#rating change with this chapter folks!

[astaraels]

Tensions between Mickey and Ian come to a head in a way neither of the boys expect.

[taegularities]

colour me in: palette | jjk (m)

Summary: Breezy mountaintops and turquoise oceans are even more enchanting with Jungkook by your side. Yet, throughout your vacation, you realise — even once you've left the lofty peaks and liberating waves behind, you'll still elevate each other to new heights every day.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; tiny hints of angst, crazy much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: okayyy. a shit ton of fluff. vacation with their friends!!!, kissing, singing, sexual tension, slippery soccer lolll, bit of acrophobia, someone flirts with oc, bit of jealousy, lots of taeun and yoonmin moments, new dynamics!!!, mountains and beaches, jimin/jk moments :'), deep talks, some insecurities, bunk beeeeds lol, mention of homophobia, small arguments, anger, talk about passing of time; explicit sexual content: hotel room sex :O, light spanking/ass stuff, kissing and making out, teasing, neck kisses!!, jk never gets enough, bit of manhandling, pussy slapping, big dick!jk, soft dom!jk, oc is soaked, they're both wearing their shirts/naked downstairs tho (impatience sigh), oral (f. & m. receiving), bit of mouthfucking, soft and rough sex, mention of sex toys, slapping with his dick ig, masturbation, spit, edging?, choking, he likes her bewbs and a$$, squirting, they ruin the hotel room bed lol, showering together; the ending 🥺 ➳ word count: 32.6k ➳ a/n: gosh, it's been mooonths. did y'all miss them as much as i did :') the distance really brought me closer to them. some more of my soul in this chapter <3 there'll be angst ahead, so enjoy this one thoroughly and with all your heart. thank you for all the support, too <3 i can't wait to hear what you guys think 🤍 ➳ listen to: can't help falling in love by haley reinhart (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

DAY 1

“Bunk beds… Fu. Cking. Bunk. Beds.”

Jimin scarcely seems impressed with the change in plans that the hostel is forcing your group into. You haven’t quite yet deciphered what’s going on; you’ve been waiting in the lobby with pursed lips and tired eyes, Jimin at the front desk, discussing details that he’s now groaning about.

“Wait… what?” Eun asks, eyes scanning the group members, all equally confused.

Jimin, as agitated as you haven’t seen him in a while, plumps into one of the lobby’s upholstered sofa chairs, massaging his forehead, seemingly preparing to narrate a tale without a happy ending. He sighs, raising his hand as if to teach calculation to a child, and starts explaining.

“We’d booked three rooms, right? But one of them has a leak.” Short pause; Taehyung clicks his tongue. “So now they offered to keep one with the queen size bed and then get another room with two bunk beds. We’d pay less. Or. We keep the other two rooms with the beds, and still pay for the bunk bed room since one couple will still need it.”

“Same price?” Yoongi inquires, aside from Jungkook, the calmest in the room.

“Oh my god,” Eun whispers, matching Jimin’s drama-loving freak, “this is… we’re being robbed.”

“So,” Yoongi tries again, a deep voice interrupting your best friends’ growing hysteria, “we just pay less and get the bunk bed room for four people, no?”

Eun and Jimin stare at the man as if he’s uttered sheer nonsense; Eun’s eyes squint, questioning how he’d dare separate her from her boyfriend. And Jimin, his expression equal to Eun’s, directs the disbelief between his eyebrows directly at his lover speaking.

But as the options start to waver, Eun sighs, leaning back in defeat as she mumbles, “I guess…”

“Yeah, and then, who’s getting the queen sized bed?” you ask carefully, likely initiating another feud; but what else can you do? You need to resolve the issue on hand and you’re dog tired; you need to nap for an hour at least. “How do we decide that?”

“That’s the question,” Jimin declares, rubbing his hands before he announces, “I think we’ll have to fight for it, folks.”

“…How?”

Multiple pairs of eyes drift to the ceiling in thought, attempting to come up with a fair idea or some game. But their schemes are probably too intricate, building scenarios that aren’t feasible in this very situation; you can already tell.

That is, until Taehyung speaks up, slapping his thigh as he finally answers, “We’ll just go the easiest way we know.”

The fact that Jungkook and Yoongi puff out a breath of air is understandable; as Kim Taehyung’s closest pals, they’re bound to know which thought lit up his brain. But by now, even you understand the man’s tactics well enough, and before you can verbalise them, Yoongi does.

“…Wait. You want to rock paper scissors this out?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“We just pull names? Or spin the wheel? There are plenty of sites on the Internet.”

“No,” Jimin again, “I don’t trust any of you to not manipulate this.”

Voices soon mingle, offended by Jimin’s distrust, retorts flying around such as, “Oh, thanks for this,” or “Why would we manipula—”

“Come on!” Jimin defends, cutting through the cacophony of arguments. “We’re all a bunch of newlyweds! Nobody wants to sleep without the other.”

Well… maybe he’s not wrong there. Over the last several weeks, you’ve grown accustomed to your boyfriend’s warmth next to you; under your head; beneath your palm. His breath against your cheeks and the chin in your mane.

Which is why you tilt your head in slight, approaching worry, leaning into Jungkook’s embrace, his arm over your shoulders. You look at him until he stares back, telling him as the others argue, “This is terrible. I just got used to sleeping with you and…”

But he shakes his head in reassurance, blinking slowly. Gently grabs your hand off his chest and intertwines your fingers, promising that, “It’s okay, babe. Whatever game they want to play, we’ve got this.”

If he says it, you must believe it. Losing would be counterproductive for this trip; you required this time-out with him for the sake of your sanity, considering the weight of the past months.

And thinking about it, you’ve gotten used to his presence too much to sleep without it. You reminisce about the nights he hit the gym late, barely finding time throughout the day as he worked on his exhibit pieces, permanent smudged hues colouring the sides of his hands.

And you, exhausted from work, grazed the other side of the bed with a half sleeping, half restless mind, waking up time and time again to find the mattress empty. Whenever he did come back, sliding into the sheets, you’d notice.

Notice everything.

How he’d kiss your forehead or your temple, whispering your name or a soft, “Hi, angel,” without really expecting a response back. He’d pull you half on top of his body, chest rising with your head atop as he sighed and then, eventually, drifted off.

You think that once or twice, you even heard him breathe a nearly inaudible confession, starting with your new favourite letter L.

But…

It seems that today, luck isn’t quite on your side; different from what he foretold, you haven’t got this. Because mere five minutes later, you’re staring into a group of shaking heads and devastated faces.

Jimin and Yoongi have lost already; and when it’s time to decide between the remaining of you four, it’s not you who breaks into cheerful laughter but the couple you’ve decided to regard with a pout for the rest of the trip.

Unnecessary to mention that Tae and Eun dash into their room once they’ve received the key, quick enough for their suitcases to collide with their soles as they roll behind them. The two remaining duos, among them a sighing Jungkook and a disappointed you, trudge to the bunk bed room without any rush.

Jimin and you sulk your way through the hallways, but Yoongi and Jungkook, you soon notice, remain familiarly posed. You don’t get it; aren’t they upset about the separation?

Your boyfriend at least is still sporting an encouraging smile when you open the door to the frustratingly compact room. The two pairs of bunk beds have a sufficient distance between them, but the beds themselves barely fit a person. You’ve been played so bad.

“And what if we do take the second double room and let fate decide between us?” Jimin suddenly suggests, and you nearly buckle, ready to get into position and lift your fist for another game.

But Yoongi pushes between the two of you, clicking his tongue, “Nah. It’s just two nights, we’ll be moving on after that anyway. Besides,” he sets his suitcase against the left bunk bed, claiming it, and ruffles through his long, dark hair, “we can’t leave the last couple all alone here.”

You smirk in mock, tilting your head, “Ha-ha. You’re way too sure of victory. You wanna try right now, Min—”

“Come on,” Jungkook tries, two heavy hands settling on your shoulders before he moves them down and rubs your shoulders in affection, “solidarity, baby. It’ll be fun.” He moves in, close to your face, kisses your cheek and then whispers into your ear, “We’ll have our room at the beach. And then a whole week just for us, remember?”

Oh, as if you could forget.

Jungkook’s hometown will be the third and last stop of your vacation, a wedding and a childhood bedroom awaiting you. You can’t predict what those days in the countryside will bring, but you refuse to think about them; not because you’re reluctant to go, but because you want the place to surprise you.

Nevermind that the thoughts still seep through all the time; the pure elation.

Your face warms at the thought; you’ve communicated it a million times and will say it a billion times more — you don’t think you’ve ever been this pumped in your life.

No — do not think about it. Let it come to you… carpe diem and all that.

You jump back into the moment, right into the banter, placing your suitcase on the floor and opening it to rummage for today’s outfit. As you shamelessly lay open your entire wardrobe, including some of your best lingerie, you tease, “Okay. I’ll save up my energy. More tonight, boys.”

Jimin blows a raspberry at you; Yoongi waves you off with a grin; and Jungkook barely reacts to you. You assume he’s tired from all the driving, requiring rest more than you, eyes half-lidded.

But if you were in his head, you’d know that he’s long dissociated from the conversation, blending out words, movements, reactions; rather, he merely observes your smile. The playful crease between your eyebrows. The curve of your lips as you speak.

Blinking slowly; lucky for the force of nature wafting into his life like a brisk autumn wind.

Lucky, knowing that somebody could actually care so much.

The pullover doesn’t feel as soft and smooth between your fingertips as it looked from afar. You don’t think you’ll take it. But the beige cardigan felt like a shawl made of accumulated feathers against your body; and Jungkook approved of it, too.

You’re liking the village; maybe it’s the overall dreamy and magical vibe it emanates. It’s redolent of cosy nights spent in front of a fireplace, a hot tea cup warming your palms as you study the view out of a small window, the far-reaching blankets of snow.

And the scent of wooden houses and cinnamon travels through this place — you can’t describe it, but you urge to take all the earthy colours with you.

The pink dress, however, hugging your body like second skin, is bright, the opposite of the cardigan you’ve already settled on buying. It’s a fall dress, comfortable and adaptable to any situation.

You turn in front of the mirror, inspecting your ass, your curves, checking the length and the material for possible flaws. And once you’ve convinced yourself, you push the curtain aside, seeking a second opinion from the man patiently sitting in front of the changing room.

Upon seeing you, his eyes brighten the way they did the last couple of times. Even when he didn’t quite like the item you chose, he seemed happy to just see you. But this time, his pupils flit from button to top, the sparkle in them already obvious as he says, “Damn.”

“I take it you like it as much as I do.”

“Do one of your three sixty spins.”

He loves those. Enjoys it when you present yourself with that treacly smile of yours, arms angled and slightly in the air. And when you come to a stand again, the dress still sways, your eyes questioning, sweet, pure. Jungkook finds joy in this; he could look at you doing this all day.

You keep asking, “Are you bored? Wanna go somewhere else?”

And he always responds, “No. Show me another one of the dresses.”

But no matter how boundless his enthusiasm, he can’t control his occasionally occurring ticks — you know they’re a sign of a nervous mind, watching his fidgety self card through his hair or move his leg or cross and uncross his arms.

So you ask, “You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m just tired,” he explains, “driving all day made me drowsy.”

Well, okay, that could be a reason. He does get restless when he craves his bed. Kudos to him for still enduring your slow ass at shopping. You hum before you remind him, “I told you to let me drive.”

“Yes, but…. I like driving,” he shrugs his shoulders, pouting a little, “and you were having fun.”

Honestly—

Fun is a way to call it. You pluck at the hem of the fall dress, recalling the morning with a fond but slightly guilty smile.

“Okay. Lean back now.”

The road was challenging, Jungkook’s voice too quiet to prevail over the music, and you too reckless. Despite the chaos, his grin was telling — though the crinkles and dimples disappeared when half your body turned towards the backseat; right when the car approached a sharp curve.

A harsh hand pushed your beaming self back into your seat, and he spat a single warning, “Angel!”

You’d separated the large group — Jimin was driving the other car, alternating with Taehyung. The journey wasn’t awfully long, but you still went the fair route and split your circle in three versus three, Yoongi residing in the back of your car.

Your car because you’d be driving on to the wedding anyway, and Yoongi would then proceed the vacation in Taehyung’s vehicle. But while your excitement for Jungkook’s hometown didn’t dim a single bit, you were a little sad that you’d be leaving earlier, not getting more time with Yoongi.

Because he vibed. With the right people, you heard, and now witnessed, he vibed.

He sang along with the music in confidence, flashing gummy smirks, DJ-ing with you. Sharing the same taste in music as you, the moments were never dull, 80s classics chiming before modern hip hop took their place. Yoongi likes J. Cole particularly.

The two of you were exhausting, but you did pamper the driver enough to not let your annoying self become too obvious. As in, feeding Jungkook snacks whenever you could, indulging in his favourite music when your tracks ended, offering to drive.

Jungkook remained in a good mood most of the way, but nearing the end, he got edgy, tired, even disregarding Yoongi’s sarcastic suggestion to drive wordlessly.

It took you a moment to understand — Yoongi isn’t a bad driver at all, as you’ve been told by himself, but he’s still not fully healed yet. None of you would make him and he wouldn’t risk it.

Mad respect to Jungkook for suffering through your shenanigans and then still being your anchor as the trouble about the rooms began at the hostel.

You’re a handful — but he has confessed a hundred times before that he’d rather have that than an empty palm.

“No wonder you’re tired,” you tell him, flattening the already crinkle-free dress before you add, “Poor Jimin and Yoongi. Were separated in the cars and now in the hostel, too.”

“I mean,” Jungkook starts, “they both seemed to have a good time on the way, though. Other than that, have they even made stuff official yet?”

Good question. Barely occurred to you yet. You think back to the last couple of weeks, to each of the weekend meetings that you’d summon everybody to in order to discuss the trip. Nothing was said then. Nothing has been said since this morning, either.

So you say, “Kind of by just being with each other the way they are, right? To be honest, I didn’t even think about it. For me, it was already official… didn’t think it’d need an announcement.”

“Maybe you’re right? It’s as much of a secret as we are.”

You break into a grin. “Right?” And then, you straighten your stance, once more turning to show off your ass, too, just for good measure. “What do you think?”

“Oh, you should buy it.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’d be good to look at and then fun to rip off.”

You roll your eyes so hard, they nearly disappear from his sight; partly to hide the effect his words practise on you — face hot, chest tight, legs crossed to ease the physical feeling that emerges.

And then, partly to remind him of where he’s sitting right now — not far from an elderly lady who’s currently side-eying you. Weird; just a minute ago she was smiling at you. Ah, decency.

“Ugh, can you only think about that?” you joke, right before wiggling a finger. “This one’s expensive. You’re not ripping off shit.”

“Hey, don’t scold me. You’re just as bad!”

“I’m not! In case you don’t remember, I totally resisted when you offered to come into the changing room with me.”

“Ah, ahhh,” he teases, cocking an eyebrow, “in case you don’t remember, only very reluctantly.” You can’t suppress the laugh, and he joins, familiar creases around his stellar eyes. “But seriously, you look gorgeous.”

“Right! I’ll wear it to your next exhibition, okay? Or the party you’ll definitely host once you’ve established yourself as the nation’s biggest artist.”

And that’s when he finally gets up, groaning a tiny bit before he slaps your ass and rubs it, delighted at your yelp. Challenges you, “Decide whether you want to be cute or sexy. I can’t handle both.”

“But you do every day,” you say, sulking. But your expression returns to normal when he pinches your butt, and you click your tongue, “Okay, okay. We’ll see what you can handle once we get to our next destination.”

Where you’ll finally have your own bedrooms. Your peace. Your mattress to be demolished.

Excited doesn’t do this feeling justice.

Jungkook must be thinking something similar; at least that’s what you ascertain from the way he tongues his inner cheek, shaking his head. You don’t provoke him further — only blow a kiss before you saunter back into the changing room.

You purchase the dress, stepping into the fall air, and move your head left and right in search of the rest of you. You ask, “Have you seen the others? I think we lost them at the souvenir shop, but they might be nearby.”

“Yeah, they went into another souvenir sho— wait, that’s Eun, isn’t it?”

You squint into the distance.

God, this place is like a Christmas market straight from 90s movies. Traditional and homely, domestic and gentle. Oozes some type of warmth that defeats the slightly chill breeze by miles.

And you’re so loving the shops. They’re small, their owners as hospitable as you haven’t met in ages. They talk to you, treat you like one of their own, never attempting awkward conversation and always providing their honest opinion. The lady you just bought the dress from even told you to visit again.

Shit, and the stalls! They’re popular spots; the backbone of the tourism in this area. Sell all kinds of snacks — candied fruits, hot drinks, gingerbread. October hasn’t ended yet, but you crave your golden Christmas lights.

Somewhere not too far, you finally recognise Eun and Yoongi, too, standing at the punch stall, ordering. Thinking about it, it’s been a while since you ate or drank — and just imagining the fruity flavour, you can’t help but suggest, “Ohhh, I should get some, too. Wanna come?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Your suspicion from before somewhat returns; his thoughts don’t seem to align with yours right now. In fact, you guess them far away, pondering about anything but punch.

You’re moved to ask again, but before you can utter a word, he answers, “Hmm, no, I think I’ll get a coffee a bit later. I’ll go find Jimin and Taehyung in the meantime, though? You go get your punch.”

You blink at him, not sure if you should try again. But when you can’t find a reason for any deviation in mood, you give him the free space he might need, telling him, “Okay. You know where to find us if you need to.”

“Got it,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead, and then walks away when you do.

Just once more, you turn, gaping over your shoulder in confusion; but he seems okay. Occupied by the view, craning his neck to look at the mountain nearby, at the very peak you’ll reach tomorrow.

So you turn away, only for him to regard you a moment later.

Jungkook watches as you reach your friend, Eun’s arm cheerfully wrapping around your shoulders, welcoming you in. You give the stall owner a knockout smile, and once distracted enough, Jungkook directly charges for the shop the two of you walked past earlier.

It’s still mostly empty when he reaches it. One young man, much like him, is standing inside, discussing an object lying on the pult between him and the seller. Jungkook glances through the store window, spying the object of his desire, and then walks in.

Enduringly, he waits for the other man to finish. Seems he is a customer, too, buying his grandmother a gift for her birthday. And it looks like he’s more or less firm on his decision, because not even two minutes later, he has thanked the woman behind the counter and left.

Jungkook, equally determined, points to the purchase he’d like to make, making small-talk with the woman now and then before she disappears in a small room at the back and packs the object.

And Jungkook waits… waits calmly until a voice breathes a, “What you doing?” into his ears, scaring him to death. The woman leans back, peeking, alarmed as she asks in an accent, “Everything good?”

Jungkook waves her concerns off. Lets her work. Turns to Jimin as he says, “Goddamn, dude. Don’t do that.”

“You look like you saw a ghost. Are you hiding something?” he asks, right before the lady walks out and presents the pretty packaging and small bag to Jungkook. “Oh! Is this for me?”

Jungkook pays with a scoff, carefully placing it in his bag and then laughs, “C’mon.” And once the rucksack is back on his shoulders, he bids his goodbyes to the seller, leading Jimin outside and whispering as if you could hear, “Alright. It’s for her. I’ll give it to her at the wedding.”

“Damn, a little present for the date at a wedding? You’re down bad.”

“How did you guess that?” Jimin chuckles, patting Jungkook’s back as the younger one smirtles. Soon telling Jimin, “Not a word to her, though. Or anyone. Okay?”

“My lips are sealed.”

That’s it. At least for a while. Both pairs of hands pushing into their jeans’ pockets at once, they trek side by side in silence, head moving left, right, up and down. It’s awkward until it isn’t — until Jimin collects some courage and then spits, “Listen.”

Another pause. Just for a moment. Enough for Jungkook’s tremendous eyes to look up, a finger scratching his temple as he hears Jimin articulate words he never expected, “I know I said my piece that night already, but…” A grimace, kissing his lips, then, “I’m really sorry for doubting you so much at first. I should’ve given you a chance much sooner.”

Well, fuck. 

For weeks and months, Jimin refused to trust him with a steadfast resolution. Didn’t waver even when you attempted to convince him otherwise. There was a prickly dislike in the man’s eyes that irked Jungkook, and frankly, saddened him a little.

But the night you drunk-called him, begging to come back, minutes before he chauffeured all of you home, something shifted. Jimin’s stance towards Jungkook had seemed to change, at least. Actually a grateful occurrence to think back to, considering how much Jungkook fucked up at that time…

“But you have given me a chance now,” Jungkook defends, Jimin nodding, “and I appreciate that just as much.”

“You remember what I said to you back then?”

Of course… he might remember each detail of that night forever.

“Of course,” Jungkook echoes, “you said you were growing fond of me. Trusted me.”

“And I meant it.”

“She said you said it because you knew she was fond of me.”

Jimin chuckles, the sound high-pitched and pleasant, melodic. “Well, I guess that’s true to some extent. But it’s definitely not just that.” He reviews his thoughts; then, “It’s more so the fact that you came back.”

That he came back.

Jimin doesn’t mention that he came back because you called. Because somewhere within, he must know as well as the man beside him that Jungkook was going to come back anyway.

Nobody here doubts his feelings for you. And in some way, this is a reassurance of trust he didn’t think he needed.

“And in hindsight,” Jimin speaks on, “while I disagree with what you did before that,” a sting in Jungkook’s beating heart, “I think your reasons were selfless. Lack of communication here and there, but… you want her happy, right?”

There’s no debate about this.

“So much,” Jungkook immediately agrees, “it just doesn’t make sense, you know? That someone like her should be sad.”

“I agree. And you came back, that’s what it is. You’re here. I think I was fond of you because you gave her a sense of… safety.” He shrugs his shoulders, hands still buried in his pockets. Gives a glance to the variety of passersby. “Making her feel protected and like she was worth something when others didn’t. And in turn, you gave her something to fight for, too.”

Something to fight for… someone to fight for.

How hard is it to wrap your head around the fact that somebody thinks you worthy enough to combat the world for?

Jungkook’s heart stirs. A sudden affection for your friend awakens. No. His friend, too.

“You’re just half as bad, huh?” he says, urging another laugh out of Jimin.

“No, you.” More snicker. “But seriously. Since we were teenagers and she was first confronted with… all the issues around her, she’s repeated to me everybody has demons to fight. A couple weeks ago she said it again… added that you do, too. No details, no worries!”

He raises his hand in defence, and Jungkook shakes his concerns off, mumbling that it’s okay, that it’s true.

So Jimin continues, “But just… whenever you might feel like you’re not doing enough — because let’s be real, we all do sometimes — remember that you make at least one person happy.”

Crazy. This is crazy. An alternate reality, for sure.

“I never expected to hear this from you, but… I really am thankful, Jimin.”

Jimin nods before he stops, as if remembering something. “And if it helps. I’m really glad you joined us here. I mean you know Tae and Yoongi better, but Eun loves you.”

Jungkook titters, shy as Jimin nudges his arm, but silencing when he looks ahead, not early enough to stop Jimin’s addition, “And by the way, she’ll love that. Will feel like the bride, probably—”

Jungkook grits his teeth at the very last word, as if staggered by another ghost appearing in front. Jimin’s eyes follow Jungkook’s, eyes widening a couple inches as he realises his mistake; met with your bright gaze as you near the men with Eun and question, “What are you guys talking about?”

You’re so cheerful and curious, impossible to resist. Jimin’s lie nearly doesn’t come out, but when it does, it happens smoothly enough, “He was just gushing about your dress. Told me how he already knows you’ll be the talk of the night.”

“Come onnnn,” you urge, your smile falling, replaced by a scowl, “this is so weak. I know you, Park. That’s not what you were talking about.”

“It is!” Jungkook chimes in as shamelessly as he can. Guilt floods him — but there are certain sacrifices that are necessary for love, aren’t there? “I told you many times how hot you look in it. I did, you can’t contradict that.”

Jungkook’s acting might be getting better, but you still squint your eyes, still pulling a face. But it seems they are conspiring against you; Jungkook clearly sees you give up. Understand that you won’t get anything out of them.

Besides, you love surprises. You won’t ruin it for yourself.

So you wave the white flag, only saying, “I don’t really believe you, but okay,” before turning, gripping Jungkook’s hand and adding, “Listen. You don’t get to drink a good punch every day. Screw the coffee, try it for me. Yoongi is still there.”

And as the two of you walk away, Jimin follows, ignoring Eun’s curious look. Focuses on how Jungkook turns to him just a little, smiling in mischief but also in something like…

Friendship.

Jungkook has been babbling his mouth dry. You know of his temporary hyperfixations; alternating between cooking twice a day, karaoke-ing his way through a lazy weekend or playing Overwatch for four hours straight and of course, you.

Tonight, it’s gimbap.

You’ve heard a ton about it today; from his favourite kind to how it’s made to failures in his past as he first attempted them. Anecdotes and urges.

When you went to the restaurant earlier, he inhaled a gigantic portion of jjajangmyeon, followed by kimchi-bokkeumbap that he partly shared with your still hungry self. His idea was to order some gimbap as another course, but his grunts and groans revealed that he was done for the night.

Or so you thought.

Because hours and a trip to the old town and its popular fountain later, he’s still craving them, restless on the hostel lobby couch as he says, “Do they have room service or something? Do they sell gimbap?”

His attention is directed towards Jimin, the main organiser of your trip; everybody’s been posing questions today as if he’s studied the town and journey to the tiniest detail. Jimin rubs a palm over his tired eyes, sighing before he speaks.

“No, this isn’t a very luxurious place anyway,” he explains, “and besides. You’re making me hungry, too.”

Jungkook leans into him as he asks, “Aren’t you quite close with the receptionist?” Pause. “Do you think they’d let us take a couple things from the kitchen and make it ourselves?”

“Wow, you really are craving it,” Taehyung mocks, but Jungkook skillfully ignores him.

“Jungkook, this is a lot of special treatment to ask for,” Jimin then claims, waiting for a response, but nothing comes back.

You lean forwards when your friend shakes his head, trying to understand what’s going on. And when you find Jungkook’s big, twinkling eyes staring longingly, you know he’s gotten to Jimin, too. Because the latter sighs again, adding, “If you charm them, maybe.”

“Come on. I know how to charm people,” he says, regarding you with a wink, a flick of your chin and a click of his tongue, all at once. You whisper a playfully indignant Damn, watching him get to a stand.

He’s brave, you must say; for an initial and past introvert, good food certainly makes him courageous. Jimin first gestures towards the reception, mumbling a, “Go ahead,” but barely a second later, he’s on his feet with a deep exhale, hearing Jungkook say, “Decided to help me?”

“Only because I’m hungry, too. Can make them together.”

Whatever scenario you just witnessed, it could’ve been one from a sitcom. Those little filler scenes, there for comic relief. But what strikes you the most of all is the dynamic you just watched emerge.

You’re surprised to the core; these two, doing something together? Peacefully? Voluntarily?

As your eyes bolt from the duo to the hanging guitar at the wall and then to your friends, you let out a tiny laugh, delivering a short head tilt before you deduce, “That’s new.”

It’s quite a show, the one you observe from here. Your friends are already too groggy to converse, instead indulging in the scene: Jungkook and Jimin as they converse with the receptionist, leaning in, telling the young man about their day.

Then, the quiet plea, as sweetly uttered as possible; you know these two. You know they’re pulling out the biggest, brownest eyes the world shall ever see, the mellowest voices outing their plea — and to your utter surprise, the receptionist gives in.

Leads them to another room, probably the breakfast hall, and around five minutes later, they reemerge.

Your group giggles when they come out with a wink, Jungkook forming a tiny ‘Oh’ with his mouth, as if to whistle without ever doing it. They don’t come back to you yet; settle on another table at the back instead, hands full of ingredients. There’s more room there for sure.

They spread the stuff across the table, rolling up their sleeves. You can’t really hear their conversation from here, but Jungkook says something and Jimin smirks back with a slight shake of his shoulders. Then, they start, but not before choosing a playlist to play quietly as they attempt the gimbap journey.

You can’t believe it. What an odd sight — but good for them.

“That’s rare indeed,” Eun lets slip before she turns back to you and the group, falling back into the couch.

You nod, looking through the round. Different from the two across the room, the atmosphere here is dead. So you wait; wait for an opportunity until Yoongi, opposite from you, gives you one. His eyes roam the room, soon stopping at the guitar from before. He regards it entirely, like a piece in a museum.

You ask, “Hey. Do you play?”

“Hm?” Yoongi looks back at you, puppy eyes in full effect, and then switches between you and the instrument. “Ah. Yeah, I play sometimes.”

“He plays all the time,” Taehyung corrects.

Yoongi raises a hand in something like defence, humble as ever as he says, “I’ve been learning. But I think I have gotten better, though there’s still a long way to go.”

“Any song you enjoy playing the most?” you ask, leaning in.

“Ohh, you’ll like this.” His eyes are widening, waking, sobering up. As you see new stars being born in his dark eyes, you know you’ve introduced the right topic. “You like oldies, don’t you?”

“I do, actually! How do you know?”

Taehyung chimes in, “Jungkook told us. Like literal months ago.”

Perhaps it’s the new sentiments you’re still accommodating yourself to, but you feel the heat filling up your entire chest, moving up to your cheeks and providing warmth in the eye of this autumn.

You peek at your boyfriend and your friend, catching them falling into a goofy cooking session. Jimin grabs the dark soy sauce bottle, attempting to pour the liquid on his plate with the most dramatic expression you have ever witnessed, only to realise a moment later that he hasn’t even opened it yet.

Both of them break into an embarrassed and amused chuckle, Jimin shaking his head, and before you can melt into the leather couch, you look away with a smile.

“Wait,” you say, “in which context? I’m nosy, and now I want to know.”

“He said Yoongi would like you because your favourite song is… what was it again?”

Taehyung directs his gaze imploringly to Yoongi, but it’s Eun who answers fondly, “It’s Can’t Take My Eyes off You. Ever since… always.”

You cock an eyebrow at Yoongi, teasing, “So is it true? Do you like me then?”

“I adore you.”

Your face heats up more. “You didn’t tell me what you like playing the most.”

“I would say I enjoy…”

“Or wait. Don’t tell me. What if you played it?”

“Now hold on—”

Energised, you take a stand, throwing a look at the receptionist who locks eyes with you at just the right moment. You point to the guitar, and he lifts his hand to gesture, “Go ahead, please.”

You take the guitar off its hook, grazing over the smooth, wooden surface and skimming the strings for a tiny moment. Relishing the familiar feeling. And then, encouragingly, you hand it to the man of the hour, telling him, “I know you want to.”

Yoongi is uncaring and unapologetically him, but he’s just as shy when met with attention. Yet, you know him enough to understand he often does whatever somebody asks of him, so you’re barely surprised when he flashes a thin-lipped smile and agrees, “Yeah. Alright.”

He situates the guitar on his lap carefully, treating it like a newborn as he mutters at the same time, “What should I play? Maybe this?”

His fingers strum a few chords that you don’t recognise, tough ceasing when he starts working on tuning the guitar. It takes a moment; a time you spend in silence, watching Taehyung for a second as he props up his head, eyelids half closed.

You shrug your shoulders, telling Yoongi, “Whatever crosses your mind first.”

He doesn’t answer, handling the instrument. He’s focused, his lips slightly apart, his expression impossibly composed. He murmurs another, “This should do,” and when he plays just the first three chords, you already know what he’s chosen.

Sounds like an acoustic version of the song. Like it could be played at a wedding, plucking the strings in the background as the bride marches to her groom, fitting the theme of the song.

“Which one’s this?” Eun asks, leaning into Taehyung who’s barely alive at this point. The music probably doesn’t help.

But apart from him, most of the heads turn, even if just very few present. There’s a quiet couple near Jimin and Jungkook’s table, smiling at the pleasant intrusion. The receptionist puts his lower arms onto the counter, listening in.

And then, eyes still fixated on the fingers skillfully mastering each note, you clarify, “Dance Me to the End of Love. Leonard Cohen originally, but this seems like a very… calm version of it.”

Yoongi nods a little, never stopping the music, but adds, “The Civil Wars. Covered it.”

“Right.”

The ambiance changes immediately. You wish you could lower the lights, embrace all that you hear, save it in your eardrums like a memory stick could. From afar, you notice luminous eyes directed at you, blinking slowly, hands still working, but giving you some momentary attention.

Is Jungkook thinking the same as you? If he stood now, gently pulling you into the middle of the room, would you care who watches as you dance? Could this be the magical moment that soon awaits you in a very near future? Swaying at the wedding…

You break the longing gaze when Jimin nudges Jungkook’s elbow, chin nodding towards your group as if the latter isn’t already watching. It seems they have advanced, nearly done with their endeavours. Not too long until they can join you again.

Another minute passes until Yoongi proceeds to the bridge and the peak of the song, and then another until he’s reached the end. Calm, soft thrums. Fading slowly, snapping you out of something you didn’t know just yet.

Heavy affection crowds your chest, lifting all sorrows off your heart. You’re filled with fondness. Empty of pain. Weighing everything and nothing.

Yoongi looks up at you with another awkward smile, still humble, his lips a straight line. The few people in the room applaud quietly, and as he puts the guitar down, you ask, “And how did that feel?”

“Surprisingly…” Yoongi angles his head, and then changes the movement into a nod. “Comforting.”

“Isn’t that special? Feeling something through the very music you put your soul into?”

It’s how you feel when you write. Probably how Jungkook feels when he draws. To possess something, be it creative or not, that floods you with joy like this is priceless. You think back to when you wrote your first poem. Or when you crafted your very first short story.

The memories are blurred, but you remember the feeling. Putting the dot at the end of the very last sentence. And then, you remember more than just this.

Remember when your father taught you how to play the piano, too, and remember when he—

“You play?” Yoongi suddenly asks, and you look up in surprise.

Oh. What? Your eyes widen, eyebrows lifting, mouth wanting to ask what he said, even though you know exactly which question he posed. But you soon break into a satisfied grin.

“How do you know?” you wonder.

“You talk like you do.”

“I didn’t want to give any spoilers,” Eun confesses from the side, comfortably closing into Taehyung, “so I didn’t say anything. But I’ve heard her play.”

“Ah,” you voice, “not often. Was I any good?”

“As much as I remember.”

Your eyes wander back to Yoongi, the man already working on handing you the guitar over the table between the two of you. You puff out a breath, nearly declining, but then recall that he did this for you, too.

So you grab it for the moment, explaining, “I… I play a little. Dad taught me the guitar and a bit of the piano when I was younger.” You mimic Yoongi’s gestures from before, making yourself comfortable with the bottom of the guitar on top of one leg. “Always enjoyed the guitar more, though. Felt productive, feeling the cornea on my fingertips.”

“Damn…” Taehyung makes, and you smile at him, nodding as if to say, “You’re alive, too!”

“Then you should definitely play something,” Eun says.

“You’re all okay with that?”

“Please,” Yoongi confirms, gesturing for you to start, “you don’t need our permission at all.”

So you nod. Getting used to the steely feeling, preparing mentally as you don’t need to tune the guitar anymore. You start the song in mind, an equally important oldie as Yoongi’s piece; and then you go another brave step further as you start humming.

You wish Taehyung, Jungkook or Jimin could do that for you. They’re better singers. You’re alright, certainly not a pro, singing your words rather quietly when you do start. But it provides you with deep relaxation, and you inwardly hope your voice does the same for the others.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

You don’t know why you chose this song. You don’t know why you didn’t settle with your usual choice. Something about the moment and the starry night urged you to pick out this very melody, holding onto the charm and spark tingling in the air.

Yoongi, an introvert among so many extroverts in your circle, is the one who chimes in soon, singing the chorus and then moving to the third verse. You entrust him with the latter, giving you time to open your eyes that you didn’t realise were shut.

You see the two boys at the end of the room finally emerge, slowly treading towards you with full plates. They plump onto the free seats right under the wall where the guitar previously hung, placing the gimbap in the middle of the table.

Taehyung helps himself to one portion, Eun soon following, but Jungkook…

Jungkook seems to have forgotten about it. He walked to you from one spot to where you sit, but as he looks at you now, you wonder how he moved at all. So mesmerised, like a flawless statue, bambi eyes filled with a tenderness you thought only exists on TV.

If you could guess, you’d say he’s looking at you like… like he’d die for you.

Love. Yearning. Affection uncurbed.

He cradles his cheek, putting his elbow on the arm of the couch, lost as if he’s dreaming. He could fully throw you out of balance just now. If you hadn’t played this song with your father a dozen times, committing each movement to memory, you probably would’ve long failed.

