#luckily next chapter is FULL of it ;)

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART SEVEN

previous chapters | welp. it's here. this one is a DOOZY, and i'm so sorry. i never expected it to get this long but oh well!!! go grab a snack and get settled cause this one is kinda wild. love u guys sm. i proofread this very quickly so i apologize if there's any mistakes!! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: the pressure is building in more ways than one. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, sexting, n00ds, oral (m receiving), lap-sitting, thigh riding, alcohol, lemme know if i missed any! word count: 15.6k ao3

You're beginning to learn that Joel runs hot and cold.

There have been moments with him, intimate and special and warm, moments that make you feel light on your feet and send butterflies wilding through your stomach. Moments where he's open and present and wants all his attention to be on you, on your body, your pleasure. His touch sets you alight, his words send tingles down your spine.

And then weekdays happen and you start second guessing yourself all over again.

On Sunday you'd attended church with your parents, another attempt at appeasing your mother in lieu of all the lies and deceit. You've only gone to a select few services since you came home, something you know they've been silently judging you for and just waiting to hold above your head. Admittedly you'd been afraid of bumping into people you knew, having to switch on your teenage persona of Good Catholic Girl™ and lie through your teeth about how good it feels to be back home again. Luckily in the few services you'd attended, you'd only run into some elderly family friends, managing to avoid anyone you went to high school with.

Your luck had to run out at some point, though. This service you'd been accosted by none other than Bethany, one of your childhood friends who you'd practically left in the dust when you'd gone away for college. Her friendship was always full of judgement, perfection, and not to mention heaps of Catholic guilt. She'd taken one look at you, appraising you up and down as if assessing you for imperfections, then pulled you into a tight hug.

"It's so good see you," she'd said when she'd pulled back, a wide - and borderline frightening - grin plastered on her face, "My momma told me you were back, thought I woulda heard from you by now!"

Your mother, standing beside you in your pew, had furrowed her brow at this, clearly confused. You hadn't understood her reaction completely until Bethany had headed off to go say hi to someone else.

"I thought you had lunch with her and Alice the other week," she'd murmured softly to you under her breath, giving you an accusatory look, "Said you'd be helping them out over the summer. That's what you told me, anyway."

Fuck.

"O-oh, right," you'd had no idea what else to say other than that, biting down on your lip and staring straight ahead as the service began. She hadn't said anything else about it, but you'd sat in discomfort and anxiety for the next hour.

In a panic, you'd found Bethany after the service and quickly asked if she needed any extra help at Sunday School, to which she'd responded with enthusiasm - a little too much - that they always needed extra hands on Thursdays to help with lesson planning. You'd jumped at the chance, telling her you'd be there.

That night you'd texted Joel. You hadn't heard from him all day despite it being a weekend, and part of you had been hoping you might go over and see him once your parents were asleep.

guess who's volunteering at church now? this idiot.

You'd expected words of comfort, maybe a joke, at least something that would make you feel better about the situation. However, his response to yours had been brief, short, simple:

Rough. Get some sleep x

This trend of short responses has only continued throughout the rest of the week. He's distant when you text him, responds with a few words at best, short and simple and almost like an entirely different person. It's hard to believe it's the same man who whispers good girl in your ear and tells you how well you're doing, how wet you are, how pretty you look. His texts are some ghostly version of him, constantly fading in and out, barely showing interest or desire - that is, if he texts you at all.

It makes your skin itch, sends your insecurities into a tailspin. Why does this always seem to happen? You can't make heads or tails of it - you know he's busy, know that his job takes a lot out of him, and yet you can't help but feel that there's something more he's not telling you. He'd told you on his back deck all about how he wasn't very happy at his job, how he'd prefer to be retired by now, living life on his own terms - so why can't he just do that? It's clearly taking a toll on him, and while part of you feels empathetic and yearns to comfort him, another part feels angry, irritated.

You'd gone to your friends with these concerns, hoping for some sort of answer or solution to the problem. Instead, they'd been more sympathetic to Joel's plight than yours.

you gotta remember you're not in a relationship with him babe

right!! men are v simple creatures. they see things black & white. ur his fuck buddy and he prob doesn't rly want it to go beyond that.

now THAT'S going too far. she's more than his fuck buddy definitely. he wouldn't have told her his whole life story last weekend if that were true.

telling her he had a fucked up childhood isn't necessarily his whole life story. most guys had shitty childhoods lbr

but he opened up!!!!! fuck buddies don't do that.

exactly

i wish you guys were here :(

i'm honestly 5 secs away from booking a flight to texas bestie. gotta use my dad's frequent flier miles somehow.

--

"My friend Tasha is coming to visit this weekend," you tell your mom on Wednesday evening with a smile, turning your phone toward her to show the Airbnb you'll be staying at, "We're gonna stay at this little bungalow, have a girls' weekend."

Her brow furrows, "Why can't Tasha stay here?"

Because Tasha would terrify you, you want to say, because Tasha doesn't wear pants unless absolutely necessary. Instead you just smile again and say, "I think a change of scenery would be good for me, it'll be like a mini vacation. Plus there's a hot tub."

"Now that's something we need," she turns back to her book with a shake of her head, "I swear, your father is more interested in buying that boat we'll never use instead of something new for the backyard." You hadn't been asking for her permission, but her indifference sends a wave of relief through you; you've still been trying to be on your absolute best behavior lately to make up for the lies.

You head out to the backyard and seat yourself in a lounge chair by the pool, unlocking your phone again and swiping to your last conversation with Joel from last night.

hope you had a good day :)

I'm sure yours was better. Sleep well x

Curt and to the point, not at all what you'd wanted him to reply with. You recall one of your first phone conversations, the one where you'd been experiencing the same lack of interest in his texts, what he'd said to you: Don't think for one second that I don't think about you. But how can you not? How are you supposed to feel desired when he's being like this?

can you call me tonight?

You try not to wait too long before biting the bullet, not wanting to talk yourself out of it, but you do stare at the message with your finger hovering over the send button for longer than you really need to. The sound of the back door sliding open forces you to send it, locking your phone again as your mother walks over and seats herself beside you in another chair.

"It's nice to see you wearing that again," she says with a nod to your chest, referring to your crucifix - after wearing it again last weekend you'd thought that keeping it on might please her. "You're starting to really settle in here again, aren't you?"

You try not to grimace, "Yeah, it's nice being home."

She leans back in her chair, letting the suns rays hit her for a little bit without speaking. You sit there waiting for her to say something else, discomfort flooding through you. You're reminded of how easy it was to sit with Joel in his backyard last weekend, how little pressure there was to put up any kind of front - sitting here with your mother is the exact opposite.

"So, you lied to me," she finally says, voice quiet.

Your eyes widen and you sit up a bit, turning to her with panic already rising in your throat, "Wh-what do you mean?"

She doesn't turn to look at you, continuing to stare at the sky, eyes covered by her comically large sunglasses, "You know what I mean."

You sit there, staring at her with a mix of confusion and fear. There's no way she knows about Joel, how could she know? Who would have told her? You wonder if perhaps one of her neighborhood friends saw you leaving his house, saw you in his car... but the guise of lessons is your cover now, so how would any of that point to your relationship?

Some relationship, you can't help but think to yourself, based entirely on sex and only communication on the weekends.

"Bethany and Alice," your mom finally states, and you feel the panic in the pit of your stomach loosen immediately - oh.

"Mom," you say immediately, shaking your head, "I-I know. I'm sorry. I know I told you we met up but..." you bite your lip, trying to come up with some kind of excuse but coming up empty.

Instead, you do something that surprises you entirely - you tell the truth. Or at least... half of it.

"I really feel like my friendship with them has passed," you admit with a frown, "I'm... I'm different than I was when I left, you know that, don't you? I'm sure you've noticed."

She's still not looking at you but you catch her nodding slowly, thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry I lied but... I didn't want to disappoint you. And I didn't want you to worry about me being alone all the time. I'm actually rarely ever alone at college so it's been nice to have some time to myself," you smile, thinking of the girls in your group chat constantly waiting for new updates, "Having lunch with two people I haven't talked to in years just... didn't seem appealing to me. I have different friends now, you know? I'm older, people outgrow each other."

"Friends like Tasha," your mom states, bitterness in her voice, "Tasha who you don't even want me to meet."

You make a face, "Mom..."

She puts her hands up in defeat, shaking her head, "It's fine. You can do what you want and so can she," the words are drenched in judgement, "But you should remember that there are rules for staying here, young lady. And honesty is one of those rules."

You take a deep breath, swinging your legs around the edge of the chair and placing your arms on your knees, your face in your hands. You're so close to snapping back at her, making a comment that'll surely start an argument, but you shove it back down as best you can, counting to ten in your head.

"I'm sorry," you finally say through gritted teeth, "It won't happen again."

"It better not." She stands up then, disappears from the chair as quickly as she'd settled in it. You watch as she walks to the back door again, reaches for the handle.

Your mouth can't stop itself.

"Have you told Dad about my guitar lessons yet?"

She freezes, turns and stares at you for a moment without saying anything, then opens the door and heads back inside, slamming it behind her.

Checkmate.

--

I will when I get home.

Your anxiety is through the roof as you pace back and forth in your bedroom after darkness has fallen, freshly showered and pampered and already out of distractions. Without really thinking much about it, you pull Joel's flannel from under your mattress and wrap it around your shoulders, breathing him in as you sit on your bed and try your best not to keep checking your phone. When it finally vibrates you're not even embarrassed when you pick up on the first ring.

"Hey," you murmur, settling into your sheets and closing your eyes, "Is everything okay?"

"With me?" he asks, voice tired and gruff, "Thought it'd be the other way around."

Your brow furrows, "What do you mean?"

"Thought you'd wanna talk about this church volunteerin' stuff," he's moving around as he talks - you hear the sound of a cupboard banging and the clang of a glass against a countertop.

You don't speak for a moment, listening to the sound of liquid being poured into a cup and Joel taking a swig. There's no sound of the tap - you'd be willing to bet that it's not water he's drinking.

"No, I..." you frown, "I was worried about you."

You hear him take another sip, swallowing loudly and then placing the cup back down with a clink. More pouring. You swear you hear the faint sound of a chuckle before he takes another swig.

"Well that's silly," he states, and you suddenly notice there's a strange difference in his voice, a heaviness you're not used to.

"Are you drunk?"

He chuckles again but there's no humor in it, "Nowhere near as drunk as I'd like to be."

You frown, readjusting yourself against the pillows. You hear him take another sip, "Did something happen?"

He sighs then, deep and tired. You hear him put the glass back down on the counter, "No, babygirl, nothin' happened," hearing him say your pet name makes you feel a little better, the anxiety ebbing away a bit, "It's just that my job is the bane of my fuckin' existence."

He sounds genuinely exhausted, words tinged with resentment. You pull his flannel tighter around yourself, breathe him in, pretend you're in the same room as him, "Talk to me," you say softly, "Tell me what's wrong."

He doesn't reply for a moment - you can make out some footsteps on the other end, the creak of his stairs as he goes up to his bedroom, "No, darlin', it's nothin'. Shouldn't be talkin' about this with you."

"Hey, if something's bothering you, I wanna hear about it. I wanna make it better... if I can."

You hear him settle onto his bed, a satisfied little noise emanating from his throat that makes you smile, "That's the thing, babygirl. You can't. This is just the way life works. You do shit you hate and then you die, plain and simple."

"Joel," you admonish quietly - it's the first time you've said his name aloud since last weekend, it feels right on your lips, safe. He sighs but doesn't say anything else, breath evening out in your ear. "What is it? Really? I've been worrying about it all week."

"Oh honey," he murmurs softly. "Shouldn't be worryin' about me, there are more important things."

"Not to me," you admit, closing your eyes and shaking your head even though he can't see you, "First I thought maybe you were just busy, but-"

"Busy," he scoffs, "Right, yeah, busy. That's my middle name at this point. Fuckin' busy."

He really doesn't sound like himself - you know you still don't know him very well at this point, could be wrong about so many things, but part of you just knows that this isn't Joel. You know his softness, his safety, his kind eyes and crooked smile. This version of him sounds so sad; you can't help but wish you were in his bed right now, able to hold him close and run your fingers through his grey curls. You want him to open up to you.

"You don't wanna hear this shit, angel, you don't," he continues, voice gentler this time, "I know you're thinkin' somethin' is wrong, thinkin' somethin' in particular happened to make me feel like this, but the truth is..." he sighs again, deliberates for a moment and then simply states, "Truth is I'm just bein' stupid."

"You're not stupid," you say immediately, and he chuckles.

"God, you're so sweet, babygirl," he murmurs softly, "It's nice to hear your voice."

Your feel your skin heat up at the words, crossing your legs together unconsciously, "It's nice to hear yours too," you whisper with a smile, "I've missed you this week. Every time you've texted me it's felt like it's not really you."

"I'm sorry, baby," you can hear the sincerity in his voice buried underneath the tiredness and alcohol, "I'm just... I'm a mess." You hear him shuffle a bit in bed, like he's turning onto his side, "Work is always puttin' me in a shitty mood lately and I just...I don't want you to see this side of me."

"But why?"

Another sigh, then-

"'Cause I don't want you to look at me differently."

You bring the sleeve of his flannel to your lips, "I could never look at you differently, Joel," you whisper, "Promise."

He's quiet for a moment and you hope you haven't upset him, hope he's just thinking about what to say. You mean your words; it really would take a lot for you to look at him differently. You know you probably shouldn't feel that way considering you've known him less than a month, that the feeling should scare you... but it doesn't.

"I'm tired, angel," he finally says, voice sad and distant, "I'm too old to be doin' this job."

You wait for him to speak again, listening as he takes a shaky breath on the other end of the line, almost like he hasn't told anyone this. And maybe he hasn't.

"But it's hard to admit that to myself," he continues, "And even harder to admit it to you of all people. I don't want you to see some washed up, tired, old geezer, ya know?" he says it with humor but you can tell that he means it, "I mean I used to... god, I used to be able to do shifts like this no problem. Be up at five and home by midnight and able to do it all over again the next day. Now it's like I'm runnin' on a half empty tank of gas. Got no joy in this job anymore and my back is killin' me and-" he cuts himself off suddenly, "And I need to shut the fuck up before I scare you away."

"You're not gonna scare me away," you whisper, and you mean it, "I'm not going anywhere."

He laughs softly to himself; you're not sure if he believes you, but you're choosing to hope that he does, "Ya know, I didn't even wanna tell you my age when we were first together? I wasn't gonna tell you, I really wasn't. But then you were so sweet and vulnerable and honest with me-"

You scoff, "Yeah, lying about knowing how to play guitar, that's certainly honesty."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," he chastises - you can hear the sudden smile in his voice, "No, darlin'... when you told me you hadn't done anythin' before. That's when I knew I had to tell you, 'cause it wouldn't have been right otherwise," he makes an odd noise in his throat and then corrects, "Not that any of this is really right, but..."

"It feels right," you say softly, staring down at the plaid lines on the flannel shirt shrouding your body, reminding you of what it means - that you're his.

"It does," he agrees, voice rough and low, "Right and wrong in all the right ways, huh babygirl?"

You nod to yourself, unable to help the grin that spreads across your face, "Exactly."

The both of you are silent for a few moments but just like last weekend, it isn't uncomfortable or awkward. It's calming and safe, just listening to each other's breathing. You can tell he's tired, can hear it in his slow exhales; again, you can't help but wish you were lying beside him. And you can't help but wonder if a more sober Joel would have even said any of this to you, would have just kept it to himself and continued to deal with it in silence, not bothering to tell anyone how he's been feeling. It breaks your heart a little bit.

"It'll be okay," you whisper gently, soothingly, "It won't be like this forever, Joel."

He sighs, deep and sleepy, "You really are an angel," he murmurs, "So sweet and lovely, babygirl. Love hearin' you say my name like that."

His words send warmth throughout your body - no one has ever spoken to you the way Joel speaks to you, makes you feel the way he makes you feel. You close your eyes and bury your face in the sleeve of his flannel, listen as his breathing gets slow again.

"You should get some sleep," you whisper, even though you really don't want to end the call - but Joel is tired and you want him to feel better, "Text me tomorrow, okay? Even if you're grumpy."

He almost laughs but he's so close to sleep that it comes out slurred and low, "Okay, baby, I will. Promise."

"Goodnight, J-"

"Wait wait wait," he suddenly sounds a bit more alert, rousing himself from sleep, "You didn't tell me 'bout this church thing. You okay with it?"

You giggle at his sudden concern, "It's nothing, really. Just helping an old friend out with lesson plans for Sunday School. Not very exciting."

"Fun," his voice is sleepy and low again, "What're you gonna wear?"

You have to bite down on your lip to stifle another laugh, shaking your head even though he can't see you, "Go to bed, you perv."

He chuckles, "Okay, okay. Goodnight, angel."

"Goodnight, Joel."

You're about to end the call when you hear him murmur one final thing, so soft you're surprised you can even make it out - but you do:

"Hope I dream about you."

You fall asleep with a smile glued to your lips.

--

You end up wearing the same outfit you'd worn to Joel's last Saturday, though you leave the stockings at home; you doubt the women at church will be offended by your bare legs. You fasten your crucifix around your neck and make sure your mom gets a good look at you before you leave the house; you haven't spoken since yesterday afternoon but you still want her to see you're putting in some effort, as surface level as it may be.

She's in the living room when you come down the stairs, and her expression can't help but turn to one of surprise when she looks up from her book to see you standing there in your Sunday best.

"I'm going to the church," you explain softly, "Gonna help out Bethany with the lesson plan for Sunday School."

She assesses you up and down, eyes fixing on your crucifix for a moment before trailing back down to her book. She doesn't say a word.

Silent treatment. Typical.

Fifteen minutes later you find yourself being greeted by Bethany, blonde hair flowing down her dress as she stands outside the church with a bright smile plastered on her face. You recognize the forced expression immediately, one that you yourself have become an expert in feigning, though for different reasons. You haven't seen her in years but you still know her well enough to tell when she's less than thrilled about something - this time that "something" is you being there.

"I'm so excited you're here!" she tells you, voice shrill as she immediately takes a step forward to envelop you in a haphazard hug that feels neither excited nor genuine.

You should have known it would be like this. When you'd left for college a few years ago you'd promised to keep in touch with both Alice and Bethany, the only "solid" friends you'd managed to keep throughout all the studying, the tutoring, the church services, the extracurriculars, volunteering, etc. It's a miracle in itself that your friendship had even lasted through high school, if you're being honest. You'd begun to distance yourself from them a bit in those final years as you started to lose your faith while theirs only seemed to grow stronger. Leaving for college had been the last nail in the coffin.

"Me too!" you lie, feigning a similar smile as you both pull back from each other.

Though her grin is unrelenting, you can see the distance in her eyes, the sourness and disdain for your presence extremely evident. She doesn't like you. There's an awkward few seconds of silence where she assesses you up and down again, like she had at the service on Sunday.

Why did you even say yes to me coming here? You want to ask as you stand in front of her awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. If you didn't want me here you could have just said there wasn't anything for me to do. But you already know why you'd still been invited despite her obvious disdain for you - keeping up appearances means everything to these people; actually being honest about her feelings would have been disastrous for her reputation.

"Was sure you'd forgotten all about me," she finally says with an edge of malice still shrouded through her smile, "Haven't heard from you in what? Three years? And then you just show up outta the blue, huh?"

You grimace, "Uh, yeah, sorry about that. There was... I mean, I've just had a lot going on, I guess." You kick your feet awkwardly; this is not the conversation you want to be having right now.

"A lot goin' on, huh?" she echoes, eyes still scanning you up and down, "Right. Busy with college?"

You nod quickly, "Yeah, it's been kinda crazy."

She raises an eyebrow, "What are you studyin' again?"

"English Lit."

She snorts then, shaking her head and taking a step back, "Right. Reading. Sure sounds crazy."

Your brow furrows, "It's more than that."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she puts her hands up in defense, fake laughing and smacking her lips together, "Just find it funny that an English Lit degree takes up so much of your time." She's being pretty bold with the sarcasm but you suppose she has a right to be angry, though you'd never assumed she'd be this pissed about you cutting her off, "Anyway, we should get inside, they're waitin' for us."

"Bethany," you take a step toward her, softening your expression, "I'm really sorry."

She just shakes her head again and turns away from you to reach for the handle on the front door, forced smile finally fading into a natural frown, "Forget it."

Great start.

You don't talk much after that, not after you're led into a side room off the chapel where a few other women are sitting in a circle with binders in their laps. Bethany simply gestures for you sit down in an empty chair and the meeting begins. Everyone immediately begins their rapport, discussing their plans and reading quotes aloud from their binders while you just kind of sit there unsure of what to do or say. A few of the women give you a tentative smile or two, but the way Bethany periodically glares at you is enough to keep them from actually speaking to you directly. You're okay with it though; as awkward as this is, you'd rather sit in silence than have to pretend. Still, if you'd known it would be like this you never would have come - it's not like your mother appreciates it anyway.

Your phone vibrates at one point, a text from Tasha confirming her flight information with lots of !!!!!!'s that make you smile. As if sensing your sudden mood shift, Bethany puts her hands up with another grin that doesn't reach her eyes.

"We keep phones in our purses" she says sweetly, "So we don't get distracted."

You nod and slip it back inside your bag, a gesture that's more of a peace offering than anything else; it seems to appease her.

It's strange being inside this part of the church again after so long. You'd attended your own Sunday School lessons here, prepped for choir and readings, learned your scripture. It certainly doesn't feel as safe or inviting as it once did, though you have to admit that there was always an undercurrent of pressure, of judgement - an energy that still remains today. Bethany watches you closely, quietly assessing you as you nod along to everyone's suggestions and ideas and try to keep up your long-time façade of obedience. You push down the new parts of you that long to take back a bit of control, maybe say something shocking or suggest something ridiculous just to see how they'd react.

You've been sitting in silence for about forty five minutes when Bethany announces its time for a quick phone break. Like clockwork everyone in the room pulls out their devices and starts checking for missed calls from their kids, their husbands. You pull yours out and your eyebrows go up in surprise when you see a text from Joel on your lockscreen:

How's your day going angel?

He didn't forget his promise. A smile plays at your lips as you start typing out your reply, but it quickly fades when you feel Bethany's eyes on you, watching.

"I'm, uh-" you stand up, smoothing out the creases in your dress and gripping your phone tightly, "I'm gonna take a bathroom break."

--

The bathroom is the same as you remember it, high ceilings and white walls, your footsteps echoing loudly as you walk over to the sinks and lean your back against the countertop. You continue typing out your reply to Joel:

well all the church ladies are giving me the silent treatment til i'm worthy of being here again lol. but jokes on them cause my mom is also giving me the silent treatment so i have training! anyway i miss you. wanna hug you. hope you're feeling a bit better today 💕

You turn around and face the mirror while you wait for his reply. You're still smiling - it's impossible not to when you're thinking about Joel, but this smile is bright and genuine, unlike the forced grins you've been sharing with Bethany for the past hour. God, you can't remember the last time anything made you feel as free and happy as Joel makes you, like nothing else really matters. Your phone buzzes and you tear your eyes away from the mirror to read his reply:

Aw baby I'm sorry. I wanna hug you too. Wanna do a bit more than hug if I'm being honest, but you know that already.

You bring your other hand up to your mouth, smiling even wider into it as his typing bubble pops up again only seconds later:

And I'm sorry about last night. If I said anything stupid please forget it ever happened. Me and alcohol don't mix that well sometimes. I'm alright, don't worry about me x

But I do worry, you want to say, I want to make you feel better. But how can you do that from a church bathroom, miles away from wherever he is right now? You're suddenly reminded of something he'd told you a few weeks ago, something you hadn't quite understood in the moment - You can text me whenever you want, tell me all about what you're doin', brighten up my workday. Maybe send me some pictures.

Oh.

You look at yourself in the mirror again and carefully place your phone down on the edge of the sink. Your hand slowly comes up to push aside the collar of your dress, pull the stretchy material past your shoulder and down your arm. You do the same to the other side, slipping out of your sleeves and tugging down the high neckline of your dress to expose your bare chest to the mirror, putting your cleavage on display. You bite your lip, willing yourself to see what Joel sees, a pretty girl in a pretty dress, bra straps clinging to her skin and a crucifix hanging from her throat. Filthy.

You grab your phone and turn it toward the mirror, opening up your camera app and moving it close enough so he can see only your torso, sleeves hanging limp at your sides while your other arm comes up to squeeze your breasts together a bit, accentuating your cleavage even more. You snap a pic and send it to him before you can talk yourself out of it.

He replies seconds later:

Fuck

A grin spreads across your face and you make quick work of slipping your bra straps down your shoulders as well, just as another text from him comes in:

Send me another baby. Please.

Already one step ahead of you, you think to yourself as your cheeks warm and you pull down the cups of your bra, your breasts spilling out into the cool air of the bathroom. You squeeze them together again, nipples hardening tightly as you take another picture and send it along with a coy message:

better?

He must be staring at his phone, waiting for it, because his typing bubble appears instantaneously. You can't help but feel a sense of pride at the power you're holding right now, a change of pace from your usual naivety.

Oh babygirl. This is just what I needed.

i know :)

You glance at the bathroom door and then at the time - you still have a few minutes before the meeting starts up again and your mind is already racing with what you can do with those few minutes. With barely any hesitation you tug your dress up over your thighs, pulling your panties to the side and aiming your phone underneath. You frown when you pull your phone back up to find that it's dark and blurry.

"Hold on," you whisper to no one, then carefully lift your leg and place your heel on the countertop for support, pulling your dress up again and aiming your phone a little better. You pull back your panties and aren't surprised in the slightest to feel that they're suddenly damp.

This picture comes out much better. Your pussy is bare and a little wet, clit poking out past your lips, panties pulled against your inner thigh. You already know it's gonna make him crazy as you hit send.

Jesus Christ

He's already typing something else when you receive it and you can't help but giggle, covering your mouth and trying to picture where he is right now, what he's doing. Is he in a bathroom too? On a break? Or is he in the middle of a job, surrounded by other people? The latter thought makes you even wetter somehow.

Fuck you have such a pretty pussy baby.

thank you mr. miller :)

Will you hold her open a little for me? Show me that sweet little hole?

Who are you to deny such a request? With heat radiating all over your body you bring your phone down again and scissor your lips apart, exposing the innermost part of yourself to your phone camera. You can feel your own slick on the tips of your fingers, and when you push yourself open you feel a bit of your wetness dribble down onto your palm. Fuck. This is hotter than you'd expected it would be. You'd thought it would be a good way to make him feel better, get him through his work day like he'd said; you never thought you'd enjoy it this much.

Oh sweetheart. Look at that.

You feel another rush of pride as you take your leg down from the counter and tug your dress back down, rubbing your thighs together and doing everything in your power not to touch yourself again even though you want to. A quiet whimper unconsciously tears itself past your lips at his follow-up message:

Who's that perfect pussy belong to babygirl?

You've never typed a message back so fast in your life.

you. it's yours mr. miller.

That's right. Good girl.

Your skin is on fire, body tingling in all the right places. You smooth a hand down your bare chest, cup one of your breasts, gently squeeze. It's impossible for your eyes not to roll back a bit when you imagine Joel's hand on you instead, big and firm and callused and perfect. Your pussy throbs in your underwear and another whimper slips past your lips.

i'm really wet now :(

I know angel. Come over tonight and I'll take care of it, Ok?

Your heart leaps at the invitation, even more wetness pooling in your panties at the thought of what Joel might want to do tonight, if there's another “lesson” he has in mind.

yes please

Eyeing the time again, you bite your lip in disappointment when you realize you should probably be getting back. You wait until Joel has finished typing his final response, a message that makes your skin burn with anticipation:

Don't touch yourself til you see me. Keep that soft little pussy hidden, baby. Promise me.

i promise x

Just as you hit send you suddenly hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps down the hall, quickly approaching the bathroom. Your eyes widen in the mirror, gaze snapping to your bare breasts, sleeves still hanging loosely at your sides. In a panic you hurriedly attempt to stuff yourself back into your bra before you have company – but you're not that lucky.

The bathroom door bangs open and you freeze with one arm halfway through your sleeve, breasts still completely exposed in the mirror as you turn on the spot to see none other than Bethany standing there, frozen in place.

“I-” she looks flabbergasted, expression one of pure horror as she takes a step back from you and grips the knob of the door like she could rip it off at any moment. Your free arm that isn't trapped in a sleeve comes up to cover yourself as best you can, but you know she's already seen everything.

“I'm- I was just-” You're similarly taken aback and at a complete loss for words, unsure how the fuck you can explain what exactly she's just walked in on.

Her eyes fall to the phone in your hand, like she's putting the pieces together, then she shakily takes another step back and leaves without saying another word, the click of her heels echoing back at you loudly until the door finishes closing behind her.

Shit.

You don't have time to stand around thinking up an excuse; you do briefly consider escaping through one of the windows to avoid facing her, but you know it would just delay the inevitable. Instead you hastily finish pulling your dress back on and stare at yourself in the mirror for one final moment.

Your smile is gone. So is the light in your eyes. You suddenly begin to feel that familiar sense of guilt creeping in, the shame, the sin. You blink a few times and find that there are tears welling up in your eyes, a lump in your throat. A tiny voice in the back of your mind, one you've been attempting to mute for years, whispers to you: What have you done?

--

Bethany doesn't speak to or look at you for the rest of the meeting. It's not much of a change from before you'd gone to the bathroom, but there's something new in her silence now, something you can see in her eyes as she stares down at her binder while the other women talk. Fear. You've known her for most of your life, can sense certain mood changes from a mile away; you've frightened her. And somehow that just adds even more to the guilt building in your stomach.

You'll apologize to her after the meeting, it's all you can do. You genuinely feel horrible that she'd walked in on something so private, seen something she never intended or desired to ever see. You wonder if there's anything you can use to pass off as an excuse; maybe you spilled something on your dress and were cleaning it off? Maybe it was too tight and you needed a breather? Anything is better than the alternative – the truth – but you somehow doubt she'll believe anything you say at this point. That bridge was broken the second you left for college; there's no repairing it now.

The meeting ends with a few pleasantries exchanged and several comments about picking kids up from school, getting home to cook something for dinner, normal things that remind you how abnormal your own situation is in comparison. Half an hour ago you'd felt on top of the world, in control, had power in the tips of your fingers. Now you just feel small again, inconsequential.

You wait until the other ladies have left before taking a step toward Bethany, ready to unload your apologies and beg for forgiveness. She surprises you by speaking first.

"I'd think twice before wearing that again,” she hisses at you, venomous and pointed. Your eyes widen.

"Excuse me?"

"I said,” her words are slow and full of bitter intention, eyes glaring daggers at you, “I'd think twice before wearing that again" she gestures to the crucifix around your neck and you unconsciously reach up to take it between your fingers, glancing down at it before looking back up to meet her angry gaze.

“I'm...” you feel overwhelmed, tears pricking in your eyes again at the sudden burst of rage being directed at you, “I don't...”

"You might not understand this,” she practically spits through her teeth, “but that symbol actually means something to the people here."

"I know what it means.” It comes out as barely a whisper, voice shaky as she takes an intimidating step toward you with nothing but malice in her expression.

"So that's why you've got your breasts out in a public bathroom? A church bathroom?”

“Bethany, I-”

“You're not welcome here anymore, understand?” her voice is full of finality, “You can come to church with your parents-” The mention of your parents sends your anxiety into a tailspin, heart beating frantically in your chest as she continues to step closer and closer toward you, “And you can pretend you're their good little girl. But I know the truth. And it's not welcome in my Sunday School ever again. Got it?”

My Sunday school. The superiority complex is strong and you know deep down that this is all completely rooted in her own fears, her own desires, her pride, but none of that seems to matter when she's staring you down like this, holding you captive with her hostile words.

"Got it,” you whisper, nodding shakily.

"Good. Now go home and take," she points toward the crucifix, the tip of her finger close enough to faintly brush against the shape of it, “that,” she suddenly prods it, giving you one final sneer, “off.”

It takes you twenty minutes to leave the parking lot after that, tears blurring your vision as you cry in your car and try not to let the shame completely envelop you.

--

Going to Joel's that night carries none of the anticipation you'd felt earlier this afternoon; instead you feel nothing but shame as you steal your mother's house key from its dish in the hallway, closing the front door behind you as softly as you can and hurrying out into the night. There's no excitement or rush like the last time you'd done this. You feel like you could cry at any moment as you approach Joel's house, climbing his front steps with a heavy weight on your shoulders that wasn't there before, that hasn't been there in weeks.

The door opens before you can even turn the knob – he must have been watching from his window, waiting for you in anticipation for tonight's “lesson”. Your stomach lurches.

“There's my little Sunday School girl,” he murmurs, taking your hand and tugging you gently inside.

“Please don't call me that,” you say quietly, head down.

He shuts the door behind you and takes your hands in his – you can feel his eyes on you but you're unsure of the look on his face, what expression is on it. Does he sense there's something wrong? Or is he waiting for you to jump his bones?

“Hey,” his voice is soft, concerned, “Hey, look at me, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, still staring at the floor.

“What happened, babygirl?” he murmurs, one of his hands releasing yours to come up and stroke your cheek gently, thumb grazing the wetness beneath your eyes, “Why're you cryin', darlin'? C'mere.” His finger travels down to your chin, pushes your face up to look at him.

His expression is worried, brow furrowed and forehead creased, a frown playing at his lips. You feel your heartbeat slow, the weight on your shoulders decreasing just a little bit as safety settles in your bones. He cares.

“I had a horrible day,” you whisper, feeling tears trickle down into the corners of your mouth, “I know you want to...want to...” you shake your head, “Whatever we were gonna do. But I don't think I can tonight, Joel. I don't feel good.”

“Oh, babygirl,” he breathes, releasing your chin and immediately wrapping you up in his embrace, arms tightening around you as he pulls you against his chest, “We don't have to do anythin', don't even worry about that.”

You bury your face in his chest, breathe him in. His flannel underneath your mattress is nothing compared to the real thing, the real smell of him overtaking your senses and filling you with a true feeling of warmth and safety. His arms are so big – he's so big – and without meaning to you find yourself going completely limp in his arms, bones turning to jelly. It's like finally breathing in the fresh air after holding your breath underwater, a natural reaction to finally being where you belong.

He doesn't question your body's response, almost seems to understand completely as he pulls you up from the floor and adjusts you slightly to cradle you in his arms, carrying you past the living room, past the kitchen, up the stairs and to his bedroom. You just close your eyes and bury your face in his shirt, inhale the scent of sawdust and sweat and cedar and Joel.

He tips you gently onto his bed, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before settling in beside you without saying anything. You feel his arm wrap around you, tug you in closer beside him as he noses your hair and lets you just exist.

Minutes pass before you finally break the comfortable silence, voice quiet and small - “I feel so ashamed.”

You feel his brow furrow in your hair and you turn around to face him, bringing your arm up around his torso and pressing your hand firmly against his back. He looks at you with confusion, concern.

You tell him everything. About Bethany, your friendship with her and Alice before you left for college, the way you'd already begun to lose your faith even then. You tell him about your mom, about the silent treatment and her reaction to the white lie, the lie that's practically nothing in the grand scheme of deceit you've been weaving these past few weeks. You talk about church and Sunday School and all the guilt you'd felt in that little room growing up, how being there again felt wrong and uncomfortable. You tell him how free you'd felt in the bathroom with your camera, the power you'd felt, reclaimed, and how all of it had been snatched away from you the second Bethany had entered. How she'd destroyed any semblance of confidence you'd been able to find today, how she'd shamed you for the crucifix that you don't even want to be wearing. It's the most you've ever told him, the most you've ever talked to him about anything.

And he listens.

He doesn't seem put out by your venting, annoyed or irritated or ready to send you home at any minute. He just nods, frowns at the right moments, strokes your arm and your cheek, kisses your forehead when you start to cry. Wipes the tears away when you apologize for crying. He stays with you and remains present and attentive, lets you talk and talk until you start to apologize for how much you've been talking.

“I know this isn't even what you signed up for,” you blubber, shaking your head and bringing your hands up to cover your face, “I'm sorry I keep bringing so much- so many complications into your life.”

“Shh,” he soothes, placing his large hands on yours and pulling them away from your tired eyes, leaning in to brush his nose against yours, “Stop apologizin', baby. Stop. You've got nothin' to be sorry for.”

You suddenly sit up in bed, leaning back against the headboard and bringing a hand up to touch the crucifix still clasped around your neck. You hadn't taken it off like she'd told you to do; you'd felt like doing so would have made you weak, would have been like giving up, even though you'd never wanted to even wear it again in the first place.

“Why does this little thing have so much fucking power over me?” you ask aloud, not directed at Joel but more-so to yourself, “My whole life, no one has ever seen me, they've just seen this.” You shake your head, squeezing the tiny cross in your hand. “And wearing it again has just brought all that shit back, it's done absolutely nothing good. Wore it for my mom and she still gives me the silent treatment. Wore it for Bethany and she still treats me like garbage, tells me to take it off. It's just a fucking necklace.”

Joel sits up beside you, places a warm hand on your thigh and peers at you with those soft brown eyes, lulling you back into a sense of calm, of serenity.

“Give it to me,” he says quietly.

Your brow furrows in confusion. You stare at him for a moment, then watch as he carefully brings his hands up to graze his callused fingertips against your neck, brushing the chain.

“I'll take it off your hands for a bit,” he murmurs, “Outta sight, outta mind. And if you want it back, I'll have it ready for you. How's that sound?”

You nod slowly to yourself, feeling your eyes begin to sting again at his words, “...Good. Th-that sounds good.”

Without saying anything else you hear the sound of the clasp being undone, feel the chain slip away from your skin as Joel takes it from you. You turn your head to watch as he fists it in his palm for a moment, gaze thoughtful and faraway as he traces the shape of the cross with his thumb. A few seconds later he opens his bedside table and carefully places it inside, then shuts the drawer.

And just like that, the weight is gone.

--

You take a shower in his bathroom again, wanting to wash this day off you and start over, clean slate. You could have had one when you got home from the meeting earlier but you'd instead opted to just lay in bed feeling sorry for yourself for much longer than you'd needed to. Now you close your eyes and let the hot water envelop you, wash yourself with Joel's body wash and allow yourself to become his again, picturing him laying in his bed in the other room, waiting for you. This is what matters. This moment. Right now.

You enter his bedroom wrapped in one of his towels, drops of water still spilling down your skin onto the hardwood floor. He's sitting up in bed, shirtless with his legs hidden under the covers. He's seemingly deep in thought as he stares at his phone screen, brows scrunched together. You watch as he pulls the phone away from himself, eyes squinting and lips parting a bit, then pulls it back, like he can't see what he's looking at properly. You realize that's probably the case.

“You need glasses,” you say with a soft giggle, and his expression relaxes when he sees you standing there, phone going back on his nightstand.

“I have glasses,” he admits sheepishly, giving you a tender smile, “Just hate wearin' 'em.”

“Of course,” you roll your eyes and take a few steps forward, still gripping the towel around yourself. His eyes fall to the parts of you that are bare, revelling in the way the lamplight reflects on your wet skin. You feel tingles erupt through your senses under his gaze.

“Are you naked?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, “Wearin' pants, don't worry.”

You stand there for a moment, staring. He just stares back, eyebrows going up a bit while he waits for you to say something else. When you don't, he tilts his head slightly, appraising you.

“Do you want me to be naked, babygirl?”

You're answering before you even really know what you want, "Yes."

Without needing to be told twice he reaches under the covers with both hands and shimmies his way out of his pajama bottoms, staying hidden under the sheets as he tosses them out onto the floor. You bite your lip, still just standing there staring at him without moving. You're still dripping everywhere, a little puddle of water forming at your feet the longer you stay frozen.

He raises his finger and playfully curls it toward himself with a smile, "C'mere, baby," he murmurs, "Be naked with me."

You don't need telling twice either.

The towel drops from your body, landing in the puddle of water on the floor - easy cleanup. You feel heat radiating through every inch of your bare skin as you walk toward the bed, avoiding Joel's eyes and quickly slipping in beside him. You really don't know what you're doing - you'd said when you got here that you didn't want to do anything, not tonight, and it's still true. But part of you just aches to be close to Joel, to feel his warm heat, his rough skin, be connected to him somehow. It's what you've wanted all week.

You inch in beside him, back against the headboard, your bare thigh touching his lightly beneath the sheets, and you find yourself tensing up unconsciously. He clocks your reaction immediately.

"You don't gotta be nervous, angel," he tells you softly, soothingly.

You swallow and take a deep breath, "It's hard not to be," you whisper, though there's no reason to, "I'm just... I'm so..."

"What?" he asks, brown eyes seeking yours in the dim light. His hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb swiping beneath your eye again like he's checking for more tears - luckily you're feeling much better in that department.

You sigh, shrugging slightly, "I don't know what I'm doing," your eyes fall down to the duvet, knowing that if you pulled it back you'd see your bodies touching underneath, his rough and tan skin pressed against yours, soft and untouched, "I mean, I don't even know why I came tonight. I knew I didn't- that I didn't want to-" you sigh again in frustration, unable to find the right words, "I just... I missed you," your eyes travel back up to meet his, "I just wanted to be near you."

His expression softens, still stroking your cheek as he peers into your eyes, "You feel safe with me, don't you?" You nod. "You know I won't do anythin' you don't want me to do, right?" Another nod. "So it's okay to just relax when you're with me."

You grimace, "How can I relax when we're naked in bed together?"

He chuckles, dropping his hand from your face and shuffling down into the bed a bit, away from the headboard, "Okay, time for another lesson."

You feel your heart sink again, worried that he's not understanding - probably because you can't explain it right - but he smiles reassuringly at you and curls his finger slightly, urging you to follow him downwards. With a quiet inhale you slowly inch away from the headboard and further down into the bed, beneath the duvet. You both stop moving when your heads hit the pillows, laying down fully beside each other.

"Gettin' naked doesn't always mean there has to be sex," he says softly, and you watch as he very slowly brings his hand down beneath the duvet; you know where it's going before it touches you, but you still shiver when you feel his fingers brush lightly against your bare arm, "Us bein' naked in bed together doesn't mean anythin' has to happen."

"But earlier today I said..." you trail off, shaking your head, "I promised that-"

"Earlier is earlier," he brushes your arm again, tender and comforting, "Circumstances change, your day got shitty. Mine was no better. It happens."

His hand travels downward, toward the skin of your hip. He curls his palm around your bare flesh and gently massages it, thumb stroking the edge of your tummy. It's intimate and new, but somehow it feels more safe and comforting than sexual, like he's simply doing something casual, normal.

"Sometimes you just wanna lay in bed with someone" he murmurs, still touching you tenderly, "No expectations, no pressure. No nothin'. Sure, it's fun to touch each other and be together like that, but if you just wanna sleep..." his fingertips brush your back gently, then press firmly into your skin as he pulls you a bit closer toward him, "If you just wanna lay here with me, that's okay too."

You're not sure what to think, staring at him with a million different thoughts flooding your mind. Your interpretation of what men want has always been a bit of a grey area, but you've heard enough from both your family and your friends to know that most of them are just after one thing. You'd heard it from your parents your whole life who always warned about non-Christian boys and their sinful thoughts, then from the girls at college who dealt with disrespect and catcalls, men who turned on them in an instant the second they realized they weren't getting any.

Joel isn't like that. Sure, he wants sex - that's been obvious since day one, when he'd invited you inside his house within minutes of meeting you. He'd only had one thing on his mind, just like your parents had always said. But he hadn't thrown a fit when you'd said no, and up until this point he's made it abundantly clear that the ball is in your court, that it's up to you what happens between the two of you.

"I know all this stuff can be scary," he continues softly when you don't reply, "I know you're embarrassed about bein' so inexperienced, but you don't need to be. I'm here to make it easier for you; I want you to be comfortable."

He nudges forward a bit and slowly begins to wrap his arms around you, warm and inviting. You let him, body going loose and comfortable in his grasp as you feel your eyes close; safe. You feel so safe.

"You're so warm," is all you can think to say, loving the way it feels to have his broad and hairy chest pressed up against your bare breasts, his big and strong arms winding around your smaller form.

He chuckles softly and you feel him press a gentle kiss to your cheek, beard scratching your skin in your favorite way. You bring your arms up and hug him back beneath the blankets, feeling your naked thighs press firmly against his. You're aware of his cock - it's hard not to be, not when it's pressed gently against the base of your tummy, soft against your skin - but he doesn't rub himself against you or do anything to initiate more than this, more than just being together like he'd said.

He really means it, you know he does.

"I can't wait to have sex with you," you hear yourself whisper in his ear; it sounds dirty but you don't mean it to be, "I just...I'm really glad it's gonna be you."

And I'm pretty sure I'm falling for you.

--

You wake up the next morning to a firm and solid presence at your back, bare and warm and comfy. You're surprised you're awake before Joel's alarm, wondering what exactly woke you up in the first place - and then you feel it. Something wet and sticky against your lower back, something pulsing and twitching every so often against your skin.

Good morning.

He hadn't pressed his cock against you like this last night when you were cuddling, hadn't asked you to touch it or even acknowledged its presence. But sleeping Joel is an entirely different person, his big arms wrapped around you tightly, one splayed across your belly while the other holds your right breast, cups it like it's meant to fit there. He holds you in place firmly, breath at your neck, nose in your hair.

You're not sure how much time you have left before his alarm goes off. The sun is only barely starting to come up outside the window, so it could start ringing at any time now. All you know is that the sensation of having him so close to you like this, his most intimate part so close to yours, so wet and warm, it's making you all wet and warm. Your skin almost feels itchy, especially at your neck where his warm breath leaves a damp spot beneath your ear, a spot you're suddenly longing for him to kiss, to lick.

"Joel," you breathe, unable to wait any longer, scared that at any moment he'll have to leave the bed and start getting ready for work.

No response.

"Joel," you repeat, a bit louder this time, and with his name you carefully grind back against him a little bit, the wet head of his cock trailing back and forth against your warm skin. He makes a grumbling noise in his chest, pulls you in a bit closer, "Joel, wake up," you moan, painfully aware of the shape of his balls against your ass, big and heavy and suddenly the hottest thing you've ever felt in your life.

"What?" he groans, rousing from sleep, "What is it?"

It's all the confirmation of awareness you need to suddenly turn in the sheets, bring the duvet down to expose your naked bodies to the both of you. His eyes are bleary and tired as he watches you from beneath heavy eyelids, sees where your gaze has settled.

His cock lays long and thick and loose against his tummy, round tip drooling precum into the hair smattered above his belly button. God, he's so big. Your lips part, saliva filling your mouth like it had the last time you saw it, like somehow your body knows exactly what the next step is.

"I wanna put my mouth on it," you whisper, pushing your hair back behind your ears and turning your gaze back to Joel's face, "Please."

His eyebrows go up in surprise, eyelashes fluttering with sleep. He's probably wondering where this is coming from, how the girl in his bed right now is the same one who just wanted to be held last night, but he doesn't seem to be complaining. He nods quickly, stretches his arms above his head and tries to rouse himself even more from sleep.

"Of course you can, baby," he mutters huskily, voice deep and dripping with arousal, "Go ahead."

"Tell me if I'm doing something wrong," you murmur softly, and before you can even fully process what you're doing or question if you'll even be good at it, your lips are pressing against the warm heat of his wet tip.

He hisses immediately and you pull back, frightened for a moment that you've already fucked up somehow. He shakes his head quickly at you, "No, no, you're good baby, that's good," one of his hands comes down to settle against the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair, "Give it a kiss, just like that."

And you do. Time is already not on your side - you feel like there's a countdown clock hanging over your head as you press another kiss in the same spot, his precum sticky on your lips. You'd thought it might be gross, had heard lots about blowjobs from your friends and how unpleasant they can be, but when your tongue darts out to carefully prod against where he's leaking, you find that it doesn't bother you that much at all.

"Tastes funny," you murmur softly, peppering a few more kisses around the wide head and then down to his shaft, thumbing the prominent vein on the underside as you do it.

"Kinda gross, huh?" you hear him say softly above you, a strained edge to his voice that makes you smile against him.

"I think I like it, actually," you admit softly, tongue darting out once again to slowly lap up a bead at the tip. You're not lying; there's something masculine and sexy and inherently Joel about it, something you hadn't been expecting.

"That's good, sweetheart," he murmurs, stroking the back of your head gently, "That's so good, angel." You don't know whether he means your opinion on the taste or simply a reaction to the things you're doing with your tongue, but either way you keep going, hoping that the alarm doesn't interrupt you.

