#sure this one attempts to call us in a lot but a few hours notice is very rarely enough to make it work | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frenchkisstheabyss · 8 months ago

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♡ ｓｗｅｅｔｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ ♡

♡ Pairing: tattoo artist!ex boyfriend!chan x chubby!fem!tattoo artist!reader, best friend!stray kids

♡ Genre: angst/smut/fluff

♡ Summary: After a year abroad spent perfecting your craft, you decide to return to the shop that you started at to reconnect with the people you love but how will your friends react to your sudden return? And how will your ex feel when he finds out your back in town attempting to reclaim your place in his shop and maybe even his heart?

♡ Word Count: 5.8k-ish

♡ Warnings: chan's really down bad for you and the littlest bit posessive, strong language, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, male masturbation, creampie, oral sex (m&f receiving), overstimulation, a lil nipple play, orgasm control if you squint, pet names (beautiful, pretty, baby), a lil hair pulling, and that's about it.

♡ A/N: So somehow I've written myself into a series of sorts all taking place in one tattoo shop. Seungmin's here if you'd like to read it. I'll for sure be doing one for all of the boys because why not? This one's a lot more angsty than the other one but I had a nice time writing something different so, as always, I hope you enjoy it, babes.

You stand with your back to the night, casting your starry eyed gaze upon the soft white glow of the neon sign that hangs overhead. It reads Social Path Tattoos & Piercings. This place isn’t new to you, even if the nerves rattling through your system might imply otherwise.

You’re more than familiar with it. You used to spend every waking moment in this place. Even slept here a couple times when you were a bit too tipsy to drive. And coming back to it after a year overseas is surreal. You dreamed of this a thousand times before finally biting the bullet and hopping on the next plane back here. Back home.

You made it. Through the chaos of the airport, racing through crowds to make it to the Uber you may have called a little too soon. Through an hour of bumper to bumper traffic, listening to your driver give you dating advice you definitely didn’t ask for. Through a hell of a check in process at the hotel and lugging half your life up to the 8th floor of the lavish building.

You survived all of that to make it to this moment and you can’t even bring yourself to step inside. What if you aren’t welcome? What if the men you once called “family” consider you nothing more than a stranger now? It’s only been a year but so much has happened. There were so many tears the day you left, so much sadness—so much anger. Maybe you should’ve stayed away.

“Next time you have to get one. I’m telling you, it didn’t hurt at all” a tall girl with a septum piercing tells her friend as they exit the shop.

The shorter girl by her side stares at the fresh tattoo on her friend’s arm with equal amounts admiration and fear. “Liar. It’s needles stabbing through your skin. There’s no way that doesn’t hurt.”

Noticing the tattoos peeking out of your strappy crop top, the taller girl turns to you for some back up. “Tell her it doesn’t hurt,” she pouts.

In all your years as a tattoo artist you’ve never once lied to a client but you aren’t on the clock right now and can’t bring yourself to kill whatever glimmer of hope this girl might have of winning her friend over.

“It doesn’t hurt” you lie to her friend, knowing damn well that, while it isn’t torture, it’s far from painless. “It might sting a little but you’re tough. I can tell. You’ve got it.”

“Thank you” the tall girl smiles, holding the door open for you. “Headed in?”

“Uh…” you hesitate, chewing at your inner lip. There’s so much weight to that question. A weight she can’t possibly fathom. Swallowing your pride, you give her a smile and a nod, slipping into the shop.

“Have a good night!” the girls say kindly, going about their night and abandoning you in the doorway.

Breathing in deep, you take a few more steps before stopping to take in the scene around you. The shop is as alive as it's ever been, the lobby buzzing with customers busy picking out jewelry or waiting their turn to be seen.

The front desk is still straight ahead, marked by a small statue of an orange cat named Cheese. It’d been Minho’s idea to get it when you all went on a drunken flea market adventure and none of you were sober enough to shoot him down. The walls are still adorned with elegant, hand painted art courtesy of Hyunjin, the best photo realistic artist in the shop. The city even.

The checkered floors are the same, an expertly polished black and white patchwork to match the charcoal color of the walls. Even the couch you bought in from your apartment is still positioned in the corner where a bunch of college kids are currently lounging. A lot has happened on that couch. A lot more than they know. God you hope the boys have cleaned it.

Everything is just as you remember it but the energy’s something new entirely. It’s the contradiction of finding familiarity on an alien planet.

“You need something, babe?” the bubbly girl at the counter asks, waving you over. This is new. They used to force you to work the front desk on weekends, the guys alternating weekdays based on whoever lost at rock, paper, scissors. But now there’s a new face. She seems sweet though so you make your way over to her. At least one person’s happy to see you.

“Yes but no but yes? I guess” you ramble, indecision painted all over your face. Observing your appearance she doesn’t take you as the kind of girl to be hesitant about what she came to a place like this for but she comforts you nonetheless.

“It’s okay” she says, reaching out a sympathetic hand to touch yours, “Everyone gets nervous sometimes. I mean, I work here and even I almost freaked when I got my bellybutton pierced but it’s okay. You know what you wanna get done?”

“Actually, I’m not here to get anything done. I used to work here a long time ago and I just thought I’d drop by and see…”

“You’re fucking joking” a voice from your past interrupts. Before you even turn to look, you know exactly who that voice belongs to. Seungmin.

“It can’t be. I’m hallucinating” he gasps, clutching his chest. “A ghost? In our shop?”

You roll your eyes at the dramatics. You’ve missed them. “A ghost? Am I dead now? Is that what you consider me?” you sniffle, pretending to cry.

“Oh, my god. Stop it. Come here” he says, smiling bigger than you’ve ever seen. He throws his arms around you, squeezing you into the tightest hug. In an instant it melts away your worries of not being welcome here. This is the warmest you’ve ever seen Seungmin greet someone and you feel special for being the recipient.

“Squeeze me any tighter and I will be a ghost” you tease, pulling back the slightest bit to get some air. As you do you notice something new on his face. “When did this happen?” You marvel at the shiny silver jewelry decorating his eyebrow.

“You hate it don’t you?”

“Ssh, I don’t hate it. I like it. It’s cute.”

Seungmin blushes, rubbing his cheeks in a failed attempt to hide it. Out of the corner of your eye you catch the girl at the counter staring daggers through Seungmin’s soul. It’s easy to see that there’s something going on here and she doesn’t like him blushing over other girls.