You shut your eyes for a moment enough to catch yourself, hearing Yoongi finish another chorus when you suddenly hear another switch in voices. Jungkook, singing the outro, so effortlessly and tenderly; the tone so angelic without even trying.

You could fall asleep. You could fall deeper.

You never knew you could.

Jungkook is the living proof that, despite not being the biggest sap to walk the Earth, you’ve grown fond of his little gestures. You didn’t think you could feel so shy over the way he kisses the air in your direction, expression so hazy.

A couple months ago, you would’ve never expected not to roll your eyes over his little, gentle antics.

But you’re not. Instead, you’re trying not to let show how much he affects you, nodding towards the applause before you ask, “So I take it, it was good?”

“Good?!” Eun blurts in disbelief, leaving it at that with a shake of her head.

“You keep surprising me, angel,” Jungkook admits, “I don’t know what to do with this anymore.”

“With what?”

He’s close enough for his mouth to kiss your cheek, an eyebrow lifting in tease as he puts a hand on his heart. This time, you do roll your eyes, albeit still going in when he gives your lips the tiniest peck.

Your heart is still in the process of accelerating when he asks, “You chose the right song, didn’t you?”

Yeah. A little dose of Elvis’s Can’t Help Falling in Love fits the situation quite well, doesn’t it?

You merely answer with a flattered smile, nearly going in for another, longer kiss; another touch in your own little bubble, suspending time and the world. But your manners demand differently, so you resist, leaning back.

Only taking his hand until the group comes alive a little more, feasting on the midnight snack that the men handled pretty well. The group changes up with time, seats abandoned and taken, switched with another, the guitar cautiously passed on to Yoongi again.

And then they sing some more. You listen, head on Jungkook’s shoulder, dozing in and out of sleep, in and out of his embrace.

Taehyung is soon encouraged to sing a couple, gorgeous snippets of Fly Me to the Moon, a signature song for him and his baritone voice, as Yoongi and Jungkook assure you. You don’t know when this became a session of nostalgic karaoke, remembering a time you never experienced.

It’s how you pictured these nights to end. Nearly falling into a slumber before the day concludes.

Surrounded by a warmth incomparable to a bonfire; one you’ve been yearning for your entire life.

The end of the night begins with an argument.

Yoongi and Jimin are busy preparing themselves for bed, surprisingly cool-headed after the tumult this morning. They don’t struggle with choosing their comfort in the room, while you pull at Jungkook’s leg as it dangles off the upper bed.

“I’m going to come up,” you warn, trying to tickle the bottom of his foot before he crosses his legs, smirking down at you. “And I will be so annoying.”

“Is that news?” he wonders, and you open your mouth wide in surprise, hearing a chuckle from the couple behind you.

“Babe. I called shots on the upper bunk.”

“You did not.”

“It’s a lot more fun up there. And I thought you’d like sleeping down there.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows kiss, his expression questioning as he asks, “What made you think that?”

Well, now that you think of it, your presumptions were flawed. You assumed he wasn’t too picky, always a deep and peaceful sleeper at home. Defeated, you shrug your shoulders, telling him, “You had a mattress on the floor when you moved into the apartment.”

“That’s… an impeccable argument. I can’t even respond to it.”

The sarcasm drips out of his voice like a damaged tap, and once he shifts to the wall, pressing his back against it, you understand your half childlike, half playful pleading won’t work. So you only tilt your head, squinting his eyes at him, and then drop onto the bed below him.

“Don’t you fart, though,” you tell him, registering a goofy laugh with a fond smile. It’s okay. Maybe tomorrow. Either way, it’s worse than not having him beside you at all.

Yoongi switches off the light, ready to sleep as he falls into his bed with a groan. It was a long day and you walked miles, so you understand his fatigue. You expect for them to snore within a moment, but to your astonishment, Jimin starts a conversation not a minute later.

“We were lucky with the weather. I bet it’s raining back at home.”

Oh… have you finally grown into the type of adults who smalltalk about the sun and the clouds? The precipitation and humidity?

Jungkook answers, “Closer to the equator. The weather is best over here in the fall.”

Then, Yoongi, “Hopefully it’s as nice at the beach, too.”

“It better be,” Jimin chimes in, “I’ve been looking forward to our game for ages. I’ll play in the rain if need be.”

“Oh god, can you imagine?” you add, switching to your left side, hands under your temple. You’ve been thinking about the game just as much — chaos with a big fat portion of craze. “We wouldn’t even be able to get up if it rained.”

“We’d get nowhere,” Jungkook confirms, and you imagine him nodding towards the ceiling, arms under his head.

“That’s what. Doesn’t it sound fun? Wouldn’t matter anyway… the rain would at least kill my competitive side, you know?” Jimin jests, and you already send a prayer above. Not for rain, but for bright sunshine; you cannot miss the ruthless, cut-throat battle that will emerge.

And as if you predicted it, knowing very well who strives for a win and who doesn’t, Jungkook challenges, “Your competitive side means nothing if you’re gonna lose anyway.”

“Dude. Be careful. There’ll be nothing but regret if we end up being on the same team,” Jimin says.

“True, true,” you hear Jungkook respond, just as Yoongi lets out an amused snicker, aligning with your muttered, “Now, that, I wanna see.”

The banter and chatter proceeds for another couple minutes, up to the point where Yoongi needs to shush the quartet. Your laughter ebbs down after his reprimands, morphing into content and tired sighs.

And once the conversation has more or less died, you wonder, “Do we need to sleep? We could just stay awake and talk all night.”

But your suggestion proves redundant — because barely two minutes later, your breathing evens out, calm as you finally drift away. Not a single word anymore. Jungkook rolls over his bed, casting a brief look at you, not quite seeing your face in the dark, but understanding that you’ve fallen asleep.

You can’t stay silent for this long; and you’re not moving. Jungkook clicks his tongue, fond but a tease as he jokes, “I drove all day and still she falls asleep first.”

Yoongi and Jimin’s laughs are cautiously quiet, exhausted, soon giving way to deep breaths like yours until they’ve fallen asleep, too.

Weirdly, it takes some time until Jungkook can join your land of dreams. There’s a strange yearning in his chest that he’s well used to by now; it thoroughly sucks to not have you by his side. And… is this too much?

The affection poured into and onto you, is he doing too much? Feeling too much? Why are his fingers itching and his chest not warm enough, despite the pleasant weather?

You’ve really done a number on him.

The minutes prove long, soon stretching to what he perceives as hours. Jungkook doesn’t know how much time has passed and he refuses to fish out his phone again; the light of the device will only postpone sleep, and he cannot use that for the trip tomorrow.

“Man…” Jungkook quietly complains, letting his left arm swing between the bed rails.

Sleep isn’t an entity to grace him just yet anyway; because as around an hour passes, he hears a sound from below. Sheets shifting, a light groan from you. You sigh audibly, soon going silent, and when he thinks you’re off again, he hears a couple seconds later—

“Kook?”

No, he must be insane. It must be insane how his heart stirs at your tiny, wispy voice. You wash over him like… relief.

“Baby,” he calls out in a whisper, once more moving to look at you — or the darkness below. “You’re awake?”

“Can’t sleep properly. I really hate sleeping in other beds…”

“Right? Me too.” He reaches out for you, hoping you’ll notice the movement, and when your soft fingers get ahold of two of his digits, he breathes out in gratification. “And… I miss you here.”

You hum, rubbing your thumb over his palm, mumbling, “Isn’t it ridiculous? How we can’t go a night like this.”

“Hmm…”

“I miss you, too.”

Patience is a virtue he hasn’t learned yet when it comes to you.

He could wait hours for a hall in the museum to fill. For a visitor to comment on his pieces. He could sit in a room with his father, attempting a conversation; could attempt his whole life to sway your mother’s thoughts. All possible.

But you… distanced from your touch and your lips, not feeling your breath as he does every night is…

Pretty damn shit.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out of your grip. He hears you mutter a small, “Huh?” as he moves, careful to not hurt himself in the dark.

For the smallest moments, he uses the light of his display to navigate through the limited space, never daring to turn on the flashlight to not wake the entire room. And once he’s touching the ground, agile as a cat, you understand what he’s trying to do.

Quietly, but inefficiently, you protest with just half a heart when he climbs into your bed, telling you to scoot. You say, “Uhm, I… Baby, I don’t know if it’s a good idea—”

But you don’t seem to have much of a say in this matter — because you’re soon outnumbered by Jungkook and his obsession with you, shifting on the bed until you’re nearly pressed against the wall.

He wraps an arm around your waist before the tight space can suffocate you, soon leaning back a little — close to rolling off the mattress? — and pulling you close. The embrace catches your breath more than the cramped area, but it stops your complaints, too.

Winding a little more, you soon find yourself breathing against his chest, a heartbeat right underneath. Your arm reflexively sneaks around him, hugging him close before he laughs and teases, “You were saying?”

“I… I was saying you feel so warm.”

“Mmmh,” he hums, towing you in impossibly close, planting a kiss on your head before resting his cheek against it, “you are, too.”

“Do I feel better than your bed up there?”

“A lot better.” His palm flattens over your back; the scent of his shampoo, his fabric softener and him dizzies you. “Makes me feel a bit less sorry about keeping you awake.”

“Don’t worry,” you sigh into his soft cotton shirt, feeling the lines of his pecs against your lips, “Am exhausted. I’ll fall asleep fast. Especially like this…”

“Oh… glad to be of service then.”

You nod, rubbing his shirt between your fingertips as he moves his hand up and down your lower back, just a little. He yawns against your hair; you know the telltale signs of a drifting mind.

The two of you have gotten used to this. It’s said that pressing something comforting against your chest, such as a pillow or stuffed toy, works wonders on an insomniac mind. You guess that’s what you are for each other.

Even when you’re not home. Even when the space barely suffices for one body.

Which, as you brood over his sudden presence next to you, reminds you—

“You wanted the upper bunk bed,” you tell him. Nothing more; he understands without you needing to elaborate.

He chuckles as quietly as possible to not wake your friends, his hand slipping under your shirt and feather lightly pinching your sides. Not enough to hurt, but enough to tickle you. You nearly yelp, muffling it against his clothes in time.

“Shut up,” he says, thumb running over where he nipped you. “Okay. Do you know why I wanted you to sleep down here?”

You smile. You’re not stupid. As your vision became blurry, your mind shutting just a while ago, the realisation dawned upon you as the seemingly last thought of the night.

“I think I do…” you admit. “I think I figured it out.”

Because.

Because you’ve fallen out of bed one too many times. Because of some days, when you weren’t nestled in his arms as you are now, not caged in solidly, overworked and stressed. Or when you let go of each other in the middle of the night.

And that’s when you rattled down the bed. Just once or twice!

You never got injured or anything, getting away with perhaps a tiny bruise. What was worse was the fond laughter you tolerated when you told him about it, or when he was there and realised. Worried sick, inspecting your body, but still shaking his head in amusement.

Chuckling as he pushed back your hair, but relieved when he found nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m not gonna risk your clumsy ass to fall off a bunk bed,” he says.

“There’s a raili—”

“Still. One never knows with you. In any case… you’re not getting hurt on vacation, okay?”

You could coo right here, right now. Whisper his name a million times in disbelief and absolute gratitude, melt into him, dampen his shirt. Jungkook is a thoughtful being, alright, but it’s insane that with you, he thinks half a dozen steps ahead.

Mind empty of a response as worthy as his, you settle on a joke, “Is that right? We’ll see about that once we play the game.”

You finish your sentence dramatically, and he answers with a breathy, “Yeah, yeah,” as he kisses your temple. Careful to keep his back off the ladder leading up to his bed, you keep him in your hug, soon detecting in a whisper, “I really mean so much to you.”

“Mhm… So very much.”

It’s too dark to see his expressions clearly; you see him move, see the white of his eyes a little. But even without it, you know he’s blended out the world when you look up at him. You know he’s staring back quietly.

You know what he’s feeling as the tip of his nose touches yours, the bangs of his growing hair grazing your forehead. And when the finger under your shirt draws circles on your skin, touching you so gently, you feel your heart in your throat, hear it in your ears.

Pumping, pumping hard when you see the silhouette’s mouth part before it arrives at yours. Kisses you tenderly. Doesn’t rush or force his tongue in, just lazily moving. 

He cradles your face a moment later, raising your head some more, tilting it as much as possible. The kiss is more like a sequence of innocent pecks, but maybe that’s why the moment feels so intimate.

Because there’s no impatience. No other sentiment but adoration.

As he moves back again, he doesn’t talk right away. Takes a deep breath. Then—

He brushes your tresses aside, away from your temple as his thumb rubs against it gently. His lips hover close to yours, and much like the ever-blooming tiger lily on his golden skin conveys, he whispers, “Love me?”

Your heart.

This treacherous thing — cries and flutters, punctured and whole at once. You’re constantly breathless and speechless, so you wonder how he manages to say, “Please love me, too.”

Doesn’t he know how easy that is? Doesn’t he know who he truly is, what his stardust of a soul is made of? That he was born to be loved. That he’s not responsible for those who do not, rather a ray of serene moonlight who doesn’t need to show anyone that he’s just that.

“No need to beg,” you tell him, “you’ll never need to beg.”

Another beat of silence. He’s smiling, you know. Keeping his heart at bay as much as you are guarding yours. Does he think the same way about you as you do about him?

Of course. Probably. In some sense, you were in the same sinking boat, surrounded by an overwhelming, troubled ocean of doubt; waves of self-hatred drowning you. You know exactly what it’s like to get used to being unloved by everyone; and then to learn to be loved again.

You clear your throat, feeling his body relax; your head returns to his chest, and you say, “You know. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but we could make it work. It’s not that tight—”

“In theory. But we wouldn’t sleep well, right?” he ponders.

Wrong. You soon prove him wrong, unpredictable as you are half of the time when you’re not being familiar to him like the back of his hand.

Because your words soon become slurred, silent not much after, your breathing calm and warm against his chest. Your tiny fist still holds onto his shirt, the blanket alternatively slipping either off him or you.

So he waits until your grip around him loosens. Then, presses a light kiss to your lips, carefully moving away and out of your bed. Ignoring how you hold onto him until the last moment, scared you might awaken again; murmuring in your sleep as you tend to do.

He gently rubs your fist until you uncurl your fingers around his shirt; if he doesn’t do this, he’ll stay here all night. Instead, he furrows his eyebrows in chagrin and yearning; and when your hands move back under your head, he finally bids the first day goodbye and climbs back up.

Eventually descending into dreams of you, too.

DAY 2

The air is much colder up here than you thought.

You can’t recall ever having been on a mountain before; considering your country’s geography, a very ordinary thing that you never really got to experience. Your parents were fans of beaches all over the nation and the globe; didn’t enjoy heights, but depths.

You knew that early on.

Satisfied, however, you hide your mouth in your jacket. You’re glad Eun talked you into packing a thicker jacket and gloves, giving half a dozen logical arguments like the amazing lawyer that she could be. It was fun, packing suitcases together via video calls.

But the wind still hits your ears harshly, and you curse as you get off the cable railway, “Damn it.”

Jimin rubs your arms from behind, the ecstasy clear as day as he cheers, “Come on, no pauses now! We finally made it.”

That you did. No turning back. You’ve wanted this for so long. So you follow the others, walking beside Eun. Her legs are slightly longer than yours, and her steps wider. She proceeds a little faster, so you soon hook your arm with hers, urging yourself to catch up.

You’re relieved when you reach a small platform overlooking not much but the mountain lift and all the stops till the ground. Down below, you recognise the entrance you bought your tickets at. 

Sometimes, along the descent of the mountain, you spot people hiking. They don’t take the lift; they trek up and down, with these cool hiking sticks of theirs.

Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t come with you. Or rather, they’ll arrive a bit after you. Namjoon rang up Jungkook just before you got ready to leave, asking for his apprentice’s time. Something about the gallery and the exhibit.

Yet, extremely sorry, Namjoon told him he could call back later, but Jungkook insisted on listening to what his mentor had to say, presuming it was urgent enough for an interruption in his vacation. And Taehyung stayed with him — partly to not leave him alone, and partly because he’s always dreamed of making an acquaintance with an art connoisseur like Namjoon.

Taehyung apparently has a big thing for art. The only reason Jungkook let him stay at all.

Because when you suggested the same, he rejected your idea without flinching once, prompting you to enjoy these valuable days instead of hanging around at the quiet hostel with him. It took some persuasion and a tender, “Angel, as much as I want you here, I won’t be able to talk to you anyway. I’ll be there in no time.”

So here you are now, content when cold but pleasant air caresses your face. You take in the high trees and the picturesque mountain range; somewhere in the far back, at the horizon, there’s another higher, snow-capped mountain.

And you look for a while, arms wrapped around your knees. Eun remains in a similar position, enjoying the moment; Yoongi and Jimin decide to bask in their joy by capturing the experience in snapped pictures.

Ten minutes later, your group decides to walk on, tramping up a short distance to a bridge Yoongi mentioned earlier. And you guess that’s where your serenity ends.

Because the bridge isn’t as short as you thought. Moves a little, mostly solid, but… holy shit, were you this high up all the time? They say don’t look down in moments like these, but you can’t help, and God, there’s an immeasurable distance between you and the ground and—

It’s not immeasurable. No, you’re an idiot. But you still can’t help it; stare down, gulp.

You reach to the railing with a careful hand. Why do they… how do they…

The others are doing it so easily. The other tourists. And Jimin; moving over it effortlessly, swaying a bit, but airing a sweet laugh. And then even Eun and Yoongi, initially struggling, make their way over, slower than Jimin but courageous nevertheless.

Okay… okay.

You push your phone extra deep into your bag, blinking before you take a deep breathe, repeating a mantra three or four times before you—

Scream.

The surprise of a new voice directly behind you is unwelcome, absolute horror in a moment like this. You flinch hard, reacting, barely hearing the “See?” over the wind before you slap the sudden hands off your shoulders. Your knees are shaking and you’re uncertain who the fingers belong to, but you’re still ready to fight.

The voice isn’t; the startled gasp reveals as much.

You turn, only to find your boyfriend’s eyes ripped open, lips parted. He puffs out a breath, equally frightened at your reaction before his expression turns apologetic. Baffled. Both at once as he exclaims, “Sorry! Sorry, baby.”

“Kook! Timing,” you blurt, scowling in distress, yet immediately holding onto his waist once you’ve grasped the reality enough.

“Angel…” he starts, looking into the hell below. “Are you scared of heights?”

No time to be sarcastic; you don’t have the breath to. So you admit, “A little.”

“I didn’t know,” he breathes, another apology in his words. He kisses your hair to soothe your worries; in some way, it works, even if not enough right now. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go or just stay here? We can stay here.”

His gaze is worried now, and he nods to reassure you, holding onto you. Behind him, Taehyung emerges, comprehending the situation and studying your countenances within the next three seconds until he asks, “All good?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook promises, “you can go ahead if you want.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung hums; doesn’t sound too sure about leaving the two of you here. “You need a hand? I can go ahead, Jungkook follows.”

Uhh…

“Is that a good idea?” you mumble.

“It could be.”

Could be? And if it isn’t?

Then again. You’re here for a reason. You’d be disappointed with yourself if you just stood here, ruining the chance not only for yourself, but Jungkook, too. You look at him, and he shrugs his shoulders, signalling that it’s up to you.

So you decide, “No, I’ll go. I came here for this, and I don’t know when the next opportunity will arise. Fears exist to be conquered!”

“Hear, hear!” Taehyung cheers, just as Jungkook praises, “See? That’s my girl!”

It helps you, their way to motivate. Cautiously, you place a hand in each of their palms, moving one step after another. They’re determined to take care of you, constantly checking if you’re okay. And it works at first. But.

The bridge seems endless, and the fright yearns to return to you bit by bit. Halfway through, your surroundings look scary enough to put you off balance; you hate that you’re not holding onto anything solid, basically standing freely.

If one falls, all of you do — which, in truth, is sheer impossible. The railing is high enough. But your brain isn’t quite computing properly right now. You let go of Taehyung’s hand, grabbing the railing, but still clutching Jungkook’s grip.

“Go ahead,” your shaky voice commands; and Taehyung nods this time, no other choice left. “It’s okay.”

“I’m right here if you need me,” he vows before walking on.

Jungkook puts an arm around your waist, a human safety rope. His voice is so insanely steady as he spurs you on, “Imagine it’s the amusement park, yeah? Wanna guess the remaining steps? I think it’s… uh… thirty more till the end.”

You exhale, then inhale. Look in front of you instead of down, blinking rapidly before you let out a trembling laugh and counter, “Are you kidding… Looks like a hundred.”

He chuckles with you as you suck in another breath, straightening your back, fixing your gaze on a big rock on the other side. Thinking about how such a vast number of people take these steps every day offers you some courage. Leaves you brave.

So this must be safe, right? Logically seen. You gulp, and then, with your full chest, estimate, “Forty-five! I say forty-five steps.”

And then, you count together. You’re amused when Jungkook curses as you reach twenty without the end anyhow approaching. And just when you take your thirtieth step, he shakes his head in defeat, telling you, “Should know better than to compete with a munchkin.”

You guffaw awkwardly, howling over the wind, “This is actually fun,” not noticing that he’s barely holding you anymore when you jump over to the mainland again.

“What a journey, huh?” Jungkook praises, patting your back. “I’m proud of you. It’ll only get easier from here.”

And it does. As you move on, you soon reach another platform, spiral stairs leading up to the top. It looks a little like the remainder of an old stone tower, half broken, not too high. The stairs were clearly broken; lighter, fresher patches indicate that they were evened out.

Okay, you can do this much, at least.

In fact, you’re the first to climb up, Jungkook treading on your heels, fingers still entwined with yours. And up there, your mouth drops — the view stuns you, frozen in place. The wind blows more fiercely here, but the moment is worth the strong, cold pull of the gust.

Jimin, having reached much before you, must have seen you, because you hear him say, “I know, right?”

Everyone is scattered up here, leaning against the stone wall protecting you from falling. Other tourists are eternalising the moments in pictures, through talking and kissing. Tae and Eun are pointing into the distance, Jimin and Yoongi going around, laughing.

Holy shit. The euphoria filling each one of you is inevitable. Poignant somehow.

You’re above the foggy clouds.

In the far-flung distance, you see the turquoise ocean, merely a day away from wading through its waves; levitating on the sparkling water; thinking back to now and how numerous the miles between are.

And the forests — they’re thick, vast. You wonder what animals inhabit them. Bears? Wolves? Birds you’ve never seen before? Deers and does that have the same eyes as him?

Even the mountain range looks like the sea from here. Is this odd to say? Like high waves, green and dark blue and white and cloudy. So many valleys and so many peaks. Some of them hidden behind the clouds like before.

The birds are flying so close to your heads. And the sun isn’t at its highest point anymore either. You see the horizon coloured in a yellow-ish, orange-ish hue, indicating the nearing sunset.

This was your goal anyway. You wanted to come here late because of these very colours, occupying yourselves with other sights in the morning and the early afternoon. Because you wanted to see what nature bestows upon you.

The mountain will soon be closed for tourists, and in less than an hour, you’ll be heading back down. But you don’t feel any hurry. Nothing matters.

“This…” you finally whisper as you catch yourself, “makes me wanna cry.”

You put your hands on the chest-high stone wall. Jungkook’s arms make themselves home around your body, pulling you in, pushing him close, telling you, “Then cry. Isn’t that what catharsis is about?”

“It’s just so pretty.”

“It is.”

“Like… is this really our world, Jungkook?” You shake your head against him, ruining your hair as his chin moves against your scalp. “The same we saw a few days ago. Those cars and the pressure and the rushing people. All the stress we endure. Or even, our cosy apartment.”

You fill your lungs with the crisp air, more thankful for it than ever. “There’s so much more.”

“There is, right? A lot more,” he confirms.

“Look at this,” you say, chin gesturing towards no particular spot ahead, “wherever there aren’t people to fuck things up, there’s peace like this.” You sniffle; whether due to the temperature or sentiments, you can’t say. “What if we became nomads?”

His laugh is as sudden as your statement, differing so vastly from the rest of the poetry you spat.

He concludes, “I think you’ll really like it back home.” You’re confused until you understand he means his hometown; to that, you nod enthusiastically. “There are so many wonders out there like this one. I want to show you the prettiest places and the prettiest things.”

“…Do you already have something in mind?”

“Of course I do,” he responds matter-of-factly, tapping his finger against your stomach. “I just won’t tell you yet.”

“Ha. I wouldn’t want you to.”

You swallow when he moves in, kissing your cheek, his breath pleasantly warm against your ear. You wait for a second, indulge in the feeling, permitting yourself to believe you’ve transcended this realm and entered another.

But as you hear everyone else’s voices again, laughing and joking and teasing, you remember you’re still very much here, on the same Earth you know. With your everyday thoughts and lives. Which reminds you…

You turn to the side to look at him, his face in immediate proximity to yours. You ask, “What did Namjoon want?”

“Oh, just needed to discuss a couple things. Exhibition.”

“Sounded super urgent, though.”

“I mean, it kinda was,” he answers, catching the strands of hair that the breeze blows into your face, tucking them back, “he needed a status update. We also spoke about the style the gallery collector likes and—”

“Wait. You’re still sticking to your own style, though, right?”

His heart thumps, violently enough to nearly drop out of his chest. When trailblazing artists, already enjoying a remarkable reputation, preach about the relevance of support, this is what they must mean.

Behind someone who does something significant for the world in any way, there’s somebody soothingly rubbing their backs in bad times. Embracing them in success. Pushing them forward, lending them bravery.

You.

You’re who they must be talking about. Unshakably by his side.

“Of course, angel,” he says, “I think having your signature style is always the most important aspect.”

“Good. You’re the coolest, Kook. Just so you know.” His smile is telling, rendering the humble click of his tongue that follows ineffective. He holds you tight, lips close to your temple as you say, “I still don’t know what you’re painting.”

“I will never show you my paintings until an exhibit rolls around. Mostly because you’re my muse. My girl.”

He must think that this doesn’t wreck you inside out. Puts you back together, pieces of puzzles reunited that you didn’t know were lost. You feel something new all the time; is this possible? Surely, there can’t be this many emotions anyway, right?

If you didn’t feel it with your own heart, you wouldn’t believe it…

“But…” you begin, “you’ll let me see those that I don’t inspire, right?”

“Of course. Always.”

Breathing comes easy to you up here. So you do it again. And again. Taking in the oxygen, so entirely different from the one in the city; and soon, you mutter, more to yourself than to anyone else, “This really is pretty.”

He doesn’t answer. There’s no answer to this. Whatever his mind is conjuring and his heart trying to convey doesn’t just have to do with the nature stretching in front of you. Of course it’s gorgeous. Of course, your world’s unique.

Of course, it’s home, and home feels warm, pleasant, familiar.

There’s no doubt that the sight and the moment evoke something rare in him. But he’s seen these things before; when he was younger, he was used to this. What he’s never been used to is people like you.

Those who match nature's fierce, distinctive personality. Those who grow carefully and selflessly; like the trees offering shelter to birds. Or the bees serving as pollinators to provide nourishment for so many creatures out there.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away because the right response doesn’t come to him immediately. But when he does, he collects his breath, and then voices—

“I love you, angel.”

Your heart skips one or two or three beats. You look at him again.

“People climb mountains, watch the world from above, need to see forests to figure out how good life can be. And that it can be worth living,” he says, his voice velvety soft. “But I feel that way with you every day, you know? I do… I do love you so much.”

You want to say something. You want to pour your heart out. Keep staring at his gentle eyes, serving all confessions at once. But interruptions are expected; so you’re briefly displeased but not surprised when you’re pulled out of your daydream.

Taehyung is gathering the crew behind you, asking for a group picture. You’re soon caught in a short, harmless commotion until everyone has collected at a spot, and you stand in position, yet not before gracing Jungkook one more look.

Mouthing something.

And he sees. In this split moment, he sees and smiles.

If he could be honest… whatever, those mountains. Whatever, them and the adrenaline that comes with them. All the natural phenomena. You’re enough, too — a force of nature, too.

He doesn’t need any mountain peaks when you bring a new high every day.

The lift is crowded as you make your way down again. They stuffed it to the brim, much until a stranger urged staff to stop pushing people in. You’re moved to one end of the cabin while you watch Eun and Jungkook forced into the opposite corner.

Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung will step into the next, and you’ll wait at the exit.

Since it takes barely five minutes to reach the bottom, you don’t fight for a spot next to Jungkook and Eun. Instead, you look down into the depths, waiting until the vehicle finally finishes its dive.

The chatter in the booth is peaceful, but plenty enough for you to blend out any words the other two utter to each other. In that sense, you don’t hear it when Eun says, “You’re both glued to each other, huh?”

Jungkook’s wide, wondering eyes ogle into hers, surprised as he asks, “Is that… bad? Too much?”

“Well, definitely much,” Eun laughs, “but very sweet, too. By all means, don’t change.”

“Ah. Ahhh, that answers one of my questions at least.”

Eun looks at him in curiosity, though entertained and maybe even a little baffled that she’s ever been the object of his attention in any way. So she voices, “Oh? Which one’s that?”

“Just confirms that I have your blessings.”

Eun catches his admission as a popular line from a million movies before, immediately puffing out a laugh. She didn’t anticipate this, out of all things; blinking, somewhat flattered even.

“My blessings?” she repeats. Her smile, combined with the appearing crease between her eyebrows, dips her expression in something that reveals, “Are you joking?”

Which is presumably why Jungkook’s thought shrinks the very next moment, pupils shaking just a little as he mutters, “Well… yeah?”

“Okay. And what if I didn’t give them to you?”

She raises her chin as if in arrogance, but the immediate giggle reveals the playful joke. She shakes her head again, patting his bicep, smitten when his speechless self voices, “Uhm…”

“I’m just messing with you,” she clarifies, watching one corner of his lips rise. “But also, why is it needed, you know? Would you leave her if I didn’t bless you two? Or stop loving her?”

Jungkook’s surprised about the L-drop; of all people, Eun must have known from the very beginning that he loved you. There’s no bewilderment in her voice; she emits the word casually.

He blinks, albeit discarding all preceding hesitation immediately as he admits, “No.”

“Exactly,” Eun agrees, wiggling a finger with a wise, subtle nod on the side, “you don’t need my blessings. If you’re sure about her, you don’t need anyone’s. I’ll trust the process.”

That’s it.

No ominous warnings, no playful best-friend-threats. She trusts in his certainty as much as he does; and where would the two of you be, what would all of this be if he didn’t? No. Not a trace of doubt.

Not if every smile matching yours expresses a silent I adore you. Or if every exhale against your shoulder reveals a promising I want you.

Not if everything he’s still about to do breathes a whisper of a soft I’ve been thinking of you all this time.

“But,” Eun continues; Jungkook’s ears perk up, “if you need to know. I do adore you two together. I know I tease you and stuff, but I’ve never seen a cuter couple.”

“Ah. Even cuter than you and Tae?”

“Much. We’re not the sappy kind. Or well, he is, but… you’re straight up sugar. Makes me sick.”

Jungkook laughs, spying over his shoulder, seeing a glimpse of you as you look out of the window in wonder. “Well, she makes up most of that sweetness.”

“Maybe. God,” Eun exclaims as if agitated, and when he looks at her again, her teeth are gritted, eyes squinting hard before she opens them again. Adding, “Sometimes I wanna grab her face and squish her.”

“The most precious, right?”

“Isn’t she?”

Somebody to kill for. Somebody with a face that doesn’t fit tears. The world did you wrong, but you exist to be happy. You’re deserving of it; you could be the most enthusiastic soul if the universe allowed you.

No, fuck it. Fuck the universe.

He’s here, right? He can do it, too. Guard you from harm; keep your smile plastered there.

And as if reading his mind, Eun continues, “I’ve always hated seeing her sad. She deserves the world, and shit always hit the fan when she was so close to finding the joy I always wanted her to have. Does this sound dumb?”

No, it doesn’t. In fact, Eun’s very truth pricks his heart like a fine needle. Because in a sense, he was also once a reason for stripping you off that happiness; but he’s made up for it. He so deeply hopes he made up for it.

“It sounds just right,” he says.

“I don’t know if you already know, but you won’t meet anyone purer. Not saying this as her best friend… it’s true.” She shrugs a shoulder, as if to dismiss the corny statements; she truly isn’t a mawkish one. “So it’s a big deal to say I want you close to her.”

Her eyes shift away from him and straight to you; there’s a gap between all the people, allowing a glance at you. And when Jungkook follows Eun’s gaze, you seem to feel it somehow, his eyes like Cupid’s arrows in your back until you meet their attention.

Your lips promptly form the most saccharine smile, an unsure hand lifting; somebody next to you immerses themselves in the brief interaction, looking to and fro between Jungkook and you.

And Jungkook waves back, watching your chest rise and fall in satisfaction rooted in nothing but the untroubled moment. Right there, you hold not one but two hearts hidden. His bleeding organ thumps, but it’s as if he hears it from where you stand.

Slowly, stare dropping to his feet, he nods, love clumping up his throat, a barrier for the words wanting to escape. Instead, he basks in the things Eun said, repeating them over and over in his head until he merely susurrates—

“Thank you, Eun.”

“Here you are.”

Jungkook is soft-spoken, his voice mellow; a textbook definition of a lullaby. Which is possibly why you’re so surprised when it breaks the fall air so loudly, echoing through the empty space.

You flinch before you reflexively turn, watching his body tower on the other side. The lights of the swimming pool illuminate his face, and even from here, you recognise the bright, gorgeous, twinkling eyes immediately. They’re not hidden behind his bangs this time; his damp hair is pushed back.

Maybe you could focus on that unusual sight of his forehead if there wasn’t the entire rest of him. Hands in the pockets of the open bathrobe he’s sporting, mere boxers hiding his most important parts, but the rest of him naked. Tits out, abs sharp.

You flash him a smile from where you’re floating, pushing yourself off the edge and swimming towards him. You see his reflection in the water, blurry, moving, somewhat funny. As you near him, he drops to his knees, crouching for a second before dipping his legs into the pool. Sitting down, remaining there, waiting for you.

Getting ahold of his calf, you pull yourself in for the last few feet. He reaches out without hesitation as your shoulders collide with his legs underwater; gentle fingers tuck your soaked hair behind your ears.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

“Oh, I just got here a couple minutes ago. Making the best out of the remaining time.”

“Yeah. I just showered for a few minutes, too.” He pauses. Looks around the vacant pool save from the two of you, humming before he asks, “Hey, do you need a moment to yourself?”

Your eyes widen as you look up, his expression suddenly cautious, as if he’s intruding your personal space. Curiously, you merely voice, “What?”

“Just. I know there’s been a lot of interaction these days, so I get it if you need a break.” His finger moves to his temple, drawing circles in the air. “My battery almost ran out, too.”

Oh. Oh…

If there was a way to hide your flattered smile, you still wouldn’t. God, if he knew how rare of a person he is. How uniquely humane. If he knew that not everybody’s ready to offer space despite knowing that somebody requires it at times.

You know enough people who put the blame on themselves; deem themselves victims. If you can’t be there for them, it’s something they have done wrong. Not the fact that you need peace, a moment to yourself.

Jungkook knows. Jungkook understands.

Has seen you run out of energy and crave a quiet evening. But you immediately shake your head, touched, “Oh, no. I actually knew you’d find me here. Hoped for it.”

“Is that right?” he says, relieved, grazing your cheek as you put your chin onto his leg. Muscly, thick thighs, yet like a pillow.

You nod. Look up to him properly, a little distracted, very mesmerised. It’s outrageously insane, how he’s perched there like he’s allowed to. As if it doesn’t clearly state in your book that it’s illegal to look this way, that it should be retaliated somehow.

“It’s been a while since we were alone,” you tell him, “feels like we didn’t have many moments to ourselves.”

“Then, this is convenient, isn’t it? An empty pool in the evening. Very cliché.”

You laugh a little, tilting your head and ignoring the goosebumps that arise when he touches the sweet spot behind your ear. Hands exploring. You respond, “Others are probably too tired to be here. Or too cold. We’re the only crazy ones here.”

“It’s warm enough, though,” he argues, sniffling, as if to contradict his point — there’s something funny about it. “I bet it’s wet and grey back home.” A click of his tongue, watching you nod in agreement; after a beat of silence, he wonders, “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

Exhilaration inundates your chest without a warning, as is common with this very conversation topic. You can barely fathom that you talked about this for weeks straight, and now you have only a few hours left until the awaited day finally breaks in.