You wrap your lips around the tip carefully, pulling it into your mouth and sucking it gently - very gently. He makes a breathless sound above you and you can't help but bring your gaze up to his face, your eyes meeting his as you swallow him down.

"That's it, that's a good girl," he breathes, thumbing a strand of hair at your temple and pushing it behind your ear, eyes dark, "Look at you."

You swirl your tongue around the tip, still making sure to keep eye contact with him as you carefully slip more of him inside your mouth. He's so big, there's absolutely no way you'll be able to fit all of him inside, at least not without some practice. He doesn't seem to mind that you can only take a little bit of him, his thumb coming downward to stroke gently at the corner of your mouth. He wipes away a bit of drool pooling there, brows furrowing.

"You're doin' so good, angel," he whispers, nodding slowly to you in reassurance as you very slowly begin to lift your head up and down, up and down, eyes going hazy, "Takin' that cock so well."

His words spur you on, encourage you to take a little bit more. You've got about half of him in your mouth and you already know you won't be able to take anymore, the spongey tip pushing dangerously close to your gag reflex. You absolutely do not want to choke, don't want to ruin this in any way. You want him to feel good. Feel better.

"Oh, honey," he groans softly when you begin to palm his balls, rolling them gently and feeling their fullness, round and heavy, "This mouth," he touches the corner of your lips again, a bit harder this time, trails his fingers downward to grip your chin, "Made to have my cock in there, huh?" his eyes are boring into yours, pupils blown wide, "You like havin' your mouth full like that, babygirl?"

You nod and whimper around his length, speeding up a little bit and never breaking eye contact with him, obsessed with watching his eyes get darker and darker, filling more and more with lust as he watches you pleasure him.

"Yeah, you do," he murmurs, voice soothing again like last night, calm and safe, "What a good girl you are, wakin' me up to suck my cock. Couldn't wait, could ya, baby?" you shake your head and the head of his cock slips past your throat a little too far, so much that you have to pull off him quickly to be sure you don't gag, "Aw, baby, that's okay," he reassures you gently, "It's a lot, I know."

Your eyes are hooded and your jaw is already starting to ache - you're not used to doing something like this and he knows it, strokes your cheek gently as he takes his cock in his hand and carefully pushes the tip against your lips.

"You just kiss it, baby," he whispers, dark and deep, "Kiss that cock 'til I come, okay?"

You do as you're told, lips parting slightly as he rubs the head of his cock against your lips and strokes himself a few more times, bringing himself close to the edge. He's so gorgeous like this, so rugged and almost animalistic as his chest heaves, groans escaping his mouth as he watches your lips. His hand is still in your hair, grip getting tighter and tighter as you lean down a bit so he can gently fuck the tip of his cock back into your mouth. Your eyes close involuntarily and you can feel your pussy throbbing against the mattress with every thrust, lips tight around him.

"Ah, fuck," he grits out suddenly, then pulls his cock away from your mouth and releases all over his chest and stomach, thighs tensing up as you watch his eyes practically roll back into his head. Your eyes are wide and attentive, locked onto the white ropes of come that spurt against his bare skin. You find yourself wondering what it would feel like at the back of your throat instead, on your tongue, what it would taste like...

Your thoughts are interrupted by Joel's alarm going off, loud and obnoxious. Before he can pull himself up to turn it off, you lean over to the nightstand and do it yourself, swiping it off and turning back to his blissed out form. He lies there panting for a moment, eyes closed. You can't help but smile, feeling pride swell in your chest again at the knowledge that you made him feel like this.

"Don't go back to sleep," you whisper softly, "You gotta go to work."

He groans then, but opens his eyes and gives you a crooked smile and a wink, expression still sleepy and satisfied, "Who needs an alarm clock when I got you, huh?" He gestures with his finger for you to move closer and you do, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips, "Mornin', darlin'," he murmurs against your mouth.

"Morning," you whisper back, and you revel in the smile on his face when you pull away, "Sorry for jumping your bones so early."

He just shakes his head with a wide smile, "Never apologize for jumpin' my bones, baby." His eyes fall to your naked body, settling on your pussy, still wet and aching against the sheets, "Aw, sweetheart, lemme take care of that for you."

You shake your head, pointing to his phone, "We don't have time, you gotta get to work and I gotta get home before my parents wake up," you slip out of bed and reach down to pick up the clothes you'd stripped yourself of last night before your shower. He starts to protest but you put your hand up with a soft laugh, "It's okay, Joel. I wanted to do this for you, start your day out right. Give you a chance at a good day."

He peers up at you from the bed, face smooshed into the pillow as he watches you get dressed, "Doesn't seem fair."

You just roll your eyes, pulling on your panties and shorts and pointing to his phone again, "Really, we need to hurry," you bite your lip as you slip your t-shirt over your head, "I have keys this time but I still don't wanna risk it."

"Okay, okay," he grumbles softly, "I'm goin'."

He slips out of bed and stretches, tilting his body back and forth. You both hear the way his bones crack, the noise that emits from his throat when he bends his back a certain way. You watch his expression change, going from content and sated to embarrassed and grumpy in seconds.

"And just like that, the illusion is gone," he mutters to himself, limping away from the bed and toward the door without so much as a side glance to you, clearly upset by the sudden reminder of his age. You frown, watching him go and feeling an ache in your chest that makes a home there for the rest of the morning.

--

He'd made you breakfast last time, so it's only fair that you make something for him today. Unfortunately cooking has never been your forte, so about fifteen minutes later you're waving a dish rag at the fire alarm while the sausages you'd managed to burn are smoking in the sink. Joel comes running down the stairs after his shower with a look of concern on his face, only for it to fade into one of amusement when he sees the situation.

"Now why am I teachin' you guitar when you clearly don't know how to even use a stove?"

"Oh, shut up," you can't even pretend to be mad at him, grin spreading across your face as you shake your head and breathe a sigh of relief when the alarm stops going off, "Help me clean this up."

You end up making toast instead.

"You know, we've still got about ten minutes," he says across from you at the table as you eat, peering down at his watch quickly.

"Yeah, 'cause I fail as a cook," you mutter, making a face at your slice of toast, "I was gonna do eggs too, you know."

"Let's not reach for the stars too quickly now," he says with a sly smile, putting his hand up quickly when you prepare to retort, "Anyway, that's not what I meant."

"What did you-" you look up from your toast and see him beckoning you toward him again like he had last night, finger curling toward himself with a sly smile on his face.

You look at the clock on the oven, biting your lip.

"It'll take five minutes tops," he says, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

"Really?" you challenge, "Five minutes?"

"Five minutes."

That, you'd like to see. Dropping your toast back onto the plate, you stand up and walk to the other side of the table, unsure what exactly he wants you to do. He spreads his legs a bit, points to his thigh.

"Sit here, babygirl," he says, voice low and hypnotic, "Wanna show you somethin' new."

Yes please.

You situate yourself on his lap, one leg going between his thighs while the other dangles carefully off the other side of the chair. He pulls you down, big hands coming up to palm your hips and hold you there firmly. You swallow tightly, unsure exactly what he has in mind.

"You know what feels really good?" he murmurs, thumbs slowly stroking the bare skin between your shirt and your shorts.

"What?" you whisper, peering down into his eyes with intrigue.

"This," he says softly, then very slowly begins to move your hips, dragging you carefully back and forth along his thigh. Your eyebrows shoot up, lips parting as you feel the ache in your core immediately return, the pressure of his thigh and the movement of his hands setting your nerves alight.

He looks down at his own handiwork, watches as he moves you back and forth, back and forth, rocking you over and over again until you're whimpering in his lap, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders. He just smiles up at you, doesn't stop his movements.

"Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it?" he breathes, watching your expression closely, "Feels good to finally have somethin' touchin' that pussy, huh baby?"

You moan at his words, hands slipping from his shoulders to wrap around him as you lean forward to bury your face in his neck. He just starts to move you faster, chuckling softly to himself when your hips buck against him. It's amazing how such a simple action can feel so fucking good, the constant stimulation against your clit through layers of material making you writhe and whimper.

He removes one of his hands from your hips and slips it inside the leg of your shorts, fingertips tickling your inner thigh gently. You grapple onto him even tighter, hugging him like a koala as his thumb slowly begins to stroke you through the wet spot of your panties.

"Couldn't stop thinkin' about this pussy yesterday," he murmurs, thumb rubbing your clit over and over in little circles, "Those pictures were so filthy, baby."

You moan against his shoulder, gripping him tighter as his thumb begins to pick up speed. He presses a kiss to your neck, wet and hot; it makes your eyes roll back.

"And this little hole," he murmurs in your ear, suddenly adding a finger inside your shorts to circle your entrance slowly, "Kept thinkin' about this tiny little hole, all open for me."

God, when he talks like that you can't even fucking think, brain running on autopilot as he pulls you impossibly closer and lets you bare down on his thigh, his finger and thumb trapped under your weight, pressed firmly against your core.

"Who's gonna fill up that hole, babygirl?" he whispers in your ear, soft and secret, "Huh? Who's that hole belong to?"

"You," you whimper into his shoulder, eyes shut tight as he strokes his finger up and down through the fabric, adding even more pressure to the overwhelming sensations you're already feeling "It's yours, Mr. Miller."

"And what's gonna go inside it, sweetheart?"

"Hnhng," you can't speak, inhaling shakily as Joel's other hand presses harder against your hip and continues to guide you, fucking you back and forth against his thigh. He just watches you, eyes dark, lips parted, brow furrowed.

"Words, babygirl," he reminds you softly, "Use your words. What's gonna go inside that tight little hole? Huh? Tell me."

"Y-your cock."

"That's right," he murmurs, the tip of his finger prodding inside you gently, taking the damp material of your panties with it, "Gonna fill you up so deep with my cock, honey. You're gonna feel it right here," he moves his hand up and places it at the base of your belly, pushes against it softly, "Gonna be so big inside you, sweet girl."

Oh fuck.

"I want it so bad," you groan, wrapping your arms even tighter around him, "I need it Mr. Miller."

"You do need it," he agrees softly as he kisses the top of your head, bringing his hand back down from your belly to guide you again, moving you back and forth "Need to be fucked so bad, don't you baby? Til you can't even think straight."

You nod frantically, continuing to grind yourself down against his thigh over and over and over, "Please," you whimper, almost a squeak, "Please, Mr. Miller."

"Shh," he soothes, pulling you in closer and moving your hips against him, looking at you with those big brown eyes full of lust and safety, "I will, babygirl. Soon. I'll fuck you so good, honey. I promise." Your body hitches in his lap as you near the edge, eyes going wide and mouth popping open as your orgasm starts to hit you, "Yeah? You like thinkin' about that, huh? Me fuckin' this soaked little pussy into my mattress? Fillin' you up so deep you can feel me in your stomach?"

You can't hold on anymore, eyes shutting tight and high pitched whimpers flowing past your lips as you start to come. He pins you against his thigh, holds you there tight and firm as your pussy pulses and throbs through his pants. You lean forward to bury your face in his neck as you ride it out, feel his hand press against your back.

"Oh, good girl, that's it, baby," he murmurs, kissing your temple gently and stroking your back in little circles, "Come all over my lap, sweetheart. Show me how wet she can get, there you go. Good girl."

After a moment of catching your breath and willing yourself to pull your face away from his neck, you both bring your attention to the clock on the stove - five minutes have passed.

"Told ya," he murmurs, pulling you into one more hug, hitching his chin over your shoulder and rubbing your back gently as your head lolls against him.

You're too blissed out to tease him back.

--

The arrivals gate isn't as busy as you'd expected, thankfully. You lean against your car a few hours later, still reeling from your morning with Joel as you wait for Tasha to show up. You'd told him about your weekend plans before you'd left, insisting that despite spending time with Tasha you'd still be attending your Saturday lesson.

"Can't wait," he'd murmured to you, low and deep in your ear after giving you one final kiss at the door, "Got somethin' real special planned, babygirl."

You'd practically melted down his front steps.

"THERE'S MY FAVORITE SLUT!!" you suddenly hear someone shout, and you look up to see Tasha at the sliding doors, bags dropping to the ground as she sprints at you head on and collides with you seconds later, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

She's just the same as she was the last time you saw her, high spirited and excitable and sweet, practically vibrating in your arms with joy. Only she could rock a bright purple cowboy hat and sweatpants, not to mention the lime green flip flops.

"Oh my god," you gasp in her ear, hugging her back and spinning on the spot, "You're insane."

"I'M EXCITED!" she squeals, pulling away from you and clapping her hands together, "We're going out tonight!!! Together!!! For the first time ever!" She brings her hands up and places one on either side of your face, lips turning down into a pout, "My baby bird is leaving the nest," she sighs dreamily, shaking her head, "I never thought this day would come."

"Please get in the car," you laugh, popping the trunk and gesturing to her bags, "before I change my mind and send you back."

--

You give Tasha the complete run-down on Joel as you get ready at the Airbnb, updating her on everything that's happened since you'd last checked in. It feels so good to actually talk about it, not text or simply mull it over and over in your head. She gasps at all the right spots, makes ridiculous faces in the mirror as she curls her hair, nearly drops the curling iron on the floor when you tell her about this morning.

"AND YOU LIKED HOW IT TASTED?" she practically screams, running out of the room and then running back in like she has no idea what to do with herself, "Oh my god, you are down bad. Jesus Christ," she makes a face, "Sorry, I mean- uh, fuck."

"Tasha," you roll your eyes, "You can say Jesus Christ."

"I can?" her eyes widen and she sighs in relief, picking up the curling iron from the floor, "Thank god."

You're going clubbing tonight for the very first time; a night of dancing and cocktails and flirting and living out all the college dreams you still have yet to experience. You're a bit tentative about the flirting part though, a concept that floors Tasha immediately.

"You can't go clubbing and not flirt," she says with faux shock, spinning in front of you as she assesses her dress in the mirror, "It's the best part!"

"I have a-" you cut yourself off, making a face at your reflection.

"You do not have a boyfriend," Tasha says immediately, "There has been no definition, babe. You need to keep reminding yourself of that."

"But it's not just fucking," you argue with a grimace, "I mean, it's not even fucking at all, we still haven't taken that step yet."

"I know, I just don't want you to get your heart hurt, honey," she frowns, leaning toward the mirror and applying some lipstick, "Boys are mean."

"Well, Joel's not a boy," you say quietly, fingering the hem of your own dress, a short and cute pink number that Tasha had brought specifically for you to wear, "He's a man."

"Mmhm, so you keep telling me," she raises an eyebrow, "I think I need to see this man for myself. Give you my honest opinion, see if he's really this gorgeous, perfect hunk you make him out to be."

You bite your lip, trying not to smile as you think back to this morning, how he'd looked in the early morning light, naked and sleepy and beautiful. And all yours.

"He is," you murmur softly.

--

You're supposed to be going clubbing, supposed to be out dancing and drinking cocktails and living out all your college dreams for once in your life. But where are you instead?

"O'Neil's!!" Tasha says excitedly, pointing to the red neon sign outside the bar you've just arrived at, throwing you a shit-eating grin that just makes you playfully roll your eyes.

You never should have told her the name of the bar Joel frequents, because she's now made it her mission to find him, get a good look at him and judge for herself if he's really all you're making him out to be. It's your own fault, you suppose, considering that you don't have any pictures of him or any frame of reference to articulate exactly the way he looks. For Tasha he's shrouded in mystery, but not for much longer.

Your ears are already ringing when you get inside the bar, the chatter and buzz of other people's conversations flooding your thoughts. You're not used to being out like this, being around drunk people or high people or literally anyone whose ideal night out is spending time at a bar. It's nerve-wracking and you instantly feel like a fish out of water, gripping onto Tasha's arm after showing your ID to a man who ogled both of you way more than he needed to.

"So this is where he hangs out," Tasha says, assessing her surroundings and leading you towards the bar where most people seem to be gathered, "Quaint. Little divey. Definitely not for our crowd but hey, we're learning new things tonight." She taps the counter and tilts her head toward the bartender with a smile, "Watcha got on tap?"

You wrinkle your nose, "I thought we'd be having cocktails."

"Oh we will at the club, don't you worry. But if we want the authentic dive bar experience, beer is necessary," the bartender lists the options and Tasha orders, though you barely hear what either of them are saying over the loud music and conversations. Your eyes scan the bar for any sign of Joel, but people are packed so tightly in here that it's hard to really see anybody, faces and bodies melding together.

The bartender hands Tasha the drinks and she throws him a wink, "Thank you, darling."

You envy how easily she navigates a situation like this, so natural and graceful despite her surroundings that are anything but. She hands your beer to you with a smile and holds hers up in front of her, tilting it toward yours until they clink.

"To you finally coming out with me," she toasts with a grin, "It's about damn time."

You smile back and take a sip, trying your hardest not to wince at the bitter flavor. It's not like you've never tried alcohol before, you just already know that you hate beer.

"Delicious," you lie, and Tasha just laughs and gestures toward a suddenly empty booth in the corner of the room.

"Let's sit there while we suss him out," she mutters to you, pulling you along with her and slipping inside, "Now, what's he look like? You've been pretty vague about those details." She waggles her eyebrows, "Be honest, is he bald?"

You almost spit out your second sip, shaking your head furiously, "No, he's not bald. Full head of hair."

She puts her hands up in defense, "Hey, it's not that crazy to assume!"

You just shake your head and laugh, turning back toward the bar and the people and trying to get a gage on where he might be. You know he usually comes here with his contracting crew, but what the hell does a contracting crew even look like?

"Help me out, gimme a description!" Tasha says eagerly, wiggling in her seat a bit and following your gaze, "He has facial hair, right?"

"Yes, it's kinda messy and scruffy," you bite your lip, squinting a bit as if that'll help you.

"And what's his hair color?"

You don't look at her as you reply, "Um.. grey."

Tasha's hand slaps down on the table and you jump, eyes going wide as you turn back to her, "What?"

"Grey? Girl, how old is he?" she doesn't sound angry or judgmental - she sounds intrigued. And almost... impressed? You gnaw on your lip, scrunching your eyebrows together as you look back toward the crowd of people.

"Um... he's..." you stop short, freezing when your eyes land on a familiar shirt near the bar, a red and black plaid button down that you'd seen only hours ago, "There! He's there!" You point at him quickly, ducking your head a bit and motioning for Tasha to lean in closer to get a good look.

"Oh... my god," she breathes, and you feel a rush of pride at her response, unable to stop the grin from plastering itself to your face as you peer at him.

There's something different about him that you can't place - maybe it's just because you haven't seen him in a public place like this, aren't used to what he looks like when it's not just the two of you. You try to put your finger on it, and while you're doing so he does something that makes your heart positively swell in your chest.

He smiles. That beautiful crooked smile that pulled you in the day you met him, set your skin on fire and brought you to the point of no return. Those crinkly eyes, the grey in his beard, the softness of his eyes, they send that familiar feeling of safety rushing through your bones. And you realize there's nothing different about him at all. That's your Joel, sitting on a bar stool after a long day of work, nursing a glass of whisky and chatting about his day. He's the same Joel who you'd woken up with this morning, just in a different setting.

You're so distracted by his rugged beauty out in the open like this - overwhelmed by his charm and his smile - that it takes you a few seconds to see who exactly he's smiling at.

You feel your heart in your throat.

There's a woman sitting beside him. Not just beside him, but so close their stools are touching, so close her legs - long and lean and beautiful - are brushing his. It's not subtle the way her ankle moves against his calf, up and down, up and down. She's wearing jean shorts and a halter top, skin dark and gorgeous and exposed in all the right places, beautiful brown braids cascading down her back and shoulders. You can't see her face but you already know she could be a model. She probably is.

No. No, something isn't right.

Maybe it's not him.

Time feels like it's frozen, like everyone in the bar has stopped moving except the two of them, like a giant spotlight is shining directly on where they sit, where they touch, where they smile at each other. Because it is him. It's him in all his gorgeous Joel glory, peering into the eyes of a woman who isn't you, a woman who's probably more his type, closer to his age, a woman who's somehow making him smile like that when she shouldn't. That's how he smiles at you. That's your smile.

A woman who's now leaning in for a kiss.

No. Please no.

A woman who he kisses back.

This isn't happening. This isn't real. This is just some sick and twisted nightmare you're about to wake up from at any second.

His hand comes up to cup her face.

"I'm gonna throw up," is all you manage to gasp out to Tasha as you yank yourself from the booth and sprint out of the bar, hand splaying across your belly as you bend over and release the contents of your stomach all over the sidewalk.

You feel Tasha's hand on your back, pulling your hair behind your ears. She's saying something but you don't understand it, ears continuing to ring despite being outside in the cool air, away from the loud music and chatty conversations, away from them.

"Oh honey," you finally hear her say, soft and kind as she rubs circles into your back, a comforting action that brings no comfort to you, not now, not after what you've just seen. "I'm so sorry."

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 8 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): not so much homophobia in this one! not even cigarettes!

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 9

A snowball hit you on the back of the neck. Squealing like a pig and whirling around indignantly, you caught Kylie's eyes across the yard. Softball had made her aim dangerous. Luckily, you had one big advantage.

You lifted your arms above your head, miming a rearing bear, and charged towards her all the while bellowing like a beast. She giggled and began running away, rounding the pool. You gave chase, not even having to pretend to have a hard time since she was ridiculously athletic for her age, but eventually caught her. You hauled her into your arms and into the air, spinning around while cackling maniacally. She laughed and screeched in joy as you shook her around, screaming once you intentionally fell into the snow.

"I won!" She yelled in your face, cheeks rosy from the cold. Her grin was gap-toothed and so carefree.

"No! The snow monster caught you!" You protested playfully.

"Nuh-uh, I threw the last ball an' hit you- hit you square in- in the neck!" You'd heard from Mrs George that Kylie was in speech therapy for the stammer. In your opinion, it just made her cuter.

"The snow monster doesn't agree!" You lowered your voice and made it gruff, putting on the snow monster role, and stood up. She was tiny so there was no issue picking her up whenever you wanted. Holding her by the back of her jacket and knee, you threw her into the nearest snow pile.

"Again!" She stumbled down and out of the pile, back to where you stood, and you picked her up. Spinning around a few times, her legs flailing as you did, you launched her into the air sending the kid off in a great trajectory right back into the snow.

Before she could demand you manhandle her some more, you heard the backdoor slide open.

"Girls!" Mrs George hollered. "Josie and Riley are here!"

Your shoulders slumped in relief. You didn't know what you would've done if it'd been Mr George at the door. Kylie, eager to see her cousin and aunt, sprinted to the door. You lagged back, happy to be alone for a bit.

"Kylie! Kylie, through the garage please!" Mrs George waved her arms like a frazzled traffic guard, desperately not wanting wet floors. Kylie skidded to a stop right before the porch steps and swerved right, headed for the garage door now. You walked at a level pace behind her, knowing full well both the guests' attention would be taken up by the youngest of the Georges for at least the next half hour. Kylie had redecorated since they last visited after all. Priorities.

Your clothes were covered in snow, so due to be soaked pretty soon. You brushed off what you could but hung them up to dry nonetheless. You shot a text to Regina, asking for spare sweatpants 'cause your jeans were not suitable for inside wear. You got back a LOL. You crossed your fingers that meant yes.

"You did not put on that fugly sweater to meet my aunt and cousin." She said once she saw you. You could only shrug helplessly. You liked the sweater.

"I guess I did." You looked at the clothing in her arms. "That for me?"

"Yeah." She handed them over. You stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to either turn around or leave the room. When she didn't, you decided that, hey, she asked for it.

Unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans, you revealed a pair of Ironman boxers.

"Do you shop at the kids' section?" Regina sneered at you.

You winked in response. "I know you like 'em."

"Sure. Love 'em."

You pulled the sweatpants on. They were soft and grey and somehow exactly the right size.

"Did you get these from your dad?" You asked dubiously, not too thrilled by the prospect of wearing Mr George's clothes.

"No, they're for you," Regina responded as if it were obvious. "I got some stuff for you when we started talking. Like, it'd be really inconvenient if you had to go back home just to get a toothbrush or something when you were staying over." She expanded, sounding confident but fiddling with her nails. You'd driven her to an appointment a few days ago to get a new autumn set. "But then, y'know, we spent more time at yours so... Hasn't been much use."

"Huh. I should get something like that for you at mine."

"No." She grinned. "I like stealing your clothes."

"Do you use my toothbrush too?" You acted scandalized, hiding how her saying she liked your clothes made you giddy. She couldn't hate your sweaters that much, then.

She rolled her eyes. "No, idiot, I carry one in my purse always."

"Gotta always be prepared." You clicked your tongue and swung your arm in jest. "Did you already say hi to your relatives?"

"Yes, so now we can go hang out in my room until dinner." Regina grabbed you by the arm and dragged you out of the mudroom. You went pliantly but redirected your path to the living room before she could climb the stairs. You ignored Regina's groan.

Introductions happened swiftly. You were Regina's friend and your family was spending Thanksgiving elsewhere, leaving you in charge of the house. The story wasn't entirely truthful, but neither was it a lie. Riley was a bit younger than Regina but only by a year or two. You could tell she wanted to spend time with her older cousin so bad, but Regina was not enthused.

Luckily, Kylie wanted nothing more than Riley to play Wii with her in the basement. So, off they went. You sat on the couch next to Regina, subtly leaning back and putting your arm on the backrest behind her. You were being totally casual and cool. You weren't even sitting that close so it didn't even look like you had her arm around her. It was totally cool.

Mr George sat in the recliner, eyes trained on the TV. Some sports game was on, but you paid more attention to Mrs George and her sister.

"So, what do y'all wanna do when you get outta high school?" While Mrs George's Southern accent had dulled down over the years to a North-Western one, which meant she sounded like any other Illinois local, the same could not be said for Aunt Josie. Her Texas twang was prominent.

Regina went first. "College." You did so wish she could find it in herself to be a little nicer to her relatives.

"I'll probably take a full-time position at my dad's shop." That'd been the extent of your plans since forever ago.

Regina looked at you oddly, but didn't say anything.

Mrs George and Aunt Josie nodded along, mildly interested, then started talking about college these days and the state of youth in America. You excused yourselves from the conversation and pulled Regina into the kitchen.

"Mom forbids snacks on special days, you know this," Regina grumbled as you dug around in their pantry.

"Does this count as a snack?" You pulled out hot cocoa packets. They were probably ages old, been there since you used to regularly visit the George residence, but you didn't believe in expiration dates anyway. It was just powder.

"We could make real hot chocolate, though." Regina pointed out, eyeing the dusty packets with contempt.

"Well, we could spend some more time in the kitchen making all that and be roped into sitting with them again to drink or we could be quick and tactically retreat upstairs."

"Get the big mugs. We're putting at least two packs in one. And make it with milk."

So, you got to work. You, specifically, while Regina sat on the island and watched. You didn't mind. She looked really pretty. She kind of matched with you, coincidentally enough. Your sweater was a motley of orange and brown patterns and shapes, itchy on bare skin and more so frizzy than fluffy. Regina had a sweater too, and of the same colour scheme, but hers was much more refined, soft to the touch, and had sensible patterns. She had on a black skirt and white legwarmers.

You snuck upstairs with your steaming mugs, tiptoeing so you wouldn't be heard. Once in the safety of Regina's room, you quickly huddled up on the bed.

"Good, right?"

"Swiss chocolate would've been better." She took a sip. "That's really good, though. What is that?"

"I added a little cinnamon."

"It tastes a bit like Christmas," Regina said, looking at you above the rim of her cup as she drank.

"It's right around the corner." You got comfortable on the bed, laying on your side facing Regina.

"Ugh, I hate Christmas. Everybody always comes here, as if Uncle Charlie doesn't have a huge log cabin that he doesn't even use most of the year. If I have to share a bed with Luke this year, I'm quitting."

"He's your oldest cousin, right?"

"Yeah. He's a dick. Last year, he totally-"

As she got into the story, you were lulled into a sense of comfort. Safe in Regina's room, warm hot cocoa cup in your hands, her voice regaling her cousin Luke's douchebaggery, you could almost forget everything else.

You decided you didn't want to think about difficult things during Thanksgiving. Even if the holiday itself hadn't ever been sacred or even fun for you, the fact that you got to spend it at the Georges' made it special.

At one point or another, you felt Regina pluck the mug out of your hands.

"Hey..." You slurred, blinking awake.

"Shh, just go to sleep." She patted your shoulder. You mumbled sleepily and nodded. Somewhere in the distance, she giggled, her hand still warm on your shoulder.

You stirred a couple of times during your nap. At first, you saw Regina next to you reading. Still Catcher in the Rye. She didn't look your way and you fell back asleep.

The second time she was closer. Your eyes met and her hand squeezed yours. She smiled and shuffled closer. Had you not still been halfway to sleep, your heart would've beat right out of your chest.

The third time, her arm was around your waist and knee slotted between yours. It'd been a long time since you'd been held like this. You and Regina used to cuddle in bed for sleepovers, but those were so long ago. She'd always insisted on being the big spoon despite you being bigger. Even now, she had you by your waist while your hands were tucked close to your chest. Wiggling one out, you threw it around her back.

The fourth time was the last. Regina had rolled partly on top of you. Her cheek was pressed to your shoulder, arm secure around your belly, while her leg was bent over your hips. You were firmly held down. There was a gentle knock on the door before it creaked open.

"Sweetie, would you come down to help with dinner?" Mrs George was there, head poked into the room. You nodded with a smile. She eyed you two for a bit, a secretive sort of smile on her lips, before closing the door again.

You took meticulous care to not wake Regina up as you wriggled out of her hold. You replaced your body with a couple of pillows, hoping it'd be enough to keep her asleep a while longer.

After splashing some cold water on your face in the en suite bathroom, you headed downstairs.

"There you are," Mrs George waved you over. "Slice up those mushrooms, would you?"

You washed your hands and got to work. Mrs George and Josie were singing along to some music playing on the radio, chatting occasionally. Kylie and Riley were seated on the island playing on their Nintendo gadgets, at times demanding to taste the contents of the various pots on the stove. The sisters fed them spoonfuls dotingly. Mrs George came up to you a few times too, holding a spoon in one hand while the other was cupped under it, feeding you this and that. The gravy was really good.

The Georges were going all out, going above and beyond in both the taste and sheer amount of food. There were three courses, appetizer, entrée, and dessert. You could only dream of a spread like this and, maybe a little selfishly, you wished Mrs George would pack some of the leftovers for you. It sounded like an utter dream, food for days, good food for days. Mrs George's mac and cheese, buttery mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffed mushrooms, pear salad, heartily roasted vegetables—you could go on.

"Turkey's ready!" Josie called gleefully, clapping her oven mitts together. "Let's get her out, Judie."

Once the turkey was out and placed to the side to wait for dinner, you popped the green bean casserole in. Along with it went the mac and creamed Brussels sprouts. Kylie bemoaned the dish and made a big show of declaring she would not be eating Brussels sprouts in any way, shape or form. You kinda liked them, but it wasn't your favourite.

At some point or another, Regina came down, rubbing sleep dust from her eyes. Still groggy, she didn't even try to bat her mom's hands away when she started smoothing down her bedhead.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," You greeted from your spot at the stove. The job of stirring all the pots had been handed off to you.

"Morning," She yawned. "I'm not gonna get any sleep tonight. You should've woken me up."

"Sorry." You didn't really feel sorry, and she knew that, but that didn't stop you from patting her on the back in consolation. She leaned into you, mind clearly still addled from the nap of the century. She didn't like being touchy-feely in front of other people.

Just under two hours later, you were all ready to sit down for appetizers. You offered to help Mrs George with bringing the dishes back and forth, but she insisted she had it. It made you feel bad since she was the only one who didn't get to sit down and eat in peace. Under the strict eye of Mr George, you didn't dare to go against her wishes. You didn't know what he would take as disrespect or how he'd react to a guest misstepping in his house.

You mirrored Regina the whole time. You ate when she did, took more when she did, and focused on conversation when she did. The tactic was a safe one, but even so the shift in vibrations when around Mr George was palpable.

He didn't talk much. Mostly he just asked his daughters questions about school and their extracurriculars. He only nodded at Regina when she briefed him about the goings-on at school. He indulged Kylie's retelling of her most recent ball game with a subtle smile. He gave his compliments to Mrs George. It made your stomach twist, seeing Kylie beam like she'd won something when she got a smile out of him. Watching Mrs George's nearly full, almost untouched plate sit unattended as she busied herself with the pecan pie in the oven, you quietly wished he wasn't here at all.

Even though the air was soured by Mr George's aloof presence, the food was good. Delicious, immaculate, spectacular. Regina was a much slower eater than you, so you did eventually give up mirroring her because there was no way you were not stuffing yourself full. By the end of it, your stomach was maybe visibly distended and you could taste cranberry sauce at the back of your throat. It was a horrible feeling, but you wouldn't take any of it back.

Mr George went to his recliner, Mrs George and Josie retreated to the sitting room, and you were roped into playing video games with Kylie and Riley. Regina came too, seemingly pained.

The food baby melted away slowly as you watched Regina's younger replicas try their damndest to beat a boss in some game with a raccoon in blue. There was also a pink hippo and a green turtle. Eventually, they pawned the controller to you and told you to beat it. It took you a little bit to figure out the controls, but eventually, you were beating some tiger to the ground as a pink hippo. As you played, you noted that the plot was pretty good for a kids' game. You'd have to see if you could get it for yourself next time you went to GameStop.

With the boss beat, the younger girls took over again. Regina decided that that was enough and bid the two goodbyes, dragging you out with her.

"Not a fan of Sly Cooper?" You teased once she'd deposited you into her room. You walked in further and sat down on the floor, leaning against the frame of her bed.

She was looking at you like she never had before. Or maybe she had, but this was intense. She walked closer, forcing your neck to crane up as she stood above you.

"Reg?" You whispered, confused and a little wary. Had you fucked up somewhere?

"You always ruin the moment with that." She wasn't smiling, or scowling, and there wasn't anything hostile or hurt in her eyes. You couldn't read her. Unexplored territory. She came even closer, stepping so that her feet were on either side of your legs. Your vision blurred as she knelt down, straddling your things. She was soft, her usual perfume faded and mixed with the delectable smells of Thanksgiving dinner, and her hands were coming around your neck.

You swallowed, not daring to move lest you scared her off or something. What was she doing? She couldn't be, just, simply, that was too easy, you were being delusional-

She was soft there too. Glossy, tangy like cranberries, gentle and slow. She kissed you. Regina kissed you. You held your breath for a moment, not even realizing it, and shuddered as it released. She smiled against your mouth.

"C'mon, jorts." She whispered, lips brushing against yours as she talked. Her eyes, so close you couldn't really even look into them, glinted in mirth. "Kiss me back."

Your hands snared around her back, pulling her close to your body, as your lips found hers again. She giggled and you swallowed the sound, feeling it expand in your chest like sunlight.

Even hidden in her bedroom, sharing a kiss you didn't know would mean anything- could mean anything- there was nowhere else you'd rather have been.

Notes: We're still not at the climax. Or, well, we're very close, very much in it, but The Moment is yet to happen. Everybody knows it'll get worse before it gets better. That's just how it goes. So, have this fluff before it's yanked away from you! <3

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69, @alexkolax, @jareaul0ver, @here4theqts, @charleeeesworld, @natsbiggestfan1, @brocoliisscared, @yellowwallflowers, @scarlettbitchx, @ayoungexwife, @cyberbonesworld, @syddie-reads, @screechcat

(holy moly there's a lot of you. if you wanna be added to the taglist, say so in the comments!)

[mooshywrites]

~Masterlist~

Fanfic Requests ~ OPEN

Art Commissions ~ Closed

This is not a minor friendly page. 18+ only.

Wont be writing for a while, but I’m going to expand to other fandoms when I’m back! Feel free to recommend shows or books to write about in the next chapter <3

Baldur’s Gate

My Series -

~Fem!Reader x Halsin~ Echoes of Love and Loss ~ complete

Astarion -

~Gn!Reader x Astarion~ Something Borrowed, Something New - Fluff- Both you and Astarion have spent many months searching for something to allow him to walk in the sun again. However, you’ve had absolutely no luck. Who knew that the solution to your problems would come from just a little teasing

~Fem!Reader x Astarion~ Making It Our Own - Smut/NSFW - Astarion has made the incredible decision to settle down, buying a shop to run a fabric business. The place is definitely a fixer upper, but that doesn’t seem to be the Vampire’s biggest problem. It doesn’t quite feel like his own and he knows exactly how to fix that

~Gn!Reader x Sub!Astarion~ Unwind - Smut/NSFW - Astarion has been stressed lately, his embroidery business completely taking off. Between orders and customers, he’s sure his entire neck is full of knots. Luckily, you have something to help him unwind

Gale -

~Fem!Reader x Gale ~ Mage Hand - Smut/NSFW - Gale has been trying out a few new spells now that the world isn’t, well… ending. Ones that he didn’t deem useful in the chaos of his adventure. The latest one he’s learned intrigues you more than him. Doesn’t everyone need a helping hand?

Halsin -

~Fem!Reader x Halsin~ Bedtime Stories ~ Smut/NSFW - Halsin has ran himself ragged with bedtime stories, his charges demanding to hear a tale or two every night. He comes to you for help, hoping you have a few stories to spare. Unfortunately, this simple ask is going to leave the two of you with very little sleep tonight.

~ Fem!Reader x Halsin~ Rutting season ~ Smut/NSFW - After learning as much as you can about your Druid, surely there’s nothing about him you dont know about. Or could he be hiding a kink that you’re just dying to try?

Polyamorous! pairings -

~Gn!Reader x Astarion x Halsin ~ I’ll love you forever ~ Fluff/Angst - Being in a relationship with your pale elf and bear is easy. Coming to terms with how short your human lifespan is compared to yours? Definitely much harder.

~FemOmega!Reader x Beta!Astarion x Alpha!Halsin ~ Cold Relief ~ Smut/NSFW - Your heat is coming, and it’s coming on fast. Much too fast to hide it from your companions

Headcannons -

~ You fall into their laps accidentally

~ Giving and receiving flowers from them

~ Jealousy

~ Teasing them

~ Are we married now?

~ The Gentle Drow

~ Can we have a baby?

~ Can I touch your ears?

~ Tiefling and their Pale Elf

~ Picnic

~ Wedding Day

~ Being a Dad

~ How they like to kiss

~ What makes them blush

~ How they take care of you when you’re sick

~ How to tell they’re falling for you

Blurbs -

~ Bubbles and Ducks - After a long day, every throuple needs a way to relax

~ Ever the Gentleman - Wyll wont get to be the most charming one. Not with you around

~ Serenade - Baldur’s Gate men and their silver tongued bard

~ Revivify - Halsin wont lose you. Not today

~ Secret Turn Ons - What makes the Baldurs Gate men squirm?

~ Sensitivity - Everyone’s got a soft spot

~ Falling asleep on their laps - Naps can sneak up on even the strongest of heroes

[redstarwriting]

the clash | viii. love you to death

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 4.2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, venom hating hobie, anxious and sad hobie, panic attacks, fight scene, injuries, lots of injuries, angst with fluff and then some more angst and then fluff again, mentions of blood, broken bones

a/n: y’all.... this one was so fun HAHA i’ve been seeing scenes from this part play out in my head ever since i thought of the plot so it was so so SO fun putting it into actual words. we’re getting closer to the end now, and i am so grateful for everyone who decided they wanted to read this lil story i thought up 🖤 i hope you enjoy!

previous chapter: vii. i wanna be sedated

now reading: viii. love you to death

next chapter: ix. last caress

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“Uh, Hobie… the hell is happening right now,” Miles asks, but Hobie stays silent. He’s trying so hard not to freak out. It’s taking everything in him to not give in to his emotions. He clenches his fists. “Let ‘em go,” he demands, and Venom laughs. “I don’t think so. I like this body more than I expected to. Looks like we’re in the same boat there, aren’t we?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, an all too familiar anger stirring in him. “Awww, are you going to kill me like you did yourself?” Venom giggles, and he glares at it. “Just fuckin’ might, mate,” he says through gritted teeth, and Gwen pipes up. “What? Hobie, what are they talking about?”

“Piss off, Gwen. That’s not them,” he snaps, and she frowns underneath her mask. “We’re here to help you Hobie,” she says, and he clenches his jaw. “I don’t need no help.”

“On the contrary, I think you need all the help you can get. You mess up everything when you don’t have it, no?” Venom says, amused. Hobie knows it’s just trying to antagonize him. He knows that. But he can’t help but get angry. It’s using your body.

But he also knows that he does need help. He just can’t say his plan in front of this freakshow. “Go back to Spider Society, Gwen,” he touches his guitar, “tell Miguel I got it under control. Just gonna amp up this space slime a bit.” He hopes that was a clear indication of what he needs Gwen to do.

“Are you sure?” she asks slowly, and he smirks. She got it. “Positive.” With that, Gwen, Miles, and Pav disappear. If Hobie gets as many amps as possible, he can repeat what he did with Osborn and save you. Of course, the act of destroying this Venom might require more than just noise and be a little harder, but he’s willing to do anything to save you.

Anything.

Venom laughs. “That was a dumb move, what you just did,” it says, and he shrugs. “Yeah well, I’m full of those lately,” he responds, trying to think of his next move. He doesn’t want to destroy your flat, but he doesn’t want to cause too much damage to the city as a whole. “Are you going to do something, or do you prefer I kill you just standing there?” Venom asks, and Hobie scoffs. “Kill me? You’re a cheeky alien, you are,” he says, and he leaps off of the balcony. Venom follows him. He begins webbing through the city, expertly. Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s been here to see you so many times. But Venom keeps up with him, occasionally shooting out some symbiote webs at him. Luckily, he’s able to see it and dodge them with no problem.

He sees a giant arena and decides that’s a good place to fight Venom. Especially as it was all dark and he saw a sign talking about a celebration there for tomorrow, which means everything was most likely set up already and he didn’t have to worry about anyone being there since the event wasn’t until tomorrow.

He webs into it, landing in the nose bleeds and disappearing into the shadows. He hears Venom land where he was with a chuckle. “You can’t outrun me, Spider-Punk,” it says, and Hobie quietly webs down a few levels and ducks into a closed clothing store in the arena. He calls Gwen, who picks up almost immediately. “Shh,” Hobie says before she can say anything. “Bring the amps to the Mortician Square Garden Arena, line ‘em across the top, I’ll keep Venom distracted til you finish,” he whispers, and Gwen nods. “And one more thing. Get as much as you can out of (Y/n)’s flat, okay? Get Shadow out, take him to Miguel, and all the vinyls, their aunt’s skull, as much as you can,” he whispers, and she gives him a confused look. “Why?” she asks, and he sighs. “Their world isn’t gonna make it,” he says, and Gwen’s eyes widen. She mumbles a quick ‘got it,’ before hanging up.

He sits in the silence, confused as to why he doesn’t feel any presence. Suddenly, an inky tendril shoots out at him, and grabs him, pinning his arms to his sides. He mutters expletives, trying to get out of Venom’s grasp, but to no avail. He comes face to face with the grinning monster. “Found you.”

“Fuck you, mate,” he grunts, and thrashes around. “I thought you would be more difficult to catch. Looks like I was wrong,” it says and Hobie rolls his eyes. “Woulda been harder, bu–”

“But your little sense trick doesn’t work on me. That’s how I caught (Y/n), too,” says Venom as they pull Hobie’s mask off. Hobie glares at them and tries to get out of its grip again. “They’re right… you are handsome,” Venom says, and he delivers a successful kick to the symbiote. “Get out of their head,” he growls, and it giggles. “That tickled.”

Venom throws him across the room with force. He flies through a wall and groans as he stands up. Venom shoots out a tendril to catch him again, but he successfully dodges it. “If only you could hear their pleas for me to leave you alone,” Venom says, and it makes Hobie angrier. “I said get out of their head!” He yells, throwing a giant chunk of concrete at Venom only to have it shatter when it comes into contact with it. It only slightly falters, but that enough time for Hobie to quickly web away. He just needs to keep Venom preoccupied while Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr set up the first part of the plan.

He hears Venom following him, taunting him, and consistently trying to grab at him. As long as he keeps Venom from seeing outside, everything should go off just fine. He just hopes Miles, Gwen, and Pav can let him know when to go outside with Venom close behind. Ah well. Improvising is what spiders do best, anyways. Hobie is swinging past a food booth when Venom hits him into it. He winces as he crashes through the wall separating the front from the kitchen and straight into the knobs on the giant grill. Of course, it turns the electric grill on, but that’s the least of Hobie’s worries as Venom then uses one of its “webs” to pin him down on the ground. He grabs the web and tries to get it off of him, but it doesn’t work. Venom sprouts tendrils that make it literally look like a spider, with “legs” coming out of its back.

Luckily, Venom places one of these legs on top of the already hot grill, causing it to scream out in pain and freak out just enough for Hobie to get out of the “web’s” grasp. He quickly runs off, shooting out a web to disappear out of Venom’s sight. He sneaks around to the outside and sees Pav pushing an amp in place. It looks like they’re about halfway done, and Hobie nods. He can keep that thing distracted for that much longer.

He sneaks back into the indoor part of the stadium. He thinks about it, but ultimately decides he’s had enough with the stealth method. It obviously isn’t helping him in this instance, like it ever helped him before. “HEY VENOM! COME GET ME YA FUCKIN’ TOSSER!” he yells, and to his expectation, Venom burst through a wall and screams at him. Hobie shoots a web upwards and leaps up to the next story. Venom bursts through the floor, and Hobie quickly fires a web at a pillar, wrapping around it a few times and then firing another one to another pillar and tying them together tightly before taking off and doing it again to the next set of pillars, and then repeating it again. He made sure the first trap would land in the middle of Venom’s body, the second more of a tripwire, and the third at clothesline level. And it worked.

Venom ran directly into the first trap, which slowed it down, and then the second made it stumble and the third snapped its head back at a gross angle. It groans, and Hobie waves at it. “You should really watch where ya goin’,” he says, and Venom growls. “They feel everything.”

“What?” Hobie falters. “Your little partner. They feel it all.” Hobie frowns. Is that true? Did he just hurt you? Venom senses his distraction, and grabs him, pushing him down through the floor. He grunts, and Venom laughs. “It’s too easy,” it says, and Hobie glares at it. He’s trying to pretend like he isn’t completely battered and bruised by Venom, but damn. This alien can fight. He grunts as Venom picks him up off the ground and pushes him forcefully against the wall. “Aww, did that hurt?” Venom giggles, and he spits on it. He ignores that there was blood mixed in with the spit. That’s… probably not good, though. Venom smiles at him. “I don’t think I am going to kill you,” it hisses, cocking its head to the side. “I think I’ll keep you in case this body breaks.”

“Piss off, I’d never let you do that to me.”

“Even if it meant I would let (Y/n) go?” it asks, and Hobie clenches his jaw. Venom giggles. “Say I let them go, they could run free without the influence of me. Would you do it then?” Hobie clenches his fists, staying quiet. “You’d just make me kill them.”

“Clever boy,” it says, and Hobie yelps as Venom tightens its grip on him. “But you’re right. This body will do just fine, and I can easily find a new host if I need to,” Venom says, smirking at Hobie, “I’ll be kind to you before I kill you,” Venom says, and suddenly Venom’s creepy and unsettling grin melts away, and Hobie sees your face. You’ve been crying, and that sight alone breaks his heart. And your heart breaks at the sight of his bloodied lip, black eye and cut forehead. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to each other at the same time, but before any more words can be said, Venom takes over again.

Hobie tries to get out of its grasp again, but it's not happening. “Interesting choice for your last words,” Venom forms a fist, ready to strike Hobie, but before it can, it’s arm gets pulled backward by another web. “Those will not be his last words,” he hears Pavitr say. “Yeah, his last words will probably be ‘I DON’T AGREE WITH PEACEFUL PROTESTS’ or some shit,” Miles chimes in, webbing the arm holding Hobie against the wall and yanking it away from him. “I was thinking more like ‘I won’t let you hurt them!’ because I mean wow look at how unhinged he is right now! Imagine when they’re actually together,” Pav says. “Not the time, Pav,” Miles shakes his head, yanking Venom’s arm, even more, to make it parallel to the arm Pavitr’s holding back.

Pavitr and Miles hold Venom’s arms back as it shrieks and Hobie leaps away from it. “Good timin’, lads,” he says, wiping some of the blood off his face. “Don’t mention it,” Miles grunts and Hobie dodges some attacks thrown by Venom’s tendrils. “Miles! It’s sensitive to heat!” Hobie yells, and Miles smirks. “Ahhhh, I gotcha,” he says and uses his venom electricity strike. Venom yelps and falls backward. Pav and Miles let go of its arms, and the three of them crouch down. “Where’s Gwen?”

