking for the white, large numbers on your lock screen, “an hour. An hour and half to edit it and I’m all yours.”

“This paper is due on Thursday, though.”

“Yeah, but I have a reputation to uphold in the family. Have to be the most beautiful and successful.”

“You’re full of shit,” are her last words, muttered with a smile as she grabs her jacket.

“Hey,” you call, stretching your neck towards her, “I don’t care if it’s two am and you’re already wasted. Call me and I’ll come to you with a whole bottle of vodka to make it up to you. Hell, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.”

“I don’t wanna make out with you, you freak.”

“You didn’t say that last time, baby!”

Seulgi

[2.13]

wassup bitch

make out with meeeeeeeeeeeeee

[location shared]

com n get me littl nuggrt

Not Sober Seulgi is probably the worst Seulgi you have ever dealt with. You let out a sigh, eyeing the frat dorm all lit up and vibrating to the trashy trap music the insiders are jamming to.

Of course, when it comes to Not Sober Seulgi, there’s boys involved. Frat boys involved. At first, you don’t pay attention to the details, the signs, surrounding you like blinding traffic lights signalling stop stop stop, all red and striking. The thought doesn’t cross your mind, the dots connecting in some hidden part of your brain not making your insides short circuit—instead you’re knocking on the door, then banging on the very wooden entrance until a face shows up; the dorm is dimly lit, and the face is partially lightened by a soft, hued red and, that, too, Future You pinpoints, should have been a sign.

It’s useless, anyway, because you hear the insider talk and you’re burning instantly, like after touching a steaming, hot cup of coffee, except that bitter coffee is still good coffee. Smug Jimin plus bitter you isn’t really sweet, nor a match made in heaven. It’s chaotic, a caustic explosion, and you both know it, judging from the sharp smile he offers you, after blinking lazily at your figure.

“This is a mixer party only,” his soothing voice welcomes you, “Do you have an invite?”

You press your tongue on your teeth, mouth carefully closed.

“Yeah, from Hell, I’ve come to take a fallen angel.”

“Sorry to break it to you, oh-kind-lady, but we didn’t give any invite to poor, damned souls.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about your policies, then,” you move towards the small space between the door and Jimin’s body, but he interferes, placing himself right between the two. “Look, I don’t give a single fuck about this party.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “My friend is here. She’s most certainly not sober and I’ve come to pick her up. That’s it. Do you think I want to be here, among these drunk, perverted jocks?”

He turns around, stretching his neck, his eyes darting through the crowd, inhibited by alcohol, smelling like cheap beer and weed. The moment his eyes bore into yours, though, it’s terrifying; it’s a rustled reminder of Seokjin’s wedding Jimin, and you don’t like it. You loathe it. You dread it.

“Maybe only some of us.”

He tips his head, lips curving into a timid, small smile, and you tear your gaze from his lips in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, keep dreaming of it. I just want my friend back.” You point your chin towards the amalgam of drunk party animals, “I’ll leave you to your immensely interesting activities, then.”

“What if,” he begins, “You don’t. Or—even better scenario, you leave with me.”

“Best case scenario, I leave with my friend. You stay here.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario, then?”

You cock a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest. “I leave with my friend, you stay here. Sometime before me leaving, you’re punched. Or kicked. I don’t know. There’s a high chance I’ll throw a drink on you.”

“That implies you’ll be here long enough to grab a drink, doesn’t it? And you don’t have to ruin my shirt to get me naked, babe. Just ask nicely.”

You huff, and you’re mildly tempted to shove him against a wall. Or ruin him. Not in the funny way. More like the high and dry way, the one he knows so well. “I changed my mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Ask nicely?” His teasing tone makes your cheeks flush, and you hope the shitplace with subdued lightening can cover it. His expression shifts into an arrogant one, full smirk and little dimples out, so your cute guess is that he can see. He sees his effect on you, albeit completely unwanted and full of hatred from your side, and he enjoys it. Actually lulls in it, letting out a small laugh which, in turn, makes his eyes turn into crescents, all warm and cute—all things he’s not. All things you know he’s not.

“Ask nicely,” you repeat, rolling the words on your tongue, “Okay, babe. Let’s do this, babe. What do you want from me, babe?”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the answer is you?”

“Yes, actually,” you sigh, fingers brushing his neck, face comically close to his perfect, chiselled one, “That’s exactly what I thought when you stopped fingering me.”

“Right,” Jimin has the audacity to smile, craning his neck as if to close the distance between you in order to meet you for a kiss, “I’m a man of word, thought. You should be impressed.”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s impressed is your face under the orgasm denial definition. Google it, babe, I guarantee you the meaning comes with your name and a brilliant review of one star.”

“Unlike you.” He licks his lips, eyes on your pretty pink ones, smeared with venom, “You’re not coming.” He explains, to further ignite your rage.

“And whose fault is that, babe?”

Jimin nuzzles into your neck, cupping your other cheek with his rough palm, and his thumb stills on your throat, right where your breath is stuck. He adds pressure on it, lips fondling your burning skin, his usual smirk plastered on them.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re not fucking me,” you spit back, mouth now millimetres away from his, gently inviting you to kiss it, and cherish it, and biting it until you’re satisfied with the hot result.

“I’ll eat you out? Until you come.” He hums. “You’ll come.”

His voice is a mere strangled sound, wanting and dripping with need, and you snap out of it with a small smile.

“Nice offer,” your smile is wicked as you scrape his nape with a feathery touch, the slow movement rousing a flutter in your lower belly. “But get in line, babe.”

His shell-shocked face is the last thing you see before you fulfil the let’s rescue Seulgi! party.

(“Why do you smell like softener?” Seulgi sniffs you, arms looped loosely around your neck, eyes completely shut down. It’s a nice sight, all things considered. You’re no angel, no saint, no perfect person, but you’re a nice friend, and that’s probably the most Seokjin trait you recognize in yourself. It’s your shared apartment, and it’s past 3 am and you’re the one good friend who keeps her promises. “It’s strawberry vodka, you heathen.”)

The line turns out to be a real line, queue line, let’s get this coffee line, which, well. How can one word it, how can one phrase it fully catching the irony of it all, the distinctive je ne sais quoi of life without—

“Nice to see you here.”

It’s the perfect set for a rom-com, you notice, taking in the warm scenery around you. What else can one dream of, right? The campus coffee shop, the campus hot not-really-but-also-kinda fuckboy Jimin, partial jock to give him credit, full time attractive idiot with a tendency for orgasm denial. Really.

“What are the chances?” You exhale, voice devoid of emotions. For the sake of your parents’ integrity, you suppose, because they raised no impolite woman, of course, you turn around to face the angel-like human being, black hair partially covering his forehead, little dimples on full display. That’s—that is lack of integrity, or indecency or au-fucking-dacity. It might as well be a mix of the above-mentioned possibilities, all fitting and nurturing you because he’s gorgeous. He’s handsome. Jimin’s the most attractive human being you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s not fair.

(Beside the fact that you’ve lived with Kim Seokjin, for fuck’s sake)

He pokes his own cheek, and you bask into the otherworldly scenario that takes place right in front of your caffeine deprived eyes. It’s a sight for sore, soft eyes, and it’s the end of the world as you know it, because it’s morning, too early to properly function like a normal human being, but there he is. There he is, Jimin, channelling his inner boyfriend material aura, oozing off boyfriend smell, nice, fresh, aftershave smell, rocking a stupid sweater and the messiest black mop of hair.

It’s honestly a tragedy, and you won’t stand for it. You will make a move—

“You’re squinting your eyes, like, real tight. Are you alright?”

Just ogling you, your drowsy mind offers, the fucking cheater.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing a lump in your dry throat, “Just need coffee. A latte. Anything.”

You move forward in the queue, and as you blink you realize it’s your turn, until it’s not anymore. Jimin carefully and gently moves you out of the way, brushing with the softest touch your side.

“A latte and an iced americano, please.”

The sweetened order for two turns into a hushed thank you, a tipped smile, a flutter of you heart. It’s drinks still half full, his curious gaze darting on your lips, your defences down. It’s unfair, because in a hot second all this pent-up tension shifts into a light, chaste kiss, your back pressed against the coffee shop’s restroom; your chest heaves under his tantalizing make-out session with your neck, followed by his frantic lips pressing on yours, his tongue licking lazily into your mouth, a gasp easing its way out of your warm and eager mouth. It’s a hot-blooded supercut, each frame announced by a starving moan, a content sigh, and, before you realise it, you’re on your bed, Jimin hovering on top of you.

It’s Saturday morning, you hum to yourself, fingers sliding into his hair, all’s in check. There’s a warm body slumped on yours, his tongue swerving on your lower lip and his hips shyly bucking between your open legs. Your panties are drenched, you can feel his hard on through the jeans and, really, all’s in check.

He nudges your nose with his. “Lemme eat you out.”