Jungkook must be seeing the change in your pupils, because he smiles when you do, nodding with an open mouth as you cheer jubilantly, “A lot! It’ll be a long day, we’ll be exhausted, but… got a feeling it’ll be worth it all.”

“Yeah, but like. I think we can rest a lot after that, though,” he explains, flashing a wink to your astonishment. “My childhood bedroom is cosy.”

“I’d hope so. We won’t be leaving it.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes in jest before he agrees, “Of course not. Duh. Except for the wedding.”

“Except for the wedding… sure,” you repeat, as if reluctantly.

As you put both your arms on top of his thighs, Jungkook uses the moment to let his stare dawdle; right there where yours lingered two minutes ago. His head moves slowly, taking in the wide, endless view behind you.

The sky above and the stars attached to it. The tiny mountains far away and the forests next to them. The world looks as wide as it truly is, stunningly bedazzling; infinite from where he sits here with your touch so close.

There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that, despite the crazy vastness of the world, it’s you who found your way to him, inches away. If luck exists, this must be it, right?

But he doesn’t say any of it — don’t you already know? What if he lovebombs too much, frightens you away. So instead, his fingers shift to your face, much cooler to the touch than before, and he queries, “Aren’t you cold?”

You shake your head, however, stating, “Not yet. Or… maybe a little. You can help me warm up?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow in disbelief; something about the way he looks down at you with such power lets something in you loose that floods your entire body. You wouldn’t mind if he…

“Isn’t this another cliché?” he asks.

“How so?”

“You’ll make me jump in, huh? Or no, wait. You’re a brat,” he establishes as if remembering just now, rethinking his choice of words. “No… you’ll pull me in.”

“What? I won’t.”

“How do I know that, though?”

“I mean, technically, you don’t, and yes, I realise that doesn’t help,” you blabber, tone shifting when he shakes his head with a laugh, “but, you did just shower. I wouldn’t want you to waste more time showering afterwards.”

He looks sceptical to no end; squinting his eyes, biting his lower lip, furrowing his eyebrows — the whole package. Leaning in, he lets you know, “I don’t trust you this once, but…”

And that’s where his sentence ends. The words unspoken are replaced by another movement closing the gap between the two of you. He grabs your chin, moving your head up, bending his back enough to draw closer to your lips.

The phantom touch and his warm breath cause a strange, crackling sound somewhere in your brain — a bulb going out, your mind breaking. Shutting down. But your body lights up as he cradles your face, every single inch of your skin craving his all.

The knowledge about his affection and that he yearns for you like no other man on Earth blurs your reality, as if you don’t belong into a utopian world like this. As if you’re from another corner of the multiverse, incredibly lucky by accident.

Weird, weird how all of these thoughts trigger disbelief and thorough rapture in you, but how empty-headed you are at the same. Almost enough to fully lose yourself until—

The man leans back, intentionally teasing you, just a little but enough for you to fall out of your immersion. You chase his lips for a second, long enough to make him laugh. But as you find your composure, looking at the shit-eating grin, you land a decision.

“Unfair,” you say, pouting, predicting for him to coo, which occurs just a moment later.

You remain at your spot, not a lot of options either way as he still holds your face. Then wait. See him get a hold of himself before he mutters, “My pretty angel. Pouty little sweetheart of mine, hm?” twice, then thrice and then closes in again.

Thumbs skim the apples of your cheek, nose rubbing against yours, his own scrunched. He looks so happy with himself, but so charmed by you, too, squishing your face as if handling cuteness-aggression.

Calls you plenty of pet names as he kisses your nose, your cheek, your earlobe and then moves in for an actual kiss.

Only this time, no matter how much you yearn for his lips, rosy and wet and sweet and tender — you can’t let him beat you. So you prepare for the retaliation you considered before, and just as new goosebumps arise on your arms, wanting the kiss, you suppress the desire and—

“Fu—”

The curse falls out of him suddenly, just a second after he closes his eyes and you use the moment of weakness to put your hands at the back of his neck. Pulling him in without a warning, watching him lose balance and splash into the pool.

He struggles a little underwater before he breaks the surface; hands reach for you with an intent to revenge, but you dodge him. He gasps, shaking his head, going through the trouble of wiping the water off his eyes before opening them.

You swim away a little, carefully, just to be sure; watching him cough a bit before he laughs. He can’t help but scoff, more curses falling out of him, but never towards you. Only a reprimanding, “Angel, you’re— you brat." Another cough. "You’re too much.”

And as his eyes finally land on you, he immediately charges for you, jaw clenched, teeth gritted, but pure amusement gracing his features. You try to get away, but he’s faster. Moves in the water as he strips himself off the bathrobe.

The image makes you choke.

How ethereal yet sinful of a moment. Tempting as he pulls it off his strong shoulders, revealing the bulging bicep, throwing the bathrobe to the side with an absolute indescribable, fiery aura.

Teeth pull at his lower lip before they instantly release it. Then the tongue, running over glistening lips, eyes hooded, the bathrobe sitting where he did without him even regarding it. Like a villain who sets a house on fire and then walks away without looking, badass to the core.

Fuck, he’s broad. And fuck, he’s coming right for you.

You try to flee, hysterically laughing, probably too loud; but he’s a fast swimmer, arms soon around your waist, wrapping around you, tugging you in. He whispers into your ear, “Talking about clichés, baby, huh?”

As he holds you there, you swallow some water, spitting it out right away before you answer, “Well… there’s a reason why they’re clichés.”

“Not wanting to waste my time showering, my ass.”

“You’re saying it sounds like a bad idea?” you whisper, breathless as he kisses your shoulder, his soft voice muttering a little, “What?” before you clarify, “Showering with me?”

“Nah. Stop planting this thought in my head,” he says, lips continuing at your neck, kissing it gently first before he morphs the touch into a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

You try to stay afloat, but god, you’ll drown if he keeps that up. But then he adds, much to your already existing misery, “Stop or I swear, we won’t even make it to the damn shower. Understood?”

“Beast—”

“You say as if you don’t know me already. Don’t you know?” he asks, pausing, kiss moving to your jaw. “That I get like this with you?”

“I… I do, so well. Not even this is surprising to me.”

You press yourself into him harder, feeling the bulge hardening below, right against your thigh. Your hand drops from his shoulder to his slim waist, further down until it gives his hard-on the slightest of touches. He groans; gives you a head tilt as a warning.

Then kisses your cheek. The corner of your lips; tickles you, pinches your waist. You engulf him a bit more, trying not to pull the two of you underwater, swimming and floating. It’s hard, though, and harder even when he tickles you again.

He must understand, because as you push him away, swimming away a couple feet, he doesn’t tow you back in. Lets you go as your vision blurs, the movements of your arms hectic enough to push more water into your eyes.

You dip below the surface for a second, regaining control, and when you’re up again, you hear his voice farther away, urging, “Come on.”

And once you see him again clearly, he’s already wading to the edge where you stood when he scared you. Right where the view to the town is the best, the pool and roof separated from the depths by a high glass wall.

You follow slowly, stroking for a moment — but it doesn’t take you long to pause again halfway through. Gliding, you watch his arms coming up and settling on the edge, muscular and mountainous like the range far away. Hair wet, water drops drip onto his already doused back.

And in front of him, a lake you couldn’t see from the other side of the pool.

Then, the mountains, like the one you went on. A village and fields and up above, a painting of stars. Millions and millions of them. Sparkling, alive, dead, moving, closer, farther… burning and bright. Reflecting in the lake, along with the moon.

His head moves to the side, probably looking for you; but you don’t move yet, just admiring the side profile for a little longer. Gorgeous, lips formed as if drawn, a clean-cut, razor sharp jaw. Golden back, broad.

As he peeks over his shoulder again, doe eyes searching for you, you finally swim towards him the moment he pleads, “Come, baby.”

And you do. Put your hands on his shoulders again, kissing his back, his neck, his shoulder blade before you settle right next to him. Imitating his position.

He says, “One could almost forget that we’re leaving in two hours. Ahh, I want to stay here.”

Right. Your group decided to check out in the late evening tonight — an exception at this hostel — to make the most of the day on the mountain and at dinner. But in a while, you’ll set out for your new destination. The beach calls for you.

You’ll check in late at night over there, and then remain at the new hotel — no hostel this time — until the day after tomorrow.

“Yeah. Just a bit more,” you say, sighing before you let him know, “By the way… I do feel a lot warmer now.”

“Good,” he says, although you don’t miss the beguiled smile he flashes as he looks away, “anything for you to not get sick.” He nudges your elbow with his. “Not before the big day.”

No, not the big day. If anything, you’re even more overjoyed over it than tomorrow. And nervous — oh, so nervous. You don’t think you’ll feel any different until the day rolls around.

What will happen at the wedding? What’s the atmosphere like in a smaller gathering? What does the magic of such a place elicit? It must be so different from any event in the city.

Could it make you fall in love with him with further desperate urgency? Seeing him standing there, admiring you in your dress, thoughts whirling as the couple of the night promises each other eternity. Does the romantic serenity of a wedding make hearts of those in love burst more?

No. You don’t think it’ll make you fall for him harder — because you don’t need a wedding for that.

A moment like this suffices.

Yet. As you stare ahead, fixing your eyes on the clouds, you remember something. Curious as you think back to the first day and ask, “Hey. What did Jimin mean when he said I should be excited for the wedding? What does he know?”

Jungkook sighs, shaking his head at your friend’s slip-up. He smirks, and then says, “Well, you’ll see at the wedding, right?”

“…Jungkook,” you challenge, and he looks at you so innocently, hiding whatever secret he shares with Jimin. But you don’t fall for it, ideas already brewing in your mind; one blurted as you ask, “Did you get me something?”

But he’s unfazed — a good actor. “Wait up,” he says, “if you’ve got any theories, keep them to yourself, though! You’re too smart for me.”

“C’mon, as if.” You wait. Wait a bit more, pupils shaking, just slightly distracted when he frees your cheek off your hair again, giving you a chaste peck. “Wait. Oh.”

He chuckles, a little lost in you as he copies, “Oh?”

“Jeon Jungkook… are you proposing?”

And that’s when he breaks into a laugh. A loud one, Jungkook-esque, sweet and genuine, with his eyes nearly closed, mouth open wide. So, so enchanting as he says, “I did not expect that. But sure, that’s what it is.”

“Well, that cancels it out.”

“Oh, baby…” He pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, moving your head to look at him, kisses you again, just for a fleeting second. “You’re so cute. So, so cute. I love your cute ass so much.”

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies.

They never cease. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this word. You don’t think there’s a way to get used to Jeon Jungkook confessing his love — his love — for you.

Ugh, he drives you mad. Into absolute insanity.

Sucks you out of breath, your heart palpitations reasoned in him. Your body craves him; not cold anymore at all. Tingling and wanting.

Starved for him, you look into his dark eyes, intrigued by the wet bangs, and with all the patience you can muster, you finally whisper, “Let’s go and hurry to that damn hotel. Hm?”

DAY 3

You love packing your bags, but you hate reorganising them. Like, stuffing back dirty clothes because there’s nowhere else for them to go, changing your initial order. 

You won’t empty your suitcase for that one remaining day anymore; you’ll only be here for another night anyway.

But you want to separate the worn stuff from the clean one. Thankfully, your suitcase is spacious enough; after all, there’s no chance in hell you’re having your soon-to-be-messy swimsuit reside right next to your resplendent dress.

Yawning as you rummage through your things, you shoot a fleeting glance at the ticking clock at the wall. It’s only 8 o’clock in the morning. Breakfast has already started, but you and the others longed to sleep in, agreeing on a 9 AM meal.

But for some reason, the two of you already awoke about half an hour ago; nevermind that today’s schedule doesn’t begin before noon.

For some time, you merely lay on your sides of the bed, enjoying each other’s company, brief kisses here, modest touches there — until you decided to make yourselves useful. Still tired, yet unable to fall back into sleep, being productive was all you could do.

Albeit, you’re distracted. Your mind keeps drifting, your heart still pounding thinking about the shower last night, taken right as you checked in and found your room. Not as tired from the busy day and the two-hours-drive to the hotel anymore when he touched you.

You still feel the ghost touch of his palm around your neck; glistening lips exploring your cheek and your jaw.

And… there are bruises on your leg somewhere, reminiscent of when he dragged you into bed, keeping your thighs apart with a grip passionately aggressive. Loving yet brutal. Uttering admissions that still coat your flesh with goosebumps.

Shit, are you grateful for the proper room. All to yourselves at last.

You cover your naked thigh. The oversized shirt barely hides his effect on you, but he seems rather distracted anyway. Of course he is — whenever he spies the lavender dress, like now, he becomes one hell of a goner.

He fishes it out by ruining some of your tidiness, the folded top and two shorts falling out as he pulls the dress from underneath them. You complain, “Hey!”

But he’s still examining the gown, shaking his head once again as he did the last few days whenever he caught a glimpse of it. You still remember his reaction when you first brought it home, presenting it to him but not yet putting it on.

You assured him you looked hot in it beyond hell, but that he’d have to wait to actually see you wrapped in it.

His eyes were still wide, alright. Mouth drooling. And you understand — when you first laid eyes on it, you knew it was made to be yours: soft, pastel pink hue. Dreamy and ethereal. Shit, you can’t wait to wear it.

Apparently, he can’t either.

Because he declares, “You’re gonna be so fucking pretty in this.”

“You told me.”

“And I’ll keep doing so. My god, I’ll need to keep an eye on you all night!”

You laugh. “Ah? Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder, explaining matter-of-factly, “Some of my friends there are still single. Gotta shield you from their shit. I mean, they loyally respect me, but then again… it’s you.”

“Oh, oh,” you voice, tutting, “and the girls? Are some of them single, too?”

“Well, I guess so, but—”

“Nothing but. I’ve seen you in a suit before, mister. What if some of them are girls from your high school? What if they had a crush on you? Fuck it, they all probably did,” you ramble, and he listens, lips twitching; he forces the laugh back. “No, you’re sticking by my side that night, Jeon.”

You raise a finger, wiggling it like a warning, blabbing the most ridiculous, “No running away with other chicks.”

“As if, you idiot,” he jests, “even if I got shitfaced as heck and you carried me home and I didn’t realise it was you? And you pretended to be somebody else — I’d still tell you that I need to go fetch my girlfriend.”

You cover your mouth as laughter fills the air; you’re sure your eyes are sparkling at the fantasy, and your voice changes, euphoric to an unknown extent as you say, “Oh my god. I so want to witness that one day. I’m gonna try to get there.”

“I believe you. What else will you be wearing? This? Wait,” he asks, picking out a silk and lace lingerie from the side; baby pink. But you snatch it out of his hands as he adds, “Is this part of your attire?”

“Well, now you ruined a perfect surprise.”

“What! I don’t think I did, though? Wait for my reaction. It won’t be any less than you expect.”

You smack your lips in faux disappointment, but in truth, you get it very well. Seeing him always feels new to you, too.

You brush your hand across the fluffy carpet as he eyes the dress once more, waiting until he’s folded it neatly again, putting it into your suitcase. Then, he leans against the bed, observing as you get back to work.

Your lips open, pouting a bit. You give the sweetest, most genuine reactions; how you form an Oh with your mouth when you like something you brought. Or how disgusted you look when you’re reminded of your two-days-old clothes again.

You mutter, “Gonna have to ask your mom if she’s okay with me using your washing machine.”

“She will be, for sure.”

“I’ll even hang them to dry myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm! Shit, Jungkook. I’m so excited!” you exclaim, fingers moving fast over your stuff, and he keeps watching. “I wanna tattle about you with your mom! And I can’t wait to meet Ria, either. She sounds so cool and—” You peer up at him, and when you catch him smiling, you wonder, “What?”

“Nothing, just…”

He shrugs another shoulder, already moving to close your suitcase. You watch with an innocent curiosity in your eyes, hands on your knees as he pushes it away. He reaches for your wrists to pull you closer until you’re between his legs, your own crossed, obliging wordlessly.

Then, he speaks again, “Can you kiss me? Really wanna kiss you.”

He always wants to kiss you. And staring at these rosy, pretty lips of his, arched so prettily, you don’t think you fare any better.

So you’re walking on air when his hands settle on your waist to tickle you, forcing you to relocate them down to your hips. You ask, “Do you ever get enough?”

“Hmm… Do I look like I do?"

“I mean. Do you really just want to kiss me, baby?” you inquire, but he’s already onto pecking your lips, pulling at them. You place your arms around his neck. “Your eyes look just like they did yesterday.”

“Ah, really?” A featherlight kiss on your neck. “So I won’t have my wish granted?”

“You… You’re stupid,” is all you say before you prove him wrong — diving in, locking your lips, moving them slowly against his, in unison.

You tilt your head immediately. Kiss him deeper, seeking his hair. His hands wander to your back, and you arch it when he hauls you closer. Your tongues come into motion at the very same time, a touch intense enough for him to breathe a sigh that you feel, that you hear.

And before you know it, you’re moving further; straddling him. He pushes your shirt up, only to the small of your back; the other hand moves down to your ass, nothing on you but your underwear. And considering it’s a string, not even that matters.

He has free reign to your rear, squeezing and slapping lightly. At which you lean back, breathless, giggling a little as you watch him move back in — trying to catch another kiss, eyes drooping and lips parted.

But when he realises you’re pausing, not granting him what he needs, he looks up into your eyes. You say, “Thought so. That’s,” you touch his hand over your ass, “what your eyes said. Even after you wrecked me just last night, huh?”

“Sorry,” he mutters with a grin — but his expression soon changes. Back once more against the bed, he promises, “I… if you don’t want to, we don’t have to though. I’m okay with just organising our stuff or chilling.”

Oh, the way he touches your heart…

You blink, affection in your pupils reflecting in his. You coo, and then call, “Oh, baby…”

“No, seriously. Whatever you’re comfortable with, my love.”

“I’m… I’m comfortable with you, you know? If I ever feel like not doing something or disagreeing with you… I’ll be honest with you.”

He silences for a moment. Keeps gaping at you. Then, “Do you feel like you can?”

But no matter how deep his insecurities are, your answer is immediate, “Always.” Swift pause. “Kook, I— I know you still fear I could distance myself from you. I see it, but… I won’t. As long as you’re willing to stay, I will, too.”

“I will. I promise. And I’ll never ever do anything to hurt you again. Not on purpose… okay?”

Hmm… you wish these moments were rare. It does happen ever so often that he seeks reassurance and vows; your companionship, regardless of what lies in your pasts. To know you’re here despite all the despites.

But if you need to, you’ll keep dispeling his fears all your life.

So you say, “I know. I know.” Brushing through his hair. “And I want this.”

“It won’t hurt? We just did last night—”

“If it does, we can stop. I always want you. Besides…” You circle over his lap, your hips a tease. You feel the bulge stir. “I can’t blueball you.”

Jungkook smirks in the way only he’s able to, clutching your butt again, and you catch your lower lip with your teeth. He states, “Brat, acting like it’d be the first time.”

“You’re just… so hard already. Can’t do this to you. Or me. Not today.”

“Babe… you being so sweet makes it worse. And this isn’t even its final state, you know?”

“Of course I know.”

Oh, of course you do. Whenever you think it can’t get crazier, he negates your beliefs. Well equipped as he is, your man, the thought suddenly makes you want to unwrap him again, like a gift crafted just for you.

He’s in a black tank top; tattoos reach up to his shoulder, muscles flexing as he holds you. You touch them, sneaking further to his wrist, and then take the plunge and lead his forefinger into your mouth. Then, you suck.

Upon which his eyes immediately shut. He draws a deep, shaky breath, barely exhaling much of it when you twirl your tongue around the tip of his finger. Absent-minded yet fully aware, he shakes his head, taking a moment to compute before he pulls his digit out again.

His cock twitches beneath you, much as a last warning.

And a second later, out of the blue, there’s a hand on the nape of your neck while the other shifts to your buttbone, pushing you to the ground with his body in tow. You fall flat on your back, his face right above you. Lips crash against yours again, strong hands pinning your arms down.

“You’re so brave,” he deduces, “like you forgot yesterday.”

“I could never. Maybe… maybe I’m just trying to repeat it.”

“Oh… smart, smart. If that’s your wish.”

Cocky, how he tilts his head and winks. How he pushes your thong aside without a warning, already damp, freeing your pussy before his touch collides with it. Fondling with it; making you release a pleased sigh. Gaze still set on you firmly, fingers running up and down. To the clit.

You’re already out of your good mind; but you attempt a fair approach; a mutual effort in which you try your best to push his shorts down. He’s not wearing anything underneath… you know because he threw them on last night after the chaos that ensued, wanting to rush to you. To sleep in peace.

And he’s well aware of it, because as it slides down to his knees, he dares a step further. Fists his cock and replaces his fingers when he drags the tip up and down your heat. You sigh again before it contorts into a moan, gripping him, pleading, “Kiss me again?”

“Not yet. I wanna see you wind.”

“Why…? You’re so mean—”

“Just now. Come on. Look at me.”

You do. You’re met with a hungry beast who’s yearning for you, simultaneously so soft — easing you into this, not dipping his fingers in just yet. Discovering how you feel; how soaked you get; how far he can already proceed.

He might be craving you, but he’s not stupid; he’s cautious. Gauging your reaction.

This man… this man…

“Want me to push it in?” Jungkook then questions, making your eyes rip open; you didn’t expect the inquiry this soon, but you’re not opposed to it at all.

You nod, eyebrows furrowed. Your voice is feeble when you agree, “Please.”

“Please, yeah?” he repeats, just the head prodding your entrance — but then, he chuckles. “Baby. Take care of yourself when I can’t. I can’t fucking think, you know? But even I know you’re not ready yet.”

“I…”

“Just a bit more, okay?” He slaps your pussy; you wince. “Wanna get up and undress?”

“No,” you instantly blurt, “want you like this. Right now. I don’t care about the shirt.”

“Right… so that’s how it is.”

He leaves the two of you just the way you are, except kicking off the bothersome shorts. Pushes your shirt up to your tits, too, stopping right underneath the mounds, still covering them. He leaves it there, dizzy about how your nipples perk against the white shirt, just above the Kakashi Hatake print.

Huh.

“Is this my shirt, by the way? You stole it, didn’t you?” he gathers.

You pretend, playing the innocent lamb, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t believe you. Stealing my clothes… and my perfumes,” he recollects, his voice going up and down. He’s referring to the time you used his cologne just to keep his scent close; once. He was very amused by it. “What’s next? My heart?”

Only that you already exchanged both of yours. He knows, because he can’t really feel his own heart beat, but yours. After all, your chest houses his thumps, not his.

But he still clicks his tongue; kisses down your body, caressing your sides, and then shoves your panties aside. He spits on your pussy so indecently, in a manner so filthy that it affects your entire body.

The sharp tip of his tongue is the first to taste you. The first to intrude. Lightly and softly, he attempts a touch, anticipating a reaction that he barely needs to wait longer for than a nano-second. Because your body blooms immediately, your pussy constricting.

There’s never a single reason for him to react with surprise; if anybody in this world understands your body as well as you, it’s him. He knows you to the tiniest detail; so why the astonished, “Oh? Oh, oh…”

Then again, maybe that’s all that’s necessary to set the mood further; he doesn’t elaborate on it, nor does he ask any questions. Instead, he French kisses your cunt with the techniques he’s mastered to the core. With each time you spend with him like this, he gets better.

Because he knows when to draw back, when to return. When to kiss you again, when to pull at the nether lips. Or when to nibble just lightly, when to use his tongue. It’s obvious in the twitches of your legs, and how he needs to keep them in place each time — hence, the bruises.

Your head lifts when he angles your right leg on the side, enabling better access to where he wants to drown. And when he comes back, he seems starved; maybe he needs that promised breakfast soon to come. Or maybe not; maybe he’ll feast on you enough.

Because he’s thorough; does enough work on you to divulge, “Maybe I was wrong and you are ready after all.”

“…M-maybe.”

“Wish we’d brought the sex toys. Man, I want to…” He touches your clit, painting patterns, a steady and diligent artist’s hand; and you can’t help but imagine it’s the vibrator he often handles. “Wouldn’t that be good?”

“Don’t… do this to me.”

A smug chuckle. “Sorry, bae.”

Ever since he gave you the damn toys months ago, he’s teased you about them constantly. And ever since you started inhabiting the same walls as him, he’s prompted orgasm after orgasm. God, the last few weeks alone, he’d revel in your whines.

Overstimulating, keeping you awake on weekends, battering your cunt and your nub. Nerves on fire. Tears of pleasure and sobs of exhilaration.

“Jungkook…” you start. He hums, but your brain blanks; you think about whatever you were going to say until you remember and jabber, “We’d never get t-to breakfast then.”

“So? I’d still be having mine.”

Thought so.

“But…” you argue, no clue why at all. “They’d be waiting.”

“I think they’re just as bad as we are. C’mon.”

You laugh before you mewl; insane when he buries himself in your sex, tongue in a whirl, plump lips operating so agonisingly skilled. He heaves your legs onto his shoulders; everything feels wet and warm and dirty.

Nerves burning again; your entire neural system is alight like a torch, buzzing like electricity.

And you want to close your legs but you can’t.

The motion only covers his ears, much to his disdain as he says, “Stop… I can’t hear you like this,” before dragging his tongue down again. Pushing your body up, he grips your ass, pulling the cheeks apart before he licks over the string just for a moment. Then suggests, “What if we added something to our collection one day? Hmm?”

His thumb toys right over your clenching hole; you grasp for a breath, airheaded as you admit, “I… don’t know yet.”

“Fine. There’s time.”

There is, but you want it to pass faster. Want him over you, around you. And maybe he can read your thoughts after all, because a second later, he’s uprighting himself; once again slapping his dick against your drenched mess. Hiding it between your folds as he rubs it up and down.

Then moves it side to side rapidly, helping himself, pumping until he’s grown impossibly solid. On his knees, he shifts on the mattress until he’s kneeling right over your face, and you raise your head, mouth ready and open without a single command necessary.

He’s chuffed about your keenness; breathes out a laugh as he drags his cock between your lips and onto your tongue. You’re rigorous, his good girl, sucking right away.

Fuck, he savours the moment much like you are; watching the saliva drip down your cheek obscenely. It covers his dick, much of it enveloped by your mouth; the picture of you barely being able to take half of him in this position yet trying sends him into pure madness.

And when your tongue teases his slit and the head, he thinks he’s dying and being reborn.

“I’m dying and being reborn, babe. What the fuck,” he repeats, immediately regretting it when he realises he spoke it out loud; because you’re right beneath him, eyes foggy but the sudden giggle entirely contrary.

“Glad to hear.”

Jungkook uses the separation from your lips to back away already; any longer and he’ll have to help you rinse out your eyes. He leans down again, kissing you, hips aligning with yours as he prepares for the next step.

He’s gentle as he places your hands on his shoulders, and you already understand why. Already make yourself comfortable, getting into position as if for war, already realising that you need him to kiss you or your scream will shatter the building—

“Careful now,” he still warns, right before he reads your wish off your eyes and dives back in for more making out. You nod; you know. Your neighbours don’t need to—

Fuck.

Fuck, how big he feels when he digs in, not even fully inside yet.

Isn’t it just a bit more than the head so far? You bite your lip when you hear yourself whine, suppressing it, eyes watery. Your mouth transforms into a thin line, but Jungkook opens it with his finger; telling you, “I don’t care who hears.”

Okay. Okay. Then… you’ll stop holding back, right? You moan and call his name, hearing in his tender sounds and overjoyed, endlessly breathy and quiet laugh that he’s loving it. He asks, “Can I go farther in?”

“Thought you’d never ask…” Yet, it doesn’t happen. He refuses for some reason; which is why you work towards him instead, your hips upthrusting. Pushing at his ass, knowing how much he’s enjoying your helplessness. You say, “You are mean.”

“Mhm… especially to you, right?”

“Especially to me,” you laugh. “You say you love me and then edge me? Prove it, won’t you?”

“Ohhhh no.” He drags out the syllable, a sudden change in his tone, as if you’ve purposely teased him to a challenge. A you did not just say that kind of vibe. “You will not doubt that I love you. Fuck no.”

He buries his face in your clothed tits, kisses the spot between them; one hand envelops your left side before he lets go and gets serious. Kicks his shorts away and then— bottoms out. His balls clash against your ass, your eyes rolling back. His words ring in your ears.

And then, he’s already dragging himself out before plunging back in. Hard. Remains like this. Then out again; all the way in again, harder. Repeating it with a hand on your neck; but the moment, much to your irritation, doesn’t prolong at all.

Jungkook must have been quick to make a decision to torment you today when you first kissed him ten minutes ago. Because he fully draws back, leaving you empty, a hand on the back of your head as he mutters his thoughts to you, “Am craving this mouth… Get up.”

You, like his personal doll with a sudden lack of feminism in your body, get on your knees without hesitation. Your hands remain between your legs, as if waiting for him to put a leash on you; rubbing yourself against the soft carpet until he stops your antics and grips your cheeks.

He urges you to open up, pressing in, and when you do, he doesn’t wait to shove his cock in again. This time, he helps you out: goes back and forth, fucking your wet tongue, and then moving his length until the tip prods your inner cheek. He angles it like a fishing hook, bringing it out of your mouth and then back in again.

And you’re careful to suck diligently. You taste yourself, fighting for breaths. Look up at him, take him like your last meal on Earth; touch his balls as he relishes in your gaze. When your hand encases his dick, that’s when he stops moving, glancing up to the ceiling as if praying.

You slow down; wait as he catches his breath, and then ask, “What do you want me to do?”

You’re not always this forlorn. Sometimes you take matters into your own hands, no questions or permission necessary. You often knock him back onto the mattress, straddling him, riding him into the sunset.

But you want to submit today; that’s the mood you perceived. That’s what his eyes reveal and what your body itches for. Something he wants, too: to destroy you, to fuck you senseless.

And he notices the shift. “My god, would you look at that,” he drags, hardly believing that you’re looking at him like this. “Bed. Lean over it.”

You listen; of course you do. Your knees press into the carpet, upper body flat on the bed. Ass out, arms on the mattress. 

He touches you gently; first your back, then your hair, and then your arms. Finds the right position, and then rams himself into you. You barely expect it — the intrusion is sudden, happens in one fell swoop.

His legs cage in yours, and he soon pushes yours together, dying for further friction and for you to feel it more intensely. Your eyes flutter shut, and your previously lifted head falls, your cheek against the sheets.

You move with them as he thrusts into you, and you hold onto the fabric to remain in place. Perhaps he sees your efforts, because he’s soon determined to help — or to rile you up further, you can’t say. He catches your arm, just one, pinning it to your back.

A heavy hand falls onto the soft flesh of your ass once. And then, he raises your upper body until it’s glued to his chest. An arm wraps around your tits, two fingers pinching your nipple as he drills into you from behind.

As you yelp and heave breaths, you hear him say, “You wanna know, huh?”

“I…”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but you allow him to air his rage. He leans in, kisses your neck, wants to know, “What’s that like? You okay, baby?”

“I’m okay… I’m so okay—”

“And so pretty like this. You’re always… so pretty. I’m so fucking lucky.”

“I want to see you.”

“How did I…”

“Kook—”

“I know. I know you want to,” he says, but he takes another minute to fuck you hard, fast, revved up, and you don’t complain. Not even when two of his fingers slap your cunt, multiple times, rapidly until he repeats, “I know. Would you turn around for me? Sit here?”

How couldn’t you if he asks so nicely, right?

Your legs are shaky and trembling as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, much as he commanded. It’s high enough for him to fuck you standing here; but he doesn’t go in right away as you thought. Instead, he kneels in front of you, forehead to forehead, sentimental all of a sudden.

Did you wanting to actually see him change something? Did it remind him once again that you’re not just what you used to be? A way of passing time, a company to quench each other’s thirst?

Then again, you know Jungkook. He never forgets. Never forgets what you are to him.

Repeats each time just as he is now, “How did I end up with you?” Every time. Tells you every time that he cannot fathom his luck, that you’re more than he’ll ever deserve. He adds, “You want me to prove it to you?”

Oh…

That’s what he—

This time, the kiss is short-lived, albeit urgent. His hand cradles your face when he moves up and slides back home. He fucks you softer first, not as beastly as before. But you guess the distance is as irksome to him as to you, because he soon bends down.

Puts his hands on your ass and shifts your body on the mattress until you’re on your back, laying in front of him. Just the same position as before on the ground, but cosier; it’s easier to hover above you now, scanning your face like you’re the only star in the vast, expanding universe.

The only source of light in this darkened room.

“Hey,” he calls, even though you’re already looking at him.

He grazes your temple, tender as a flower petal. His eyes are a melting, dark brown, almost black; you think you see yourself in the reflection, even though it’s impossible in a setting like this — maybe that’s what he means when he says you reside in him.

Your existence in his chest, your eyes in his.

“I love you,” he then proclaims, “and I’ll show you all the fucking time if you need me to.”

“I… I want you to…”

“Good. Good, baby. You know I’ll do anything, right? Not just this and not just now. I’ll do anything for you.”

You half-smile as he says it, as much as possible between your moans; you don’t know what else to do, because nothing else suffices. Not an I would, too and not an I know.

So you say nothing; only raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes, showcasing every shred of affection you harbour. You keep looking at him until the thrusts force your eyes shut again. And this time, you don’t need long to fall into a series of gasps and outright craze.

You understand you’re close when he pleads, “Can you touch yourself? Please?”

And it helps — considering that you’re already riled up like not once in the past days, the next minutes pass fast, and the end is immediate. The familiar stars soon block your vision, your body quivering; you barely realise what happens and when it happens.

Nothing, but bliss bliss bliss…

Until you very clearly feel the liquid underneath your ass, the sheets soaked, all of it wet. You hear Jungkook laugh, absolutely satisfied. Your eyes rip open and you ask, “What happened?”

But the question is redundant — because as your mind clears, you gather what it could be.

You ruined the sheets. You’ll have to come up with a good ass excuse and ask the receptionist for a new blanket for your room. Fuck. A hell of a guest you are.

“You squirted all over my dick,” Jungkook still clarifies.

“I’m sorry…”

“What? No. It looks… it feels so…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; it seems that the thought alone hardens his cock and balls impossibly. Enough for him to follow your example, letting go. He shakes his head, silences, and then moves in to kiss you hard; to fuck you harder.

He shoves you into the mattress repeatedly, navigating in and out of you so easily that you think he might slip out. But he doesn’t; instead, he spills. Spills hotly, abundantly. You know the bed is soiled forever.

Somehow, you’re even sorry for anyone who might book this room next; but somehow, as guilty as you might feel about it, you feel better for yourself. Then again — it’s fine, right? You’re probably not the first to make a mess of a room like this.

Making out with you one last time, Jungkook remains like thi, not wanting to move as his dick still pulsates and twitches, softening just slowly. Doesn’t want the liquid to leak if he moves out. Maybe thinking the same about the room as you.

His next question, however, is an entirely different one, “Do you believe me now?”

You titter. Even now, even after witnessing each of your reactions, your boyfriend won’t let the thought go. Set on what he feels for you, he’ll probably prove it to you an entire lifetime long.

You promise, “I always will. From anyone in this world, I’ll believe it the most from you.”

“My baby,” he coos. Waits. Then sighs before he says, “Okay, enough of that distraction. We have breakfast to catch. I bet you, five more minutes and they’ll knock.”

“Oh… uh-oh. Quick shower and then hurry?”

“…Great idea.”

Only, the shower isn’t as quick as you anticipated — the two of you are silly, reforming your shampoo hair, giggling until the knocks occur and you bolt to the breakfast hall. The others are already eating; by the looks of it, they’ve just started, though.

Yoongi is the first to speak after you’ve exchanged your polite Good mornings. In fact, he scolds rather gently, “You guys are late. We need to be at the beach by noon, don’t forget.”

“Yeah, we just…” You shrug. “We were organising our suitcases.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nonchalantly confirms. “Forgot the time.”

Your excuses are so casual, so careful, your eyes busy as they watch your hands smear butter and jam on your toast. Only, you’re not as casual. Your friends fall silent. Their stares alternate between Jungkook and you as the two of you pass a knife or comment on the food.

No word until you hear Jimin gasp and look up at him. His expression seems amused, and you know he’s about to say something bold before he actually does—

“Oh, you fucked… You had the time to?!”