“She’s outside getting all the chords connected so all the amps play at once,” Miles says after electrocuting Venom again, meaning it didn’t hear what Miles just said. “Amazin’,” Hobie mumbles, dodging some more of Venom’s attacks. “I’m gonna get up there, stall it woulda?” Hobie says, webbing away.

He knows Venom is going to try and follow him, so he heads out to the open field. When he gets out there, he sees rows and rows of fireworks. What the hell were they celebrating that they needed this much fire power? He hears Venom’s yell and decides it’s not important, but it’s good that all of it is there. They can use that. He climbs and webs his way up to the top of the stadium, running over to Gwen who hands him the chord. “Thank you,” he says, plugging his guitar in, and she nods. “Don’t mention it.”

“Did you get everything out of their flat?”

“As much as we could. How do you know it’s the end?” she asks, and he frowns. “Cause I caused it.” He looks down, clenching his jaw and clearing his throat.

“It’s bout to get real loud. Tell Miles and Pav to lure it out,” Hobie says, and Gwen nods, about to web off. “Wait! Gwen, throw all the fireworks in a big pile,” he says, pointing to all of the fireworks. “What? Why?”

“Venom is sensitive to heat. Let’s blow it up.”

“But (Y/n) is–”

“They won’t be bonded when it happens, go!” Hobie says, and Gwen hurries to help the boys lure Venom out into the open. Hobie watches and waits, when he hears police sirens going off. Oh great. Piggies are coming to play. Maybe Venom will eat some of them. That would be the only time he ever supported Venom doing something. His attention gets pulled back to the field when he hears Venom’s shrieks. He sees Pav and Gwen web out, starting to throw the fireworks into a pile, and then Venom stumbles out, screaming from Miles electrocuting it once again. Hobie pulls out his pick, placing his fingers to form the beginning chord to one of his favorite songs. He hesitates and places his fingers to form a different chord. This time, it’s one of your favorite songs. He knows all of them by heart, anyways.

“When did you learn this song?” you ask him, as he lazily strums along to one of the songs playing on your vinyl player. He shrugs. “I hear it so much when I come over here, the real question would be when didn’t I learn this song,” he says, and you roll your eyes. He smiles slightly when he sees you swaying back and forth and humming along to the music.

The song ends, and without a beat, Hobie starts strumming along to the next one. “I must listen to this vinyl way too much,” you comment, and he shrugs. “At least it isn’t a shit album.”

Watching you vibe with his playing made him make a promise to himself, he would always learn your favorite songs just so he could see your reaction to him playing them.

How didn’t he realize his feelings before?

Venom spots him, and screams up at him, ready to rush up the seats of the stadium and take him down. He takes a deep breath.

“Come back to me, love.”

He strums, and the sound causes Venom to stumble, holding its ears while it screams. He can see Gwen, Pav, and Miles wince slightly from the noise as they finish bringing all the fireworks into a pile in the middle of the stadium. They web up to where Hobie is and turn to see what happens. Hobie doesn’t acknowledge them, his main focus is on you. Venom’s skin starts bubbling around you, and it seems to literally be melting. He sees flashes of you, the pain affecting you in the same way as Venom. It nearly makes him stop playing seeing the distress on your face. But he remembers it’s the symbiote causing you the pain, and he needs to get it off of you as soon as possible. The position Venom is in, trying desperately to cover its ears suddenly breaks as you finally regain control of your own body. You rip some of the symbiote off, your face breaking through. Hobie keeps playing, fixated on you as you crawl away from the inky black alien. It looks straight out of a horror movie, and he can’t wait to tell you about it. You’re gonna think you looked so cool. He’ll still give you some playful shit about how you looked though. It wouldn’t be the same if he didn’t.

He nearly tears up when he sees you completely separate from Venom. You look up, seeing him and the others, and immediately web up to him. You’re in your suit, but your mask isn’t on, and Hobie stops playing seeing that you’re next to him. You immediately wrap your arms around him, hugging him like your life depended on it. He hugs back, somehow tighter than you are. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and he shakes his head. “No, love, you’re okay. You don’t have to apologize for nothin’,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down your back. If the two of you could choose, you would stay like this forever. But the two of you are spiders. And it never works out like that for spiders.

“HOBIE LOOK OUT!”

Hobie hears Gwen shout just a second too late, and one of Venom’s “webs” attaches itself to his back, pulling him off the edge of the stadium. You reach your hand out to prevent it, and Hobie reaches out his, but you just weren’t fast enough. Your fingertips brush each other, but before you can grab his hand, he’s out of reach. You watch as he gets pulled down to the bottom of the stadium.

For the second time, you weren’t fast enough.

You get flashbacks to your second canon event, and a single tear escapes your eye.

Hobie, on the other hand, can feel Venom overtake him, no matter how hard he tries to fight it off. He starts to panic, hearing Miguel’s voice in his mind.

“Hobart Brown was meant to kill (Y/n) (L/n).”

Now the tears are falling freely down his face. This can’t be happening. He can’t let this happen. Why is this happening?

Once the shock of what happened passes, you find yourself pissed off. You just got back to Hobie, and now this alien thinks it can take him away? Fuck that. You scream out of frustration, webbing down and punching Venom’s newly formed face, full force. Well, as full force as your exhausted body will let you. You feel your hand break from your own strength coming into contact with something equally as strong, but Venom falls backward, so you don’t really care. You ignore the pain, noticing the pile of fireworks. You understand the assignment immediately. Unfortunately for you, Venom bounces back faster than you thought and punches you in the stomach. You grunt, coughing up blood, as you fly backward and hit the side of the stadium wall, hard. You glare at Venom, who laughs. “So weak,” you hear it say, and you glare at it. “Maybe if I should have drained more of your life force. Then you wouldn’t have even been able to punch me like that. Though, I know it took up more energy than you would have liked to do so,” Venom roars at you, beginning to charge at you.

You web to the other side of the stadium as Miles jumps down. “I got it,” he says, electrocuting Venom once more to slow it down. It screams and swats him out of the way. He hits the wall, and shakes his head, webbing up to Gwen and Pav, who immediately assesses the damage he got from Venom’s hit. They notice you’re up here, too now. “You are just so fast,” Pav says, impressed. “Oh my god, (Y/n), your hand,” she says, seeing it already turning black and blue, and blood pouring from it. “Not important right now,” you growl, picking up Hobie’s guitar. Luckily, your strumming hand is the hand that broke, so you form your fingers to a specific chord and strum. You play Hobie’s favorite song, the one he taught you to try and show you ‘real music’ so long ago.

“Ugh, can’t we listen to something other than your moody goth music?” Hobie asks, lazily turning his head towards you as he laid on his couch. Gwen, Pav, and Miles left like 30 minutes ago, but Shadow was too comfortable on Hobie’s chest for him to leave. “No, actually, we can’t. And don’t act like this song isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard.”

“Listen just cause it’s your favorite doesn’t mean it has to be mine, love,” he says, causing you to roll your eyes. “You’re such an asshole, Hobart.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he says and you fake gag. At the sound, Shadow hops off Hobie and makes his way to you, making sure you’re okay. “Alright, you can leave now. Yayy, Shadow! Wooo!” you say, petting your cat and pretending like you want Hobie to leave. He clicks his tongue. “Nah, I’m not goin’ nowhere. Come here,” he says pulling his guitar from behind the couch and into his arms. “What are you doing?”

“I’m showing you real music. So, sit down, shut up, and soak up the jams.”

You play through the pain, doing the exact thing he did when he first showed you. Albeit not as good as him. But it works, he breaks away from Venom, running, climbing, and webbing as fast as he can to get to you. And seeing the sight of you playing the guitar like that? Especially his favorite song? He could have fainted if he wasn’t worried you’d die immediately after he did. He sees your hand and frowns. “Give me the guitar, love,” he says, taking it out of your hands gently, and picking up where you left off. Except he quickly fades into one of your songs. You smile slightly and look at him. He gives you a small smile back. “Hobie, you have your lighter?” you ask, and he nods. “I’m gonna go down there and convince it to come to the fireworks pile. When I say, throw me your lighter,” you say. “Kick its fuckin’ ass, (Y/n),” he says, as you leap off the top of the stadium.

The four spiders up top suddenly hear a police bullhorn. “We have you surrounded. Hands up or we will resort to using force!”

Hobie turns his guitar up louder.

You web down, purposely aiming to kick Venom closer to the fireworks pile. You hit the ground and roll, landing in a crouch before standing and sprinting to the pile. You scream Hobie’s name, and he throws you his lighter. He stops playing, seeing that it needs to be able to actually move to get to the pile. You web up a story, catching it before rolling back down on the ground. Venom shrieks in its symbiote form, and comes rushing toward you, but you quickly ignite the lighter, throwing it on the pile of fireworks. You leap on top of it, ensuring that Venom will be in the line of fire, and when the first one begins going off as Venom tries desperately to climb it and get to you, you web off it as fast as you can. Hobie watches as you get halfway up before all of the fireworks go off at once.

He hears Venom’s screams, but all he can focus on is watching you as the explosion breaks your web and propels you way higher than you should have gone. He quickly uses his left hand to web a building close by and his right hand to another one and slingshots himself up to you. He catches you in midair, cradling you to his body and webbing to another building. Luckily, Mortician Square Garden was close to the Ember Stake Building, your favorite spot in all of the city. He lands, crouching down and holding you in his arms in a way that your legs are resting on the building. You lean your head against his chest, and he gently places a hand on the side of your face. “Alright, love?�� he mumbles, and you give him a small, weak smile. “’m tired, Hobie.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says, running his thumb back and forth across your cheek. “Bet I looked cool just then, though,” you say, and Hobie chuckles. “Dunno. Think you need to work on your form,” he says, and you laugh softly. “You played my favorite,” you mumble, and he nods. “You played mine.”

“Not very well.”

“I would listen to that every day of my life, love.” You turn your head slightly to see the amount of fireworks lighting up the night sky. Hobie stays looking at you. “Looks pretty,” you mutter, and he grins. “Yeah. Sure does,” he says, ignoring the fireworks completely. “Reckon I get you somewhere safe to rest?” he says, and you nod softly. “I’d like that,” you mumble, turning your head back to him. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, not saying anything. He looks up, standing and helping you stand as well. He gently turns you to see your city, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I gotta admit. I do like it here,” he whispers in your ear. You smile softly, looking out at the city from your favorite spot. After getting a good look, you feel your legs about to give out as your eyes flutter closed. He catches you before you fall and is grateful you stopped looking when you did because he starts to see the nothingness begin to claim your world. You hear Hobie very quietly say, “I’ve got you, my love.”

Then everything fades to black.

───────────────────────────────

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[swordsandholly]

On the Mend

Ao3 | Chapter One | Next

Captain John Price x fem!plus size!reader

Word Count: 4.1k

MDNI | cw: referenced cheating, divorce, implied alcoholism, age gap, blood/minor injury

Summary: Following his divorce, John Price is adrift - strong armed into going on leave, he decides to use the time to renovate a run down family lake house. He finds himself drawn into an unexpected bond with his peculiar new neighbor who seems equally unable to leave him alone.

When John came home to papers and a set of silver rings on the kitchen counter he didn’t feel surprised. No sense of despair at the lack of shoes by the door or empty closet. No betrayal at the slight layer of dust covering the flat. A layer that had accumulated over the course of coming home two weeks later than planned. Just a a wave of numbness. That sick sort of relief when the bad thing you knew would happen finally does. Something that twists in his gut and hollows out his bones. He knew it was coming sooner or later.

Looks like sooner.

It started in the early fall - though, if he’s honest, he should have seen it coming long before then. Nearly a year of cold shoulders and whispers over the phone spoken in the other room during late hours. Passive nudges and snide comments. Nights spent alone more than together. New clothes and lingerie that he only spotted in passing on laundry day. All his time in the SAS and he didn’t see what was right under his nose. Five simple words that spelled out the end.

“I found someone else, John.”

That’s it. The grand finale to thirteen years.

Of course it’s never simple. What followed was weeks of arguing between - and during - his deployments. Months of lawyers sending information and communications back and forth because face to face talks were no longer getting them anywhere. It’s difficult to process so many years falling apart in such little time. It’s harder still to get over the hurled insults and accusations of stolen youth. The insinuation that he ruined her. The allegation that he never loved her in the first place. That this has been broken for a long, long time, John. How do you not see that?

How didn’t he see it?

At the end of the day, John is good at two things: compartmentalizing and work. It’s just convenient that those two qualities happen to go hand in hand right now. John lives on base full time - got out of that flat as soon as the lease ran out. It’s a waste of money sitting empty for most of the year. More often than that, really, considering he spends every waking moment - when not deployed - in his office or running drills. Never mind the fact that he couldn’t step past the threshold without feeling something shatter in his chest.

Now, six months since the final signatures, the walls John carefully built around the issue have started to wear. Coming loose at the seams - all crumbling brick and thinning mortar. He’s agitated. Frayed at the edges. You wouldn’t know it to look at him. John’s uniform remains crisp as always. His belongings placed in exact order - including the ever growing collection of liquor. His hair is perfectly kept. At a glance, he’s the same as always.

It’s those closest to him that can see it. That take the brunt of it.

Harsh, barking orders at Ghost that would have previously been calm instruction. Sharp reprimands that leave Soap jumpy and flinching. Both give him a wide berth when they can. His drills for the newer recruits became far more difficult with tougher punishments for any sort of acting out. Gaz has avoided his growing wrath for the most part - good at keeping his head down and following orders as needed.

Until today, it seems. An accidental, near deadly failure. The perfect boiling point.

While clearing a building currently housing a potential terrorist cell, one man managed to slip past Gaz. All of them, really, but it was his floor to clear. The man got a shot off on Soap after the Scot tackled him - luckily his vest stopped it. Ghost dropped the adversary and Soap won’t have more than a bruised rib and a couple weeks of rest but it could have been worse. Much, much worse.

Gaz knew he was fucked when the Captain went silent. John barely looked him in the eye and didn’t say anything more than necessary on their way back to base. A single grunt of “my office” and the sergeant’s fate became sealed.

“Sir.” Gaz prays that the quaver he feels in his voice doesn’t come through. He’s never been here before, standing stiffly across from the Captain. Not like this at least - waiting for the hand he’s about to be dealt.

“Donnae worry tae much, lad.” Soap had given him a rough slap on the back. “Price’s all bark an’ no bite.”

Right now standing across from The Captain, all he can see is a bite risk.

“You know why I’ve called you in, Sergeant.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz shifts ever so slightly. “I wasn’t successful in clearing my floor-“

“And nearly compromised a teammate because of your carelessness.” John crosses his arms, a snarl in his tone. His nerves are fried - every bit of frustration and hurt that’s been pushed down and allowed to fester over the last several months bubbling up to the surface.

John can’t lose anyone else.

By the time he’s done with his verbal lashing Gaz looks like he wants to run for the hills and never come back. As good as the boy is at masking his reaction externally, just as any military man does, his eyes never hide anything. There’s a sheen over them that has John pausing, stepping it back and sighing heavily. He never raises his voice - doesn’t find it useful long term - but he has a skill for putting together strings of words that stab right to the heart. Gaz is an empathetic kid - a trait easily exploited to pour gallons of guilt on the sergeant.

“Don’t let it happen again.” John mutters, the fire gone. Doused out by the kicked puppy look Gaz wears. An itch of regret stings the back of his mind. “Dismissed.”

Based on the rhythm of footsteps the moment the office door closes behind Gaz, it really does sound like he’s running for the hills. John wouldn’t blame him. He doesn’t want to be around himself either.

John practically collapses into his office chair, finally letting his muscles relax. As much as they are physically capable of relaxing. These days his shoulders are always around his ears - hackles raised and hands flexing. He buries himself in the incident report - pouring hours into filling out bureaucratic red tape that he used to avoid at every turn.

The sun has set when a quiet but firm tap tap tap sounds at his door.

“Come in.” He grunts, knowing exactly who is about to walk through that door based entirely on the perfunctory knock.

“John.” Kate steps in, carefully shutting the door behind her before stepping forward.

“Kate.” He straightens in his seat.

“We need to talk.”

“I’ll apologize to Garrick tomorrow.” John waves her off, turning back to the files on his desk in a last ditch effort to make her leave. It’s a foolish attempt.

“You know that’s not what I’m going to say.” She crosses her arms.

“Do I?”

Kate stands over him, staring him down. It’s a position they find themselves in fairly often whether face to face or communicating from hundreds of miles away. There’s a new weight to it here. A far more personal tension than either are used to.

Kate pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m coming to you as a friend - not a coworker. You need to take some time.”

The last thing John needs is to ‘take some time.’ He just needs to focus. Get into the new swing of things. He hit the ground running now all he needs is to find his stride.

“I’m fine.” John snaps.

“You’re not.” She fires back. “It’s normal that you’re not but you need to deal with it.”

“I have dealt with it. It’s been dealt with for six months.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

John sighs heavily and scrubs a hand over his face. He has plenty of leave, really. About three months worth that haven’t been used. Months he was saving for a long vacation that won’t happen now. Ninety days that are wasting away on his employee profile - a fake number. It’s all bullshit anyway, right? The only thing that’s truly real is what he can accomplish here. Helping people and saving the world here. What good is he rotting at home for nine months?

He’s needed here.

John needs to be needed.

“John.” Kate sighs. Her voice is low - that of a disappointed mother. “Either you take your leave, or I get you sent on a mandatory mental health leave. I already have the paperwork drafted. You need to step away.”

The captain lets out another heavy sigh. Laswell has obviously made up her mind. There’s no changing it once she has the steel like gleam in her eyes.

“Fine. Give me a week to get things sorted.”

John doesn’t miss the slight quirk in the corner of Kate’s mouth. “Thank you.”

As usual, by the time he makes it back to his flat he’s completely worn through. Body and mind equally exhausted - just what he wants. John falls into his routine of pouring a glass of whatever he’s in the mood for, tonight it’s bourbon, apparently, and plopping onto the couch. Normally he’d turn on the television or grab a book or some other shite but all he can manage right now is a staring contest with the wall.

The hell is he supposed to do for three months? He can’t hang around here, that’s too pathetic. It’ll drive him mad. Could visit his mum, but she’s got a life of her own in that retirement community of hers. He wouldn’t want to disturb her peace for more than a week or two. That still leaves at least seventy-six days unaccounted for.

Somewhere during his wall-watching, he thinks it’s while taking in a particularly interesting mistake in the paint, an idea finally comes to him. A flimsy, probably stupid idea. John grabs his cell. It only rings once.

“Hey, mum.” John leans back on the shitty couch of his on base apartment. It’s minimal, but he doesn’t need much anymore, does he?

“Jack, love, how are you?” She says brightly. Always full of sunshine and excitement to hear from her only child.

“Fine.” He lies. As much as he hates lying to his mother and the acetic taste it leaves in his mouth, he just can’t handle her worry at the moment. John doesn’t need another reason to cry right now. “How are you?”

“Oh, lovely!” She replies. “I have the ladies knitting circle tomorrow - apparently there’s new developments about Harold and Linda.”

“Oh? What sort of developments?”

“The salacious sort.” She snickers.

John huffs out a laugh. The old gossip. “Mum, I was wonderin’… do we still have that old family home? By the lake?”

She hums, thinking for a moment. “Oh, yeah, we do. Though, technically it belongs to your Aunt Claudia - the old hag - love her dearly. It’s run down. No one’s been there in years.”

“Alright. Good.”

“Why do you ask?”

John sees no way out of giving into her prying just a bit. “I need a project.”

“A project?”

“I’ve been given some leave. Need something to pass the time.”

A short lapse of silence. “Jack?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

He sighs heavily, swirling the glass in his other hand absently. The breath comes out shaky and there’s a stinging in the corners of his eyes. “I’m really fine, ma.”

“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Wish you wouldn’t call me on it.” He chuckles bitterly.

“You’re my son, of course I’m going to call you on it.” She scoffs.

“I’ll…” John sighs. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will. You should talk about it, though. If not to me then to some friends.“

What friends? He wants to snap back. His ex-wife took all their mutual friends with her. The men on base aren’t his friends - can’t be with how he’s been treating them these past few months. There’s no fixing that. They’ll never trust him the same again.

Of course, he won’t tell her that. “I will, mum. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Goodnight.”

“Night.” The silence of the flat feels deafening as soon as the call ends. A reminder of all the things he isn’t - all the things he failed at. Nearly fourty years and nothing to show for it outside of his career. No one else is around to hear the poorly bitten back sobs and shaky gasps that echo through the bedroom until sleep finally overtakes him.

~~~

The home seems about as bad John assumed it to look when he pulls up. Bare patches where shingles have long fallen off spot the roof. The front porch has several posts missing from the railing and a few cracked boards. The steps creak worryingly under his boots but seem solid enough for now. John takes his time working through each room, just as he would on the job. Taking stock of damaged hinges and rusted pipes. At least the water runs and electric seems to be undamaged. Livable conditions even if it all needs a proper dusting and washing.

The interior is just as he remembers right down to the furniture. All family heirlooms with only a few updated pieces scattered throughout. Wicker chairs and heavy wood bed frames. The only truly new addition is the thick layer of dust and grime covering it all. If John were more poetic he may have something to say about that, but as it stands he is not and does not.

As he makes his way to the back, he comes across the majority of the damages to the property. The dock is missing a series of boards all the way down. The back porch has visibly rotting wood and most of the railing seems long gone. Weather battered and use torn. More shingles are missing from this side of the roof. The entire exterior needs a new paint job. Fixable enough with the right materials and some elbow grease. The perfect amount of work to fill the next ninety days.

As he makes his way through the overgrown back yard to look at the dock in more detail, movement catches his eye. A girl walking in the backyard of the house next door - a red, square little cabin that couldn’t house anything above two bedrooms at most. She stomps her way down the slight incline to the lake - carefully carrying a massive easel and canvas under one arm and a rectangular bag of what he assumes are art supplies under the other.

John isn’t sure what compels him to watch her. Maybe it’s the soft curve of her hips or the determined scrunch of her face - either way it takes longer than it should for him to tear his eyes away and head back into the lake house.

It’s easy enough to spend this first day busying himself with cleaning up the accumulated dirt. John ties a handkerchief over his face - more of a formality than a real barrier to keep from breathing too much in. He shouldn’t care. The man sucks down enough cigar smoke that even this dense sort of dust wouldn’t be more than a tickle. He sweeps and mops and throws some bedsheets in the wash. At least enough to last him until he can take the quilts outside and beat them properly.

Even as he climbs into the old but solid master bed he has lists running through his mind. Lists are good. Lists are a distraction. Sort of like counting sheep but more productive.

Needs a new hammer, nails, several lengths of screws. He’ll have to take into account the type of wood needed - might have to order the railing. The small town probably doesn’t have any that would match in person…

~~~

Even without an alarm John wakes at five am on the dot. After so many years of military life he has no hope of becoming a late sleeper. Even on lazy Sunday mornings, he’d wake first, stay in bed and wait for his ex-wife to wake. Often he would try to surprise her with breakfast…

John clears his throat and focuses on dressing for the day. Some old work jeans and a sturdy, standard issue t-shirt. He spends the morning finalizing his list, categorizing what he can most likely get in person and what will need to be ordered. He decides to get a calendar to plan out the repairs over the next three months, starting with the interior and working his way out. Methodical. Controlled. Just like he prefers.

Luckily the hardware store has more than he thought it would. Between the tools already in the lake house’s small garage and the few he needs to pick up, he should be well stocked for at least the first round of projects.

“New to town?” The older woman at the counter asks politely with minimal interest.

“Sort of. Fixin’ up a family home.” John grunts, dropping cash onto the counter.

“Ah.” She nods. “That’s good. So many places around here have been rotting away or getting bought up by vacation companies.”

John just hums in response. He doesn’t have much of an opinion on that. It’s not really his business what other people do. He shoves his change into the small tip jar on the counter and drags his supplies out to his truck.

He drives back in silence, opting to focus entirely on the empty country road. He hasn’t liked music much these days. John frowns as a figure making its way up the side of the road more into focus. The same girl from yesterday, the neighbor, pushes her bike along the side of the road. She’s limping slightly as she walks. Her legs and arms have a solid layer of dirt covering them. The front and back baskets of her bike are stuffed full of reusable grocery bags. She looks downright pissed as soon as he catches her face.

John slows when his truck finally catches up with her, rolling down the window. “You alright?”

“Fine!” You call back, obviously out of breath with a frustrated pinch to your face. You keep your eyes solidly forward. John glances down at your freshly skinned knees, wincing to himself.

“Y’don’t seem fine.”

“I am!” You turn up your nose, speeding up your walk ever so slightly. American. Interesting.

John lightly toes the gas to keep up. “Your knees look pretty banged up. I can give you a ride.”

You stop dead in your tracks. John barely has to touch the break to stop with you. There’s a fire in your eyes when you whirl on him - one that reminds him all too much of Soap when he gets the itch to blow something up. He takes you in piece by piece. He isn’t quite able to gauge how old you are. Younger than him, he thinks. Your face is soft despite the hard expression, body a graceful, continuously curved line. He snaps his eyes back to your face before you can catch him staring.

You raise your hand to point at him and then the little canister hanging from the carabiner hooked to your shorts. “I’m not going anywhere with you, old man! Try to make me and I’ll mace you.”

John blinks. Old man? He supposes it makes sense. To you he’s just a creepy guy trying to coax you into his beat up truck. “I, uh, saw you yesterday. Wait, wait! I’m fixing up the house next door. The blue one.”

That makes you pause your march again, turning to look at him slowly. You squint, eyes raking over the truck, the materials in the bed, and flicking around his face. A slow look of recognition dawns across your expression, the pinch of your lips changing into a gentle part.

“Oh. Yeah. I saw your truck.” There’s still a wariness in your tone, a shifting in your stance. Smart girl. He wonders if you can sense it. The things he’s done, the kind of man that he is. Does it roll off him in waves like he thinks? Would it surprise you?

“It’s still another five miles back. There’s room in the bed for your bike. Can’t be fun walking around all bruised up like that.” John nods to your knees again.

Your lip catches between your teeth, a sigh of defeat relaxes your shoulders. “Okay. I’ll still mace the fuck out of you if you get weird on me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” John chuckles.

You huff and load up your bike into the back of his truck. You’re stronger than he expected, throwing the bike and groceries around like they weigh almost nothing to you. The midday sun gives you a healthy glow despite the cuts a scrapes from your earlier fall.

“There’s a first aid kit in the glove box.” John says as you load up into the cab with him.

“Thanks.” You reach for it immediately, grabbing some disinfectant wipes and a few large bandaids. They’re still bleeding pretty badly - dripping down your dirt covered shins.

“What happened, anyway?” He asks as he starts down the old dirt road once again.

You hiss at the sting of the wipes. “My - ah fuck - bike chain snapped. Threw me off.”

“Y’don’t carry a back up?”

“Usually, but that’s the one that just broke. Piece of shit. Hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet…” You keep your eyes down and pick at your confetti nail polish, obviously embarrassed.

John hums. “I might have one laying around the house. If not I can drive you to town to look for one.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that!”

“It’s no problem.” He chuckles. “If you don’t mind an old man driving you around, that is.”

“Y’know, on a closer inspection you’re not that old.” You grin. “Just the old-timey beard.”

“I’ve been told it’s distinguished.”

“That just means old.” You snicker.

A comfortable silence lapses between you - the only sound being that of the truck puttering down the dirt road. There’s a prickle on John’s skin and he glances over only to see your eyes dragging across his arm holding the steering wheel. You think you’re subtle, he’s sure, with the way you keep your face mostly forward and only look out of the corner of your eye. It’s hard to fool a SAS officer.

Who’s the creep now? John smiles and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from blurting it out.

You turn away to watch out the window as he pulls up just between your houses. A two hour walk reduced to all of ten minutes. “Glad to see that house finally getting fixed up. It’s depressing watching it decompose - even if it is kind of cool.”

John nods. “My family is small. Hasn’t seen a lot of use since my cousins and I were kids.”

“Just you?” You tilt your head, staring up at him with big doe eyes. “No wife or kids?”

“No.” He grunts, wincing internally at the harshness of it.

You don’t seem phased. If anything your smile gets just a hair wider. “Well, thanks for the ride. Glad you’re not a kidnapper.”

“Anytime.” He snorts, climbing out of the truck after you. “I’m John, by the way. John Price.”

“Oh! Didn’t even think to introduce myself.” You laugh and hold your hand as you give your name. It’s so much softer and smaller than his. He almost doesn’t want to let go.

Christ, is he really that fucking touch starved?

John clears his throat and sets his hands on his hips. “Need help carrying that in?”

“I can manage.” You look him over again. John can’t help but wonder what you see. Whatever it is, you smile and wave politely before disappearing into your cabin.

He’s still thinking about that as he gets ready for bed, staring at himself in the mirror. All he sees are the bags under his eyes and scars littering his torso. The grey hairs beginning to salt his beard and hair. The rough callouses on his hands from rougher work. A tired, grizzled officer with only work to look forward to. What did you like enough to stare at? He’s strong, sure, but no more than the next guy that works out or does physical labor.

John downs the last of his drink for the night, brushes his teeth and falls into bed. For once, there’s a relative peace as he falls asleep to the sounds of nature outside. No sounds of base to keep him awake, no itching sense of duty. Just frogs and crickets.

A/N: I know I have other stuff to work on but the brain worms are wriggling thinking about sad, lonely John Price.

[seventhcallisto]

Chapter 111 — "meet me halfway."

—Deep Down.

Toc/cw: I want to apologize for the title, but I'm not going to *evil cackling*. Reader is oblivious fr. I love karaoke, you love karaoke, we all love karaoke. Cringe karaoke scene, but idc, karaoke is sexy. You can not tell me ateez doesn't love to be coddled and loved on. suggestive, kissing, yes. kissing. This chapter is all over the place I apologizeeeeee.

A lot of things can happen in the span of two weeks. You know that more than anyone. The boys aren't mad. For some reason, they aren't upset with you either. You want to ask why, but you like the way things have almost gone back to normal. Almost.

It's a week before your heat. You don't think about the effects that are gonna start taking place soon.

Consistently, mingi takes over your bed almost every night and is back in his by the morning. When you ask why, he gets embarrassed. "Can't i sleep in your bed?" You don't know if he gets up because someone keeps kicking him out, or it's just mingi wanting to give you space. You dont live in mingis' mind, so you'll never know. You share the left side with him. It smells just like mingi, lots of mingi, so much so you have the hintest smell of him on you in the morning, sea salt and jasmine. He also moves way too much, yet he somehow never kicks you.

If you happen to wake up in the middle of the night, you will definitely find him with his arm over your head, and you tucked into his chest. If you can, you'll scoot over before he notices. And by the time you wake up, he'll be gone.

Luckily enough, you're the only one with a single room. Everyone else has to share.

You rub your tired eyes stepping out of your bedroom. The sun glares around the living room right across from your door. You take your time walking over to the couch where jongho, wooyoung, and yunho stare at the screen. Each of their eyes shift to you as soon as you pop up from the side of it.

Bed hair, pajamas, and all of it in-between. You don't even flinch. They've seen you like this plenty of times before. There's not much room, so you take a spot on the carpeted floor. "What are you doing?" Wooyoung whines, leaning over jonghos' lap to pull at your shirt. Jongho looks used to him doing that, but he stares along with yunho at you. "I'm sitting," you pout back, pushing his hand off, not yet fully awake.

"Get on the couch, don't sit on the floor!" He leans further, tugging on you some more, his lip juts out, showcasing his true displeasure at the idea of you sitting on the floor. "No," you turn away, pulling out of his grip. You lay on the white carpet, arm tucked under your head. Wooyoung harshly whispers to himself. You know he's probably cursing at you for being stubborn.

It's the big break before the agonizingly long comeback. Actually, thanks to you, the deadline has been pushed back to accommodate the time off for your heat. The media doesn't know that. They only know you are still getting medically evaluated. You miss being okay enough to perform. You'll get that chance as soon as this is all over. And then you'll show them a real performance.

A heavy weight begins pressing on you, and you huff out your air, turning towards the couch. Slowly, wooyoung had crawled all the way over jongho(again, jongho doesn't flinch), and now he's lowering himself over you. Squishing you with his full weight.

On his back is a white blanket. He wraps it around you both. You have to turn on your hip and lay on your back so he doesn't crush you sideways in an awkward plank. "Woo," you groan. "You're crushing me," you pant out, pushing on his chest. He's got the sneakiest of grins on his lips. You're leveled at his chin. His leg falls over your hips, caging you in between his hoodie clad body and the grey sweat shorts he's wearing.

"I told you to get on the couch," he says matter-of-factly, resting on his palm that folloes his elbow right next to your head. This is very wooyoung to do to you, crush you with his body weight, and tease you mercilessly. You pout. "I didn't want to get on the couch" you squint your eyes at him.

"And I didn't want to get on the floor," he sighs, smiling through his pout. His head falls over you. His chin tucks you into his chest. You've escaped this hold before, but you are still tired, and wooyoung is a furnace compared to the cold wood that soaks through the carpet and nips at your back. Your singular arm that you can wiggle out wraps around his strong waist and sits on his back hips. The exposed skin there gets to you, and the closeness of his neck scent glands makes you want to sink further into him.

You rub soothing circles on his hip, unconsciously. Wooyoung takes a deep breath, the air from his nose hitting you on the top of your head. The TV is what everyone's attention is on. Yunho chews whatever snack he's gotten a hold of from the kitchen, jongho tucks himself into the free space wooyoung left. And you and wooyoung are taking synchronized breathes.

All is well in the stillness of the morning.

Touchy, touchy lately are you and all of the guys. Even yeosang. Especially yeosang. Which - wow, really? Yeosang? Yes. Yeosang.

The practice room floor is another area you find yourself lying on randomly. You've caught up on all of your moves and anything you needed to drill into memory. At this point, you're just waiting for everyone to catch up. You watch them through the mirror, the echoing of the music thumping off the floor. Yeosang takes a seat next to you. He sits criss cross, leaning on his hands. His green and black hair frames his face.

You scoot up to place your head on his thigh, curling into his side. Your phone is in hand. Yeosang pushes it to the side with the back of his fingers, getting your attention. You look up to him. His smile is small. You know that look he has when he has a question to ask.

".. Where'd you go the first day after your heat?"

And there it is, surprisingly, yeosang is boldly asking. You turn into him further, sliding your phone down into your sweater. You bury your face into him. Mumbling into his shirt. "What?" He asks, grabbing the back of your head. His hand palms your stray hairs down. He didn't hear what you said.

"I went to the girls.." You grumble, peeking for his reaction. If he had one, you couldn't tell. Yeosangs hand falls into a rhythm, patting and brushing your hair down. He pulls a piece of hair behind your ear, blinking down at you nonchalantly.

"Did you.." yeosangs words fall out. He takes a deep inhale. "Did you call on them?" He whispers, his hand trails to your back. You shake your head quickly, "No.. no," you sigh, closing your eyes. "Actually, I didn't know who to call.. Ghostbusters?" You laugh at your own pathetic joke, yeosangs smile brightens up, a small huff of laughter as well. You turn to lean on your back, pushing his green hair behind his own ear.

"I didn't know who to call on." You repeat, your hands fall to your chest. "Hook up culture scares me, and I'd rather bite my tongue off," you laugh, he smiles. Yeosangs smile is something you'll never get used to, never get sick of. If only you knew he felt the same way about your smile. "Not a fan either," he mumbles. His spread out hand rests on your stomach. You take his palm in your own, wrapping both of your hands around it, and you turn back on your side facing him.

He watches you fiddle with his fingers, pressing them against your own. You hear him inhale before he goes to speak. San cuts him off, with the smack of his palm against yeosangs shoulder. He takes his place by your hip. He pulls your legs onto his lap, holding them flush to his waist. The bend is awkward until you shift back onto your back. "Done already?" You tease, looking at the way sweat drips from his forehead.

"Done? We're just getting started," he laughs.

You love karaoke. Especially on nights like this. Where all the guys aren't extremely tired and willing to put up with mingi, you, and wooyoung begging for it. Especially you. Most definitely you. You love getting your way. Sparkling mic in hand, swaying to the funky but loveable beat of the early 2000s.

"Can you meet me halfway? Meet me halfway." You belt, leaning into it. Laughter consumes you. You take the stage in front of the led screen by yourself even though it's a duet. You know the english lyrics like the back of your hand, but the guys don't. So you're solo on this one.

The rap is your specialty. You put your own spunk on it, swaying your hands and hips to the beat. The all familiar urge to run your hand all the way down yourself to emphasize your deep feelings for the lyrics. The sweats hongjoong gave you to wear hang low on your hips.

"Right at the borderline is where I'm gonna wait- for you -" You point at the guys on the couch, piled up and cheering you on. All eyes once again fall on you, but you're still in your own little world. You're so very grateful you do this for a living. You miss touring. You sway back and forth, getting into the groove.

Your hips follow their own path, and you'd surely have a career in belly dancing with the hip control you have. You lean over, singing into the mic.

"I want you so bad- it's my only wish." You finish off, with twenty seconds of instrumentals you decide to just dance the rest away. Back and forth, you twirl and fall into a rhythm. Eyes closed. The led lights from the tv shape you out perfectly. Swaying back and forth because you're kinda embarrassed that you got so into it.

You take a deep breath, the mic falling to your side as you hold it in your hand. You lean back, looking over your shoulder for the killing pose. You don't even mention the stares. When you bow, everyone seems to shake out of their trance, cheering loudly to the point you know there will be noise complaints.

"Thanks. I'll be here all night!"

You pass the microphone off to wooyoung. Stealing his spot on the squished couch, San is on your left, and on his left is yeosang. On your right is hongjoong, and on his right is yunho. San slips closely, his thigh presses into yours, and you wiggle out of the squish zone. When you do, you semi-slip onto his lap. His hip holds your leg up to the point that you have to shift your other leg under you to get comfortable. You try but fail.

"San, scoot over." You huff, he stops talking to yeosang and turns towards you. He tries buts its no use, yeosang even attempts to help, he gives up though and covers his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. There's no more room on the couch, "sorry" san laughs, "wow, laughing at my misery, thanks" you try to lift your hips, struggling through the cushions and trying to avoid accidently smacking someone with your elbow. San is scooting the best he can, denying your claim with a pout. Wooyoungs voice begins with mingis, an energetic song they scream and laugh to.

"Here," san grabs you, his fingers spread over your waist and hips. He spreads his legs so you can sit between them. He lifts you like you weigh absolutely nothing. You try to help, but he's just moving you and himself to the point that you both are comfortable. He scoots flush to the couch, giving you as much room as possible so you dont squish or rub up against his.. Bits, you're assuming. It's comfortable enough that you don't have to worry about falling off the edge, but just to be safe, you lean back into Sans chest.

"Better?" He asks, his head falling over your shoulder, his breath fans your neck, pulling a slight shudder out of you. His thick arms tighten around your waist just under your boobs. You laugh, trying to ease the tension in your stomach, turning towards him. "we need a bigger couch," he laughs along, leaning over you, now watching wooyoung and mingi sing. San smells like white musk, wood, cedar, and earthy tones, deceitfully, there is the scent of dark chocolate under all of it. You lean into his shoulder, letting your head rest against it. His neck is right next to you, one slight turn, and you could kiss it.

You wiggle a bit, sans sharp breath next to your ear, makes you clear your throat. "Sorry." You lean forward, his hands move down to encircle your waist. Pulling you back. "It's fine, just.. don't move, please," he hushly says, squinting his eyes, his throat bobs when he swallows thickly. His cheeks are dusting pink from the corner of your eyes. The rest of the guys' hollering serves as background noise. Sans scent is a little heavier, but you can't tell if it's because you're so close. The deep chocolatey undertone makes your mouth salivate. You swallow it down. Sans hands are tight against you, pushing you as close as you can get, chest-to-back wise.

His left hand slowly slips down to your thigh. It perks there as if he's waiting for your approval. In front of everyone, distracted or not, San is showing a lot more affection than you know what to do with. You freeze when his breath fans your neck. His chin digging into your shoulder.

He's quickly ripping himself away from you. You jump when he begins clapping, hooting at their finished bow. Mingi lays on the floor spread out, and you laugh to ease the tension wracking your body. When did mingi even get on the floor? He pants and yells a jumble of words. Wooyoung pats his knee and walks back over. "I'm done," he says seriously, shaking his head. He takes his water off the table next to the couch on yeosangs' side.

He slips his muscular thighs onto your lap whilst he lays his whole body weight on yeosang. You stroke your fingers over the ever-growing patch of hair on his thigh, and wooyoung looks at you from the corner of his eyes. You can't distinguish the emotion on his handsome features. "Movie time?" Hongjoong asks, bringing your attention to him when he pats your arm.

For whatever reason, he's asking you specifically. "Yea, who's picking?" You ask, looking up at the taller alpha. His lip sticks out in thought. "You always have the best choices." You shake your head. "That's not true," you mumble, lips curling into a pout.

"Everyone here has good choices.. Oh! Let's all put a paper in a hat"

After coming out of his shared room, jongho won the draw, and because of it, he's pronounced as the winner of the night. He takes you with him on the couch, letting you curl into his side. His arm falls over your forearm, you have his hand in your own hands, his other arm props his head up on his fist. You lean almost completely into him, resting your head on his shoulder-chest zone.

You can see how his eyes grow distant with sleepiness. He's pushing through, though. You silently turn your head to him, "You can go sleep," you whisper. His eyes flutter to you, and he inhales gently, pulling his head off his palm to look at you straight. "No." He shakes his head. "It's okay if you're tired, I can just make an excuse-" "I want to be with you tonight." He's silent even as you stare. The TV flashes across his face when he takes your eyes with his. He means what he said.

His tired eyes shift down your face, landing on your lips. "Will you sleep in my bed?" He sighs out, staring with the heaviness in his eyes he usually saves for performances. His boba eyes shift from each of your own pupils. You inhale a breath, pulling your lips into a shy smile. "Yeah, do you want me to bring my stuffies too?" You say to make him laugh, his lip pulls up into a grin. He finally closes his eyes and rubs his fingers near the inner tear duct of his left eye.

"You can bring whatever, as long as you're there, I'm happy." He mumbles sleepily. You smile, standing up from the couch and stretching.

Whatever this situation you're currently in, you don't know what kind of friends do this or make it seem so romantic and domestic. Jongho just wants you to be comfortable, but you want him to be comfortable. So now, with your blanket and your childish stuffed whale(a fan gave you), you stand on the left side of jonghos' small bed. Arguing with him.

Jongho, just tired. Takes the floor with his blankets and bean bag in hand. "When you said sleep in my bed, I thought -.." You flush at your own assumptions. You can't see jongho on the other side. You can only hear him when he talks, shuffling to get comfortable. He stops abruptly at your words. Whispering in the dark. "You want to lay together?"

His roommates, hongjoong and wooyoung, are still currently watching the movie. They know you two have slipped off to bed. You didn't tell them exactly what you were doing, though. Secretly going to have a sleepover in the room where three alpha men sleep at night, the musk in the room is insanely drowning. You try not to dabble on the specifics of the scents.

"Yes, .. well- i did" you bite your own tongue. God, you sound so desperate right now. Begging jongho to share his bed with you and to actually lay with him in it. "Nevermind -" you take back, jongho stops you. Popping up from the right side of his bed. His hair is messy, eyes wide, but then reserved. He clears his throat. Smoothing his hand over the blanket and getting on it.

You stare for a few seconds. "Well?" He asks, his ears are beginning to turn red as each second passes. You bite your smile. Shuffling onto the bed next to him, you fall right into his side. But try to subtly shuffle yourself under the duvet. You wiggle to get comfortable. Jonghos bed is comfortable yes, but with him next to you. You're starting to think it's heavenly.

Jongho shuffles awkwardly, trying not to bump into you while he sits atop the comforter. You begin laughing into the blanket, watching him struggle to be polite in the tight spot that is his own bed. You sit up, letting the blankets pool around your waist. You reach over the left side of the bed where you dropped your own blanket. Jongho leans over to catch your arm.

"Careful," he clicks his tongue, and you swiftly reach up and let the blanket cascade down on jongho. A fuzzy royal purple blanket a fan also made for you. It smells exactly like your omega scent. Jonghos eyes widen for a split second. He clears his throat, throwing it around him until it reaches his neck.

"Thank you," he says shyly. You smile, digging yourself into his duvet once again. Jongho has a blanket that smells just like you, and you're under jonghos' blanket that smells like him. You don't forget he's right next to you, taking over your senses. You face him while he faces the ceiling.

"Jongho?" You call quietly, he hums, eyes shut. You bite your lip, withholding your question. Should you ask him now? When the question could make things awkward? But this back and forth thing with all of them, is it really something you'll be able to deal with when the time comes to not have them with you? You really want to know, though. Want to know what he's thinking and what they're all thinking. And now that he's at his sleepiest and most compliant, you want to ask more than anything.

"About my heat.. " You sigh and breathe deeply. "Would you have helped if you had known? in the practice room?" You whisper. Jongho shifts in his spot. You can see his hand clench over the blanket, it's silent for two minutes.

"Yea," he finally sighs out. "I would, of course, anything you'd need.. I'd get for you in an instance.. you wouldn't have to wait." You hear his breathing deepen.

"I'd take care of you." His sleepy voice says in the dark of the room. Your eyes fall over him again. His chest rises and breathes deep, slow, methodical breaths. Was he.. Asleep?

"Jjongie?" You lean up to look at him, squinting to adjust to the dark. He's completely passed out. The confession was from pure exhaustion. You wonder if he'll remember it in the morning. Your heart thumps loudly in your ears.

You have more questions than answers, Yet how are you gonna get real answers from everyone else without making it terribly hard?

"Hongjoong," you laugh, pulling away from his tight grip, his fingers once again grip your sides. Dragging you along with him to his laptop, left open on the couch. "Just one minute of your time! Please!" He laughs out, calling your name in a chant. You've been avoiding feeding into hongjoongs overworking attitude, even when you guys are due to comeback and everything has been set in stone. He's still working. You don't even want to look at another screen of beats and codes and orange, red, blue blocks that distinguish what sound is which.

"I'm not going to be in the demo! We're supposed to be relaxing!" You scold, trying to grab his hands from your sides. "Please, you have the perfect set of vocals for it," he whines, begging for you to just say yes. "At least listen to it first. You know I value your opinion most." He lays it on thick, coercing you to say yes, he still tries to tug you away from your marching towards the kitchen.

You click your tongue, pushing at his hands again. "What's in it for me, huh?" You want a bribe. Holding onto the counter and anchoring yourself there. "Anything! I'll do anything!" He says quickly, jumping on the balls of his feet. Hongjoongs grasp is strong. You doubt he knows how hard his fingers dig into your sides. You throw your head back, turning in his grasp to look him in his eyes. "You said anything! No take backs!" You huff, pushing past him and sitting in his spot on the couch.

He follows right on your tail. He snatches the laptop off the spot and sits in it. Hongjoong fumbles with the headphones, slipping them onto your ears for you. You look at him, amused. He's ever eager to show you what he's been working on. "Intro," he gulps, moving his finger to click play.

The ever familiar distinction of beats and hums meet your ears. It changes, heavier this time. You can feel the rhythm in your bones, bopping your head along. You hold the headphones closer to your ears. Watching hongjoongs face to see what he's thinking, he stares at the laptop. Pushing on his lip with his tongue.

The rest of the song isn't as different. The beats change and mix up, but not so much so it's a complete change. When it's finished, hongjoong pauses. Looking up at you through his lashes. "So?" He asks. You smile, shaking your head as you slip the headphones off. "I like it"

The look in his eyes is familiar, the distinctive look of not thinking its enough. You've seen it plenty of times before in his eyes. And every time, he never takes what you say seriously. "I was thinking of switching the chorus with -" he rambles on. You watch him do so, listening silently. You hope he knows you're always listening to what he says. Your hand reaches out to his wrist, his hand stops clawing at the laptop.

He looks up, sighing heavily. "It's really good, hongjoong. I like the difference it has, the way things switch up." You say. Humming the beat back to him.

The sudden nostalgic feeling hitting you like a train drags you back to the memory of meeting hongjoong for the first time. When you barely knew a lick of Korean and he was trying his best to communicate to you about something he was working on. The first two trainees at KQ Ent. Communication was the hardest thing for you.