“Ooh, someone’s got a girlfriend” you sing and the counter girl giggles. You can’t help but adore how sweet it is when Seungmin lights up at the sound of her laughter. But you can’t deny that it drags up bittersweet memories of when that was you and...

“Follow me. Everyone’s here tonight. I know they’ll be happy to see you” Seungmin says, ready to escape the lobby before his cheeks overheat from all the blushing. It’ll kill his reputation if the guys find out. He leads the way to the back, as if you need the guidance. You remember exactly where you’re going.

“So…” he sighs, feeling the weight of your return for the first time, “How was Japan?”

“Oh, it was wonderful. It’s beautiful over there and I learned so much from my apprenticeship. I was super nervous at first, you know? But everyone at the shop was…” You stop yourself short, fearful that your fond memories of your time there might come off as bragging. You may have had fun in Osaka but it still paled in comparison to the place you come from.

Seungmin picks up on it, glancing back at you to give you a comforting smile, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m happy…we’re happy that you did what you needed to do. It’s nice to have you back though. You are back, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. That depends on what he says. You know how he was when I left.”

Seungmin says nothing, only nods. He knows oh too well how his best friend was when you left. And those months after spent stewing in a bitterness that only thinly masked the pain of losing you. He watched it play out until the sting had faded but only enough to pretend that things were okay when they weren’t.

“Yongbok, what’d you do with my kit?” Changbin shouts across the room, tearing his station apart in search of his prized possession.

A few stations away a busy Felix rises from his chair, directing his client towards one of the full body mirrors in the corner. “Why are you yelling at me? I don’t have your kit!”

“I’m not talking to you! I’m talking to him!” Changbin points a finger at a shocked I.N who’s been innocently prepping for the next person in line.

“You called my name!” Felix snaps and it dawns on Changbin that he’s been calling the wrong person.

Changbin fights himself not to laugh at his own mistake. He puts his head down, discovering his kit tucked away under his table. “Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

I.N querks an eyebrow at him, arms folded across his chest, “Why do you always do that? You can never call me the right name.”

“Because he’s old” Hyunjin mumbles under his breath, still loud enough for the others to hear. Changbin picks up a towel to throw at him but hesitates when he notices Hyunjin’s in the middle of a tattoo.

“It’s okay, old man,” Han teases, patting his friend on the back. Hyunjin might be busy but Han on the other hand is free enough to invade his personal space so it’s a slap on the back of the head for him.

“Can you guys be adults for a second? We have a guest” Seungmin announces but you hardly mind. This was what you missed while you were gone. No matter how kind the artists at the other shop were to you, they could never replace your boys. Even in their most chaotic moments there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Seungmin’s voice draws all of the attention in the room to you and everyone falls silent. If there’s anything else they needed to say the thoughts have evaporated in your presence. It’s quiet for long enough that you begin to worry. Thoughts creep back in that maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Seungmin may have been happy to see you but the others?

Just as you begin to doubt yourself, the room erupts in cheers and you find yourself at the center of the world’s biggest group hug. Their joy overflows as arms wrap around you, one set swapping out for another and then another swiftly enough to leave you dizzy.

“You’re back! Why didn’t you tell us? Ugh, I missed you” Han says, pinching your cheek in an act of cute aggression he simply cannot control.

Felix hugs you so that his cheek is flush against yours, “You’re staying, right? You have to stay.”

This is nothing that you expected it to be. You’re flooded with enough joy to make a girl cry and you can already feel the tears welling up, you’re right on the verge of it. A year of wondering if you’d made a mistake. A year of worrying that the people you loved hated you for your decision. All of those doubts are shedded in the arms of these seven men.

“What’s all this noise?” Chan groans, his eyes barely open as he steps out of his office, “I was trying to sleep for once.”

“Sleep? Shouldn’t you be working?” I.N says, never one to miss an opportunity to be a smartass.

Chan lets out a yawn, stretching those muscular arms you very vividly recall drooling over and on. “You’ll pay for that, kid. But seriously, what are you guys doing out here?”

The guys step away, gesturing towards you and his arms drop to his sides. Suddenly he’s reminiscent of a balloon at the end of a party, melancholy and deflated. You watch the light in his eyes die in real time and it makes you sick to your stomach to be looked at this way. It wasn’t always like this. In the old days he’d have you in his arms right now, showering you in kisses. But these aren’t the old days, no matter how badly you wish it were.

He starts in your direction, one slow, agonizing step of his black boots after another. He stops a few feet away from you as if some invisible barrier is keeping him at bay. His expression is hard as stone as he studies you like you’re a creature he’s never seen before.

“Hi” you manage in spite of the sudden lack of moisture in your mouth. You get the sense that you’re on trial for some horrible crime and Chan, the judge that he is, has no intention of offering you leniency.

“It’s really nice to see you. You look…good.” There’s such a softness in the way that you are with him. The wisp of a smile on your lips, the gentleness in your posture. You’re soft as a marshmallow for this man and the fire of his anger’s enough to burn you to a crisp.

“Chan, don’t be…” Changbin tries to reach his best friend but Chan snatches away, sparing you one last glance before disappearing into his office.

The door slams hard enough that the hinges creak and the wood seems to splinter. The others? They don’t hate you. In fact, they adore you with all of their hearts. But him? You’re positive he does and now you want to cry again but for a different reason altogether.

Han pats you on the back, bringing you close to him, “I’m about to work on my sketch for my next client. Will you help me?”

“I don’t know, Jisung. It might be better if I go.”

“What? No! You just got here!” Hyunjin pouts, his bottom lip quivering. “You’re really gonna walk out and leave some poor soul at the hands of his drawing skills?”

Hyunjin’s attempt at making you laugh works like a charm and a giggle escapes you.

“Does that mean you’ll stay?” he asks, poking his lip out even more.

“Yes, that means I’ll stay.”

“Yay!” Han cheers, grabbing onto your hand and dragging you over to his station.

He hops right into it, spilling all of the details about the tattoo and asking your opinion on it. At first you struggle to focus on helping him. As much as you want to, you can’t shake the mental picture of how Chan looked at you. He didn’t say a word but he didn’t need to. He said everything he felt without so much as parting his lips.

Periodically you find your gaze drifting over to his office door, the pit of your stomach twisted with the anxiety over his next appearance. But the door never opens, not even a crack, and before you know it you’re fully engrossed in helping Han work on his sketch. Your styles are different but he admires you as an artist and soaks in every drop of your input like a sponge.