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

1k block limit, beloved. you can read the remaining 10k of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

[pumpkinpaix]

Chapter Spotlight 8:

"'Censorship Made It Better': Anti-Fans and Purity Culture in English-Language Chen Qing Ling Fandom" by Abby Springman

Describe your topic/chapter in one sentence/one meme/140 characters.

Rejoice! MDZS has been cancelled!

What drew you to this topic?

When I got into CQL fandom and started lurking on its outskirts on Twitter, I started getting this weird sense of déjà vu. There was this bizarre similarity between the arguments I was seeing about the aspects of CQL/MDZS and their fandoms being "problematic" from a progressive, social justice point of view and the demands for censorship in American libraries that conservative groups were (and still are) making at an alarmingly increasing rate. In an attempt to make sense of this, I fell down what ended up being a really long rabbit hole, and, well, here we are.

Was there anything you were surprised to discover while researching?

I was surprised by the wide variety of fannish backgrounds found amongst members of English-language CQL fandom! I'm not used to seeing so many different "areas" of fandom intersect over a single piece of media like this. Some folks are primarily into the live action movies and TV shows side of things, some are mostly in bandom, some (like me) are traditionally a part of the anime, manga, and gaming contingent, etc. I think that's fascinating, honestly.

Did researching/writing your chapter change how you saw the text, the fandom, or the media? How so?

I didn't use the block button on Tumblr or Twitter for anyone in the fandom while I was working on my chapter. It definitely changed how I saw fandom on those platforms—literally. It really highlighted how much power social media algorithms have over what kind of content is presented to us front and center.

If there’s one thing you hope the fandom takes away from your article, what would it be?

I'll be thrilled if it makes people think about "problematic" content in less black-and-white terms. They don't have to necessarily agree with my conclusions! But if my words make even one person stop and think more about context before posting a reactionary comment, then that would be great.

If you were isekai-ed into MDZS/CQL, what sect affiliation would you choose and why?

The Lan. My existing skills are most likely to be applicable there (see: the library), it seems easy to find some peace and quiet when you need it, there are bunnies, and Hanguang-jun is there.

Chaotic one-sentence pitch to get your friends into MDZS/CQL?

My elevator pitch for CQL has historically been, "It's the adaptation of a book about a gay necromancer, except they can't actually show the gay romance or the zombies on screen."

What is one (1) book/media you would recommend to a MDZS/CQL fan? Tell us about it.

Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio by Pu Songling. It's probably the most accessible collection of Chinese stories of the supernatural available in English. If MDZS/CQL was your first exposure to traditional Chinese cultural beliefs about ghosts, exorcisms, and the like, this is a great introduction to the less xianxia-specific aspects. If that isn't the case for you, I still highly recommend it on its own merits!

Character you keep getting in those "which MDZS/CQL character are you" quizzes?

Wen Ning

Anything to say to potential readers of the collection?

Thank you, and I'm sorry—no, that's a joke. More seriously, I really am thankful for anyone interested in the collection. It's the product of years of hard work by many people, and I'm sure there's an interesting chapter in there for everyone.

(FAQ) (all posts on Catching Chen Qing Ling)

[weast-of-eden]

I've been thinking about how I could contribute to the ACD/Granada Sherlock Holmes fandom for a while, seeing as I'm neither an artist, a writer, or anything actually useful lol. But then I realized something I myself always treasure are curated fic recs, which I could actually do! I've read probably like 25% of all the h/w ACD and Granada fics on ao3, so I compiled a short list for anyone who is just starting out with the fandom. Without further ado, may I present

Eden’s Top Picks for Beginning ACD/Granada Fics:

(edit: i made a second list here!!)

The Adventure of the Doctor's Heart by mistyzeo 12k | Rated E Summary: Holmes has observed much of Watson's habits and tastes over time, which is why it surprises him when his friend objects strangely to a folk song sung at the conclusion of a case. Disturbed by the Doctor's unexpected display of emotion, Holmes becomes determined to lift his spirits by any means necessary, with mixed results. Notes: obviously if you're going to read canonverse h/w, you are going to read mistyzeo. this one is just so good and angsty and features music (!!). it's got some steaminess but it also has wooing. basically it has everything you ever need. this is my odyssey, my iliad, my hamlet, etc.

Cameo by what_alchemy 8k | Rated M | For Archive Users Only Summary: Holmes and Watson become embroiled in a case Scotland Yard refuses to acknowledge. A soulmate AU. Notes: i honestly skipped over this fic for a while, since i'm not the biggest fan of soulmate aus. do not make the same mistake i did, because this shit HITS. this fic has hit after hit: soulmate-mark based case for our main duo, angst, hiatus feels, MORE ANGST, and ofc a happy ending. ugh. read this fic if you enjoy being happy.

A Tide That Does Not Turn by tweedisgood 3k | Rated T Summary: Holmes is a very bad patient with a devoted doctor who adores him. Watson wishes it was safe to speak up, but his friend is a tide that does not turn. Notes: do NOT read this if you don't like angst... ok now i'm sensing a pattern. anyways this is the first hurt/no comfort fic i read for this tag and i literally have cried more than enough tears over it. poor, poor watson :( iconic author though, read everything they write!

The Adventure of the Glad Outlaw by radondoran 7k | Rated T Summary: While Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery of a student's disappearance, Dr. Watson is more puzzled by the changing dynamic between his flatmate and himself. Notes: cute pastiche! a nice little mystery and a nice little get-together. ahhhhhh.... this fic is like cotton candy to me, so sweet and fluffy. defo recommend

Hands by MinorObsessions (draculard) 1.4k | Rated T Summary: Naturally, there are some things Watson thinks about Holmes that don't make it into the books. Notes: i'm also in the star trek fandom, so if you know anything about that then you know that hands are kind of A Thing in both circles and ergo i now Have A Thing about hands. so this is a nice little ode to holmes' hands, featuring some doctoring by watson AND a nice reverse appraisal at the end. it's so sweet :)

Conductor of Light by ColebaltBlue  1.4k | Rated T Summary: A Victorian stiff upper lip won't prevent you from falling in love, but it might prevent you from realizing it. Notes: they finally get their shit together! honestly i would recommend this fic to anyone just starting out with h/w fics in any medium. the characterization and dialogue is A1, and their argument is really realistic to me, idk. also features the iconic HOUN quote for its title so props to that!

A (Mis)fortunate Man by sans_patronymic 1.5k | Rated T Summary: December, 1880. Watson writes a note which may be his last. December, 1899. Watson writes back. Notes: READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING. this was a gut-wrenching read but god i cried at the end for watson. don't worry, this one has a happy ending. ugh now i wish there was a second chapter where watson lets holmes read the letters. to sum up: oof, my heart

The Second Smartest Man in London by FairSinner 73k | Rated E Summary: Dr John Watson returns from Afghanistan to Victorian London, wounded, traumatised and alone. When he meets Sherlock Holmes, his life begins to seem worth living again. But Holmes is a man who despises sentiment and Watson cannot seem to expunge it from his heart. Notes: congrats, you've made it to the end!! so now i must confess that it's been a loooong time since i've read this fic, but the private note i left on my bookmark was just "holy shit", so i'm sure it's a banger. i'm also sure it has angst because i love angst and i love bookmarking angst so i can read it again and again and suffer infinitely. enjoy :)

anyways, now that i've put these all here i realized how much i enjoy angst and hurt/no comfort fics. if any of you guys have a favorite fic you want to link or want to plug your own writing, feel free to!

[riekesart]

1920s Magical London Loki/Tony AU is finished! Read The Talent on AO3.

The Talent (46869 words) by Bottan Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Thor (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Frigga | Freyja & Loki (Marvel), Loki & Odin (Marvel), Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Characters: Loki (Marvel), Tony Stark, Thor (Marvel), Frigga | Freyja (Marvel), Odin (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Laufey (Marvel) Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Magical London, Science Bros, Alternate Universe - Human, Fantasy and Fictional Setting Racism, Period-Typical Racism, Action/Adventure, Magic User Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Loki Needs a Hug (Marvel), Loki Gets a Hug (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Plot, Magic and Science, Monsters, Alternate Universe - Historical, POV Loki (Marvel), Mentioned Substance Abuse, whoops the rating changed, sorry folks

Summary: 1920. London’s magical society is dying. Plague sweeps the streets and monsters lurk in shadowed alleyways. Amid hunting monsters and trying to establish himself in his father’s eyes, Loki finds himself thoroughly distracted by American millionaire scientist Tony Stark. And when he realizes Stark might hold the key to end Britain’s suffering, Odin tasks him with securing the engineer’s help. ** “Alright, alright, you got me,” Stark sounded exasperated, incapable of bearing the silence. “I will do one business meeting – as in the number one, a singular meeting – in exchange for dinner. Look at me, do you want me on my knees, begging? I just really want to pick your brain.” “Wednesday,” Loki said automatically. “Eleven. Bor & Sons offices.” “Done,” Stark said with a grimace. “Dinner on Friday, and I get to pick the place!” Loki blinked at the mild chaos that Stark left in his wake and found that he hadn’t agreed to dinner, at all.

[goldendynastys]

wonderland (pt. 1) | cs

summary: Being home alone with your pets has always put you on edge, especially at night when you get extremely anxious. You thought you were over it towards the end of your parents’ vacation, but when a random stranger breaks in one night and insists on taking you with him, everything you once knew had begun to change. You knew how your story would end, you just weren’t sure if it was for the better, or the worst.

pairing: choi san x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+, MDNI | yandere, angst, fluff, eventual smut word count: 8.4k warning/tags: yandere, kidnapping, manipulation, stockholm syndrome, obsession, somewhat toxic relationship, fast burn, reader is innocent, angst, arguments between san and reader, lots of fluff, pet names, i think that is it but please let me know if i missed anything (i’m new at this), i hope you enjoy reading! <3

disclaimer: all members of Ateez are faces and name claims for this story. this is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real life scenarios.

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chapter one, always an angel, never a god (next →)

Growing up you always tried your best to stand out. Amongst your classmates, amongst your family. You did everything to make yourself unique, to be better. You wanted to be the best, and you tried so hard to achieve that. But in reality, you knew it was impossible, because there were a lot of people who were simply better than you. And you couldn’t compete with them, it was no use. So, you continued to be yourself, in hopes it would pay off and you would finally be the best at something, no matter what it was.

This notion of wanting to be the best most likely came from your family. It wasn’t anything your parents did per say, it was more your older brother. You loved him to pieces, but it seemed like he always got the most attention and adoration from your parents. You and your family’s lives weren’t normal (even though you hated saying those words, it made you cringe). Most families had lawyers, doctors, or strong business people within their families. Your family? Well, they were the leaders of the most popular biker gangs in town, known as the Sons of Chaos. Yeah, not a typical job for most families.

Your dad had become the leader after your grandfather had retired, and your brother was next in line to take over once your dad was ready to retire, which was coming sooner than expected. Because of this, your parents focused more on him and making sure he was ready to take this on, as well as applauding him for his hardwork and dedication to the organization. Your parents still loved you and were so proud of you, but it was obvious they cared more for your brother than they did for you. You can take care of yourself just fine, your folks don’t need to worry about you. It’s your brother they gotta pay attention to so he doesn’t fuck all of this up, a member of the gang once told you when you were fourteen years old. 

You assumed it was in that moment, you realized you had to stand out if you wanted your parents proud of you. You had to defy their expectations, work hard and try to be the best in whatever areas you could be. 

And you did exactly that for the next nine years. You excelled in school, getting the highest grades on all of your assignments, exams, and classes. You found a small passion for tennis and excelled in that as well, even getting a scholarship for college that would cover both your tuition and dorm. When you got to college, you continued these same patterns (high grades on everything, being a great tennis player), and also got accepted to a master’s program for an additional year at no cost. 

But even with all of this effort, it didn’t seem to pay off. They were proud of your accomplishments, but it was still evident that they favored your brother and focused on getting him ready to become a leader of their gang. It broke your heart that after all of this time and hardwork, they were still focused on your brother, but from another perspective, it paid off in many ways. You got high academic honors, multiple awards for tennis, and into a great master’s program. You gave yourself these amazing opportunities, opportunities that were going to help shape your future and make it bright.

Instead of letting it consume you, you let it fuel you as motivation to keep going. Someday, someone would be proud of everything you’ve done, put you first and appreciate everything about you. You were looking forward to that day, to be a goddess amongst someone instead of just being a pretty angel like everyone else. 

Other than your family’s biker gang and your extracurriculars, you had lived a quiet life for as long as you could remember. Some of it was by choice, since you loved staying in bed and watching movies, but also because you were a lonely person. You had friends, friends that you adored of course, but they were always busy and never reached out to see if you wanted to go out. So, since you couldn’t go out by yourself (unless you wanted to be murdered), you were forced to stay inside. 

There were days where you hated it, resenting your life and criticizing yourself so harshly for staying in. You often wondered if you would regret it later on, worried that you weren’t living your life to the fullest. But you knew that wasn’t true, there were plenty of occasions where you went out, whether that was with your family or on vacation. You realized those were more special, as opposed to going out every weekend. That gave you some peace and closure, but those negative thoughts always came back to haunt you, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

But this weekend was different. Well, these past two weekends, actually. Your parents and your older brother were going on vacation. A trip to the mountains, to be exact. They said it was for business, given the other biker branches of Sons of Chaos operating in the country and how they needed help from time to time. When you heard your parents and brother were going for work but also taking time for themselves to relax, it made your heart happy knowing they were getting some sort of a break. Despite your strange relationship, you still loved them and wanted them to rest and live their lives. 

While they were away, you were asked to watch over the house and your pets, a dog named Spuds and a cat named Pumpkin. They required minimal care, since they were on the older side, but Spuds needed a little more attention than Pumpkin. You had to make his dinner, take him on walks and out to do his business, and sleep with him at night so he wouldn't get lonely (your dad and mom did all of this when they were home). All Pumpkin needed was to be fed once a day and have her litter box changed every couple days (you already fed her, but your dad was the one to change her litter box when he was home). So, your tasks for the pets weren’t hard to do, per se, it just prevented you from doing certain things for the week. 

And you didn’t mind at all. You loved your pets and would do anything for them, but you also loved your parents and would do anything for them, too. They worked extremely hard and have given you and your brother a great life, so it was the least you could do. You often felt bad that you couldn’t pay them back in monetary ways to show how much you appreciate everything they did for you, but if there was anything they needed help with or wanted you to complete for them, you would do it in a heartbeat.

You wanted to give your family this, a week away from the chaos that was their life where they didn’t have to worry about anything. It made your heart happy knowing they were going on this trip. The only thing that seemed to bother you, however, was the nighttime and falling asleep.

Like the chronic overthinker you were, you were worried that someone was going to break into your house and hurt you. You put on the television and watched Bob’s Burgers in order to help you fall asleep and make sure the house wasn’t too quiet. Still, the little creaks and sounds you heard at night made your heart jump, worried that something bad was going to happen. 

Nothing ever did, however. You were able to fall asleep and wake up in the early morning to everything the way that it was the day before. You were just hyper aware of everything and wanted to make sure everything was okay. So while your thoughts were too extreme and never manifested into anything bad, you kept telling yourself that you were okay and that nothing would happen. 

You had almost gotten used to it towards the end of their vacation. You still played Bob's Burgers to help you fall asleep and add noise, of course, but you were much calmer than you were earlier in the week. In fact, you were getting excited to see your family again and for everything to go back to normal. As much as you loved having the house to yourself and sleeping next to your dog every night, you were ready to not be in charge anymore and just do whatever the hell you wanted.

The day had gone by as usual; you decided to get some groceries after your dad texted you that he and your brother needed stuff from the store. You went out in the early afternoon, going on a walk with Spuds earlier to get your steps and the dog’s exercise in for the day. You got yourself some treats while you were out that you could enjoy tonight, after you ordered in from your favorite restaurant. Additionally, you had enough money to treat yourself to some books and albums you wanted (thank God you had gotten paid a few days ago), and wanted to reward yourself for taking such good care of your pets and house for the week. The sun was out and the air was warm, making it a perfect day in your book.

After having your dinner and sweet treats, you found yourself growing tired and decided to go to sleep. You were happy it was the weekend and you didn’t have to worry about waking up early for work the next day. As usual, you put on Bob’s Burgers and fell asleep around eleven-thirty, a sense of happiness within you knowing your parents and brother would be home early tomorrow.

But you were awoken in the middle of the night to Spuds barking, which was something he never did. The TV had shut off due to the timer you put it on before you fell asleep, so it couldn’t have been another dog barking on the program you were watching. No, this was something else. Something that made your stomach drop with fear.

You immediately grabbed your phone and pressed your back against the door. Spuds wanted to go out and see who was downstairs, but you tried to calm him down. “Shh! Be quiet, someone’s here and I need you to stop barking,” you whispered in hopes Spuds would listen and actually stop (he did after you gave him a small treat).

You didn’t hesitate to call the police, your gut telling you this was an emergency and you desperately needed help. Once you dialed the number, however, you noticed your phone just kept ringing, no one was answering. You noticed that your phone wasn’t connected to the wi-fi, and your connection was extremely low. Odd. That never happened; even when the wi-fi was down, you were able to use the Internet and call people just fine. Why wasn’t it working now? Were the power lines destroyed by a large tree? It made no sense, but you kept calling in hopes that it would go through.

A loud sound could be heard downstairs. Someone must’ve broken down the doors, as you could hear muffled voices stepping over the damage they did and walking into your living room. Your chest tightened and you wanted to sob, but you had to remain quiet. You couldn’t let whoever was in your house know that you were here. That way, they would leave quicker and leave you alone. You placed a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself down, breathing in slowly to calm down and pull yourself together. Hopefully, they would realize no one was home and be on their way. 

It wasn’t until you heard Pumpkin meow and someone speak up that you snapped out of your thoughts. “Aw, she has a cat. How cute, hi pretty kitty,” a soft voice spoke. “Will you let her take it home with you?”

“No, I already have a cat at home that she’ll love, she doesn’t need two. They wouldn’t get along, anyways. Pip hates other cats. Hell, she doesn’t even like Gunner and Tank, and they’ve been living together for years,” another voice answered. “It might be worth it to kill this one, it doesn’t seem friendly and if it stands in the way of me getting my girl, then by all means . . .”

You didn’t even think twice before opening the door and running to the top of the stairs. “No, no, don't do it! Please don’t!” You shouted. 

A chorus of chuckles responded to your pleas, and your stomach dropped. You just realized you fell for their trap. They weren’t going to kill your cat, they were just doing it to lure you out of your room. And you fell for it, like a complete idiot. 

Their laughter made you realize you didn’t want to cower in your room anymore. This was your house, they had no right to be there. You wanted to see why they were here, even if it got you killed or injured in the end, and you wanted to get them the hell out before you killed them yourself. Without hesitating, you grabbed a pair of scissors from your bathroom and made your way downstairs.

You were greeted by three men, all wearing ski masks to hide their identities. Your stomach dropped once more and your nerves increased again, but you kept your grip tight on your scissors. You weren’t going to let them win.

“Ah, there you are. We were wondering when you were going to come out,” the man in the middle spoke first. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t hurt your cat. You’re gonna love the one I have at home, and she’s going to love you.”

“What the fuck do you want with me, assholes?” You spat, holding up the scissors higher. “I won’t hesitate to stab you if you come any closer and I got the cops on speed dial.”

The third person laughed at your words. He was taller than the other two, his demeanor much different compared to them as well. His voice was deep and you could picture his sinister smile under his mask so easily. You seriously considered stabbing him right then and there. “You picked a feisty one, Sannie. I like her, do you think she’d be better off with me?” He questioned.

The man in the middle, who apparently went by the name Sannie (it must be a nickname), answered his friend bitterly. “You’re funny, Mingi. But you know she’s mine, everyone does. No one touches her but me,” the man explained. “Sorry about him. Mingi here likes to flirt with any girl that breathes, including ones that are taken.”

“What the hell– what the fuck is this? Are you here to kill me, sacrifice me to the woods, what the fuck?” You shook your head in pure confusion. “I’ll call the cops, I swear to God–”

“And what will that do, baby? We know how to outrun cops, they won’t get here until the time we’re about to leave,” he teased. 

You froze at the nickname, a stern look now on your face. Who the hell does this guy think he is? You take a few steps back and hold the scissors out to stop them from coming closer to you. “My mom’s jewelry isn’t here if that’s what you want. She gave it to someone to keep it safe, and they live far away from here. I don’t have anything, only two dollars and a broken record player. I got nothing, nothing that you want.”

“Oh, but you do have what I want,” the man snickered. “Come with me and we’ll leave your house alone. Everything will go untouched.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you spat. 

“Ah, but it will,” he protested. He turned to his two friends, who stood quietly and waited for instructions. “You have her family’s location, right? Send a text to Cyrus and send his men to their hotel, give them a good scare and take everything they have.”

Deep down, you knew he was bluffing. He was just doing it to get a rise out of you, he wouldn’t actually hurt your family. But you couldn’t risk it, no matter how much your brain was trying to rationalize with you. You immediately stepped closer to all of them, a look of fear and worry now on your face. “No, no, no! Please don’t, don’t bring my family into this, they haven’t done anything. Just leave them alone! Don’t hurt them, please.”

“Then do as I say,” he spoke slowly and grunted. “Come with me and everything goes untouched, including your family and pets. Deal?”

You hesitated. You could feel the tears forming in your eyes as you stared at the masked men — you hated this, how much power they had over you. Breaking into your home in the middle of the night and demanding you leave the people you’re taking care of. You wanted to stab all of them and call the police to make them go away — but you knew you couldn’t take them all in a fight. It would end up with you and your family getting hurt, and you couldn’t risk that.

A small plan came to mind. You weren’t sure how well it would work, but there was a small chance it would. Your phone could still send text messages even if the connection was bad, a SMS message. Your brother was always up at this hour, he was a night owl who loved to stay up and play video games until he got tired. If you sent him a message telling him what happened and to call the cops on your behalf, surely they would get to your house on time and save you from this mess. He could even call the other members of the Sons of Chaos and have them save you, they would be at your house in no time. If that didn’t work, then you could send your location to your brother and have him track you wherever you go. It was a longshot, but you had to try. Anything to get out of this and keep yourself safe.

“F-Fine, I’ll go with you,” you stuttered nervously. “But I need to change, it’s too cold for me to be wearing just a t-shirt. I’ll be right back.”

The man shook his head. “No, we’re going now—”

You cut him off instantly. “I need to change and you’re going to let me do so. Got it?”

The other men laughed at your comment, clearly not intimidated by your stern voice. The one you spoke to only sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “Okay, sure. But you have five minutes. If you’re not back here, I’m coming up there to get you. Got it?” He mocked. You only sent him a stern look before trudging up the stairs. You instantly ran into your bedroom, your dog barking loudly while you whipped out your phone and started to text your brother. You began the message by addressing him by his name to show him how serious this was. I need you to call the cops, these men broke in and one of them is trying to kidnap me. Have them come to the house, I’m sending you my location in case they take me before the cops get here. Tell mom and dad what’s happening. See if Clay or the others can help. I love you so much.

The message wasn't sent until you sent it as an SMS message. You sighed in relief, hoping this would all be resolved within the next day or two. You closed your eyes to breathe for a moment, until you heard the muffling of shoes and voices downstairs, the sounds making you angry. “You got two minutes, Princess. Are you almost done?” The man shouted.

“Whatever!” You shouted back as you rolled your eyes. The nickname, the men, the one who wanted to kidnap you — it was all stupid. Stupid bullshit you had no idea why it was happening. You wanted to scream, but you hoped the cops would be on their way soon. You just hoped your plan would work to some extent. It didn’t have to be perfect, you just needed to be saved from whatever the hell this was.

You quickly threw on a purple long sleeve shirt and grabbed your phone, slipping it into your purse you decided to bring last minute. It had a taser and pepper stray, which would come in handy if any of them tried to hurt you. Hesitantly, you opened your bedroom door and made your way to the kitchen. 

You could feel eyes burning into you as you walked downstairs. Someone whistled, which resulted in the man speaking to you hitting their chest harshly. He walked over to you and placed your hand into his, his grip strong but gentle. “You look beautiful, let's go home, it’s late and we both need to get some sleep, don’t you think?”

No words left your lips. Rather, you just remained silent as the man eagerly began to walk out of your house. Tears formed in your eyes once more as you got outside, scared to leave your home and family. You had no idea what the hell was going to happen, and the thought of never seeing them again made your heart shatter. 

It didn’t take you long to reach the cars parked near the woods. One of them was a van, in which the two men entered and began the engine. They both fist-bumped the man you were with (you wanted to scream), congratulating him on “getting his girl” (whatever the fuck that meant). As the two drove off, you were thrown into the passenger seat of a nice pickup truck. The man didn’t say a word to you, he only got in and began to drive off.

You had no idea where you were going. If they were going to kill you, or worse. The fear kept creeping into your mind; you had to do something, but you felt frozen. Then, out of nowhere, you started to pull on the door handle harshly in hopes the door would open. Perhaps your brain finally came to its senses and told your muscles to do something.

“Let me go, asshole!” You told him aggressively as you continued to yank on the handle. The man only laughed, to which you sent him a pressing glare and widened your eyes. “I’m sorry? I’m fighting for my life against a stranger who kidnapped me and all you can do is laugh? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He continued to laugh and shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re just so cute when you act out, it’s just so adorable.”

This man is insane, you thought to yourself. Your jaw dropped and you immediately closed it before he could make another comment. An idea perked up in your mind and you sent a soft smile to him. “I can be extra cute, you know. Yeah, if you stop the car and let me out, I’ll act extra cute just for you. You’re going to love it.”

“Sure, baby. I’ll let you out in a few minutes,” he told you, his eyes still on the road.

You got excited. You were hopeful that he had fallen for your trap. You were starting to think that maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. That sense of optimism and hope you had was instantly crushed, however, once you realized you were pulling into a driveway. He was only going to let you out once you got here, so you wouldn’t be able to run away. Nice going, idiot, you thought to yourself.

The man had stopped his truck and jumped out to grab you. It didn’t take long before he was helping you out and walking you into the house with an arm around your waist. No matter how hard you tried to pull away, his grip remained firm. And you couldn’t fight back because of how strong he was. The muscles poking out of his t-shirt told you everything you needed to know.

The house was pretty big, with pretty windows and exterior design. A lake stood only a few feet away from the backyard, some fireflies flying over the water and area. You didn’t want to admit it, but the sight made you smile a little, but it faded away once the door opened and you were forced into the house by the man. Who knows what was on the other side.

The inside looked even prettier than the outside, which took you by surprise. You couldn’t help but stare in awe at the place, as it was the spitting image of your dream home. The furniture, the walls, the decor — it was everything you wanted in a house. For a split second, you had forgotten where you were or what was happening. It was honestly nice to just enjoy the scene in front of you, admire the house and pretend like everything was okay.

“Do you like it?” The man asked, pulling you back into reality. “I had it designed a few years ago, but added what you liked once I learned more about you. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I hate to say it, but it is. But there is one thing I’d take out that would make it absolutely perfect. I wonder what that could be . . . oh yeah, you,” you spat, crossing your arms over your chest. “So, what? Are you going to kill me in your basement, sell me or my organs to the black market? Sacrifice me to some cult you and your friends are a part of? You mind telling me what the hell is going on here? You’ve kept me alive this long, and if I’m going to die soon, I’d at least like to know what I’m dying for. And take off your mask, I’d like to know the face of the man I’m going to haunt for all eternity once I’m dead. Plus, it’s really stupid.”

He chuckled at your words. You could picture his smug smile under his mask, and it annoyed you even more. “Nah, none of the above, actually. I brought you here for a more special reason, and it has nothing to do with you dying or being sacrificed to Satan.”

“How unfortunate,” you muttered under your breath.

He didn’t say a word about your comment. Instead, he slowly removed the ski mask off of his face and set it down on the table. You stared at him, taking in his features. He had a sharp jawline, with brown eyes and red hair. Dyed red hair, obviously. You could see his dark roots under the red. He looked intimidating, but also . . . sweet? Kind? You couldn’t tell. He had an awful demeanor, given what he just did to you. He was strong, as you noticed the muscles standing out through his shirt from beforehand. Buff, if you will. But even within that, he didn’t seem too mean. There was something about him that appeared to be gentle, which made no sense given the context of why you were in his house. 

He caught you staring at him and sent you a sly smirk. “Like what you see?”

“No,” you responded quickly and rolled your eyes. “Now answer my question: what the hell do you want with me? Why am I here?”

The man only sighed and made his way closer to you. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, goosebumps now evident on your neck. You gulped in fear, hoping he would stop and give you some space. “You’re here because I want you to be with me. My girlfriend, if you will. I knew the first day I saw you that you were mine. The boys kept telling me I had to give it more time to really make sure, but I didn’t agree with them. I made them help me make a plan to bring you home, and now here we are.”

“P-Plan? You had this entire thing planned, to kidnap me?” You asked. “W-What, this is so fucked up, I . . . wait, when did you see me? Because I’ve never seen you before in my life, you’re lying.”

“A few months ago, when you were working at the grocery store. You were too caught up in getting that order ready, but you gave me a soft smile, and I knew then that it was you. I did everything I could to learn more about you, and it didn’t take me long to concoct a plan to make you mine,” he explained. 

You wanted to scream. Your chest was tight and you could feel your hands forming into fists. Tears began to prick in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall, you didn’t want this man to think you were weak, or that you wanted his sympathy. “So you stalked me? You just gathered all the information that you could and stalked me?”

“Well, when you put it that way—” He tried to joke, but you only scoffed. He grabbed your arms in an attempt to help you not get angry. “Hey, hey — I know it sounds bad, but I did this for a reason. The men in my line of business, it’s just how we get our girls and make them ours. It helps us ensure that they stay with us and no one will take them away. I had to do this, to make sure you were safe. You’ll understand overtime.”

The man was rubbing his thumb over your arms to help you calm down, but you yanked them back and made your way to the other side of the living room, to get as far away from him as you could. “First of all, that is wrong on so many levels, I don’t even know what to say except that you’re crazy and that is not how you treat romantic partners. Second of all, you could’ve just asked me on a date like a normal person, I would’ve said yes.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? I’ll take you on a bunch of dates soon, Princess. It’ll be like you said and we’ll do anything you want. Anything to make my girl happy.”

“I’m all set, thanks. I’ll be getting out of here soon enough, so the dates aren’t gonna happen. Especially when you’re behind bars,” you reassured both yourself and him. 

Your comment only made him laugh. “Sure, baby, sure. The cops won’t find us, I know how to outrun them and keep them off my back. You think I would just take you without thinking about the police first? They won’t know a thing, and they’ll never find you. Hell, they don’t even know what I look like, just my name. Even then, they fear me.”

“I’m not talking about the cops. My family and our friends know a thing of two about dealing with assholes like you. You’ll be lucky if they let you go in one piece, and even then you’ll be begging them to throw you in a jail cell,” you threatened. If there was one thing you knew for sure in this world, is that if you were ever in a crisis, your family and their motorcycle gang would be there in an instant to get you out. That was the only thing keeping you sane, knowing they would save you from this mess.

He couldn’t help but scoff at your comment. “Oh, really? You think the Sons of Chaos are gonna scare me into letting you go? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Princess, but I can outrun and outsmart your family and their little group. Once they figure out who I am, they’ll be scared shitless and won’t stand a chance against me and the boys. The cops fear me, they’ll fear me, everyone is scared of me. There’s no getting out of this, no matter how hard you try.”

“Yeah? And what’s your name if everyone’s so scared of you?” You joked, trying to irk the hell out of this man so he would eventually break and let you go.

“San. Choi San, if you want my full name.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. You heard that name before, a long time ago, but you couldn’t remember where. “Choi San . . . why does that sound familiar?”

“Probably heard of me on the news. The gang I’m a part of, too. Yeah, we’re on the news a lot for the shit that we do. Does the name Ateez ring a bell? Everyone says we’re dangerous and a threat to the city, but it’s a bunch of bullshit. We’re just doing what we love most. We’re strong, fast, and protect ourselves well. Where’s the harm in that?”

Your stomach dropped at the realization. You knew very well what Ateez was, they were the talk of the town for years, even now. You remember learning about them when you moved home for your master’s program, your family so horrified and disgusted with their actions. You didn’t like them, either, being extra precautious when traveling around town and when you were at school for the day. But you never thought you’d actually come face to face with one of the members; it was one of those things where you would never expect to run into them in real time, only in your imagination. To be in the house of a member was something you never expected to happen.

The room was silent as you stared at San. Your breath hitched as you felt your feet take you backwards, only a little bit. Being a member of Ateez only meant violence, danger, and you had no idea what Choi San wanted with you. You wanted to take out the can of pepper spray you brought with you. The lap in the living room seemed to be a better weapon, however. Anything to defend yourself against him in case things went terribly wrong. “Ateez? Yeah, I’ve heard of you. You’re criminals. You’re dangerous, violent, and cruel.”

“Ouch. That your opinion or what everyone else keeps telling you?” San bit back, taking a few steps closer to you, in which you kept backing up. “Whatever you think about us, it’s not true. We aren’t evil people, we work for what is ours and do whatever we need to do to get it. Yeah we’re involved in dangerous shit, but we can protect ourselves well. We know how to handle it.”

“Doesn’t negate the fact that you still work with illegal shit,” you spat, your arms now crossed over your chest. 

San let out a small laugh. “Oh, and the Sons of Chaos are completely innocent? They’re not the good people you think they are,” he said, saying your name at the end of his sentence to show how serious he was being.

“That’s different. The Sons of Chaos have done some terrible things, yes, but they’ve changed. They aren’t the same people they were five years ago, my brother is changing it for the better. Unlike you and your friends, they actually care about people and don’t take them from their homes in the middle of the night,” you defended. 

“Yeah, sure they have. Deny it all you want, but the Sons of Chaos are exactly the same as us. We are one in the same. You’ll see it soon enough and realize your family aren’t the perfect people you make them out to be,” San fought back, his jaw now tighter than before. Whatever you said ticked him off, perhaps at how naive you were being. 

But you didn’t care. You stood by what you said — your family and the Sons of Chaos were good people, they were changing for the better. No matter what San said, you wouldn’t let him get into your head. Especially after what he did to you.

A sigh escaped your lips as you ran a hand through your hair. You slowly started to put the pieces together to try and make sense of all of this. “Is that . . . is that why I’m here? Because you saw me and thought it’d be funny to rip a random girl away from her family? To upset her family who did nothing to you, all because you can? God, why can’t I just go home?”

You were about to cry, you could feel the tears welling up again and your voice getting weaker every time you spoke. As much as you wanted to hold them back, you just let them fall because you couldn’t take it anymore. You let the tears fall as you profusely wiped them with your sleeve. The night had gotten to be too much, between being taken by a random man after he broke into your house and the possibility of never seeing your family again. Your mind couldn’t take it anymore, it had to release its emotions.

San caught onto this and immediately rushed to your side, pulling your hand away from your face and wiping your tears with his thumb. “Hey, hey,” he cooed. When you tried to pull away from him, he gently grabbed your arm and brought you closer to his chest, your arm resting against it to create some distance. “I know this is a lot, this is a big change for you and it’s very hard to hear. But like I told you, I took you because I know you’re the one for me. I want to be with you,” he explained, whispering your name to show how serious he was about this. “My pretty little housewife, I just want to love and take care of you, Princess. This will be a hard adjustment, I know, but I can make you happy, give you a life that you deserve.”

“Wait, housewife? You just said girlfriend, you never said anything about me being a housewife. Jesus Christ, I don’t even know how to cook let alone raise a baby—” You started, your chest tightening in fear.

“Too much, that’s my fault,” San cut you off. He slipped his hand into yours, still holding you in his chest. “Let's go to bed, we can talk about this more in the morning after we’ve slept, okay?”

You didn’t say anything. You remained quiet as San guided you up the stairs. The second floor was even prettier than the first, with multiple rooms lining the halls accompanied with pretty colors and paintings. He took you to the end of the hall, which you assumed was his bedroom. And it was. In the center stood a king sized bed, with a flatscreen TV mounted to the wall. Dressers, a closet, and a master bathroom were a part of the bedroom. It was a nice room, especially with how big the windows were. You liked it a lot, despite the situation you were in.

You awkwardly stood in the middle of the room while San searched through his drawers. He came back to you, handing you a large t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. “These will do for the night, I didn’t get a chance to go shopping for your clothes this week, only some basic t-shirts. We’ll get you some more this week, but for now my clothes will have to do. You can get changed out here, I’ll just change while I brush my teeth. I have one for you, too. You can just come in whenever you’re ready.”