Hongjoong speaks in riddles to you. You don't know anything about South Korean traditions or mannerisms. Being here was impulsive, and the only person who could talk to you was the manager named jongsik. You nod along as if you get it, hongjoong moves papers off the desk he's at. Making some room for you. Young, immature you helps him do so, stacking the papers.

Once cleared off, hongjoongs chair bumps yours so he can grab the stack of papers you just organized. You hold onto the sides to balance it. He picks out sheets and shows them to you. Musical notes and hangul you can hardly read is messily scribbled on the page. You look up to him expectedly. His eyes shine back at you, locking you in the darkness of them.

He hums a tune under his breath, hoping you'll get it and follow it. You hum back, the same tune he just made.

Hongjoong looks down at your lips. He must have remembered the same fond memory you hold dearly. He hums the tune, eyebrows pulled taunt under the bangs of his brown hair. You smile at him. "It's perfect joong," you shut his laptop, taking it from his lap. He let's you, finally listening to what you say.

"You'll sing it then?" He asks, turning towards you. You run a hand down your arm, hiding the laptop behind you. "Mhm," you nod. Hongjoong smiles, going to reach behind you for his laptop.

You fall against the arm of the couch, caging it between you and the couch. "No, you can't have your laptop back - because! You promised!" You struggle against hongjoong attempting to pull it out from under you. He knees over you, placing it between your hip and the couch. "Let me check it real quick!" He whines, trying to dig his hands between your sides.

Theres a few seconds of you laughing at hongjoongs struggle and hongjoong huffing and laughing as well. Finally, he takes a deep inhale and laughs, his lips pulling into a grin. His hands are placed on either side of your head now as he leans over. "Okay, What's your wish?" he asks, huffing. His breath fans your face. Close in proximity.

"Uhm.." You pretend to think about it, placing your hands on his shoulders. You make eye contact, then look away. "I have .. a question," You mumble, pulling your hands off his shoulders. Hongjoong doesn't move from above you. He doesn't even notice what he's doing. Pressing his knee on the inner part of your left thigh whilst his other presses against your left hip, practically straddling you. You shuffle, pulling your left knee up. You lightly graze your knee against his stomach, just above the button on his jeans.

Hongjoongs throat bobs when he swallows dryly. His beautiful dark eyes look between your own otherworldly eyes. your hands fall on his forearms, glancing up at him. How do you ask what you need to ask? How?

"Can i kiss you?"

Your jaw falls slack, taking in a sharp breath. He's slowly turning pink around the ears. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, looking between your eyes and your lips. "What?" You whisper. He takes a shuttered breath.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks again, more quietly this time, you hear the fabric scrunch next to your head from under his hard grip. You inhale slowly. Looking down at his own plump lips. Everything in this moment is real. You can feel the heartbeat in hongjoongs arm from your firm grip pounding against your fingertips. Your eyebrows scrunch.

How long have you both been waiting for this?

You quiet his racing thoughts, pulling him down into you. That should be a good enough answer, you think. Your lips smack dab into his, melding perfectly. Like they were designed to be there. You tilt your head up to hongjoong while he tilts his down into you. Meeting you halfway. His hand pulls you up into him. Placed gently at the base of your neck. It's odd. The taste on hongjoongs lips is heavy with vanilla. When you move in tandem, the blend of pear tingles your taste buds. Hongjoongs other hand holds him up, and yours fall around his neck, coddling him closer.

Hongjoong nostrils flare as he inhales, the sound bubbling in his throat. He softly prods your top lip with his tongue. You part for him. Letting him explore the cavern that's your mouth. The soft sound he lets out has you responding with your own. Eyebrows crease forward. This is suffocating in all the best ways, leaning into his touch and having him and only him consume you right now. The anxiety of the question completely lifts in hongjoongs embrace.

You pull back to breath, and he follows for one more. Just one, pulling your sticky lip with his own one final time. You heave in his presence. Eyes softly opening. Hongjoongs eyes are heavy, full of adoration, and unspoken words. He stares down at you. His breathing evens out softly. You take each other in. Both dazed.

"Is this real?" He asks, breathing softly. His eyes glance between yours, begging for the truth. You nod. "It's real, we're real." Your hand caresses the back of his neck, playing with the hair there. Hongjoong makes a noise, a somewhat strangled one. His hands curl into your waist, pulling you into him completely, gently. His head falls into your neck as he sinks down onto you. Falling onto your leg. Like you've just drained his soul. "Good," he murmurs, kissing your shoulder softly.

You pull him just as close. The silence doesn't hurt you, and neither does he say anything for a solid minute. "You didn't ask your question," he laughs into your shoulder, gently fanning his breath across your most sensitive spot. You smile. "You answered it already," you say, brushing the hair on the nape of his neck down. He sighs into you.

"What does this change?" You whisper. He pulls back, looking down at you. His hand once again brushes under your head as his elbow props him up. "Everything and nothing," he shifts between your eyes, honestly speaking. "This can be whatever you want it to be" he finishes.

You shake your head. "What do you want this to be?" You ask. He looks back down at your lips, then to your eyes. "I.." he tries to read your face. "I want this to be more," he whispers, putting his heart on the line.

"I want you. I want to be yours."

An alpha admitting such feelings, even when he's supposed to withhold them because its shunned. It's honest and completely true. When he wants to be taken in as a partner, your partner. The one seeking out instead of being sought out. He's the one asking you. Feelings the reversed roles. You nod, taking his words into your heart.

"I want you too. I want to be yours too." You whisper, leaning up to kiss the corner of his lip. "But.." You silently say, knowing you have to be true, he looks at you, worry in his frown. "I love you as much as I love all of our pack," you confess to the pack alpha.

"More than friends," your voice cracks, withholding the waterfall behind your eyes. They blur with unsheded tears. Hongjoongs face going blurring. His hand from behind your head comes up. Calling your name softly. you feel bad, like what you want can't be said. Like it's shameful. Hongjoong pulls away, grounding his knee back into the couch.

He's leaving, you think. He's doesn't think it's okay. Your lip trembles, and your eyes grow the most blurry.

Hongjoongs' hands come up to hold your face. His thumbs swipe under your eyes, pushing the tears out of your vision so you can see him clearer. "That doesn't matter to me," he frowns, and you inhale a sob. "I knew you did, I can tell. I don't mind sharing with them." he laughs towards the end, hoping to stop your silent tears.

"Don't cry," he shushes with a grin, pulling you back into him. You try to stop yourself. He kisses the side of your head multiple times.

He feels the same, and he's willing to involve the members into your very personal, very small, intimate pack dynamic beginning to blossom. God, are you special? You're so happy.

"They like you too, you know." he bites his lip, kissing your lips gently. "We all really like you. It's why we never say anything with the affection. Even if they don't know it, I can tell." He smiles. You don't believe him, the oblivious hongjoong. Cute, sweet, clumsy, captain hongjoong. "How can you tell?" You ask, rubbing your thumb down his cheek.

"Intuition," he hums.

For 3 days, you've been keeping things under wraps with joong. You love him lots. But it's too early to say so. And it's especially hard to hide the flushed looks and the loving glances. You both are trying to find a way to get a confession from the rest of the guys or to see if they feel the same way about the situation. It's odd, though. Having hongjoong, your.. boyfriend? Go out of his way to personally help you know if your other group members like you.

You truly wonder if he does like the idea of sharing you amongst your group, not in a possessive way, more so in a theres-more-than-enough-of-you-to-go-around way

The new feelings are strange and scary, one wrong move. One slip up, and you're ruining your friendship you've worked years to build. You highly doubt that will happen, though. You doubt you will ever want to leave hongjoong. You hope he feels the same.

Lately, San and wooyoung have hit the town, coming back tipsy. You make it obvious you're taking care of them, leaving hangover pills and water by their bedside table like some worried sick roommate. You struggle as you turn San on his side. Frowning at the scent of alcohol on his clothes. You slip his blanket over him, watching his sleepy and droopy eyes blink up at you.

"Omega," san whines, reaching his hand out to grab you. You sigh and sit back on your heels. "Yes, san," you answer, grabbing his hand from mid-air. You've got to be quiet due to the other roommates in the room, passed out, and completely tired from a long day. "Wait," he slurs, kicking the covers off of him. "San!" You go to stop him. He doesn't care. You grab his arms to steady him, watching his face shudder as nausea hits him.

He leans right into your chest, digging his face into you. "'mega, i'll take care of you." You could almost laugh. You're currently taking care of incompetent san, who's completely blackout drunk, who definitely doesn't know what he's saying or that he's squishing his face as close to your boobs as he can get. "I know," you reassure. "Me and woo will do it..." he mumbles the rest under his breath.

"You and woo will do what, sanie?" You try to ask, watching him droop down into you, San does weigh a good amount based on how much muscle he's packed on lately. You haven't been hitting the gym, so you're somewhat struggling to hold him up right now. You huff as you lean him back over into the bed, he wraps his arms around your back, dragging you onto the bed next to him.

You sigh, trying to lean away. "Me, you, woo, maybe yeosangie," he mumbles "everyone" he sighs into your stomach. You feel the heat of his head pressed there. San digs his face into you some more, rubbing his head back and forth across you. Nonsense spills from his lips, and you wonder why you even tried to distinguish it.

"Don't go," he whines as he feels you attempt to pull away. "San, we both have to sleep," you explain the best you can. He shakes his head into your shirt, pulling back to look at you. "Stay," he says earnestly.

"Fine, fine," you grumble, slipping into the bed next to him. Your head leans up against his pillows, whilst his lays on your stomach, clenching into your side. At least he's not on his back where he could choke. But you don't want to think about him throwing up on you either. Your hand strums through his red hair, separating knots gently. Sans breathing evens.

You can hear him mumble every once in a while. His hand clutches your thigh, holding it to him as if you'll escape. Using it to ground himself from the world spinning. He calls your name softly, shifting his head further up to look you in the eyes. "Yes?" You answer back.

"I saw your papers," he sighs. "The heat assessment ones, with hongjoongs name on it" san sounds sober as he says it. Your eyes widen. You know you left that paper in your room. You know you hadn't properly hid it, and when hongjoong saw it in your room. He signed to with your permission. A growing flush to his cheeks as he did so, his beautiful signature locked into your paperwork.

"san, I -" he cuts you off. "Put our names down," he ushers, squeezing your thigh as he says it. He looks up, squinting his eyes. "I talked with Woo and Yeosang about it. They don't want to say it, so I will." he sits up, swaying. The bed dips under him.

His hands land softly on either side of you when he sits on your left. "You can put our names down, i want you to, they want you to, i- if you want to," he emphasizes every word.

"No one else, no other alphas, betas, whatever, no one other than our pack should touch you during your heat. You're off limits to everyone else. You're ours. And I'll bite their heads off for even thinking about it."

You don't think san can bite anyone's head off. But the way he says it is as if he's trying to be as scary as possible. Instead, he's whining through his words, and it almost sounds as if he's scolding you. His eyes squint at you, tapping your leg before he falls back over your stomach.

"If you want to." He says, making sure you know he's not taking the option away. He's just jealous it's even an option. "If you remember this in the morning, you can write your name on the paper, all of you," you make a deal, hoping this will stay and if it doesn't then you know san didn't mean it.

"I give you my full permission to write your names if you remember." You bite your lip. Is this right? You trust these guys more than anyone. More than any hookup, more than any alpha, you know. You know they will not break your trust. Because they're your pack. They're your members. If they don't want it, they don't have to sign it. They don't have to agree if they don't want to.

And you know if san remembers, he can have the choice to pretend he didn't or to go through with it.

You won't know until they sign it tomorrow.

A/n; omg... leaving it on a cliffhanger again(I'm terrible)pls don't hate me this isn't proof read either ;"c next update will take more than a few days so I can gather the storyline and get everything ready before the big heat.(stay tuned)

taglist: @lelaleleb @bratty-tingz @0325tiny @smilefordongil @atinytinaa @yunholuvrsblog @ja3hwa @stopeatread @sousydive @voicesinmyhead-rc @giiouis @c4tboyxiao @eastleighsblog @doggopepper @uhhheather @hyukssunflower (if I forgot to tag you (I'm sorry I'm new to this) :( please lmk!!)

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

All I wanna do is go the distance

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he’s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: Hey guys, I'm super excited to give you guys this next chapter 💕 I have big things planned hehe

I would reccommend reading this oneshot, but as I am not jon favreau, you don't have to read extra stuff I make to understand the main stuff. Enjoy 😈

Part 7 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here

-☠️-

It had taken a few weeks for your head to get completely right again after the concussion. On some days you worried that you’d never get through the fluorescent infested hallways of the base without jamming your fists in your eyes ever again. Sometimes you’d catch Price staring at you with those concerned world weary eyes of his in the worst moments, when the headaches were screaming outwards, bursting through your skull. Though with enough time, and a lot of pain killers, the pain died down and dulled until you were completely back to normal.

It was a good thing too. For one, getting Price off your back while you were continuing to sneak around with König was a must, being under the microscope was only making the head trouble all the worse. And for another, which you were sometimes shocked to think was the secondary reason, you’d been going on more and more missions again as the 141 and KorTac got ever closer to tracking down Rousseau. Things were getting tense now, Ghost had been falling under a lot of pressure to perform and his temper was all over the place. Oftentimes you’d be the lucky one that had to chase him and calm him down.

In the months and missions after you’d come back you’d put away three of Rousseau’s men behind bars, including a very high level man that acted as his consigliere. Apparently he’d been worked on quite a bit since his capture. 141 weren’t privy to the intimate details of course, that was up to the CIA and KorTac, but as far as you’d all been told he’d given over a wealth of information on Rousseau’s location and even some limited blueprints of his hideout. 

Price had told you all in advance that intelligence would be confirming your next mission in a matter of days, so you should all stick close to the base. You were actually getting ready for an upcoming training exercise, Rousseau’s man revealing the details on his base meant that command were adamant that you did a run through first and came up with a successful strategy for the big boss’ take down. 

Luckily for you, because of the stay close order, that meant more time in your little airbnb paradise. The place was starting to feel like home. You were both etching yourselves into the apartment, carving your living narratives into it. 

You could identify marks where König had been clumsy and dropped things or scuffed his boots against the wall. There was a tiny stain on the couch from where you’d come and sat after a mission. Lastly, but not least of all, was the curtain that had been sneakily stitched up to the railing after you and König had accidentally pulled it off several of its hooks when you’d grabbed it a little too enthusiastically one night. And on top of it all was the lingering smell of the room spray you’d bought a few weeks into renting the place, preferring the smell of ‘violet rain’ over the faint notes of tobacco that clung to the walls from other renters.

Sometimes you and König even liked to tell each other ‘see you back at the house’. It was becoming all so humdrum to you both.

You smiled as you glanced over at König one night, ruminating over your little routine. The warmth of you could’ve lifted the apartment into the air. It just felt so good to know that you had something that was yours, something that wasn’t your job, something that wasn’t a material thing, you had a life with König. It was most apparent to you when you watched him, when he was free of his hood and his armour and plates and he lay on the bed on his phone, unburdened from rules and duty. He undressed himself from the myth and lay comfortably as König the man, lounging in his boxers and T-shirt like any boyfriend would act with their partner.

Though that night, his brows were knit together in concentration and his lips were pursed, he was adamant that he be left alone for a minute to do whatever it was that he was doing. It intrigued you because he was rarely so mysterious, normally he’d tell you if it was a work thing, but this time he just waved you off and told you not to be nosy. That being the case, you were watching him closely trying to see if he’d give you any hints or signs of what was so captivating on that screen of his.

“I can feel those doe eyes burning a hole into me,” he chuckled, finally gracing you with his attentions.

“Can you blame me? You’re being all suspicious,” you shrugged, tilting your head a little to see if he’d explain himself.

“I’m not being suspicious, I just asked for some quiet.”

“You said ‘Sneaky, I have something I need to do, but don’t look’ and then when I asked if it was work stuff you said no. That - is suspicious.”

“Well it gave you an excuse to imitate me, so that’s something isn’t it,” he scoffed. 

“Well, you know I do it so well,” you grinned, watching with delight as he rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you repeated, feeling as if you were copying him perfectly. 

“If you think that’s how I sound then I'm surprised you have any kind of attraction to me,” he laughed.

“Well some days are a struggle more than others, but-”

You weren’t given the chance to finish your sentence, he’d forgotten all about his phone and thrown it from his lap, launching himself at you faster than any RPG you’d seen. In a matter of seconds you were pinned to the bed and fighting for your life, tears pouring from your eyes as he tickled you and trapped you underneath his annoyingly unyielding legs. 

“What happened to the Sneaky that cried when I told them that I was bullied for my accent in school, hm? Now you’re making fun of me? I’ve got to say, that hurts me Sneak,” he said, an overdramatic fake upset lacing his tone. “You deserve every bit of this!”

You cried out and tried to protest, making a grab for his hands, but were merely shoved away when you made any kind of headway in distracting him. You wriggled and squirmed and screamed, but it was all for nothing. There was no way to make him stop until he wanted to.

“Kö- K…König, please!” you yelped, struggling to breathe. “Enough!”

You were beginning to feel like a struggling furnace as you endured his torture. Your lungs were burning from their failing efforts and you only screamed more as you grew tired of trying to fight back. The second he finally stopped his assault, you gasped in a huge lungful of air and laid back, groaning as you looked up at the blaring lights overhead and registered your sweaty forehead. 

“Remind me not to bully you again,” you sighed, finally finding your voice again.

“Mhmm. I tell you all the time, but you just always insist on being so mean to me regardless,” he chuckled, unhooking his legs from your sides.

König came to rest beside you and tucked a stray strand of hair back in its place. His eyes scanned over your heaving chest and he laughed as he watched you attempt to struggle into a sit. Nevertheless you managed to wobble yourself upwards on the shaky mattress and looked down at him, then over to his forgotten phone. 

“Will you do that again if I try to ask what you were doing so suspiciously on your phone?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” he smiled.

His new favourite line. The way he said it, it always had the undertones of a threat, but it was never said outright maliciously. König could affect his voice with so much masked intent it would have your head spinning sometimes trying to work out what he’d do next. Sometimes you’d get lost thinking about how long he’d practised that. The unfortunate people that had come across his path and challenged him, ending up with a far worse fate than just your tickling. Though you never liked to dwell on it for long. 

“What were you suspiciously doing on your phone, König?” you said, pulling yourself out of your thoughts before you got too sucked in. 

“Well, if you must know…” he trailed off and made a jump toward you, pretending he was going to attack again.

“No! No, no, no! Not again,” you cried out, leaping away from the bed. 

You made a mental note to thank Soap and Ghost one day, all their messing with you had made you quick on your feet. Instinctively, you threw your hands up ready to fight and narrowed your eyes, watching his every movement like a hawk. König remained on the bed though and sat up, laughing and shaking his head to himself as he picked up his phone again and scrolled through it. 

“Please, Sneaky, you really think I’m going to be threatened by those fists?” he tutted, not even looking at you as you remained in your defensive stance. “Put them away and come sit down.”

“These hands have killed people!” you defended.

“Yes, I know that, you’re a good soldier.”

“Exactly, so you should be threatened,” you retorted.

“If I was anyone else, sure. You’d never hurt me though,” he said, looking up from his phone with a smug grin. “I’m your boyfriend after all.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and immediately covered your face in your hands. Every little bit of you was drowning in the feeling of your thundering heart.

König didn’t much care for that particular title, he usually preferred to say partner, but he knew how it made you feel and he weaponised it as much as he possibly could. Knowing that he was all yours still scattered the butterflies in your stomach and you always felt like a little kid in the face of his teasing. You couldn’t help that him being officially yours still got you so excited.

“Are you ever going to stop using that against me?” you mumbled, finally coming to sit by him.

“No. I like watching you get flustered,” he chuckled. “It’s very cute.”

Before you could protest anymore though, he slung his arm around your waist and pulled you in for a kiss, softly releasing all the fight you had left with his teasing lips and tongue. You were locked together for a few moments and sighed contentedly when he broke away, pressing your head to his shoulder and feeling ready to sink down into the bed with him. 

Though it wasn’t time for that yet.

“Would you like me to show you what I’ve been working on?”

You opened your eyes and faced him again, watching his nervous smile grow. Seeing him look so sheepish re-sparked your curiosity and you nodded, ready to see what it was. He hurriedly entered his password and the screen flashed open, landing on the homepage screen with a shot of you both from one of your photobooth pictures from an impromptu date months before, before your concussion. Pictures he was adamant that he couldn’t let you keep because he had to protect his image, even if he was wearing his half mask at the time. As if he was somehow a much better secret keeper than you.

You smirked at the memory of all the playful bickering you’d done over those photos and shook your head, eyeing the screen again as König brought up his tabs. He clicked onto the latest one and it opened onto a confirmation email. It wasn’t what you’d expected, not that you were sure of what you even were expecting. As you read it you raised your brows and looked up at him, wondering what was happening. 

“This is a confirmation email for renting a hire car from some company in Austria,” you stated. 

“Some company has a name,” he retorted. 

“I’m not going to insult you by trying to pronounce that.”

“I see you’re restraining yourself now,” he laughed. “Well yes, it is a hire car confirmation for a cheap company in Vienna.”

“And you’re hiring a car in Vienna because?”

“Because, in a few months time, I’m taking you to Austria. Now, wait! Before you protest, I’ve thought it all out and you don’t need to worry about explaining any passport stamps to Price. I’ve found us flights to Slovakia and a train that can take us from Bucharest into Vienna, and from there I can take you around to see the country for a few days.”

He hastily explained himself and you smiled as you watched his hurried hand movements, his body in a flurry of motion. It was particularly fun to see him turn his hand into, what you figured, was a high speed train. He looked at you seriously as he finished, waiting in a suspended state of worry to see what you’d say. 

As if you’d disappoint him. 

“You sat and booked all that just for us?”

“Of course. I’ve really wanted to take you for a while now, so when you said you had time booked off and the higher ups indicated this mission will be coming to a close soon...I thought, this is the time. So what do you say? Will you come with me?”

“Obviously! I’m so excited, I can’t believe it. I’m getting to go on holiday with my Boyfriend,” you laughed, this time making yourself squeal. “It's gonna be so good! We’re gonna eat so much good food and see so many cool places and oh-  I wanna see those mountains you were talking about! Can we go?”

“We will see the mountains, yes. I’ve put time aside for that,” he laughed.

“You’ve planned the whole trip already?” you asked incredulously. 

“Sneaky I’ve been planning this for weeks,” he smiled. “I just finished the last arrangements there. I want to keep most of it a surprise, but…I actually have one thing on there that I need to ask you about before we go though.”

“Oh?”

He pursed his lips again and looked away before looking back to you. 

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out to Burgenland? To my mothers house.”

Your heart skipped a beat and somehow you managed to reach new levels of excitement. Meeting König’s mum meant a lot more to him that it did for most people. It came with a lot more meaning. Meeting König’s mum meant that he was accepting you as part of his family, it meant that he wanted you to know more of his annoyingly buried secrets. It meant that he’d have to tell you his name. 

It’s not like his own mother would call him König. 

It had been a sore subject for a little while. The cause of your only serious fights so far. You’d pushed to know a couple times, complaining that he wasn’t letting you in and that it was ridiculous that you were a couple and you wouldn’t even know what to call him  if anything should happen. Something could happen to him out in the field and all you’d know is a codename, he could be taken away from you and you’d never know who he was. 

Of course König argued that that was ridiculous and you knew more than almost anyone knew about him - excluding his mum of course. He claimed that his name was just a burden, that it was just something that would give people an excuse to take from you. Though you argued about that as well, if someone wanted to hurt you to get to him then they’d do it anyway. It didn’t matter if they believed you knew his true identity or not. 

The last time you’d gone almost hysterical because the whole thing was so silly to you. The little airbnb walls felt like they were going to go flying with all the verbal mortars being thrown, like you were going to be swept up like something from the wizard of Oz. You’d both bickered back and forth, forming a dark comedy sketch, two squeaky little cartoon characters that were on the verge of strangling each other as you both held your ground.

“Why does it matter if I know! You keep saying people will come for me, and that it's more dangerous to know you, but it's not that. I know it's not that! Otherwise you wouldn’t be seen with me, you wouldn’t have let me come this close. You just can’t face that all your walls would have to come down. You just don’t want to let me in.”

“It is dangerous to know who I am, how many times must I list the reasons? But you know what, fine, you’re right.You win! I’d love to let you in fully, but yes I am afraid of letting you close! Even though you have no idea how much you’ve taken already. I’ve given you more of me than anyone else has ever gotten, even while it’s been hard. You have no idea how hard all this is for me.”

“Hard for You? I’m in a relationship with someone that won’t tell me their name!”

 “Because it's the last thing I have to protect myself! If you leave me, what then? You could decide you want out of all this complication and find someone nice and simple and then where would I be? You’d have taken everything from me.”

“What am I taking from you? Knowing who you are is not taking anything from you König. Besides, I’m not leaving you. Why do you think I’m so hell bent on trying to find someone else when I spend all my time jeopardising my job just to be here with you? You think I like facing down Price knowing that he’d turn on me if he knew what I got up to in my spare time? I put the respect of someone that I deeply care about on the line, just so that I can be with you and you’re acting like I’m ready to run off at the first chance!”

“Because you’ve done it before!”

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

König may as well have turned and stuck a ten foot spear through your heart. You’d felt a tide of tears wash up in your eyes and you’d walked away from him then, not willing to let him see how much he’d hurt you. Not that that was an option. From his widened eyes alone, you knew that he’d known it was a mistake to dredge up old wounds, his sparkling blue irises dimming as he lost his self conviction. 

“Wait! Hold on, I’m sorry.”

König raced up to you and stopped you in your tracks. His strong arms wrapped around you fast and held you snugly against his chest as pathetic droplets of tears streaked your burning cheeks. You didn’t bother trying to free yourself from him. You just whimpered and clung to him as he shushed you and apologised for what he’d said, kissing your dampened face like it was nothing.

“I’m so sorry. What I just said was stupid. Will you please come sit with me for a moment… I have something I want to tell you.” 

A flare of anger and rebellion flared in you for a second. It was stamped out immediately, but just for a moment you wanted to storm off and tell him that if he wanted to keep you from knowing him then he’d done a great job - that that was it. Though, you couldn’t bring yourself to follow through. Even when you hated him at that moment, you couldn’t bear to see him upset again. You knew that you’d hurt him badly already that day you’d run from him in the park outside the base, you knew that you couldn’t bring yourself to do that again. 

“Ok,” you’d sniffled.

He’d sighed and taken you to the couch, sitting across from you after propping you up against your favourite fluffy pillow. You held onto it with one of your hands, losing yourself in its soft textures as you threaded your fingers through it. König watched you play with the loose strands for a second before looking you in the eyes, his face a perfect picture of remorse. 

“You didn’t really run away from me, that was silly of me to say.”

“I did run from you though, I ran from you that day you tried to explain yourself after the mission” you frowned, not able to help your crackling feebly. “You were  right, I can’t act like I haven’t given you reasons to be wary.”

“No. You didn’t leave me then though. You agreed to work through things and I suppose that’s what we’ve been doing…with mixed results,” he said, laughing dryly. “You haven’t really given me reason to be like this. This is what has happened after years of keeping people out and I suppose…I’m just having a hard time adjusting to what it feels like to let someone in.”

“I know. I know that really,” you sighed. “It's just hard sometimes because sometimes it feels like things are as they should be, like everything we have is so normal. Then I snap back to reality and there’s all this stuff with work where we have to pretend to hate each other and then we have missions that don’t line up and we don’t get to speak, like not even a phone call a lot of the time. Then there’s this intrusive voice I have over it all saying- well saying ‘you don’t even know his name, what is it we really even have together’ and I know its ridiculous and we care about each other and I should ignore it all-”

“It’s not ridiculous,” König soothed. “I feel the strain of these things too.”

He leaned forward then and grabbed your hands, making you jump as you were taken out of worrying at the pillow. His calloused fingers rubbed against yours and his warm grip kept you grounded into reality. The scars that scraped up the backs of his arms jumped up at you in the warmth of the yellow lights, his whole body a patchwork of battered skin. You traced your eyes from his rough hands and arms, up to his bobbing adam's apple and to the depths of his ocean eyes and worried face.

König’s jaw was tensed and he breathed as he worked up to what he was going to say. Your own breath was held then, lungs burning as you waited for him to speak.

“Other people have let me down in the past. My mother moved us to Germany for a manipulative piece of shit that hated me and looked to rid himself of me at every opportunity. I grew up with few friends, in a country that wasn’t mine, and fought so hard for so long that I didn’t know how to be vulnerable. I met a woman after I was forced to join the army that told me I was a hollow shell of a man, and that no one should have to be sentenced to dealing with me…There’s times I’ve agreed with her too, I’ve moved through life feeling like half a person some days. Then I met you. None of what I’ve told you is any excuse to treat you badly, but sometimes I’m so set in my distrust that I can’t let myself cross the lines I need to be able to get to where you are….And- and for you…I’m working on crossing those lines, because you’re the only person I’d ever want to give myself to, but for now its a slow process. You’ve seen my full face, we’ve made love and I have given you almost everything that I can give you for right now. All of this is to say…well - to ask - if you would give me a little more time and allow me to keep working on things with you.”

Listening to him then, as his voice crackled and wavered with emotion, was so very difficult. He kept a hold of your hands the whole time, his fingers shaking as he went on. His whole body looked ready to crumble as he explained himself.

Though before he could be brought down by everything you leaned over and held him, winding your arms around him as tightly as they would go. You hugged him close for the rest of the night and whispered to each other in the darkness when you went to bed, giving your affirmations, like a secret promise, that everything would be ok. 

As you thought back to that night, your body shook with an icy cold shock of frisson. You didn’t want to go through that again. 

“I would love to meet your mum, König,” you said softly, swallowing as you tried to tactfully avoid another horrific argument. “Does this mean…that you’ll tell me your name soon?”

He smiled knowingly at you and nodded, stroking the warm apple of your cheeks fondly. 

“I will tell you sometime soon, yes,” he confirmed, speaking warmly.

You felt a beaming smile shine brightly over your face and jumped on König, feeling full force  of excitement as things seemed to be heading in a good direction. Everything was lining up. Your mission would be done soon, you and König wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking around anymore because the taskforce would have some downtime until you were called upon again for some other earth shattering mission. After that you were going to finally learn his name. 

You sighed. It was almost too good to be true. 

“You just gotta promise me one thing,” you said, shifting your tone seriously. 

“What?” he asked, breaking away from your hug so that he could look at you properly. 

“If it’s something ridiculous you have to prepare me in advance.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned, falling comically backwards onto the couch. 

“I’m being serious,” you laughed. “If it’s something crazy like Wolfgang or Ferdinand I need to be prepared!”

“Do you really think that that’s what Austrian people are called?” he giggled.

“I have no idea! This is what I’ve been saying, I could see your passport in a few months time and could be having to fight myself not to laugh!”

“You would really laugh at my name if you thought it was silly?” he snorted. 

“All I can promise that I’ll try not to,” you grinned, crossing your hands over your heart while he stared back at you with a displeased glare. “All I’m saying is that if I see something mad I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

He rolled his eyes again and sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up into the air. 

“I can’t believe I’m being lectured on silly names by someone called ‘Sneaky’.”

“Hey!”

-☠️- 

When Price called you all in the next day, nothing could’ve prepared you for the shitstorm that was going to ensue. Though you were feeling the full force of it as you stood in the darkened labyrinth of the warehouse that had been set up to emulate Rousseau’s hideout. The 141 and KorTac had been told to find the best way to clear the base and get to Rousseau, but the problem was that you were taking too long and being overwhelmed by too many of Price’s fake men. There were just so many rooms that were connected to other rooms and it meant that a lot of men could get by each other undetected. It was a nightmare.

You’d run through the exercise around eight times already and the more that Price was making you reset, the more tension was being put on the team. It was only a matter of time till someone snapped. Although, given their quick temper and worn down attitude in the last few months, you were sure of who that person was going to be the entire time. 

In the latest reset, you stood next to one of the floppy wooden walls and bit your tongue, watching on with fear as Ghost marched up to König and got in his face. They were almost mask to mask, eye to eye as Ghost took what little gap there was between them and cinched it tight. You felt every little notch in the wood then, backing yourself into it just so that you could force yourself not to get yourself in trouble by intervening.

“Stop fucking around you useless pile of shitting cloth!”

ouch.

“You’re blaming me for the reset?” König scoffed, squaring up his shoulders. “If you would stop lagging through the hallways and would get them cleared properly, then we might be able to get through one of these attempts successfully, Lieutenant.” 

“It was your bright idea to split off with Soap and Gaz and leave us with Horangi. So far it’s been nothing but problems with you and your team rushing and getting hasty and now I’m done. We’re doing it my way again. Slow and methodical. Like it or lump it, king cunt.”

“Problems aren’t from me going too fast, they’re occurring because your team isn't clearing the halls properly, Ghost. I need Soap because Fender is out of the country, I need someone to blow the doors so I can breach plus the extra cover. Your idea failed five times already, why don’t we try to execute mine properly, hm?”

“I’ll fucking show you an execution, König!”

Ghost rammed König and sent him back peddling into the wall you were leaning against with heavy thud. You were sent flying forward as the wood bounced and watched as it rattled with the men’s efforts to take each other down.

It was like watching two stags lock horns, they were grabbing onto each other furiously and neither man seemed to want to let the other go. König swung his fist and Ghost dodged. Ghost tried to knock König unbalanced with a kick, and only succeeded in almost sticking his boot through the cheap chipboard.  

The rest of you watched on helplessly. There was very little anyone of you could do to pull the two titans off of each other -  Not if you didn’t want to get taken out of action in the process. 

“Right! That’s enough boys!” 

Price’s voice echoed through the warehouse, powerful and commanding as it sailed through the air like a brick. It smashed through the two fighters and in a matter of seconds König and Ghost were standing to attention, looking up at Price from his spot on the balcony. The blue light of the warehouse shone starkly against the white in Ghost’s mask, but it failed to stick on the inky black of König’s hood. 

“I appreciate that its been a long day gentlemen, but that doesn’t mean you get the luxury of turning into little school boys that can’t contain their fucking tantrums!” Price bellowed, continuing to reset the temperature. “König, stop pushing so hard when the others are still trying to clear the rooms on the left side. Ghost, work faster and spread your team out. Reset and do it again!”

The Captain’s word was final. Even at the height he stood, illuminated by a few bulbs that flickered like burnt orange like cigarettes, you saw that he was in no mood to be argued with. He’d stood watch for all of the attempts and with every one that failed he grew more and more dissatisfied as your joint teams disintegrated into in-fighting. 

Well, that wasn’t going to be a problem on this attempt. Not unless anyone was in the mood to invoke Price’s wrath. 

All you marched off without another word, dragging your feet as you made your way back to the start point. Ghost was glaring so hard at König it seemed like all of you were staying purposefully clear of his path; attempting to avoid the crossfire. Soap and Gaz grunted a few words of annoyance toward each other on the way, but luckily you all made it in one piece.

A few tense moments proceeded to ebb slowly by. The clatter of doors and scrape of fallen soldiers and obstacles being reset was echoing throughout the building, the heavy breaths of men around you intermingled and all too eerily you began to feel like you were in the belly of a beast. It certainly appeared that way to your eyes, you couldn’t see much through the darkness. You’d have to position your night vision down again. 

In the briefing before training, when you’d had the blueprints and locations revealed to you, you’d been told that your guys would be able to cut the power beforehand. They were sending your two teams in while Price waited with another team on standby. That way if Rousseau tried to make a clever escape, Price would be there to close in on him while you rid his headquarters of his followers.

All of it was easier said than done though apparently.

“If we fuck this up again I’m going home. Fuck the dessertion charges, prison’s better than this,” Gaz muttered.

“If we fuck this up again,” Ghost growled in disbelief. “You mean If your team fuck it up, Garrick.”

“Aw, putting the blame on us, LT?” Soap chuckled. “You’re so sweet. Maybe it's me just looking to spend a little more time with you.”

His laugh still held a little humour in it, even for all the torture you’d all been through. Although he knew for a fact that he had nothing to do with it. It was his big lumbering steam train of a teammate that couldn’t be let off so easily. 

It was true what Price said, he had been moving too quickly. König was frustrated. Somehow, despite not even being able to see him most of the time, and at times just barely through the green haze of your goggles, you could tell he was finally feeling the strain of working with your team. He was getting antsy and forceful, trying to power through so that he could escape the stifling atmosphere that the other men created for him.

You wanted to tell him he’d only make it worse by prolonging the day. Though it wouldn’t have been a good idea to speak to him then - not with Ghost feeling the way he was. 

“If we spend any more time down here you’ll all be wishing for a nice cosy jail cell by the time I’m done,” Ghost spat. 

You flickered your eyes over to König and held your breath. He looked like he desperately wanted to make a comment on the situation, his eyes were narrowing in a familiar way, the kind of look he got when he was about to fight a point. You silently begged him to stand down and cast a wary glance over at Horangi, hoping he’d stop his friend from doing anything dumb.

Though in the end it didn’t matter. Price interjected before König could air his thoughts, entering the scene like a benevolent god shouting from above. 

“Alright. Begin again in 5…4…3…2…and…”

The warehouse descended into complete darkness, all lights were off and it was just you and your two teams, huddled together in the lonely gloom. Ghost silently gestured for you all to get moving and with the rehearsed speed of a broadway play, you filed into two teams and braced as Soap got the first charge ready. 

You drew in a breath and felt your heart thudding in your chest, it made you tighten your grip on your gun as every booming beat cracked out like thunder. You swallowed and scanned your eyes through the green fog, watching bleary eyed as Soap set the first charge. You looked away and hunched your shoulders, already tensing for the first explosion. 

The door broke away and the charge sounded off with a dull boom, soon enough your teams were ‘firing’ on your fake enemy with your fake rounds. The guns clacked and clicked in a foreign kind of way and instead of screaming or disappearing in a spray they took a moment to notice the hits and would drop to the ground like seasoned actors. 

Even despite that all though, the adrenaline felt all too real. The soldiers were growing smarter smarter, even hindered by the darkness,they had begun to forsee your oncoming attacks and fought back twice as hard as before now that they'd seen your strategy a few times. It was taking longer and longer to clear the first room. 

Nevertheless, determined to stay in the exercise and take it through to its bitter end. You kept down behind Ghost and shot out at the hostiles, doing your duty and hoping it would be enough. Luckily for you the men fell after trading a couple rounds of fire.

“Horangi, stay on me. Sneak when I say the word I want you to move up ahead to the first room on the left. Horangi and I will cover you while you clear it and block the entrance on the otherside,” Ghost ordered. 

“Copy that,” you responded, also hearing Horangi sound off similarly. 

König had moved up already, but rather than have Soap and Gaz blow the next door, they were all taking cover and helping your team with the oncoming flood of men. Even as two separate teams you were now united in a common purpose - to improve the strategy and ensure you’d never be put through the exercise again. 

Most of you hated having to do those sessions, rehearsing for the main event. After All It’s not like you can account for everything that can happen when the real mission goes live. Its not like the men would be expecting you like the hapless new recruits, that was only natural as you reset the mission for the ninth time in a row.

With that in mind, you kept your gun in your hands like it was superglued to you and marched on, following through with Ghost’s plan as he directed you forward. You gulped and sprinted toward the room, taking cover behind the door and angling your head so that you could spot the men that were spraying heavy fire just inches from where you stood. You blinked and took a breath, reminding yourself that you had the edge. You had night vision. 

In a flash you whirled around and took out one of the men closest to you, diving behind a desk before anyone else could get to you. Already marking out your next target, you were relieved when you spotted Ghost in your peripheral and shot up.

“Support pillar, LT!” you shouted, marking out your ‘kill’. 

Ghost acknowledged you and directed his gun toward the other two, and soon enough you were standing in an empty room, listening to the fire outside. Though you weren’t done, you hustled over to the entrance on the other side and tipped a desk over the doorway, making entry very difficult. Then seconds later another explosion went off and Ghost signalled for you to follow him, covering the rear of team König. 

“On me, team!”

Horangi and you followed Ghost as closely as possible, heeding his every command as you cleared the rest of the rooms with slow and steady precision. König battered down every door with Soap’s help and with he and Gaz ploughing forward, you were able to keep watch of the rear as more men crawled out of the woodwork in an attempt to surprise you. 

Even with the fake ammo your blood was pumping around your body like white water rapids and your breathing came fast and heavy. The clack of the guns and the sound of feet scrabbling against the crumbly warehouse floors were echoing around your head and before long you were beginning to feel wired, could feel your body shake as you grew ever closer to the end. This was it. An escape from the labyrinth and the endless blurry green of the night vision goggles.

“Ready?” König asked, standing prone at the last door.

Ghost and Horangi took out a couple of stragglers, and once they were down and static silence was ringing all around you, König was given the go ahead.

“One last door and then we’re home free, Gazzy,” Soap grinned, setting the door to blow. 

“Yeah yeah, just blow the door, Soap,” Ghost growled.

The last breach felt strong enough to shake the ground you were standing on. Though you’d concede that by the time the charge went off, you were starting to shiver a little. You were full of anticipation, ready to sit down and get some rest before the actual mission. A good night’s sleep was within your grasp. 

Once that door swung out, you’d realised that you’d never been so relieved to see a potential hostage. 

The new recruit made a mighty effort to mimic Rousseau, he tried to go down fighting and raised his gun at you all. Though with six people on him he didn’t have a chance. All of you shrank back from his shots while he attempted to flee, though when you noticed that the recruits back was turning to run, you took your chance and barrelled toward him. 

With every ounce of strength that was left in your body you tackled the man to the ground, landing softly on his thick padding - something Rousseau definitely wouldn’t have when it came time to dive on him. Even with your body protesting, exacerbated limbs crying out for a break, you wrestled his gun from his hands and pinned them to the ground. Fake Rousseau had nowhere to go after that, he was stuck below your body even as you heaved out heavy breaths and soon was surrounded by the rest of your team.

At long last it was game over. 

“Alright, very good team,” Price’s voice called, “You can take off the night vision and we’ll turn the lights up.”

You were all too eager to follow Price’s command. You whipped the goggles up and looked around in the sheer darkness for a moment until the blue lights faded on and were then chased up by the stark flicker of the overhead lights. 

Everyone was blinking hard, adjusting to the brilliance and grimacing as you all looked around the grotty old warehouse with new eyes. When it was set up with low lighting there was something very intimidating about the training area, though now that you looked at it in the new light you couldn’t help but compare it to waking up the morning after a one night stand. 

The chip boards looked floppy and pathetic and the huge towering walls beyond your little simulated maze were covered in warning signs and caution notices. The mirage had cleared, and finally you could look up at Price properly, settling your strained eyes on his terse expression.

“Much better. That’s the sort of performance I expect from you lot, and that’s what I want when we launch tomorrow. Get yourselves cleaned up and get ready to meet in the hanger for oh-four hundred. You’re all dismissed.”

-☠️- 

“Fucking Training exercises.”

You lumbered behind Ghost and made your way to the bathrooms, getting ready to wash up with the rest of the team, hearing bed calling out to you sweetly before your early start. Soap and Gaz were unsuaully quiet, meanwhile König and Horangi were their usual type of quiet. Ghost wasn’t satisfied with that though, he was muttering to himself and stomping down the hallway like a man about to fly himself off to Rousseau and end the mission himself.

“At least it’s over now,” you sighed. 

“Would’ve been over a long time ago if we hadn’t started improvising with the hired help,” Ghost groused.

“How many times, Ghost. We tried your plan and we failed, we worked mine out and we passed,” König growled. “Doesn’t matter how many times you whine about it, the plan worked and that’s all that matters.”

“Is it? Is that all that matters?”

“Yes. We all wanted out and now we’re out. Job done,” König groaned. “What else is there to bitch about?”

“It’s not bitching when I have legitimate concerns about letting a private contractor shit all over my team’s dynamic and split us up!”

“What dynamic is that? The one where you get them all killed?”

Ghost flew toward König again, except this time none of you were allowing it. You, Gaz and Soap leapt toward your Lieutenant while Horangi acted as a barrier, keeping a steady hand on König’s flaring chest. All of you struggled as Ghost threatened to explode, but in a matter of seconds he calmed enough to see he wasn’t going to be allowed his revenge and broke away, grumbling that he’d leave it. 

König watched the exchange between you all and laughed to himself, the little titter escaping the thick fabric of his hood even as he tried to keep it soft. You glared over at him, not appreciating his antagonising just as you’d managed to get a grip of Ghost, though he rolled his eyes at you and walked off. 

Only when he was around the corner did you finally feel it was fit to let Ghost have it.

“What the fuck was that, LT?”

“What do you mean what the fuck was that?” he growled.

The way Ghost looked at you, the way his eyes glinted like he was settling on a new target, normally would’ve had you crumbling like brittle harling in a storm but you were resolute in your mission. You straightened your shoulders and walked up to him, not letting the disappointment fade from your face. 

In your periphery, you caught your fellow teammates giving you a shared look of fear. Soap and Gaz more than made up for what you lacked in that moment, but you ignored them keeping your mind focused completely on Ghost. 

“Price cleared the op to run just as we practised it there, just as it was successfully run and you want to have a go at König because he happened to make a valid suggestion?”

“I’m not having a go, I’m pissed that we’re taking orders from paid guns that shouldn’t even be here in the first place! This was supposed to be our mission, Price assembled our taskforce back together all to take down Rousseau and what happens? The government get involved with KorTac and suddenly we have to play nice with money grubbing slime balls. It’s all not right, Sneaky, and I won’t sit by and take it!”

“It might not be right, but it's the situation we’re in. You might not like König, and things have been…not ideal with all thats happened, but like it or not he made a good call and Price recognised it for what it was.”

Ghost grunted and was about to fire back another load of verbal ammunition, though Soap interjected before he could say anything else.

“Sneak’s right, Ghost. If they’re telling you to let the König thing go, then let it go. Sneak has the most right out of anyone to be pissed about König calling the shots, and they’re not. Fuck sake, Ghost, even Price hates the man. If Price likes his plan, then its a good plan.”

You raised your brows, surprised at seeing Soap opposing Ghost for once. He walked over to you and stood shoulder to shoulder, holding the giant back as he teetered on the verge of a rampage. The warmth of Soap brought a calm to your bones and now that you knew you had someone else supporting you, you let out a breath you’d barely been aware of holding. 

You so rarely had to butt heads with your Lieutenant, you’d never get used to the feeling. Your bones felt like they were rattling with the energy it required.

“You don’t have to worry about the team dynamic, Ghost,” you continued, hoping to expel the last of his anger. “In fact arguing with König is more of an issue than anything that he or any of KorTac can do. We get through this mission and take down Rousseau, then KorTac will leave and we can get back to our jobs until the 141 is called on again. If we fuck this up then we’ll be dealing with losses and we’ll have to keep working with them. We just need to get through this and its done…ok?”

Ghost sighed and cast his eyes down to the floor. Silence reigned for a few beats, but eventually he looked back up and eyed you and Soap and Gaz who’d moved to your other side. The blue in his darkened irises could’ve been swamp water with the way they’d been tainted with frustration. Though even with all of his anger at the situation, he had visibly sagged as he recognised he was looking at things wrong.

“You’re right,” he grunted, rubbing his head and furling up his mask. “I’ll go apologise and see if I can’t get through the rest of our time together without murdering the bastard. Like you say, Sneak - not long till he fucks off.”

With that he left to go slink down the hall and catch König, still grumbling to himself even as he retreated. You and the rest of 141 laughed as he turned the corner and eyed each other, smiles slowly spreading across your mouths as if you’d just turned up to a mad hatters tea party. A moment of euphoria shared as you thanked your lucky stars that Ghost didn’t go Godzilla on all of you before he carried on with murdering König just as he’d said.

Though a small part of you still worried for your boyfriend. You’d winced a little when Ghost insulted him, but on the other side of the coin, you realised that with the mission coming to a close soon you’d be able to stop the obligatory concerns that came with König being on base. Soon you could carry on with your illicit affair and not worry one bit that Price would be any the wiser. What you can’t see can’t hurt you, right?

“Thought for sure ma neck was gonna get snapped there,” Soap chuckled.

“I know, I was picturing being the next skull he wore,” Gaz laughed, his nervousness expelled in a low rasp. “Fuck, Sneak. Next time you want to go on a crusade, give us a bit of warning.”