The answer lies sitting on the tip of your tongue, right next to an obnoxious remark that you hope will rile him up enough for him to rip your underwear, which you definitely won’t complain about. However, the words don’t come out, they slur in your craving mouth the second he gets up and shoves you toward the end of your unmade bed, spreading your naked legs open with his calloused palms.

“Nice skirt,” he comments, voice a rasp, eyeing the drenched, lilac underwear, skirt at this point gone up to cover your stomach. “I just want…”

He shuffles closer, enough for you to feel his hot breath on your core, and that’s when Jimin pulls the panties on a side, teasing you with little licks to your entrance. You’re responsive, too eager for anything to quench your thirst that you sigh happily at the barest of actions, gripping strands of his hair. Jimin chuckles, engulfing the throbbing clit in his mouth in one go and drawing desperate moans out of your cute, devilish mouth.

“Fuckboy move,” you emit, voice cracking at the pressure of his warm mouth, “Oh, oh. Fuck…”

He replies flattening his tongue on your core, then licking and lapping against your dripping folds. Jimin positively glows at the cries you let out, face slobbering with your arousal while driving you insane, fucking with his tongue like his life depended on it. It’s almost a spiritual experience, a crescendo of wails and sobs, his face drown in your pussy and his tongue paying reverence to your approaching orgasm. He can feel it in the way you writhe, in his hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you still while he eats you religiously, forehead beaded with sweat.

You come with a trembling hand in his hair, the other flicking your bare nipple, back slightly arched and a lewd mewl; Jimin takes in the way your body trembles, your breath all staggered because of him, and the sight alone is enough for him to cum in his pants with a grunt, completely untouched.

The second time it happens is, coincidentally, the first time Jimin knows there’s no turning back from this.

Complicated is a big word when it comes to relationship, you reckon, emitting something akin to a gasp, truly soap operas worthy material, but, for the first time in your life, you decide to name it this way.

Being with Jimin is… complicated, for starters. Especially because you’re not with Jimin, in the strict, relationship-wise meaning. He knows your favourite colour (“Why the fuck you only own purple underwear?” “It’s lilac, dick, watch your mouth.” “Watch your own mouth, babe. You’re the one on your knees.”), your favourite food (“But you like having your mouth stuffed with my cock, honey.” You sigh, blushing. “First of all, I’m talking about real food. That amazing steak kind of food—“

“I’ll show you real meat, babe.”

“Gross. Gross. How can I cancel the last five seconds of my life?”

“Come here, Jared, nineteen,” he half smiles, tilting his head, “I’ll get us fries.”), your favourite movie (“We can’t get each other off every time your ugly paper cap fits—oh,” you suck in a breath, Jimin flicking his tongue on your turgid nipple, “oh, god, don’t stop.”), your best friend’s name (“I condone you dicking her so good she sometimes cries, you know, I just don’t when I’m in the room next to hers and all I can hear is my best friend trying to formulate a single coherent word but failing because you’re pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.” Jimin chuckles, grabbing his jacket before holding the doorknob. “She begged, Seulgi.”)—so what? It’s not like you sat down and decided not to ask each other dumb questions, so that you could find out in the funny, kinky way. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even decide on anything, didn’t even talk about talking, because the relationship related shit didn’t even cross your mind.

It’s even quite fucking hard for it to cross it, because half the time you’re together you’re either both naked – except for the time he pleaded for the tartan mini to stay – or stuffing your mouth with food—because, if there’s something you’ve learned after one too many hook-ups with him is that this kind of sex requires strength. Like, actual, physical strength, if we’re not talking about the this test is draining me please fuck me until I can’t walk sex. Which, yeah, 10/10 would recommend. That was the day Seulgi decided to invest in ear plugs while muttering capitalism, here I come.

You also came.

Funnily enough, guess who also came. Not in the funny, kinky way. Think about the grossest thing, imagine the beyond the bounds of possibility, sprinkle it with Jimin earnestly shoving his dick down your throat, stir it with a poor Taehyung brushing his teeth next to the both of you, a step away from the shower, and serve it on the most expensive plate in the kitchen, a recipe not approved by Kim Seokjin.

Yeah, you mentally roll your eyes, licking your lips clean, at eye-level with your sorta enemy with benefits’ pretty dick: the married brother of yours, former fratboy, taller than your current will to live.

In hindsight, maybe it is Seokjin’s fault. Once you’re married, you’re supposed to be committed to the cause, and sometimes, an angry little crumb in you finds the audacity to speak, the cause is made up of your four walls: ergo home, ergo your married life, miles away from the absurdity that once filled his university days. You’re being hypocritical, you realize, skin wet, body trembling. In the simplest, most hedonistic terms, you’re done with the chaos in this fraternity and just wished that hooking up was easier. It’s more than a stolen orgasm, a random spur of pleasure and free de-stresser; it’s also something not quite like art but just as peculiar. Sex with Jimin is more than nice, more than a fast rummage of clothes on the floor and panties teared, or condoms stuffed in every single pocket of his jacket.

It should also be noticed that it’s been one hell of a stressful week, okay, which means that it’s one of those times you seek for naked intimacy, in its least literal meaning. You’re looking for something sure, something silent, something earnest. Jimin gives you that in the simplest of forms, in the easiest of ways. It’s not fair for your brother to come unannounced and burst into the house with his adorable laugh and love for his own brothers. Way to ruin the moment, bro.

Jimin blinks attentively when Taehyung laughs, clapping his hands all happy and following the elder’s voice outside the bathroom.

“I’m getting you my clothes.”

“Wait, what?”

His lips part just enough for his tongue to wet them, and your eyes follow in silence the gesture.

“I mean,” he starts, grabbing a towel, “You either come out with me from this bathroom or you don’t.”

He’s concise, yet harsh, words uttered with those soft lips yet are just as hot as a slap in your face. He’s telling the truth, but you soon find out you don’t really like it.

There’s something abrupt and severe in those chosen words, so well picked out because they’re not meant to hurt, but at the same time they’re so worrying. So terrible, practically as hard as a punch in your guts.

You either come out of the bathroom with him — you had been blowing minutes before, hadn’t you? Quite the intimacy, huh? — or you don’t. You stay behind. Different rooms, a whole door to separate you while he’s out with the people he cares about.

Seems legit, but. It’s unfair. You know Jimin isn’t choosing for you, but it’s obvious he’s inclined towards an option between the two, and you’re terrified to discover whether it’s his own desire pushing or what he thinks you want.

You, instead, push the thought aside when you nod, taking the towel from his hands and covering your body from this terrific half hook-up.

Because that’s what it is—that’s what you are.

It dawns upon you like a cold breeze hitting your face in full December, suddenly, and that’s when you realize winter is near. In your mind, this hooking up scenario seemed nicer. Sounded softer, a cute bubble moving slowly in the air.

But now—well, now the bubble has burst, and it feels wrong, and this unexpected wrong doesn’t feel right in your chest, and that’s the story of how you leave the house escaping from his window, in his clothes, with vision blurred by hot, stupid, idiotic tears.

Seulgi is the first one to notice, and, obviously, the first one to speak.

“Something’s been bothering you,” she says, head tilted in a way that’s supposed to be emphatic and worried but comes off as stiff and terrified. “Care to share?”

It’s just a wholesome amount of terrifying stuff, isn’t it? First the shower incident, now Seulgi’s ways not working around you anymore. What’s next? Avoiding Jimin for a whole week? Blocking his number? Losing the smart and beautiful title to your obnoxious brother?

You wouldn’t be surprised, really. Shit like this always happens at the same fucking time.

“It’s nothing. A stressful couple days, maybe? Or maybe I’m getting sick. There’s a guy always coughing during Physics. Maybe it’s his fault, who knows.”

Seulgi unlocks her phone, an unreadable gaze studying you. She gives up a second later, though, her weak maybe reaching your ears when you’ve already looked down on your book.

One simply cannot be annoyed because of a half hook up. Christ. You deserve better than that. You have some dignity left, tainted by everything that’s not Jimin and his harsh, stupid words.

So, your mind offers, while you squint your eyes, I suppose there’s nothing else you could do about it.

Nothing else besides acknowledging it and moving on.

Sounds like a plan. A fireproof plan, an escape plan, something detailed and precise. Planned to work out smoothly; planned to be executed without pain or mistakes.

It’s seven sharp when he knocks, takeout in his left hand, eyes bulging because it’s fucking freezing outside.

“It’s fucking freezing, what the fuck.” He says out loud, indeed. What he receives as an answer is the sound of your tongue clicking, the biggest amount of interest you’ve shown towards him the whole week. He would finally exhale, weren’t it for the fact that this is still pretty traumatic, because if there’s something he’s learned while orbiting around you, is that you’re constantly awake and aware of your surroundings. Your body language says that you pay attention to him, or Seulgi, or whoever you’re talking to. You follow the guy with your eyes, and you listen and nod in all the right places during a conversation, and you search for his dark gaze when he’s fucking you in the dimly lit bedroom, the bed creaking under your sweaty sex making. He’s not admitting it, he never will, and he’ll pretty much deny this to everyone who will ask but: there’s something hot about it. Something burning with the way your body reacts to him, when your eyes follow his actions, while your voice falters when he fucks you right, and it somehow pushes him to the edge every time. It’s the equivalent of Jungkook getting a boner in the gym while catching girls and boys drooling at him, except he’s talking about you and your crazy moans, your magic aura.