You only nodded your head, and he was in the bathroom within seconds. You quickly tore off your clothes quickly to make sure San wouldn’t come out and see you half naked. His clothes were big, but so comfortable (though you would never admit it). As you folded your clothes, you remembered your phone was still in the back pocket. As quickly as you could, you pulled your phone out to see if your message had gone through. SMS error, the screen read. Damnit, you thought to yourself. You hoped you’d have a second of alone time so you could try sending it again, now that you were in a different location. 

You hid your phone under your clothes and kicked them into a pile once you heard San open the bathroom door. Once he walked out, you traded places and began to brush your teeth quickly. You liked how the bathroom had two sinks, a big shower, and a nice bathtub. You always liked bathrooms like that, for whatever reason. They just felt fancy, elegant.

San stood over the bed by the time you had gotten out, scrolling through his phone. He immediately shut it off and walked over to you. He couldn’t help but bite his lip as he admired you (probably because you were wearing his clothes), to which you rolled your eyes. “Sorry, Princess,” he chuckled. “You just look so good in my clothes. My pretty girl. Come, let's go to sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you. I’ll just sleep on the couch downstairs with some pillows and blankets,” you shook your head. 

“It wasn’t a question, you’ll be sleeping with me from now on,” he told you sternly, his jaw tightening. 

“And I told you I’m not going to,” you fought back. You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m sleeping on the couch whether you like it or not, asshole.”

Before San could protest, you opened the door. Only, instead of going downstairs, you were stopped by a small cat sitting at the doorway. Once it saw you, it began to meow and rub up against your leg. You immediately fell in love with it; as much as you didn’t want to pick it up (because you weren’t sure if it liked being touched), you felt your arms reaching down and scooping it into your grasp. You immediately felt the vibrations against your hands, the cat now content with you holding it. 

“Why hello there,” you cooed with a wide smile. “You are very beautiful, and very sweet. What’s your name? I absolutely adore you.”

“Her name is Pip. I rescued her from a shelter almost seven years ago—” San started to explain.

“I only asked for her name,” you cut him off, your eyes still glued to the cat. “Hi Pippie, that is such a cute name. I want to take you home with me so badly, you’d love my cat. But I guess we’re both stuck here with that thing in the corner, but we don’t have to spend time with him. Come, we’re gonna sleep downstairs on the couch.”

As you were about to leave the bedroom with Pip, San called out to you. “Wait!” he said. 

You slowly turned around with the cat still in your arms. “Pip just told me she wants to go to sleep, so make it quick.”

His jaw tightened once more, the stern look from earlier was now on his face again. “The couch isn’t that comfortable to sleep on. It’s less comfortable than the bed. Sleep with me here tonight, and I’ll let Pip sleep right next to you.”

“I still don’t feel comfortable sleeping with you—”

“Pip never sleeps with me, I’ve tried so many times but she won’t budge. But with you, she might. Just sleep here with me, please,” San cut you off, his voice now tired. Clearly, he had enough of your behavior and wanted to go to sleep. You did too, but he asked for this after what he did. It was his own damn fault. 

The cat kept purring against you, her head now in your neck. After thinking about this for a few minutes, you let out a sigh and groaned dramatically. “Ugh, fine. You win, I’ll sleep in your bed tonight. But I swear to God, if you try anything, I will stab you over and over again until you are dead. Got it?”

He chuckled with a smile. “You’re so cute when you act all bratty and tough.”

You rolled your eyes as you reluctantly dragged yourself to the bed. “I’m not a brat, you’re the brat,” you muttered. Once you sat down, Pip crawled out of your arms and planted herself on the end of the bed. Slowly and nervously, you laid down and pulled the covers over your body.

Without warning, San wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed your back against your chest. Your hand immediately went up to smack it. “Um, no. This is my half of the bed, you stay on your half. Did you forget about the invisible barrier that splits down the middle?”

“Really? There was? Hmm, guess I broke it,” San shrugged his shoulders. You tried to move out of his grip, but it was no use, he was much stronger than you. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and placed gentle kisses on your cheek and neck. “Goodnight,” he whispered your name, placing one final kiss on your neck.

But you didn’t wish him the same. Rather, you shut your eyes and tried to fall asleep. Pip’s purring and warmth kept you calm, but other than that, your mind was on fire. A million thoughts burned through it, you didn’t know where to begin or how to make sense of it all. Your life changed in an instant. One minute, you were happy living at home with your family and enjoying your small vacation. The next minute, you were kidnapped in the middle of the night by some creep who was a part of the most dangerous gangs in the area, claiming to be in love with you and making you his “girlfriend.” You had no idea why this was happening to you, why he wanted you, out of all people.

You always cringe at yourself whenever you think of yourself like this, but you weren’t special. You wanted to smack yourself in the head at how stupid you sounded, but it was true. You weren’t. You were just like everyone else, no matter how hard you tried to be different. Everything you did, from tennis to school, was the same as everyone else. There were people who were better than you, much better, you would never be on top. There was always someone who was more talented or more skilled than you. You were never enough, no matter how hard you tried. 

Even with your friends and family, you were just normal to them. You knew it was different with your family, since they focused on your brother more and wanted to get him prepared for taking over the Sons of Chaos when his time came. They constantly praised him and put all of their attention into him, so you expected them to not think of you as their favorite. Your friends were a different story, however. 

Whenever you made a friend and became really close to them, you thought so highly of them. You thought they were your best friend, and that they thought the same. The one person they could go to for anything, their special friend. You always thought of your friends that way, but they never did about you. They always had someone they were closer to, someone they’d pick over you without hesitating. You’ve always wanted that, ever since you were younger and everyone seemed to not like  you because you were “weird.” And everytime you thought you found that person, they never thought of you the same way.

It crushed you, but you knew that person would come into your life someday. You loved the friends you had and the memories you shared, but you just wanted a best friend. Someone who could count on you and would choose you first, and you the same. Someday you would find that person, you knew in your heart that you would.

You were used to never being enough, for anyone or anything. You had grown to accept that, and you thought you would be fine and that everything happened for a reason. But now came Choi San, a man who claimed to be “the one” for you and would put you first. Well, from what you gathered. You had no idea what he was capable of, if he was going to kill you in the middle of the night while you were asleep. But he seemed to really care for you, in his own sick and twisted way. 

He certainly couldn’t be the person you kept praying about. No, this man was insane. He kidnapped you in the middle of the night, took you away from your family, most likely for good. One minute he seemed sweet, but the next, he could easily get angry and possibly hurt you badly. This couldn’t be it, this couldn’t be the person you were searching for your entire life. You deserved better, and this was a sick punishment you got for absolutely no reason. You weren’t perfect by any means, but you did not deserve this.

You were sure things would change in the coming days. You would figure out a way to get out of this hellhole and back to your normal life, even if it took some time. You were determined to be reunited with your family again, and you were going to make sure that it happened. It didn’t matter what you had to endure — as long as you could find a way out, you would do anything if it meant returning to the life you once knew and loved.

All your life, you had been an angel amongst gods and prayed one day you would become one. Now that you had that power, the ability to be seen as a god — you were starting to realize that maybe you were better off being an angel. Angels never got hurt, they cared for others but no one did the same for them. Perhaps you were better off as an angel, invisible amongst the gods where you didn’t have to worry about anyone but yourself. 

Back then you had your freedom, but now you were trapped with the devil himself, and you didn’t want to be a god who would succumb to their worst nightmares just to survive. You couldn’t let yourself. And now, you would do anything to get your freedom back. Even if it meant sacrificing yourself to become an angel for as long as you lived.

[silentglassbreak]

Here we are, folks. The long, highly anticipated Part 2 of Can You Feel My Heart... I told you all I had a surprise for you, didn't I? Well, naturally, I wasn't lying. This piece of work was actually not written by me... Rather, it was written by the Smut Master herself, @notyourmomsromancenovel. After much discussion and careful consideration, we decided this story is going to be a series with an undetermined number of parts, every chapter bouncing between her and I. I'm going to warn you now, friends, we're going to get dark with this one... Now, without further ado...we sincerely hope you enjoy. xo -Glass & Romance

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: angst, crime?, smut, rough sex, bondage, kinks (slapping, choking, etc.), mild violence, gut wrenching fuckery that will have your jaw on the table.

Taglist: @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @shilohrosechicken @jilliemiw86 @wasteddoubts @raspberrywatermelon @respectfulrebel @guacinyourarea @sydinhiidef @amelia-acero @runadaggerthroughmychest @foliosgirl @anything-more-than-human @ooh-whatever-nevermind @poisongirl616 @theanarchymuse95

I hope I got everyone on the taglist, but if I missed you - let me know!

Silence Speaks

The toothbrush fell from my open mouth and clattered in the sink loudly. I frantically hung up and tried the call again, fingers shaking as I held the phone to my ear.

“The number you have reached is not in service. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try your call again.”

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. This can’t be right.

I thought back to our night together. The confession he made about his feelings toward me. The sex. Falling asleep together. The way he whispered to me as I fell asleep. Nothing about this is adding up.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and try to clear the panic that is threatening to close in on me. I can feel my fingertips start to tingle, my ears are starting to ring. It feels like I can’t breathe and I know I’m on my way to a full blown panic attack if I don’t calm the fuck down. In through the nose, out through the mouth. One breath at a time. I can do this.

What the actual fuck is happening here?

My eyes fly open as I remember the last thing I heard Noah say as I drifted into unconsciousness.

“I’m so sorry. I wish things were different…”

I feel the bile make its way up my esophagus leaving me just seconds to make it over the toilet before I’m throwing up what little I could get down after the concert last night. Tears sting my eyes as I heave over and over again, with nothing left in my stomach but dead butterflies.

I lay my head against the cool toilet seat as I spit the last of the vomit from my mouth. Tears flow freely into the water, snot leaks continuously from my nose and I don’t even bother trying to clean myself up yet.

What’s the point anyway? What’s the point of anything?

My mind spirals to a dark place, wishing to be anyone but me. Losing Noah the first time was hard and took me years to recover from, and that was before he admitted he loved me.

This time...

This time might kill me. 

I hear my phone start to ring and my heartbeat picks up thinking it’s Noah. He’s got an explanation for why his phone was turned off, maybe a crazy fan got ahold of his number and he had to change it so he just got a new one. I scramble away from the toilet over to the corner, where my phone landed in my haste to not get vomit all over my bathroom sink. 

A picture of a smiling Ray and me at Knott’s Scary Farm last year looks up at me, and I think I might throw up again.

I let the call go to voicemail and sit on the ground, knees drawn up to my chest, arms wrapped around them, and lay my head down. I feel numb, light, like time means nothing anymore. 

I hear a text notification come through once, twice, and then another phone call. As soon as that phone call ends, a text comes through again. 

I groan and pick my phone up, intending to turn it off and pretend I don’t exist. I’ve been sitting like this for twenty minutes already, and I have no intention of moving any time soon.

As I swipe down the notification bar to power off my phone, I see the texts from Ray.

Ray: Hey babe, you good? You don’t usually call like that without saying something first.

Ten minutes later.

Ray: Babe? Raccoon if you’re alive or I’m going to show up at the house. I’m worried and I know you’re not asleep.

Ten more minutes before the final phone call and the last text.

Ray: Mkay well I’m on my way, see you in 15.”

I lean my head back against the cool wall. Fuck. How do I get Ray not to come home? I shoot her a quick text.

Me: Hey babe, I’m good. I think I might be coming down with something though, I don’t think you should come home. I’ll text you later.

My phone starts to ring and I see the picture of me and Ray. Double fuck. I fight for my life to sound semi-normal as I answer the phone.

“Hey.”

Not doing great so far.

I hear Ray scoff into her headphones, “Yeah, that’s real convincing. Here’s the deal, I’m already on my way so you can fuck right off with your sick act. We’re practically soul mates and I know something is up. Unlock the door so I don’t waste time with the key. I’ll see you in 10.”

I don’t even get a chance to respond before she hangs up. There’s no chance in hell I can hide this from Ray once she’s here. I’m going to break down the second she walks through the door, so I send her a text.

Me: Bring the Stella Black and some ice cream.

Almost immediately, I get a response,

Ray: Bringing the shovel too.

I almost smile.

I get up and unlock the door, returning to the bathroom to brush my teeth for the second time this morning while I wait for Ray to get here.

Two big bottles of Stella Black, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food, a pint of Rainbow Sherbet and an entire box of Kleenex later, and Ray was caught up. We sat in silence now on my couch watching Scream, the original. 'Something happy' she said as she put it on. I was barely paying attention.

By the time we learned Billy Loomis and Stu Macher were the killers and I hadn’t laughed once or mimicked the way the actors were saying things, Ray turned it off with a sigh. She turned to me and took one of my hands in hers. 

“Babe,” She started. I looked at her as she continued. “I know this sucks, I mean really fucking sucks, but you have two options here.”

I just blinked in response.

“You can let this consume you - eat you alive like you did before. Or you could enter your villain era. Show him what he walked away from, what he’s been missing out on all these years. Fuck him and his band.”

“My villain era?” I questioned.

Ray smiled. “It’s not like we don’t know when he’ll be here again, or when he’ll be close. We can show up at his show and...I don’t know, throw tomatoes at him or something. Or boo him when he comes on stage? That would make you feel better, right?”

The gears in my head started turning. A villain era might be nice. A little side of crazy to keep him guessing. Show him that he fucked me over and used me for sex for the last time.

I felt a smile spread across my face as I answered. “Yeah, I think that would make me feel better, babe.”

As long as things didn’t get out of hand.

Seven months is a long time to plan revenge when you think about it. It gives you plenty of time to plot, come up with ideas, change them, scrap them for new ones, all in the hopes of executing the perfect way to get back at someone. And I have it now. Once I was done with Noah, he’d never even think of anyone but me.

This was how I made him pay for his actions.

Unfortunately, there had to be some collateral. Tyler and I split the day after Noah left. I confessed immediately to cheating on him and I was so numb from the after effects of Noah’s departure, I didn’t even have it in me to cry over Tyler. Watching him quietly sob while processing my infidelity should have broken me, but I had nothing left in me, at the time, to offer him the reaction he deserved. I should have had more remorse. More tact. Shouldn’t have been so blunt. 

“I fucked Noah Sebastian.”

No apologies, no tears. Just stating facts. 

“Y/N, we should talk about this.”

I sat staring at him without saying another word until he left.

Tyler never spoke to me again, not that I can blame him. He wouldn’t like what I was planning anyway.

Sitting at a hotel across the country in New Mexico, I wondered if I was really doing this. I took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. There was no backing out now. Hotels were already booked, tickets were bought. New Mexico, then Arizona, followed by Oklahoma, and ending with Texas. Five shows. Four cities. That would be plenty to get my point across. I thought about going to Sick New World in Las Vegas, but tickets were pricier than I would have liked and a festival didn’t have the same intimacy I was looking for. 

I checked my phone to see a message from Raylene.

Ray: Hey babe, just checking in. Let me know you made it to your mom’s!

I sent back a quick -

Me: Made it! The flight took a lot out of me, I’m gonna crash for the night, I love you.

It was way too early for bed, but not if you factored in being jet lagged like I claimed. Besides, I wasn’t going to bed, and I wasn’t at my mom’s in Florida. I was in Albuquerque getting ready to head out to the first concert to enact the revenge I so desperately needed. I felt a quick stab of panic for not telling Ray what I was doing, or where I really was.

What if something happened to me? I was alone in an unfamiliar city, after all. I swallowed the panic as I had every time I thought of these moments the last seven months, and instead I focused on the rage I had for Noah. I focused on making him pay for all the hurt he caused.

Doors were at 6PM with I See Stars starting at 7 as the opening act. After their set, Invent Animate would play theirs. I figured I had about three hours from the time doors opened to Bad Omens going on stage.

Easy enough.

I waited out in the lot in my rental car as I watched the crowd start to go inside when they opened the doors. Minutes ticked by as the crowd got smaller and smaller. Soon, there were only a few stragglers left as late comers hurried to enter the venue before the bands went on.

It’s now or never.

I glanced over to the fenced area that contained the buses for the bands. No security. Perfect. A small venue like this probably didn’t have the manpower to house security outside as well as inside for the concert. I double checked the alarm I had set on my phone and got out of the car before I could change my mind. 

I walked as quickly as I could over to the side of the building where the buses sat while trying not to draw any extra attention to myself. Getting over the fence was the hardest part, but I managed with just a couple of muttered cuss words. Spotting the bus for Bad Omens was easy, as it was the biggest one there.

“Show offs.” I muttered under my breath and walked at a brisk pace to close the gap between me and the bus. 

I shrugged the backpack I carried off and placed it on the floor, crouching next to it and looking both directions before unzipping it, pulling out my first weapon of choice; spray paint.

Red, of course.

I shook the canister, willing the can to stay quiet and began spraying the side of the bus. Letter by letter, I covered one whole side of the bus in spray paint. Once I finished the sentence, I stood back to get a good look. 

My heart was racing with adrenaline, and I could feel the maniacal grin plastered on my face.

NOAH SEBASTIAN IS AN ASSHOLE

Childish? Sure. Satisfying? Fuck yes.

Up next, the inside. 

I walked up to the door of the bus and tried it. Unlocked. 'Cocky', I thought.

I made my way up the steps and closed the door behind me. I froze in my spot, awe-struck by the luxury this bus had.

It was a shame I was going to ruin it.

I reached in my backpack and grabbed another can of spray paint; black. I looked around. Driver’s seat to my right. Nothing to really do there. To my left was the living area with a pull out couch, a loveseat, a coffee table, and a TV. Just past that was the kitchen area which had a fridge, stove top, microwave, and dining table. Beyond that, behind a closed door, were what I assumed to be the bedrooms and bathroom. I’d save those for last. 

The spray paint got used up first. Black and red X’s painted various parts of the living space. A couple of 'FUCK YOU’s were written on the fridge and the TV. I pulled out my pocket knife next and went to town on the couch and loveseat, gouging holes in them, stabbing them dozens of times each. It was gratifying, watching the stuffing fly around as I unleashed all of the pent up aggression I had for Noah on these inanimate objects. 

I took a deep breath and admired my handiwork so far, noting the destruction the boys would walk into after their show. I might have gotten carried away as the TV lay broken on the floor, but the end result was the same. I was starting to feel better.

I made my way toward the back of the bus and opened the door leading to the bedrooms. It was easy to tell which was Noah’s, the last one on the right with the Bring Me The Horizon posters lining the walls above his bed. I knew I was running out of time so I wouldn’t be able to savor this as much as I’d like, but it was more important than everything else that I get this done, so I would get it done as fast as I could.

Just as I stepped into the room, I heard footsteps stomping on the stairs to the bus, and the doorknob began to turn. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest as I closed Noah’s door quickly behind me and dove under the bed. 

“What the fuck?!” I heard Noah’s voice scream as it echoed throughout the bus. 

Folio wasn’t far behind as he said, “Noah hurry up we’re about to go-” His voice cut off as he stepped onto the bus. “What the fuck?!”

Nick’s voice carried from outside as he chuckled, “What are we what the fuck-ing?” Followed quickly by, “Oh, what the fuck?!”

I guess they must have missed the writing on the outside of the bus with the sun having set, making the inside of the bus the first thing they saw that I had done. 

I was panicking. This was not supposed to happen. I was going to be out of here thirty minutes before they went on, and no one would ever know it was me. Trying not to hyperventilate as I hid under the bed became my biggest priority. I had to focus on calming down because I couldn’t hear the boys over the sound of my own blood rushing through my veins. Deep breaths, slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Their voices came back as I began to get control of my breathing. 

“... would do such a thing?” Nick asked incredulously.

“.... call the cops.” Folio was saying over Nick. 

The two of them continued talking over each other before Noah shushed them. “Did either of you or Jolly leave the door to the rooms open?”

Oh, fuck.

Everything got deathly quiet. My heart was beating loud enough that I’m sure all of them could hear it at this point.

I could hear their footfalls getting closer to the hallway. The door to the far left was flung open, banging against the wall. A moment of silence passed as I assumed Jolly’s room was cleared. The door next to it, next to Noah’s, crashed against the wall as one of the boys opened it harshly. Another beat of silence as they cleared Nick and Folio’s room. Noah’s room was next. I knew I had mere moments before that door crashed open and they found me in here.

My fingers began to tingle. My breath came in short gasps. I could feel my heartbeat in every inch of my body. The door slowly opened. The boys knew this was the last room. If anyone was still on the bus, they were in here.

Double fuck.

I could see two pairs of shoes clearly from my position under the bed. Noah’s Converse at the front, Nick’s combat boots right beside him, and beyond them I could make out Folio’s Docs. They took slow, deliberate steps into the room, making sure there was no one to be found. I was seconds away from giving myself away before they ever even got the chance to see me. I held my breath, trying to slow my heartbeat that I just knew was echoing throughout the bus.

“Hey guys,” Folio whispered from the doorway. “I know you’re obviously in the middle of something, but we have to go. We need to get ready on stage. We’re going on in about thirty minutes.”

Noah cursed under his breath as he gave up his search before getting the chance to check under the bed. He let Nick walk ahead of him as both of them turned to leave the room.

Oh thank fuck. 

Saved by the bell. I never thought I’d be so happy to know they were about to go on stage. Now I just needed to wait until they got off the bus and were heading into the venue before I got the fuck out of here. 

The door began to close behind Noah as I thought about what Folio had just said. They had to be on in about thirty minutes.

I’m so fucked.

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, my alarm began to blare out of my phone signaling it was 8:30PM. 

In a panic, I tried to silence my phone before they heard it, scrambling to get it out of my jeans pocket and hit the snooze button. I was so busy trying to quell the noise, I didn’t hear the door open again, nor did I hear Noah crouch down in front of the bed. And I certainly was taken off guard when he grabbed a handful of my hair and began to pull me out from underneath his bed.

I dropped my phone, alarm still going off, and grasped at his hand in my hair, trying to get some reprieve from the pressure. I sucked in air through my teeth at the pain, and tried to gain traction with my shoes against the carpeted floor to delay the inevitable. After a few moments of struggling, Noah was able to get my head and arms out from under the bed. As if on cue, Nick and Folio each grabbed one of my hands and pulled me the rest of the way out. 

Once I was fully out from underneath the bed, Noah snatched me up onto my feet by my hair. He looked at me with anger, followed quickly by recognition, then confusion, before settling back on anger. 

He let go of my hair just long enough to grip my neck and throw me against his wall. “Y/N?! What the actual fuck?!”

I wrapped my hands around his wrist as his fingers dug into my throat, uselessly trying to get some air.

Folio placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder, “Hey man,” He started. “You've got to let her breathe.”

Noah’s hand loosened just enough for me to gasp in a breath of air that ended in a sharp cough. “You can breathe, so you can talk. I’ll ask again. What the actual fuck?”

Noah’s voice was calm, low, deadly. I’d never seen him like this, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of talking, not when he couldn’t give me the satisfaction of an answer to his transgressions. Instead, I just stared defiantly at him.

“Fuck, man,” Nick said, hands running through his hair. “We've got to go dude. Like, we've really got to go.”

“Cancel it.” Noah didn’t even glance back at Nick as he said it.

Nick physically flinched at the tone of Noah’s voice. 

Folio tried next. “Noah, seriously. We can’t cancel less than thirty minutes before the show. We have to go.”

I wasn’t sure if they were trying to convince him to leave for their benefit or mine, but I was grateful either way. The look in Noah’s eyes was terrifying, but it was also causing heat to pool low in my abdomen, and I had no interest in unpacking that feeling, so I needed him to let me go and leave.

As if he could read my mind, he sighed and turned back to Nick and Folio. “Fine.”

I could have cried.

“Grab me the rope from the utility closet. We’ll make her nice and comfortable, and then we’ll go play our show.” Noah looked back at me. “She can answer my questions when we’re done.”

Well, fuck.

An hour and a half passed while I sat there tied up. The longest hour and a half of my life. I assumed they would be back quicker, but apparently having a hostage tied up wasn’t a good enough reason to hurry things along.

I was laying on Noah’s bed, wrists zip tied together with rope connecting the zip ties to the bed. My feet were spread, each being tied to one metal post by rope. Of course, Noah got sick of me mouthing off about what a dick he was so there was a bandana in my mouth, tied around the back of my head.

“You’re so pretty when you’re bound and gagged.” Noah had whispered into my hair as he finished tying the knot behind my head.

I had shuddered, and I’d like to think it was from revulsion, but my body had other ideas.

That was then, though. Me and my body were on the same wavelength now. We were pissed. He had kept me here for far too long. I was irritated, my wrists were sore, and I had to pee. I swear the people being kidnapped in the movies never have to pee. 

I had half a mind to wet myself in Noah’s bed, just to see his reaction when he came back. I had almost talked myself into it when I heard the bedroom door open. 

Looking over, Noah stood silhouetted in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob and the other on the door frame. He looked out of breath, chest heaving rhythmically. I just glared at him.

“Oh good, you’re still here.” He smirked. “I’m going to go take a shower. Wash the funk of the show off me. Then, we’ll talk.”

I was screaming beyond my gag, which was pointless as he had already shut the door and started the shower. What an insufferable asshole. Being riled up again made me completely forget about my full bladder as I thrashed around, which really only made things worse for me. 

By the time Noah emerged again, shoulder length hair dripping onto his shirtless chest and a towel wrapped around his lower half, I was exhausted. My wrists were throbbing, my throat hurt, my mouth was dry, and my ankles were starting to burn from where the rope rubbed them. He looked like a pornstar, and I looked like a mess. 

I watched Noah reach into his dresser to grab a pair of gray sweatpants and a black tank top. Then, he turned and faced me, and dropped his towel.

I wish I could tell you I looked away - or at the very least closed my eyes - but I didn’t. My gaze quickly fell to the towel as it came unraveled from around his waist, and then locked intently at what it was covering. 

As if he had all the time in the world, Noah bent forward and slowly began to put on his sweatpants, and I followed his every move until he tucked himself inside of them. His shirt was on much quicker, but I couldn’t help but notice how much drier my mouth seemed after watching his arms flex as he pulled it over his head. 

Noah slowly prowled towards me, a fire blazing in his eyes, and I couldn’t tell if it was lust or hatred that was behind them. 

Once he reached the bed, he dropped to his knees beside me and untied the bandana from behind my head, letting his fingers graze my cheeks as he removed it from my mouth.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“Go fuck yourself, Detective Asshole.” I spit. “This isn’t an interrogation for me. It should be one for you.”

Noah looked amused at my remark. “For me? I didn’t realize I was the one that had broken into my own tour bus and vandalized it. You realize you caused tens of thousands of dollars in damages right?”

I had realized that, but hearing it said out loud made me feel small. “I’m aware of what I did, Noah, but are you?”

“Tell me, Y/N, what did I do?”

All those months of anger, all those months of planning, all the pain - it came down to this right here, this confrontation. It wasn’t happening as I had expected it to, but I’d take what I could get.

Just as I had begun to formulate my verbal attack against him, tears welled in my eyes, and the first word I tried to say turned into a sob.

Noah’s face fell. The hardened criminal persona I had tried to portray crumbled as the hurt he had caused washed over me. 

“You...” I had to pause as the sobs wracked my body. “You left me, Noah. You broke my heart. Not just once, but twice. You broke my soul. Shattered it and left me in pieces. And then you came back into my life, just to give me a second of hope. Of happiness. And then you stole it away. You took everything I had to live for. You took every chance I ever had of loving anyone ever again. You were it for me, Noah. The only thing that kept me going day in and day out, and losing you the first time, I had to learn to live with only half of me.”

Tears flowed silently down my face as I continued. “Leaving me the last time? You took the rest of me with you. The damage I’ve caused to your bus is the smallest glimpse of the pain you’ve caused me. It doesn’t even scratch the surface, and you deserve so much more for what you’ve done!”

I watched as tears tracked lines down Noah’s face. I watched as the fire he had when he came into the room was smothered. I watched as the boy I fell in love with, the one I knew all those years ago, resurfaced. Gone was the hardened Noah Sebastian. This, this was Noah Davis; the love of my life, my soul mate, my reason for being. And I watched as he crumbled as he realized how badly he had hurt me.

“Y/N, you don’t understand.” He started, choking up and having to clear his throat as he continued. “I had to.”

“You didn’t have to do anything, Noah.” I couldn’t back down now. “You could have let me in! You could have let me love you. You could have done anything except fuck me over, but you’re selfish and it’s all you know how to do. All you’ve ever done is shut out anyone who got too close. I don’t even think you know what the meaning of love is at this point.”

He looked so broken, his eyes mirrored the pain I had been feeling these past seven months. “I couldn’t bring you into this life, Y/N! Not like this. I changed, I was different, there was no way you could ever want who I became. I was saving you from me!”

There it was. The reason Noah left. He was trying to save me from him?

“Noah, that’s not your decision to make! You should have given me a chance to decide for myself if I could be with the person you became. Spoiler alert, I can! I love you, Noah Davis. With every fiber of my being and every inch of my soul. There is no one else for me. Why can’t you see that?”

I watched as realization dawned on him, watched as he realized how big of a mistake he made, and it was almost satisfying enough to make up for everything he did to me.

“Oh, fuck.” He whispered. “I fucked up. I fucked up worse than I could have possibly imagined. How could I have been so stupid?”

“All I’ve ever wanted was you, Noah, in whatever version of yourself that you are. It’s just you.”

He lowered his forehead to mine and closed his eyes, “What can I do to make this up to you? What can I do to begin to earn your forgiveness? You’re all I want Y/N, if you’ll still have me.”

I shut my eyes and tried to think, my mind working furiously to try to come up with something, anything to say. This was going so far differently than I had ever imagined, but maybe it would have the same outcome?

“You could start by untying me?” I asked softly, and even I heard the seductive edge in my tone. 

Noah’s head snapped up, and he reached up to undo the rope that bound my zip tied wrists to the bed. He stopped short, though, glancing at my face and then running his eyes down my body to where my legs were spread, tied to his bed. He took his time staring before slowly meeting my gaze again.

There was that fire again. 

“I don’t know.” He stood then, and I looked to see his growing erection pressing against his sweats. “I did say you were so pretty when you were bound and gagged. I meant it.”

I felt wetness at my core and desperately tried to rub my thighs together, anything to get some friction where I desperately needed it. I hadn’t had sex since that fateful night with Noah all those months ago, and I was definitely feeling the effects of that loss now. 

 Noah’s eyes glanced at my thighs, and a grin spread across his face,

“Do you like the sound of that? Does my girl want to get fucked while she’s tied up?”

I could only whimper in response, but Noah took that as all the invitation he needed to push his sweatpants down, freeing his erection. He slowly stroked his shaft, once, twice, making sure my eyes were watching his hand as he worked himself. I could feel my breath quicken as I licked my lips, desperate to feel him. 

“Would you like a taste, princess?” I nodded and locked eyes with him as he moved closer, lining his cock up with my lips. I gently licked his tip, where a bead of precum had formed. This caused his head to tilt back, which gave me the opportunity to wrap my mouth around his head, using my tongue to caress the base of his cock. 

He pulled away from me, and I whined at the loss of him. “Not so fast,” He chuckled. “I’m in control here, isn’t that right?”

“God, yes Noah.” I groaned.

“That’s a good girl." He stated as he lined himself up with my lips again. “Are you going to let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours the way I want?”

“Yes.” I whispered against him, and as soon as my mouth opened, he forced his cock inside, slamming all the way to the back of my throat. I gagged harshly, and he used the momentum to shove even further down my throat, cutting off any air supply I had and making me try to jerk back reactively. 

His hand wrapped tightly in my hair. He held me down, face flush against his stomach, as my throat worked to swallow his entire length. 

He moaned above me. “Fuck Y/N, you feel so fucking good gagging against my cock.”

He held me down another few seconds before giving me reprieve, and I gasped in air as he pulled back. 

“You’re such a fucking good girl.” He muttered as his free hand lightly caressed my cheek. I savored the gentle touch for a moment, eyes closed before he pulled away. I had just a second to mourn the loss of his hand before I felt him smack me, just hard enough to surprise me.

I gasped at the contact which gave him another opportunity to force himself down my throat. He continued relentlessly fucking my throat until it felt raw. Tears were streaming down my face and my makeup was far from ruined. His hand remained tight in my hair, causing a soreness to build on my scalp.

After what felt like an eternity, but was likely no more than fifteen minutes, Noah removed his cock from my mouth and his hand from my hair. I took in big mouthfuls of air, luxuriating in being able to take full breaths, in comparison to the small reprieve I had earlier.

I focused on calming my breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Same as always. 

Noah looked down at me hungrily. “Ready for more baby girl?”

“More?” I croaked.

A dark chuckle escaped him as his hands reached for the button on my jeans. “We’re only getting started.”

Getting my jeans down far enough proved to be a very un-sexy task filled with a lot of curses from Noah as he tried to figure out how to maneuver them down. He settled for untying my legs one at a time, and pulling each pant leg off before tying my legs to the bed posts again.

Once he had me repositioned the way he wanted me, he nestled himself in between my legs, looking up at me briefly before clamping his mouth around my clit, his tongue circling it relentlessly. My back arched off the bed and a moan that sounded more like a scream escaped my lips.

“Fuck, Noah.”

He hummed with his mouth still pressed against me, causing my body to convulse at the sensation. It had been far too long, and I was going to come long before he was finished, I just knew it.

As if he had read my mind, Noah slipped a finger in between my lips, teasing at my entrance before plunging first one, and then two fingers deep inside of me.

“Oh, God!” I groaned, feeling the orgasm building low in my abdomen. 

He curled his fingers inside of me, reaching up to the spot that he knew would have me coming undone in seconds. His fingers worked inside of me, and his mouth worked at my clit, guiding me closer and closer to the edge. Not a minute later, my orgasm crashed into me, a scream in the form of Noah’s name leaving my lips.

Noah’s mouth and fingers slowed as he coaxed the last of the spasms out of me, and I came down from the high of my orgasm.

I looked down at him as he withdrew his fingers from inside of me, making eye contact as he licked them clean, which caused another shudder to run through me. 

“Fuck, you taste amazing, princess.” Noah pulled himself up, pushing himself onto all fours and crawling up towards me. His mouth hovered over mine as he whispered. “Would you like a taste?”

I didn’t get to answer before his mouth was on me, and his tongue was dancing with mine. His hand reached down between my legs and his fingers made contact with my sensitive clit, making me groan beneath him.

I felt him smile against my lips. “Sensitive, sweetheart?” I could only whimper in response.

He continued circling my clit lightly as I fought against the restraints,

“Please, Noah.” I couldn’t take it anymore. 

“That’s right, princess. Beg me.” His fingers left my clit, granting me my request. 

I had enough time to sigh in relief before his cock slid deep inside of me. He pushed into me as deep as he could before pausing, a tremor running through his body. “God, you feel so good baby girl.”

My hands itched to run through his hair and I longed to rake my nails down his back.

This was what torture felt like. 

Noah rose up onto his knees, his cock never straying from inside of me and began to fuck me. This wasn’t the awkward sex of our youth, or the passionate lovemaking of our young adulthood. This was raw, fiery fucking. 

The slap of his skin on mine was deafening, nearly drowning out my screams of pleasure. 

“That’s it, Y/N. Take all of me like the good girl I know you are.”

Noah leaned over me and placed his hand over my mouth, “Take a deep breath, love.”

I glanced at him, begging my eyes to come into focus to try and make out what he was asking me to do. I took a deep breath just seconds before his hand inched up to cover my nose along with my mouth. His other hand snaked around my neck and began to squeeze.

He began to pound into me harder, and I tried to gasp against his hand and the pressure on my throat. I felt my lungs begin to burn and my eyes widened in panic. I started to thrash against the restraints, but fuck I was so close to coming. 

Just as I thought my lungs could take no more, my orgasm hit me like a ton of bricks, and Noah removed both of his hands causing the blood to rush back into my head, and giving my orgasm an extra boost that had me screaming his name over and over.

Noah leaned back again, cock thrusting deep inside of me and never losing stride as his thumb started to circle my clit again.

I was so far gone that it was no longer too sensitive to touch, and I was on my way to chasing another orgasm.

Noah could tell I was getting worn out. “Just give me one more, baby. I know you can.”

“Please, Noah.” I didn’t know what I was begging for any more. For him to finish? For more? I couldn’t tell.

His thrusts became harder, faster and his breath came in quick gasps. He was getting close.

“Do you know why your pussy is so wet, Y/N?” He asked me.