“I’d have loved to have given myself warning,” you snorted, still in disbelief you’d stood up to Ghost. “It just came out of me out of nowhere. If anyone was getting scalped there, it was gonna be me.”

“Well…at the very least, thank jesus,” Soap smirked, “Ghost listened rather than wringing yer little brass neck. But you know what, Sneaky? Next time you decide to have a brave moment like that, leave us the fuck out of it!”

“Yeah, let us get out of the blast radius first, and then go at him,” Gaz laughed, slapping your shoulder. 

With that they both walked off to the showers together and you rolled your eyes, following after them so that you weren’t hanging around the hallway by yourself. Your weary boots slapped against the floors and you continued to joke as you rounded the corner, feeling at ease as you got your mind focused on getting ready for the mission and the calm that would ensue after its completion. 

When you got to the changing room though, you frowned when you saw König’s things scattered. Normally he wasn’t one for throwing things around, he was usually quite careful to pile things up. However his shirt was sprawled on the ground and his trousers were hung over the benches like a set of bowlegs straddling a horse. Most unsettling of all was when you’d glanced down and saw the wooden bird you’d given him months before laying on the floor just under his upturned pockets. 

“Huh, big man must’ve been in a hurry to shower,” Soap noted.

“Probably wanted to try and hurry to avoid Ghost,” Gaz snorted. “Not that I can blame him, I’d hide from the LT too if I knew he was after me.”

You laughed along with the guys because it seemed like the thing to do, but the smile on your face dropped instantly afterward. Something wasn’t right. You gulped and looked over the mess of his clothes one last time and bit your lip, barely feeling the harsh scrape of your canine against your soft flesh. 

“You gonna wash up, Sneak?” Gaz asked, elbowing you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re standing there like a spare prick, Sneaky,” Soap laughed. “You gonna shower? Or are you cooking up a little pre-mission prank?”

“Don’t encourage that, Soap,” Gaz laughed. “We need to put all that to rest. Like Ghost said, this is the last time we have to see the guy. Let’s just get past it and pray we don’t ever work with KorTac again.”

“I’m not planning anything,” you said, stopping Soap in his tracks just as he picked up the hem of König’s shirt. “I agree with Gaz, let’s leave it, alright? I’m just gonna see where Ghost got to first then I’ll go shower. His stuff’s not here, so he must’ve gone off and I figure I should make sure he got away from König in one piece.”

“Ghost getting away from König?” Gaz snorted. “Think I’d worry more for the other way around…if I gave a shit about König that is.”

You gave another little weak laugh and walked off without anything else to say. You didn’t have anything else in the chamber. Your mind was too busy reeling and wondering where Ghost got to and why König’s stuff was laid out everywhere and all the ways you could combine those pieces of information into horrible conclusions.

You walked through the doorway to the opposite corridor and mindlessly carried yourself forward while your skin burned too hot and your stomach tightened into tiny knots. 

Did they have an argument? Did Ghost notice something about König’s things that gave you both away? Had he seen the bird and known it was yours? If so, how? You’d never shown anyone else the bird that you could remember, but then you cursed to yourself as you remembered your less than sound mental state and struggled to try and remember if you possibly had told the guys or shown them the bird at any point. 

Why did König have to carry it around with him? Why couldn’t he have left it in his room on base or secreted it away somewhere safe?

Were you being crazy? You reasoned you were being crazy. Maybe he really had just left his things in a hurry. Perhaps he did just want to get through his-

You felt your blood run cold when you heard a low growl tear you from your thoughts and speak your name, your real name.  

“You look lost.”

You glanced up after trailing your eyes along the gloomy grey floor and shivered as you finally noticed Ghost towering above you, casting a mighty shadow. He had his eyes fixed on you like a shark, cold and deadly as he surveyed your trembling form. He was glaring hot pits into your skin and from that moment on you had absolutely no doubt that he was onto you. 

He’d never looked at you like that in his entire time leading you. He looked furious, distressed, agitated, so many emotions were etched those glaring dark eyes of his and you were losing track trying to figure out how to best appeal to him. 

“I was trying to find you,” you murmured, barely speaking above a whisper. 

“Why would you be doing that then, ay?” he gritted out, walking toward you cornering you into a wall.

His boots sounded against the floor like canons. With the way he was acting, you worried he’d shove you and crush you underneath them. Though maybe that would be kinder than the fate he had in store for you…

“You.. you- uh, tossed König’s things didn’t you?” you whimpered.

“I did.”

“Why?” you breathed, feeling your eyes welling with tears before you could even attempt to think of calming yourself. 

“I’ll admit I got angry at the thought of having to go crawling and apologising to him and I lost it. I knocked his things off the bench. It went everywhere and shit went scattering out his pockets, y’know he left his wallet in his trousers, stupid cunt. Shouldn’t even have personal shit on a training exercise, but I suppose that’s what happens when you hire a bunch of undisciplined mercs… you know what I happened to see when I spotted his wallet though? You have any guesses, Sneak?”

You gulped and all of a sudden, it became all too clear to you exactly how Ghost had caught you out. 

“The photos,” you whispered.

“That’s right,” Ghost growled, “I saw the fucking photos of you two poking out of it.”

Next part here

[dreamofbetterthings]

No Regrets Noah Sebastian x Reader

Prompt: "The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

VIP: Noah Sebastian

Band: Ban Omens

Summary: There's no such thing as a "calm" Halloween night, especially when hidden feelings are involved.

Warnings: It's gonna be a little spicy, but not full-on smut. Still, this is 18+ due to descriptive language and some curse words scattered about, so minors, please DNI. 

A/N

Hello everybody! I'm sorry that I dropped off the face of the Earth. I have an abundance of things going on in my personal life and I am trying my hardest to get through it all. I know in the last post I said chapter 3 of It's Been A Long, Long Time was coming soon. That wasn't a lie. It is still in the process of being edited. I'm working on a new uploading schedule for you guys, and a page redesign as well so if everything pans out the way I'm hoping, it will be put into effect starting next week. In the meantime, I have a couple of stories I'm planning on getting out before Chapter 3 gets released. This turned out a lot longer than I thought it was going to be, but I had an idea and ran with it. I've never written for Bad Omens before, so let me know what you think. Enjoy!

This is a fictional story about real-life people. Nothing that is mentioned in the story below represents who said individuals are, or how they act in real life.

Halloween night was always your favorite time to be around certain people, specifically the friends you called Motionless in White and Bad Omens. There was always something up their sleeve to turn the normal night into one that you weren't sure you wanted to remember in the morning. Luckily, tonight was the annual hangout at Chris' house this year, and you couldn't be more excited. Every year you all would get together at someone's house and pass out candy to the kids, then watch a couple of movies after the last stragglers came through. After that, came your favorite part of the night, Hide and Seek. It might seem childish, but watching a bunch of tipsy/drunk people try to stay quiet in a hiding spot was always hilarious.

 You were making another batch of popcorn when Chris walked into the kitchen. "Hey, we just put on The Lost Boys, just thought I'd let you know." You smile. "I'm not surprised. That's almost everybody's favorite." He laughs and grabs another bowl from the cabinet. "I know, that's why we put it on first, so nobody can complain about it later." The timer on the microwave went off signaling that the popcorn was finished, and you carefully took the bag out. You gave Chris the cooling-down bag and picked back up the one you set on the counter before he walked in. After emptying them and grabbing extra napkins, Chris brought the popcorn out to your friends who were talking through muffled and hushed whispers. Before you walked back into the room, he pulled you back for a second to whisper something in your ear. "I pulled the seeker for tonight. Unfortunately, it wasn't you. Maybe next year." You pout and then smile "Fuck, I'm never going to get picked." He laughs as you glanced around at everybody scattered in the room. 

Ryan sat with Justin on the loveseat. Folio was a drama queen and insisted he get his own seat. Nicholas, Vinny, and a few other of your friends, Florence, Nicole, Victoria, and Robert who were invited sat around the coffee table on the floor. Ricky, Jolly, and Noah were on the couch. Then, you and Chris got the two giant bean bags in the corner. The lights were changed to red and the TV just started the opening credits to The Lost Boys. You and Chris give the popcorn to Ricky and Nicholas respectively, everybody else having their own mostly full bowls, and grab your drinks before plopping back down on the bean bags. Folio rubs his hands together and smiles. "Now that our final two goofballs are here, who's ready to watch one of the best horror movies ever made?" Everybody gives some form of yes or a holler, and he immediately turns the volume up. As the movie plays, there is a small conversation here and there, and occasionally someone has to get up for a new drink, but you are relaxed and having fun. 

At about the halfway point of the movie, Noah gets up to get another drink from the fridge. On his way back, Jolly scares him, causing his wine to spill all over the floor and your sweatpants. "Jesus man!" The movie is paused and everyone's attention is on you guys. Jolly laughs and puts his hands up in defense. "Sorry dude, I had to scare you at least once today." He turns to look at you. "Didn't mean to ruin your sweatpants though, my bad." You wave him off. "It's no big deal, these were old anyway. You guys can keep the movie playing. I'm just gonna change into different pants real quick." You take a sip of your drink and get up from your spot to go upstairs. 

After finding your weekend bag, you huff as the extra sweatpants are nowhere to be found. Instead, you pull out a pair of spandex volleyball shorts and go to the bathroom. Noah hears the sink running upstairs as he's cleaning up the accidental mess he made by your spot. He throws the paper towels away and before he gets to the stairs, Chris quietly asks "You good?" He nods, telling the other singer he's going to make sure you're okay, and heads to your bathroom. He knocks a few times and after a couple of seconds, the sink cuts off and you open the door. You were expecting one of your girlfriends to be standing there, but instead, it's Noah. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I'm sorry about spilling on your sweats. I hope I didn't ruin them." Holding up the pants, you show him where the stain had previously been. "If these sweats can make it through one of your tours, they can certainly handle a little bit of wine. I just didn't want them to stain, since you drink the darker stuff." He chuckles and follows you back into the bedroom. 

You grab your shorts and get ready to put them on, but Noah points to your leg. "I didn't know you had a thigh tattoo." You glance at it and glance at him confused. "Really? I got it a while ago. I could've sworn I showed you when I got it done. Then again, I'm always in longer shorts, so it's not exactly easy to see." Setting them down, you turn to the side and pull part of your underwear band up, showing the last covered part of the tattoo. Looking up at Noah, you can see he's staring, but there's something else behind his eyes. Just not sure what it is though. You don't flinch when he reaches his hand out, but your skin gets goosebumps as his fingers ever so lightly trace over the ink on your leg. Everybody that came over tonight had seen each other in their undergarments or even completely nude before, whether by accident or on purpose. Hell, you've walked in on him changing plenty of times. 

So why did the room suddenly feel hot? 

It could be that you've had a crush on the man since you were kids. There wasn't anything not to like. His personality just made you want to be around him all the time. He's sweet and kind, and has a terrible sense of humor that only you two get. You could go on and on. He was just an all-around amazing person. You were so caught up in your thoughts, that you missed the hand that was snapping in front of your face. "Hello? Are you there?" Coming back to reality, you saw Noah looking down at you with curiosity. You quickly apologized and asked him to repeat what he said. "I said it looks amazing on you. The placement is perfect and it works great with the curves of your leg." You thank him and can't help but notice just how close he's standing to you. There's a tense silence for a couple of moments, and neither of you moves from your spot. You glanced at his eyes, then his lips, but immediately looked away. 

It felt like you were a school girl again, talking to the guy you've had a crush on for ages. You heard him mumble a "Fuck it" before he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. They were soft and tasted like wine, courtesy of the drink that led you here in the first place. You felt his hand move to rest against your cheek. His lips were gentle, almost as if he was savoring the moment, afraid it would never happen again. When the two of you finally pulled away for air, your eyes remained closed for a moment, before slowly opening them and meeting Noah's. The two of you looked at each other in pure awe before you let out a small "Woah" He laughed, and you looked down, feeling your cheeks become hot.

The thought of you being so flustered made him blush too. How was it possible for someone to be this cute? Your heart was pounding out of your chest, and you almost couldn't comprehend what just happened. "You know, for someone that always complained he was a terrible kisser, that was uh, really impressive." He could feel you now completely relaxed against him and he laughed a little, slightly embarrassed. "I'd say that I've had practice, but you already know my teddy bear in fifth grade doesn't count." The two of you laugh. Remembering his hand resting on your cheek, you look away and take a small step back. "I think we should get back to the movie. It's gotta be almost over by now, and I don't want them to yell at us for taking too long." He let out an uncomfortable laugh and muttered a "Yeah." 

You never noticed but Noah frowned slightly when you pulled away from him. He felt so comfortable being that close to you. As you turned to the door he realized something. He really liked you and didn't want this to be just a one-time thing, especially if it was going to make things weird between you afterward. He picks himself out of his thoughts just as you open the door. He walks across the room, taking your hand and silently closing the door. Standing there surprised, you ask him, "Are you okay?" It was now or never he told himself. "I'm sorry, I just..." He takes a breath before continuing. "I really want to kiss you again." You stand there just as surprised but decide to see just how far this could possibly go. "What's the problem then?" He lets go of your hand and brings his own up to hold your face. Pressing his forehead against yours, he whispers. 

"The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop." 

He obviously likes you, right? But this is your best friend. You've known each other for years. If he did like you this much, he would've told you by now, right? You two have been affectionate towards each other before, but there's a line neither of you dared to cross. If you crossed it now, you would rather do it with no regrets. It was better than wondering what could have been. "What if I don't want you to stop?" Noah tilts your head so you're looking him in the eyes. 

"Then I won't." 

He pushes his lips against you again, this time with newfound hunger. His hands fall and grab at your waist while yours go around his neck. Your feet follow his backward and you hit the edge of the bed. He pulls you down to sit on his lap, completely forgetting your lack of pants while he pushes himself further back on the bed. His tongue runs across your bottom lip and you open your mouth allowing him in. Your hands gently tug at the now-cut-short hair on the back of his neck and he grabs at your hip hard enough to leave bruises before pulling you even closer to him. Shifting your weight a little, your lower half sits directly on his hardening cock and he groans into your mouth. He pulls his lips away only for them to move down your neck. You tug at his hair a little harder and he sucks at the tender skin that connects your neck and shoulder. A moan leaves your lips and you mindlessly grind down against him. There was nothing that could prepare you for how right this felt. Like you were seeing a whole different side of him, hidden from the outside world, and for your eyes only.

Noah moved to whisper in your ear. "Quiet baby, wouldn't want everybody to hear us, hmm?" You shake your head no, but it doesn't matter as he kisses you again. "Hey, are you guys-OH MY GOD!" The bedroom door opens to see a shocked Chris looking at the two of you. Noah pulls away from your mouth, and the two of you look like deer in headlights. "I'm going to go... quickly." Chris walks away, before coming back and closing the door. You and Noah make eye contact for a split second, before the two of you look away, slightly embarrassed that you were caught. "Maybe we should go back before someone comes in again." He clears his throat and nods. "Yeah, that's a good idea." Carefully getting off of him, you stand up and let him off the bed. You both straighten out your respective clothes, and you finally put on those shorts. 

"Are you alright?" He nods and you get ready to walk toward the door. Noah runs his fingers through his hair. "Um, Before we go, I just wanted to ask...You don't regret any of what just happened, right?" You immediately shake your head no, slightly frowning. Maybe this was all a big mistake. "Not at all. Why? Do you?" He smiles and also shakes his head no before taking your hand in his. "Nope. No regrets." A smile replaces the frown on your face. You ask "Are you ready for them to never let us live this down?" He laughs and glances at the door. "That doesn't sound like such a bad thing to me." Giving him a nod, he opens the door and the two of you walk back into the living room where the rest of your friend group is talking amongst themselves. When they hear you guys walk in, it gets silent. Noah lets go of your hand so you can sit down first, and then goes to his spot on the couch. 

Nobody said anything for the first couple of moments before Chris broke the silence. "You guys fucked in my spare bedroom..." Instantly you and Noah sat up and shook your heads. Your voice and his overlapped and both of you tried to tell your friends that technically nothing happened. Once the two of you were finished explaining, the room was silent for another couple of moments before anyone spoke. The silence was starting to make you uncomfortable, but before you could say or do anything, Ryan threw his hands up and yelled. "Fucking finally!" This breaks the tension in the room and everybody starts laughing and giving you and Noah happy looks. You even saw a couple of people passing money around. Those fuckers bet on you and Noah getting together. When the commotion has died down, another movie has started, and everybody turns their attention to the TV. As you focus your attention on the screen, your phone buzzes, and you pick it up. 

Noah

"I was thinking later we could finish what we started in the spare bedroom?"

You smile at your phone and quickly respond before setting it down.

"Well, we're still playing Hide and Seek after the movie. I'm once again not the seeker, lol. If it happens to be you, don't go easy on me. Depending on how the rest of the night plays out, you might get your wish ;)"

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Noah readjust himself in his seat. He sends back a text almost instantly, and goosebumps litter your skin again as you read his last text.

Noah

"Oh, I won't. I like the hunt."

Nope, no regrets.

[twice-inamillion]

The Company

Recruitment

Light smut and Story Building

Chapter 7

1,360 Words

(You take Jennie’s opinion into consideration and look for a reliable flight attendant. Some important decisions are made for the future of the company and a possible recruitment of someone special.) 

A few days have passed since you and Jennie fucked for the first time. The morning after, Jennie complained of soreness from your length and how wide you stretched her, “Daddy, I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk correctly for the next few days. Is it okay if I take a day or two off?”

You smile at Jennie and smack her ass, “Sure. You can tell your members you have a stomach bug, and I’ll let the coach know the group will take a break from practice.

“Thanks, Daddy,” giving you a hug. 

The first thing she did after recuperating was text you early in the morning, “Daddy, I’m all better now. How about going another round?”

You message her back, “It’s 6 in the morning, and you’re thinking about sex?”

“Yes, these past two days, I couldn’t think about anything besides your big cock stretching my small pussy.”

“Okay, how about tonight?”

“Actually, I’m outside your door, hehe”

You roll your eyes, get up from bed, walk towards the door, and check the screen, “Daddy, open up.” Jennie immediately lunges herself at you after you open the door, “Daddy, I missed you!”

“I missed you too, but you’re up so early.”

“It’s the only time I can sneak out without the members noticing.”

You smirk at her and say, “You’re a bad girl. Daddy needs to punish you for sneaking out.”

Jennie smiles, and your comment, “Daddy needs to punish me with his big cock. He should fuck me roughly and pump me with cum.”

You don’t even respond and instead, pick her up, walk towards the guest room, and toss her onto the bed. 

The two of you fuck until eight in the morning, showering together and having a light breakfast. “What are you reading there?”

“Just some resumes. I just purchased an airplane and am now looking for a flight attendant. These are some resumes I got sent over by one of my assistants.”

Jennie looks over your shoulder at the various applicants' pictures, “Oh, she looks pretty,” she says as she gets one of the applications. 

“You think so?”

“Yeah, you can see it in her eyes.”

“Hmm… you might be right.”

“What about hiring Jisoo’s sister? She’s about to graduate from flight attendant school.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, she’s really pretty. With her pale white skin and nice body, she might be your type.”

“Do you have a picture of her?”

Jennie pulls out her phone and scrolls through her photo album of Jisoo with her sister, “Here, take a look.”

“Wow, she's beautiful.”

“Right? You should hire her. Did you know that many flight attendants struggle to find work because it's a competitive field?”

“No, I didn’t know. Maybe I’ll let one of my assistants contact her.”

“I’ll ask Jisoo about it and let you know.”

“Thanks.”

—————— 

“Sir, Bang Si-hyuk replied back.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that he accepts your offer and is more than happy to partner with us.”

“Good, get the paperwork ready so we can have a final meeting. Also, tell him that I want to invest in his boy group, the one with the seven members.”

“Yes, I’ll get right on it.”

“What about Park Jin-young?”

He replied too, but asked for a bit more funding.”

“How much does he want?”

“About ten or fifteen percent more.”

“Haha, that man is greedy.”

“He is, sir; what do you want me to reply?”

“Tell him that I’ll accept, but I want the full transfer of his upcoming girl group to our site and any other female trainee in the future. I’ll send you more information.

“Thank you, sir.”

——————

A few weeks went by since Jennie mentioned Jisoo’s sister, the flight attendant. After giving it some thought, you considered her opinion and asked one of your hiring assistants to look into hiring Jisoo’s sister. Luckily, she was easy to get in touch with after getting the information from Jennie. 

“Hello, my name is Kim Ji-Yoon. I’ll be your flight hostess starting today,” she said as she bowed.

“Nice to meet you. Take a seat.”

Ji-yoon takes the seat across from you, and IU goes over the contract. “You will be a salaried worker. Here is the amount of money the company is offering,” sliding the piece of paper towards her.

Ji-yoon opened it, and her eyes widened. “Are you sure? This is a lot of money, much more than what they pay someone who’s working in the business for years.”

You respond, “Yes, I want to ensure you are rewarded nicely and expect your utmost discretion. You’re also Jisoo’s older sister, so I wanted to do something nice.”

“Thank you so much. I will do my best not to disappoint you.”

“I’m sure you won’t. Also, our first trip is going to be in a couple of days, so I hope you’re ready.”

“That's great, sir; where will we be going?”

“Japan.”

—————

“We will be landing in Japan shortly, sir.”

“Thank you, Ji-Yoon.”

“Would you like to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you, though.”

“My pleasure,” she said, and she made her way to the attendant area on the plane. 

You watch as she walks down the passage, her nice-length skirt giving you a glaze at her toned thighs, “Damn, what a view.” 

The purpose of today is to visit and hopefully recruit a potential trainee after getting a couple of letters of recommendation from a dance studio. The head choreographer linked the company's recruitment account to multiple videos of their student. She praised her students' stage performance and talent, suggesting that someone visit and see them in person. 

The recruiters watched the videos were attached and gave you an idea of what to focus on after watching. You watch each video multiple times and can’t help but be amazed by her beauty and elegance. The way she performs is something that many people can imitate unless they’re a natural. 

After settling down at your hotel, you get in contact with the head choreographer and let them know that you will be arriving later that day. She thanks you for visiting and the opportunity to see one of her students. 

You arrived at the location before opening and were given a studio tour. Walking around, see the pictures of all the trainees, “Is this one her?” as you point at the photo. 

“Yes, that’s her.”

“Okay, nice to know.”

“She’ll be coming to the studio in about twenty minutes.”

“You seem nervous.”

“I am. She’s been with us for so long; we know that she can do much more out there.”

“You seem to care for her a lot.”

“Yes, which is why I emailed the company so you can see for yourselves.”

The person arrives twenty minutes later and sets their bag before entering the changing room. They come out in sweats and t-shirts and walk toward the center of the room before playing the starting the music. You hear the song begin, focusing on their dance movements and expressions.

You watch her dance to various types of music, but the one that caught your attention was when she danced ballet. The way she presented herself and moved with such elegance was heartwarming. You know that you needed to recruit her at all costs. 

The music stops, and you slowly walk out of the office and greet both the choreographer and the dancer. “That was amazing. Great job.”

The dancer bows, “Thank you so much for your compliment.”

“No, no, you deserve it.”

You see her get shy and play with her fingers from the attention. The choreographer steps in and says, as she points at you, “This is the person I told you about. He’s from Olympus Entertainment and came to see you perform.” 

She bows and says, “Thank you for visiting us. I’m Myoui Mina. It's nice to meet you.”  

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.62)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: love becomes guilt, predator becomes prey, and Jin becomes...

Tags: Hospitals, medical talk, sicfic, seizures, angst, hurt/comfort, assassin! Jimin, implied autistic! jimin, meltdowns, settling, non-sexual biting, Mafia shit, murder, Dead bodies, Guns, violence, blood. everyone lives nobody dies, morality conversations, revenge, secrets

W/c: 10.9k

A/n: thank you to everyone who helped me make my birthday this year super special <3 im sorry if i was bad at thanking people publicly for their specific gifts <3 i figured that the next best way i could say thank you was to give you another chapter...be warned, this one ends on QUITE the cliffhanger....be warned

Previous part ~ Masterlist

The hospital is cold, maybe that’s just because of the first snow.

It gathers on the trees outside like a faint white outline where someone forgot to fill the image in. Cresting the shoulders of everyone who walks into the hospital and turning the streetlight into halos and the sky into one big white blanket. The whole world is a nest when the weather is like this. Maybe if the whole world was a nest, it would be enough to keep you all safe.

It’s useless to hope, as you wait with Jimin outside of Jungkook’s hospital room.

The hospital is a mess of glowing exit signs and endless beeping. A dull roar in your ears from coming down adrenaline and a telephone nearby blares. The scratchy intercom system overhead pages a doctor for a code red. Whatever that is. You sit and wait, worrying and picking at your nails, full of useless energy. There is nothing to do but wait until someone tells you if Jungkook’s alright.

You're not sure if he will be, this seizure was a bad one.

You and Jimin sit side by side, and you don’t talk. You don’t even touch. You don’t know what you prefer, the instant terror of the car bomb, or this slow terror. Slow terror feels like nails dragging down the back of your skull, like clothes that are two sizes too tight. A bad taste in your mouth, not blood and not soot either.

The relief of finding out that Jungkook wasn’t calling you because Moonbyul had done something to him was only temporary. instead of your packmate there was a stranger on the other end of the line.

He’d still been seizing when you’d got back to the coffee shop. Foreghein scents on him and a crowd of patrons and paramedics surround him. His eyes rolled back into his skull, on his side, blue lips and froth on the edge of his mouth. Luckily, someone in that coffee shop was a doctor, was able to keep him semi-comfortable but-

This seizure had lasted a long time. Too long. Jungkook has been a patient at most of the local hospitals before on account of how unpredictable his seizures are. He has directives as per Namjoon's guidance, in place since before they were even packmates. Anything more than 6 minutes needs an overnight stay and copious testing. This seizure had lasted almost 10. The longest he's had in years.

You'd watched horrified and all too familiar with it as they’d loaded your still twitching packmate into the red box. Unsympathetic paramedics unwilling to hear your pleas to just let Jimin ride with them to the hospital (he'd tailgated them the whole way) but even at the hospital you and Jimin still couldn’t see him. They whisked him right up for an MRI.

Maybe you’d be less unnerved if Jungkook had woken up, but he hasn’t yet.

They’re still running tests and keeping him under just to be sure. Not a medical coma, but the step below that. Something about Jungkook’s malfunctioned ocular nerve and not wanting to trigger more seizures with more stimuli until the lorazepam and half a dozen other medications have time to take effect.

Jimin is the one who okayed those. He signed those papers for medications as easily as if he were swiping his card or maybe firing a gun. You feel out of your depth here, even if Jimin is very used to this. It’s been a while. It’s not your fault the luck ran out. Maybe that’s why he’s angry, maybe that’s why he’s not touching you. You are at once, somewhere between a four-leaf clover and a bad luck charm. Intangible and unsure of your odds.

Maybe Jimin's not touching you because he hates you, maybe he hates you because you forced him to let you come with him. you'd have been by Jungkook's side while this happened if you hadn't. But Jimin might have died from the explosion then-

Jungkook might still die, you realize with a lurch. Jungkook might die because of the seizures and could die at any time really. It's so easy to forget. Maybe that's why Jimin's not touching you. Your thoughts rush over you, wave after wave.

But Jimin thinks you don’t deserve to be touched when he’s this angry. You’ve had a lifetime’s worth of an angry alpha touching you and he won’t be one of them. Won’t make you worse when you’re sitting small and fragile. Barely there, barely alive. No, he'll keep his shaking hands tightened to fists on his knees and his angry tongue locked behind pursed lips. touching you would be more for him than it is for you he's convinced.

Too close, they were too close today. Jimin promised you that he wouldn’t let them hurt you. He promised and he'd failed. you still have the gash on your chin.

His worry for Jungkook is another monster entirely, one that can't be made better with actions, that can't be fixed with his own two hands.

Yoongi and Tae are the first to arrive. Your mate’s hair is wet and tousled, in a pair of pajama pants on like he’d just been showering for the evening before he’d come. Tae is close behind, a pair of pink sweatpants poking out from below her long thick coat and her long nightdress tucked into the waistband. The same dress you cuddled up beneath this morning. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Yoongi holds your cheeks, searching your face. The words tumble from your lips, the first you and Jimin have said in what feels like hours.

“He was just- we were just getting the car and we thought he’d be fine for a second but then-” you feel like you’re going to be sick all over his shoes. In his hurry, Yoongi put on a pair of Tae’s Uggs, the platform ones. You don't know why your brain fixates on that.

“It’s not your fault,” is the first thing he says, although even he sounds unsure. You shouldn’t have left him alone are the words that he must be thinking, the words that no one’s saying.

(This is a lie. This is your brain making up the worst-case scenario and clinging to it. There is nothing anyone can do, no precautions that they can take that they already haven’t when it comes to Jungkook’s seizures. Yoongi just gets small and quiet whenever Jungkook is sick. Jungkook will always be sick, and this quiet devastation will always find your mate because he loves Jungkook so).

There is nothing to do but wait, even though waiting with them is better than waiting alone.

The people at the coffee shop said they saw jungkook lie down before he started seizing. That's the only way they were able to call you, because he'd had your contact open on his phone. He'd known he was about to have one and he'd tried to call you. He'd been afraid and alone and then he'd been nothing.

The movements of the hospital slosh the four of you like an unmoored boat while you wait. Every doctor coming closer prompts a turn of your head and pleading eyes. Hoping that they’re the ones that will relieve you of your misery. Your leg jumps up and down, jittery. Jimin by comparison is deathly still.

Yoongi goes up to the desk and Tae sits between you and Jimin, one hand a piece on either of your thighs. You lean into her and Jimin rests his cheek on her shoulder slowly. She holds around your shoulders, looking back and forth between the two of you. She doesn’t any anything.

Her fingers rub up and down your shoulder, feeling the crumbliness there. She picks her hand up, and you watch as she takes in the darkness. It's soot.

“It’s from the ambulance,” Jimin says before you can force your words to cooperate and lie.

Jin comes through with a flurry of his long felted coat, snow gathering on his wide shoulder. Holding his keys in his hand and almost dropping them when you stand to collide with him. He has just a choked-out "pup" for you but then there's the nurse, the one you've been waiting for. Telling you that Jungkook's fine- he's not awake yet- but that you can wait in his room with him until he does.

Jungkook doesn't have too many wires connected to him, nothing more than an electrode at his temple, one at his heart, and an IV in his wrist. His hospital gown is pulled down to his collarbones so that the electrodes don't pull, but his skin is absent of his usual healthy flush.

You wait, watching until you notice the rise and fall of his chest. Even and beautiful breath. Jungkook is alive, Jungkook is breathing of his own accord. You let out a single broken sob, but you're not the only one.

You watch Yoongi brush his hair back from his face, eyes glassy. Seokjin sits by his right side and tae takes the other. Jimin and you stand at the foot of his bed, just watching him. No one says anything. Every beep of the heart monitor is anticipated, every second more precious.

"There's nothing on his MRI that indicates any lasting brain damage from the seizure," the nurse states, fussing with Jungkook's IV. "but it will be hard to know until he wakes up. You might notice him unable to recognize you or speak for a few minutes- the location of the seizure may have affected his language and motor capabilities so-"

She continues to list his prognosis, but it's nothing you didn't know before. Every seizure has a risk of taking out part of Jungkook's faculties, his fine motor skills, and his speech. But a seizure has never damaged him beyond repair before. Tae takes one of Jungkook's hands from the bed and brings it to her face, trying to hide her tears but it's no use.

It’s startling, how much your body relaxes upon Namjoon’s presence, you feel the shift in the air before he enters the room. Nauseous one moment and then fine the next. He enters the room, hand skimming the top of your head and Yoongi's side as he be-lines it to Jungkook's chart.

His scent is so thick- comforting coffee even if it is a a little stale. You sway, and when he looks up, his eyes flicker from you and then the nurse.

Today is not the end of the world, even though it feels like it. It feels like it's ending every time Jungkook finds his way into a hospital bed, a good 3 or 4 times in a year. Honestly, they’ve been so quiet recently, so unnoticeable that they should have known a bigger one was building.

“Dr. Kim,” Jungkook’s nurse says, this is not Namjoon’s hospital, but he is on Jungkook’s file. This nurse looks at him and waits for his call. Namjoon flicks past one page on his chart and then another, pursing his lips.

“Why didn't Avery order a Ct? it’s not here.”

“The ct has already been run Dr. Kim, He put the order in 4 minutes ago” Namjoon hums, and you watch the clench of his jaw, the extra tight way he bites his cheek. And it’s then you realize oh, Namjoon is about to cry.

Yoongi gets to him before you do, Jungkook’s fingers twitch of their own accord against Namjoon’s wrist and Yoongi grips his shoulder. Namjoon looks back at him and at the same time, Jungkook opens his eyes blinking against the dim lights.

His words are all garbled for the first few seconds after a seizure, the Jumbled groan startling enough that you flinch. Yoongi backs up so that Jin and Namjoon can hold him down as he reaches blindly, startled and moving before his brain has a second to catch up.

"It's okay Jungkook, you had a seizure. You were out for a few hours, You're okay,"

"Come up slowly, don't try to sit up there you go."

Jungkook tries to get up and out of the bed but has to be held down by namjoon until his brain comes back online, he continues to speak garbled nonsense for a moment. Too loud, voice loud after so much quiet. It startles you; you take a step back.

And almost step right on Hobi’s shoes.

Hoseok is there, hand on the small of your back. Snowflakes that still haven’t melted in his hair. He doesn’t say hi to you, but his hand stays there. Pressed flat. He only has eyes for Jungkook. Jungkook relaxes, falling back on the bed, and gets one coherent syllable out and then another. It's their names-.

"Alpha- Joon- hughr-"

Jungkook pants, breathing heavily, and then his hand reaches up steadily, to touch the electrode on his head. Yoongi's hand closes around his just in case, but he doesn't rip it off.

Everyone waits with bated breath.

“You alright kookie?” Hoseok asks careful, with that same level of humor in his voice that you’ve come to need. His smile is as genuine as ever as he looks down a Jungkook in the hospital bed. Jungkook’s hand is tight around Namjoon’s as he stretches, muscles aching. He’s always so sore after a seizure. It's always so disorienting coming out of them like this.

Jungkook waits, testing out his words. “I feel like Like it got hit by a trucking fuck.”

He blinks, and the lights are turned low, but a breath passes and Tae laughs and so does Yoongi, and then everyone's laughing and sort of crying. Your knees go a little weak and you turn into hobi's chest hiding your tears.

Jungkook just blinks at the ceiling. “That wasn’t right.” But then everyone's smiling. Happy because he's talking, happy because it looks like the seizure didn't do any lasting damage. Jin rests his head on the coverlet and sighs a happy sound. All too relieved to hear Jungkook act something like himself. Wordlessly Jin brings Jungkook's wrist to his face, pressing his nose to his scent gland.

The hospital room isn’t big enough for all of you let alone when more staff enter the room along with someone who Namjoon must know, because she instantly starts listing off different medical jargon. Asking Jungkook how many fingers she's holding up, Namjoon's name, then testing his reflexes on his hands and toes. Stress tests and memory tests.

One moment you’re standing in the doorway and then the next you’re pressed to the wall between Tae, Jimin, and Hobi.

The hospital room isn’t big enough for all of you let alone when more staff enters the room along with someone whom Namjoon must know, because she instantly starts listing off different medical jargon and refers to him by name.

One moment you’re standing in the doorway and then the next you’re pressed to the wall between Tae, Jimin, and Hobi. Tae opens the door and gestures. You step out because it’s surely more important that Namjoon Jin and Yoongi get at Jungkook right now even if your heart clenches painfully at leaving Jungkook.

Jimin is still vibrating out of his skin, has been since Jungkook opened his eyes. But Tae tugs him in for a hug in the hallway. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until you watch him hug her back. But Jungkook was Tae and Jimin’s packmate first. It’s no wonder that this has shocked them both closer, their fight forgotten.

Or mostly forgotten, you watch as Jimin wraps his arms around her slowly, like he's not sure he's allowed.

Hobi jogs you out of your starting, turning your face towards his and, looking at you intently. Eyes flickering down to your chin and then to your eyes. You forget what he’s looking at until his fingers skim below your lips and you feel pain.

You drag your arm across it and it leaves a small rusty trail in its wake on the sleeve of Tae's jacket, just another stain on it. Oh, you fell during the blast and banged your face, you'd almost forgotten.

“Tripped, banged my face on the sidewalk.” it's close enough to the truth that the lie goes unnoticed. Hobi makes a sound, holding your elbow. Squeezing it reassuringly.

“I’m gonna get some snacks from the vending machine, can I get you something?”

“Didn’t eat dinner” you say, staring down at Hobi’s red Converse. There are scuffs on the linoleum and a drop of blood someone must have missed. You wonder who it’s from, another person from the emergency room probably. “You sure Jin and Joon won’t be angry if my dinner is just sweets?”

Tae is close enough to overhear, and she rubs her cheek across the top of Jimin’s head, scenting him sweet (or trying to.) “Yeah- junk food isn’t exactly the most nutritious.”

You stumble, stepping close, swaying suddenly on your feet. Hobi catches you around the shoulders and for a second, you must look like the mirror image of Tae and Jimin.

Hobi's scent smarts with worry and he pushes you back, making you sit down. “They can live with it, she deserves a special treat. I’m getting you a Band-Aid.” Tae looks like she wants to argue with Hobi, then doesn’t.

Hobi gets Skittles and Peanut Eminem’s and two bags of funyuns that you pick apart while you wait for the doctors to be done. The colorful packages are scattered across your lap as he tilts your head to put the Band-Aid on your chin (gotten from a helpful nurse). Fingers that tenderly curve under the wide part of your jaw, drumming there.

Tae nibbles on a peach ring. Inside Jungkook's hospital room, it isn't quiet, but the four of you are silent with exhaustion listening in. Jin sounds relieved, and the low grumble from your mate sounds just as happy.

Jimin still isn’t speaking much, just pacing back and forth in front of Jungkook’s door. When you say you feel nauseous, Hobi gets up and gets you ginger ale too. You know there just isn’t much for him to do, alpha instincts and no omega to cool them but you. Hobi holds your hand, he doesn’t say that Jungkook’s going to be okay. He doesn’t say anything but.

“Which are your favorite?”

The back of Skittles jingles and he picks out all the green ones, lining up his pants in an orderly little row for you to grab when the ones you suck on go small enough.

You don't realize you're crying until he gets you a tissue, dabbing at your cheek. "There you go, Kookies gonna be fine. He's always fine." His voice goes slower, honeyed.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder, and he lets you. “You got a pair of headphones?” Your breath is shaky, and you think you might be shaking apart right now if it wasn’t for Hobi.

Namjoon stares at the packages for a second too long when he exits the door. His hair is pushed up like he’s run his fingers through it, but he doesn’t smell quite as worried as he did before. He looks at the package and you shrink underneath his disapproving stare.

He all but snaps his fingers, “Tae, would you please go get some real food.” Hobi does not flinch at Namjoon’s cross-tone, even as Tae shoots to her feet and chirps "Yes alpha!"

Hobi doesn’t do anything but stare Namjoon down, put a pink starburst on his tongue, slowly.

Jimin keeps pacing.

“We’re sleeping here tonight.” It’s not an order or a request- your pack alpha has decided that this is too great a danger to separate you so you won’t separate. Neither of you pipes up anything to the contrary, now is not the time for contrary voices.

Jimin is still pacing. Black leather shoes smoothed and silent, barely acknowledging the pack alpha.

He’s making you anxious, your scent sour even to your own nose as your eyes track him back and forth. Namjoon pulls you to your feet, hand lingering on the back of your neck. “Will you be okay in those clothes pup? Or should someone go home and get your things?”

You hear the request for what it is; Namjoon is asking you if you think the alphas need a nest to settle if you think they need a change of clothes and things that smell like pack tonight for sleep and safety. he's leaving this up to you.

Your hands stay buried in the pockets of Tae’s white floral jacket. Hoping he doesn’t notice the soot smudge on your shoulder. “It'll be fine just-” your eyes are half glassy, “are you sure Koo will be okay?”

The pack alpha pulls you to his front, and one of the nurses passing by gives you both a look, you have to get on your tippy toes to kiss him. "of course he's going to be, we're making sure of it" Namjoon promises.

"I meant like, without a nest."

Namjoon laughs, and you watch the stress melt off his shoulders. he turns, guiding you inside with a peculiar look over his shoulder at Hobi. “I’m sure he’d love it if you’d help him make one. he already wants to start"

Jungkook looks a little bit better, with less of a pale-yellow flush to his face and more of a healthy glow. pouting down at the blankets and complaining that they're too rough.

For someone who looks so physically well/muscles defined even when they’re not flexed, it’s always a bit startling to see him lying prone and exhausted, lights dim to avoid the risk of another seizure.

Tae comes back with some food, and you all eat in silence, white Styrofoam containers balanced across your knees. The faint crinkle and drag of plastic spoons scraping plastic bowls. Jungkook eats hospital food. Nibbles it, and doesn't throw it up. One of the side effects of the medication is nausea.

The only one not at ease is Jimin, who doesn’t eat, sitting tacitly in the corner watching each of you, getting up occasionally to pace. The pack let him work off his restless energy until it’s clear it’s making Jungkook restless too. Shifting and watching him. His request of, “Minnie will you come and sit by me?” goes unanswered as Jimin flexes his hands from open palm to open fist again and again.

Jungkook watches the jello in his plastic tray jiggle with the force of Jimin's pacing, back and forth. Back and forth. Tae sighs, and Yoongi stiffens.

He goes like that, pacing one two three steps just in front of Tae before turning. He falls apart like this until Jin steps up to intercept him, and Jimin rocks to a stop rather than crash into him. He’s put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, fingers digging into the tense ball there. Moving quicker than any of you thought possible.

“Breathe.” Comes his terse request. A little broken, a little begging. But Jimin’s alpha will never willingly disobey an order from his pack omega, that’s what’s happening, isn’t it? Jimin’s alpha has taken over, took over the second he saw Jungkook lying between those two tables in the coffee shop. All instinct and no Jimin, all fear and pulse and get them safe get them home get them out.

But it’s like Jimin’s lungs are pried open from it. He gasps, and Jin pulls him in for a thorough scent mark, systematically dragging his teeth from ear to ear, hard enough to leave dull red lines in his wake. You watch Jimin’s eyes dilate and constrict, plush lips parting in a gasp. Looking at you.

Jin licks his teeth after, “There you go.” You don’t know if you’ve ever seen Jin settle Jimin or if you’ve ever seen him settle any of the alphas like this. Jimin asks for bites again and Jin obliges. Bending over him to drive his teeth, to nip Jimin's skin pink between his teeth. Bite after bite Jimin’s body relaxes inch by inch.

And so does the rest of the pack, underneath the covers, Jungkook shifts his hips, splaying them a little wider. Relaxing as Jimin goes boneless.

Jin’s voice is a dark croon, the tone he reserves only for Jimin and maybe Namjoon sometimes. He's a little firmer when the more dominant alphas need his touch. Jimin feels it as delicately as Yoongi's soothing thumb on the side of your thumb when Jin pinches his cheeks and shakes him a little bit.

“Now, do you want to tell Omega why you’re upset?”

“S’my fault” Jimin sways on his feet, closer to Jin’s touch than back again. a planet in orbit. the rest of the pack watched transfixed. You see Hoseok perk up slightly. “Wasn’t there.”

“Minnie, I know you,” Jin cups his cheek a little gentler. Fingers skimming stubble. “I know you,” Jin repeats, such an air of finality about it that you can’t doubt it to be true.

Jin could command the moon to shift its orbit and it would. “I know you’ll do whatever’s possible to protect the pack" Jimin's eyelashes flutter. "To your dying breath.”

“You don’t have to be so intense about it” Namjoon half snaps, any of them dying isn't what he wants to think about right now. But he's forgiven the second he realizes he's being too harsh, everyone’s a bit stressed right now.

Jin’s dark tone falls away as quick as it came, “But still- what happened with JK wasn’t your fault, isn’t that right kookie?”

Jungkook nods, eyes closed, licking his lips like he's tasting the settling in the air. “Not Jimin’s fault my brains fucked up, just how it is” Jin pecks Jimin’s head, pinning his blond hair flat. “See pup? Listen to the omega’s, You’re fine. Everyone's going to be fine."

Jin speaks the words so surely you almost believe it.

The hospital is a bit generous with the extra sleeping cots (Namjoon might have called his boss and asked him to pull privileges), and you get 3 that they roll up one on one side of Jungkook's hospital bed, and two more on the other side.

But you and Jin pile in just around him. Cuddled up close and scenting along his shoulders, sniffling and fluffing a few extra threadbare blankets around him in a makeshift nest, full of your jackets too.

You steal Tae's pants for the nest making, letting her untuck her nightdress and let it flutter around her. But when one of the nurses comes to the door Namjoon (panicked) throws himself across the exposed line of her honeyed thighs to conceal her nakedness. but she just giggles, she’s not some Victorian maiden full of virtue, but it makes Jungkook smile and scrunch his nose. and it feels like a win even if Namjoon's cheeks go bright red.

You cuddle up, trying fitfully to banish the medicinal scent by scenting him. It's sour and not all like him, but the medicine they give him for his seizures always makes him smell a little off for a few days. It’s no less distressing to you, but Jungkook just grins and tells the others to let you do what you need when you rest your body weight on top of him and stubbornly bury your face in his chest. His hand with the attached IV strewn across your back to cradle your ribs.

Before no time Jungkook is laughing and leaning into Yoongi’s stomach where he lies across the top of the bed. In no time he's taking a few bites of veggies and a few sips of water, eyes heavy. He is tried from the seizure and medication even if he puts on a brave face.

They’ll drag him into one more MRI in the morning just to be sure that nothing concerning has developed over time but until then, the beeping of Jungkook’s heart monitor is your lullaby. Every heartbeat is a new chance. You don't even mind the lumpy hospital pillow. The pack goes quiet when Jungkook's eyes flutter, when they shut and his breathing goes deep. yoongi puts his finger to his lips and jin shifts slowly, Jungkook's head resting on his thigh. your lovely packmate resting between jin's parted legs.

The rest of the pack falls like Domino’s once Jungkook's asleep. Hobi shucks off his jeans to be more comfortable and so does Yoongi. The room is full of heavy breaths and dreams waiting to swoop in. You struggle to settle until Hobi gives you one of his headphones, and you lie close to share them, one in each of your ears. he still has his sleepy time playlist, and it blocks out the sounds of the hospital. When Sleep takes you it's thankfully dreamless.

Somehow Hobi's hand finds your waist under the covers, bunching up and tangling in his sweatshirt. Clinging to you and holding on for dear life. His bare thighs between your thin leggings tangled up in the makeshift nest. Jin only glances at your particular closeness a few times.

Sleep evades jin until he gives up on it entirely. Nothing feels quite as good to Jin’s instincts as having all of his packmates sleeping in one room. Even if it's not quite good enough to get him to fall asleep himself. But still- Jin would rather they not be here; would rather they be in the nest at home.

That will have to wait until tomorrow.

The distant hum of the hospital and the sound of his dull typing fill the room. His work computer screen is the only light in the whole room besides the monitors. Jin's computer balanced on his back because Jin had to leave during a briefing on a low-level gang member and Koo said he didn’t mind being used as a computer rest so long as Jin kept running his hands through his hair. Jimin is curled up on the next nearest cot, within petting (and settling) distance if he should need it.

7 a.m.

A look at the clock says that the pack has 5 more hours until Jungkook is allowed to be discharged. Until then, Jin will get some work done and keep an eye on the rest. Namjoon sleeps by the door, he declined a cot on account of there not being enough room for the rest of them to sleep comfortably. Namjoon turns fitfully with every new person who walks by the door. He’s gone in and out of sleep a few times. If he flinches awake again, Jin will get him a cup of coffee.

Until then, there's paperwork and an endless array of evidence for Jin to examine.

There are documents he can look over again, the same ones, back and forth. There are about 300 crime scene photos for each murder that the family has committed in the last 6 months, it doesn’t hurt to skim them again and refresh his notes.

That boy from the coffee shop burned beyond recognition. A pair of 30 caliber bullets in his chest. One under his ribs the other in his head, evidence of deep lacerations and torture on his body, bitten tongue, and evidence of red paint under his fingernails. The only other bit of evidence.

The origin of these paint flecks have been a source of annoyance and frustration for jin and the rest of his coworkers. Maybe they're evidence from a third location between abduction and dumpsite? A bit of the killer's car scraped maybe? The paint was metallic, old-fashioned. After a few minutes, Jin moves on to other murders, other people who have lives and packs and dreams that the family extinguished.