And yes, okay, fucking blame him, the realization alone made him jerk off in his room like a teen, twice, yesterday. That’s a fact. That’s barely a fact, alright? This is a truth; a statement soon forgot by the knowers. Obviously.

You look spent, he thinks, if he had to choose a word, dared by some arrogant deity to define the current mess you were. He glances at your barely done ponytail, at the tiredness written all over your face. He takes in your baggy sweater, your quiet beauty, knowing this is gonna be one of those nights you take a step back.

He doesn’t say anything though, instead he brushes the hair on your forehead, not even making contact with your skin.

You grab the bag from his hands, shivering instantly and hoping he doesn’t read the signs. They’re—they’re there, you know, you’re collecting them slowly, one after another, grabbing one and looking cautiously for the following one, hoping it’s not there. Hoping it doesn’t exist.

You exhale a sigh, disguising it as cough, a noise, something distracting Jimin from his silent staring, which is, funnily enough, loud and cacophonic.

“Hungry,” you state, the single word weighting more because of the soft pout on your lips. Jimin hates that he knows what it means, that it’s gonna be just the two of you this time, no chill whatsoever, no bodies touching and melting against each-other. He’s not complaining, what the fuck, he’s not an idiot. He’s not even mad, he’s just—accepting, on a level. This is the point of no return, he guesses, following you on the couch and admiring the laptop’s screen reflected on your face.

He doesn’t say anything when you search for Brooklyn 99 on Netflix, because he’d say everything, otherwise. He’d mumble something along the lines of this feels real, we could do this all the time, or, worst of all: I like this. I like you.

So, in order: he tugs at your sleeves and scoots you closer to him, and you say absolutely nothing at the gesture. He’s ecstatic on the inside, partially terrified, mostly delusional. He pretends he’s something more when you lean on him, the slightest pressure of your head on his shoulder. He cares zero fucks about the show when he’s breathing your scent in and feels how warm you are and shuts his eyelids down when he pictures you adoring him. Liking him. Liking him a whole lot more—

He’s fucked, he realises, hours later, when you doze off and he has to carry you to bed, something you claim of loathing, which—what on earth. It’s an unfathomable absurdity, that’s what it is.

“You can stay.”

His voice falters. “What?”

You cough, eyes closed as you speak sinful words: “The night, I mean. It’s fucking freezing outside.”

His lips form a small o, and it’s hot all of a sudden. “Alright,” he manages, staring at you on your bed, hands fidgety and heartbeat accelerated for some reason, “Make space for me. Hey, fucker. I’m serious. Let me in.”

You do.

(to be continued. ily)

#BTS jimin #bts #bts fic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts smut #bts social media au #bts imagine #bts imagines #jimin imagine #jimin #jimin smut #jimin bts #jimin x reader

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delaber · 4 years ago

Text

Just Friends (Part 9)

Story Summary: After moving to America for a 3-month long internship, you meet two interesting characters on a boring night out.

Word Count: 4.6K

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, minor drug use, smut, slight dom!Rafa, swearing, and loads of British references (sorry not sorry lol)

Chapter Note: smut smut smut smut smut smut smmmmmuuuuttt

Tag List: lonelydance mysearchforgratification ramp-it-up blndspotting summerofsnowflakes exrthangel honeysucklechocolatedrippin captaintightpants58

Other Parts: See Masterlist

"What did I tell you?" He laughed as he closed the door behind him, "you don't have to take off your shoes when you're here."

"It's the polite thing to do," you smiled goofily up at him, "what if I stepped in something icky earlier."

"I suppose I'd have to clean the floor tomorrow then," he shrugged, his eyes still bloodshot from the joint, "it's a risk I'd be willing to take."

Easy to giggles, you shot him a laugh.

"You want a drink?" he asked you and held up his index finger, "a quick word of warning; my margarita game is off but I do make a mean Long Island."

You arched an eyebrow at him, "Long Island? Are you trying to get me drunk?"

He sent you a smirk, "Your senses are already dulled from the reefer. How much more could a strong drink possibly do?"

"Okay," you laughed, "Long Island it is then - I do hope it's better than the 'Rafa Special' that you made me on New Years."

"Ouch, you big bully," he pretended to be hurt, "I lay down my guard and show you my true self and this is what it gets me? Some ignorant European tearing apart my cocktail game? I'm telling you; if I had just an ounce of self-respect, you'd be in an Uber on your way home right now!"

"I guess I'm lucky that you're completely spineless," you shrugged.

"Did you just say that?" He put down the lime he'd been holding and sent you a bemused smile.

"Let me just check; uh yes I did."

"Say it again and I'll definitely throw you out," he took a step closer to you trying to look dangerous but failing miserably.

"You're spineless," you whispered.

"One more time for Big Rafa, come on," he motioned a come on sign with his hand, stepping even closer to you.

"Spineless," you squealed and ran away from him as he started running towards you.

"I'll get you for this," he chased you into the living room where he grabbed you around the waist and threw you down on the sofa. He sat down on top of you and grabbed your wrists, "say it again," he urged you, as he easily forced your hands above your head, pinning your wrists together with just one hand. It reminded you of the night after New Years and you became strangely aroused by it.

"Okay, I'll stop," you squealed as he tickled your sides, "just let me go."

He stopped tickling you and went completely still, "never," he leaned in and whispered, lips hovering dangerously close to yours, his right hand warm against your ribs. He could feel your fast heartbeat through your black t-shirt as you made a quick decision and lifted your head up to kiss him softly on the lips.

He gladly reciprocated your tender kiss, looking pained as you withdrew your face after just a couple of seconds.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, "I don't know what just came over me."

Rafa let go of you and got up from the sofa, "Yeah," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry too," he took your hand and helped you up on your feet, "I'll go mix us those drinks," he said quietly.

While he went to the kitchen, you studied the guys' living room. You had only been in here once before and back then, you had been far too concerned with locating your clothes to really have a look around at the colourful posters and their personal belongings scattered around the room. Your eyes were drawn to a small shelf at the back of the room where miniature figures of Calvin and Hobbes stood. You took Calvin in your hand and examined him more closely before putting the figure back on the shelf, moving along to the next item; a gilded gramophone reading 'National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, Daveed Diggs, Principal Soloist, Best Musical Theater Album - 2015, Hamilton (Original Broadway Cast)' along with what appeared to be a Tony award inscribed 'Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical: Daveed Diggs as Marquis de Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson, 2015 - Hamilton.'

You did a double take as you read the text on the two awards again.

Rafa came in with two drinks in hand, "I see you've found Diggs' awards," he smiled, handing you a drink.

"Are these real?"

"Very real," Rafa smirked.

"Why didn't you tell me? I had no idea!"

"I wanted to see how long it took you to figure out where you know us from," he shrugged.

"Were you in this... Hamilton as well?"

"Oh, god no," he laughed, "and by your tone of voice I'm guessing you have no idea what it even is."

"Not a clue," you shook your head and took a big gulp of the drink, "So let me get this straight: Daveed is a hardcore rapper and a Broadway musical star? I never would've guessed that!" you laughed.

"Yeah, remember the first night when you came up to us and you couldn't remember where you'd seen us before?"

"Of course."

"We thought it was a weird trick just to get us to talk to you. Ever since performing in Hamilton, Daveed has been dubbed as America's fast-rapping sweetheart," he rolled his eyes.

"Are you jealous?" you chuckled.

"Not the least. But we can never go out anymore without people feeling the need to constantly come up to him and introduce themselves. It was fun at first but now it's kind of lost its glory."

"So you thought I was a groupie or something?" You laughed, "yeah, your reactions definitely make more sense now."

"Sorry for being a dick," Rafa looked pained, "Sometimes it's necessary when you just want a quiet night out with your best friend."

"So you were a dick on purpose yet you still came over to me and apologised?"

"I did," he laughed, "I thought you were too sassy to just let go. Especially after I realised that you'd been completely innocent and that you actually thought you just knew us from work or something. It was kind of cute so I felt bad for acting like a douche."

"I still feel like I know you from somewhere else apart from that night though," you mumbled.

"Yeah, I know. Come here," Rafa said and took your hand, leading you to a room in another part of the house where you hadn't been before. The room was lined with different recording equipment and movie posters.

"What is this?"

"Our workspace," Rafa said matter-of-factly, "We record music in here or write lyrics, scripts for sketches or plays. You know. Anything creative."

"I've never met anyone with a workspace like this," you took in the room with awe.

"...and this," Rafa continued, "I'm guessing is where you know us from," he pointed to a poster titled Blindspotting with a laughing Daveed and a tough-looking Rafa facing you.