It took a few tries and I had to wet my lips with my tongue before I could answer weakly. “Why?”

He was pounding into me harder than he had before, and I could feel my orgasm building, taking me higher and higher.

“Because it’s mine, baby girl.”

That was all it took to send me careening over the edge into oblivion. A myriad of curses left Noah’s lips as he thrust into me, once, twice before stilling as he finished inside me. 

Noah took a few minutes to slow his breathing before he began the work of untying me. He carefully removed each zip tie and the ropes before beginning to massage my wrists and ankles where they were rubbed raw from the abuse. He kissed me lightly before picking me up and carrying me into the bathroom. He finished undressing me before guiding me into the hot shower, steam rising around me. 

He joined me in the shower, and started washing my hair, my body, taking great care around the places that were sore. I had no use of my arms and legs and my body felt disconnected from my mind.

Is this what heaven felt like? I felt so free, so loose. God, I missed this.

Noah turned off the shower, the cold wrapping around me. I sighed. Why did it have to end so soon?

I felt a towel rubbing against my skin as Noah began to dry me off. He grabbed hold of my hand and walked me back to his bedroom after tucking the towel tightly around my body.

“Sit.” He commanded, pointing to his bed.

I immediately obliged and he crawled in behind me, sitting up against my back as he began to brush my hair.

I moaned and leaned into his touch, which caused him to chuckle lightly. “Did I wear you out, my love?” He asked.

“You know you did, you cocky asshole.” This garnered a full belly laugh from him, which vibrated against me. 

Noah put the brush down and buried his face into my neck, his arms wrapping around me, “I missed you so much, Y/N.”

“I missed you too, Noah.”

With a sigh he got up from behind me, going to his dresser to grab one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers for me to wear. I swam in his oversized shirts, and I loved it.

He slipped back on his sweats but remained shirtless. 

“We have to get on the road in a few hours.” Noah started. “Should I take you back to where you’re staying?”

I shook my head and smiled. “I have tickets to your next four shows.”

Noah blinked at me, before the biggest smile plastered his face. “You do?” He looked uncertain as he asked. “Maybe you could ride with us then?”

I took a moment to contemplate, “Are you sure that would be okay? I don’t want to intrude.”

“You could never intrude, Y/N. I would love it if you stayed. I want to spend every day with you.” Noah grasped my hands in his. “I want a life with you.”

I stared deeply into his eyes, it was everything I had wanted to hear all those months ago. To save myself from another fit of crying, I just nodded in response. Noah leaned down and kissed each of my fingers, one by one.

“Let me update the guys. Get dressed, make yourself comfortable. Maybe grab a snack from the kitchen and we can watch a scary movie until we fall asleep when I get back?” Noah was already up and heading out the door as he finished his sentence.

It wasn’t thirty minutes later I heard the rest of the boys quietly conversing in the living area, and Noah bidding them a good night before walking towards his room. I was curled up on his bed, a bag of Hot Cheetos on one side, and Watermelon Sour Patch Kids on the other.

“How did that go?” I smiled up at him.

He crawled in bed next to me, laying his head on my lap and moving the bag of Hot Cheetos out of his way. “Better than it could have gone. I told them I’d pay for the damages to the bus, but they were all happy to hear you would be joining us on the tour. At least for a little bit, right?”

“Yeah, you’ve got me for now.” I ran my hands through his hair. “Mind if I put on Halloween?”

I didn’t give him the option of an answer before pressing play. He just snickered and traced his fingers up and down my calf.

By the time we made it halfway through Halloween 2, Noah was on his side next to me and I was laying on his chest. His fingers ran idly up and down my back and I listened to the steady beat of his heart.

Noah’s fingers started slowing and his breathing became steady.

“I love you, Y/N,” He whispered before he drifted off to sleep.

I smiled. “I wish we could stay like this forever, Noah.”

Noah

I was dreaming about her, like I did most nights. These were happier dreams than usual. Her and I were sitting in the grass, mountains behind us and a lake in front of us. It was perfect. Just like her.

I looked over in my dream and she was smiling, laughing, looking more beautiful than I had ever seen another human being look. I placed my hand on her stomach, round with our child, my wedding band glistening in the early morning light. This is what true happiness was. Me, my wife, and our child - our daughter, just about to enter this world where she would be loved and cherished more than any other child had ever been.

This was our happily ever after.

I woke slowly, hesitant to leave my dreamscape, but eager to wake up next to the woman of my dreams. I stretched, feeling my back pop and groaning at the relief it brought me. Shows always made me so sore the next day, and last night’s activities sure didn’t help with that either. My cock twitched in my pants at the thought, and I was excited at the prospect of round two.

I reached over, searching for her with my eyes still closed, but found the bed cold and empty where she should be.

My eyes flew open and I jolted upright, scanning the room. 

Where was she?

Panic filled my veins as my breath came in short gasps, and my lungs felt like they couldn’t get enough air.

Other sounds started to filter in as my pulse quickened, and I heard the shower running. My body relaxed instantly, sagging as a low chuckle escaped me.

Of course she was in the shower. Where else would she be?

I took my time getting out of bed and leaving my room, heading towards the bathroom to join her.

I tried the door, but it was locked. Smart, there were three other men on this bus.

I knocked. “Y/N? Can I come in?”

I heard the shower turn off and wet footsteps make their way across the room before the door opened. 

I smiled as I looked into the eyes of the woman I love, and fixed my mouth to tell her good morning...before realizing it was Folio standing in front of me.

“Uh, Noah?” Folio looked confused. “Y/N is definitely not in here with me, I swear dude.”

My face fell, glancing around him. I almost wished she was in there with him. A pit formed in my stomach and I stumbled back into my room, frantically tearing it apart looking for my phone. As soon as I found it, I dialed her number by heart. I placed the phone to my ear, heart pounding so loud I was afraid I wouldn’t hear when she answered.

“The number you have reached is not in service. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try your call again.”

[dancingtotuyo]

6. play my bloody part

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You take another step forward. Maria goes into Labor.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (Reader is 42, Joel is 56). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: angst, needles, blood, discussions of selfworth, grief (loss of a spouse), childbirth, graphic descriptions of childbirth, traumatic child birth, hemorrhage, likely very bad medical practices (don't try this at home folks, I am not a medical professional), shock, trauma, anxiety

This chapter is intense!

Notes: Thank you to @janaispunkand @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading this! I appreciate all your comments and feedback, and I love you both so much!

Words: 5507

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Ellie stops by the clinic a few days later. She stays relatively quiet as you gather supplies. Her eyes track your movements as she swings her legs back and forth from her place on the exam table. You’re not used to her being so quiet.

“Hold out your arm for me?” You give her a reassuring smile.

She listens but seems half a world away. You find a vein with quick precision, letting the blood drip into a glass vial. Your eyes flicker from the collecting blood to her face. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh…” she says. “I guess- why did you agree to do this?”

You cock your head to the side, twisting the top on the vial before you press a cotton ball to the inside of Ellie’s elbow. “You asked. I could at least look at it.”

You press her arm up to hold the cotton there. “Even though you think there’s no point.”

“I never said that.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eye, expression flat. “You thought it. Joel thinks-”

“What does Joel know?” You twist your face, winking at her. A faint smile flashes over her face. “I’m the medical professional here.”

“He talked to Marlene.”

“And Marlene was a doctor? A nurse?”

“No… at least I don’t think so.”

“See, what does she know?” You smile. This time, Ellie actually smiles back. “Now, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you ask me to do this?”

Ellie bites her lip. “I mean if there’s any chance, I have to try right? People could stop dying from this.”

“It’s not your responsibility, you know.”

“What?”

“To save the world.” You say. “It’s not your responsibility.”

“But I’m immune.”

“It’s okay to want to help.” You place the vial in a holder on the counter. The crimson red stands at stark contrast to the sterile-looking clinic. 

“I have to help. I have to do something.” Ellie can’t meet your eyes. “It can’t be for nothing.”

“What can’t be?” You tilt your head to the side. 

Ellie clenches her fist. Her typically assured demeanor is gone, making her look more like the 15-year-old she is. “Ellie?”

She takes a deep, shaky breath, lip quivering slightly. She doesn’t cry, waiting until she’s more assured to answer. “A lot of people died for me. It can’t be in vain.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She’s quick to answer, looking away.

“That’s okay.” You nod slowly. “But Ellie?”

There’s a pause. She sighs deeply. You can see the tears glistening in her eyes now. She’s fighting so hard to keep it all together. “Yeah?”

“Those people, they made a choice to do that. From what Joel’s told me, it sounds like they did that without even asking you first.” 

“What do you mean?”

You hold out a hand in front of her arm, the one with the bites on it. She’s hesitant at first but eventually lets it rest in your palm. You look over the raised skin where the tendrils of fungus are or were. You’re not sure if they’re still there, or if her body just stopped the progression of them. “You get to decide what happens to you, Ellie. Just because you’re immune doesn’t mean doctors or scientists or whatever form of power gets to make decisions for you.” She meets your eyes. You squeeze her hand. “You don’t owe the world anything for just existing.”

She chews on her lip, making you worry that she might draw blood. Her voice is quiet like she’s scared to say the words. “What good am I if there’s no cure?”

“Ellie.” Your heart breaks for her. You want to gather her in your arms and push all the bad thoughts away. You settle for squeezing her hand again “Your value isn’t tied to your immunity. You’re worth something simply because you exist.”

She tries to brush you off, pull away, and not look at you, but you keep a grip on her hand. “Look at me.” You’re stern. She hesitates but listens. You take a deep breath. “I don’t know if it means much coming from me, but you belong here. Here in Jackson, here in the world. You’re not a bother or an inconvenience, and yes, it sucks that we can’t do anything with your immunity, but that’s not your weight to bear. You understand?”

Her chest quivers. She manages a nod as a couple of tears fall from her eyes. You wipe them away. “And you will always, always, always, have a place in my home. Just waltz right in and I’ll set a plate.”

A small laugh falls from her lips. 

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She agrees, a small smile beginning to take over her face. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You smile back. “Now, what do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you still want me to look at it?” You tilt your head toward the vial of blood sitting on the counter. 

She stares at it for a minute, contemplating the answers. “Maybe another day? I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You move away, disposing of the vial. You’re not sure how much weight your words hold, but you feel a little proud of her decision. 

“Are you going to the dance tonight?”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “Dina and Jesse say I have to.”

“Good. You should.”

“Are you and Joel going?”

“Adam beat Joel in Texas Hold ‘Em last night and is making him go.” You laugh a little at the begrudging attitude Joel met you with last night, but a bet is a bet.

“I bet you could get him to dance.”

You laugh a little, images you’d conjured up in your childhood bedroom spring into your mind. They were the daydreams of teenage delusions, but there’s still a little dip of excitement in your stomach at the thought. 

And then you sober up. “I’m not going.”

“If Joel and I are going, you have to come.”

You force a smile. “I don’t go to them anymore.”

“Oh, come on. I bet you’re a great dancer.”

“It’s not about the dancing.” 

“What is it about then?” Ellie wears that goofy little prying grin that’s nothing no short of pure curiosity. If Joel were here. You imagine he’d say her name sternly and give her a look. 

You sigh, keeping a tight smile on your face. “It was something my husband really enjoyed. I haven’t gone since he died.”

“Oh,” Ellie says as the energy shifts. 

“It’s okay, Ellie.” You brush it off. It’s not her fault, and you didn’t have to answer. 

She hesitates, and then she knocks into you, arms flying around your torso, knocking the wind from your abdomen. It takes you by surprise, but it’s a good one. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

And then she’s across the room, grabbing her backpack off the exam table. You can’t help but laugh, wondering how she’s managed to hold onto all that wonder and spunk.  

“You should still come tonight!” Ellie calls before the clinic door slams shut, leaving you with only your thoughts. 

You drop Carter off with Tommy while you walk that night. Maria is on strict bed rest with her due date fast approaching, making them two of only four people not crowded into the Tipsy Bison. You expect to cry on your walk, expect to feel all the emotions that keep you away from the dances, but it doesn’t come even as you round the corner, passing the building that’s overflowing with energy. 

Light flickers across the dimly lit street from moving bodies. The doors and windows are open to let the breeze filter through. A few people congregate outside on the patio with boisterous laughter and animated movements. A couple of folks stumble about, already intoxicated. You stop in your tracks, taking it all in. In the past, you’ve doubled back to forgo passing the festivities, but things are different now. Maybe… maybe you’re a little bit different now too. 

Then you feel it, almost physically, like someone is pressing on your back, leading you toward the door. The people outside don’t pay you much mind, too caught up in their own worlds. The noise grows louder until you’re inside the Tipsy Bison’s doors.

You pass through the room slowly, almost invisible at first. Then you find him, laughing at the bar with Adam. He’s relaxed. An empty whiskey glass sits in front of him and a full one in his hand. He makes a comment to Adam that earns a playful roll of his eyes. He chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls the glass to his lips. His head cocks to the side. Before his lips make contact with the glass, his eyes lock with yours. He stills, a smile crossing his face. He tips the glass toward you and finishes it off. Then, he’s walking toward you with a determination that makes your insides melt and your toes curl in your boots.

His lips dip to your ear. His voice is low and smooth. “I thought you weren’t comin, Darlin.” His Texas drawl is stronger tonight, not helping the heat that grows in your belly. it sends wicked thoughts through your mind. 

You shrug, almost careless about it, but he sees the heat in your eyes. It burns in his too. “Plans change.”

His hand slides around your waist, landing just above your hips. “I like it when your plans change.”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to pull him out of here and into your bed. “Dance with me?”

A grin spreads across his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He pulls you toward the dance floor. The crowd of bodies seems to part like the Red Sea before you, not that your mind can focus on anyone but Joel. He tugs you close as the band starts their rendition of My Girl. Your arms slide around his shoulders, body flush against him. He smiles at you. It’s like something out of a high school movie. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” 

He kisses your forehead, and then your head falls to his chest, eyes blinking closed. It feels like such a sacred moment, it’s hard to believe you’re in a room full of people. Joel sways on beat to the music, humming along. It reminds you of the faint singing that used to drift through your bedroom window at night when he would sit out on his front porch with his guitar and the stars. You spent countless hours sitting under an open window listening to him when you fostered that crush, imagining him singing to you. 

You never imagined you’d be in his arms at the end of the world, in front of the whole town no less, as you fight your growing feelings for him. It sends a kick-start to your system. Not enough to raise a panic attack, or for onlookers to notice, but Joel feels it in the way your muscles tense and your body straightens in his arms. Your eyes pop open and you catch it- the rumor mill turning. Whispers pass behind shielded hands between pairs throughout the room. Some of them are audacious enough to make contact with you or send a wink your way.

Joel’s breath hits your ear again. “Wanna give them something to really talk about, Sweetheart?”

You look up at him, brows furrowed. He stops swaying, both hands cupping your cheeks. Your breath catches. It feels like the whole room’s does, and then his lips are on you, hot and searing and nowhere near chaste. Joel Miller never struck you as the PDA type, but this feels like more. He’s staking his claim on you, telling them all to shove it. Everyone is here. Everyone can see what’s happening for themselves. For all intents and purposes, this is the night Joel Miller becomes yours in the eyes of the community. You’re off limits, and so is he, and it feels good. There are no words, no spoken acknowledgment of anything, just his actions. 

He pulls away, leaving you slightly stunned and hazy. He chuckles. Spinning you around and then pulling you in as the song ends. People clap around you, for the band of course, but you can only look at Joel with a smile that shines like crystal. 

Another song starts back up. Another wave of people join the dance floor. People seem disinterested in the very thing that held them captive moments ago. Joel looks like he is two seconds away from dragging you out of the bar as you stare at each other, unmoving. 

Tommy runs in, breath ragged and hair a mess. His eyes dart around until they land on you. He calls your name, running toward you. “Tommy, what’s wrong?”

“Maria’s in labor.”

Whatever trance Joel put you under is gone as years of experience snap into place. You turn to him. “Will you grab my clinic key and get the green bag?”

“Of course.” Joel nods and then Tommy grabs your hand, dragging you to the house. Ellie and Joel are not far behind. 

Maria is pacing the guest room when you get there, letting out small groans. Like everything else, Maria handles childbirth with grace and dignity- something you wish you could’ve done. 

You shake the memories from Carter’s birth from your mind. It’s mostly a blur- what you remember from that day haunts you. You were a mess- inconsolable. There was no grace or dignity in it. 

“How far apart are your contractions?”

“Hello to you too.” She pops a smile. Your tight lips don’t budge. She sighs. “About three minutes.”

“Three minutes? Maria!”

She waves you off. “You were never more than two minutes away.”

“We agreed on five.”

“I changed my mind.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re a shit patient.”

“I’ve been on bed rest for two weeks, have I not?”

You quirk an eyebrow. She may not have left the house, but you’re not convinced she was following the rest of your instructions. 

She waves you off like it’s nothing. “I heard you were at the Tipsy Bison.”

You shoot her a glare. “You are literally on the verge of having a baby, Maria. My social life is unimportant.”

“I can still talk in labor.”

“Not about this.”

“Oh come on, I’m going to be here all night. Might as well entertain me.” She grins. 

“No. Now let me check your cervix.”

Maria sighs, sitting on the bed. “I think we’re too close as friends.”

Maria’s labor moves quickly. Before midnight, the baby is crowning. You’re coaching Maria through it as Tommy stays by her side, offering what support he can. Maria lets out low moans as she works through contractions, bearing down when you say. Sweat dampens her brow. She’s tired but determined. “How much longer?”

You meet her eyes, giving her an encouraging smile. “You’re almost there. One or two more, Okay?”

She nods, and then another contraction hits. You feel them in your hands, guiding the newest member of Jackson, Wyoming into the world. There’s a long pause, there always is, you never get used to it, you’re quick to clear airways, and then he takes a deep breath, and tiny little wails fill the room.

Relief fills Maria’s eyes and looks of awe and wonder fill the couple’s faces. You can’t help but let out a joyful little laugh. “It’s a boy.”

You place him on Maria’s chest. The proud parents crowd around him, their voices softening, pitching up as they soak in their first moments of a family of three. 

“Tommy, you wanna cut the cord?”

He nods. You show him where to do it, and then he’s right back at Maria’s side, caressing his son’s head. 

“He’s got so much hair,” Tommy says. Tears gather in the new parents’ eyes. 

You’re quiet as you tidy up. Before you slip out, Maria grabs your hand. “Thank you.”

You smile at your best friend. “Of course. Anything for y’all.” She squeezes your hand and you return the gesture. “I’ll give you a few minutes and then be back in to finish up.”

She nods. You wash your hands in the hall bathroom, shedding the soiled apron you wear. Joel greets you when you come out. He raises his eyebrows. “I heard crying, and it sure as hell wasn’t Tommy.”

You laugh. “It’s a boy.”

You see Joel’s happiness for his brother on his face before the big smile ever crosses it. He wraps his arms around you. You lean in, laying your head on his chest. His heart beats beneath your ear steady as a drum. The stress you’ve been carrying for months over this day starts to dissipate from your body. It’s here. He’s here. It happened. You made it through. 

Tommy peaks his head out. “Maria says she’s ready for you.”

You nod. Joel kisses your head and you pull away, warm energy thrumming in your veins. Maria looks almost annoyed when she sees you, knowing what’s coming. 

“He have a name yet?”

“No,” Tommy looks pointedly at his wife. “She swore we were having a girl. Wouldn’t even discuss boys’ names.”

Maria rolls her eyes, making you laugh. “Tommy, go make yourself useful and get me some water.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Tommy chuckles, the grin unwipable from his face. His hand runs over his son’s head before he leaves. 

Maria shifts slightly, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant at her side. She lets out a soft hiss.”

“You good?”

“Yeah, you know how it is. Pretty sure the placenta is already out.”

You nod, kneeling at the end of the bed. You’re relieved to see the placenta delivered, fully intact. There’s some bleeding, but no more than what you’d expect. Another relief. “We should get Tommy in here to move you back to your room. How do fresh sheets sound?”

“Like a slice of heaven.” She smiles. 

You move Maria to their room, Tommy sweeping her into his arms like a groom would carry his wife on their wedding night. They throw baby names back and forth as they cross the hall. You carry the baby, swaddled and sleeping. Once he’s tucked into his mother’s arms, you set to work cleaning up. It’s always the hardest part as the adrenaline fades from your bones. Tommy and Maria’s bickering floats across the hallways as you do, making you laugh. This baby may never get named at the rate they’re going. 

The first time Tommy calls out your name. It doesn’t register. The second time is much more urgent and he’s in the doorway of the guest room. He’s gone pale, breathing heavily. 

Your stomach drops. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s bleedin. It’s soaked through the towel.”

“Shit.” You drop what’s in your hand, grabbing your bag of supplies. 

Tommy is at Maria’s side. You lift the blanket and your heart drops. You glance back up at Maria. She looks tired. You’d expect it, but this feels different. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just had a baby.” She tries to joke, but it falls flat. She knows this is bad too. “A little lightheaded.”

There’s another gush of blood. A clot that’s bigger than it should be. “Fuck, Fuck, fuck.” Your breathing turns ragged. There’s too much blood and more appears bringing another large clot with it. She’s hemorrhaging. 

“What should I do?” Tommy asks. He’s panicking. 

“Go get Joel.” Tommy tries to protest. You cut him off. “Get Joel back in here.” You leave no room for debate, but he still hesitates. “Now!” 

He finally listens. Maria locks eyes with you. She knows. You see the fear in her eyes, and it knocks the breath out of you. You’ve never seen Maria scared. She’s always so sure and sturdy, but not now. Her skin has gone dull, losing its typical vibrance, like the life is slowly draining from her.  You want to sit on the floor and weep, but you have to push through. “Deep breaths, Maria. I need you to stay as calm as possible.”

You dig through your bag, pulling out everything you need. 

Joel is barely across the threshold when you direct him to the chair next to the bed. He doesn’t have time to ask questions. He knows it’s best not to. “You promise you’re O negative?”

“Yes, why?” He hardly gets the words out before you clean his arm with high-proof moonshine and insert the needle in his vein. He winces. You’re efficient, ensuring there’s no air in the tube before inserting the other end into Mari’s arm. You glance down at your watch, noting the time. 

“Keep your arm elevated. If you start to get dizzy, you tell me.” You’re stern. You leave no room for argument. Joel watches as his blood flows through the short plastic tube connected to Maria. 

You have no idea if this will work. She’s probably losing blood too fast and the risk of complications looms in your mind, but you’ve never had someone survive a hemorrhage like this before. It’s your only hope and you will do everything within your power to keep Maria on this earth. 

Maria stays as quiet as she can. She’s focused on her son, memorizing everything about him, so you focus on saving her life. 

“What’s happening?” Tommy stays in the doorway. You don’t turn around. You can’t stop what you’re doing. You have to stop the bleeding. It’s the only thing on your mind now. “Tell me what’s happening to my wife!”

“She’s trying to save your wife’s life!” Joel snaps. “Let her do her job.”Joel keeps his eyes pinned to you. 

“Tommy,” Maria says. “Come here.” Her voice is weak and raspy. You have to push it out of your mind. If you don’t, you’ll break. You can’t break right now. 

Tommy kneels next to Maria and his son. He’s caressing both their heads. You’re sure he’s crying. You’re not convinced you’re not crying too, but you’re too preoccupied to take stock of it. 

You know when she goes unconscious, but you don’t hear anything from Tommy. The room is so silent as you rotate between massaging Maria’s uterus and packing it. You’re running out of semi-sterile material. Has the bleeding slowed down? How long has this been going on? It feels like a lifetime. You can’t spare a second to look at your watch. 

Joel’s arm drops a little. It’s getting tired. “Keep your arm higher than her head.” You spare a look at Joel only because it pertains to Maria’s health. “Stand if you have to, but slowly.” 

The blood loss appears to be slowing down, but you don’t. You keep going and going and going, until you’re sure it’s stopped. Then, you just sit there and wait. Tommy wants to demand answers, but Joel glares him into silence. 

You dare you to step back. You’re on autopilot, the adrenaline wearing off long ago. You check her heartbeat and her blood pressure. Neither is great, but it could be worse. You dare to hope you’ve seen the worst of it. 

Joel stumbles forward a little bit, catching himself on the bed frame. 

“Shit.” You rush over to his side, guiding him back into the chair. 

“I'm fine, I’m fine.” He brushes you off, making sure his arm is still raised. You see the shake of it. 

You check your watch. It takes you longer than it should to do the math. “Fuck, you’ve been hooked up for too long.” 

Joel stops your hand before it can pull. “No, no. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re done.” 

“No, Maria… she’s not awake yet… she-” Tommy stands up.

“She’s not waking up.” You face him.

 He loses any color he has left, panic-stricken across his face. “What?”

“Fuck,” you cringe. “I mean tonight, Tommy. She’s not waking up tonight. She needs to rest.”

“So she’s going to be okay?” 

You want to assure him. You look at their newborn baby sleeping in the bassinet in the corner. You don’t know when he was moved and it doesn’t matter. You want to promise Tommy that he’s not going to be a widower, that their son won’t be motherless, but you can’t. 

“I don’t think she’s going to die from blood loss anymore.”

It’s a small assurance, but it’s all you have to give. When you attempt to remove the needle from Joel’s arm this time, he lets you. The bandage feels so delicate and small compared to the trauma you just dealt with. You struggle with it. Joel takes over for you. 

“You need food, something to drink,” you say. 

“I’ll get it,” Joel says. 

You push him back into the chair. “You’re in no condition to walk downstairs.”

“Neither are you.” He says, eyes traveling over your frame. 

You furrow your brow. You don’t understand. You don’t see or feel the blood that dresses you, not yet 

“Ellie!” Joel yells. 

It’s a stark contrast to the quiet encapsulating the room. You hear her footsteps up the stairs. She enters, eyes going wide. She surmised something wasn’t right, but the copious amounts of blood are startling. “Holy shit.”

“Will you bring up some food? Water?” Joel looks to you to confirm. 

“Fruit.” 

Joel nods. “And then take Carter home?”

“I should-” you go to say. 

“No.” Joel cuts you off. He takes your hand, thumb running over your knuckles. “Not tonight.” 

Ellie nods. She knows now is not the time for the many questions running through her mind. “Yeah, of course.” 

Tommy clears his throat, still searching for answers. You sigh. “I can’t promise anything, Tommy. There’s still so much that could happen, but she’s strong.” 

“I know how strong my wife is. I need to know that she’ll be okay.” He’s still pushy and you don’t blame him. You’re all on edge. 

“I don’t know!” The world blurs before you. “The risk of infection is high, she- she could have complications from-” Your chest rattles. Joel’s hand settles on your back. Tommy can’t look at you. “She’s my best friend, Tommy. I’m doing everything I can.”

Tommy nods. He knows it’s true, but he’s scared. This is Maria. She keeps Jackson going. She keeps you going. 

Ellie brings up the food. She wants to do more, you can see it in her eyes. You can’t pull the words out anymore. 

“Thank you, kiddo,” Joel says. 

Ellie makes a face at the name. She shoves a strawberry in Joel’s face. “Eat this, you look like a ghost.” 

“Carter?” You ask.

“Passed out on the couch,” Ellie smiles proudly. You need the relief, you just hate that the 15-year-old bears that responsibility. “Glad he’s potty trained.” 

“Thank you, Ellie.” 

She nods at you. There’s some hesitation like she might wrap her arms around you for a second time that day. Was that really only hours ago? But she ducks out of the room instead. 

You make sure Tommy and Joel eat. You’re amazed that the newborn still sleeps. His chest rises and falls and from your check-up, he seems to be healthy. You check Maria’s blood pressure and heart rate again. It hasn’t gotten worse. 

You clean up as best you can without jostling Maria too much. Tommy joins in, working silently alongside you. Much to his displeasure, you make Joel stay seated. It’s another long silence before you’re finished. 

“Sweetheart, you need to go home.”

You’re dead on your feet. Your arms feel like lead at your sides. It’s so apparent in all of your movements, but you don’t feel like you can leave her side. Fear flares up in Tommy’s eyes and then he takes in your appearance. 

“He’s right,” Tommy says. 

You intend to put up a fight, but it doesn’t happen. You feel the exhaustion in every fiber of your being. You’re not sure you won’t collapse at any minute. 

You pull out a bottle of antibiotics. Maria would hitch a fit you know, but you don’t care. You’ll do anything you can to make sure she recovers, and you can’t keep the medicine forever. It’s going to be fancy water eventually if it isn’t already. You hand the bottle to Tommy with careful instructions. “If her breathing changes, or she starts bleeding, come get me immediately.” 

He nods. “Of course.”

“We’ll stop at Paul and Lindsey’s, she’s still breastfeeding. Little man is going to want to eat any minute.” 

Tommy nods. Joel’s arms come around you, supporting you from behind. Your legs attempt to fold but you regain your balance with his help. Glancing between Tommy and Maria, the urge to stay inflames again, but Joel is leading you out of their home before you have time to comprehend it. 

He leaves you on the front steps, approaching Paul and Linsey’s on his own. You’re worried about him, sure he gave too much of his blood tonight, but he comes back a few minutes later.

Joel leads you through your house. You want to collapse into bed at first sight, but he tugs you back. “Shower first.”

The small protest dies on your lips the moment you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. You look like you have stepped out of a horror film. You don’t even recognize yourself. Blood, Maria’s blood, coats your shirt and arms. Smudges streak your cheeks. Some of it’s in your hair. It’s endless. Your body begins to shake. You don’t think it’ll ever stop. You lean against the vanity for a semblance of stability. It’s useless. You stare at it all, taking it in, but it doesn’t look like you. It’s like you’re in some faraway space floating around, not connected to your body.

Joel tears your shirt down the back. He’s quick and gentle about it. Your bra is next. He slips off your shoes and then your pants until you’re completely naked. Steam fills the room. Blood soaked through your clothes in some places, painting your skin like modern art. Joel backs you into the shower with ease. You’re pliable, muscles turned to liquid. 

Hot water cascades over your body, flooding your eyes. It’s suffocating until Joel pushes your hair out of your face, redirecting the water with his hands. His fingers massage at your scalp over and over. He adds soap to your hair, pulling it through until the grime and blood are gone. 

There are no noises, no tears, but you can’t stop the shaking. You must look pitiful standing under the water like a limp doll as you lose control of your body. 

Joel scrubs your body clean, and then he does it a second time for good measure. When he finishes, his fingers trail up your arms and neck until he cups your cheeks firmly. Your eyes finally focus on his, pulling you back into yourself with a thud. You feel it all at once, his hands on you, the rawness on your skin, the hot water pounding down on you. Joel sees it happen, his hands slide under your arms as your knees give way. The tears fall. Your back hits the cool tiles. Joel presses against your front, keeping you up. 

Finally, tears wet your cheeks. Sobs leave your chest, and your brain spirals through it all: Maria okay one minute and bleeding out the next. The fact that it stopped was little comfort now. So much could still go wrong, and you can’t lose Maria. She’s your rock, probably the only reason you’re alive today. Losing her would be harder than losing Gabe. 

If she dies, it’s your fault because you couldn’t save her.

Your chest constricts with a tight, wheezing inhale. The tears stop as you struggle to breathe. Joel takes your hand, laying it over his chest. “Breathe, I’ve got you, Sweetheart.” 

He models it. You see and feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. His hand stays over yours until the ache in your chest eases and the water runs cold. 

Joel picks you up, tugs a soft shirt over your head, and crawls into bed behind you. He’s solid and warm against your back. You’re locked against him. His fingers dance across your stomach, lips brush against your ear. You lean into him. In such a short time, he’s come to know you so well. Maria is your rock, but Joel is your support. He tore down your walls like cheap construction and built a fucking shelter to keep you warm. You let your brain take you away before the rest of it can sink in because loving Joel Miller would be wonderful, but losing him would kill you.  

He whispers in your ear. “What do you want?” 

Your eyes won’t stay open anymore between the exhaustion and Joel clouding your senses. 

“Stay,” you fumble out. You don’t know if it’s decipherable but it works. 

For the first time, Joel stays the night in your bed. 

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Stay Awhile & Listen

Elks Chapter 5

Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: Joel's back from patrol and he has a surprise for you. Chapter Warnings: An abundance of softness, oral (m & f receiving), cum swallowing, Joel talks a lot about feelings, reader's a nervous creature and Joel's good at taking care of her. Words: 3,700 Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: Life in Jackson is quite comfortable and simple for you. You love teaching your students and running your library, you love the comforts of living here, perfectly complacent with the company of your two cats, guitar, tattered CD book, and a few friends. You like comfortable and simple, though the feelings you feel whenever you see Joel Miller are quite the opposite. Once you meet him, it seems like he needs you in his life as much as you need him. Reader Background: Reader is in her 30's and comes from Colorado. No other physical descriptors besides her having long enough hair to put up. A/N: We've made it folks! First chapter with smut.

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Masterlist Playlist *** “See The Changes” by Crosby, Stills & Nash. 

You’ve never been outside the gates of Jackson since your arrival. You’ve lived with barriers longer than without them, why would you ever sign yourself up to see what lies beyond the iron and wood confines? You’re well aware you know less about how to survive than your own students. You’re sheltered you’ve never doubted that, you’re okay with that. Joel? Not so much. 

“You’ve never wanted to leave?” Joel asks over a cup of coffee sitting next to you on his couch. 

It’s Saturday, he’s exhausted after almost a week on a patrol. You could tell as soon as he ambled into your library, tired eyed and a little more gruff voiced than usual… and yet he still invited you over for dinner. He insisted on it even, no matter how much you offered to host him. “Nonsense, you’re working all day, let me cook.” 

“Not really,” you lean back after placing your empty cup on the table, “I’ve really had no reason, and it was never asked of me. I’m sure it’s really dumb of me.”

“Not dumb, just not smar—“

“Just say dumb, Joel,” you turn towards him. 

“Never call you dumb,” a hand cradles your cheek, “I just think you should know the basics of how the world works outside here, just in case there’s a problem. I don’t like the idea of you being unprepared. Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“I do,” you answer moving to rest your head against his chest. “They put us through a rudimentary training program here when I first got here, I know how to defend myself.”

“Rudimentary?” 

“Yeah, it means basic.”

“You’re so smart, glad there’s people like you still around.”

“Well,” angling your head up towards him, “you just spent almost a week in the wilderness protecting us and scavenging for supplies. I’m glad there’s people like you.”

“Hm. Speaking of scavenging, I have something for you. S’why I wanted you to come over here. Shut your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you, okay?”

“Is it good, Joel?”

He chuckles and kisses your forehead. “Of course it’s good, now do what I said.”

You close your eyes, placing your hands over them for extra emphasis. You hear Joel grunt as he stands, he grabs your chin, angles it up and gives you a kiss. 

You feel giddy as you hear him walk away, you try to ascertain where Joel is headed over the soft music playing, hearing his footsteps bound up the stairs. 

You’re downstairs all alone, yet you still don’t open your eyes. 

“Eyes still closed?” Joel shouts from upstairs.

“Yes!” You yell, your voice sparking with excitement. 

“Alright, coming down,” heavy footsteps thud down the steps, “don’t peek.”

“I’m not. Promise.”

You rock back and forth on the couch edge as you hear Joel take a seat on his coffee table across from you. You know you’re a nervous creature, but you haven’t felt this type of excited nervousness in years. 

“You can open ‘em,” he softly instructs. 

Your eyes open, first focusing on Joel, a half grin on his face, your eyes move down to see he has something sitting on his lap.

“How in the world? Joel! How did you find this?” your voice peaking with elation as you grab the small gray box away from his lap.

“Traded my brother for it. He ’n Maria need a crib, so I just signed myself up to furnish their kid’s room.” 

“You didn’t have to do that, plus I don’t want to take their stereo. I can’t do that to them,” you reluctantly lift the stereo towards him.

“They still have a record player and besides, they were happy to help you out when I mentioned it to Tommy,” Joel pushes the stereo back in your lap. “It’s small, but it’ll work until we can get you something better.” 

You push down on the CD door and watch it pop open, you’re amazed the hinges still work, you had something like this in middle school. It was blue, you covered it in butterfly and smiley face stickers. 

“Joel, this is… wow,” tears well in your eyes at his thoughtfulness. “I’ve never had someone do anything like you’ve done for me. You just fixed my guitar last week, and now this?” You hastily wipe a rogue tear that escapes away, “I can’t thank you enough, this is so sweet.”

“No need for tears, it was nothing,” he wipes a tear from your cheek, “really sweetheart, I wanted to do this for you.” 