Jin no longer spends hours looking at his picture. The one of Choi Beomgyu alive and grinning. He still gets weekly calls from his pack alpha, begging Jin for any updates and leads. Jin has stopped feeling guilty over being empty-handed.

Jin’s boss's crime scene photos are a little harder to look at if only because of the nausea that those photos bring. Although Jin has become so desensitized to them that his bloated face no longer makes his stomach swirl with revulsion. His missing hand, the torn stump of it induced post-mortem.

One burned and one drowned.

These two kills are by far the family's messiest and hastiest. Usually, they don't even find this much of the bodies. Just a few fragments of bone or a tooth in a pire. Most of the time people just disappear.

What did you know, he thinks, looking at the photograph of the boy and then his charred corpse, what did you know that you shouldn’t have? Why didn't they have time to properly make you disappear? Why couldn't they risk you talking?

It’s funny, out of all the evidence, he tries to look at your cookbook and the late Don and data’s autopsy reports the least. Their tox screen and that one page that might as well be your confession and Ahn Hyejin's (Jin compared the second handwriting to a sample they had on file and matched hers to it in about an hour). Their murder was a neat and tidy little thing, but it is the murder that got his boss killed so maybe Jin should treat it with more scrutiny.

But that’s so simple, it’s almost a wonder why such a slight thread of spider silk needed snipping. Or is Jin wrong and this is a thread that could send the whole thing crumbling down?

Jin’s not sure yet, but maybe after a few more hours of pouring over this, he will be.

It’s nearing 3 in the morning and Jin is still sifting through every little bit of information when a ding punctuates the quiet in the room. Jin panic smashes the mute button before any of his packmates stir.

A warm body away, Hobi lets out a particularly deep and easy breath, and Jin relaxes.

Jin’s first thought looking at the email, is that no one not directly connected to the bureau should be able to get ahold of his email address, let alone be able to send him anything.

The email doesn’t have a heading, and the email doesn’t even have a subject or a cc. Unlike half of Jin’s other correspondents to other people giving them guidelines and delegating tasks. It's only secure for him to look at these here because everyone’s eyes are closed.

On closer look, the sender is just a random email generated with an obscure amount of Xs. He hovers over it. Cursor blinking until he clicks it, he knows better than to click on the link without launching it on his firewall server but the contents of the email aren’t anything but a video and a short line of text.

Skip to 17:19:07 for the fun parts :)

The video isn’t infested with bugs planning on robbing his data and pilfering him for information. No, the data and danger is just right there when Jin skips ahead, Jin holds his breath as he watches the grainy imagery.

The security camera is an IPC-110 if the shitty quality is anything to judge by. Trust a parking garage to install the shittiest CCTV cameras on the market but still the blurry figures of two of Jin’s packmates is unmistakable as he watches. Jimin’s face terse and afraid, backing up against the wall and exchanging words.

The flash of light is so sudden it makes Jin flinch hard and Jungkook groans, before settling and smacking his lips. Jin hardly notices as he watches you and Jimin get thrown by the blast, tight nuckled watching Jimin tuck his body around you and shouting your name. Pauses the video just to look at Jimin's panic-stricken face. To see him yank you to your feet and put you in the car.

Jungkook makes another soft whine when Jin shifts him, jostling him “One second baby” Jin murmurs, putting his computer to the side. Your jacket is on the side of the nest, delicately folded into the border. Jin detangles it and brings it to his nose.

Fire, burning things, soot. The smell is unmistakable. If the timestamp is to be believed, this is the reason why you and Jimin weren’t at the coffee shop with Jungkook. Jin feels the last little bit of his frustration fade at this.

Oh, Minnie.

It’s no wonder why Jimin was too spooked to speak, why he’s been so laconic tonight. First you and then Jungkook so quick. The stress would have anyone shutting down, this is why Jin's smallest but strongest alpha was so quiet and afraid. Why he’d needed a bit of settling when usually he’s someone Jin can depend on during Jungkook’s seizures. One surprise is hard enough to handle.

Jin shifts his petting from Jungkook’s hair to Jimin’s, combing through his blond strands lovingly.

He rewinds the tape back to the beginning, as far back as it will go, and sets it to 3x speed. The first hour goes by in 5 minutes, The person on camera is in all black, but even in black and white Jin would know the kind of mask they wear. It's red at the top and a stunning grimace at the bottom.

He watches as someone slight and billowy, probably 5’7 in height- no 5’9- figure cuts through the cars, heading for Jimin’s like they know which one to go for. The CCTV footage doesn’t cut out at all. Usually, the family is better in concealing their crimes. Usually, they don’t even leave a hint of evidence.

Usually, they don't send the evidence to Jin.

Jin freezes the frame when the figure turns, with the mask fully facing the camera. It’s a traditional Korean mask, the same one Jin has seen photographed on the rest of the family. He drags up Google, doing a cursory search. The footage is in black and white but the images on file are all red and black.

He goes back to the first murder, those hands, the red paint chipped underneath fingernails and his breathing goes heavy.

He needs to go back to Beomgyu’s dumping site and see if there’s anything red, any other possible reason why he’d have that under his fingernails. Either that or this is all connected, and the same person who killed him is trying to kill you.

Jin's breath goes heavy when he thinks about what could have happened if Jimin hadn't been there.

Jin does not wake you and demand to know what happened, Jin keeps his breathing measured and shallow. Does not let his scent get sour enough to wake the others. Jin fully detangles himself from Jungkook and pauses to lean over you, thumb skimming the Band-Aid on your chin.

No one hurts his pack and gets away with it. No one.

He’ll think about what you know and why Jimin didn't tell him later. Poor thing was probably just too shocked to say anything. You might have convinced him that saying anything would have put Jungkook in distress. Jin's anger is a cool sort, it's not you that he's angry at.

It’s only 5 a.m. but Jin goes and gets a coffee anyways. When he gets back, he shoves it into Namjoon’s hands startling him awake. But one glance at the pack omega says that he means business. Shadowed face unreadable silhouetted against the bright and open hospital door.

“Get the doctor, we’re going home.”

~-~

You wake in the hospital bed, roused by Yoongi's gentle hand on your shoulder, feeling listless and sorer than ever with Hobi’s nose pressed to the nape of your neck and Jungkook at your front. You wonder when that started to feel normal. When Hobi cuddled you stopped feeling so forbidden.

you know that when you take off your clothes you'll find your front bruised from falling, that you'll find your body dinnged. you don't know what you'll say, how you'll excuse the marks away from them but in the meantime, you watch jungkook. get a washcloth from the bathroom and whipe his face for him, standing between his legs.

"do you want water? coffee? can i get you something before your MRI"

namjoon sighs heavy, "pup- he can't-"

jungkook leans into your hands, letting you drag the cloth over his face, it's as much grooming as you ever have, but jungkook just smiles up at you and shakes his head. "when we get home yeah?"

The golden light streams through the horizontal blinds and Jungkook shifts as he gets out of the hospital bed and into a wheelchair for his MRI, and you wait for him with the rest of the pack. Yoongi returns with bagels and coffee for everyone. The caffeine makes you all jittery.

After he's given a clean bill of health, Jungkook leaves the hospital under his own power, on his own two feet because he always needs that certainty. Declining the wheelchair that the staff offers because honestly, he’s fine, he'd run out of here if he didn't think namjoon would drag him right back inside.

You’re guided into Jimin’s car, Yoongi drives. Hobi is in the front, turning to look at you more than he should, asking you questions about what song you want to play. Really, it can go as loud as you want cuz Jungkook's in the other car. He asks too many for your brain to answer accurately. You're too tired too worn out too everything to answer.

But when you get home, there is even more movement too quick for your sleepy brain to comprehend. Jin has to go to work and so does Namjoon; something about a revision surgery that won’t take too much time and can't be rescheduled. He's barely changed and cleaned himself before he's heading out the door again. Definitely a bit too tired, but oh well.

But now at home, the rest of the pack has Jungkook well in hand and ready for a bit more babying. Jungkook will be fine by this evening. Is honestly fine now. Just a little tired of being poked and prodded and just needs to nest and rest.

Jin too seems distracted by something, checking his phone and kissing each of you on the forehead before he goes. You're tempted to whine and ask them to stay, if not for Jungkook then for you but before you can, Hobi grips both of your shoulders and tells Namjoon and Jin that he’s got it, and the moment gets stolen away from you.

“I’ll get your pajamas,” he says after the door thuds closed, while Jungkook says something to Yoongi. Noodle meows and darts around Tae's heels and Jimin carries Jungkook to the couch and gently, gently- sets him down. Your mate is distracted right now (as he should be) but that doesn’t mean Hobi can’t fill the gaps.

He thuds up the stairs, bare feet probably cold. The house is still cold from a night left empty even though Yoongi’s just turned the heat on.

Jimin gets a ding on his phone, standing up the second he’s seen it.

Unknown (9:18): I want to talk to you about a murder.

Unknown (9:18): One you might have a vested interest in.

The picture is grainy, but Jimin knows the faces of the two women like the back of his hand although Hyejin takes a few seconds of racking his brain to place. Jimin feels his blood cool to a simmer and the shaking in his hands stops. His phone dings a few more times, whoever's sending it through must be a fast texter, from a burner phone no doubt.

Unknown (9:19): Especially because of the sensitive nature of this, you understand why I’d want to meet in person.

Unknown (9:19): (See attached address)

Jimin's suspicions are immediately peaked, warning bells going off loud. But before he can do more than read over the messages again more come through.

Unknown (9:20): I’m willing to offer you 10x your normal rate for each kill. Two Mil upfront. And Three more when the hit is carried out. I understand how risky it is for you to even view these texts so here

Jimin watches the next notification from his bank account ding through and holds his breath.

Fuck, that's a lot of Zeros.

Unknown (9:20): As a show of my good faith in you. I'll see you in three hours. If not, enjoy the money.

Jimin holds onto the phone like it’s a lifeline, the black plastic case digging into his fingers. He knows it's stupid, he knows that it's dangerous, and a million other things but-

Jin's words ring in his ears. "I know you'll do whatever you have to do to protect the pack, until your dying breath."

The money means nothing to Jimin, he'd do this killing for free. Out of all the lives he's ever taken, this is the first one that maybe he's ever felt vindicated in. the first murder that he's ever truly wanted to commit.

He's gripping his phone so hard he doesn't move until you make a noise. And when he looks up at you, you have a glass of water in your hands, waiting there, watching him. There is still that fucking scrape on your chin. Jimin looks at it and his mind is made up. All of this karma has come due.

If Jimin's being honest with himself, it's not Moonbyul’s confrontation or her comments about you that had Jimin so bothered.

All that "you belong to me" kind of talk that bullshit alphas with something to prove say, like something out of a manhwa. If he's being honest, the thing that bothered him the most, that made him so very angry was how clearly you didn't want them, and how willing she was to ignore that.

He grins at you, tipping his head back and you think Jimin might look like more of a demon than a man.

“I have to go to work.”

“What?” Jungkook’s eyes go wide, and he reaches for Mini and tries to cling but Jimin steps away, sliding back on his still-warm shoes. “I thought you called out already?”

Jimin tugs on his coat, The one with the reinforcement in it, hard panels that flap just a little bit too stiffly. The shoulders that seem just a little too crisp.

"Sorry Koo it's an emergency."

You know just by looking at him that this isn’t for his other job. (You don’t think of bodyguarding as Jimin's real job, not when this one is so much more prescient and dangerous.) You follow him outside, the door closing with that same rusty jingle of the old doorknob.

“It’s not from her.” The words are quiet, stolen. The empty birdfeeder clangs in a sudden wind and you shiver, warm only for a few seconds without a jacket. Jimin’s hand skims your shoulder and he pushes at it, urging you to go back inside.

“It’s not just her who hires me, this isn’t related to her.” He lies effortlessly. Turning and making to walk away, you wrap your arms around him and almost make him fall down the stairs but he catches both of you, swaying at the bottom.

“Pup, you need to let me go,”

“No!” you cling to him stubbornly, “if I let you go something bad is going to happen!”

Jimin is so quiet you think you might not hear him. He stops struggling and trying to twist out of your arms for a second. “You’ve got to, I have to do this, please.” his tone is so calm, so gentle. Jimin is smiling down at you when you pull back to look up at him. He gently but forcefully separates you from him, hands holding yours and prying them apart.

“I’ve got too much to make up for. You have to let me do this.”

You have a bad feeling about this, your instincts that you should listen to. Walking into this so soon after Jungkook’s seizure. Is this punishment for leaving him? Jimin slips from between your hands. Walking to his car, and you feel a lurching in your gut like something terrible is about to happen.

You say nothing, watching him, heart beating quick. but you are powerless to stop him, powerless to keep him from leaving.

You wonder if this is how Yoongi felt, leaving them. Powerless.

“You'll come back? you've got to- you can't-" you can't leave us is what you want to say. Standing on the steps of the house, Jimin by his car.

"I'd never dream of leaving you." Jimin says, swearing it. And all the fight goes out of your sails.

"Be careful Minnie.”

He looks back at you, hair ruffled by the wind. All the snow from the night before has melted but the cold will stay.

“Always am.”

You nod, giving him permission and Jimin gets in his car. You return inside where it’s warmer. And Jimin turns it on, but before he has a chance to pull away from the curb, his phone lights up with another notification.

Unknown (9:27): Make sure to wear your mask.

~-~

The location on his phone is a lot more desolate in person, the scrub brush that’s that's grown in is thick enough to hide his car. Green by the river and poisoned into sticks here. Jimin parks far away among the maze of what must be four-wheeler tracks and walks in. mask on and gun at the ready.

The rusted metal of the industrial park rises out of the soil and the fog. It has to have been abandoned for years given how poor of a condition it's in. There are a few half-fallen-down buildings and one big complicated warehouse flanked on one side by a wide and slow-moving river. The soil smells strongly of gasoline and rust. The soil here is probably soaked through with it. Jimin wonders if would burn and catch fire if a spark was lit.

The traditional mask fits snugly on Jimin’s face, the hole at the mouth just large enough for him to not feel like he’s suffocating. Eye holes are wide enough to see and not block his peripheries.

The doors are cracked and nearly rusted shut with age but Jimin slides through a crack easily. He’s a whole hour early on purpose. This is all by design, every moment of this. Every second is orchestrated like a symphony;

Jimin is the violin, with high and pointed movements, drawing his weapon like a cymbal. The crunch of his boots on the floor the drums, every breath a crooning saxophone. His thoughts flute spiraling up like high delights. All of this builds to one big crescendo.

He doesn’t take out his phone to check the time. The upstairs is mostly unlit but Jimin doesn't use a light, just lets his eyes adjust. He waits, stalking quietly, completely silent in his movements.

Jimin is not nervous about this handoff, mostly, he’s just wondering who it is in the family that's finally betraying her. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t suspect that the conditions of this were a little too perfect. Money and all.

The main atrium of the industrial park is rusted up with age. Old metal shipping containers that used to hold smelting equipment or maybe molten metal long since rusted out even though the chains still hang from the ceiling. A suspended catwalk rings the room on all sides.

Jimin spends a few minutes casing the place, noting the exits, and the obvious places to hide. The old rusty fans at the apex of the roof turn and squeak softly from the wind outside. The whole place smells like chemicals and rust. It's all Jimin can do not to have a coughing fit.

It’s a wonder he doesn’t smell the blood sooner

(Trust me, I speak from experience. if you spend enough time around blood that's not your own, you’ll eventually be able to smell it. Even a drop in an empty room. like a hound the the hunt. You'll smell it.)

Jimin is almost done with logging the entrance and exits when he finds the body.

He rushes to their side, Jimin doesn’t recognize their face when he slides whats left of the traditional mask off their face, it's the same as his. Racking his brain to recognize the face but nothing. the masks is broken into pieces. A bullet between the eyes is a good shot.

Before Jimin can do anything, can decide if this is a setup or just a meet-up gone wrong, He hears footsteps behind him.

~-~

In the wake of Jin, Namjoon, and Jimin leaving, the rest of the pack is a bit forlorn. Jungkook is not so mobile, not so willing to make the trek upstairs. Worried about the stairs and any sudden seizures and all. But there is no shortage of cuddle spots on the ground floor, you've made many a nest in the living room before.

And besides, in such proximity to the kitchen, Jungkook can have all his treats this way.

Lately, it’s started to feel like the pack has several nests, the one upstairs, the nesting pod, and the one on the old grey couch when you shove all the pieces together. Yoongi indulges jungkook in half a bar of dark chocolate while you get some nesting materials. Blankets and your wet cheeks catching the dimmed lights.

You’re a little pouty and a lot quiet, and the others take note of it. Skimming comforting hands up and down your shoulders, always touching you like they’re making sure you’re there. They don't ask why you're upset at Jimin leaving. They don't have to wonder. you snap the blanket as you fluff it huffing.

Jungkook finds your angry nestmaking cute. he pulls you down on top of him nipping at your throat when you fuss a little too long. Testing out Jin's method of settling on you.

It’s surprising even to you when the action sparks tears in your eyes, the opposite he was hoping for. You rub at your wet eyes with a clenched fist stubbornly. It’s not even noon yet and you’re already crying. You're so exhausted by everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours, so tired. You can't be blamed for getting a little teary-eyed.

Tae reappears, freshly showered. Her shoulder-length hair already starting to dry. tilting your face up to her's and says "Oh my little dove-

She piles into the nest and upstairs you hear Hobi moving around. tae stradles jungkook's thighs and shifts the two of you, lying you all flat,

"Don’t worry about Minnie, he’s always had something to prove.” You rub at your tears stubbornly, sniffling and nodding. Jungkook threads his fingers through the back of your hair, a little indelicately. But he loves without boundaries, like a butterfly flapping its wings for the first time.

“But why-” your words are quiet but broken, “why does he always feel so-"

“Guilty?” Tae finishes for you, looking out the window in the direction that Jimin disappeared. Humming as she strips you of Hobi's sweatshirt.

Hobi appears at the bottom of the stairs smiling. "Are we talking about Jimin's guilt complex again?"

Your mate groans and finishes putting together a little snack board. "I swear we've probably had this discussion like- fucking 20 times?" Yoongi's not wrong.

You only get more teared-eyed, crying a little bratty, thumping weakly against jungkook's chest, he grabs your thigh and pulls you snug across his lap. "But why! Why does he feel like everything is his fault?"

Tae hides her sad smile behind a hand, and you're less upset looking at it. Calmed in a second, because they have talked about this you realize, everyone in the pack is well aware.

“I guess he feels guilty because," Tae sighs, "because he was so loved.” Tae's fingers dance along Jungkook's thigh, and you're all quiet. everyone is quiet when they hear tae talk about jimin. it's a little like listening to someone describe what it feels like listening to your favorite song for the first time, what it's like to taste your favorite food, the feeling of a first kiss.

Hobi comes close to tae, sets down a shirt and a pair of pants. "would you get them into this while i shower?" the curtains are drawn and hobi goes upstairs and Tae undresses you while she speaks. You're a doll, teary eyed and willing as she and Jungkook strip you and put you in clean clothes. You didn't realize how much you needed to not smell like hospital until it's done.

"The first love you lose always hurts you the most, whether that's romantic love or parental love doesn't really matters. Each person metabolizes it differently. Truthfully, I believe that Jimin lost love the first time and promised himself- never again."

Tae talks, playing with Jungkook’s hair. He pouts “he's never gonna lose us.” Tae hums, agreeing. But you can see in her eyes the sadness there. Wounds that might never heal and wanting that might never fade.

Yoongi sits down beside you and together, the three of you undress and dress Jungkook. He could probably do it himself just like you could, but he's a willing puppet, happy when Tae tickles his tummy and slides his shirt over his head.

A minute later, Hobi's back, wet head that drips onto your cheek when he leans over Jungkook's curled form to grab one of the grapes on the snack board that Yoongi made. And Tae stares off into space, thinking of Jimin, how they met and how they feel in love, everything between then and now.

Tae smiles just thinking of him. "i know that pup, he just- he can't let himself believe it no matter how much he wants too. It was really hard on him, how our parents treated us, Jimin has guilt built into him because they made him that way."

It's too simple of an explanation for what they went through. What does it mean to love a parent that hates you? Or at least to have a parent that does not strive to understand you. How many times did the words linger on Tae’s lips? Standing in the doorway wearing a little boy jersey and little boy clothes, listening to his mother talk about the things on the news.

Wondering, Mom, would you give up God for me?

Tae rests her cheek on her hand. Her nail polish has gotten all chipped, maybe she picked at it nervously while you were at the hospital. She has a habit of picking at it when she needs something for her hands to do.

“If Jimin had a religion- it would be love. And every time he feels even a little bit like he's not loving us the way he should, he beats himself up for it and guilts himself into loving harder, loving better. He considers a lack of love the greatest crime. So yeah, feeling guilty is par for the course."

Jungkook groans, tipping his head back against the sofa, “I’ve told him, I’ve told him a million times-“

“Doesn’t matter” Hobi interrupts, “he still hates it when he’s not there when you have a seizure. He's upset with himself, that's why he left. Giving him more love when he feels like he doesn't deserve it is like his worst nightmare.”

You think of the explosion. Of Jimin pining your body and putting himself between you and the blast. Maybe with Jimin it's so instinctual it's not even a conscious decision. You wonder if it ever gets easy, to make the decision to sacrifice yourself for the people you love. Does that make Mimin feel like he deserves them more? the sacrifice?

You don’t know if it would be as innate with you, You might have to think it through for a few seconds.

You don't like that. You don't like realizing that you'd need to think through it however briefly. You fear a world in which you don’t love him as much as he loves you, in which any of this isn’t reciprocal.

(But then again, most recipes have twice as much sugar as butter.)

You melt against Hobi’s side. “He shouldn’t,” you say, feeling useless, a little quieter, a little bit more upset. “He shouldn’t feel guilty, he loves us enough!” Tae’s hand rests on your ankle, and her laugh strikes high and sad.

Outside a mourning dove coos, a lonely soft sound.

“Trust me, I’ve been trying to love Jimin more than he loves me for my whole life. He wants to win the 'I love you more' debate every time.”

~-~

The Industrial Park is different than Jin remembers.

It rises a little more jagged against the surrounding area of 3-meter-high brush that disguises a network of other dilapidated sheds and half flooded buildings. Jin recites what he knows about this place; the facts.

An iron processing plant, decimated by the flood of a nearby river 2 dozen years ago and bought through a shell corporation. Vacant land with so many entrances and exits. A veritable hotbed and the perfect body dumping site. construction on a housing development delayed on account of how expensive the environmental clean up.

He scans the building for red paint.

He can be forgiven for not seeing Jimin’s car, parked on the fringes. The opposite side from where Jin came in because Jin had to stop at the office first. Jin can be forgiven for having his blinders on, so focused with single-minded intent that he misses some of the signs. The smell of gasoline drowns out Jimin's vanilla scent.

Jin sees the fresh footprints in the dirt and draws his weapon.

That's the whole reason why it took him so long to get here, (why Jimin got here first even though he left second) He couldn't just go into an unknown setting alone unarmed, he'd had to stop back at the office to grab his vest and his FBI-issued firearm, a standard-issue Glock 17. Forghein and unwelcomed in his hands.

Even Jin will admit that he’s not the best marksman, (Jin had barely passed his exam a few years back, and continually has to study and practice for his re-certification every 6 months.) Jin does not prefer to be armed. If he wasn’t alone, if he didn’t go by himself for this, He might not have brought his weapon at all.

Jin enters through the front door; the old hanger doors are already open. Feet crunching on the gravel. Jin can feel his heartbeat in his fingers, how hard he’s holding the gun, he’s never had to discharge it during a field excursion before. How unbecoming of a director, how green of him. He lacks this experience.

The tip of the weapon shakes because he's holding it so hard. Jin feels like he can feel the breath of unseen eyes on the back of his neck. Someone is here, he knows it.

Jin walks into the atrium, gun at the ready, turning the corner when he sees them.

One masked man is bending over another a body, already strewn across the floor and dead. the man's mask litters the floor in red shards. Jin sees the gun in the living man's hands, gloved, Jin snaps his hand up and aims before he can really take in the details of the scene.

“Stop! FBI! Put your hands where I can see them!”

The man at the other end of the room tilts his head and does not speak, red mask flashing in the half-light. There is a single breath where the man does not move, just looks at Jin with that tilted face. silent. But then he takes off, running like his life depends on it. bolting down a corridor and out of range of Jin’s accuracy on the best of days.

Jin fires a shot and misses. It hits the metal wall with a loud clink and a bright spark, ricocheting off into space.

Jin curses and takes off after the killer, skidding in the dust and bashing into the wall, gun banning against the door with a loud metallic clang as he slides through it, running from hall to hall trying to get a good shot.

Every time Jin crests a turn and tries to aim, the man rounds another, darting through the maze of hallways and shipping containers.

Jin has longer legs and is taller and faster than his target. He catches up to them by the stairs, the man turns and hesitates again. If Jin were less adrenaline high he might already realize they've tucked their gun away.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!”

The criminal bolts up the stairs and Jin goes too. Up and up and up onto the catwalk. Feet clangs against the metal, the suspended walkway sways under the force of their steps, The chains clanking.

And then, at the very end, he stops.

Jimin turns, casting one glance back at him. And hesitates, the mask catches the light again. And Jimin reaches up, about to take it off. The words, "Stop baby it's me." Already hovering on the edge of his lips.

He never gets the chance to say them. Jin’s finger finds the trigger, and the gun fires in a gorgeous explosion of gunpowder and force. Fire made small, and love made lethal.

Jimin hits the wall from the force of the bullet, hitting the latch at the back of his head.

The mask falls off.

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 every word helps motivate me to write the next chapter!

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~-~

Notes:

Everybody lives nobody dies.

Let me repeat that again NOBODY DIES, no one, not even Jimin. He’s just gonna be a little bloody from this, that’s all, before you get angry and yell at me.

I could have made this more convoluted, but I decided not too because…I simply did not want to stage a chapter between this one and the next one.

Jimin’s autistic meltdowns look a whole lot like mine do, I know they’re not typically what other people associate with meltdowns. But going nonverbal and stimming with your body (pacing) is very on par with me.

I felt like we needed to see a little bit of the jinmin dynamic before you know…Jin shoots him, just for funsies. And to talk about how Jimin loves.

A lot of people expressed a desire for Jimin to have some sort of concenquence for the way he treated Tae when she came out, just the part where he needed space, and for him not helping the m/c when he could have. I think this is his penance for that, getting shot by Jin, getting betrayed- however unintentionally- by someone he loves is the justice for those moments. I’ve always been stalwart on the fact that the bily charecters act sort of terribly sometimes because real people act terribly too, they’re dynamic in the way that they love and handle their actions.

On the subject of like- who framed what and explaining the events of the chapter, moonbyul and Hyejin are orchestrating everything. They pay Jimin MOSTLY because they know how suspicious it is and are trying to do anything they can to expose Jin to him. The scene in the industrial park goes exactly the way they wanted it too…accept that Jimin will live. They didn’t count on Jin being a poor shot lol

They are trying not only to manipulate the m/c away from the pack, but destabilize them to try and make the m/c come to them. Having one packmate kill another is definitely they way they wanted to do this. They’d 1000% just kill everyone if they thought that would give them the m/c but they’re attempting to manipulate her into coming to them rather than just abducting her point blank.

Funnily enough this is one cannon-cannon event of bily like, Jin was always going to shoot Jimin. If you go back and forth in other chapters you can see that Jin is almost constantly touching Jimin’s shoulder. It’s up to you if you think that Jin’s bullet got close enough to Jimin’s heart to kill him or if by some luck he survived

That’s a lie I can’t lie to you guys he’s 1000% going to live through this I can’t keep secrets from you guys, no one dies in this story even if it seems like they might at times we only have one more almost death to get through.

I feel like this chapter had less flowery language than my usual ones in part because it’s got a bit from Jin’s pov and also because everyone is so scared and frozen through the whole thing.

I cannot even begin to tell you how much less stressful the next chapter of bily is than my life, like i would rather GET SHOT AGAIN then be where i currently am, with the same level of anxiety that i have.

i wish i had time to edit this more but alas! its only 2 hours until i'll post this and i'm just finishing it up.

[simplymarr]

Chapter one.

summary: vincent renzi x fem!reader.

A young law student is navigating her last year in university, where she meets a misteryous french professor that is going to help her getting her thesis done. A strong chemistry and a love for books and hard work it's what gets them to work so well with each other. But how much are they going to resist when temptation arrives?

warnings: age gap (legal ofc) he's 43 and she's 26. Other that that, none (yet).

London. 8 am and a room full of people on a rainy day. Cold fingers on the desk, waiting for something to happen.

I looked over and the clock was still; maybe it was broken or maybe the time was way too slow in the morning. Even for me.

Today it was the last-first day i was going to have on that university. Five long years studying law, yet it felt like i was still a stranger in that big, cold classroom.

I was, finally, going to get my thesis done. No more wasting time, no more fear. I had to be strong.

How difficult could it be?

The world with its unique, hidden irony seemed to have answered my question when, all of a sudden, he walked through that old, wooden door.

Mature, maybe in his early forties. Tall but not too much; quite skinny. Long neck and serious countenance. Silver hair, some strands fell on his forehead as he walked across the room until he reached his desk. His polished clothes didn't look wet even though it was raining, and even for me to be so far away from him i could, somehow, sense that he smelled like cigarrettes and old fashioned, classic cologne.

Professor Vincent Renzi was his name.

He came from France. He said that he had recently won a case in the city, and that a colleague of his needed him to replace him for a few months at the university. A two-hour weekly class and, most importantly,

he was in charge of correcting some of the theses.

I hesitated the rest of the class, unsure of what was going to happen. Would he be easy on me? or would he be an idiot? After all, all male professors in law school seemed to treat women like they were not smart enough to be there. Or worse, like they fucked their way to the top.

Suddenly my feet stepped on earth again when i felt a deep voice making, in a strong french accent, a question that no one dared to answer.

"So, has anyone already started working on their thesis?"

Silence.

Then, for inertia or maybe an obscure, unconscious desire to be seen by his blue eyes i raised my hand.

He smiled at me; perhaps relieved that he hadn't been ignored. Little wrinkles formed on each side of his mouth as he spoke:

"Great, at least someone is doing their job. Now, enlighten me, please".

........................................

I tried to leave as soon as the class ended.

Maybe it was the shame, the blushed cheeks as i explained to him the central themes of the thesis. For the first time, i felt like my tongue wasn't mine as the words kept coming out of my mouth, but i felt grateful for that.

However, due to how far away i was from the exit, i was the last one to leave. I slid between each seat until i reached the door where, luckily for me, he was standing, waiting.

"That was good. Very good actually". He said as he reached out for a pack of cigarettes between his pockets.

I stuttered.

"Well, thank you. There's still some issues i need to fix, you know. References and stuff". I tried, without luck, to sound as calm as possible.

"That's why im here". He said, staid but in a soft tone.

As he left the building and got into his car, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and lighting a cigarette, i couldn't help but wonder

what the hell was i getting into.

next chapter soon

[serverusslaype]

Shameless, pt. 4

snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

hey again B) here is part 4 to Shameless, i hope you guys enjoy it, it gets a little soft at the end, and i mean a little. next chapter im hoping to explore reader and snape's relationship a little more, maybe some more tension im not sure... we shall see

thank you again for reading and supporting this fic with likes, reblogs, comments, everything! i really do appreciate it. :) love u guys

okaaaay LETS GOOO!

Another week and a half had passed and it was now a bitter and cold midweek morning. Since that interaction with Snape in the dungeons, you hadn't seen much of him since, nor really spoken to him. He'd rarely come to dinner in the Great Hall in the evenings, let alone breakfast or lunch. You were a little disappointed with this considering he'd given you permission to use his first name, it felt like he was allowing you into his space. Or at least, that's what your overactive mind was thinking. You thought about it deeper as time went on, and you'd reached the conclusion of it just being a professional thing. It bothered you a little, of course, considering how you felt about him.

You'd just finished teaching a class of fifth-years, preparing them for a mock test on Monday. The lesson was rather smooth-going, apart from having to tend to a student's finger after they were bitten by a fanged geranium. After the whole debacle on your first day back teaching at Hogwarts, you were rather glad that only a bitey flower had gone rogue in this morning's lesson.

Presently, you were currently strolling to the Great Hall, dressed in rather nice, muted yellow-gold robes. You were always proud to represent Hufflepuff colours, you took pride in being sorted in that house after all. The mood at Hogwarts was a little low and cautious, considering students were turning up Petrified at every other corner you turned. Luckily, you had not come across one yet, you didn't think you'd be able to stomach it.

The Dueling Club was due to begin today, with Lockhart hosting it. You'd also heard that a teacher had agreed to help Lockhart with the beginning demonstration. Intrigued, of course, you couldn't miss one of your colleagues shooting a spell towards the bane of your existence.

So here you were, standing to the side in the Great Hall, watching the hustle and bustle of students and teachers eagerly awaiting for the show to start - this is Lockhart we're talking about. A table had been set up in the middle of the Hall, a pretty blue and gold tapestry draped over the top of it, dotted with astrology art. Students surrounded the table, giggling and talking excitedly about what could happen. Or, what could possibly go wrong? you pondered, smiling to yourself.

Soon enough, the man in question had hopped up onto the table. "Gather round! Gather round!" Lockhart's screeching voice reached your ears as you watched him strut across the table, one arm gesturing theatrically at the students. "Can everybody see me?" He questioned, looking at the students with bright eyes. Unfortunately, yes, you thought. "Can you all… hear me? Excellent." Lockhart said, quickly spinning on his heel, the cape attached to his bodice twirling with him elegantly. "In the light of the dark events of recent weeks, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Dueling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves; as I myself have done on countless occasions."

You fought against a laugh in the back of your throat, choosing to cough lightly instead. Yeah, remember that time you couldn't handle a classroom full of little pixies? You rolled your eyes and folded your arms against your chest.

"For full details, see my published works." Lockhart added rather arrogantly. Was this guy serious? Merlin, he loved himself far too much. The famous author then proceeded to whip his cape off, throwing it into a gaggle of fawning teen girls. The gasped with excitement, their hands flying up to grab a hold of the piece of clothing.

"Let me introduce… my assistant," Lockhart began, pointing at the opposing side of the table with an open hand, his other one resting valiantly on his opposite hip. You reached up onto your tiptoes in a poor attempt to see what teacher he'd roped into this. Professor Sinistra, perhaps? Or even- "Professor Snape!" He exclaimed.

Your jaw dropped. There was no way in hell you'd heard that right. Before you could second-guess yourself, said wizard began trailing up the stairs to the table with a gloomy look on his face, his arms folded uncomfortably tight against his chest. As he reached the top, he let them unfold, placing them at his side, wand in hand. You noticed he wasn't wearing his cape too.

As Severus walked down the table, you couldn't help your eyes as they glided over his figure, getting embarrassingly distracted by how good he looked in his tight, form-fitting black robes. You had to force yourself to look away as you felt yourself falling victim to his alluring appearance, a searing hot blush now creeping up your neck, heading towards your cheeks. Gods, he didn't even do anything but take his cape off and you were blushing like a teenage school girl.

"He has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry," Lockhart went on, glancing at the children who were leaning over the edge to eagerly glance at Snape. Surely, there was no way he willingly agreed to this, but then again, maybe he only agreed to it to have the legal ability to cast a spell on him. "You'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him. Never fear." Lockhart professed rather over-confidently, deafening arrogance dripping from his words. You knew Snape was a very good duellist after hearing rumours during your time at school in Hogwarts, so you were confident that he'd dominate Lockhart. At least, that's what you were hoping.

The two wizards walked towards each other, stopping just shy of a foot away. They drew their wands, whipping them up to their own respective faces, before whipping them back down in one quick motions, a sharp swish emitting from the way it sliced through the air. Severus and Lockhart spun around, turning to walk five paces in the opposite direction. Once they were in position, they turned around once again to face each other.

"One, two, three!" Lockhart exclaimed, prompting Severus to draw his wand up at the speed of light. Before Lockhart has a chance to cast anything, the Potions Master was two steps ahead.

"Expelliarmus!" Severus commanded, a bright white light shooting from the tip of his wand, hitting Lockhart square in the chest and sending him flying backwards. Your hand flew to your mouth to muffle an amused laugh as you watched Lockhart fly through the air, a cry of pain escaping his lips as his back thudded against the table.

As you looked back to Severus, you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Though you had hardly spoken since, it was hard not to feel impressed. The rumours were true, then, you thought, your smile widening. The wizard in question suddenly caught your eye, and you felt your lungs spasm. You had to suck in a breath to compose yourself as your legs tingled.

You nodded at him, wiping the awestruck smile off your lips and pursing them awkwardly instead. To your surprise, Severus acknowledged you back with a nod too. He turned his attention back to Lockhart, who was currently scrambling to get back to his feet. Your cheeks burned at the unforeseen encounter and you felt yourself becoming a little giddy from it. Gods, you really were like a little school girl with a crush.

Fuck. You couldn't understand how you could go from screaming your lungs out at Severus to possibly having a civil relationship with him - how does that even work? Though, you swiftly reminded yourself how that could quickly change, you were well aware of who he was.

"An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind me saying, it was pretty obvious, er, what you were about to do. And if I had wanted to stop you, it would have only been too easy." Lockhart scoffed, strutting back to stand in front of Severus, his gimmicky grin making another appearance on his irritating face. The Potions Master stood nonchalantly, clasping his hands together in front of him. You had to give it to him, he had that poker face down rather well - something you were a little envious of.

"Perhaps it would be prudent, to first teach the students to block unfriendly spells, professor." Severus said rather harshly, his tone of voice judgmental. He was totally valid for feeling that way, and for once you found yourself questioning Dumbledore's reasoning as to why he had hired such a useless and clumsy wizard. Surely, someone as wise as him could see through this man's pathetic and hopeless act? Maybe he was just desperate for someone to fill the position. Lockhart looked scared for once, his once confident grin fading as Severus stared him down, a sarcastic smile gracing his face for a split second.

"An excellent suggestion, Professor Snape." The famous author exclaimed enthusiastically, spinning on his heel to walk the opposite way of him. "Well… let's have a volunteer pair. Erm.. Potter, Weasley, how about you?" Lockhart gestured towards the boys. Ron's face was a picture, he looked awestruck, almost shocked to see that he'd been picked. Harry's face, however, was more fitting.

"Actually, I was thinking Professor L/N could stop lurking in the shadows and come and showcase her impressive range of skills." Severus declared, his rather loud yet deep and intimidating voice echoing throughout the Great Hall. You almost choked on your tongue, did he really just say that? As you looked up at him, Severus tried to hide the amused smirk that was undoubtedly slipping onto his smug face; his hand outstretched to gesture to you. You wiggled your jaw at him, clearly unhappy with what he'd just done. You weren't great at defence, but you knew how to protect yourself with the bare minimum.

"I highly doubt a professor of Herbology would be able to handle me in a duel, I'm afraid, Professor Snape." Lockhart laughed wholeheartedly, the tiniest hint of worry in his tone. Oh, really, is that how it is, Lockhart? Your jaw ticked at his outrageously offensive comment. Now, you really did want to Expelliarmus his ass to Azkaban. Snape continued smirking. He could hardly contain himself. This was perfect. He knew how easy it was to irritate you - he'd definitely had his fair share.

"Certainly, Severus." You called out calmly, watching the gaggle of students in front of you turn around to stare at you. As your eyes met with Lockhart, a flash of fear wiped across his face. That only spurred you on more. Your heels clacked against the floor cutting through the silence in the hall as you walked towards the end of the table that Severus had climbed up. As you reached the stairs, you held up your robes, careful not to trip.

Suddenly, a large and pale hand appeared in your face. Your brows furrowed together in slight confusion, before softening as they saw who it belonged to. You bit your tongue as you tried impeccably hard not to blush in front of half of the school. Graciously, you took Severus's hand lightly, watching how it swamped your smaller one, allowing him to help you up the steps. He was six-foot-one, possibly six-foot-two, after all. Once you were standing on top of the table he released your hand, to your dismay of course, but you didn't show it. There was a bigger thing at stake currently - handing Lockhart's ass to him.

You saw the author clench his jaw harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. You couldn't help but paint an innocent smile on your face. Behind you, Severus stepped backwards, allowing you to move past him and towards Lockhart. You nodded at him, keeping your narrowed eyes trained on the strawberry-blonde liability in front of you.

The two of you walked towards each other, stopping in the middle of the table once again. "Wands at the ready." Severus said, trying his best to hide how entertaining he was finding this. You and Lockhart drew your wands, flicking them up to your face again and whipping them down to your sides with a sharp whoosh. You met each other's glaring eyes.

"Hello, friend." You muttered to him quietly, an innocent yet threatening smile gracing your lips. Lockhart's face might have seemed confident and prepared, however his terrified eyes painted a different picture. He was rightfully worried, you still had a lot of unreleased resentment towards him.

"Professor L/N, you are the attacker and Lockhart, you are the defender, obviously." Severus stated.

You and Lockhart turned around and walked forwards five paces, before turning around again. "One, two, three!" Severus called, his eyes widening a tad, eager to see the outcome of his proposition.

"Everte Statum!" You exclaimed, beating Lockhart at his own game. A string of pale pink light shot from the tip of your wand, landing square in the middle of Lockhart's chest. Your eyes were glued onto him as he flew backwards once more, his body flipping through the air like a gymnast - though a lot less graceful. He landed with a muffled thud, a short cry slipping from his mouth. Behind you, Severus was slowly losing his composure, letting a small huff of air escape his lips as he watched you, amused at the scene. He was impressed with your ability, and in his mind he pondered curiously about whether you'd duelled before.

Gasps and laughs erupted from the students surrounding you, though a handful of them also looked worried for Lockhart's wellbeing.

"Not bad for a Herbology professor, methinks." You smiled proudly, clasping your hands together in front of you as you waited for your opponent to climb to his feet again. You half-turned to glance back at Severus, prompting an approving nod from him, the corner of his lips quirking, teasing a small smile. You hummed quietly to yourself as you looked away, returning your attention to Lockhart, your cheeks tinting pink from the eye contact with Snape.

"I believe you owe Professor L/N an apology, professor." Severus said from behind you, quite smugly. You poked your tongue into your cheek, glancing at the floor in front of you to pull yourself together. This whole ordeal was sending you into overdrive. You knew the only reason that Snape was supporting you was because you shared a mutual dislike for Lockhart, but it still felt good to have his approval, perhaps even his attention. You could feel your heart pick up in pace as you thought back to the closeness you and him had shared during those heated, intense bickers.

"I should not have underestimated you, Professor L/N." Lockhart reluctantly said, his hand gently rubbing his behind, clenching his jaw as he stared at you and Snape. You smiled bitterly at him, nodding once and making your way back towards the Potions Master. As you neared him, he leaned towards you, catching your eye. Your breath hitched slightly.

"Nicely done." Severus muttered to you, another tiny smug smirk tugging at his lips. You sucked in part of your bottom lip momentarily before allowing a composed smile to grace your features. "I'm impressed." He added, making your head spin. You swallowed thickly. Gods, you needed to get out of here now if you wanted to leave with at least a shred of your dignity.

"Thanks." You barely managed to keep your voice steady as he leaned away from you, holding his out his hand again for you to take. You took it, praying to Merlin above that your shaking knees didn't give way to you as you carefully stepped down the stairs.

Snape arched a brow at you, his eyes narrowing slightly in a glare, silently reprimanding you for saying such a thing. How could you forget? 'Do not thank me', his words rang in your head as you let go of his hand. As much as you wanted to stay, you weren't sure your heart could take much more of this.

Fuck, maybe that hateful relationship the two of you shared previously was the better option. There was no way you were surviving this year in such close proximity to Severus.

"Don't touch that please, Mr Finnigan." You sighed softly, catching a glimpse of Seamus attempting to reach towards the head of a potted Mandrake. "Not until I say so, and you will see why." You added warningly, watching him reel himself back, a look of slight fear on his face. You smiled gratefully at him. "So, as I was saying, today you will be learning how to handle Mandrakes, and what their uses are." A few curious mutterings came from the students as you stepped forwards, flicking your wand upwards to float some protective earmuffs to each student in the class. They looked at them confusedly, reaching out to grab a hold of a pair.

"Who here can tell me the properties of the Mandrake root?" You asked as you watched the students collect their respective earmuffs, eyes flicking over to a particularly eager Hermione Granger. "Yes, Miss Granger?" You smiled, linking your fingers together.

"Mandrake, or Mandrogora is used to return those who have been Petrified to their original state. It's also quite dangerous, as the Mandrake's cry is fatal to anyone who hears it." Hermione said confidently, widening your smile. She was definitely a bright student.

"Brilliant, ten points to Gryffindor." You nodded, glancing at all of the students. The Gryffindor students all grinned at the sound of your words, giving Hermione an excited nod of thanks. "Now, as our Mandrakes are still only seedlings, their cries won't kill you yet, but they could knock you out for several hours, hence the earmuffs I have supplied you all with." You said sternly, hoping each and every one of the students were listening. You weren't particularly fond of paying the infirmary a visit today. "For your own safety, you will need to wear these. So please, can you all put them on right away?" You asked politely, feeling a sense of relief as every student obeyed you. "Make sure the flaps are tight down, too." You added sternly, noticing some students had just sloppily placed them on. Said students readjusted their equipment.

"Lovely, now watch me closely." You said, turning your attention to the potted Mandrakes in front of you. "Now, you grasp it firmly," you instructed, fingers grabbing on tightly to the top of the plant, "you pull it sharply out of the pot, like so." Instantly, the high-pitched wailing of the young Mandrake filled the greenhouse, making some of the students squirm out of fright. You couldn't help but smile at them; you remembered the first time you'd experienced the shrill wail of a Mandrake seedling in this very greenhouse. "Okay? Now, you dunk it down into the other pot and pour a little sprinkling of soil to keep him warm." You explained, doing as you said, shovelling handfuls of soil into the new pot with the crying Mandrake seedling inside of it.

Suddenly, the sound of a student groaning caught your attention. You looked up, spotting Neville Longbottom's eyes rolling into the back of his head as he fell backwards, fainting. You sighed. Well, nothing is perfect.

"Mr Longbottom has obviously been neglecting his ear muffs." You pursed your lips, casting a sympathetic gaze his way. It always seems to be Longbottom in trouble. Amused snickers and inquisitive 'oh's broke out for a quick moment before you shut them down with a sharp shush.

"He's just fainted, ma'am," Seamus Finnigan protested, glancing between the unconscious boy and yourself. You nodded at him, holding up a light hand to reassure him.

"He'll be okay, Mr Finnigan, just make sure you don't step on him." You said, inhaling softly, turning your attention back to the whole of the class. "Right, off you go, there's plenty of pots to go around," You gestured to the table in front of you, observing the students carefully. "Grasp the Mandrake, and pull it up sharply like I demonstrated." A chorus of crying and shrieking Mandrakes reached your ears as you observed the class repeat your demonstration and you grimaced slightly at the raucous plants. You forgot how loud these little things were in groups. "Careful, Mr Malfoy, don't-" You sighed again, watching helplessly as he stuck his finger into the mouth of one.

Merlin, give me strength, you pleaded, watching him glare at the Mandrake seedling as he ripped his bitten finger out of it's mouth.

"Professor," came a voice to your right, capturing your attention, "You were great at duelling earlier." A blonde girl with big, blue eyes said. Luna Lovegood.

"Ah, thank you, Miss Lovegood." You smiled at her gratefully. "I'm not usually one to duel, however," You paused for a moment, pondering on your words. These were students you were talking to, so you had to be cautious with what you said. "However, I should really be thanking Professor Snape." You finished with a coy smile.

"He totally likes you, professor, didn't you see the way he helped you up the steps?" Another student called out, inducing some giggles from the girls. You rolled your eyes at them, quite positive that they were just pulling your leg.

"Let's not be hasty, now," You laughed lightly, frowning at their words. "I can tell you now that Professor Snape and I just about tolerate each other. The only reason he helped me up those steps was out of pure chivalry, I can assure you." You felt your cheeks begin to burn as your mind reeled back to earlier this morning, thinking about the way your hand felt in his, and how he looked at you after you had duelled Lockhart.