As the night rolls on you find yourself at one station after another, helping the guys with what you can. You slip right back into their group dynamic with ease. It’s as if your spot was always here waiting for you to hop right back in. It’s like you never left. The minutes melt into hours and you find yourself lingering behind with them far beyond closing time.

“We’re all going out for drinks. You’re coming right?” Felix asks as you group filters out of the shop, filling up the space on the sidewalk.

“Yes, she’s coming. She doesn’t have a choice!” I.N answers before you have a chance to. The boys have already begun moving towards their destination and he drapes an arm around your shoulder to make sure you keep up.

“I’m coming” you laugh, tapping him on the back of the hand, “I do need to run back to my hotel and change first though.”

Changbin looks you up and down, finding not a single thing wrong with your current fit. “Why? You look beautiful.”

As flattered as you are, there’s no way you’re going out on the town in a crop top and a pair of sweatpants. You might not be planning on switching into a ballgown but a change of wardrobe is definitely in order.

You bat your eyelashes, grateful for the compliment, “Sweet but no. I still need to change. Just text me where you’re going.” Reaching into your pocket for your phone, you realize you must’ve left it behind. “Shit, I left my phone.”

They all pause, prepared to turn back and help you find it. “We’ll just go back and grab it” Han insists but you shut him down, not wanting to delay their plans.

“It’s okay, really. I’ll just grab my phone and I’ll meet you there in a few.”

I.N opens his mouth to protest but you throw a hand over it before he can speak. “I’m not a baby, you guys. I got it. I’ll be quick, I swear.”

Shared glances between the seven of them play out a silent conversation that you aren’t in on. They want to look after you, especially after you being so far away for so long, but you’re stubborn and they know you won’t give in no matter what they say.

“Fine” Seungmin relents, “If you aren’t there in an hour we’re coming to get you!”

“Yeah and we’ll raid your hotel room, eat up all your snacks…” Han throws in for extra impact.

“I’ll be there. I swear! One hour!” you promise, skipping back towards the shop.

“An hour!” Hyunjin shouts after you, waiting until you’re safely back inside to continue on.

Inside the shop the lights are turned down, not completely off but dimly lit enough that you almost trip on your way to the back. You frantically search every station—in things, under them—but your phone’s nowhere to be found.

“Fuck, where is it?” you shout in frustration.

Standing in the middle of the floor, you take a deep breath and contemplate where it could be. You were at Han’s station first and then you went to sit with Felix for a bit but Changbin called you to the front for something. That’s it. Maybe it’s there.

You turn to jog back up front when a sound from behind you stops you in your tracks. It’s the sound you’ve been dreading all night. The slow creaking of the door to Chan’s office. Your heart almost stops dead in your chest. You’re frozen, stuck right where you are. You can’t even bring yourself to turn around when you feel the weight of something on your shoulder.

“Looking for this?” he asks, tapping you on the shoulder with your phone.

Hesitantly, you take it, turning to find yourself face to face with the man you used to call yours. Chan seems less angry now but his nose is red and his eyes are puffy. You can tell from the gloss dancing on the surface of them that he’s been crying.

“Thanks. Sorry for leaving it behind, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you here?” He asks the question so bluntly that you’re stunned, unsure how to respond.

“I don’t understand—”

“Why’d you come back? I thought you were confident in your decision. I thought that was what you needed. But now you’re standing in front of me so why?”

“Well, I…” you sigh, giving yourself a moment to process your own feelings, “I missed it. The shop and the guys and you.”

Chan’s jaw tightens, your profession placing him right back on edge. “You miss me?” he scoffs, “That’s not the truth. Try again.”

“But it is.”

“No it isn’t.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t!” he finally snaps, raising his voice at you in a way he never has before. “If you missed me then you would’ve called. You would’ve texted me. Do you know what that felt like for me? I haven’t heard your voice in a year.”

“Because you told me you didn’t wanna hear it!” you shout back, the tears you’ve been suppressing all night pouring from your eyes. It hurts to cry this hard. The tightness in your chest is unbearable. You’ve never cried this hard in front of someone before, not even him, but there’s no holding it back. “I blew up your phone all day every day for weeks begging you to talk to me. I might’ve left here but I didn’t leave you. You left me. You broke my heart and I’ve cried for you every night since. So hate me all you want but I won’t torture myself for you anymore.”

Four hours. That’s how long he spent pacing in that office spiraling down an emotional hole. He thought he knew what he’d say to you if he had the chance. All of those words left unsaid would come tumbling out. Those feelings of abandonment. That pain. He’d have the words to put to them that’d make you understand what you did to him.

Watching the tears stream down your face, none of those words matter now. He’d worked you up in his mind to be a villain, totally opposite to the girl he fell in love with. Blinded by his own bitterness he couldn’t see that you were still her. You are still her. And now he can’t ignore it.

Tucking an arm around your waist he pulls you in, your face pressed into his chest. His fingers find your hair, stroking the soft strands. It feels like it’s been an eternity since he’s touched you. His body’s flush with the sort of warmth flowers must feel on a sunny day.

Chan leans in, his plush lips skimming your ear, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just had so much anger when you left and I didn’t know how to deal with it but I don’t hate you. I’m so sorry.”

The tremors of his voice give you goosebumps. He sounds as broken as you do and just as lost. You shake your head, pulling back from him. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come” you say, wiping the tears away. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’ll stay away this time. I promise.”

You walk off, your arms wet with tears that won’t stop falling. Your chest’s thumping and the shop seems darker than it was when you came in. Footsteps follow behind you lightly enough for you to question if it’s all in your head. If there’s something you’ve left behind then let it stay that way. You won’t turn back. Not this time.

It’s a silly thing to do but you’re doing it.

Draped across your bed in a towel, you sip from a bottle of red wine and cycle through a heartbreak playlist that gives your lonely heart the company it desperately needs. The tears stopped a half hour ago, the last of them being shed in the shower. Your eyelids feel raw from all of the salty waterworks and your body’s exhausted.

A few feet away your phone sits on a table, lit up with text messages from the guys. After hearing what happened a few of them insisted on coming to get you but you can’t crawl your way towards the closet for the life of you. If not for their persistence you’d be content to rot in your hotel room for the rest of the night, drowning your sorrows in this bottle of overpriced wine.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Nobody’s home” you groan, face down in the blanket. There’s a pause. Some shuffling on the other side of the door. Maybe it worked?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you toss the bottle aside and drag yourself over to the door. “Can’t a girl rot in peace?” you pout, swinging the door open.