"Yeah! Yeah that's it! I remember seeing this at the movies back home," you said excitedly as you took in the poster. You remembered thinking that the two leads were cute even back then, "so you're a musician slash actor?" you looked back at Rafa who was smiling at you.

"I prefer creative genius, but whatever..." he hugged you from behind, "your term is just as good I guess."

"Why didn't you tell me that I'd probably seen you in a movie."

"You were so unfazed by me and Diggs. And I knew it wouldn't impress you so I kept my mouth shut and told Daveed not to say anything," he snickered from over your shoulder, "I wanted you to spend time with me because you like me. Not because I'm semi-famous."

"I can't believe you thought I was a groupie," you chuckled and leaned into his arms.

"You're so much more," he groaned. His lips brushed against your neck and he kissed you softly below the ear.

His movements brought you back to reality, "Rafa," you sighed, "I know you're drunk and high but we can't be doing this."

"Mmh..." he hummed against you as he pushed your hair aside, his lips still tracing along your neck.

Slowly, you turned around, his arms still around you. "I'm serious," you said.

"I know," he groaned and let his arms fall flat to his sides with a sigh.

"Maybe I should go," you said, "this was clearly a bad idea. And I have to work tomorrow."

"On a Saturday?" he arched an eyebrow at you, "or are you just saying that so you have an excuse to leave early?"

"As I told you; I'm not even halfway done with the project I came here to do, so I actually do have to work tomorrow," you booped his nose, "I'm probably going to be quite busy the next week to be honest."

"So I really won't get to see you?" Rafa furrowed his eyebrows.

"Minimally," you frowned back.

"Okay, I have an idea; since my place is closer to your lab, I'll cut you a deal; how about you stay over, I cook you a nutritious breakfast tomorrow morning and then I take you to work?"

"I don't know," you said even though you really wanted to spend the night.

"No funny business, okay? This time I'm serious," he grinned.

"You said that last time as well," you laughed, "and the time before that."

"Look, I'll even take the couch and let you have my bedroom. I just want to spend the last few hours with you if I won't get to see you for the next couple of days," he shrugged.

"Okay," you gave in, "on one condition!"

"Anything," he said honestly.

"You go for a dip in the pool," you laughed devilishly up at him.

"What, now?"

"Yep!"

"You're not serious?"

"As serious as a heart attack," you said as seriously as you possibly could in your high.

"Okay. If that's what you want," he sighed dramatically before he turned around and discarded his t-shirt in one swift motion.

"Oh, you're really doing this," you laughed as you followed him out to the pool via the sliding doors in the living room next door.

"There's a lot at stake," he said as he pulled off his sneakers and socks.

"So for this you take off your shoes?" you teased him.

"Shut up," he grinned up at you before his hands started unbuckling his belt, his pants falling onto the tiles with a loud clank.

"Okay, I was kidding," you said as he was standing on the edge of the pool wearing only his boxers, "you don't have to do this."

"Oh, I'm not taking any chances. I'm definitely doing this," he said before he took a deep breath and jumped into the freezing water. He emerged spluttering, "shit, it's so cold," he bellowed as he whipped his hair out of his face and took a few strokes, "are you just going to stand up there and admire me?"

"Oh, the deal was for you to jump in. Not me!"

"Boo, you chicken!" he grinned up at you.

"Well, you're not exactly making a single selling point."

"If you don't jump in, you're not allowed to sleep over."

"You're not serious."

"As serious as a heart attack," he grinned up at you, as he mimicked your words from earlier.

"Oh my god. I cannot believe you're making me do this!" You squealed involuntary but ended up taking off your t-shirt and jeans, dipping your toe in the cold water as you stood in front of the pool in just your underwear.

"Just jump in," Rafa laughed, "What you're doing up there is pure torture."

"Okay. You're right," you took a few shallow breaths before counting to three, jumping in the pool close to Rafa. As you emerged, you pushed your hair out of your face, "so cold!" you squealed, "why did we do this?"

"I did it for you," Rafa laughed, treading waters in front of you, "I actually don't find it as bad as I had anticipated."

"You stay then! I'm getting the hell out of here," your teeth clattered as you began climbing the ladder, a laughing Rafa following close behind you.

You were shivering as you reached the top of the ladder, desperately clutching your arms to keep what little warmth you had left.

"Hot shower?" Rafa laughed.

"Yes, please," you nodded and followed Rafa to the bathroom where he turned on the shower for you as you immediately started undressing, ready to step in as soon as the water turned warm.

"It'll only be a minu- Oi!" Rafa said and quickly looked away. He had turned around from the faucet only to be met by you standing in front of him wearing only your soaking panties.

"Oh relax," you rolled your eyes at him, "you've seen me naked before."

"That doesn't mean it isn't just as... exciting," he gulped, desperately looking at the ceiling, "Uh, there are towels over there and I'll - uh - I'll find you something comfortable to wear for afterwards, okay?" he edged out the door still not looking at you. From the other side of the door he bellowed, "Uhm, on second thought. You can just use my bathrobe - if that's alright with you."

"It's fine Rafa," bellowed back with a laugh as you stepped into the warm water.

You stayed in the shower for a couple of minutes until you felt the heat return to your fingers and toes. You quickly dried yourself off, and pulled on the only bathrobe you could find, assuming that it was Rafa's. "That was lovely," you said as you met him in his bedroom. He was wearing the same trackies you'd seen him in before. "No shower?" you lifted your eyebrows at him.

"We have a cold shower by the pool," he said slowly with a laugh, "and I desperately needed it."

"Oh how old are you?” You laughed at him, “you can't even see breasts without getting turned on?"

"Not when they're yours," his face reddened slightly suddenly matching his eyes, "and especially with your nipples all hard like that."

A cold shiver went down your spine. "Yeah, sorry," you ended up saying.

"Oh don't be," he grinned, "it was a marvelous sight that I'll definitely cherish when I'm alone in bed at night," he winked at you, "it just excited me... Excites me now just thinking about it to be honest," he looked away from you with a small grin, clearly uncomfortable in his own skin.

"Yeah me too," you admitted, "it feels stupid to not be allowed to touch when we're so close to each other in so little clothes."

"We could just say 'to hell with it'?" He smirked.

"No, Rafa," you said sternly as you sat down on the edge of his bed.

He sent you a challenging look, "...or we could - you know - just... talk about it if you want to?"

"Talk about what?" you arched an eyebrow at him. Your decision was non-negotiable.

"Just talk for a while about what we'd like to do if the situation was different," he shot you a wink, "That's innocent."

"No it's not?" you laughed, "Not at all."

"I know," he smiled at you, "I'm just trying to get creative. We have to work with what we got, you know."

"Friends don't talk about what sexual stuff they'd like to do to each other," you shot him a look.

"Hey - can we just cut the bullshit for a few seconds?" Rafa said quietly, his Adam's apple bouncing in his throat as he swallowed hard, "don't call us friends when we clearly aren't,"

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," you looked at him carefully

"You keep saying that," he sighed, "yet you're still here."

You put your hand on his arm, "I'm having a hard time too, you know. You're not the only one who wants this."

He shot you a sideways glance, "why can't we just say to hell with it then?"

"Because I know myself and this is what I have to do if I want to return to England with a somewhat sane mind."

"Whatever you say," he groaned as he threw himself down on the bed, his legs dangling over the side.

You lay down next to him and you put your hand on his chest, playing with the straps of his hoodie. He pulled you close and caressed your back with his fingertips, "do you want me to go sleep on the couch?"

"You can sleep in here with me," you said softly, "I'm going to miss you the next couple of days."

He kissed the top of your head, "yeah, me too," he said, "the last time you stayed over, my pillow smelled like you for days. It was pure torture. But it came at a price; your hair was everywhere. It was like having a dog again," he laughed.

"A small souvenir," you laughed, "sorry."

"I forgive you. But only because you look so soft in my bathrobe," he brushed his fingers over your back, "do you want me to get you a t-shirt to sleep in?"

"Yes please," you said and let him go to his closet where he pulled out an old tee with the words Raiders written on the front.

"A pirate shirt?" you eyed the logo.

Rafa shot back his head and laughed whole-heartedly, "Damn girl, don't you dare disrespect my favourite football team like that."

"You mean American football team. Your favourite football team better be Chelsea!"

"I'll be partial to Chelsea in soccer if you're partial to the Raiders in football."

"I can pretend I like the pirates," you teased him.

"Oh shut up," he chuckled and walked towards the door, "I'll let you get changed," he said and closed the door behind him.

You disrobed and pulled on his Raiders shirt, glad that it covered you like a dress as you didn't have any dry underwear to wear. A short dress albeit, but still a dress.

"Are you decent?" Rafa asked from the other side of the door.

"Yep," you said and let him in.

"Ah!" he said when he saw you in the Raiders shirt, "my favourite girl sporting my favourite team."

"Don't get any ideas," you grinned as you crawled under the covers.