He grabs the stereo from your lap, placing it next to him on the table. “I still feel like I owe you so much for what you did in there,” his head turns towards his studio. “For years I never believed beauty could exist in this world, people like you never survived,” his eyes meet yours as he turns back, “’n I walk into my home one day ’n you’re with Ellie, I finally meet the teacher she won’t stop talking about. You were so beautiful, ’n you left, leaving your CD. I listened to it, selfishly, because I wanted to know more about you.”

His voice is so soft, his words wrapping you in a feeling you’ve never felt before. 

“All the songs on there I’d never heard, pretty new things you left that I got to hear. Then, you fall ’n I bring you in here, you tell me you painted that elk picture, all I could think about that night was how beautiful you were, just like your painting. I see everything you do in that school room, how pretty it is, how nice you made it for your kids, how you painted the flowers everywhere. After years and years of the life I lived, I needed you to do something like that for me, for my life. Every time I’m around you, I just can’t wait until I see you again.” His eyes don’t leave yours as he brings his hands up to hold your cheeks, the pads of his thumbs rubbing against your chin. “I keep on thinking about that enigma word you called me, and you’re the enigma for me. You still want to make the world—this world better… and you do. I can’t believe you exist, so caring, so soft, so smart, ’n so beautiful. I like when you’re near me, I like how you make me feel new after all this time.” 

Your heart blooms inside your chest, he’s always a man of few words, but the way he confesses his feelings, the way his voice deepens as he tells he you how feels, it makes you want him even more.

His name leaves your mouth as a breath, “I like you near me.” You can’t think of anything else to say.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he leans forward and kisses you, your hands moving to grab his arms. He’s so big and strong, yet his skin is always so soft and cushioned against your touch. 

His tongue parts your lips and languidly explores your mouth as you taste the bitter coffee left over on his tongue. The way his mouth fits against yours after his words of adoration makes you deepen the kiss grasping his arms tighter.

You want Joel, you’ve thought about last Saturday all week, tensity radiating through your body whenever you’d think about the feeling of your body pressed against his. Every night since lying alone in your bed you’ve been tempted to reach your hand between your legs and soothe the want, but you refused yourself. You dedicated a whole page in your sketchbook to drawing his plush lips, and now they’re back on you. 

You pull back from his kiss catching your breath. “Joel…” 

“You alright?” His wide eyes focused on you.

“I’m good, yeah, just… thinking about how little time it’s been… and I feel like everything is happening so fast… I don’t know, I like it, I just— is it okay?”

“It’s okay with me, if it’s okay with you,” he rubs your knees while he muses. “Time isn’t the same as it was, you take what you can get in the time s’available to you.”

You nod in agreement as goosebumps prickle along your legs from his touch. 

“You were in here only a few weeks ago when you fell,” Joel looks down, “still can see some of the marks left from the rocks on your knees.” He touches you firmer, like he’s trying to contain himself. “You’ve been on my mind since… sometimes you’re all I can think about I know it’s been a short time, but…” his hands roam farther up resting just below your thighs, “I want you, ‘n I really hate wasting time.”

His lips crash against yours, he’s never kissed you like this. It’s enigmatic, his mouth firmly against yours, and yet his movements are so tender, his hands petting you, slowly rubbing against your thighs, tongue languidly licking against yours, but the pressure against your mouth, the firmness of his fingertips as he rubs… he’s so tense and soft. Your arms wrap around his neck as you rise off the couch, your knees thumping against the table as you sit on his lap straddling his thick thighs, never breaking the kiss. 

Two weeks, it’s only been two weeks, but it’s been two weeks of longing glances, shared stories over meals, quiet understandings, smart replies followed by laughter. You’ve wanted this since you first saw him, the desire burning louder once he was no longer a handsome stranger. You’ve reached an ignition point, and Joel is right there with you, holding the match. 

His hands grab your hips, you can feel him against you, his pants tenting against your core.

Denim rubbing against denim as you grind down on top of him. 

Joel peppers kisses down to your chin, running his tongue along your neck, placing open mouth kisses against your collarbone. He explores you like he’s mapped his journey in his head. You tip your head back and moan out as his hands drag up and cup your breasts. He licks his way back up your neck, your hands grab at his jaw, the desire in his eyes darkening them. 

“Joel…” you breathe out.

“What is it sweetheart?”

“I—I want you.”

“Heh,” his exhale hits your lips putting his forehead against yours, “I want you too, baby.”

Baby. A new name, nobody has ever called you baby. The way his drawl stretches out the aaaa, the way his eyes darken even more as he sees what that word does to you, your lips parting with a moan. He catches your moan with his kiss, his lips sucking on your bottom lip, your lips parting to lick his. 

He grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer making you adjust on top of him. He grunts as you grind your core even harder against him trying to soothe the ache between your legs. His hands snake under your shirt, calloused hands palm at the soft skin of your breasts. You haven’t been touched by anybody in over a year, but this? You’ve never been touched like this ever. Other men pale in comparison to Joel Miller. 

Your shirt feels too hot against your skin, you grab at your collar and pull it off, Joel leans back to watch you remove it, he lets out a low rumbled curse as you sit bare chested on top of him. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re so beautiful,” Joel nuzzles his face against your neck and inhales. “Smell so sweet.” 

He buries his head between your breasts, thumbs stroking against your nipples as they harden under his touch. He moves his mouth sealing it over your nipple, your back arching when he sucks it farther in. You whine at the sensation, the want in you sparking even hotter at his touch. 

“Good baby?” His words muffled by your skin, his mouth doesn’t leave your breast. 

“Y-Yes, want your shirt off,” you gasp out, “Want to feel your skin.” He pulls away and straightens, lifting his faded black shirt up and off, throwing it on the couch behind you. 

Your hands reach out and survey the broad expanse of his chest, he’s so warm, you can feel the raised skin of the small scars peppered on him, the smattering of hair across his chest that leads down his belly to his jeans. His breathing rising and falling faster against your hand as you run it across his waistband. You watch yourself unbutton and unzip his jeans. Your tongue comes out to wet your lips as you rub your hands along the length of Joel hidden underneath his underwear. 

“Couch, let’s move,” Joel hisses out. “Here, get up."

You stand on shaky legs, he stays sat on the edge of his coffee table. His hands hold your hips pulling you closer to plant a kiss on your stomach. 

“Want to see all of you first, been thinking ‘bout this after that first day you were on my couch.” 

Your cunt clenches at his words, you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet, and he’s barely even touched you. 

Joel unbuttons and unzips your shorts, he glances up, you give him a nod with a smile that he returns. He pushes your shorts and underwear down leaving you bare and standing in the middle of his living room. Dark brown eyes roam over your body fully on display for him, brows furrowed in concentration as if he’s trying to memorize every mole, curve, scar, and mark on your body. 

“Can’t get over how pretty you are,” he stands up from the coffee table, leaning forward taking your chin in his hand and placing a kiss on your lips. “Now, sit on the couch for me baby.” 

You slowly lower down sitting in the middle pushing your legs together to try to quell the ache in between them.

He stands, his large body looms over you, jeans slung low on his hips, cock laying rigid against the denim. He bends forward and kisses you, hands grabbing your thighs spreading your legs open.

You can feel his breathing accelerate against you as his finger moves across your folds, testing your response, you moan into his kiss as he dips it in and traces a line from your clit to your hole and back.

You’ve imagined him doing this to you back when he was just a crush, just your handsome stranger, your enigma. You never imagined how thick his finger would be, how gentle his touch would feel, how his teeth would gently nibble against your bottom lip. 

“Christ. You’re so tight and it’s just one finger baby,” Joel says, voice low and whispered as he looks down. “Can I taste you?"

You have no words, you grunt a yes as he lowers himself on the floor and pulls you forward, spreading your legs wider. You’re not even shy, being on full display like this, legs stretched open, your pussy dripping for Joel to see. You want him to see all of you, it’s all you’ve ever wished for since that first day you saw his handsome face.

He leans forward, nuzzling his nose against your core. His groan vibrates against your cunt as he tastes you, licking a stripe up.

You’re dripping wet, when Joel adds a second finger you can feel how smooth it slides in and out of you. He looks up from in between your legs while swirling his tongue around your clit, his deep brown eyes gazing into yours. You can’t stop staring at him, the lines between his eyebrows set in determination as he eats you. Your fingers run through his hair, softly combing the waves as his fingers and tongue devastates you.

He’s proven to you numerous times how much he cares for you, but this? This is the ultimate way. The way his fingers pump you, the way his tongue presses down on your clit with the perfect pressure, this is the care you’ve always wanted. 

It’s all so much. What the two of you are doing here in his living room, the build up over the past couple of weeks, the crush you’ve had on him for months culminating here on his couch. The same couch he touched you so tenderly as he bandaged your knee, now that hand is gripping it to stay wide open as he devours you. 

You can feel your orgasm climbing inside with each lick against your swollen clit, each rub of his beard against your sensitive folds, each twist of his fingers inside you. You’re close, so fucking close, and when Joel moans against you, your pussy clenches as it floods with your orgasm. He pulls his fingers out, his tongue licking down to drink you in, tenderly lapping up your wetness, like he’s savoring you and trying to stretch out the time he has between your legs. You moan his name as he leaves a kiss on your clit before pulling away, his mouth and chin glistening from your orgasm. 

Your body tremors through the aftershock of your orgasm, legs still spread wide, your mouth held agape as you pant for air. His hands rub up and down your legs, watching you in awe.  

“Everything about you is too sweet,” he says with a shake of his head as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Still can’t believe you’re real."

He kisses your knee before placing his hands on the couch, anchoring himself to stand. He winces as he rises and stretches his back out. 

“You okay?” you ask as you scoot your back against the couch, noticing how his cock still lays hard underneath his jeans.

“Yeah, just a bad back… probably shouldn’t have been on the floor for that long,” he sees you grimace in guilt, “but it was well worth it.” 

He settles on the couch next to you with a huff, pulling you next to him, feeling his bare chest against yours. 

“What about…” your hand runs up and down his thigh. 

“Mm?” Joel kisses the top of your head. 

“What about me doing the same for you?” your hand moves to grip his bulge. “I want to taste you too.”

Joel groans against your hair, “Yeah? Not gonna argue with that sweetheart.”

Your body thrums at the thought of having Joel in your mouth. You quickly get up from the couch excited that now is your chance to be able to show him how much you’ve thought about this moment.

“You just might be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen baby,” he whispers in awe as you stand between his legs, “s’not gonna take me long.”

With his sweet words, you kneel down and tug at his jeans and briefs revealing his cock. It’s so large, just like his focus on you, just like the tension in the room, just like the orgasm he just gave you. 

You watch his face as you place a hand on his thigh and wrap your other hand around his rigid shaft, your eyes following the gulp of air he swallows travel down his neck. His skin is so soft here, so warm, you can’t wait to feel him inside your mouth. You slowly pump your fist down his length while lowering yourself onto the floor.

God, he’s gorgeous. His cock twitches in your hand as you hold it, wetting your lips, you bend forward and lick the drop of him that’s leaked out his tip. Salt, sweat… Joel. You moan at the taste, Joel lets a low curse growl out of his mouth when you take him deeper into your mouth. He’s so big, he stretches your lips, opens your throat, fills your mouth fully.

“S’good,” he croaks, his hand brushing a piece of hair away from your forehead, “so pretty.”

You bob your head down taking him to the back of your throat, the thought of how much his big cock is going to fill your cunt sends a flutter through your body. 

Joel’s hand tangles in your hair, lightly tugging and setting a pace as you suck him. 

“S’good baby, close— m’close,” his hips rising and falling to meet your movements.

You nod and hum in agreement hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder. 

His hips pull up, your name whispered out of his mouth as he cums down your throat. You swallow every drop, reveling in the taste of him now being a part of you. 

“Jesus Christ,” he pants, “s’amazing.”

———

“So, about the CD player,” Joel’s voice interrupting your reverie, “I’ve decided it comes with a condition.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, you come with me outside of Jackson for a day.”

“Joel…” 

It’s too late for ultimatums, the only reason you haven’t gotten off his couch and walked home is you’re too comfortable laying against his body that’s currently only clad in his underwear while all you wear is his t-shirt.

“It’s important, it doesn’t have to be now, but soon,” his tone is serious, like he’s overtly concerned about your safety and wellbeing. “Please do it for me, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what’s out there…”

“And I do, ’n I’ll keep you safe, it doesn’t have to be for long… just long enough so if you do have to leave… it won’t be your first time out in years,” he urges. “Get your bearings ’n everything.” 

“You think I’ll be okay out there?”

“I wouldn’t ask of it if I didn’t think you’d be okay.”

“I suppose it makes sense.”

“S’pose so. Doesn’t have to be now but just, when the time is right, I think it’ll be good for you.”

“Okay, if it means I get to keep the CD player.”

Joel tightens his arms around you, pressing his lips against your hair. “You get to keep the CD player darlin’.”

You don’t leave Joel's until the next morning, the both of you falling asleep on his couch with his arms wrapped around you. 

A/N: Hi! If you've made it down this far, I appreciate you. Thank you for reading and sticking with this story. If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know.

Tag list: @orcasoul

[perotovar]

into the beat of the night (ch 1) "transmission"

gif by me, moodboard by the lovely @sp00kymulderr ♥

pairing: frankie morales/nb!oc (they/them) rating: T (for now) chapter warnings: discussions of sexuality/gender (frankie doesn't understand some things and may use language that would be harmful, but it's not intentional), limited knowledge of the military, goth stereotypes abound, mentions of drug addiction/recovery, swearing, cute shit word count: 2.7k dividers by @saradika

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series summary: frankie morales thought he had himself figured out by now. he liked both men and women, had dated both in the past. but when someone that challenges what he thinks that means comes into his life, in an unlikely place, he truly learns who he is, and more importantly, who he loves.

series masterlist

a/n - i can't thank y'all enough for giving my fic a chance! i'm really nervous about posting it since i haven't properly written anything in years, but i've had some lovely cheerleaders (@scenaaario - who is also my lovely beta, i want to kiss you on the mouth for making this fic sound like i wanted it to ♥♥ - @undercoverpena @mrsquill and @kedsandtubesocks i love you guys ♥) along the way that gave me the motivation to post this little story. comments and reblogs are super appreciated! i'd love to hear what y'all think <3

In 1994, the U.S. adopted “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” as the official federal policy on military service by lesbian, gay and bisexual individuals. It was officially repealed in 2011. Seventeen years. For seventeen years, LGBTQ folks, Frankie included, had to hide. At least, he felt he needed to.

He knew he was bisexual when he and his childhood best friend Mateo were in their sophomore year of high school. Frankie and all the other boys started to hit puberty the year before and things were changing: facial hair was slowly growing, voices were dropping.  Mateo started to develop a little faster than Frankie did. Frankie really liked how Mateo was developing. It was a little weird, because they’d been best friends since they were still wearing underoos, but Frankie started to feel things whenever he hung out with Mateo. Things he normally only felt whenever Alana in third period flipped her hair over her shoulder, or whenever Charlotte in fifth period stretched before she started writing and her sweater pulled over her chest a little too much.

Frankie didn’t know what to do with this information or these feelings. He didn’t have a word for any of it, so he just never said anything. He had a couple girlfriends throughout high school, and to anyone who cared to think on it, would see that Frankie was like any other straight, high school boy.

In 1994, Francisco Morales joined the military. He was nineteen. It was never his plan growing up to join, but his dad always wanted him to. When he didn’t have his own plan after high school, he figured it was a safe bet since he had family in the service. While there, he worked his way up in the ranks and eventually met his brothers: Santiago, Benny, Will, and Tom. They would die for each other, had signed up to do so, in fact. He’d grown closest to Santiago, and it was the first time since he was 15 that he got those feelings again. He pushed them to the side, though, because that’s when she came into his life. He didn’t need those feelings getting in the way.

Frankie’s bisexuality really only came into his life a couple of times. His first girlfriend in the military, Layla, was also bisexual and that’s when he learned what the word was and that it also applied to him. She only ever told him since Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was in full swing. Of course he kept her secret, because she also kept his.

The only one of his group of brothers that didn’t know about his sexuality was Tom. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell him, and the others agreed it was best to keep it quiet. Santiago was the first one to know, then Will, and finally Benny. Ben was Ben about it when he found out. He immediately hugged Frankie and excitedly suggested they go to a gay bar instead of their usual hang out. It made Frankie laugh and Will smacked Ben on the back of the head. (They did end up going to a couple of gay bars from time to time. Frankie only went home with a guy once and the guys gave him a lot of shit for it, asking for details. Santiago gave him a smile and patted him on the back and said, “I’m glad you’re finally here, hermano.”)

Frankie had one man he’d consider a “boyfriend” in his life. After he left the military and after DADT was repealed, he went on a bit of a binge. He started hooking up with people more often, despite his introverted nature. He was always careful, safe, and eventually kept to one man for a couple years, before an especially messy breakup.  They were both pilots in the military, but were based in different states; Frankie in Florida, and Jackson in Kentucky. They bonded quickly after meeting at a nightclub in Nashville. Neither one of them remembers why they were there, but they made it a point to see each other frequently, each of them taking turns flying out to see the other.

The breakup happened after Jackson found Frankie’s stash for the last time. The military affected everyone differently. For Frankie, his coke addiction is what got him through the sleepless nights. Jackson had found Frankie one too many times leaned over the back of a toilet and snorting god knows what. Jackson had his own problems with drugs and felt that Frankie ignored them in search of his next fix. Addiction had completely taken over Frankie’s life for the better part of five years. Frankie hated Jackson for leaving him when he most needed him, and lashed out, accusing Jackson of only ever wanting to fuck. That broke Jackson, as he thought about how deeply he loved Frankie. Gay marriage was legalized a year later, and had things panned out differently, they might still be together. He doesn’t blame Jackson for leaving anymore.

Frankie’s daughter, Marisol, changed everything. She was the love of his life, and he would do anything for her. After going back to his days of sleeping around after Jackson left, he met Maya. He kept telling her that he would get clean and go to therapy while she was pregnant, but not until he held his little Marisol in his arms for the first time did he commit to both. He and Maya never planned on being together officially, and decided co-parenting would be their best option. 

He’d been clean and sober for two years by the time Santi told him about the Colombia job. He hadn’t flown, or been allowed to in that time, and was pretty content to never do so again. Every time he got in the pilot’s seat, it would take him to terrible places. But Santi was his best friend, so he took the job. He relapsed when he got home, after Tom. He never blamed Santi for it. He gave Frankie a choice, and where he could’ve said no, he didn’t.

Which brings him to where he is now, two years after Colombia. He’d crossed the street and stood in line for the entrance. He hadn’t been to this nightclub in a while. He looked up at the sign for the club, and raised an eyebrow. The Night Owl. That… isn’t what it was called last time. Was it sold? Apparently, it had recently undergone a rebranding, with new owners, and a slightly… different clientele. 

The best way he could describe it now was that it was a goth club. Frankie had never personally been to this sort of club, not really being a fan of the music or subculture, but never had a negative opinion either. He stuck out like a sore thumb when he entered, the bouncer giving him a once over and chuckling, but letting him in anyway. 

He made his way over to the bar and had a seat, taking in his surroundings and started people watching. He planned on going out tonight, and possibly go home with someone. A club is a club, so he decided to stick around and see what all the fuss was about. 

The walls shook with the heavy bass and beats of the music. It wasn’t like anything he’d heard before. His nostrils filled with the scent of clove cigarettes and hairspray. Everywhere he looked, someone completely decked out in teased hair and black clothing caught his attention. He smiled softly at all the variations in people’s style, wondering how long it took for all of them to get ready in the morning.

The bartender, a large man with heavy eye makeup and a lot of chains and spikes, came up to him and smirked. He felt a presence behind him and when Frankie finally faced forward again, he startled a little, not expecting such an imposing figure to be giving him a staredown.

“What’ll you be havin’, stripes?”

“Stripes?”

The bartender, who had a patch sewed onto his denim vest that read “Viper”, rolled his eyes and gestured vaguely to Frankie’s whole self. “You mean to tell me you’re not military?”

Frankie blinked a couple times and huffed a laugh. “Ex-military, yeah. Is that… okay?”

Viper gave him a long look, eyes slightly narrowed, and pointed to one of the many tattoos on his arm, up high on his shoulder. It was an old one, a little faded, but Frankie recognized it as the stripes given to Sergeant Majors.  “I left after this. Got injured,” he said.

“Sorry to hear that.”

Viper shrugged and reached under the bar, cleaning a glass. “I’m not. So what’re you havin’?”

Frankie thought about it for a second. “I’ll probably regret this, but surprise me.”

An amused look crossed Viper’s features, but he nodded and started mixing a drink for him. Frankie noticed all the ingredients used; lager beer, hard cider, and some kind of syrup. He raised a brow and picked up the glass as Viper slid it across the bar for him. Frankie gave him a look as if to say, ‘Is this safe?’ despite having just watched Viper make it. The bartender chuckled and just gestured for him to give it a try.

Frankie took a deep breath and gulped down a drink. A little foam was stuck to his mustache when he lowered the glass from his face. “Not bad. What is it?” Frankie asked.

“Snakebite. Kind of a staple around here,” Viper hummed, cleaning a different glass.

Frankie chuckled at the name. Of course that’s what it was called. 

Viper was pulled away when a pretty girl with big, teased hair and dark makeup came up to the bar. Frankie took the opportunity to look around the place again.

The music was best described as “dark” and “broody”, unsurprisingly, with slow tempos and even lower vocals. Everyone on the dancefloor was slowly swaying back and forth and, once in a while, would move their arms in ethereal shapes. 

Frankie remembered seeing one of the younger teachers at Marisol’s daycare wearing a t-shirt with a band logo that looked like a bundle of sticks. He tried figuring out what it said once, but was too afraid to ask, so he still doesn’t know. He doesn’t think she’d be at this kind of club.

“You’re new. Bit like a zoo your first time here, I bet.”

Frankie startled, putting his hand over his heart and turned to look at who was talking. Someone had sat next to him and was grinning, taking a sip from their own drink; something dark red and a little cloudy. He blinked a couple times and took in their features; big green eyes rimmed with dark lines, two different nose piercings, and black lipstick. Their hair was long and straight, dark, and with the right side in front of their ear shaved completely. He couldn’t quite figure out if who he was talking to was male or female, the androgyny of their look very clear.

“Uhh, hello?” They waved their hand, full of rings and black nail polish, in front of his face and chuckled quietly. “Oh! Maybe–” They cut themselves off and started making a bunch of symbols and shapes with their fingers and hands.

Frankie blinked and started laughing softly. “I’m not deaf! Sorry,” he grinned. “You just startled me, that's all.”

“Oh!” The stranger laughed, too, putting a hand on his right knee in a friendly gesture. He looked down at the hand and smiled, his heart skipping a beat. Even if he didn’t know very much about them, he couldn’t deny it; they were very pretty.

He removed his cap and ran his fingers through the unruly curls for a second before putting the hat back on. “Sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, it’s my first time here. I didn’t realize the club had changed owners.”

“It did?” They asked, tilting their head to the left slightly. 

“Yeah, it was a– Uh, last time I was here, it was a… different kind of club,” Frankie mumbled. 

The stranger’s eyes twinkled mischievously, the smirk still present on their lips. “What kind of club? Are you secretly into some really heavy BDSM type stuff?” They wiggled their eyebrows.

Frankie had started taking a drink of his Snakebite again and nearly choked on it at the stranger’s teasing. He coughed a couple times, a wide grin on his face. “No! Nothing like that,” he chuckled.

The stranger snapped their ring-clad fingers like they were hoping he’d say otherwise and slumped their shoulders in disappointment. “Damn…”

Frankie’s cheeks warmed at the insinuation, but laughed, convinced they were just joking with him. He cleared his throat and continued, “Y-Yeah, uh, I wasn’t expecting this kind of… group, when I came by. Although, the name of the place probably should’ve warned me.”

“What kind of group?” The stranger grinned, watching his handsome features change from thoughtful to concerned.

Frankie panicked, worried he’d somehow offended them, and cleared his throat again. “N-Not that there’s anything wrong with– Um! I don’t, actually… know,” he tapered off, looking down as he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

The stranger snorted and waved him off. “I’m fucking with you,” they laughed. “I know what you mean. When I heard a new club opened up closer to my apartment, I got pretty excited. No more hour-long drives to the nearest one, y’know?”

Frankie nodded, their low, smooth voice captivating him the longer they spoke.

“Oh! Meant to say this before, but my name’s River,” they smiled and held their hand out to him to shake.

“Frankie,” he answered, holding his own hand out to return the gesture. But River beat him to it, and gripped his long, thick fingers in their own hand and kissed the back of his softly.

Frankie blushed like mad, eyes widening slightly. No one had ever kissed his hand before. He kept his eyes downcast, his hand still securely in River’s grasp.

River tilted their head, brows furrowed in concern before letting go of his hand. “Sorry, was that–?”

“No! N-No, um…” Frankie smiled shyly, tugging at a loose curl behind his ear. “It was fine– Nice, actually.”

River grinned as if they had clocked him immediately. “Well, Frankie, it was very nice meeting you. Will I see you here again?” They asked, looking him up and down.

Frankie found himself nodding before he could say or do anything else. “Y-Yeah, absolutely. Um, how–?”

“My song just came on, and I simply must dance to it. Later,” River winked, stood, and leaned over to kiss Frankie’s cheek as they slipped something into the front pocket of his flannel shirt.

River was gone before Frankie could ask anything else, his eyes following after them as they reached the dancefloor. He watched them dance for a few minutes before he was brought out of it by someone clearing their throat behind him. He spun around and saw Viper, the bartender, leaning toward him and giving him a look.

“You gonna pay for these drinks?” He grumbled, motioning toward Frankie’s Snakebite and whatever River was drinking.

He followed Viper’s tattooed finger and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his wallet out and putting a couple bills on the bar. Viper nodded in thanks and Frankie took that as his cue to leave.

As he stood, he looked toward the dancefloor again in the hopes of seeing River one last time. When he didn’t, he tried to shake himself off and made his way toward the entrance. The bouncer gave him a look and Frankie just shrugged as he exited the club. The cool night air hit his still-warm cheeks, making him feel like he came back to reality. 

“Oh, right,” he mumbled to himself and reached into his front pocket and pulled out a little scrap of paper. A phone number with two cute little devil horns drawn on either side and a little, ‘text me?’ written down beneath it.

Frankie smiled to himself and rubbed the ink on the paper with his thumb.

[indiefilmfatale]

words of so sweet breath compos'd

part one (prof!cumberbatch x virgin!reader)

plot: your drama teacher, mr. cumberbatch, swears he can pull something out of you for your upcoming performance as ophelia in hamlet. all he needs is a handful of one-on-one sessions... content warnings: graphic language, flirting, drunk!reader, age gap, pot smoking, reader wears a tiny lil skirt, reader is a virgin word count: 2.8k a/n: i can only guarantee a couple of chapters but strap in folks! this is just the beginning

A warm, chatty haze floats around the Georgian mansion. The place is crowded, and even in your drunken state of mind, you know there's more people here than are in the drama department.

You're sat on a large, old couch in a corner of a room. The light keeps changing colors, from pink, to purple, to green, then back again. Your blinks are slow, and your gaze is out of focus.

"Woooo!" A enthusiastic scream knocks you out of your trance, and you realize whoever you're sharing this couch with is snorting something white on the glass coffee table. Part of you is intrigued, almost asks to join in. But most of you just wishes you were home.

You stand up shakily, tipsily stalking away from temptation. You pull out your phone. Uber tells you it'll be over an hour for a car. Your best bet is finding your friends. Where were your friends?

You're just standing there, in the middle of the room, wobbling from one foot to the other. No wonder you catch the eye of the stoned professor making his way toward the exit.

"Y/N?" A deep voice calls out, echoing. "You okay?"

You barely recognized your professor at first. Usually he was clad in the typical professor attire: Dark sweaters, tweed blazers, khakis. The final performance of the drama department's autumn show Hedda Gabler required something more elegant, even for the director. He went with a simple brown suit.

But the performance ended hours ago, and what was left of your professor's ensemble was something a bit more unkempt. His collar unbuttoned, tie loosened, and suit jacket draped over his arm. His dark curls, usually styled cleanly and away from his face, was a tad disheveled, like he had been sweating. A single curl dangled into his forehead. His five o'clock shadow was setting in.

"Professor?" You call back, small voice drowned out by bumping music. Despite your heart rate beating on the slow side, it managed to flutter at the realization that he was walking toward you.

Everyone in that course had a crush on Benedict Cumberbatch. Maybe it was the cheekbones, or the way his arms looked when he would shed his blazer and roll up his shirt sleeves during rehearsal. Maybe it was the way he was able to dictate the energy of the room, just from the tone in his voice. You felt an unconscious loyalty toward him, even if that loyalty was coaxed in desire.

He tries to speak to you as he comes closer, but the music blasts through the next room. "What?" You shout unabashedly, almost stumbling over before--

Two pairs of arms catch you, hold you, while you regain your balance. You let out an embarrassed giggle. The room spins around you, but Benedict remains close and still.

He leans in and presses his cheek against your hair, "Where's Bridget? You came here with Bridget, yeah?"

You catch a large whiff of skunk and a smaller whiff of the sandalwood cologne he's been known to wear. It's intoxicating, and it takes everything in you not to press your nose against his neck and breathing him in completely. You bring your lips to his ear and reply, "You smell like fun." A wide, typsy smile spreads across your face as you pull your head back. "Do you have any more?"

You watch his face contort in thought. His eyebrow furrows at first when he realizes what you said, then softens as his eyes meet yours. He chuckles, blinking himself out of his head. "Let's go outside."

He guides you past the music, past a dance floor, past the bar, through two grand doors where a soft breeze hits your face, arms, and legs. You let out a long sigh, basking in the night air as you walk down the marble porch stairs, until you can hear gravel under your shoes.

Your professor remains at the top of the steps, pulls out a cigarette from his pants pocket and lights it was he watches you roam free. "Have you taken anything?" He calls out.

Your voice is small in the short distance between the two of you, too lazy to raise it above a conversational tone. "Just those fruity little cocktails that Bridget kept making. Unlike you, Professor..." You weakly point your finger in his direction. He sighs, squints away out of bashfulness but returns an amused gaze back to you.

You walk back toward him, clinging to the handle as you stalk up the stairs. "Bit of a weakness for Miss Mary Jane, hm? Care you share with the rest of the class?"

He's unable to hold back a laugh, then holds his lit cigarette between his lips while he digs through the pockets of the jacket over his arm to pull out a metal cigarette case. Except when he pops it open, four neatly-rolled joints greet you.

"So classy," You chuckle, taking a joint from his collection and turning on your heal, walking down the stairs again. "C'mon, this'll straighten me out."

You hear footsteps on the gravel behind you, following you. "Where are we going?" Benedict asks.

"Away from this monstrous mansion," You stomp, pulling up the dress strap that was beginning to falter off your shoulder. "It goes against everything I believe in. D'you have a light?"

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

"No! No way!" Professor Cumberbatch argues, smoke pouring out of his mouth. He clears his throat, then laughs, "No fucking way, Y/N."

"C'mon, you're going to make me beg? Please, Professor, please tell me what the Spring show is, please." You clasp your palms together, mimicking prayer, but keeping your elbows down as to not knock off the suit jacket that was draped over your shoulders. "I won't tell a soul, I promise."

He smirks as he takes another hit. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the state of you right now; untamed, begging him, your arms subtly pressing your breasts together to reveal the sweetest bit of cleavage over the neckline of your dress. He drinks you in with his eyes, and you can feel it.

Benedict exhales a cloud of smoke, "How come you're never like this in class?" He offers you back the joint.

You regain your posture, suddenly hyper aware of yourself. You take the joint, "I don't know." You inhale a long hit. "Because I don't usually have six cocktails in me."

"No, I suppose not." He leans back against the large oak tree you were seeking shelter under. "But it's nice to know you're capable of some sort of fluidity. You're always so stiff, like you're afraid to say your next line."

You blink at him, masking the tendency to feel hurt by the warmth of acknowledgment. "I'm surprised you noticed. Here I was thinking I was never going to catch your eye." You throw back at him, taking another hit.

"What caught my eye was your potential."

You stare at each other as you hand him the joint back, his fingers brushing past yours as he takes it. He never breaks eye contact as he inhales, and your eyes wander to his lips, to his neck, to his hands, back to his eyes.

He lets the smoke pour out of his throat, slowly, controlled. "I'll tell you what," He cocks his head in your direction. "I'll tell you what the Spring show is..."

"Yes!" You pump your fist, giggling to yourself.

"—But," he continues, "You have to attend a number of solo lessons, with me, to work on your part."

You furrow your brow, only retaining half of his sentence, "I have a part?"

He chuckles, "Yes, but only if you work with me on it. I have a very specific idea for Ophelia and if you're really ready to buckle down—"

"I'm sorry, I'm playing Ophelia?" Your smile grows even wider. "Oh my god, we're doing Hamlet. Bridget's going to lose her fucking mind!"

"—You can't tell anyone until after I announce. Seriously, it's already above my pay grade to direct the bloody shows, I don't need any actor drama affecting the rest of my casting choices."

"I won't, I won't." You whimper, gleefully. Finally, you whisper, "Thank you." Your professor breaks into a smile. "You're welcome."

You take what is left of the joint that was dangling between his fingers down his side, and proudly inhale the last hit before flicking it to the ground. "And to think, I almost tried to sleep with you tonight."

He hums. His brow raised in surprise, but a smile creeping onto his face. "And to think, I almost let you."

You bit your lip, stifling a giggle as the two of you made your way back to the party.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Two weeks went by in a flash. A few days at the parents' house for Christmas, then back in your campus apartment preparing for the next semester. You'd already bought a script for Hamlet.

You had gotten an email the day before your classes begin.

Tuesdays and Thursdays 6PM, rehearsal room 3. Try to have your lines for Act 1 memorized

Best, Benedict

You took note that he signed his name Benedict as opposed to Professor Cumberbatch and wondered if it was an attempt to form a more casual relationship between you two. You hoped so.

You hadn't been able to stop thinking about him throughout the entirety of your winter break. His hands, his eyes. You were dying to have those eyes on you again, as intently as he looked at you the night of the cast party.

You were silently begging for it during your first class of Acting Technique II. Sitting in the third row from the back, watching him walk around the small stage lecturing about Stanislavski's System. But he never so much as glanced at you, leaving you in a cold heat, clenching your thighs together in your chair.

That was Monday. Today was Tuesday, and you wondered around the drama department's second floor, miniskirt swaying with your hips as you walked. You knew what you were doing, contemplative of the way the skirt hugged your figure, wearing your best bra underneath a black leotard. Rehearsal-wear, you told yourself, adjusting your breasts so that they reveal the perfect amount of cleavage.

Completely inappropriate for January, which is why you covered yourself with a thick ankle-length coat.

When you found rehearsal room 3, the door was slightly ajar.

You pushed it open to find two folding chairs in the center of the room, and Professor Cumberbatch sitting in one of them, reading a script.

"I'm not late, am I?" You say as you push the door open.

He doesn't check his watch, "No, no." He sits up properly, folding his script over his leg. "Come sit." He's wearing his glasses, you notice, something he typically reserves for moments of serious concentration.

You let your school bag fall off of your shoulder and you drop it to the floor, making your way toward the empty chair across from him. You shimmied off your giant coat and wrapped around the back of the chair. You feel his eyes on you immediately, like the warmth of a spotlight.

When you sat, your bare knees were only inches away from him. You take a breath.

Benedict clears his throat. "You don't need to be nervous." He says, amused at your awkwardness. "You certainly weren't nervous when you asked to smoke my pot last month."

"You're right, I should've had a shot of vodka before coming here." You quip back.

"No, no, we'll get you there. So—" He stood up from his chair, only to walk around it and stand behind, arms crossing over his chest. You feel his eyes on you again. "What stands out to you, about Ophelia?"

You think, carefully. "Obedience. Desperation. Shame. Then, inevitably, a disintegration."

"But..." Your professor leads, slowly walking around the chairs.

"She has an ego. She can be, almost, proud. I mean, she's fragile, yes, but not like a glass cup is fragile. More like, a metal cup that's filled to the brim. And then—"

"She spills." You hold your breath as his voice rings through your skull. He sits back down across from you.

"Have you had sex, Y/N?"