“If this is what you look like when you rot then rot all you want” Chan says, flashing you a smile so genuine you’re positive you must be dreaming.

You stick your head out into the hallway, looking around for the other guys but there’s no one else in sight. “Chan, uh, what are you doing here?”

“Honestly? I’m afraid you’re gonna leave again before I can beg you not to.”

With not a drop more of explanation he pushes his way into the room, kissing you like his life depends on it. His tongue glides over yours, savoring the taste of you mixed with the lingering sweetness of the wine. The kiss is so consuming you can barely get a breath in but air is vastly overrated when a kiss is laced with this much passion. There’s a year of longing inside of him and he pours it into you boundlessly.

Tucking his hands behind your legs, he lifts you up, fingers delighting in the softness of your thighs. He missed this. The tenderness of your kiss. The plushness of your figure. The light, fruity scent of your perfume filling his lungs as he plants open mouthed kisses down your neck, suckling at your smooth skin.

His lips never break from you as he lays you across the bed, tearing your towel away like it’s nothing. His palms massage the fullness of your figure, riding every curve to cup one of your breasts. Your body tenses in response to his touch, moisture pooling between your thighs.

Chan drags his tongue across your cleavage, his stiffening bulge pressed right against your core. “Tell me you’ll stay this time” he begs, lovesick eyes flicking up to you, “Don’t leave me again.”

Brushing his hair out of his face, your fingers skate along that immaculate bone structure of his, bringing him up for another breathless kiss. His thumb brushes your nipple, making small circles on the tip of the bud, and you shudder.

“I’ll stay” you moan, your thighs growing slick with your arousal.

He pinches the bud, grinding his clothed cock against you harder this time, “Promise me.”

Chan sounds so needy and it only worsens how badly you ache for him. You guide him back up to his feet, slipping to the edge of the bed to kiss his cock through his pants. You press your palm to it, riding the outline of the print while your other hand dips under his shirt to feel his abs contract with every touch. He tugs his shirt up over his head, giving your hands free reign of that beautiful chest.

You smile up at him, pulling down the band of his pants and his boxers at once. His cock springs free, thick, throbbing, and as deliciously veined as you remember. You stick your tongue out, licking up the arousal dripping from the tip. You smile up at him, your tongue retreating to say the words he wants to hear. “I promise.”

You press your lips to the tip, taking it in further this time. You swirl your tongue around it, enjoying the satisfied groans that fill the room the more you take him between your fluffy cheeks. Your mouth is so warm and wet around his cock. It’s like heaven.

You relax your throat, taking him as far back as you can, before pulling back the slightest bit to wrap your fingers around the base. You rock your head back and forth, wrist rotating as you pump his shaft. You can feel every little twitch of his cock, taste the precum dripping on the back of your tongue, and it has you soaking through the blanket beneath you.

Chan reaches down to play with your hair, utterly incapable of taking his eyes off of you. You look too pretty drooling around his cock for him to miss a minute of it. He wants to be like this forever with you. Not only this but everything. He wants to be with you. Near you. Inside of you. Anything you’ll bless him with. He just wants you right here, looking at him with all of the love and admiration you do with his cock throbbing down your throat.

“My beautiful girl” he coos, tilting his hips in to push into you a little more. “All mine, yeah?”

With your mouth stuffed so full of him he hardly expects you to answer. Your hum of agreement vibrating down his length is more than enough to let him know that you agree. You’re his again. You’ve wanted to be for so long and at last you are.

That knowledge is almost as intoxicating as feeling him on your tongue. Chan tangles his fingers in your hair, bringing your head back far enough that the head of his cock only ghosts your glossy lips. He plants a kiss on your forehead, staring so deeply into your eyes that you almost lose yourself.

“Bend over for me, baby” he whispers and you nod your head, swinging around in the cutest way to assume the position.

You crawl onto your knees for him, back arched and ass in the air. “Is this good, Channie?”

If only you could see yourself from this angle. Your body’s beyond perfection and your pussy’s glistening like diamonds. He can’t stop himself from tasting you, a hand palming your ass as his tongue darts into your core.

“So fucking good” he hums, his face buried between your thighs. His tongue dips up, dragging between your folds and teasing your clit. Your body trembles and he grabs your hips, lapping at your clit until his face is soaked in your juices.

“Channie, please, ah. Too much” you whine but your body tells a different story. You’re soaking wet, your walls so needy you’re clenching around air. Your hips arch and swirl, almost riding his face.

Chan’s too drunk on your pussy to listen, his free hand between his legs to stroke his cock as he devours you. His tongue pushes back into your core and your walls flutter around it, leaking like a faucet. His cock throbs in his palm, drenched in a mixture of your saliva and his arousal. He feels so out of it, so completely absorbed in you, that he’s racing towards his high faster than he’s ready for.

Dragging his tongue out, he steadies himself, gripping your hips to bring himself right to your entrance. You wiggle your ass excitedly and he laughs, licking you from his lips. “You want it that badly, baby?”

You look back, serving a pouty face that’d bring even the toughest man to his knees. “I just wanna see how much you’ve really missed me.”

“I’ve missed you so much” he moans, sinking into you with one motion. You both nearly collapse at the dizzying pleasure of it. Your walls cling to his length as he bottoms out, filling you up perfectly. “I was going crazy without you” he confesses, pulling out and slamming into you even harder. Your body jiggles, the softness of your hips borderline sinful.

You cry out, biting your tongue to avoid a noise complaint but the moans still spill out. Those broken, beautiful moans. Every stroke rides your sweet spot, pushing you further towards absolute ruin.

“I’ve needed you so badly” he coos, savoring the wet snapping sound of your body colliding with his. “Just like I need you right now. Fuck, I don’t know how I lived without this pussy.”

Throwing his head back, he settles his knees at the very edge of the bed, bouncing you in his lap. He fucks into you faster, your juices splashing up and decorating his abs. Blindly you reach for a pillow, dragging it over to bury your face in because you know it’s coming. You feel it and so can he. Your legs are shaking, you can barely keep your body straight, and your walls are spasming too wildly to spare his sanity.

You’re almost there, knocking right at the door of you high. But instead of keeping his pace, he slows down, every movement careful and purposeful. He angles himself against your sweet spot, making sure he doesn’t miss it once, and teases you to the point that your body’s almost crying to cum. “You ready to cum for me, hmm? You want it?”

“Mmhmm” you whine, eyes watering, “Let me cum, Channie, please.”