He stripped down to his boxers and joined you under the covers, pulling you close, "just a bit of friendly cuddling," he whispered against your neck, his hand trailing up and down your sides.

"Okay," you whispered back, enjoying his arms around you.

His fingers brushed from your waist and down your sides all the way below the hem of the t-shirt, fingers coming to a halt on your upper thigh. He lifted his head from his pillow and whispered, "are you not wearing any panties?"

"Uhm no," you said sheepishly, "they were all wet from the pool."

You felt the outline of a bulge emerging against your backside right before he pulled back from you with a groan.

You turned around and faced him, "I didn't mean to torture you on purpose," you snickered.

"I know," he said in a strained voice, "just give me a minute to calm down." He blew out some air and stared determined at the ceiling.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked him after a couple of seconds.

"I'm trying to remember all the players on the Raider's team," he said, "and I definitely try not to think about you on top of me."

A familiar warm feeling spread in your abdomen. Now you were thinking about riding him as well.

"Too much?" he looked over at you when you didn't answer him.

"Ehm," you cleared your throat, "no. No, it's a... nice image," you smiled at him, the heat between your legs growing more and more.

"It got to you too, huh?" he laughed at you.

"Uhm, yeah," you said, "it's probably because we're high."

"That Long Island didn't exactly help either."

"Definitely not. It's too bad we're not allowed to touch..."

"Yeah..." he agreed, "we could... you know... just go to sleep."

"Yeah..." you said. His suggestion from earlier about talking dirty to each other without touching flashed in your mind. It wasn’t as if it would break your code. “Or we could just lie here next to each other and talk for a while..."

"Yeah?" he looked over at you with an excited smile, "what do you want to talk about?"

"Definitely not riding you slowly," you grinned, "or your lips around my nipples."

He gulped, "Yeah, and not your mouth around my cock either. Let's not discuss that."

"Or how you feel when you're inside me," you breathed heavily.

"Oh fuck, no, no we definitely can't talk about that. Or how I'd start off by kissing you all over your body. All the way from the top of your head and down your neck, leaving small teasing kisses down your breasts and all the way down to your ankles. And then back up again to your little hotdog," he said darkly.

"Yeah!" you imagined his warm lips against your skin and felt the goosebumps emerge on your arms, "...and we can't discuss how I'd respond to your teasing lips by pulling your hair while I open my legs for you. Or what you'd do next.”

"Well... in that case, we probably shouldn't discuss how I'd bring out my tongue and taste you while my fingers were slowly working their way in and out of you," he panted. You let out a moan as you arched your back and Rafa continued, "yeah, and you'd moan just like that for me."

"But regardless of how good it felt, I'd still push you away from me and get on my knees in front of you."

"Fuck!" Rafa hissed beside you, fighting hard to keep his hands above the covers.

"I'd take you in my hand and lubricate your glistening head with pre-cum before I slowly move my hand up and down you a couple of times to warm you up."

"I'm already warm, love" Rafa chuckled.

"Good! I'd grab you by the root and I'd lick you all the way from the root to the tip, bringing extra attention to that particularly sensitive spot just below your head," you said slowly, "my soft tongue would be all wet and sloppy as I run it up and down your length while I maintain eye contact with you, showing you that you're in complete control of the situation. And I'd make sure to massage your balls as I continue to pleasure you with my mouth," you breathed heavily, "and you'd look down at me and caress my hair while my mouth was full of you, slowly bucking your hips bringing you further down my throat. And I'd groan around you as you hit the back of my throat, sending vibrations all the way up to your balls."

"Okay, fuck it, I can't take this," Rafa said resolutely and pulled the covers away to reveal the enormous erection tugged away in his boxers. He pulled out his cock and started stroking it slowly in front of you with a few shallow breaths. He shot you a look, "not... against... the rules," he panted as he continued to pump his hand up and down his length.

"Well, if you're doing it, I'm doing it!" you said as you spread your legs, your fingers immediately flying to your core as you looked at Rafa's movements. "What happens next?" you panted.

Rafa took a couple of shallow breaths before he continued, "I pull out of your mouth just before I come down your throat because you know I'm close and you beg me to fill you up instead. So I pick you up from the floor and throw you on the bed and you're looking at me with this hungry look. And I kiss your tits while I slide inside you. And you're so warm and so wet for me," he groaned.

You moved your fingers up and down your slit, fidgeting with your clit with your right hand, while your left hand pushed up the Raider's t-shirt and started massaging your nipple. A small moan escaped your lips as you imagined what Rafa was explaining to you, "and you fill me up completely," you panted, "and you turn me around before you slam into me from behind, smacking my ass and pulling my hair. And you're so good that I grow tight around you, begging for you to let me cum."

"Yes," he groaned.

"- and you pull my arms and fixate them around my back so you have the perfect angle to fuck me while I grow tighter and tighter around you as you slide in and out of me. And I feel this raw heat starting in my stomach and it's spreading fast to the rest of my body as you fuck me faster and harder than you ever have before. And you pull my hair and I moan helplessly for you."

Rafa started moving his hand faster and faster as he was looking at you narrating your own orgasm.

"- and when you finally let me topple over the edge, I scream out your name with my release like this; Rafa," you moaned, "oh Rafa".

"Fffffuck," you heard Rafa hiss beside you right before he came with a loud groan, cum staining his stomach and chest, "fuck!" he continued to pant beside you with his eyes screwed shut, cum still leaking from his tip. His hand was still laced around his throbbing cock, but no longer moving when he desperately opened his eyes and turned his head. "Fuck," he repeated when he looked towards you with your fingers still at work.

"Fuck you're hot!" you panted beside him, looking at him as you drew in sharp breaths, your fingertips slowly entering yourself.

Rafa's eyes flooded with lust once more, "Fuck this," he spat, "come here," he took your hand and pulled you on top of him, your back lying flat against his cum-stained chest. His right hand found your core immediately and he started working his long fingers in and out of you while his left hand was circling your clit.

"Not... part of... the plan," you panted on top of him while his fingers moved in and out of you, his lips kissing your throat and neck.

"Oh, do you want me to stop?" he said and removed both of his hands from your throbbing core.

"No!" you whimpered on top of him, moving around desperate for friction.

"Shut the fuck up then," he whispered darkly against your neck as his hands resumed their positions. He worked like this for a couple of minutes while you writhed and moaned on top of him, your walls tightening around his fingers as he kissed and licked your neck.

"Fucking cum for me," he whispered as he hit your g-spot repeatedly and sent you over the edge crying out his name with pleasure.

His hands moved slower and slower, until he pulled his fingers out of you, his palm travelling all the way up your body, coming to a halt as he cupped your breasts lovingly, "I could get used to this," he whispered, kissing your neck and sending shivers down your spine.

You stayed on top of him for a couple of seconds while he continued to caress your breasts and nipples, kissing your neck occasionally with small sounds of affection.

When you had come down completely from your high, you climbed down from him and positioned yourself under the covers. Rafa pulled on his boxers and snuggled up against you.

"That was not part of the plan," you yawned as he held you tight.

"It won't happen again. Now shut up and go to sleep," Rafa smiled against your neck

#rafael casal x reader #rafael casal #daveed diggs #blindspotting #rafael casal imagine #smut #rafael casal fanfiction #bay boys

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nicknellie · 4 years ago

Text

@sunset-reggie requested: A fic based off Reggie getting electrocuted that was mentioned in Snap.

Physics is my joint worst subject at school so for the purposes of this I might have made up my own rules for electricity? Maybe, I don’t really know. The issue was that in the US the mains voltage is 120V which won’t really do a lot (here in England it’s 230V but again you’ll probably be fine) so I made some shit up and I’m pretending I know what I’m talking about. I did research taking care of electric shock patients but sorry for anything that’s wrong. Still, thank you for the prompt, it was a lot of fun!!

Zap

Some nights, Reggie Peters would sleep like a log. The moment his head hit the pillow, he would be out cold, not waking up the whole night through and feeling happy and refreshed in the morning. Those good nights usually followed good days – days spent jamming in the studio with the band, days helping out at the rescue shelter and playing with his favourite animals, days he would hang out with his friends and laugh until their sides hurt and they couldn’t breathe. After a good day, the night was peaceful.

This was not one of those nights.

It hadn’t been a good day. In fact, it had been a decidedly bad day. When Reggie had woken up that morning, it hadn’t been to the sound of his alarm but to the echo of shouting from downstairs. He had guessed immediately that it was his parents fighting yet again – sighing haggardly, he had pulled a pillow over his face and pressed it hard against his ears, trying to block out the noise, but to no avail. Well and truly awake, he had grudgingly got out of bed and started his day.

School had been dreadful. In biology, the teacher had surprised them with a test. Reggie was a naturally high achiever, good in biology as he was in all his subjects, but that day luck wasn’t on his side. He hadn’t done any revision and his head was swimming with addled thoughts, cluttered and unfocused, and he could not for the life of him remember the different stages of meiosis. Throughout the whole test he had sat there, scratching his head, trying to remember that one little detail that was on the tip of his tongue, but before he knew it time had run out and he had only answered three questions. It had stuck him in that bad mood for the rest of the day.