You cleared your throat and your mind, focusing back on the task at hand. "If I'm honest, I don't believe Professor Snape is capable of producing such feelings for a woman." You added absentmindedly, your tone a little bitter. A chorus of gasps and ooh's reached your ears, reminding you that you were in the presence of students - students that like to talk. "I didn't say that… don't… don't tell him I said that…" You groaned, fingers flying up to grasp the bridge of your nose in stress.

Fuck. You really needed to stop talking without thinking. That was another thing Severus had said to you a couple weeks back at the beginning of the year, no? You were still the same silly girl that didn't think before she spoke? You hated how you were proving him right, especially since you'd denied and protested it.

There was a beat of silence as you stared at the Mandrake seedlings in front of you, your mind floating back to when he was so close to you, his intoxicating smell of smoke, books and sweet wine invading your nostrils. The way his hauntingly dark eyes stare so deep into yours, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly out of anger.

"You're blushing, professor!" An amused student called out, pointing at your burning cheeks as he pulled you out of your daydream. Merlin, these kids were distracting you. Definitely not helping.

"Alright, alright, that's enough chit-chat, ladies and gentlemen, back to work, please." You shook your head, trying to ignore the tightening knot in your stomach. A few bashful giggles erupted in front of you. "I want all of these Mandrakes repotted by the end of the lesson, please."

Soon enough, the bell tolled and your students had done very well, apart from Longbottom, of course. You'd sent an owl to the infirmary to notify Madam Pomfrey of Neville's state. You assured her that he would wake in a few hours. How was this boy continuously finding himself in such situations? Severus was right. Again.

A quiet groan left your lips as you collapsed into your chair behind your desk, eyes glued thoughtfully to a beautiful, singular white lily that you had potted and placed as a decoration on your desk. You were just about to relax into your chair and open up a book to read for an hour or so when you heard Professor McGonagall's worried voice over the intercom.

"All students are to return to their dormitories immediately. All teachers to the second floor corridor." She said hurriedly, causing a worrisome look to stir on your face. This was serious, Minerva had never requested something like this before in your time teaching and learning at Hogwarts.

What had happened now?

part 5

part 4, done and dusted bitches B)

i hope you enjoyed reading, and thank you so much to everyone that has supported this through likes, reblogs and comments!! i appreciate every single one of you. honestly. much love to you guys.

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[aflame4goinghome]

Illicit Affairs

d.r.w x reader

chapter i

Summary: There’s no harm in having a one-night stand with a captivating musician at a jazz club the weekend before the fall semester, right? Usually that would be the case, but this time, it was very different. After finding out what he does for a living, your entire world is turned upside down, sending you head first into a relationship that even you might not be able to handle. Good luck.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!!! alcohol, swearing, flirting, SMUT: fingering, touching, sexually-implicit language, oral sex (m. & f. receiving), unprotected sex, hairpulling, semi-public sex, praise kink if you squint, hint of dom/sub dynamic

A/N: This story is in collaboration with my wonderful, talented friends @gretavanstink & @childinthegardenn!! Go give them a follow and give @gretavanstink’s fics some love! We’re so excited to share this journey with you all, we can’t wait for you to find out what’s next. Enjoy! Love ya!

Listen to the official playlist on Spotify here!

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“Is this it here?” you ask, looking over at Rose in your passenger seat as you slow down in front of the apartment building. She looks down at her phone to check the GPS then nods her head.

“Looks like it… I think I see a spot there in the front,” she answers. You quickly pull into the parking spot and then put the car in park. “Here we are!” you say, smiling at Rose before turning the car off, opening your door, and stepping out onto the street.

The neighborhood seemed quiet and calm, for it being so close to downtown Detroit. You feel pleasantly surprised as you take a look around. You walk around to the trunk of your car, pressing down the button and lifting the hatch. Your apartment came mostly furnished, so you and Rose luckily didn’t have to bring much besides your clothes and general necessities.

You’ve known your best friend Rose since the two of you were 11 years old, when your elementary schools merged to become one big middle school. You were placed in the same homeroom and you became fast friends, having a lot in common. You’ve been inseparable ever since, leaving your small town in northern Michigan to move to Detroit for college together. 

Going into your third year at Wayne State University in midtown Detroit, you both found an apartment together off campus. The first day of class is in two days, giving you some time to get settled in at your new place before getting thrown into the busyness of the semester.

Grabbing your suitcases, you and Rose head up into your new apartment. You buzz the front door to the lobby, head inside, and gather your keys from the leasing office before taking the elevator up to the sixth floor. With an ecstatic smile on your face, you finally turn the key to open the front door and walk inside. 

It’s a modest place, not too big or too small. There’s a large window in the living area, giving you a view of the rest of the neighborhood, since you were on the sixth floor. There are two bedrooms, a shared bathroom, and an in-unit washer/dryer, which you’re eternally grateful for. This was the most room you’ve ever had to yourself since you spent your first two years of university living on campus in the dorms. 

The two of you take a short look around the apartment together before going back downstairs to grab the rest of your things, then branch off into your own bedrooms to begin unpacking. The room already had a full-sized bed, a desk, and a tall dresser. There was a lot of closet space as well, which is a rare find in the city. 

You start by first unpacking your trusty record player, which you bring everywhere you go. Gifted to you by your grandfather for your 16th birthday, you’ve had it in your bedroom and have been adding to your collection ever since. You set it up on the top of your dresser, connect the speakers, and then plug it into the outlet below. You then uncover your record crate and pull out your favorite album of the month: The Queen Is Dead by the Smiths. You carefully remove the record from its protective sleeve, place it on the turntable, bring the needle to the edge of the record, and put it down.

As the music begins to play softly through the speakers, you turn around to open up your suitcase and start unpacking your clothes. You spend about half an hour putting your clothes away in the drawers and hanging some items up in the closet. Then, you go to make your bed, breaking out the new sheets and comforter set you just bought. After making the bed, you attach a handful of small adhesive hooks along the top of the wall behind your bed and hang a strand of lights to add some warm lighting to your space. 

Finally, you pick up your box full of books and bring it to the living room. The apartment came with a large wooden bookcase along one of the side walls, across from the couch and next to the cabinet that the TV rests on. You struggle to carry the box, practically slamming it onto the coffee table when you finally reach the living room. 

Admittedly, you brought way too many books with you— that box felt like it weighed at least 50 pounds. But as a philosophy major, reading is pretty much all you do. Despite that, it’s just a hobby that you particularly enjoy. You start by taking out all of your philosophy books and placing them on the middle shelf– Plato’s The Republic, Epictetus’ Discourses, Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, and many more. Then, on the top shelf, some of your favorite reads– your Shakespeare Complete Collection, The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Great Gatsby, Little Women, Jane Eyre. You left the bottom shelf for whatever Rose might want to add, but you know that it will likely end up full of trinkets rather than books.

As you finish straightening up the living room, Rose walks out and sits down on the couch. “Ugh, moving sucks,” she laments, throwing her head back with a groan. You sit down next to her, throwing your arm around her and putting your head down on her shoulder.

“I know, right? At least we’re all finished now, though,” you say. 

“I’m hungry,” she says, “Wanna go get some pizza?” Your lips quickly turn up into a smile.

“Is that even a question you have to ask?” you reply, standing up from the couch and offering her your hand to help her up. You both retreat to your separate rooms to get ready to go out before going to eat.

Detroit in the summer can sometimes be brutal in the daytime, but at night, it can get pretty cold. You decide on a black cropped v-neck top and throw on a flannel just in case you get cold, pairing it with a pair of ripped denim jeans and your Converse. You take the top half of your hair and pull it back, leaving some strands out in the front. You decide to put on a bit of base makeup, but nothing too detailed. 

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The two of you agree to go to your favorite pizza place downtown to eat dinner, so you grab your car keys and head out the door. It’s only about a ten-minute drive, so you get there rather quickly. The sun is setting now since it’s a bit past 8 p.m., and the view as you drive toward the Detroit River is like no other. You finally arrive at the restaurant and sit down to eat, feeling practically starving at this point. This really was your absolute favorite restaurant in the city. To you, there was nothing quite like Detroit-style pizza. It felt like home to you, and was exactly the comfort meal you needed right now. 

After a delicious and much-needed meal, you and Rose exit the pizza place, turning the corner and walking toward where you parked the car. It’s dark outside now, and as you walk to your car, you’re nearly blinded by the lights of what seems to be a neon sign. It read “Cliff Bell’s” and there was a standing sign on the ground that said “Runway Blues Combo, August 24th, 9-11:30 p.m.” You can hear the distant sound of a saxophone and other instruments from inside, filling you with a warm, fuzzy feeling. You check your watch, which reads 9:25 p.m. 

“Come on, we have to go in!” you exclaim, pulling Rose by the arm to enter the bar. You show the bouncer your IDs then head over to the bar, waiting in the large crowd to order a drink. You look over at the band on the stage at the back of the bar, somewhat recognizing the song they were playing– Basie, you think. The bartender finally turns to you and asks for your order, so you order a vodka cranberry, wait for Rose to get her drink, and then you both go toward the stage to see and hear the band better without the big crowd. 

As you get closer to the stage, your eyes immediately fall on the drummer. At first, it’s the audacity to wear sunglasses inside that draws your attention– rose-tinted lenses with a gold frame. Then, you admire his shoulder-length, dark curls, bouncing along to the rhythm of the song. Finally, you notice the way the muscles in his forearms contract as he plays, his veins tightening as he hits the snare drum during a particular drum fill. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to sit right above his elbow, showing just enough of his arms to leave you wanting more. He has most of the buttons undone, only leaving a few buttoned at the bottom, accentuating the dark hair on his chest.

For most of the set, his eyes are often closed– he seems to be concentrated on the music, like he’s feeling it flow through him and letting his soul take control. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t intrigue you, he’s ridiculously attractive and seems to be incredibly talented. At one point during the set, though, his eyes open and seem to be drawn right to you. You convince yourself that the eye contact was just a coincidence and that he was just finding a spot in the room to lock his eyes on, but when he suddenly gives a distinct wink in your direction, you know that it wasn’t just a coincidence. He saw you. 

You try your best to fight off the blush that is starting to populate your cheeks, not wanting to show how much it affected you. Luckily, the room is darkly lit and crowded, so you hope that it will go unnoticed. You can’t deny the butterflies in your stomach, and how good it felt to know that his eyes were on you. 

You excuse yourself, leaving Rose up front to save your spot as you go to get yourself another drink. Rose agreed to drive home, not feeling like drinking much tonight, so you decide to allow yourself to have some more to drink. After the bartender hands you your drink, you decide to stay there to finish it, hoping to get another soon after to add to your buzz and hopefully quell the nervous feelings you had inside over this mysterious drummer. 

You’ve only had about half of your next drink when you hear someone on stage say that the band is going to take a brief intermission. Soon after, you’re taking a sip of your drink and suddenly feel a tall presence to your right at the bar. You look over to see that it’s none other than the band’s drummer. When he catches your eye, he smiles at you for a moment before turning back to the bartender. 

“Hey, man. Can I get an old fashioned?” he asks, then looks back over to you. He looks down at your near-empty glass, then back up to meet your eyes as he says, “And another of whatever she’s having.”  He flashes you another smile as he sees the shade of pink start to cover your cheeks, sitting down on the stool next to you. The bartender hands you both your drinks and then walks off to help other customers.

“Saw you there in the front. Did you enjoy the set?” he asks as he removes his sunglasses, places them on the bar, then takes a sip of his drink. 

“Oh, it was great! It’s been a while since I’ve heard live jazz, you guys are phenomenal,” you answer, smiling shyly as you take a sip of your drink, looking up at him next to you. Now that you were up close and personal with him, you couldn’t help but notice how tall he was– at least two heads taller than you were, you thought. And a little older than you had placed him when you saw him on stage. From far away you had guessed maybe his early to mid-twenties, but up close you wagered closer to thirty.

“Glad to hear that. What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning his arm on the bar as he turns his body toward you. “Y/N,” you answer, blushing slightly at the nickname. 

“Y/N. Beautiful,” he says, his lips turning upward into a small smile. “Daniel.” He takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips, and places a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“It’s not often that we see gorgeous girls like you in here, Y/N…” he says, leaning down a bit to talk directly into your ear. You assume that it’s due to the volume of the room, but then he takes you by surprise. “It’s even less often that I see a gorgeous girl undress me with her eyes while I’m on stage, like you just did back there.” You gulp quietly, completely taken aback by his direct words. He wasn’t wrong, you were attracted to him and certainly made no effort to hide it. 

“Oh, I-” you start, but end up trailing off before he interrupts. 

“Did you think you got away with it?” Daniel asks, smirking as his right hand reaches over to trail his fingers along your forearm, which is resting on the bar. His lips are practically touching your ear now, sending a shiver down your spine. “I noticed… Been thinkin’ about you ever since.”

“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” you say, in almost a whisper, so much so that it was quite possible that he couldn’t hear it, but he did. You allow your hand to ghost softly along his wrist. Your fingers find the thin gold chain around his wrist as you look up to meet his gaze, his face is so close now that your noses are practically touching. 

“Yeah?” he says. You take a deep breath, looking up at him as you watch him lick his lips. “Tell me what you were thinkin’ about…” You could already feel your arousal start to pool between your legs, the anticipation making it feel like your heart could stop at any moment. You swallow hard as you try to answer him.

“I was thinking about how strong your arms looked,” you answer, trying to feign confidence despite how intimidating his aura felt. “Watching you play the drums and seeing your muscles flexing like that through your shirt… It was really hot.” He smirks, clearly pleased by your answer, and lowers his lips to your ear once again. You can feel his breath on your ear as he continues.

“Was it?” he asks teasingly. You feel his lips finally connect with your skin as he places a soft, lingering kiss on your neck, right below your ear. “Tell me what else.” Your breath hitches as his lips descend slowly down your neck. 

“I thought about what the rest of you might look like under that shirt,” you say, leaning your head back slightly as he sucks right on the sensitive part of your neck.

“All you had to do was ask, baby…” he says, kissing his way back up to your ear.

“What were you thinking about?” you ask, your confidence starting to shine through. He smiles as he whispers into your ear.

“Thought about how good your tits look in that tight shirt,” he says as he wraps his arms around your back, holding you close. “Thought about how I wanted you to only look at me and no one else…” He sucks at the skin below your ear, causing you to let out a quiet whimper only he can hear.

“I’m only looking at you, Daniel,” you say, turning to look at him. His lips turn upward into a wicked smile.

“You wanna go somewhere a bit quieter, baby?” he whispers, softly brushing his nose against yours, moving his lips even closer. Your breath feels like it’s been taken out of your chest, but you don’t have time to waste. You quickly nod and he takes your hand in his, guiding you toward the back hallway that leads backstage. 

Once you round the corner of the hallway and are out of sight from the rest of the bar, Daniel stops you, pushing your back against the wall as his lips race to meet yours. He captures your lips in his as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His kiss is hurried and rough, something that you weren’t used to but definitely welcomed. The feeling of his body against yours was already making you lightheaded, and the alcohol in your system certainly wasn’t helping matters.

Keeping his lips on yours, he pulls your back off the wall, walking over to the one-stall bathroom only a few feet away. He removes one of his hands from you to quickly open the door, taking you both past it and letting it close behind him. 

He backs you against the sink and your ass hits the hard porcelain, causing you to wince and drop your purse on the floor. He takes his lips off of you for a moment and says, “The lock on this door doesn’t work.” His lips travel along your jawline and then down your neck. He continues, “But I bet you don’t care about that, do you, sweetheart?”

“I-” you begin but are quickly cut off as he pulls your v-neck to the side, his teeth dragging against the skin over your collarbone. A gasp escapes you and you tangle your fingers in his curls, every touch of his lips to your skin sending electricity shooting through you.

“In fact, I’m sure you don’t,” he says against your skin, his breath warm and tinged with whiskey. His fingers slip under the strap of your bra, lifting the elastic up and letting it snap back against your skin. He flicks his gaze up to meet yours, finding you staring at him wide eyed, and he smirks as he tugs your bra down, lips dropping back down to suck an already deepening purple mark just below where your shirt lays.

You’re grateful for the sink behind you, holding up your body, as you feel how weak your knees are. You feel like a fawn who has found herself face to face with a hunter in the woods and every word he utters, every touch he places on you, adds to the growing arousal between your legs. You don’t find yourself speechless often, but now is one of those times.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Daniel asks, noticing how your knees wobbled just slightly, and lifts his head to look at you again, his hips pinning you firmly to the sink. You can feel him, long and hard, against your abdomen, the thought sending tingles through your body.

“Maybe you need a rest,” he smirks, stepping back from you and leaning against the wall next to the door. “On your knees.”

Your hands grip the sides of the sink as you stare at him with wide eyes, hesitating to let go for fear that your legs would give out from under you. Slowly, you lower yourself to the ground in front of him, letting your hands rest in your lap and looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Daniel looks down at you intensely, his gaze feeling like fire, and brings his hand down to your face. He drags his thumb over your cheekbone, down the side of your face, along your jaw, and finally stops at your lips. Placing his thumb on your bottom lip, he gently pulls down, tilting his chin up slightly and looking down his nose at you.

“Open,” he growls, waiting a moment for you to do as he says. You swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly dry, and let your mouth fall open, much to Daniel’s pleasure. “Good girl.”

His thumb moves from your bottom lip to your tongue and you close your lips around it, your tongue swirling around it. He hums, pleased, and pulls his thumb from your mouth with a pop.

“Eager, are we?” Daniel teases, his hands working to undo his belt. He leaves it in his belt loops, the buckle hanging undone, and unbuttons his dress slacks. You watch as he drags his zipper down, now able to see his cock straining against the fabric of his black boxer briefs, and pushes his pants and underwear down enough to free himself. Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him as your gaze travels from the dark, well-groomed patch of hair above his base, down his length to his tip.

“Fuck,” you whisper, barely audible, as your gaze returns to meet Daniel’s. He strokes himself a few times, smirking down at you. With his free hand, he reaches down and runs his thumb across your lower lip once more.

“You seem to know what to do, sweetheart,” Daniel says as you open for him again, sticking your tongue out flat. He nods approvingly and lowers his cock, dragging his tip along your tongue before he pushes himself into your mouth. A low groan rumbles from his chest as you close your lips around him. “Just like fucking velvet.”

He gathers your hair into a ponytail and allows you to set your own pace as he watches his cock slide past your lips. You take him all the way in, widening the back of your throat so you don’t gag, and pause when your lips reach his base. Flicking your eyes up, you find Daniel staring down at you slack-jawed, his pupils blending into his irises seamlessly. You slowly start to draw your head back, the tip of your tongue following the path of the vein that runs the length of his shaft. Your tongue swirls around his tip, drawing a soft moan from his lips as he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall.

“Fucking hell,” he groans as you pick up your pace, his grasp on your hair tightening as his hips buck involuntarily. You gag slightly as his tip hits the back of your throat and you flash your gaze up to him, moaning around him to entice him to keep going. Daniel’s eyes flash open and he looks down at you for confirmation, which you give to him in the form of a nod. 

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he says, letting your hair fall from the makeshift ponytail he held and tangling his fingers in it instead. He starts to fuck your mouth, slowly at first to not overwhelm you. Rough, but considerate, you think as his tip knocks the back of your throat. Once he’s sure you’re adjusted he picks up his pace, his hand holding your head in place. He lets another low moan fill the room as you hum around him.

“Daniel?” you hear a man’s voice on the other side of the door ask. “Is that you? Are you good, dude?”

Daniel’s head rolls to glance at the door, still fucking your throat as he speaks up through the door. “I’m fine,” he says, attempting a voice that doesn’t sound like he’s getting his dick sucked in the bathroom.

“You sure? We’re back on stage at 10:30,” the stranger reminds him, attempting to push the door open. Daniel’s free arm darts across the door, blocking it from opening.

“I fucking know, Sam!” he yells, his fingers tightening in your hair as he drives his cock to the back of your throat harshly. You gag around him this time, tears springing to your eyes and threatening to fall down your cheeks. You hear the man scoff on the other side of the door, followed by the sound of his footsteps receding, and you look up at Daniel. He glances at his watch, seeing that it’s 10:20 pm, and then meets your gaze, winks, and says, “Let’s make this quick, sweetheart.”

He pulls your mouth off of him and offers you a hand to stand up, which you graciously take, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Your lips collide in a fervent kiss, tongues tangling and hands gripping at each others’ clothes. Daniel’s hands find the button on your jeans and swiftly pop it open, followed by your zipper. He spins you around quickly and tugs your jeans down over your ass, letting them rest around your thighs as he guides you forward to bend over the sink.

“My god, Y/N,” he murmurs, seeing the soaked state of your plum-colored panties. Daniel loops his fingers in the waistband and tugs them down, the sudden cool air mixed with unbridled anticipation making you shiver. His fingertips grip into your ass for a moment before he draws his hand back and delivers a solid smack to your outer thigh, drawing a whimper from your throat. He drops to his knees behind you and drags a finger through your center, watching as you shiver again. Placing his finger onto his tongue, he cleans your arousal off and hums.

“Sweeter than sin,” he muses, licking a stripe up your inner thigh and smirking to himself as your legs quivered in response. He grips your thighs, hard enough to leave bruises, and pushes them apart, dragging his tongue through your folds slowly. You gasp as he laps at your core, your fingers gripping the porcelain harshly, and you arch your back, pushing back against his face.

“Oh my god,” you moan, your head dropping as he moans into you, the vibration ripping right through you. Daniel pulls his face away and you whine desperately at the loss of contact, gasping a second later as he pushes two fingers into you and curls them. He sets a quick, consistent pace with his fingers, bringing you closer to the edge as you bite your lip to try to stifle your moans. 

“I’m…I’m close,” you manage, his fingers working relentlessly at your sensitive spot.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh. “Give it to me.”

He curls his fingers once more and your vision goes white, your moans filling the room as you cum on his fingers. Your legs shake as he works you through it, his motions slowing as your moans turn to ragged panting. He feels for his wallet in his pocket, but realizes he must have left it backstage, and he stands, placing a hand on your lower back.

“I don’t have a condom,” he confesses, watching you for a reaction. You lift your head and look at him through the mirror and shrug your shoulders.

“I’m clean and I have an IUD,” you say, lifting an eyebrow at him. “Are you clean?”

Daniel nods and smirks, stroking himself as his eyes traverse your body. You let your head fall again, arch your back, and say, “What are you waiting for then?”

“Careful what you wish for, darling,” he says, dragging his cock through your wetness and pushing into you until your bodies are flush. You gasp as you feel him brush your cervix and you feel yourself tighten around him. He groans and grips your waist, your pussy squeezing his cock as you adjust to his size. “Fuck, and I thought your mouth felt like heaven.”

He pulls back and snaps his hips forward, driving you into the sink as you push your ass back against him. Obscenities intertwined with the other’s name fall from both of your lips as he fucks you. 

Daniel reaches up with one hand and collects your hair into a ponytail again, wrapping your tresses around his hand and tugging your head back. Your eyes meet in the mirror, a smirk touching his lips as he says, “Want you to watch me fuck you, baby.”

You brace yourself on the sink and cry out quietly, the intense arch in your back allowing him to drive his cock deeper. His hand on your waist lifts and comes down on your ass with a loud crack and you whimper, your sounds spurring him on. You can feel your second orgasm coming on as you watch yourself in the mirror, mouth agape as lewd sounds tumble out of you. 

“Daniel…” you moan, looking up at him through the mirror. He looks like a god, his lips parted and his curls falling into his eyes as he snaps his hips forward again. “I’m…fuck,” you pant out, your muscles squeezing around him as you fall apart around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises, his fingers kneading into your ass. “Cum on my cock, just like that.” 

Your muscles squeeze around him one final time as he pulls out almost all the way, groaning as he slams into you and spills his own release. You feel his cock twitch inside of you and his breath on your back as he leans over you, his orgasm wracking his body. He slides out of you after a moment and tucks himself back into his pants before he cleans you up the best he can with some toilet paper.

“Thanks,” you say, suddenly shy as if you hadn’t let a man you just met fuck you in a bathroom, and you tug your underwear and jeans back up. He smiles at your sudden bashfulness and nods, watching you pick your purse up from where it had fallen.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he says with a wink. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into him, pressing his lips to yours in a much more tender fashion than he had earlier. “Stay for another set?”

Your face flushes as you look up at him, studying his face for a moment, your eyes focusing on the shape of his nose. As your eyes move to study his lips, you realize he’s asking you a question and you’re missing it. You shake away the fog clouding your thoughts and focus.

“Oh, um,” you say as you pull your phone out of your purse and see about 20 texts and 2 missed calls from Rose, probably in a full-on panic now that you’ve been gone and ignoring her texts. “Shit, I’m in trouble. Gotta run, see you around maybe!”

You rush out the door, leaving him by himself, and stand up on your toes to see over the crowd. You spot Rose back by the door and push through the crowd as quickly as you can, putting your arm up and waving her down.

“Oh my god, where the fuck have you been?” she scolds you as you approach her. You grab her wrist and pull her closer so you can talk in her ear.

“We have to go,” you say, pulling her behind you towards the door.

“Wait wait, what?” She asks as she resists you, pulling you to stop. “What the fuck happened?”

“Oh my god,” you say, drawing out the last word, tugging her along. “I’ll tell you while we walk.”

She relents and follows after you, telling the bouncers to have a good night. She catches up to you and links your arms as you walk back towards where the car is parked. Once you were far enough away, you burst into a giddy giggling fit and lean against a light post to catch your breath. Rose moves to the edge of the sidewalk and folds her arms over her chest, watching you with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, spill. What did I miss,” she prods, nudging your foot with hers. Your head falls back against the light post gently and you turn your head to look at her.

“You know the drummer?” You ask, giggling again. Rose nods and tilts her head to the side, waiting for you to continue. “We just fucked in the bathroom.”

You cover your mouth dramatically after you say it and smile under your hands. Her mouth falls open and she grabs your wrist, pulling you off the post to start walking again.

“Oh my god, he was hot, Y/N,” she says, tugging you along. You catch up with her as you’re turning the corner to the car and nod.

“Mhm, I know,” you say, satisfaction dripping from your voice. You climb into the passenger seat and watch Rose walk around to the driver’s side. She climbs in and starts the car up, pulling onto the street and driving back towards your apartment. “Oh my god and he was good,” you add, tossing your head back against the headrest.

Rose shakes her head and laughs, “You’re fucking insane, you know?”

You nod dramatically and close your eyes as Rose rounds the corner to your street, pulling into the apartment lot and throwing the car into park. You climb out and start towards the building, slowing down so Rose can catch up. You walk into the building together and ride the elevator up to your floor.

“I thought the piano guy was hot,” she confesses, turning to look at you as you lean against the elevator wall. This sends you into another laughing fit.

“He almost walked in on us!” You shout, slapping Rose’s arm as you remember Danny blocking the door while you were on your knees.

“No way!” She clings to you and laughs with you. You both stumble out of the elevator and up to your door, waiting as Rose unlocks it and falling inside as the door opens. 

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

On Monday morning you walk out of your first class of the semester, Philosophy of Sex and Gender, and glance down at your watch. With about a half hour until your Art History class, you decide to grab a quick snack at the cafe. You tug your sweatshirt off, the late morning sun starting to warm up the day, and plop yourself into a puffy leather chair near the window to people-watch as you snack on the trail mix you bought. 

As you fiddle with a loose string hanging from one of the rips in your jeans, your mind comes alive as you zone out, bringing you back to Saturday night. The whole day passes through your memory like a timelapse, slowing when you tug Rose into the bar with you. Daniel’s figure behind the drums pops into your head and you feel a blush creep onto your cheeks as you see the two of you at the bar, as if you’re watching the interaction from a different perspective. You feel your heart race as you think about the bruises on your thighs from his grip, almost able to imagine the feeling of his hands on you.

As you snap yourself out of it, not wanting to spend the rest of your day helplessly worked up, you glance at your watch. You flinch at the 10:55 am staring back at you, realizing you only had five minutes to book it across the quad. Grabbing your bag from where it rests against your chair, you race out the door to get to the building on the other side of campus. 

You make it inside, out of breath and about two minutes late, and slip into the lecture hall, spotting the professor standing with his back to you as he writes on the chalkboard. Scanning the room for a decent seat, you take note of the way his dark curls are pulled back into a low ponytail and the way he had rolled the sleeves of his black dress shirt. You feel a pang of uneasiness as you realize how familiar he looks from the back.

You spot a seat on the aisle in the third row, making the decision that it’s yours now, but as you start to step forward he turns around to look at something on his desk and you freeze in your place. Not sure you’re seeing things correctly, you duck into a seat towards the back. He turns back to the chalkboard, underlining a date before setting the chalk down and turning to face the class. Fuck, you think.

“Hey guys, I’m Dr. Wagner,” Daniel says, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “We’re gonna get started here.”

Hearing his voice confirms it and you pull your phone out of your pocket, opening your chat with Rose and furiously typing. You know she’s in an acting lab so she won’t answer right away, but you need to tell someone.

To: Rose🌹

DUDE

To: Rose🌹

MY FUCKING ART HISTORY PROF IS THE DRUMMER FROM THE BAR

You’re not sure whether you want to get up and leave or just try to avoid his eyes. Suddenly you realize that Daniel is the type of professor who paces when he talks as he starts to walk up the aisle you’re sitting on. Every few steps he stops to glance up at the bullet points he had written on the board, his eyes never landing on any one person as he spoke.

“So September 18th is when your first paper is due,” Daniel says, strolling up the aisle. As he lifts his eyes from the floor to glance back at the board, his gaze passes over you and he does a subtle double take, meeting your eyes. “Um,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “Oh, right. And your first exam is uh…is the week after.”

Your cheeks flush when you see it in his eyes that he recognizes you and you break the shared moment, dropping your eyes back to your phone screen to type out another text.

To: Rose🌹

He just fucking saw me. What do I DO???

You shove your phone back into your pocket as Daniel continues rattling off dates of exams and papers, answering questions as they pop up from the class. You keep your eyes trained on the floor, almost afraid to look up and find him staring at you again. 

“Okay, and last but not least, your final is on December 5th,” he says, wrapping up the hour-long lecture ten minutes early. “Anyways, welcome back guys. Go on, get outta here.”

Daniel waves his hand dismissively and picks up the eraser from the tray on the chalkboard, starting to clean the markings off of it. You practically leap out of your seat to make a beeline for the door, fearing you’d fall into a million pieces if you stayed a second longer.

“Oh, and uh,” he says as he turns to look at the class list to find your name, even though he already knows who you are, halting you just before you step into the hallway. “Y/N, can you hang back for a sec?”

Your mouth goes dry as you turn around, staring at him from the doorway. Daniel stares back at you, not turning away until you take a step back into the room.  As you slowly make your way toward the front of the room, he turns back to the board, lifting a spray bottle from the floor and spraying water on a rag. You reach the front row of the class and lean your hip against the side of the aisle seat, watching his muscles shift beneath the black fabric as he wipes the board down.

“Didn’t think ‘see you around maybe’ meant like this,” he says as he drapes the rag over the bottle on the floor and turns to the desk, refusing to meet your eyes. You trade leaning against the seat for sitting down in it, fearful that your legs might give out from under you, and stare up at him, your eyes wide and your lips parted as you search your brain for something to say.

“I’m not su-” you trail off as he flashes you a stern look.

“You’re not sure what I mean?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you and leaning on the corner of the desk before continuing, “I think you are, sweetheart.” You look over both shoulders, checking for any lingering students.

“It’s not like I knew, professor,” you challenge, your voice hushed despite being the only two people in the room, and cross your legs. Your hands rest in your lap and you turn your nervous energy to the loose string on your jeans again.

“Don’t do that,” Daniel says, his gaze boring straight through you.

A smirk finds its way to your lips and your hands fall still in your lap as you cock your head to the side, feigning innocence, “Don’t do what?”

He pushes himself off the desk and steps down off the small stage, stopping in front of you and bracing himself on the wooden armrests as he leans down over you. Your head spins as you look up at him, his cologne invading your senses and making it difficult to think.

“That innocent ‘professor’ bit,” He whispers as he leans in closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear and sending a chill down your spine. You shiver as his lips connect with your neck, his bangs brushing your shoulder lightly. Just as soon as the contact is made it’s gone as he lifts his head to look at you, studying the shade of pink that creeps up your neck. You swallow hard and your lips part as if to say something, but Daniel strokes a thumb along your jaw, scrambling your thoughts. He clicks his tongue and blows a laugh through his nose, “What, suddenly speechless?”

He pushes himself up and smooths his hands over his slacks before stepping back up onto the stage and taking a seat behind the desk. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and shake your head.

“No,” you say simply. “Is sir better?”

A smirk forms on his lips and he nods his head, satisfied with your answer. He pushes a pile of papers together and taps them on the desk to align them before sliding them into a pocket of his leather bag. 

You remain in your seat, watching as he organizes some things in his bag, and you feel your phone vibrate three times in your pocket, the buzz pattern you’d given Rose. Tugging it free, you glance at the screen and, sure enough, see a text from your best friend waiting for you.

From: Rose🌹

You’re fucking joking.

Daniel clears his throat and looks at you expectantly, silently demanding your attention back. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and return your eyes to him.

“You know you could have mentioned this,” you say, having had a moment to collect your thoughts. He scoffs and shoots you an incredulous look, folding his hands on his desk.

“Sorry, it didn’t really cross my mind to talk about my day job while I was fucking you,” he spits out, standing and collecting his things. 

“I need to go meet with a colleague briefly,” he explains, leaning against the side of the desk. “I think we should talk about this privately. Go wait outside of my office.”

You sit up straight and take a breath, parting your lips to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop you. Shrinking back into your seat, you watch him step down and stop when he stands next to you. With a finger under your chin, he pulls up gently, forcing you to look up at him.

“Be a good girl,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Room 321.”

Daniel lets go of your face, turns up the aisle, and walks into the building’s lobby, leaving you alone in the room as you’d left him at the bar. You sit silently for a few minutes, debating your next move, and finally decide to go, feeling certain he wouldn’t be letting this go. You gather your belongings and make your way toward the hall, unsure of what awaits you when he gets back.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

chapter ii

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[emilyprentissluvr]

Until Next Time (Don't Blame Me: Chapter 3)

Summary: Emily knew it was wrong. She knew you were the most dangerous woman the BAU had ever seen. Yet, she couldn't seem to stay away from you.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Warnings: Typical Criminal Minds stuff

Words: 2.9k

EMILY PULLED Y/n closer so that her back was flushed to the agent's front. "You're bluffing," Emily scoffed as she eyed the woman. She knew from Y/n's profile that she didn't kill people whom she deemed innocent. So there was no way she would blow up a bar full of a hundred people.

"Are you really willing to take that risk?" Y/n smiled sweetly and it took the brunette less than a second to lead Y/n out of the bathroom and pull the fire alarm.

The alarm started blaring and people started making their way out of the bar. Emily looked at the detonator again and saw it was now at a minute. She didn't like how slowly the crowd was moving so she yelled at the top of her lungs, "Everybody out! It's a real fire!" And luckily, people started moving much faster.

"What's going on?" Derek said as he ran toward the women, ignoring Y/n's smug smile and focusing on Emily. He'd had his eye trained on the bathroom door, waiting for them to come out. 

"She said there's a bomb," Emily said as she kept her eyes on the crowd, wanting to ensure everyone got out. 

"Where?" Derek said as he eyed Y/n, who just shrugged playfully.

"I don't know and I don't think we have time to find out," Emily said as she showed Derek the detonator which was now counting down from 45 seconds. 

"Get her out of here and I'll make sure everyone else is out," Derek stated leaving no room for argument. 

Emily nodded and pulled Y/n out to a less crowded exit. "You know, as much fun as this is, could you loosen your grip a bit?" Y/n pouted over her shoulder at the brunette.

Emily scoffed as she walked the two of them further away from the building. She saw Hotch and JJ driving toward them in their SUV before quickly hopping out and jogging towards the women. 

"Mm, the blonde is pretty," Y/n noted and Emily just gritted her teeth. 

"What? Did I hit a nerve?" Y/n teased and the brunette ignored her as she walked them toward the unit chief.

"What happened?" Hotch asked as he pulled out his cuffs and handed them to Emily.

"She said she put a bomb in there," Emily said as she quickly cuffed Y/n's hands behind her back.  "Derek's getting everyone out but I'm pretty sure she's bluffing," The brunette continued as she tightened the handcuffs even more. 

"She is right here," Y/n said, causing everyone to turn toward her. "And she would appreciate it if you loosened the cuffs a bit." Y/n continued as she wiggled her hands from behind her.

"Can you focus on something other than yourself for two goddam seconds and tell us if the bomb is real or not?!" Emily growled, her patience for Y/n's antics dwindling more and more.

"That's kind of a lot to ask of a psychopath, don't you think?" Y/n pouted as she turned her head over her shoulder to look at the brunette. "That's what you guys profiled me as, right? A high-functioning psychopath?"

"You won't be so high functioning when you spend the rest of your life in prison." Emily retorted which only earned a laugh from the younger woman, "We'll see about that."

"Prentiss," Hotch interrupted, not liking how much Emily was getting riled up. "The detonator." He said as he held out his hand for the agent to give to him. Emily begrudgingly gave it to the man and watched as his eyebrows rose slightly.

"What is it?" JJ asked as she leaned closer, trying to see whatever Hotch had discovered.

"Well, she is bluffing," Hotch said as he turned the device around and showed that the timer had already run out and nothing had happened, "And this isn't a detonator, It's a remote control for a toy car. Jack has one of these things." The unit chief pointed out quietly, not wanting to make Emily even more mad.

"You're kidding me?!" Emily scoffed as she turned to face Y/n who had the biggest smile on her face, "What? I bought it from the toy store before I came. Like I said before, it's fun to rile you up." 

"You think this is funny?! " Emily said lividly, hating how Y/n was getting under her skin. 

"No, of course not. I think it's hilarious," Y/n said licking her lips.

"We're done here," Hotch said calmly, already sensing how Emily was on the verge of blowing up. "Take her to the SUV." The unit chief continued and Emily nodded, not having to be told twice. She practically dragged Y/n the ten feet of the car before throwing open the door. 

"This was fun, darling! Next time we'll have to use handcuffs in a different context if you know what I mean." Y/n said brashly with a wink as Emily forced her into the car and connected the cuffs to the seat.

"There will be no next time." Emily gritted out and Y/n smiled innocently, "We'll see about that, Agent Prentiss."

The brunette slammed the door shut and walked toward JJ and Hotch, not wanting to spend another second in the younger woman's company. 

"You okay?" Hotch asked and Emily blew out a breath, "Yeah, she's just- a lot."

"Well, at least it's over now," JJ said as she gave her friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Emily nodded as she turned to look at Y/n who was still looking at her with a smile on her face. Something felt wrong but Emily couldn't put her finger on it. 

"Yeah, you're right," Emily said, shaking the worries out of her mind, "I'm not riding back with her though." She said seriously to her boss.

"Don't worry, I'll make Derek do it." The unit chief said and Emily sighed with relief. She was done with Y/n. She could forget all about today. Well, maybe not forget about it, but at least compartmentalize it until it wasn't a big deal.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

"Would you like to play a game, Agent Morgan?" Y/n asked as she stared at the bald man next to her. One of the local Police officers was driving but Derek had insisted on sitting in the back seat next to the woman, not wanting to take his eyes off of her for a second. 

"No," Derek replied shortly, trying to ignore the headache that had been blooming in his temple since leaving the bar.

Y/n sighed dramatically, "Oh come on, It'll be fun!"

"No," Derek said again and the woman just shook her head, "Twenty questions. You ask me whatever you want and I'll answer with the complete truth."

"Really?" Derek asked and Y/n nodded her head, "As long as you answer my questions. No lying."

Derek thought the idea over. Realistically he knew there was no harm, in fact, he could probably get more answers out of Y/n right now than in an interrogation room. "Fine. But I'm asking a question first," Derek said and Y/n nodded with a smile, happy that the agent was playing along. 

"What's your full name?" Derek asked and Y/n sighed boredly, "Y/n Y/l/n. Although I guarantee  you won't get far with it."

"What does that mean-"

"Ah ah. Mine turn." Y/n tutted, "Is there anything going on between Emily and the blonde?" 

Derek blinked slowly, "That's seriously the question you're asking me?"

"Yes," Y/n said as she eyed the man with a frown. Derek rolled his eyes but answered honestly, "No. Nothing is going on between Emily and JJ."

A smile touched Y/n's lips that Derek didn't like the looks of but he decided to ignore it for now. 

"What was the name of your first victim?" The agent asked. Four years ago when he first worked the case the team knew that the first victim they found couldn't have been Y/n's first victim. The crime scene was organized and perfectly executed so it was obvious that Y/n worked up to it. 

"Alex Painter" Y/n answered and to an untrained eye, it looked as if the woman wasn't bothered. But Derek could see through her, could see the way Y/n's eyes narrowed slightly and how she bit the inside of her cheek. The agent wanted to ask more but he could tell that Y/n wasn't going to answer. 

"My turn! What's Emily's favorite flower?" Y/n said, seemingly snapping out of whatever funk she was put in by the question.

 Derek paused for a moment his stomach feeling uneasy. However, he couldn't tell if it was because all the questions were focused on Emily or because his headache was starting to make him feel nauseous. 

"Chrysanthemum's." He said, remembering when Emily pointed them out to him on a case one time.

"You choose to shoot your victims in the head, why?" Derek asked, turning the conversation back to Y/n. This had been a question Rossi brought up this morning. The use of a gun made the kills seem impersonal but the brand of the angel wings did the complete opposite. 

"It's efficient and fast. I don't see a point in prolonging the inevitable. The men I kill deserved what they had coming to them." She said, her voice void of any emotion and it almost sent a shiver down the agent's spine.  

"My turn again! What's Emily's favorite food?" Y/n asked, her emotions suddenly flipping back on.

"Why do you want to know that?" Derek asked and Y/n frowned, "Answer my question or I'm done talking."

The agent sighed, he knew Y/n wasn't bluffing so he answered cautiously, "She loves Thai food."

Y/n smiled as her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip, "Interesting," The woman said and Derek immediately wanted to change the topic, "Why did you move back to the States?" He asked and Y/n sighed, "It was for work. I wasn't too keen on the idea of moving back but I can't deny how much fun I'm having."

"Fun you've had," Derek corrected, blinking slowly as his vision became fuzzy. 

"Sure," Y/n laughed hysterically as she fell over and Derek had no idea what was going on. His mind felt so slow as he tried to comprehend the scene in front of him. His words weren't meant to be funny so he was extremely confused as he watched the woman practically fold over with laughter.

That was until he looked down and noticed the cuffs were no longer secured around Y/n's wrist. Before he had time to react Y/n had quickly pulled the gun from his ankle holster and shot the cop driving the car in the hand.

The cop screamed in pain as his hands came off the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve into a ditch on the side of the road. Luckily they were only going about 25 miles per hour so when they hit a tree Derek and Y/n barely lurched forward. Derek, uncharacteristically, had been frozen since the moment he heard the gunshot. His head was pounding and his eyes were unfocused as he stared at the woman in front of him.

"I really am sorry about this, Derek." Y/n sighed as she toyed with the gun in her hand. The agent tried to reach toward her but the haze in his eyes was getting worse. "What....did.....you....d-do?" Derek muttered.

"Nothing a bandaid won't fix. And trust me, women find scars very sexy." Y/n said, and before Derek even had time to react he felt the gun slam right into his temple. The last thing he remembered was trying to reach out for Y/n as she climbed out of the car before his vision went black.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

Emily's breath fogged the window as stared into the night from the back seat of the SUV. She had the urge to trace her bottom lip, the same ones Y/n had kissed less than an hour ago, but she didn't let herself. She hated how that moment kept replaying in her mind. Hated how she had enjoyed it, even if it was for a sliver of a second.

"You okay back there, Em?" JJ asked as she turned around from the passenger seat. The blonde had been worried about her friend since she sat in the car. 

"Yeah, just tired," Emily said with a small smile that even she knew was unconvincing. Although her words were the truth, she had never been tempted to drown a bottle of wine and crash right into bed.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow," Hotch suggested from the driver's seat.

"I'm fine." Emily rolled her eyes, not liking the attention on her.

"Prentiss that wasn't a request-" Hotch started before he was interrupted by the police intercom on the dashboard of the SUV.

"I need backup and medical on 24th Street immediately! We have an agent down and the suspect is on the run! I repeat the suspect is on the run!" A scratchy voice from the device called out.

Emily's eyes widened as she heard the dispatcher repeat it all over again. 

"Oh my god. You don't think that's..." JJ trailed off, already knowing the answer.

Hotch immediately turned his sirens on and hit the gas. Luckily they were only a minute away but the drive felt like hours before they saw the car off the side of the road.

Emily got out of the car before Hotch could even put it in park, and raced to the site of the crash. She saw that the paramedics leading the cop with the shot hand to the ambulance but no sign of Y/n.  She looked behind the car and into the miles of woods that Y/n could be in. Her first instinct was to run in there and find her until she heard a grunt of pain from the car. Her eyes widened when she realized she recognized that sound very well. 

"Derek?!" Emily yelled as she ran closer and was relieved to find him sitting in the car with an icepack on his forehead. The paramedics had tried to get him to the ambulance but he had refused until he could tell the team exactly what happened. 

"Jesus Prentiss, lower your voice." He winced and the brunette immediately apologized but was glad to see that he was still pretty much the same. 

"What happened?" Hotch asked as he walked up from behind Emily.

"She was asking me a bunch of questions and then all of a sudden my vision started going blurry. Next thing I know she's shooting Detective Watson in the hand and I'm getting knocked out with my own Glock." Derek says, still evidently out of it in a way that concerns all three agents who are listening to him.

"You need to get checked out by the medics," Hotch said immediately and Derek shook his head, which only made the pain worse, "Hotch, I'm fine-"

"Derek you were obviously drugged. So you will get checked by the medics. I'm not negotiating." Hotch, said before he yelled for the medics. Two men immediately rushed over to Derek's annoyance but he was more at least he was more cooperative. Hotch immediately went into Unit Chief mode and took control of the scene. He had Emily and JJ look over the car for details while he got in touch with the Bureau about putting out an APB for Y/n.

Emily walked to the opposite side of the car. The door was still open from when Y/n had escaped and the cuffs were opened and on the ground. The brunette shook her head as she imagined the smug look on Y/n's face the last time she had seen her, "I should have seen this coming."

"This isn't your fault," JJ said slowly, slightly confused as to why the brunette was taking this so hard.

"I knew something was wrong but I didn't say anything. Maybe if I had, Derek wouldn't have gotten hurt and Y/n wouldn't have gotten away-" Emily started before the blonde cut her off, "No one could have predicted this. Not even you."

Emily bit the inside of her cheek as she turned to look at the forest behind her. The breeze was making the limbs of the tree sway and it felt as if the unknown was taunting her. "She's been two steps ahead of us this whole time," The brunette said as she turned back to JJ. "And we just let her get away."

"Emily-" JJ started but the brunette was already walking away, not wanting to look at the car or the empty handcuffs for another second. She walked toward Derek who was fighting with the medics. "I don't need to go to the hospital!" Derek grumbled as the paramedic walked away with an annoyed look on his face. When Emily was close she shot the paramedic an apologetic look before taking a seat next to her partner. 

"Do they know what she drugged you with?" The brunette asked and Derek shook his head, "They won't know without further testing but they said it didn't seem too serious. My only concern is that I don't even know when she did it. Or how."

"That does seem to be the question of the day. How the hell did she pull all of that off?" Emily muttered and Derek shrugged, "I don't know, but I did get some information out of her."

"Anything useful?"

"Yeah, well more concerning than anything."

"What does that mean?" Emily asked with a frown.

"It means that not only do we have a serial killer on the loose. But we have one that's obsessed with you, Prentiss." Derek said sympathetically and Emily just stared straight forward into the woods, imagining Y/n leaning against one of the trees and giving her a cocky wink.

"Lovely," Emily muttered. 

[sopebubbles]

Three

Masterlist

Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Chapter summary: The boys talk to you for the first time, but that doesn't really make anything any better.

Warnings: this chapter contains explicit depictions of child ab*se, including physical violence and abusive language, please take care. The tough parts take place in a flashback in italics. otherwise you should be okay.

wc: ~5k

When you first gained some consciousness, your primary thought was that you felt like shit. Were you sick? Or was this just what heat felt like? You had not let yourself go into heat in so long, not since you came to this city almost two years ago. You didn't remember it feeling like this. Painful? Yes. The ache you felt now was different and worse than pain you usually associated with this event, but at least you knew you hadn't been fucked within an inch of your life. No, your sex ached for something it hadn't received. 