How can he deny the request of such a pretty girl? Picking up speed again, he thrusts into you, and your orgasm rips through you like an electric current. You bite down on the pillow, your brain going fuzzy as you cream all over his cock, moaning his name in broken syllables.

Chan has the glimmer of a thought to pull out but he’s too addicted to the feeling of you clenching to follow through on it. It’s too late anyway, his heart’s already skipping beats, his seed spilling out into the warmth of your core. His movements grow sloppier, both of your bodies getting weaker by the minute, but he doesn’t stop until your knees give out.

You summon the energy to roll onto your back, giving that poor little pillow a break, and Chan collapses on top of you, his head resting on your soft belly. “You know” he pants, massaging your love handles, “This music is really sad.”

You giggle, your awareness of any music playing having faded away the moment his lips found yours. “You’re right, it is kinda sad, but I was sad.”

“Was?” he asks, propping his chin up on your belly, “You’re not sad anymore, right?”

“Hmm, no, I don’t think I am.”

“And you really meant what you said? That wasn’t just sex talk?”

You need a second to think about what it was that you said. You’re sure you said a few things when he was inside of you. All of which you meant, of course. “Oh, that I’ll stay? Yeah, I meant that. As long as that’s what you really want.”

Chan climbs on top of you, strong arms caging you in as he hovers above you. “More than anything.”

He kisses you and you close your eyes, letting yourself fade into him. You don’t regret going off to find yourself, it was something you needed to do, but there’s no doubt in your mind that this is where your heart is. With the shop. With the boys. And, more than anything else, with Chan.

#stray kids x reader #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan smut #bang chan angst #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #bang chan x female reader #chubby reader #plus size reader

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i-heart-yellowstone · 5 months ago

Note

hi! Can you do a Kacey fic about s4e1? Where him and Monica were already divorced, he was dating someone else who was with Tate that day. She gets shot protecting him. Just a lot of fluff!

thank you!

Protecting the Heir

Walking up the wooden stairs inside the main house I heard my phone started ringing inside my blue jeans pocket until I removed it outside of my pocket and pressed it up against my right ear. “Hey cowboy, how bored are you of that desk job already?”

“Extremely. Not much is happening today. I’d definitely rather be working the ranch with you and Tate.” Kayce sighed heavily on the other end of the phone.

I smiled weakly even though he couldn’t see it. “I know, honey. But just a few more hours and we can all cuddle up on the couch with some barbecue that Gator made and have nachos for dinner. How’s that sound?”

“You’re a girl truly after a rancher's heart.” Kayce declares and I swore I could almost hear the smile on his voice.

I snorted a laugh back in response. “Well I am dating one after all.”

“I'll make you my wife tonight when I get back if you keep talking like that. What is that - oh shit!” Kayce mumbled something under his breath before I could hear gun fire on his end of the phone call.

I called out his name, beginning to worry. “Kayce! Kayce what's happening over there?”

“Go to the bunkhouse.”

I asked him not sure what he meant. “What?”

“Find Tate and go to the bunkhouse. Grab one of the shotguns by the kitchen too.” He shouted back at me before I heard gunfire going off in rapid fire before the phone call went dead. I called his name even though the line had cut off, feeling a nervous tightness inside my chest. “Kayce! - shit - Tate, Tate!”

Bolting up the rest of the way of the staircase searching through the rooms for the young boy. When Kayce moved back onto his father’s ranch he had brought his son to live with him. During that time I was hired by John as his new horse trainer, which allowed me and Kayce something to instantly bond over.

He had divorced his wife Monica a few months before we had met. She still has some visitation with Tate but ultimately Kayce and I have full rights and parenting responsibilities over his son.

“Y/n! What happened?” Tate’s voice came from his bedroom before I saw him running straight towards me.

Wrapping my arms around his body once it collided with my body I held him for a brief moment. Remembering the phone call with my fiancé I broke the hug intertwining my hand with his, leading him down the stairs quickly. “Turn around and go down the stairs. Your daddy says we gotta leave.”

We scrambled through the living room heading towards the kitchen that had a door closest in the direction of the Bunkhouse. I gasped slamming into the chest of a guy dressed all in black clothing and a mask so I couldn’t see his face. “Urgh!”

“You or the kid try to run and I’ll kill you.” The stranger reached inside his coat, revealing a handgun from the waist of his jeans.

Pushing Tate behind me I glared at the guy. “You’re going to kill us either way.”

“I’d suggest you not talk back to me girl if you know what is good for you.” He warned me by keeping the barrel aimed directly at my forehead.

I didn’t waste another second before raising my leg and kicking the stranger in his groin causing him to drop the firearm and dropping to the ground in pain. Whipping my head around I hollered to the young Dutton standing behind me. “Tate, get to the bunkhouse - arrgg!” Suddenly the guy yanked me backwards by my hair, throwing me down onto the kitchen floor. He wrapped his hands around my throat, choking me while I attempted to reach for the handgun with my right foot. He noticed and elbowed me with his rib, making me moan. “Asshole!”

“Y/n!” Tate called my name hiding in the doorway of the kitchen, panic clear in his voice.

I punched the guy in the jaw where he held his chin rubbing the sore area. I began crawling away reaching for the gun, nearly grabbing it with my fingertips till he grabbed the back of my jacket dragging me backwards to him. “You’re gonna pay for that, bitch!” He wrapped one hand around my throat taking out a knife and quickly stabbing me in my lower stomach making me scream like a banshee.

The attacker removed the knife ready to stab me a second time but his body immediately collapsed beside me following a loud bang sound. “T-Tate.” Slowly rolling onto my side when I lifted my head I sighed in relief seeing the young kid holding the handgun in his hands.

“Y/n, you’re - you’re bleeding.” He lowered the handgun eyeing the stab wound on my stomach.

Getting up from the ground holding onto the nearby counter for balance I noticed my eyes getting heavier the second I was standing straight up. My throat was sore and I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. “Tate - call - 9 - 1 - 1.” Pressing my freehand to my bleeding wound I saw that my hand was quickly being covered in my own blood. I went to take a step forward towards the kid unfortunately I collapsed before him immediately falling unconscious.

The next time I blinked open my eyes I quickly shut them closed, getting blinded by the bright hospital lights shining down on me. Peeking one eye open I turned my head to the side seeing Kayce sleeping on the bed side of my bed with his head resting on his crossed arms until I lifted my hand close to him gently shaking him awake. “Kayce. Kayce, hey.”