He had thought that band practise would cheer him up like it usually did. For a while, he was right. In the Molinas garage, plucking the strings of his bass, Reggie felt his dark mood brighten. Perhaps the start of the day hadn’t been one for the history books, but he could salvage it by relaxing and playing his music with his wonderful friends.

“Let’s take it from the second verse,” Julie declared halfway through their run-through of Stand Tall, scribbling a note to herself on the bottom of her sheet music. “Reggie, can you up your bass a bit? I can’t hear it but your line is really great here and I think we should showcase it a little.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Reggie said, saluting. He fiddled with his amp for a moment (twisting the dial harder when it got stuck) to up the volume and struck a long, low note. Julie nodded, satisfied, and they picked the song up again.

It didn’t take long for things to start going downhill. At first, Reggie thought he was imagining the smell of smoke; after all, candles had been banned from the studio long ago after an incident with Luke and one of Alex’s favourite hoodies, so there shouldn’t have been anything burning. But after a moment, Julie’s face scrunched up in disgust and her singing dropped away as she glanced around the studio.

“Luke,” she said, reproachfully. He shot her an innocent look. “Did you bring in another scented candle? Even after what happened last time?”

“I never did get that replacement hoodie,” Alex grumbled.

Luke shook his head, sniffing the air like a dog. “It’s not me! I don’t know where that’s coming from.”

“It has to be something,” Reggie said, looking around. It smelled almost overwhelmingly strong near him – the others, whether they realised they were doing it or not, were all heading in his direction, sniffing the air for the source of the smell.

It was Alex who noticed.

“Reg, you’re smoking!”

Reggie shrugged. “I know I was kinda killing it, so thanks, but I think we have more important things to worry about right now.”

“No, no,” Julie said, eyes wide, pointing to Reggie. “Reggie, you’re smoking! You’re on fire!”

“Okay, I get it, thank you both, but we should focus on–”

“Reggie,” Luke all but yelled, “you are smoking! As in, there is smoke coming from you. Dude, do something!”

Reggie looked down at himself, immediately swatting at his clothes. It was weird – he didn’t feel like he was engulfed in flames. In fact, it didn’t look like he was either. Reggie was decidedly not on fire. But his bandmates had been correct about the smoke; it was rising around them, looping through the air and collating in a thick black cloud right above their heads.

It was then that Reggie had a horrible thought. If the smoke was coming from behind him, then it might have looked to his friends as if he were the one on fire. Slowly, dreading what he might see, he turned around and was met with a catastrophe.

It was his amp, sparking through the speakers, harsh smoke swirling into the air from its every crevice, cutting void-like black lines across the studio up to the ceiling.

“Not me,” he said, stricken, “it’s my amp. My brand-new amp. It’s broken.”

“What happened to it?” Julie asked, edging slightly closer. She placed a gentle hand on Reggie’s upper arm but he remained stiff. He barely even registered the touch.

“How can it have broken so fast?” Luke added, leaning probably too close and inspecting the amp. He jumped back and ducked behind Julie with a little yelp when a spark leapt at him. “You just got it two weeks ago.”

Alex pushed to the front, wafted his hand back and forth to clear the smoke, and squinted at the amp. For a moment there was an anticipatory silence, and then Alex said, “Ah. I see.”

“What?” Reggie prompted. “What went wrong?”

“What went wrong?” Alex echoed, straightening up and raising a condescending eyebrow. “I don’t know, Reg, maybe it was the fact that you tried to turn it up to a volume that doesn’t exist.”

Baffled, Reggie took Alex’s position, waving the smoke out of the way. He had been careful when Julie asked him to turn the volume up, he could have sworn that he hadn’t cranked it up any higher than ten. But lo and behold, the volume dial was twisted further than its highest volume, almost back at one.

“How did that happen?” Reggie wondered aloud. “All I did was turn it up, then it got kind of stiff, so I turned it harder and– oh.”

“I think when it went stiff it was because it wasn’t supposed to turn any more than it had,” Julie said quietly. She tugged Reggie away from the amp as a spark flew uncomfortably close to his face.

“Would that really do so much damage?” Luke asked sceptically, eyes narrowed.

Alex shrugged. “Looks like it.” He put a consoling hand on Reggie’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, Reg. With the money we make from our next gig we can get you a new one, right?”

Reggie sighed heavily. After the nightmarish day he’d had, with this as the icing on the cake, he felt as if he’d had his very heart ripped from his chest. There was a weight there, a hefty, immovable boulder settled right where his heart should have been. He shrugged Alex’s and Julie’s hands from his arms, fed up and tired.

“I guess,” he mumbled, “but unless I’ve got an amp I can’t play that gig anyway, so you’ll be without a bassist.”

“I’m sure it’s fixable,” Julie reasoned, forced hope in her voice. They watched the amp cough out another jet of black smoke. Julie’s smile faltered. “Like, eighty percent sure.”

Alex checked the time and then patted Reggie on the shoulder. “It’s late anyway, we should stop now, get home. I’m sure we can get it fixed before our next rehearsal, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, and Reggie,” Luke added, swinging an arm around his shoulders, “don’t feel too bad, okay? If worse comes to worst we can just borrow an amp at the venue. It might not be as good as yours but it’ll be something.”

Reggie nodded. “Sure,” he said, “thanks.”

He checked the time for himself as the other three began to move about the studio, packing up their bits and pieces. It was almost ten o’clock – he hadn’t realised they’d been going on so long. He was exhausted, his limbs heavy with emotion and his head swimming with nothing much at all. No part of him thought he’d be able to walk himself home and on a day like this he didn’t want to take his chances in a car being driven by Luke.

“Hey Julie,” he said, tapping her on the shoulder. She smiled up at him as she put her microphone stand away. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course,” she said as if it should have been obvious. “I’ll make up the couch inside–”

He shook his head. He wanted to stay in the studio – that was where the most comfort was. “No, no, in here is fine. Thank you, Julie.”

“Any time,” she said, beaming.

Not long later, Reggie and Julie said their goodbyes to Alex and Luke, who clambered into Luke’s beat-up car and sped away, over the speed limit by an amount that made Reggie’s head spin. Reggie waited in the studio while Julie went to get some pillows and blankets for him, his mind turning with thoughts of his parents and his bad school day and his amp that was still smoking in the corner of the studio.

Hence, tonight was not a good night for Reggie.

Eventually, Julie came back down, helped him make up the couch, and then they said their goodnights. When she left, Reggie shucked off his jacket and his jeans, then burrowed himself into the covers, clamping his eyes tight shut in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to catch sleep by surprise.

It didn’t work. He lay there for what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, tossing and turning, switching which end of the couch his head was at, sticking various limbs out from under the blanket, trying to find some magic position that would get him to sleep. But nothing worked, and eventually he gave up.

The smell of smoke was enough to drive him insane. He didn’t want to have to wait to get the amp fixed – he wanted it fixed now, he wished it had never broken in the first place. Or rather, he wished he’d never broken it. He could have kicked himself; in hindsight, it was obvious that when the dial stopped moving the volume couldn’t be altered anymore – Reggie cursed himself for forcing it.

A thought struck him then. A crazy, stupid, reckless thought that Alex, if he were there, would have immediately forbidden. But Reggie thought that if it was his mistake then he should be the one to fix it, and the amp was right there, and he couldn’t sleep anyway, so he might as well…

He swung himself out from under the covers, flicked the studio light on and made his way over to the amp. It was still emitting a steady stream of smoke, sparks flying now and then. He inspected it a little more closely, yanking off the front to see the mechanics inside. He could see where the damage was and some cocky part of his brain decided that he could definitely fix it.

Lost in his thoughts, he was brought back to Earth by the grounding sound of rain falling on the flat roof of the studio. It was soothing and soft – Reggie had always liked rain, always found it calming. He wanted nothing more than to be outside right then, soaked to the skin, relaxed and carefree.

So his crazy, stupid, reckless thought developed and before he knew it Reggie was wheeling the amp from the safety of the studio to the wet and windy outside.

It was freezing and he regretted not bringing his jacket from the studio, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back inside now. The rain had him drenched within seconds, the amp too, and Reggie finally felt some of the tension in his muscles drain away.

He began to work.

Now, Reggie wasn’t to know that the amp was still plugged into the mains back in the studio. And he wasn’t to know that a power station half a mile away had just malfunctioned, letting a surge of electricity course through its wires, overwhelming every system and sending far too much electricity to every house in the nearby area. And he wasn’t to know that if he hadn’t been touching the amp then he would likely have been absolutely fine.

But the power surged through the mains, through the studio, through the amp, was worsened by the rain, and reached Reggie as he clutched the wires.

Zap.

Reggie was flung back with the force of the current, landing in a heap in the studio, finally asleep (if not in the way he’d intended to be).