Your mouth falls agape, blinking a few times to actually resonate what he's asked you. "Uhm, uh,"

"Look, I should make something clear." Benedict scratches the back of his neck. "You have the part. I know you can do it. You don't have to attend these sessions if you don't want to." He sighs, placing both hands on his thighs. "But... I see something in you, Y/N. An honest performer. And in order to be honest on a stage, in front of an audience of people, you have to first be honest here, in the workshops, building the character. Without these sessions, I'm sure you'll go out there and put on a great, willful performance. But if you want to create something, if you want to create Ophelia, with me..."

He leans in, just a few inches. "You should stay."

Neither of you move for a moment, both of you waiting for the other to say something. You take a controlled breath, considering running out of the room, or grabbing his face and kissing him into oblivion. Instead, you break the silence.

"I've never..." is all you can manage, gaze falling toward the floor.

Your professor does well in hiding his satisfaction, except for his bottom lip tucking into his top lip, just a tiny bit, lubricating the skin gently. He knew it, he knew it from the second he saw you.

"Anything?" He offers quietly, afraid to scare you.

You sigh, feeling defeated. "Just a decade-long love affair with my right hand, I'm afraid."

He chuckled, and the tension in the air deflated a bit. "Do you know why?" You shook your head, "That's an odd question."

"Have you had opportunities that you turned down? Is there something, someone, holding you back?"

"I guess, I never put myself in situations where I would have an opportunity." "I found you stumbling drunk, all by yourself, in the middle of a party."

"A consensual opportunity, Professor. I never said I wasn't reckless."

"Hm," He hums, leaning back in his chair. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?" "Boys never liked in me in school. Never really figured out how to make a boy like me, in fact," You feign innocence.

"Oh, please." He rolled his eyes. "Look at you."

"What?" You looked down at yourself, and though you knew what you were doing wearing such a short skirt, you suddenly become aware of just how much leg you're showing off.

"You're clearly capable in the art of seduction, at least to a level that appeases your average college-aged boy."

"I don't want to appease the average college-aged boy."

"Well clearly, you're trying to appease somebody."

"Are you accusing me of something, Professor?" You ask sweetly.

He's at a loss for words, swallowing spit as he watches you twiddle your thumbs on your lap. Benedict knows you won't make a move, take this any further unless you're led there. He's getting dangerously comfortable with the idea of running his hand up that tiny skirt you wore just for him.

"Let's run some lines." He suddenly stands from his chair, walking over to the other side of the room.

You stay seated for a beat, not wanting to leave the moment you were just in.

"C'mon," he ushers you softly. You sigh, and stand up.

The next hour was filled with back-and-forth on dialect and tone, perfecting Ophelia's fragility in her voice. Just after 7:30, he glances down at his watch.

"That felt short." You say bluntly, watching him pick his script off of the floor and walk over to where he left his stuff.

"Don't worry, we'll be back here in two days, as long as you memorize the rest of the first act." He packs his script into his briefcase.

You shift your weight between your feet, feeling the paper of your own script between your fingers. You take a breath, almost completely holding yourself back, but then— "Could you tell? That I never had sex?"

He freezes for a second, then continues putting on his coat before turning around to face you. "I could."

You chuckle awkwardly, "What gave me away?"

He's thinking of all the things he can't say. "The first time we spoke, just before class started in September, do you remember that?"

You were sure he had forgotten. "I almost tripped on that damn crack in the tiles by your door. You caught me." You blinked, remembering the night at the party, how you stumbled into his arms drunkenly. "You keep catching me.

Benedict nodded as he tucked down his coat collar, arms finally resting at his sides. "It felt like I could do anything to you, right there, and you'd let me." He says, hesitating in his spot just to keep looking at you, dumbfounded and completely captivated.

But then he throws the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder. "See you Thursday." And then walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

read part two here

[gaiaseyes451]

A Little Life - Chapter 1

I am BEYOND excited to share my first Human AU and my first Long Fic with everyone! Read the tags, folks! This story may veer into sensitive territory for some, please please read the tags.

Rated: E; Words: ~71k once all posted

Summary: When Professor of Botany Anthony Crowley met bookshop owner Ezra Fell one November afternoon both knew their lives had irrevocably changed. From that moment forward, Anthony and Ezra’s existence was intertwined. Their story was written through the moments and memories they created as they moved through life’s chapters of coming together, building a family and facing the challenges of being human. This is a story of unconditional love and the joy and humour, obstacles and grief that inevitably come with choosing the same person, day after day, over and over and over again.

*~*~*

Excerpt (Read the entire chapter on AO3):

Ezra Fell — he’d learned the man’s family name — was bemusing. He shouldn’t have been attracted to him. It’s not that Ezra wasn’t attractive; he was, undoubtedly so. But the combination of angelic beauty, antiquated clothing, exceptionally posh manner of speaking and his timidness should, on paper, have been dissuading. By all logic Ezra ought to have been a wallflower, part of the scenery; a man for whom Anthony spared no second glance. Not his type. Instead, he was fascinated by the contradictory juxtaposition of romantic beauty and classic simplicity, of keen wit wrapped in a genuinely demure kindness. He was a mathematical statement that humans had yet to be able to prove, a question to be answered but every answer just led to more questions. Anthony’s analytical, rational, reason-based mind was confounded; he was besotted. All the more puzzling was that Ezra seemed to be equally enamoured with him.

If this conversation was any indication, if the playful smile could be believed, if the small shufflings under the table where their feet or knees or calves just barely brushed weren’t coincidence… ‘M doomed. In possibly the most amazing, agonising, exciting, eviscerating way.

*~*~*

This was written for @fuzzygoblin for the Good Omens Song & Poetry Exchange @gospexchange. Chapter 1 (of 12) is up on AO3 now! Chapters will be released weekly. It is inspired by Lord Huron's - The Night We Met.

A huge thanks to @goodomensafterdark, as always, for the writer community. And an extra special huge thanks to my beta's for this chapter: @the-literal-kj. @hakunahistata and @adverbian!

[zuppizup]

A Dark Alternative: Chapter 10

Summary: In a world where the border between Xadia and the human lands never truly existed, humans and elves live along side each other, but not together.

Years ago, Callum made an unlikely friend, one he thought long lost to time. By chance, their paths cross again, but considering how much they’ve both changed, is it possible to rekindle their friendship? Or have their differences become too much to overcome?

Pairing: Rayla/Callum

Rating: Mature

AO3 Link: A Dark Alternative

“So, what, another Earthblood meeting?” Rayla tried to sound light and unaffected, even as she felt herself growing anxious.

They were once again sitting side by side at the fountain, finishing the last of Callum’s pastries. The shadows were shrinking, and people were beginning to leave their homes and go about their day.

Callum sighed, looking unhappy at the prospect of missing their breakfasts too. “Nobles from Del Bar. They’ve requested I escort their daughter to dinner and breakfast the next morning.”

Rayla’s eyebrows shot upwards as she started. That was absolutely not what she was expecting to hear. Callum was going to be spending the night with someone? “That’s… forward.” Eyes firmly fixed on her pastry, she tried not to think of why that made her throat close and head spin. She had no idea what he did outside of these catch ups, maybe he spent most of his nights with different people?

What did she care anyway? He would obviously do what he wanted when they weren’t breakfasting together.

Callum paused, seeming to ponder her words for a moment. “What?! No! Not like that!” He scoffed, his face going bright red. “Rayla!”

And she found herself… relieved, the tension in her shoulders releasing suddenly. Shrugging, she tried to hide the strange reaction this entire conversation was evoking in her. “What, I don’t know what you weird noble folk get up to. We hear all sorts of stories.” She winked at him, trying to play the whole thing off as a joke. Anyway, it was sort of funny. Wasn’t it?

Read More On AO3 – A Dark Alternative: Chapter 10

[jetwhenitsmidnight]

Compound Fracture by Andrew Joseph White

Release date: 3 September 2024

Genre: young adult contemporary horror/thriller

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Synopsis

A gut-wrenching story following a trans autistic teen who survives an attempted murder, only to be drawn into the generational struggle between the rural poor and those who exploit them.

On the night Miles Abernathy—sixteen-year-old socialist and proud West Virginian—comes out as trans to his parents, he sneaks off to a party, carrying evidence that may finally turn the tide of the blood feud plaguing Twist Creek: Photos that prove the county’s Sheriff Davies was responsible for the so-called “accident” that injured his dad, killed others, and crushed their grassroots efforts to unseat him.

The feud began a hundred years ago when Miles’s great-great-grandfather, Saint Abernathy, incited a miners’ rebellion that ended with a public execution at the hands of law enforcement. Now, Miles becomes the feud’s latest victim as the sheriff’s son and his friends sniff out the evidence, follow him through the woods, and beat him nearly to death.

In the hospital, the ghost of a soot-covered man hovers over Miles’s bedside while Sheriff Davies threatens Miles into silence. But when Miles accidently kills one of the boys who hurt him, he learns of other folks in Twist Creek who want out from under the sheriff’s heel. To free their families from this cycle of cruelty, they’re willing to put everything on the line—is Miles?

Content warnings

Transphobia, misgendering, deadnaming

Death, murder, violence, blood, gore, body horror, injury, fire injury

Gun violence

Hospitalisation

Car crash

Mentioned animal death/abuse

Implied sexual assault

Toxic friendship

Drug abuse/drug addiction

Ableism

Classism

(I did my best to get all the content warnings, but I might have missed some things so do be warned)

Review

Thank you to NetGalley for an ARC!!!

I have heard nothing but good things about the author's other works, so I went into this book excited, but trying to temper my expectations in case I got let down.

Y'all. This book is pure FIRE.

This book is horrifying and visceral, but at the same time, it's moving and sincere. While this book tackles heavy topics like transphobia and classism, it's also very much about the importance of family and community.

Not to mention that the story/plot is absolutely gripping. I was tempted to finish this in one sitting, but I made myself pace it out so that I could enjoy it longer. Every chapter ended on a cliffhanger that made me want to keep reading. The author does a great job of interspersing the really dark moments with hopeful ones, so the book never gets too bogged down in despair.

One thing I have to mention is that I was very much NOT prepared for how dark this book got. I think I underestimated it because it's categorised as young adult, but this book gets really heavy.

If I had to critique something, it would be the formatting. The first page of each chapter is all black with white text, and all the other pages are the regular white with black text. The changes in page and text colour threw me out of the story a little, but TBH this is like a really minor nitpick, and also the only negative thing I have to say about this book.

[tinytalkingtina]

Soaring Symphony (Steddie Dragon and Witch AU) Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is now live! Read it now on Ao3

Outcast witch Eddie lives alone in the woods, until one day he encounters an injured dragon in need of aid. Aka, a Witch!Eddie and Dragon!Steve fantasy AU.

Rated E (Chapter 5 is strictly T-rated though)

Tags/content warnings: Fantasy and Magic AU, Witch Eddie Munson, Dragon Steve Harrington, Disabled Eddie Munson, Blood and Injury (nothing more graphic than canon injuries), Nudity, blow jobs, mating bites (not omegaverse just borrowing the concept), emotional intimacyTM, discussions of body image issues

Excerpt:

“That’s…that’s my sister.” Eddie shook Big Boy’s shoulder in excitement. “She finally found you, you were right! Guess we don’t have to resort to pigeon mail after all.” “She must have figured out a way to sneak around, always was the smartest one out of the whole clan. Come on, I want you to meet!” His dragon took off running. Eddie hung back, wanting to give them a moment together first.  His sister landed with a bounce and a hop, frantically meeting him halfway. Hisses and rumbles fell out of her mouth in quick succession. Big Boy touched his forehead to her snout, speaking softly. His sister butted him solidly in the chest in response, causing his dragon to throw back his head and laugh. Doing so exposed his neck, and the pink ring of still-healing scar tissue that encircled it. Big Boy’s sister’s posture changed immediately. Her tail came out to surround Big Boy tightly as she turned to face Eddie with green fire licking out between her fangs. Eddie whimpered and dropped to the ground. “BIRDIE STOP, please don’t hurt him, I’m okay!” With his eyes shut tight, Eddie heard his dragon come closer. “Eddie, I’m here now, stay with me, you’re not in that attic.” Warmth enveloped him. “Come on, put your fire away and calm down, he’s not an enemy!” A growl emanated somewhere above them. Big Boy’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “What are you—yes, of course, I have invisible restraints on right now, you’ve solved it, that’s clearly what’s keeping me here.” After a few moments pause, a deep note rang out. The reverberations bounced around Eddie’s skull, making him wince. As the note faded, a bright green light pierced his eyelids. Opening them in surprise, he yelped when he saw Big Boy’s sister looming over them, with beacons of light pouring out of her eyes. “There, now do you believe I’m not possessed? It’s pretty simple, I’m not leaving him right now because I don’t want to.”

Tagging a few folks who helped push me to write this over the past month, thank you <3 @devondespresso @dreamwatch @soaringornithopter @blubblesandink

@augustjustice @vthx

Also thank you to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the divider!

[scribeofwinchesters]

Secrets and Lies: Chapter 12 - Absolution

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 5,280

Summary: “I can’t change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolution–or–or salvation… Just… forgiveness.”

Series Rating: Explicit/18+ TW: Rape/Non-con

Previous chapters:  One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Sevenandahalf Eight Nine Ten Eleven

A/N: I hope you all like this chapter and if my story makes you feel something, reblogs, comments, asks, etc are always welcome <3 Alsooo don't worry. This is not the end. I felt like this seemed like an ending so I wanted to be clear. I feel like I've been giving y'all blue balls so don't worry, we're gonna get our smut on real soon, folks! ;) Most likely the next part will also wrap everything up and will be the last part but I'm already working on a new sam x reader fic that takes place at the beginning of s.10 but is a continuation of the same relationship that is present in all my fics.

Tag list: @lauraashley93 @stoneyggirl2 @tiggytaylor @park-simphwa @dottirose

When you first woke sometime later, you continued to drift in and out of consciousness for what seemed like hours. You were faintly aware of Sam’s presence on the other side of you–your feet tangled with his legs as he curved around you. But the meds Dean gave you were strong and continued to pull you back down into unconsciousness. 

In the hazy moments of awareness, you could hear Sam and Dean talking quietly to each other. Their voices lulled you back into a comforted sleep. Another moment, despite your back to him, you could feel Sam sitting back against the headboard, reading. Each rustle of the pages turning was a quiet thrill that made you smile unconsciously in your sleep, even more so when he began using his free hand to casually caress figure eights onto your back.

Sometime after that, you found Sam alongside you, over the blankets but still snuggled against you, his flanneled arm draped over you. He’d laced fingers with yours and held your hand over your heart. You felt him nuzzle his nose into your hair and inhale deeply before gently pressing his lips to the crown of your head. This, combined with the sun shining in from the window by the door and your desperate thirst, was enough to finally push you fully into consciousness. 

The ice bag rested heavily on top of your cheek and was as cold as ever. Dean must have made a fresh one. 

You whined softly as you stretched your legs and let out a yawn. Instinctively, you moved your arms and Sam withdrew his, allowing you to stretch them out in front of you, noticing with each shift the aches in parts of you that you didn’t even know could ache. Your lungs felt bruised, somehow, from the strain the shifter had put on them in its attempt to suffocate you. The large bruises on the back of your arms, your waist, and your thighs where it had coiled itself tightly around you pulsed out painful reminders.

You turned over, taking the ice bag with you, and nestled it between your cheek and the pillow. Each movement brought on more frustration, stirring you further from your sleep as you wrestled with your appendages in a vain attempt to settle into a position that didn’t hurt.. Grasping the top sheet in your fingers, you pulled your hands together and rested them beneath your chin.

You blinked slowly as your eyes adjusted to the light.

Sam was right there, watching you. His face lit up as your eyes settled on his. His shaggy, brown hair was tucked behind his ears and he was dressed in jeans and an old grey and blue flannel. You took stock of the bandages on his neck and cheek and chin and wondered how many more there were that you couldn’t see.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you croaked. A beat passed before you painfully cleared your throat and asked, “When was the last time you laid in bed this late?” 

Sam smirked as he thought about it for a moment. “Laid in bed with you, like this? At three in the afternoon? Hmm…,” his eyes narrowed on you as he thought. “Probably a few months… Was it New Year's Day? … Certainly not often enough.”

Your heart raced and you took as deep a breath as you could manage. Sam wouldn’t be talking to you like this if he hadn’t decided to stay, right?

“New resolution: stay in bed more,” you rasped with a careful smile before a tiny cough caught in your throat and you pulled the sheet over your mouth as you let it out.

“I can get on board with that,” Sam said grinning broadly as he climbed off the bed and made his way around. He grabbed the full cup from the nightstand as you carefully pulled yourself back to rest against the headboard. A groan or a hiss escaped your lips with each painful movement. Sam leaned over you, careful not to spill the water, and adjusted the pillow behind your back before moving the ice bag to the nightstand. He crouched down and handed you the cup which you drank down in seconds, stopping once to cover a painful cough. 

Sam’s brow furrowed as he tried to force his concerned frown into a smile. He grabbed Dean’s steel water container and refilled your cup as you held it out for him. Once he was sure you weren’t going to chug the second cup as well, he joined you back on the bed. This time he sat with his legs crossed under him and faced you. 

You glanced around the room. “Dean?”

“Supply run,” Sam said. You nodded before taking a sip of water. He watched you for several long moments before looking away, as if steeling his nerves. He took a deep breath and when he turned back you saw that his eyes were glistening again, like last night, and you were back in that old place, the place where your heart ached and begged to stop all of his pain and guilt and regret and longed to remind him how worthy and caring and honorable he was and how all the bullshit he’d endured wasn’t on him...

You took another sip and closed that door in your mind. You weren’t sure Sam still wanted you to take care of him in that way and until you were, that wasn’t a weight you could take on… not right now.

“Y/n… I’m so-” 

“I’m okay, Sam,” you said, cutting him off. The corners of your lips twitched up into your best attempt at a reassuring smile. “Dean stopped it. I’m still here. You’re still here. Everything’s okay.” 

Okay, so maybe that door didn’t close so easily…

“Please, y/n, just let me say this,” he said before inhaling sharply. “I— I never should have left.” 

You shook your head at him. “Please don’t do that.”

“What?”

“We both know by now that shit just happens and all any of us can do is be there to help pick up the pieces, maybe stop it if we’re lucky. We’re not always going to be lucky,” you shrugged. “So don’t act like you should have done something–like you could have done something… because clearly, life doesn’t work that way.” 

Sam swallowed hard and looked away from you. “I never should have taken that damn case. I should have given it to Dean. I should have come straight home,” he muttered. 

“Sam,” you said before biting anxiously at your bottom lip. The thing that had been gnawing at the edge of your thoughts was finally ready to bubble out. “Look, I know this has thrown a wrench in your, uh, plans. I still mean what I said the other night–if you’re not ready to come back, don’t do it just because of–because of all this. I’ll be okay for a bit. Awhile even. If you have any doubts… about–about us–I need you to deal with them before you–if you decide to…” You stumbled over your words and took a sharp breath, ready to push past the one word you couldn’t get your mouth to utter. “if you can– if you can forgive me.” 

Sam dragged his hand down his face as the tears started to slip down his cheeks. He pinched his bottom lip anxiously like he did when research was beginning to fail him. Normally, when you caught him doing that, you’d walk up behind him and pull his hands into yours as you leaned over and pecked little kisses down the side of his face until you found his lips, and–still grasping his hand in yours–tilted his face up and pressed your lips to his, taking a long, silent moment before opening your mouth to him and slipping your tongue gently and momentarily between his lips. Your breath turned shallow from the memories and you quickly wiped away a tear as you wondered how you’d ever be able to keep yourself from him. 

Sam stared up at the ceiling a moment before looking back and studying you for a long moment. His brows knit together and suddenly he leaned toward you and pulled you into his arms as he lifted you with an almost disconcerting ease. You fought through the ache in your muscles as you shifted your legs and nestled yourself around his hips before resting your chin on his shoulder and encircling him in your arms. He slowly caressed his fingers up and down your back.

“Sam…,” you said softly against his ear, your chin pushing into his shoulder as you spoke. 

“You know… when I was out in the woods, setting up my tent, hiking the trails, just trying to clear my mind–that plan completely backfired. All I could think about was you. I watched the creeks flowing, saw little pools of minnows and frogs and swimming ducks and I thought of you and how much you’d love it. I saw an owl up high in a tree and I wished I could show you. I watched the sunset and I wished you were there holding my hand, telling me what the colors reminded you of. I stared up at the stars and I swear I saw your face. The moon was a beautiful, clear, perfect crescent–just like you always love to point out to me when you see it. You were everywhere. It was so much that I almost prayed to Cass, sure that he was doing this to me on purpose. But I knew better. It wasn’t Cass or any other magic. It was just… you. My love for you.” 

Your heart caught in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks as he spoke. You pulled your chin down to the fabric above his clavicle and pressed a kiss into him as you shifted your grip on your forearm, squeezing him tighter as your tears dripped onto Sam’s back. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I debated calling you–debated if I should just pack up and drive back home to you. Then I got news from a hunter about a case close to home and decided I could wrap it up quick and be home in a couple of days and that way you’d still get your space–in case you needed it now–after–after the way I’d treated you that night.” 

“Sam,” you said, whispering his name again. That wasn’t your favorite memory but you didn’t want it to be something he berated himself for forever.

“I know, just let me finish. I need to say this.” 

You loosened your embrace on him and trailed your fingers up his neck, unintentionally eliciting a soft gasp from him at your touch. Your fingers found your target as you brushed them–opened and closed–around his crown, gliding slowly through his hair. His chest, pressed to you, fell and rose shallower now. 

“Oh my god… you're making this… more difficult than I imagined,” he said, his voice strained.  

“Sorry,” you said, the small smile evident in your tone. “It’s just… this last week has been incredibly–excessively–unbearably shitty and I needed you so bad–not needed you, needed you–just–you know–needed you. Dean did his best–the best friend I could ever ask for–but when you hold me–I feel… healed… salvageable… I’m not-”

“Shh…,” Sam soothed you as he gripped your shoulders and pulled you away from him so that he could look into your eyes. “I’m here and I got you and I’m not going anywhere. Now, listen to me. Of course I forgive you, okay? I forgive you a million times over. Tell me you’d make the same choice again and again and I’ll say, ‘Yes, do it’. Tell me you need to wipe my mind again right now and I’ll say, ‘Please’ without giving it another thought. If you made a call then it was the right one. Full stop. I know you, and you know me,” he said, squeezing your shoulders before letting go and cupping either side of your face in his wide palms, ensuring you couldn’t look away from him as he spoke but careful to avoid the laceration on your cheek.

“It took me a little bit to sort through the memories of that night after Cass gave them back to me. At first all I could see was you–bloody, screaming in agony as I lifted you–I woke up hearing that scream in my nightmares, y/n… but then, there it was, a thought that prickled at the back of my mind as I held you so still that my arms were cramping–you didn’t deserve this life and Dean and I were monsters for pulling you into it–for keeping you in it. This is why we don’t do attachments in this life. It’s not safe. And loving me was going to be the death of you.” 

You shook your head and he let go of you, dropping his hands to find yours, weaving each finger with his.

“You were right, y/n,” he said. “Don’t you see? You were right.” 

“No, Sam,” you said, still shaking your head. “Don’t do that. I was wrong, okay? My choices were wrong. I can’t change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolution–or–or salvation… Just… forgiveness.

Sam closed his eyes and was silent for several long seconds as your words washed over him. Finally, he whispered, “I love you,” and leaned forward to press his lips chastely against yours before he pulled back just enough for his heavy breath to warm your skin. “Is this okay?” he asked. 

You paused, surprised at yourself for not immediately responding, ‘yes’. And realized you were not sure what to make of it, of him. And his beautiful words were too much. It was all overwhelming.

“Y/n?”

“I’m so sorry,” you said as you dropped your head into your hands and squeezed your eyes shut. Fresh tears dripped into your palms as you quietly sobbed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me–I know you’re Sam. You are Sam. You are my Sam. And I adore you, too. You know that, right?” you asked. “I can’t find all the words right now to convey it the way you did. I’m so–it’s just been a–a shitty fucking week,” you said as you lifted your red, blotchy face up to look at him and took in several slow, deep breaths. 

Sam’s eyes widened with concern and you saw his chest rise and fall rapidly with panicked breaths. “I do–I do know that,” he said as fresh tears misted his eyes. You could see he wanted to comfort you, to hold you, but he wasn’t sure anymore if that was right, so he pulled himself away. 

Your tears came harder then and you gripped the comforter into a ball. You were furious, you wanted to scream out in anguish. You wanted to stop. fucking. crying. But you couldn’t. It all just spilled out and all you wanted was for Sam to wrap you in a hug and hold you and kiss your forehead and stroke your back, but there was another part of you that wanted him to stay away from you–to leave you the fuck alone. 

You felt like you were being torn in two and it was an emotional agony that paled in comparison to what you felt the night you and Sam fought or even the misery of the days after. You stood and fumbled around your boots and clothing, looking for your phone. Sam’s voice sounded like it was being carried over a pool of water that sat above you as he called your name. You ignored him. You found your phone on the nightstand, no doubt plugged in and charged thanks to the ever thoughtful Sam, and made your way to the bathroom where you shut the door behind you, too scared to look back at him. It broke your heart to imagine his expression upon hearing the soft click of the lock but you did it all the same.

You turned the cold knob on the sink and tried to focus on the sound of the rushing water as you cupped your hands under the stream and watched the water rush across your skin in airy streams. It was cool and calming and you splashed several handfuls over your face before patting it dry with the hand towel, careful of your cut. 

You unlocked your phone and called Dean. 

“Y/n?” Dean asked as he answered the phone before the first ring had even finished.

“Dean?” 

“You good?”

“I, uh–yeah, I’m good,” you lied. 

Dean could hear the congestion in your voice and knew you’d been crying. 

In an instant his tone turned gravelly and flat. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just, um, I know it’s Sam but–I don’t know why but I suddenly wasn’t so sure–but that doesn’t make sense because I do know–I do know that’s Sam,” you choked back your tears and swallowed hard. “He–I just…,” you trailed off. There was a silence between you for a moment.

“Y/n, the shifter’s dead, okay? I killed it. And I just got the other one into the trunk so we can burn it, too. I’ll be there in ten but in the meantime, I’m sure Sam won’t mind if you have to test him again to be sure, okay, kiddo?” 

You nodded to yourself. “Okay,” you whispered before sniffing and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

“Deep breaths,” Dean reminded you. 

You took a deep breath and winced at the sharp pain in your lungs as you inhaled.

“Sorry,” you said as a guilty tear spilled down your cheek.

“Don’t be. I’ll stay on the phone with you ‘til I’m back,” he said.

You took another deep breath and counted to five before letting it out and counted to five again as you exhaled, ignoring the pain. 

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay, Dean,” you said as you hung up the phone before he could counter you.

You glanced in the mirror for the first time since you weren’t even sure when. Your hair was a crazy, tangled mess and your face was stamped with a bright splotch of red across your cheek, an almost perfect handprint. The two butterfly closures held the broken skin together. There was a big, dark bruise forming beneath your eye, above the cut. The shifter really had hit you as hard as it could, which was saying something for a monster. You quickly brushed through your hair with your fingers and pulled it into a manageable but loose bun. You turned to face the door and shut your eyes as you gently shook your whole self, before slowly opening the door. Sam sat at the edge of the bed, waiting quietly as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“You scared me,” he murmured as he looked up at you.

“Sorry,” you said as you hesitated in the doorway. “I know you’re not…,” you trailed off and took a slow step toward him.  “Your whole being–your whole presence is the opposite of it so I know you’re not–but for a second a part of me was there again and–well, without Dean here–I’m sorry. Not that you–” you said, fumbling over your words before Sam cut you off.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Sam said. “I know exactly what it’s like to have no idea what’s real and what’s in your head.”

Of course Sam would know; he’d told you vague stories of the torture he’d endured in the cage before you’d met him. The other pieces Dean filled in, about his visions of Lucifer taunting him, and the scar on his palm that reminded him he was safe. When Sam was having a really bad day you’d sometimes gently trace a finger across that scar to remind him of that fact. And on even worse days, when you had a moment alone, you’d peck small kisses to it.

He held his hand out and waited for you to take it as you approached him. When you did, he pulled you to him and wrapped his arms around your hips as he nestled his face into your waist. You twisted your fingers in his hair as he sighed a ragged breath into you. You stood there just like that, silent, as Sam breathed in and out, comforted by your fingers tracing up and down his scalp and twisting idly in his hair. 

“Will it help if you tell me about it?” he asked after a minute. 

You considered the idea. “Maybe–later though, or tomorrow–not yet–and besides, Dean’s gonna be back soon,” you said. He looked up at you. Those big, pitiful–beautiful eyes that you’d walk across shattered glass and hot coals to see just one more time. You didn’t need to cut his arm to know he wasn’t a shifter. This was all Sam. You disentangled a hand from his hair and lightly prodded at his left arm causing him to release you. You slid your fingers down the length of his arm as he bent it up to you. When you reached his wrist you gently grasped it in your palm and pulled it up to your lips so you could press a kiss to his scarred palm. 

“I love you,” you murmured as you released his wrist. He glided his palm across your jaw and cupped it as he rose to his feet. Your other arm slid down and you slipped it under the back of his shirt to hold him just above his hip, urging him to stay close.

“Love you,” he whispered back. He held fastly, now, to either side of your face as he ducked down and pressed his lips to yours. You released his hip and lifted your hands, resting them over his as he held you, ensuring he didn’t release you before you were ready. You opened your lips to him and he hesitated for the briefest second before deepening the kiss and slipped his tongue momentarily along yours. You could feel the electricity buzzing between you as he started to pull back. You leaned forward and captured his lips with yours. 

“More,” you murmured against his mouth. Obedient as always, Sam kissed you back, hungrily now, like he needed your lips on his to sustain himself. He angled your face up and deepened the kiss with his tongue. Gently, he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it and going back to your lips for more. You sighed into him as you released his hands. He let one trail over your neck as the other gripped your waist, pulling you closer and eliciting a low gasp from your lips. You cupped the side of his face with one hand as you let the other one return to his hair, just behind his ear where you drew light circles with your thumb. 

“I should shower,” you said, remembering Dean was on his way.

“I’m the one that needs the cold shower,” he whispered with a smirk as you rested your hands on his chest. 

“Oh please, it takes way more than that to get you going.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” he said as he gently grasped your hand and pulled it down so that you could feel his partially stiffened cock beneath his jeans. He smiled at the blush that flushed your cheeks as he shifted sideways, turning his back to the door and walked you backwards toward the bathroom. 

“I really missed you,” he said as he pressed his lips to the juncture of your neck and jaw. 

The roar of the Impala broke the trance and you broke apart. You listened as Dean pulled the car to the door and cut the engine off. Dean entered the room in a rush, not even bothering to shut the car door behind him. He looked to you and then to Sam and arched an eyebrow. You made your way to Dean as Sam sat uncomfortably down at the edge of the bed, tugging at his jeans as he crouched.

“You good, sweetheart?”

“Something like that,” you said as you hugged him. “Thanks for–” 

“ ‘Course,” he said as he continued to study you before glancing again to Sam. “Okay, well, you two ready to put this place in the rearview after we eat a quick bite? Because I sure as shit am,” he said as he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. He turned and made his way back out the motel door, leaving it hanging open as he rifled through the back seat before returning with a plastic bag and a paper tray with three sweating cups of ice cold soda in one hand and a brown paper bag that smelled greasy and warm and delicious in the other. The smell awakened your appetite and your stomach rumbled in response. 

“Holy shit, I’m fucking hungry,” you said, eliciting a small chuckle from Sam. 

“Good, cause I got your favorite cheeseburger: extra mustard, extra pepper, add jalapenos,” Dean said as he kicked the door shut behind him and set the drinks down on the table. 

Your mouth watered as you took the bag from Dean and set it on the table, hungrily pulling a fistful of fries from the bag, and stuffing them in your mouth as you took a seat. You didn’t have the heart to tell him your throat may be too sore to enjoy mustard and jalapenos and you were too hungry to really care.

“Hey, those better not be my fries!” Dean shouted. You stiffened and glanced hesitantly in his direction. Sam’s lips twitched up into a small smile at you before he saw that Dean was handing him the plastic bag. 

“Oh, thanks,” he said hesitantly as he squinted at the bag. 

“Only thing around here was a wally-world so those’ll have to do,” Dean said as he made his way back to the table and sat across from you. He pulled one of the cups from the tray and took a long pull. 

You were already three bites into your burger and had dumped the fries on to the paper wrapping when Dean fished his food out of the bag. You turned and watched as Sam pulled a large shoe box from the bag and lifted one of the boots out. They were steel-toe, dark brown work boots. “They’ll definitely do,” he said as he pulled them on and fussed with the laces. To you, they looked closer to something Dean would choose for himself than what Sam normally wore but the options were surely slim.

“You gonna eat, Sammy?” Dean asked a moment later. You looked back to see Sam was still at the edge of the bed, watching you and Dean devour your meals. There was a hesitancy in his eyes that confused you and you furrowed your brows at him. He shook his head and smiled as he stood up.

“So, the bunkers good?” you asked Dean after handing Sam his burger. There were only two seats at the small dinette table so Sam sat at the foot of Dean’s bed and took a careful bite of his cheeseburger. 

“Good as it can be,” he said as he chewed a large bite. “Cass said everything was fine. Had to have been some kind of spell–a cloaking spell or an entry spell–that either the shifter already knew or got from, you know, Sam’s beautiful mind,” he said before taking another pull from his soda.

You grimaced at the thought. Sam let out a guilty huff before leaning his long body off the bed and over to the table and to take one of your fries as he kissed your cheek. 

“S’okay,” you said as he sat back down. You lifted your leg and rubbed your pointed toe along the side of his calf. A pained smile crossed his face as he looked to you.

You finished the last bite of your cheeseburger and took a giant gulp from the soda, tossed a few fries quickly in your mouth and stood up, wiping your hands off with a napkin. “Finish my fries for me, Sam,” you said. “Gonna shower real quick.” 

Sam’s palm rested on his knee and you made sure to pass him closely enough that you could graze two fingers over the back of his hand. His hand twitched reflexively from the sudden, unexpected touch. 

“Be careful of your cut,” he whispered. You smiled tenderly at him from the doorway before turning and shutting the door.

You showered–for the first time since–and it felt so good to finally, really wash the shifter off. You let the hot water relax the tension in your shoulders and neck and scrubbed gently at your scalp with the motel shampoo. You paid extra attention with the sudsy washcloth, trying to make sure you scrubbed every part of you that the shifter touched. It wasn’t enough, you could still feel it and as the memories started to enter your mind, you hurried through the rest of your shower, not comfortable to be alone with your own thoughts. 

When you were done, you put on fresh clothes you had tucked away in your go-bag. More plaid flannel, t-shirts and dark-washed jeans. The clothing was just practical for hunting, more than anything. Although, it was nice to look like you actually belonged with Sam and Dean when you went anywhere. Sometimes you would see other girls in their crop tops or chunky sweaters, baggy jeans and sneakers, floral dresses that cinched at the waist paired with platform boots–all things with even the vaguest whiff of a ‘fashion sense’ and you’d feel a pang of jealousy for yours long lost. 

You brushed gently through your wet hair and pulled it into a quick braid, easy and out of the way, the short pieces fell loose around your face. You peered out of the bathroom. Sam was packing his bag on top of his side of the bed.

He looked up when he heard the door open and turned back to smile at you. The front door hung open and you could hear Dean packing up the Impala.

“You’re so cute,” he said. You shrugged as you slung your duffel over your shoulder. 

You arched a brow at him. “I look like I went three rounds with a lawnmower,” you said with a huff of laughter as you sat at the edge of the bed to pull on your boots, dropping your bag back to the floor.

“I like when you braid your hair,” he said as he brushed one of the loose pieces back and tucked it behind your ear. 

“Cut to me–practicing a dutch braid–then–cue the montage–as I perfect the waterfall braid, the half-up half-down twist, the mermaid, the fishtail and the low plait as ‘Every Little Thing She Does is Magic’ by The Police plays,” you said with a grin as you laced your boots. 

Sam playfully rolled his eyes as he slung his bag over his shoulder before picking up yours and doing the same. 

“I can carry it,” you said, as you stood up and slipped your phone into your back pocket. 

“I know you can,” he said as he indicated for you to walk on in front of him. You shook your head before walking to the car and climbed in the backseat. Dean didn’t protest as Sam, too, climbed in back. You fell asleep, slumped against Sam’s shoulder, hands laced together over his knee as CCR crackled through the speakers.