“Hmm. Y/n. Y/n, oh my gosh.” Relief was the first expression to cross the youngest Dutton son’s face. He got up from his chair raising a hand to the side of my face cradling it in his palm. “I thought I had lost you. The nurse said you had lost a lot of blood.”

Leaning into his palm I placed my hand over his larger one. “Nobody can get rid of me that easily. Where’s Tate?”

“He’s out in the waiting room. I didn’t - the doctor recommended that he saw you once- if you woke up. Fuck, I thought I was about to lose you when I saw you all bruised and bandaged up laying in this bed.” Kayce admitted with watery eyes sniffing through tears. I could tell he was trying to remain tough but it didn’t last before he started bawling happy tears.

Opening my arms out wide I gestured my head to the side wanting him to climb up into the hospital bed with me. “Awe, come up here cowboy.”

“We can't both fit on the bed.” He shook his head no.

I smirked in his direction, raising a brow knowing he would cave in a second. “You thought differently when it came to having sex in the backseat of your truck.”

A genuine chuckle left his lips which was a rare sight to see given the lifestyle of his family. He pushed his chair back away from the bed then climbing into the bed once I had scooted over to the other side allowing him room. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well.” He wrapped his arms around my waist.

Running my thumb over the stubble on his chin I locked my gaze with his deep brown eyes. “If I didn’t pay attention to what you like, I'm not sure I’d be wearing this engagement ring on my finger.”

“I was thinking about that actually. How would you like to get married tonight?”

I sharply gaspe not expecting those words to come from his mouth. “Kayce John Dutton are you shiting me right now?”

“No, darling.” He stared deeply stare at me. “I’m very serious. Today made me realize that I don’t want to wait another minute. I want to call you my wife now.”

Draping my arms over his shoulders I leaned forward connecting my lips with his. He leans into the kiss moving one of his hands to the side of my face and his other hand gently threaded into my hair deepening the kiss the second he earned a moan from my lips. I threw one of my legs over his before he shifted so he was laying on his back and I was sitting on top of his lap, only focusing on how good it felt to kiss the other in this moment.

“Ew gross!” Kayce and I broke the heated kiss quickly turning our heads to the doorway noticing his ten year old son was standing there watching us.

I blushed, sending the kid a bright smile. “Tate, I’m happy to see you.”

“Are you feeling better after getting shot?” He asked nicely, crossing the room until he was at the end of the bed.

Nodding my head I knew I'd definitely feel more of the pain once I left the hospital since they had to do surgery to remove the bullet and close up the stab wound that I had. “I'm a little sore but I'll be fine. I'm just relieved that guy didn't hurt you.”

“So can we go get ice cream to celebrate your okay or are you and my dad going to start having sex again?” The young boy asked catching me and his father off guard.

Kayce turned bright red in the face as I was. “Tate!”

“What. I know when you close the bedroom to cuddle really means.” He shrugged his shoulders, sending us a disgusted face.

Running a hand down my face I sighed heavily so embarrassed. Dropping my hands into my lap I turned my attention back to his father who was likely still waiting on an answer from me. “So - uh about your idea earlier. How exactly would you get me discharged from the hospital in enough time for us to rush to the courthouse to get married before they close for the evening?”

“Simple, we just walk out and say we ain't got time to wait. We wanna get fucking married.” Kayce said with a smirk across his face, and I knew there was no changing his mind once he had an idea in his head.

I warned him. “Kayce.”

“Please darling.” He gave me sweet puppy dog eyes.

Closing my eyes I paused for a moment before getting his son's attention. “Tate, go grab one of the wheelchairs in the hallway. We're busting out of this place.” He ran out into the hallway leaving me and my fiancé in the room alone.

Grabbing Kayce’s jaw with my fingers I turned his chin so he was looking back at me before capturing my lips with his. “I can’t believe I’m gonna be calling you my husband tonight because you’re so impatient, Dutton.”

“Have you ever known my sister to be patient about anything? That should have told you that it runs in the family, honey.” He chuckled, kissing me longingly where I wrapped my arms around his neck deepening the kiss, happy that I would call him my husband the second Tate came back to help me sneak out of the hospital room.

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chiasaaa · 4 months ago

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— the things we do for love

itoshi sae x f! reader

summary: sae has always been stoic, always appearing uncaring who only gives a shit about football. yet, his team noticed how he wears his heart upon his sleeve when it comes to you

warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical and spelling errors.

— dating a football superstar only meant frequent days apart from each other, and today is much like any other. because the european league began, sae leaves for germany, the host country for the season. it has been three days since his flight, and he’s already itching for you to get your work done and fly over as soon as possible. he can’t possibly start a season without you, right?

alas, your career as one of the most successful businessmen in spain caused your delay for this year. there is much to take care of with the month of love coming up, and you’re preparing an upcoming fashion line submitting to the theme. sae didn’t want to pressure you into going. after all, fashion is your passion and soccer is his. he wished to be as supportive as you are to him, and that meant refraining from whining like a little kid when he can’t get what he wants immediately.

however, as he stared at his phone screen displaying his last message left with no response for about five hours now, he couldn’t help but feel a little down. have you been so busy that you can’t even take a quick peek at your phone?

sae put the device down the bedside table, turning his back on it in an attempt to sleep it off. that, too, led to nothing but uncomfortable shifting left and right. he can’t sleep not knowing what’s happening to you right now. you haven’t even responded to a simple “did you eat dinner yet?” question. frankfurt and madrid have the same timezone, meaning it’s just as much 23:39 as it is in madrid.

what the hell are you doing at this hour?

buzz!

barry allen just lost his title as the fastest man alive with how sae immediately turned back and snatched his phone from the table, eager to see a message coming from you.

michael kaiser: coach called us down the luxury suite.

curse his annoying narcissistic teammate for getting his hopes up.

with reluctance, sae rises from the bed and threw on a loose pair of sweatpants and his favorite sweater. given that he’s dating you who quite literally dominated the fashion industry in most european countries already, every article of clothing sae used to have were replaced by your designs. not a single one was salvaged, and he preferred it that way. it felt like he walks around with a piece of you everywhere he goes.

if you can’t always be there, your creations most certainly are.

as sae goes down the to meet at the lounge, a few soccer fans boarded the elevator with him and began striking an unwanted conversation. it’s not helping that he’s already in a sour mood because of a certain someone still missing in action. it took a lot for him to stop himself from snapping a snarky comment or two in respect of you. “be nice” in your ever-so sweet and loving voice rang in his head repetitively.

“good luck on your match tomorrow, sae!”