He woke up. That was a good sign. His head was spinning as he tried to ease himself into a sitting position, raising a hand to his throbbing temple, but something pushed him back down. Reggie peeled his eyes open, but blinked at the harsh, too bright light and closed them again.

“Dad,” came Julie’s voice from somewhere above him, “he’s woken up!”

“That’s good,” called Ray’s voice from somewhere indeterminable, “is he okay? I’m still on the phone with the doctor.”

Reggie tried again to open his eyes and managed it, just barely. He was back on the couch in the studio, the lights were on but it was still pitch-black outside. He had been tucked into the blanket so tightly that he could hardly move, and perched on the edge of the sofa, clutching his hand like she was superglued to him, was Julie.

“Reggie,” she said gently, reaching out and brushing a lock of his dark hair away from his forehead. Her fingers were cool against his skin, soothing his headache that little bit. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” he croaked. Just those two words felt like they were ripping his vocal chords out. He cleared his throat a little as Julie sent him a sympathetic, sad smile.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked.

Reggie thought for a moment but found that it hurt his head to do so. He shrugged, then said, “I wanted to try and fix my amp so I took it outside and then… I don’t know.”

Julie gave him an exasperated smile. “In the pouring rain? Did no one ever tell you that water and electricity don’t mix?”

“Well, I know that now,” he grumbled.

“If it’s any consolation, you probably wouldn’t have been too hurt if the power station hadn’t gone wrong at the same time. The current was way bigger than it should have been – my dad’s talking to the doctors right now to see if we should take you to the hospital.”

“How long was I unconscious?” Reggie asked her, closing his eyes again.

“Well, when the power surge happened, I saw this massive flash outside my window and heard what sounded a lot like a teenage boy being thrown off his feet across a garage,” she told him matter-of-factly. “So, I came down to check on you and you were unconscious, so I got dad. But the whole thing hasn’t been more than twenty minutes. Does your head hurt?”

Reggie nodded, then winced. The movement ached.

Julie frowned. “That doesn’t seem like a good sign.”

At that moment, Reggie heard Ray say to the phone, “Okay, thank you very much for your help.” A moment later, he was crouched down beside Reggie, his kind face streaked with worry.

“You doing okay, kiddo?” he asked quietly.

Reggie sighed. “No. Everything hurts. Do I need to go to the hospital?”

“Well,” Ray began, “I just spoke to a very lovely doctor. She said that seeing as you weren’t in contact with the source for too long, and luckily the mishap with the power station wasn’t too bad, your situation could be a lot worse than it is. But we do have to keep an eye on you because it was an alternating current, which is more dangerous than direct.”

Reggie shuffled a little bit, trying to pull his blanket tighter around him for comfort. He felt Julie place a hand on his chest comfortingly, and he would have smiled if smiling didn’t hurt so much.

“Oh, and she gave me a list of things to ask you about,” Ray said, fishing a scrap of paper out of his pocket. “I wrote it down here, see. Loss of consciousness – obviously. Muscle spasms?”

Reggie should his head and Ray gave him an encouraging smile.

“That’s good,” he continued. “Any numbness or tingling anywhere? Or any breathing problems, or a headache?”

Reggie paid attention to his body for a minute. His legs felt numb, like they wouldn’t support him if he tried to stand up. And he had what was probably the worst headache of his entire life. But his breathing seemed fine to him. He reported his findings back to Ray, who made a few checks on his list.

“Problems with vision or hearing?”

“No,” Reggie said, “none.”

“Good. We checked you for burns and luckily there’s none. Seizures, well, we’ll have to keep an eye on you. Irregular heartbeat – Julie?”

It was only then that Reggie realised that Julie’s hand placed on his chest had been to check his heart. Slowly, he moved his hand out from under the blanket and covered Julie’s with it, wanting to keep the comfort close, stop her from leaving him. She smiled down at him gently, and put her other hand over his too.

“His heartbeat’s fine,” she said. “Normal speed, regular.”

Ray nodded, making a final check. “Excellent, excellent. Okay, Reggie, I’m going to call your parents, let them know what’s happened. It’s not a good idea to move you around too much; do you mind staying here for a few days?”

The thought almost made Reggie smile. The studio (and the rest of the Molinas’ house) was like a second home to him – he felt comfortable and at-home there like nowhere else. He had countless memories surrounding him, a thousand things to keep him preoccupied, even if that was just being lost in his own head.

“That’s fine by me,” Reggie said, trying to smile.

Ray beamed, then gently tousled Reggie’s hair as he stood up. “Good. Great. Okay, I’m going to make a call to your parents, you just let me know if you need anything. Night, Reggie.”

“Goodnight, Ray,” Reggie called after him as he left the studio. “Thank you.”

As Ray closed the door behind him, Julie stood up and made her way to the back of the studio where they kept all their equipment when they weren’t using it for rehearsal. Reggie watched in fascination as Julie dug around for a moment and then pulled out a TV on a wheeled stand, incredibly old and outdated. She blew a thick layer of dust off it then coughed when it flew right back in her face.

“When Carlos and I were little,” she began, tugging the stand closer to Reggie, “my mom used to watch old tapes on this with us. Mainly it was old home videos, or sometimes the tape of her and dad’s wedding, but we should still have some actual movies somewhere. I’ll find the DVD player and set it up, we can watch something together.”

Reggie was a little confused. “You’re not going up to bed?”

Julie looked offended at the suggestion. Reggie shrank back a bit from her glare. “Of course not! I’m staying down here with you for as long as you need me. I don’t want to leave you alone, Reggie, especially not when you’re like this.”

She rummaged about in the back of the studio for a little while longer. Reggie watched her collect an ancient DVD player and a stack of DVD cases, sorting through them and selecting a few. He knew he wasn’t alone in loving Julie – after all, she was an angel on Earth and it was hard not to love her – but right that moment he felt he couldn’t have treasured his sister any more. Just the fact that she was willing to forgo sleep to make sure he was safe meant more than he could describe. The moment she had finished setting up the DVD player and had put on Kung Fu Panda (knowing it was one of Reggie’s all-time favourites), she came to sit in front of the couch on the floor, and Reggie looped his arms around her neck in a weak hug. She held his hand tightly as the movie’s opening scene began to play.

Julie was truly a blessing. She stayed with him all night, not getting a wink of sleep herself because she wanted to make sure nothing bad happened to Reggie while he slept, and the next day she took turns with Ray and Carlos to keep an eye on him, waiting on his every beck and call. Reggie felt bad asking them for things so tried to do it as little as possible, only occasionally asking for a glass of water or another painkiller. But Julie, being Julie, seemed to know exactly what he didn’t want to ask for at all times and was more than happy to fetch anything.

Eventually, she had needed a break. Not by her own choice, but by Reggie’s.

“You’ve done so much,” he said at about midday, just as Julie came in to take over from Carlos again. “I’ll be fine by myself for a little, it’s not like anything that bad can happen.”

She shook her head. “You heard what my dad said. Something bad could happen, so someone needs to make sure you’re alright.”

“It doesn’t need to be you,” Reggie reasoned. “No offence, but you look worse than me right now. And you’re not the one who was electrocuted twelve hours ago.”

It was true – Julie didn’t function well on a lack of sleep, her eyes were heavy and she was teetering from side to side slightly as if she was going to fall over. She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t deny what he’d said. She pulled her phone from her pocket with a sigh.

“Fine,” she said grudgingly. “Dad’s just taking Carlos to Little League, so it can’t be one of them. I’ll call Alex. Hopefully, he’ll be able to get here soon.”

Reggie listened to the one-sided conversation as Julie spoke to Alex. She sighed with relief, thanked him, and then said to Reggie, “He says he’ll be here in ten minutes. Do you need anything until then?”

Reggie thought for a moment, then let a grin split his face apart. “Can you sing for me?”

Julie huffed a laugh. “Really? That’s all you want?”

“Yes please,” Reggie returned, shuffling over to look at her, giving her his full attention. “Can you sing something by Johnny Cash?”

“Of course,” she replied with an easy smile. Reggie was privately proud of himself – he was the only reason Julie knew any of Johnny Cash’s country classics. She picked up Luke’s acoustic guitar (which he had forgotten to take back to his house the last fifteen times he’d been at the studio) and struck the first chord. “Love is a burning thing…”

Ten minutes later (or three performances of Ring of Fire, because it was the only Johnny Cash song that Julie knew the whole way through) Alex shouldered the door to the studio open, letting in a blast of cold air but also a delightful smell that Reggie would recognise anywhere. It was the aroma of Alex’s famous triple chocolate cookies, the kind he only made for special occasions like birthdays; it seemed that electrocution counted as a special occasion too.

He let the door fall shut behind him, shook his shaggy hair out of his eyes, and held a large Tupperware container aloft triumphantly.

“I brought cookies,” he announced.

He sat himself down at the end of the couch by Reggie’s feet and opened up the box. The already gorgeous smell doubled and Reggie groaned hungrily. Alex smiled, holding the box out towards him – Reggie took three cookies and tried to shove them all into his mouth at once.