Knot. Knot. Need a knot. Your inner voice chanted, desperate to have your needs met, to feel your body full of something. You groaned and rolled to your stomach. Moving only made the ache worse and drew attention to other problems. You were soaked. Your torso, neck and face felt sticky with tacky sweat. Your thighs even more so with thick, sweet smelling slick that leaked out of you all night long. 

Disgusting. That was the other voice in your head, the one that told you to deny every stupid, foolish need your body had because they only hurt you. Filthy animal. Admittedly, that voice did not sound like your own, but rang with the echo of multitudes. 

You wanted to get up and clean yourself off, but your body was weak and tired. Taking a deep breath to gather your strength, you caught several scents. Citrus and lavender. Leather and cotton. Something else too, maybe pine nuts. And over everything a heady sweetness. The voices in your head argued. 

Alpha. 

Several. Run. Hide. 

Find alpha. 

Not safe. 

You wanted to listen to them both but instead you just took another breath in and fell asleep.

The next time you regained consciousness it was because something cool and wet was licking your body. No not licking, but definitely wet. Your eyes jolted awake and you looked up directly into the eyes of another omega. You could tell by the softness of his cheeks and by the warm brown sugar coming from the scent gland in his wrist, right under your nose. He was wiping the sweat from your skin with a damp cloth. 

"Hello, little pup." His voice was soft but there was no expression on his face to tell you his intentions or if he was a threat. But he was a stranger so you immediately began to squirm away. That was when you realized you were entirely naked, mostly covered with a blanket but still bare underneath. The man sighed and put down the wash cloth picking up a different piece of fabric. "Here, you can put this on," he said, holding out a shirt for you. 

You took it from his hands and used it to cover your chest while you waited for him to move, to leave or at least turn around. When you only stared at him for several seconds he smirked. 

"Honey, you're the one who took your shirt off and begged me to remove your bra last night. Don't get shy now."

You looked around the room, but no one else was there to witness your shame. Still there were so many smells around the bare room. Sweet scents worn into the mattress from the Lykos who slept here, their owners must be around somewhere. The man sighed again while he stood. "I'll give you a few minutes to get yourself together. There are a pair of boxer shorts here. Sorry, there aren't any ladies in this house to borrow from. I'm Hoseok by the way. I'll come back in a few minutes and we'll have a talk about what's going on." He left and closed the door behind him without waiting for your response. 

It took a second to shake off the surprise after he'd gone, but once you did, you picked up the damp cloth he'd left on the bed and continued cleaning yourself. He had not yet cleaned your chest and after taking care of that you wiped up the mess between your legs, shuttering at the sensitivity there. You pulled the shirt over your head and then moved to the edge of the bed to stand and put the shorts on. But your legs trembled weakly and you sank back to the bed. That shot any plan of running out of here. As you tried to think of what to do, a knock came and the door opened before you could answer. 

Hoseok returned with two other men, but he let them pass and remained by the door, which he left ajar. You moved back into the bed to create some distance between you as the taller man sat at the end of the bed. 

"Y/N, my name is Jungkook. I'm a police officer. And this Jimin. We found you on the street last night and we brought you to our home. You're safe here." His voice was smooth and kind in a way that had your inner voice purring, begging to bring his familiar scent closer so you could slip back down into the gooey softness of heat. 

"Am I in trouble?" You asked in a quiet voice. 

"Of course not, pup. We just want to help," the smaller one, Jimin, did with a smile. 

"How do you know my name?"

Jungkook blushed. "Full disclosure: we went through your things last night trying to find your pack."

"I don't have a pack," you informed them quickly. Jungkook nodded with what seemed like regret. He had clearly been able to learn that much on his own. "Where's my bag?"

Jimin bent over behind the foot of the bed to pick up your oversized black purse and handed it to you. You dug inside until you found the clattering bottle of pills and pulled it out. "Those won't do you any good now," he commented as you tried to take the cap off. Even your hands felt weakened. You paused and eventually lowered them to your lap. 

"Just as well. I hate these things. They make me so sick."

Jimin took a subtle step closer and put his hands in his pockets to show he wasn't a threat. "Then why do you take them?"

You're quiet for a second. That was an incredibly personal question to ask a stranger. "Because it's better than feeling like this."

Jimin looked like he wanted to ask more questions in this vein, but he held back in favor of letting Jungkook speak. "Is there anyone you can call who can look after you?" You avoided their eyes as you shook your head. "In that case, our pack alpha and pack omega have agreed to let you stay until you've recovered."

Your eyes snapped up to the omega by the door. He was the only one you'd smelled here. You took a breath in through your nose, and you weren't sure before but you were confident now that there were four alphas living in this house, although only three of them seemed to be outside the door. The citrus one you smelled so close last night was missing. Danger. You brought your knees up and hugged them protectively. 

"I have somewhere to go."

"The True Life Ministry?" Jimin asked. You nodded your head. "They won't take you in like this," he told you, but you already knew that. 

"This could last three or four more days. Minimum," Hoseok reminded you. You closed your eyes and let the misery of that truth wash over you. 

"We can't reasonably let you go out on your own in your condition, Y/N. You might not remember, but Jimin and I found you in a very dangerous situation last night. It would be much safer for you if you stayed here. I will personally ensure your protection." 

You looked up to meet Jungkook's doe eyes and found them full of sincerity, begging you to do the one thing you were never able to: trust him. But you'd already learned yourself that you wouldn't be able to get far on your own, and you knew exactly what kind of awful things could and would happen to you if you stayed out on the street. So trust them or not, you knew you had no other choice. You nodded your agreement. 

"I'm supposed to work the next two nights," you said quietly, not sure why you thought you needed to tell them. 

"Someone can call them and tell them you won't be able to make it," Hoseok offered. 

You sighed. "That's okay. I'm probably fired after not showing up last night anyway."

"Our pack alpha is a lawyer. He can be very persuasive." His eyes focused outside the door, presumably to look at said alpha. 

You tried to swallow around the lump in your throat. "Your alphas. There are…"

"Four of them," he told you. "They won't disturb you. They're forbidden from coming in and you don't have to see them if you don't want to."

You nodded but your mind was at war with itself once again. 

Alpha. Need alpha. Please. 

Too many. Too dangerous. They only want to breed you like an animal. 

But you could be so warm, so full. You need them close. Ask them to come in. Please.

The silence in the room made the air stale the longer you fought with yourself, and when you finally looked up it was clear they had all taken note of your disturbance. 

"Thank you," you managed to say, not because you truly felt grateful but because you wanted desperately for everyone to leave. 

Hoseok cleared his throat. "Okay, well, I'll get you something to eat while you're still lucid." It was difficult to predict the ebb and flow of heat, but this break wouldn't last much longer. Normally, during his heats, the pack would be there to care for him and ply him with food and water to keep his strength up, but it didn't seem like that was going to work for you and by the time the next wave of senselessness hit you, you wouldn't be able to feed yourself.

Jungkook and Jimin backed out of the room and Hoseok followed behind, leaving you alone again. He walked to the kitchen to prepare you a bowl of stew. He'd gotten up early this morning to prepare it so that it would be ready when you came around. Taehyung came to stand beside him at the stove. 

"Do you think that went okay?" He asked, hoping that Hoseok could report something different in what he saw from what Tae had smelled in the tangy apple cider vinegar scent coming from you by the end of the conversation.

"It's hard to tell, Tae," Hoseok hedged. "It seemed like the idea of so many alphas around made her a little nervous." 

Taehyung let out a dejected little 'oh.' 

"It's probably best to keep your distance, baby," the omega warned softly. It had tugged at his heartstrings the night before when his youngest alpha had suggested that maybe a good cuddle would help a little bit, but it seemed clear now that would only freak you out. "I'm sorry."

Taehyung shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay. I don't want her to be uncomfortable. It just seems wrong for her to be alone like that, you know?" He held a hand to his chest as if he really felt the pain of it in his heart. 

Hoseok reached up to pet his messy hair. "What a good alpha I have. I would never be able to resist your cuddles."

Taehyung preened at the praise, musky leather scent enveloping him. 

"I need to do a few things. You eat and when I'm done we can cuddle and watch something, okay?" Tae nodded silently and took the bowl that was offered before Hoseok filled another one. 

This time he didn't knock before entering your room and found you sitting in the same protective position he had left you in. He set the bowl down on the table beside your bed and moved away. You looked between the bowl and him but did not move to grab it until he turned his back to you. He heard you sniff it and hum softly to yourself before the spoon began to clink against the porcelain. You began to take greedy spoonfuls of the hot stew while he walked back into the hallway. From the linen closet in the hallway Hoseok gathered several beloved blankets and fresh sheets. When he returned to the room you were slurping up the thick broth from the bottom of the bowl and set it aside with sheepish eyes, as if he would take such behavior as anything but a compliment. 

"Do you want some more?" He asked, but you shook your head. He had a whole pack to feed and you shouldn't take too much. "If you get up for a minute I'll change the sheets."

"You don't have to do that!" Something in your belly felt deep shame knowing how they smelled of your heat and the mess you had made. 

"Don't be silly. There's no point in staying in messy sheets. And you don't need to feel embarrassed about it. We all do it. That's why I always keep a lot of clean sheets." You lowered your face at how easily he had seen through you, but got off the bed when he waved a hand at you. "And I brought lots of blankets. Unless you're more of a pillows kind of girl. I'm sure I can find a few spare ones."

"Pillows for what?" You stared at him blankly as he began to strip everything from the bed.

"For your nest, pup."

"Oh. That's okay. I don't nest."

"Jimin said you're not allowed at the shelter, but you are here!" Hoseok said cheerfully, the mere thought of building a cozy nest to sink into filling him with joy.

"No, I mean I don't at all," you replied, and he paused to turn to you. 

"Never?" You shook your head. "Why not?" 

You scratched your nails up and down your arm, squirmy under his scrutiny and shaky on your legs. Hoseok dropped the spoiled sheets on the floor and when it seemed like you wouldn't answer while he watched you, he picked up a clean sheet and began to stretch it over the mattress. 

"It's bad for you, isn't it? I mean, they say it's unhygienic. And it makes omegas lazy."

Hoseok scoffed and turned to give you an incredulous look. "Who told you that?"

You shrugged. You'd heard it at home and probably at school more than once. The few times you had tried to nest they had told you they didn't want it or a lazy omega. 

Hoseok was speechless. Who would have told you something so plainly untrue? Nesting was an important part of emotional well being for omegas. It was harder not to do than to do. It was important for the pack, too, making sure that all members had a comfortable place to rest. Making sure that all scents were present was important to maintaining bonds and bringing comfort. How could you deny yourself such a basic need?

Not knowing what to say, he simply finished putting the sheets on the bed. When he was finished he took the old sheets under one arm and grabbed the empty bowl with his free hand. He stopped to look at the pile of blankets and then at you with troubled eyes. 

"I'll just leave these here in case you want to give it a try." Maybe your omega instincts would kick in during your frenzy when you couldn't meet your other needs.

Hoseok left without closing the door and walked briskly to the kitchen, catching Seokjin’s attention from where he sat searching for something to watch on Netflix. He was trying hard to pretend it was just a normal Saturday in an attempt to keep everyone calm. When he heard the bowl clatter carelessly in the sink he moved Namjoon's feet from his lap and got to his feet. Namjoon followed puppishly at his heels since comforting his distressed omega was a better distraction than the book he was trying and failing to read.

"What's wrong?" Jin asked when he found Hoseok in the laundry holding the bundled sheets, staring blankly into the washer. "Sweetheart?" He took the dirty cloth away gently and put them aside so that he could pull his mate close and look him in the eyes.

It took him a moment to find his voice. "She said that nesting is bad."

Jin scrunched his face in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"She said she doesn't nest ever, because someone told her it was bad for her."

Jin shook his head. "That's crazy. Why would anyone say that?"

"I don't know," Hoseok said, shaking his head. "Jin, it's like she's totally broken. Like she doesn't even know how to be an omega."

"Maybe she never had one," Namjoon offered from behind them. "I see it with my students. They're adopted out by saps when they don't have packs who can care for them, or if they don't think the pack is doing things right, and they're told all their instincts are wrong and that they need to fight them."

The omega looked at him with a horrified expression. "Why?"

Namjoon shrugged. "There are saps who think we live on the line between humans and animals, and if they can convince us to give up our 'animal ways' then we can find a way to being human."

"That's sick."

"You have no idea," Namjoon mumbled as he looked down at the sheets that were somehow now in his hands. 

Hoseok forgot his shock for a moment to level a stare at the alpha. "Namjoon, what are you doing?"

"Hm?" The man struggled to tear his eyes away to look at his mate. 

"Go on. Sniff them. I dare you."

Namjoon hesitated. This was a trick and he knew it, but your scent was so goddamn inviting. Slowly he lifted the bundle toward his face.

But Hoseok snatched it from his grasp before he could and threw it in the washer. "You are a fucking animal," he grumbled. 

After he got the washer running he took Seokjin back to the spare room with him. The alphas had agreed to use the scent blockers they found in your bag–Yoongi was the only person who used them regularly at work, but never kept any at home, though he promised to pick some up to replace the ones they were using. It wasn't perfect, but it did enough to keep them sane around you. 

Once again, Hoseok entered the doorway of your room but didn't come much closer. You had taken precisely one of the soft blankets he had offered you and wrapped it around your shoulders before positioning yourself in the exact center of the mattress. He could see you shake slightly and the expanding of your pupils told him you had mere minutes left before you'd be insensible again. He wanted nothing more than to take every blanket he had given you and build you the coziest nest he'd ever made, just to show you how it's done. But even then, he knew it wouldn't be a great nest if you were in it all alone. His heart sank into his stomach. You blinked at him as he remembered his purpose.

"This is our pack alpha, Seokjin. Would you like him to call your job and see if you can work something out?"

Seokjin gave you a gentle smile and a wave from the hallway. The boundaries had been clearly drawn for him and he would not cross that threshold as long as you were there, except in a life or death situation. 

You shrugged noncommittally. You didn't meet the alpha's eyes. "I don't know where my phone is." 

Hoseok took a few steps closer to hold it out to you. "Taehyung charged it last night. That's why it wasn't in your bag," he admitted.

You took the device to unlock it and quickly choose the correct number before handing it back. Maybe you knew you were close to dropping and wouldn't be able to participate in the call yourself. Hoseok handed the phone off to his alpha and Jin pressed the button before putting the phone on speaker. After several rings, a gruff voice answered. 

“Hello, I am calling on behalf of Y/N,” Jin started tentatively. He hadn’t prepared. 

The person on the other end paused for a long moment before responding, “yeah?”

Jin cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I’m calling to let you know she won’t be able to come to work for the next several days. She is under the weather.”

The man on the phone grumbled something. “Tell her not to worry about coming back. Marissa said something about her going to heat or whatever the hell fucking thing.” Jin’s face went hot as you buried yours in your arms. 

“That’s not grounds for termination. The service industry does not require that employees disclose secondary gender-”

“Yeah, well, they should. Failure to show up for her shift is grounds for termination.”

“The circumstances were unexpected, but you were notified as soon as possible,” Jin tried to reason. 

“Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. I have to go.” The phone disconnected before Jin could try another legal argument. He looked up at you with regret in his eyes. 

“It’s fine. It was a shitty job anyway,” you mumbled. But he didn’t miss the souring apple cider vinegar of your scent or how the distress showed on your face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Maybe I can-”

You cut him off with a sharp whine as you fell over to your side. Hoseok knew instantly and shook his head. He pushed the alpha back. “It’s too late, baby,” he told his defeated mate before he closed your door. 

Few people know that when you aren't getting fucked through your heat, it's like a fever dream. Like detoxing. Time isn't real anymore. It was hard for you to separate this time from all the other times you've been lost in this haze of instinct and need. You've been avoiding your heat for over a year just so you wouldn't have to relive these particular nightmares. In your daily life, it's all so much easier to ignore. If you talk to saps and they talk to you like you're one of them, it's easy to pretend that this isn't you, that your body isn't yours, that you've never been betrayed by yourself. And when you're alone, it's even easier to dissociate, to leave yourself until you're a little easier to be around. But here in this frenzy where you're hyper aware of who and what you are and what that takes from you, it's fucking hell. Your body feels twice its size and every nerve is screaming at you, begging to be touched in ways you don't want but can't stop wanting.

You wouldn't call what you did with what Hoseok gave you nesting per se. You were grateful for the clean sheets he had given you. These ones didn't smell as strongly of his pack, but hints were still there. At least for a little while they didn't smell quite so much like you. You allowed yourself to choose one blanket from the pile he'd left on the dresser. One cloud soft blanket wasn't too self-indulgent, right? You needed one blanket. That blanket was now twisted and tangled between your legs, providing little comfort from your tortured dreams.

Your first heat wasn't all that different from this one, if you're being honest. It came on fast and hard with no warning. Or maybe you just didn't know the warning signs. You had been in the room with the sap girls when they were told about their periods and about abstinence in the 6th grade. They were told they would bleed for several days every month for most of their lives. It would hurt, but that was normal. There were products they could buy to help. You weren't the only lykos girl in that room, but you all sat and nodded at the irrelevant information. None of you raised our hand to ask what heats or ruts would be like. None of the sap teachers would have been able to tell you. And you were all secretly hoping you wouldn't ever have to find out anyway.

You were sixteen when your first heat came. Every day you had just been hoping that you were a beta. That would be okay. If you were a beta then no one would ever have to know. They wouldn't be able to smell you. It would be so easy to pretend. But when it came, your adopted mom found you before you even knew what was happening to you. 

You weren't up for your morning chores, which would be bad enough on a normal day. When she came in, she found you had pulled the winter blankets out of your closet and made a cozy little nest. Incensed, she began to pull the blankets from around and beneath you, one hard yank sending you tumbling to the floor, landing in a heap. You whined as she screamed at you. 

"You know you're not allowed to do that. Filthy habits." When she came to pick you up by your arms, her hands slipped right off your sweat soaked skin, and she made a sound of disgust before wiping her hands on her apron. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Alpha," you moaned and got to your knees to try to crawl back to bed. 

Her anger flared white hot, and she grabbed you by the back of your shirt. She dragged you out of your bedroom and down the stairs, deaf to your cries of pain, and dumped you at the feet of her husband.

"Look at her. Look what she's done," the woman accused, as if you had chosen this on purpose.

"What's wrong with her?" The man asked gruffly.

"She's turning into one of those animals."

The man looked down at her over his glasses. "We should call the pastor over, just to be sure."

The woman shook her head. "No we can't. I don't want the whole town to know we were raising one of those things all these years." She looked down and wrinkled her nose at you. "Eli turned out normal. I thought she might, too."

The man sighed. "Then what do you suggest we do, Ellen?"

The woman thought for a second. "We'll drop her in the woods off the property and let her fend for herself. Maybe the coyotes will get her come nightfall."

The man sighed again before he bent to pick you up in his arms. He carried you outside and set you in the bed of the beat up pickup truck. The old couple got in up front and the engine roared to life. The rumble it sent through the whole truck was almost like a purr. It was almost a comfort until he put the truck in drive and set off, taking bumpy dirt roads to the most remote edge of the property and sending you rolling and thumping along the cold metal ridges, leaving you bruised like a peach on top of it all.

You couldn't hear what they said, if they said anything, when they set you on the ground by a tall oak tree in a spot that she had deemed far enough away. The blood in your veins rushed too hard and fast to hear anything for several minutes, and by then they were gone, and all was quiet. 

When you were lucid again, it was pitch black outside and the house was quiet. Even though your mind was momentarily clear, you felt disoriented to be in a dark and unfamiliar room. You were in a warm, soft bed that smelled slightly of warm brown sugar and apples. You felt out for the edge of the bed, finding it to be much wider than you expected, and pulled yourself to the side. Tentatively, you put your feet down one at a time, afraid to put your weight down and make a floorboard creak. When you quietly padded to the door on the balls of your feet, you couldn't find the light switch and began to panic in the engulfing darkness. You gave up and wrenched the door open instead. A soft orange glow from the living room was just enough to calm your nerves. Heavy, steady breathing came from that direction, so once again you tried to move as quietly as possible toward the front door.

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[javier-pena]

in plain sight, chapter i

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader | Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re back home in Austin for the summer and you start dating Tommy Miller, a boy you know from high school, a boy you had a crush on when you were a teenager. All you’re looking for is an uncomplicated summer fling, just some fun, until you have to go back to college in the fall. What you didn’t know is that Tommy has an older brother. And that older brother can’t keep his eyes off you right from the start …

Warnings: mentions of food and alcohol | smoking | reader has hair that can be grabbed | car sex | semi-public sex | a little bit of dirty talk | reader is a tiny bit bratty (in a blink and you’ll miss it kind of way) | two (2) pussy slaps | a tiny, tiny bit of degradation | oral (m and f receiving) | p in v sex | voyeurism | exhibitionism

Notes: The story of how I came up with the idea for this fic is actually very silly, so I'll spare you the details, but I will say it had something to do with a certain movie from 1978. Anyway, I'm so so excited to finally be able to share the first chapter of this!! I can't remember the last time I was this excited about a story, so that's a good sign I'll manage some semi-regular updates. I want to thank Angela @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for answering some of my questions about Austin, and, of course, Dani @alexturner who said it'll be good for me to write a story like that 🤭

[Masterlist] [Chapter 2]

***

“Back for the summer, eh?” was the first thing Tommy said to you after the both of you hadn’t spoken in seven years.

You were standing in line at the ice cream truck, holding your niece’s hand who was jumping up and down, giddy with excitement. Tommy was driving past in his red pick-up truck, a car you’d seen around the neighborhood, unaware it was his. Hell, there wasn’t a lot of awareness where it came to Tommy Miller in the first place. You almost didn’t recognize him that early June day leaning out of the window of his truck, elbow propped up against the door, a bright smile on his face. The boy you remembered from high school, the boy you had a crush on all those years ago, looked so different. Scrawny, lanky, greasy hair, a face full of spots. Sometimes you scrolled through old photos, laughed at yourself because you had lain awake for nights, imagining how he would confess his love for you, ask you to run away with him. The man in the truck that sunny afternoon was just that … a man. His tight, stained shirt was clinging to his arms and chest, grown big with muscles over the years. His hair that used to fall into his eyes, obscuring half his face, had been cut short. His tight curls were hidden underneath a baseball cap that had the logo of a local brewery on it. His face was tan, a dark golden color; it made you do a double take, made your palm grow sweaty against your niece’s hand, embarrassed by his attention. Because surely, he had mistaken you for someone.

“Tommy?” you asked, stumbling forward a few steps when your niece yanked on your arm. “Tommy Miller?”

He laughed so hard his chest heaved. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Then he ran a hand across his sweaty brow, his dirty cheeks. “Don’t tell me I’ve aged that badly.”

Of course he asked you for your number that afternoon, and of course you gave it to him while your niece was busy with her ice cream. You scribbled it onto the palm of his hand, thinking it was a quirky, romantic gesture. It had nothing to do with the fact that you wanted to touch him. The heat of a Texan June afternoon smudged the pen so badly before he got home that evening he couldn’t decipher your number. Luckily, he knew where you lived and came by the next day with a bouquet of flowers to ask you out on a date – officially.

That date went well – more than well. He took you to the movies, to a steakhouse, to a new bar in town. He was so different from the boys you met at college; he had been to war, he had his own company that he was running with his brother, he wanted to know about you and didn’t use your time together to talk about himself and his grand plans for his professional future. You hadn’t laughed that much in a long time, hadn’t enjoyed a guy’s company that much in … well, if you were honest with yourself, you couldn’t remember ever having had that much fun with anyone. You didn’t want the night to end, and when Tommy dropped you off back home afterwards, he kissed you in his truck, then said, “Tomorrow’s my day off. Let me take you somewhere.”

You had skipped up the stairs to your parents’ porch while his truck had idled at the side of the road until you were safely inside.

What followed the next day left you hungry for more. Tommy took you hiking, then he took you to a small ranch outside Austin because you had mentioned you’d never been on a horse before, but would like to try. You stayed there until the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and a bonfire was blazing next to the barn. You drank beers and watched the stars come out. Then someone pulled out a guitar and Tommy asked you to dance. That night, you got home well past midnight, feeling like you’d been somewhere very far away.

You didn’t see Tommy for a week after that. He was busy at work. You were busy telling your friends from college about him. “Just a bit of fun for the summer,” you said. They either cheered you on, asking for the saucy details, or reacted with, “That’s so typical. Anywhere you go, men fall for you.” You didn’t let that bother you because it wasn’t true. Besides, if anyone was turning heads it was Tommy.

The next Friday, he picked you up later than usual and a broad grin spread across your face when you saw him. He had decided to grow a mustache after you’d admitted to him that you used to have a crush on this handsome teacher in college who happened to have a mustache. Tommy handled your laughter well, said, “Get in the truck, college girl,” and sped off toward an unknown destination. You felt excitement wash over you whenever you glanced over at him. Because you hadn’t been idle that week either. You were wearing a matching set of underwear, a deep red color, delicate, hiding only what was necessary. Because Tommy had admitted to you that he had a thing for women wearing nothing but high heels and lingerie. You hoped just one of those would do the trick too.

That night he took you to a small concert, just a guy with his guitar and a cream-colored cowboy hat up on a brightly lit stage. He sang about the open plains, proposing to his wife, about how women don’t want a man in a suit, they all want a cowboy. And he had a point, you thought, after Tommy dragged you off into a dark corner during a brief break and kissed you until you could hardly breathe. None of the boys at college had ever kissed you like that. For the rest of the night, Tommy was hovering by your side, finding excuses to touch you. And when the concert was over, he led you back to his truck, opened the door for you and said, “Listen, my brother is out of town this weekend. Would you like to come back to my place?”

You didn’t even make it to the bedroom. You made it to the couch in the living room where you sat pretending to be interested in polite conversation while your heart hammered against your ribcage and Tommy kept shifting, trying to hide a growing bulge in his pants. Your friends had warned you, “Don’t sleep with him before the 4th of July. The summer is still so long and he’ll lose interest.” Yeah, there was no way you’d be waiting for almost another month for this.

Tommy made the first move but only because you waited for him to make it. His hand was high up on your thigh when he leaned over you to kiss your neck, and you quickly pushed him back against the couch, straddling him, taking off your shirt. His appreciative gaze told you you had gotten it right. That he later took your panties off with his teeth was just the cherry on top.

He made you come four times that night, twice on the couch (first with his tongue, then with his cock buried deep inside of you), one time in his bed (you rode him until he pushed you off and took you from behind), and one time very softly (with his finger, just before you fell asleep). It was obvious the next morning – he wouldn’t lose interest in you and you would have the best summer of your life.

*******

A week later, you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you hear the doorbell ring. This is only your third weekend going out with Tommy, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t recognized the sound of his pick-up pulling up in front of your house. The memories from last weekend are still fresh on your mind and it makes you giddy with excitement to wonder about what he might have planned for tonight.

When you come downstairs, Tommy is sitting on the living room floor, cross-legged, while your niece is introducing him to all her toy horses. Your sister is leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, shooting you a knowing look. You ignore her. Because no matter how much fun you’re having, you’re lightyears away from thinking about Tommy as anything more than a summer fling.

“Ready?” you ask, and when he looks up at you there’s that hunger in his gaze. Self-consciously, you tug at the hem of your very short dress.

“You’re really going out in that?” your sister asks you, and you can hear the thinly veiled jealousy in her voice.

Tommy gets up, slings his arm around your waist, and places a soft kiss on your cheek. “I know I’m supposed to call you beautiful,” he mumbles into your hair, “but you look so fuckin’ hot, darlin’.”

Your face heats up at hearing that pet name. To hide how flustered you are, you tousle your niece’s hair and say, “Don’t wait up for me,” to your sister without looking at her.

The smell of Tommy’s truck engulfs you when you climb inside, and you relax against the seat. It’s funny, really, how a scent you were unfamiliar with just two weeks ago can make you feel so much at ease now. In the driver’s seat, Tommy rolls down the window and lights a cigarette before he looks back toward your house.

“Your sister, is she divorced?” he asks, fidgeting with the lighter.

“Why? You interested?” you tease.

He pulls a face. “She needs to loosen up. Maybe a good fuck would help with that.”

You playfully slap his arm. “You’re impossible,” you laugh. “My brother-in-law takes good care of her.”

He shoots you a doubtful glance, then starts the truck.

The suburbs of Austin are quiet this evening. People are staying inside to escape the lingering heat of the day or they are already in town. You hardly see anyone, hardly pass any other cars as Tommy drives slowly, an old country song playing on the radio.

“You were on my mind all week,” he finally admits, pretending to keep his eyes on the road, but you notice how he glances at you.

You touch your neck, surprised by how hot your skin feels. “Nothing bad I hope.”

He chuckles. “Depends on your definition of bad.”

You briefly close your eyes and let your memory take you back to last Friday, to the image of him kneeling before you while he spread you open on the couch, tongue buried deep inside of you.

“Well.” You clear your throat. “I’m not usually like …” You trail off, suddenly worried you gave him the wrong impression, your head buzzing with your friends’ advice on how to keep him interested in you.

“You don’t usually sleep with a guy after the third date?” Tommy inquires.

“I don’t usually come more than twice in one night.” You whisper the offensive word.

“That’s hardly your fault,” Tommy replies with a shrug. “Those college boys are dull.”

“Who says I’m sleeping with college boys?” you ask.

He glances at you, the words, “oh come on,” written all over his face. “You don’t seem like the type of girl who would go after their dads.”

That comment sparks something in you. “Who says I’m not going after their moms?”

He laughs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now that’s a sight I’d love to see.”

“Do you think those college boys taught me all those things we did last week?”

Tommy clears his throat. “I think there’s a couple of things I’d like to teach you. Just as long as you promise not to use them on any college boys.”

A brief silence settles over you. Then, “Who taught you how to do all that, by the way?” you ask.

“All what?” Tommy teases.

“You know …” You shrug, but shift excitedly when he puts his warm hand on your naked thigh. His fingers are rough from his daily work, but his touch his so gentle that something melts inside of you.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

You sigh and glance up at the roof of the cabin. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re … what we did last week was the best sex of my life.”

Tommy squeezes your thigh. “There’s a wrong way to take this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head is what I’m saying.”

“It’s too late for that.” He pulls a grimace, brings the car to a stop in front of a red light. “Tell me more.”

“I’m not telling you anything until you tell me where you learned all that.”

“What? Eating pussy?”

“Oh my God.” Your face heats up because of him for the second time that evening. “Yes, that, but also … I’ve never been with a man who was so concerned about my … my pleasure.”

“I was in the Army,” Tommy answers.

“And they teach you that there?” You can’t quite tell if he’s being serious.

“If you’re on leave in some Godforsaken place, and there’s fifty other strappin’ young men you’ll learn fast enough how to please women. Or you’ll spend every night alone.”

You nod slowly. “Where are we going?”

“Oh no, missy, you’re not changing the subject.” Tommy’s hand climbs higher on your thigh; he’s almost touching the hem of your dress now.

You shrug. “You’re right; those college boys are boring. You’re … you know what you’re doing.”

“You’re just sayin’ that because you have no one to compare me to.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. “No, I’m saying that because it’s the truth.”

Tommy glances at you again. “I don’t like that laughter.”

“Jealous?”

“A bit, yeah,” he admits.

“Don’t be,” you tell him, your voice suddenly soft. “There’s no reason to.”

Tommy pulls off the main road then and onto a dark parking lot. You’re about to make a teasing remark when he turns the car and suddenly the glistening Austin skyline is sitting right there in front of you, like a mirage in the desert.

“Wow,” you breathe and sit up straight.

“Did I promise too much?” Tommy wants to know.

“You didn’t promise me anything,” you remind him.

Your gaze wanders to take in everything, the dark trees shielding you from the road, the city that sits right there as if it wants to tempt you to reach out and touch it, the nearby bridge where a car passes in your direction.

“Wait a minute,” you say slowly. “I know exactly where we are.”

“And where’s that?” Tommy asks, a barely concealed smile on his face.

“I’ve heard stories about you and this place.”

“What kind of stories?” Tommy grabs a can of beer from a cooler on the backseat and opens it with a sharp hiss. “Only good ones, I should hope.” He hands you the can and you take it, but pull a grimace at him at the same time.

“What?” he asks.

“You used to take girls here when we were in high school,” you answer after taking a sip from the beer. “Lots of girls.”

“A handful, at most,” Tommy corrects you.

“More like a handful at the same time,” you mumble.

Now it is Tommy’s turn to ask, “Jealous?”

You take another sip before you answer. “I was back then. I had the biggest crush on you.”

“I’m flattered.” It sounds as if he’s mocking you but the flush on his cheeks tells a different tale.

“You never noticed me, of course,” you go on.

“You were a bit young,” Tommy points out.

“And now I’m not?”

“Now you’re a well-traveled woman who’s back in her little town for summer.” You open your mouth but he goes on. “Now you can tell when a man is takin’ you for a ride and when he’s serious about you. Do you still have a crush on me then?”

You shrug. “A different kind, maybe. I definitely don’t fantasize about you confessing your love for me anymore. Or about us running away together.”

“Why not?” Tommy takes a big swig from the can. “I think you should start doin’ that again.”

“Or I could fantasize about other things, less innocent things.”

Tommy shifts and clears his throat. You can’t help but smile at how little it takes to shift the mood.

“Like what?” he asks, and the beer can cracks in his grip.

“Like how you held me down last week,” you answer, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Or how softly you touched me afterwards.”

“You don’t have to fantasize about those things. Give me somethin’ new.” The slightly commanding edge to his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“Well … when we were in high school, I used to wonder what it would be like to be taken here by you. What did you do with the girls you drove out here?”

In the distance, you can hear the sound of another car gliding across the bridge.

“Can’t you guess?”

“I was very innocent back then,” you remind him. “My thoughts never went past a small kiss on the lips.”

Tommy licks his. “Yeah, but now? What would you like me to do with a woman I take here?”

The tension has become unbearable and you giggle, searching to relieve it. It doesn’t work. Tommy’s hungry gaze wanders down to where your dress has ridden up your thighs and you inhale sharply.

“I still think a kiss would be nice,” you answer finally, your voice no longer steady at all. “But it doesn’t have to be all that innocent.”

Tommy puts one of his warm hands on your naked thigh, then leans in closer until he can hear your breath hitch. “Where would you like that kiss, darlin’?”

“How about you figure that out for yourself?” you tease him.

His lips are firm against yours, the pressure insistent until you open up for him. He tastes like the beer he just downed, the cigarette he just smoked. He also tastes like Tommy, and you relish how familiar you are with it after just two weeks. You sigh into the kiss, feeling all the tension leave your body. His teasing remarks and slight bravado are backed up by his skills, and you shudder remembering what else he can do with that tongue. You bite his lip to draw it out of him, but he only huffs and pulls back.

“Careful, darlin’,” he warns, his voice deeper now.

“What? Too wild for you?” you ask with a small laugh.

“Don’t get into somethin’ you can’t handle.” The tips of his fingers are under the hem of your dress now and you squirm, but he digs his nails into the soft skin. “See? I haven’t even touched you yet and it’s already too much for you.”

You raise your chin. “It’s not.”

“Have you ever fucked someone in a car?” Tommy asks, his hungry gaze fixed onto your face.

“No,” you reply slowly.

It’s not as if you didn’t know this was where the evening was going. It’s not as if you didn’t want it to go there. But now you’re here, you’re very aware of how exposed you are, even inside Tommy’s truck, and how many laws you would be breaking if you took this any further.

“Relax,” Tommy chuckles. His dark eyes are glistening in the lights of Austin. “You said it yourself: This isn’t my first time doin’ this. I’ve never been caught.”

“Oh, so I’m just another one of your conquests.”

“You can be anythin’ you want to be.” With that, he pushes his hand between your legs and places the tips of two of his fingers straight against your clit.

It’s as if your legs follow their own will when they spread open to give Tommy more room. He doesn’t need it, moving his fingers in a small circle, not breaking eye contact once. When he increases the pressure, one of your hands flies up to grab his shoulder, the other finds purchase against your seat.

“You like that, huh?” Tommy teases.

You nod, pushing your hips forward into his touch.

“Is it worth the risk?” His touch is lighter again, his fingers move slower.

Now it’s your turn to warn him with a, “Careful, Tommy.”

“Why?” His touch is feather-light now.

You move your hand that’s on his shoulder up to his jaw, cupping it. “You don’t want to turn me into a bad girl, do you?” You feel silly when you say it out loud like this, but his eyes light up.

“As I said, you can be anythin’ you want.” The tremor in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“How about we start by turning me into someone who gets fucked in a car?”

Suddenly, he turns his head, biting into the heel of your palm, making you squeal. When your laughter dies down, you notice how his fingers are moving faster again, accompanied by a wet sound.

“God,” Tommy groans. “Look at you. I’ve barely touched you.”

Something tells you that you should be embarrassed by how little it took for him to turn you on, but then he increases the pressure on your clit, and your eyes flutter shut with a moan.

“I can see you overthinkin’ this,” Tommy whispers, so close you can feel his warm breath on your neck and ear. “Don’t. You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

“Tommy …,” you groan, and you don’t quite know why. Do you want him to go faster? Slower? Do you want him to make you come?”

He doesn’t allow you a single second to find answers to those questions. “I love it when you say my name like that.”

You roll your hips into his touch, and his other hand grabs your thigh with a firm grasp. “Don’t. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You open your eyes to find his gaze fixed on your face, eagerly licking his lips. In that moment, you don’t remember ever wanting anyone as much as you want him. Out of curiosity, you try to roll your hips again, and he lands a soft slap against your pussy in retribution, one that makes you groan with pleasure.

“Do that again,” you pant.

He hesitates for the briefest of moments, then does as you ask, a little harder this time. You fold, your upper body bending toward your knees, your head fuzzy with pleasure.

“I need you … inside of … of me, Tommy, please,” you stammer. You feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up. He only rolls your clit between his fingers, making your hips jerk involuntarily. “Please, Tommy, please.”

“Shhh,” he makes, and kisses your temple. “Later, darlin’. I want to see you come in your panties first.”

You grab his shoulder, feeling yourself tumble toward the edge. His fingers are moving fast enough to drive you insane with pleasure but it’s not quite enough to get you there. And he must know that, judging by the smug look on his face.

“Please,” you whimper.

“What do you need?” he asks, his voice thick with arousal.

You risk a glance down between his legs, the obvious bulge in his jeans making you clench again. Then you press your hand against his moving between your legs, just so the pressure becomes a bit more …

Tommy slaps your hand away. “Harder, Tommy,” he says in a voice mocking yours. “Come on, say it.”

“Harder, Tommy,” you moan immediately.

And you’re rewarded with an orgasm so intense you see stars dance in front of your eyes. Your moans make your ears ring, and when Tommy doesn’t stop, they turn into desperate whimpers. It’s only when you grab his wrist that he stops and you try to catch your breath with a shuddering sob.

“Fuck,” you groan and close your eyes.

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. “Can’t believe you really just came in your panties for me.”

You laugh, your voice breaking when you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful right after an orgasm, you know that?” Tommy goes on, and you want him to keep talking like that more than anything.

“Why?” you ask, then gasp, when he presses his fingers against your clit before removing his hand.

“You’re so perfect,” he answers without hesitation. “I guess I like seein’ you come undone.”

You straighten your dress and look at the glistening Austin skyline in front of you. “You bring out the worst in me, Tommy Miller.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s almost impossible to take the good out of the girl.”

You glance down at his bulge again, lick your lips at the thought that it’s just sitting there, waiting for you. “It’s much easier than you think,” you reply, then begin to unbuckle his belt.

His hips jerk in response. “Careful, darlin’.”

“What? Can’t handle it when the tables are turned?” you tease.

He shoots you a crooked smile. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“Oh, I intend to.” You grip his hard cock and pull it out of his jeans, relishing how his hips jerk again. Your mouth waters when you run your thumb over the glistening tip and hear Tommy inhale sharply. Your short, tight dress makes it hard for you to climb up onto the seat while still preserving some of your dignity, but one glance at Tommy tells you he couldn’t care less. His pupils are dilated and his mouth hangs slightly open while his chest rises and falls rapidly. All that just because you’re holding his cock in your hand. You stroke across the tip again, then move your hand down toward the base and lock your lips to his, capturing a deep groan. Tommy’s eyes flutter shut and you lower your head, closing your lips around his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, one hand immediately tangling in your hair.

You shift, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it’s hard, even if the bench of the pick-up is bigger than most car seats you’re used to. Tommy doesn’t care. He pushes himself deeper into your mouth and you swallow around him, his sharp taste overwhelming. It’s hot in the truck, and you can smell his sweat, smell your own arousal on his hand resting on his thigh. You pull off him until only his tip is still between your lips, then move down again, while he pushes, almost impatiently. Your neck strains uncomfortably, but you want to make this work. For him.

“Stop,” he says after his tip hits the back of your throat and you gag. “I want to be inside of you.”

You straighten your back and smile at him. Your lips feel swollen. “You are, Tommy.”

With his thumb, he swipes away saliva and pre-cum from your bottom lip. “Not like that.”

The way he looks at you, heated, yes, but also with an unguarded softness in his eyes, makes something flutter inside your chest. “What did you have in mind?” you ask.

He leans forward, his mouth so close to your ear his breath tickles your skin. The presumed forbiddenness of what he’s about to tell you makes you hold your breath. “I want you on top of me,” he whispers in your ear, voice low. “Use me however you want.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine and you nod, cheeks burning up. What have you done to deserve a man like him in your life?

You move to climb on top of him, but he stops you, his hand spread across your chest. “I think we’d be more comfortable on the backseat. Don’t you?”

You glance over the front seats at the dark space beyond and nod again. It’s also harder to spot you back there should someone decide to drive into the parking lot.

With practiced movements, Tommy tilts his seat, then climbs over it, briefly struggling with his loose jeans. You grin and follow him, body humming with pleasant anticipation. Tommy pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off his shoes and jeans, but when you start to take off your dress, he stops you.

“No. Just your panties.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

You can’t really tell in the dim light but he looks flushed when he searches his trouser pockets for a condom.

When you finally lower yourself onto him, you can feel his chest vibrate with a deep groan under your palms. He jerks and shifts trying to adjust himself, but you hold him down and roll your hips from side to side until he nods. For a while, you both just sit there and look at each other, his hands stroking your sides, your fingers playing with the coarse hairs on his chest. To you, this is the definition of paradise.

You roll your hips in small, slow circles at first, so imperceptible it takes him a while to notice. But when he does, he jerks his hips upwards, urging you to go faster, so you press your knees into his sides.

“No,” you tell him, and when he opens his mouth to protest, you put a raised finger against his lips. “Let me take care of you.” For a second, you think he’ll reject you; but then he nods. “Good,” you say, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip before pulling your hand back. His chest and neck are a deep red now.

It’s not like you’re planning on torturing him forever. You roll your hips a little faster, and with every deliciously lewd sound he makes for you, a little faster still. Soon, your resolve crumbles, and you allow him to stroke your naked thighs, to squeeze your clothed breasts, even to play with your clit. The humid air in the truck clings to your skin, and to Tommy’s, and you’re transfixed by a bead of sweat making its way down his cheek. You capture it with a kiss, then throw back your head with a moan when he rolls your clit under his thumb just so.

That’s when you notice it – the other truck parked next to yours. Was it already there when Tommy pulled into the parking lot? Did it pull up afterwards and you just didn’t notice because you were occupied with other things at the time? Whatever the answer might be, it’s not important right now, not when you notice the other truck isn’t empty.

A man is staring at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. He looks older than Tommy, but not by much, maybe a few years. His face is framed by dark hair and a dark beard, very prominent on his upper lip, less so on his cheeks and chin. His eyes are dark too, hidden in the shadows of the driver’s cabin, but you can feel them on you, watching every twitch of your hips with intent. And he definitely isn’t alone.

You can’t see the person he’s with; she’s kneeling in front of him, hands and knees on the backseat, and he’s holding down her head with his outstretched arm. All you can see is that she has dark auburn hair that the man uses to hold her in place. The back of your own scalp prickles at that sight and you wish someone would hold onto you like that.

You should stop and tell Tommy about the stranger in the car next to yours who is fucking a woman you can’t see while watching you fuck a man he can’t see. Or you should move to the other side of the car where he won’t be able to see you. The least you should do is look away. But you don’t do any of these things. Later, when you’re alone, you’ll ask yourself why, but there is no answer other than not wanting to break the connection you feel to that stranger at this very moment. You’ll think it a weak excuse then, but right here, in Tommy’s truck, it feels like the most sensual experience of your life. You’re both fucking other people and yet it feels like you’re fucking each other.

Beneath you, Tommy groans deeply, and he twitches inside of you. “Keep goin’, darlin’,” he mumbles.

You don’t know if Tommy is watching you or if his eyes are closed, you don’t know if his mouth hangs open, you couldn’t name the shade of red coating his neck. Instead, you watch as the stranger bites his lip, watch as his eyes flutter shut after a particularly deep thrust, watch how he presses the woman’s head down further. You can almost hear his pants and growls, and in turn your breath comes in short bursts. Why doesn’t he look away? And why don’t you?

His thrusts come faster now, and it’s not as if you’re consciously changing your pace too, but suddenly you catch yourself matching the roll of your hips to his. You groan when you see the smirk on his face, and your upper body falls forward, forcing you to brace yourself against Tommy’s chest. Why did that stranger’s smirk set the base of your spine on fire and why did your small moment of weakness make his face darken with resolve?

When you look up again, he has his eyes closed, so you close yours too, and for an instant, just one brief moment, you imagine it’s him thrusting up into you. That vision is so powerful you half expect it to be him below you when you open your eyes again, but it’s Tommy, and he’s watching you.

“Feel so good,” he mumbles. “So, so good.”

A twinge of guilt gets mixed in with that already explosive cocktail of feelings brewing inside of you, and you’re not sure what to do about it. Are you crossing a line with this? You don’t know; you’ve never heard about anyone in a situation like this. All you know is that when you lift your head, the stranger’s gaze hits you like a bolt of lightning. You feel it tingle in your fingers, up and down your legs, on the tip of your nose, and at the back of your neck. But most importantly, you feel it deep in your core that clenches with desperation. He lifts his chin and rolls his shoulders, pushing his chest forward, like he’s showing off to you, and you can’t help it – you dig your nails into Tommy’s skin and he groans with pleasure.

The air in the truck is so heavy it is becoming hard to breathe. You only realize that when you would need it most desperately. Over there, in the other car, the man’s hips suddenly still and you watch as he throws back his head, as a deep, dark flush climbs up his chest and neck. You can almost feel it, how he empties himself into that woman he’s fucking, how he empties himself into you. And before you can fully grasp what is happening, you’re clenching around Tommy hard and fast, making him snap his hips up into you.

“Fuck, fuck! Fuck!” he swears, holding you in place with two hot hands on your sides.

Your orgasm is still making your entire body shake, but it also feels like it doesn’t belong to you at all. You’re praying for the stranger to look at you again, one final time, but he has disappeared. All you can see is his back from time to time, and the woman’s knees that look like they’re trembling, as he goes down on her. You can’t help the jealousy that is clawing at the inside of your stomach.

Tommy pulls you down and gives you a searing kiss. “You’re fuckin’ amazin’, you know that?” You giggle and bury your face against his neck, trying to shake off that strange feeling of desire and yearning. “I’m very sorry I doubted you,” Tommy goes on. “No college boy could’ve taught you that.”

“That good, huh?” you ask, running your hand through his curls.

“Good’s an understatement,” he mumbles.

Carefully, he lifts you off him and takes off the condom. You’re on the other side of the truck now and can barely see the top of the other one. That loss is strangely irritating.

“Take off your dress,” Tommy orders.

You look at him, at his flushed cheeks, at the drunk desire in his gaze. “Ready for round two already?” you tease.

He shakes his head. “No, but I won’t make you wait for me.”

His mouth is hot against your sensitive clit, and you roll your hips up against his tongue eagerly. Above you, the roof of the truck is cast in shadows. You stare up at the boring gray, eyes wide open, because as soon as you close them, you see the stranger, as clear as if he was still right in front of you. And you refuse to give him that kind of power over you.

***

joel miller taglist: @almodovarispunk | @chippedowlmug | @daimyosprincess | @giggly-otter | @girlbossnancy | @hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmsstuff | @jennaispunk | @lexloon | @mandalaur | @mandinlore | @n7cje | @sin-djarin | @swimmjacket

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