“let’s take a picture!”

“what do you think of tomorrow’s match? will it go well?”

he sighs, “if my girlfriend happens to magically appear, then yes, it’s a sure match.”

sae has always been open about his relationship to the public, mainly because he hates the thought of people thinking he’s still up for grabs when he’s irrevocably yours to begin with. you, thankfully, had no problem dealing with the paparazzi and thousands of interviewers going through hell on earth just to get something out of you.

after what felt like forever, the elevator opened and allowed him to step out and meet his team at the luxury suite reserved for their team meetings. it took him two knocks for the door to open, only to reveal kaiser with a smug smirk on his face.

“aren’t you punctual?”

“you called me over,” sae sighs, walking right inside to see only three more of their teammates with them, “i don’t see coach anywhere.”

“right, i might have lied about that.”

“what—“ sae turns, a string of vulgar words ready to shoot themselves right towards their annoying centre forward, when he was halted by the sight of you closing the door with a gentle smile carved upon your lips. “—the hell…”

“surprise!” you giggled, holding your arms out for him. sae didn’t need to be told twice to bolt right into your warmth, wrapping you in a tender embrace that evoked a thousand unvoiced thoughts expressing how much he missed you. “wow. we’ve only been apart for three days, querido.”

“demasiado tiempo, mi vida.” it’s too much time, my life. sae didn’t know whether or not he should be happy that you’ve finally arrived. partly happy because this is indeed a pleasant surprise, but partly not because what if something happened to you as you’re traveling and he had absolutely no idea? he would hate himself to death if something were to happen to you.

and as if you knew what he was thinking, you carefully leaned back to look into his teal hues. he can stay in that moment forever and never get sick of the sight. “i’m here, and i’m alright.”

indeed, the fact that he’s able to hold you so close to him is enough proof to ease his worries away. he should have known you’d pull things like these even after three years of dating. you always knew how to keep him wrapped around your finger.

oh, the things we do for love.

#itoshi sae #x reader #blue lock #michael kaiser #bllk #anime

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hawkeyetrained · 6 months ago

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Hurry

Derek Hale x reader (established relationship)

Other Characters: Scott, Chris Argent, Isaac (mentioned)

Warnings: Mention of blood and wounds

Summary: It's not Ms. Blake that gets trapped in the supply closet when Boyd and Cora are rescued.

Word Count: 1678

We had to hurry. After breaking into the old bank in an attempt to save the trapped werewolves, Derek and Scott had struggled to restrain them, causing Allison to break the protective barrier and allow the two rouges to run off into the night. We had a plan. We always had a plan. I was in the car with Chris Argent racing our way towards the high school. Our plan was to trap the two out of control werewolves in the boiler room below the main halls and keep them there until the moon went down and their strength faded.

Chris slammed on the breaks in the large SUV he drove, stopping just outside the doors on the opposite side of the school that the wolves were headed. “Do a quick search. No one needs to be here when we send them down.” He commented as I jumped out the door, slamming it shut and listening to him as he sped off towards the woods to help lure the wolves to our location.

I did a quick scan of the parking lot as I ran up to the main doors, noticing one car still parked over by the English halls. The new teacher, Ms. Blake, was still here, her room lit up with the bright overhead lights. With a roll of my eyes, I headed down the hall as quickly as I could, making sure to slow down as I got to her door.

“Ms. Blake?” I knocked softly on the door to make sure I wouldn’t scare her. “What are you doing here?”

Her head snapped up from the pile of paperwork she was grading, bright red pen in her hand. “Oh, my. Honey what are you doing here so early?” She ignored my question. “It’s barely morning.” She looked out her window into the darkness surrounding the school.

“Umm.” I had to think quickly. “Study group was supposed to start early for a big test in chem today. I was just headed out after grabbing some stuff from my locker, wanted to grab some breakfast.”

“Well, I’d be happy to walk out with you. I just have to reload the copier down the hall. I used most of it printing assignments for later. The other teacher are very particular about the copier being full in the morning.” She started to gather her things. Paper was stored downstairs, next to the boiler room in the supply closet.

“Oh, you know what, I’ve gotta grab some stuff from my locker on the other side of the school. I know where the supply closet is, I’ll just grab the paper for you. I don’t have a first period, so I don’t mind the extra few minutes here.” My hand pulled my phone from my back pocket, glancing down to see the HURRY test from Derek lighting up my screen.

Ms. Blake slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’d hate to leave you here alone. I’ll just wait.”

I shook my head as another text came through. They’re almost there. Get out. “No, it’s ok. My ride is running a few minutes late, so I’ll grab the paper and then head out. See you in a few hours for class.” My phone slipped easily back into my pocket as I gave her a rushed smile that I hoped didn’t give off how worried I was.

“Only if you’re sure.” She smiled softly, pulling her keys from her pocket.

“Yeah, I got it.” I waved her off as I turned down the hall towards the basement stairs. “See you later!” I called and disappeared down the stairs. It would take all of ten seconds to grab the paper and then get out of the school, something I knew would be cutting timing close but the door in the basement had to be unlocked to let the wolves in. I rushed in, heading to the locker space that held the supplies. I dragged the gate open and stepped in, heading for the back to grab a pack pf printer paper.

Just as my fingers brushed over the smooth paper wrapping, footsteps stomped down the stairs and a few people came rushing through the boiler room. My hands shook as I moved slowly towards the supply closet gate and dragged it shut as silently as I could. The main door slammed shut and all I could hear was the huffing and growls of two wolves as they paces around the room. My heart raced in my chest as I slid away from the gate I had just closed, willing myself to stay quiet and hidden until the sun came up.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I rushed to pull it from my jeans before the two wolves would hear it. WHERE ARE YOU? Lit up my screen from Derek. With shaking fingers, I turned the brightness down as low as it could go and made sure the ringer was off and that any buzzing would be silenced by the sweatshirt I was wearing as I typed a response.

YOU’RE GOING TO BE MAD. I sent back, sliding back into the corner of the supply room and behind a filing cabinet.

The door I had come through just a few minutes ago was quickly opened and slammed shut again, a new set of footsteps being added to the mix of the two prowling wolves. My heart pounded and I was sure the two wolves would turn and find me any second. They would rip the door off the gate and come in to tear me into pieces. I could only pray that Derek had locked the wolves in and was outside looking for me with Chris Argent.

“Hey.” The voice I did not want to hear in the moment echoed through the large room, making the two wolves silence their growls. “I want you to stay there.” I knew Derek wasn’t talking to the two other wolves in the room. “Hands over your hears, eyes closed. You don’t open till I come get you.”