“Alex,” he said around a mouthful of chocolate. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best cook I know?”

“Every time I make you food,” Alex replied. He extended the container to Julie who took one cookie, a lot less greedily than Reggie.

“Well, he’s right,” Julie said, beaming. “This smells amazing, Alex.”

“Tastes it, too,” Reggie added, licking the crumbs off his fingers.

Julie laughed, but then poorly stifled a yawn. Reggie ordered her to bed again, and with a tired little wave she left the studio. Settling down further on the sofa, Alex took one of his own cookies.

“I hope you weren’t doing anything important,” Reggie said, poking Alex’s side with his feet.

Alex shrugged and looked away, suddenly so interested in the studio’s ceiling that it was suspicious.

“What?” Reggie prompted, narrowing his eyes. “What were you doing?”

Alex seemed to be trying his hardest to act casual but wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Avoiding eye contact, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, Alex said, “I was hanging with Willie, actually. But this is more important.”

Reggie felt his mouth fall open. He smacked Alex’s arm. “Dude,” he exclaimed. “That is way more important than me!”

“My love life is more important than your near-death experience,” he deadpanned, frowning disbelievingly.

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Come on, man,” Reggie said, prodding him with his feet again. He still couldn’t feel his legs so he wasn’t sure that his way of getting Alex to talk by nudging him was really working, but judging by the way Alex shifted away from him he was doing a good job. “Tell me everything!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Alex said, raising his hands in something like surrender. But when he lowered them again, he shrugged and said much quieter, “He kissed me, though.”

“Nothing to tell?!” Reggie almost yelled. “Dude!”

Alex had a dopey smile on his face, a blush creeping across his cheeks. He ducked his head abashedly, his smile growing. “Okay, maybe there’s a little to tell.”

Reggie was about to press him a little more, get him to open up about what he’d been up to with Willie (the two of them had only made it official a week or so ago and Reggie would be lying if he said he wasn’t extremely invested in their relationship – Alex deserved someone who made him truly happy and Willie seemed to do exactly that) but all of a sudden he felt his abdomen contract and shake painfully. He doubled over, clutching at his stomach as the muscles squeezed, rapidly relaxing and pulling taut again.

Alex stood up abruptly. “Reg? What’s happening, what do you need?”

Reggie couldn’t answer. The pain had stopped (it had been brief yet sharp) but he was out of breath, breathing hard and fast. He shook his head, dreading another burst of pain, and tried to get a hold of himself.

Alex crouched down beside him and grabbed his hand. “Reggie, listen to me, alright? I’m going to try and get your breathing back to normal, okay? Breathe with me – in for four. One, two, three, four. Out for six. One, two, three, four, five, six. Great job, let’s go again, buddy.”

Reggie breathed in tandem with Alex, feeling grateful that he had such an amazing friend by his side. Alex didn’t let go of his hand once, getting his breathing back to something steady and safe. When he finally felt relaxed again, Reggie opened his eyes (he hadn’t realised how tightly he’d had them scrunched up and they watered when he opened them) and smiled smally at Alex.

“Thank you,” he said, “I’m okay.”

“What was that?” Alex asked, sitting back a little.

“Ray said something about muscle spasms,” Reggie explained, thinking back to the list Ray had mentioned before. “I guess that was one. It felt like someone was trying to shove my organs into a tin can.”

Alex nodded, though his expression said he had no idea what Reggie was talking about. “Okay. Was that the first time it’s happened?”

“Yeah. Hopefully, the only time it happens too.”

“You need anything?”

Reggie’s throat felt dry. He could feel it like sandpaper every time he swallowed. “Could you get me a glass of water, please?”

“You got it,” Alex said, hopping up. “I won’t be long. Have another cookie, you deserve one.”

Reggie took another cookie and silently thanked Alex for being so helpful. Alex had always been the most collected and resourceful of the group, so Reggie was glad it had been him there for this scary new side effect.

When Alex got back Reggie thanked him out loud, but he waved it away, saying it was what he had to do, no biggie. Reggie sat himself up and swung himself around, leaning against Alex and hugging him tightly. Alex rolled his eyes, but Reggie didn’t miss the way he smiled and hugged him back.

That evening, Luke arrived unannounced. He was in a complete and utter panic – it seemed that in all the chaos, nobody had actually told him about Reggie’s accident. When nobody had shown up to the busking session they’d planned down by the pier he had called Julie to find out what was going on and then made a mad dash to her house.

“I’ll take it from here, Alex,” Luke declared, marching into the studio, yanking Alex from his seat and shoving him out the door, shutting it behind him. Through the small window, Reggie could see Alex looking through, utterly bewildered. When Luke locked the door, Alex shrugged defeatedly, waved goodbye to Reggie, and left.

“Buddy,” Luke said to Reggie, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Reggie, dude. Bro. What happened to you, man?”

“Got electrocuted,” Reggie returned simply.

Luke rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, I know that now. Julie told me. Eventually. Did you at least manage to fix your amp?”

Reggie sighed. Luke’s arrival had brightened his mood, but the mention of the accident and his amp had kind of ruined it. “No. Julie and Ray checked earlier but I think I made it worse. It’s beyond help.”

“That’s great!” Luke exclaimed. Reggie furrowed his brows, confused.

“No,” he said, “it’s not.”

Luke shook his head. “No, it’s fine. After I called Julie and she told me what happened, I mentioned it to my parents. And they immediately went online and ordered a new one, an even better model than the one you broke!”

“What?” Reggie said incredulously. “For real?”

“For real!”

“But they hate the band,” Reggie countered. It didn’t make any sense – the amount of times Emily and Mitch had explained to Luke and the others that they didn’t think the band was worth it didn’t exactly line up with this act of generosity.

Luke shrugged. “I know. But they felt bad, and they didn’t want us to spend all our money on getting a new one for you. Bro, you’re going to sound out of this world!”

Luke raved on and on about the new amp. Reggie made a mental note to give Emily and Mitch the biggest thank you and the tightest hug the next time he saw them. The amp he had broken hadn’t been cheap and he hated to think how much they were spending to get him an even better model.

But eventually, there was something else on his mind.

“Reggie,” Luke said, cutting off his own rant about a new song he was working on. “You okay? You look weird.”

Reggie grimaced. “I have to pee.”

“There’s a bathroom right over there,” Luke said with a shrug, pointing to the little door on the other side of the studio. Reggie just frowned deeper. Luke’s face fell as some sort of realisation dawned on him. “Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

Reggie said it anyway: “I think you might have to take me.”

Luke groaned and fell back, covering his face with his hands. “Dude. Why?”

“I still can’t feel my legs,” Reggie explained, slightly desperately. If he didn’t get to a toilet soon he was sure there’d be an accident – and Luke would have to be the one to clear that up too, something Reggie was sure he wouldn’t like the sound of. “I’m not going to be able to walk without support!”

“What if you rolled across the floor instead?” Luke suggested.

“But then how would I get up to pee?”

Luke took a deep breath, steeling himself, then nodded and stood up. He swung his arms back and forth by his side then said resolutely, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Reggie threw an arm around Luke’s shoulders, swung his dead legs off the couch and let Luke pull him to his feet. He couldn’t feel where his feet touched the ground and was letting Luke do practically everything movement-wise. Unsteadily, Reggie dug his fingers into the thin fabric of Luke’s shirt.

They entered the bathroom and Luke grimaced. “How do you want to do this?”

“Titanic-style,” Reggie decided.

Luke gave him a flat look. “What?”

“Like that scene in the Titanic,” Reggie explained. “You know, when Jack and Rose are on the bow of the ship and Jack holds her waist and she throws her arms out and–”

“How is this at all similar to me helping you pee?” Luke interrupted.

“You’ve gotta hold my waist and make sure I stay stood up,” Reggie said. Luke nodded and positioned himself behind Reggie as he did what he needed to do.

When he was done, Luke helped him limp to the sink to wash his hands, again clutching his waist to stop him from crumpling to the ground, and then they hobbled back to the couch in the main studio. Luke gently laid Reggie down and tucked him back under the blanket.

“I hope you never electrocute yourself again,” Luke said distastefully. “I don’t want to do that a second time.”

Reggie raised an eyebrow. “That’s the only reason you never want me to electrocute myself again?”

Luke shrugged. “Of course, bro. And, you know, the fact that you’re in horrible pain.”

Reggie laughed. It was the first time he had done that properly since he’d been shocked. It made sense – if anyone could tease a laugh from him then it had to be Luke. He raised his hand for a fist-bump and Luke indulged him with that tiny teasing smile.

Two weeks later, Reggie was back on his feet, everything back to normal. He had never counted himself so lucky to have such wonderful friends. Julie, who put him miles before herself; Alex, who had ditched all his other responsibilities and helped Reggie when it mattered most; and Luke, who had proved that he really would do anything for Reggie.

Perhaps the whole situation had been born out of a bad day, but Reggie had his friends there to remind him that things would always be okay in the end.

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