My shaking hands pressed against the sides of my head, muffling everything around me, as I squeezed my eyes shut and tucked myself further into the corner I had picked. Chaos erupted around me, loud snarling and deep growls echoed around the vast room, mixing with the steam sounds and the mechanical whirrs that made the school run. I could hear tearing of fabric, grunts of pain, and shrieks of anger through my hands.

Derek’s grunts of pain and the strained growls slipping from his mouth brought tears to my eyes. I had begged to let me help them tonight. I had told him that I wouldn’t take any chances and that I would stay safe, but now I’m the cause of the pain he was enduring. I was the reason he was probably covered in blood and barely hanging on as the two wolves tore into him.

Sunlight filtered in through the small half windows after what felt like forever. The growling stopped, two loud thuds hit the concrete floor, but I kept my hands over my ears and my eyes slammed closed. Soft hands rested gently against my arms and I shrieked loudly, kicking my legs out and trying to get away. “No! Leave me alone!”

“Hey!” Derek’s soft voice called out to me. “Open your eyes, honey. It’s ok, I got you.” My eyes flashed open and instantly connected with his, my heart still pounding in my chest with tears running down my cheeks.

“Derek?” He was covered in blood. His shirt torn in multiple places with wounds slowly closing on his sides and his shoulder. His face had a few lines of blood trickling down, the cuts that caused it already closed and healed over. “Oh my god.” I launched myself into his arms, mine wrapped tightly around his neck as he pulled me from my corner and up to my feet. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I cried into his shoulder, trying not to hit where he may be hurt.

“I know.” He mumbled, his face pressed into my shoulder as well and his hands holding tightly to his chest. “I know, but you’re ok. I’m ok and were both safe now.” One of his hands had come up to brush my hair gently.

“It’s all my fault.” I pulled back from him. My hands were still shaking as they brushed against his side to try and see the cut that had soaked his shirt in blood. “You could’a been killed!”

“Hey. I’m here. I wasn’t just gonna let them tear you to pieces.” His voice shook like the panic was finally wearing off and the pain was setting in. “Are you hurt?” His hands rested on my face as he looked me over.

I shook my head, wiping away my tear stains. “No, I’m ok. You healing?”

“Yeah honey, I’m healing. I’ll be fine.”

The large door slammed open then, the two of us jumping from the sound and Derek’s arm instantly pulling me behind him, always ready for the next threat. “Hi.” Scott waved. He, Isaac, and Chris Argent stepped into the room and headed to the two now tame wolves who were passed out on the floor. Boyd was lifted up by Chris and Isaac while Scott went over to the pretty brunette girl and heaved her up into his arms. “We’ll meet you guys back at the loft.”

I nodded. “Erica?” I looked up to Derek.

He shook his head softly. “She didn’t make it.” His arms wrapped around me again, pulling me into his side as we started to make our way out of the school before people started showing up. He got me seated in the car before he headed to the driver’s side. “You’re ok?” He asked again.

I nodded, taking his hand in mine and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I’m ok.”

He repeated my action and kissed the back of my hand as well. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1

#derek hale imagine #derek hale imagines #teen wolf imagine #teel wolf imagines #teen wolf #derek hale #derek hale x reader #derek hale x reader imagine #derek hale oneshot

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hazbinshusk · 5 months ago

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huskerdust x reader. hours after he was meant to come back to the room, husk finally manages to close down the bar and come back to the two sinners waiting in his bed. except, maybe, he took a little too long? pure fluff and a little spice (because let's face it, I can't help myself) for the loveliest of lovelies @mckeeks. 1.8k

featuring: alastor being kind of a dick, lots of fluff, suggestive situations, and the return of the vixen!reader.

Husk resists the urge to drum his claws against the polished wood of the bar; any outward show of impatience is only going to encourage Alastor to extend his visit to the lobby even further. Why the radio fucker is lingering now, he isn’t sure since he’s got a broadcast scheduled in about twenty minutes. But then, pissing off the bartender he’s got on a leash is apparently a hell of a lot more entertaining than stroking his ego behind a mic.

Husk glances surreptitiously below the bar to his phone, swiping up on the screen to open up to the last app he’d had open – his text messages. He wasn’t much for texting; between claws that weren’t exactly touchscreen friendly and just being too impatient to deal with texts when he could just call whoever he needs to talk to, it wasn’t really his thing. But it was your chosen medium, and Angel’s, and it made it easier to sneak in conversations when he was supposed to be working.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You: hey, honey. you coming up soon?

This message is followed by a video – Angel sits cross-legged on his bed, a face mask obscuring his features but doing nothing to hide the grin plastered across his face. He’s dangling one of the thousands of toys he’s accumulated for Fat Nuggets, the piglet bouncing on the mattress in repeated attempts to catch it; each bounce paired with a snuffling ‘oink’, and each landing resulting in him collapsing onto the sheets. Husk had smiled at the display as he’d watched it; the expression had only grown as he’d listened to you giggle from behind the camera.

Husk: hope so.

You: good.🩷 we miss you up here.

You: plus, angel says if you keep us waiting much longer he’s revoking blowjob privileges.

Husk: …

Husk: from both of u?

You: he hasn’t figured that flaw in his plan yet.

Husk: ha. lov you. b up soon.

You: love you 🩷

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You’d sent that last message almost three hours ago, and Husk holds back a groan of frustration as Alastor taps the side of his glass with a clawed finger expectantly. Unstoppering one of the finer bottles of rye whiskey, he pours another two fingers into the waiting whiskey tumbler. The radio demon flashes him a sharp-toothed grin before he takes a sip, makes a show of savouring it on his tongue.

“Ah, Husker, my good man.” he tells him. “Whatever your flaws, I’m glad you can still manage to pour a half-decent rye.”

Husk doesn’t bother with a real reply; he huffs in response, keeping his eyes pointedly trained on the glass he’s cleaning lest the Overlord notice his impatience.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you, old friend,” Alastor continues, standing. “I do hate to keep the masses waiting.”

“Perish the thought,” Husk grumbles, and Alastor’s grin twitches wider. The bartender can sense the demon is waiting for some real acknowledgement, and he sets the glass down, biting out a: “Knock ‘em dead, boss.”

“Oh, I intend to, my friend.” Alastor laughs, and Husk’s jaw tightens in annoyance at the endearment as the Overlord melts into the shadows beneath him and disappears – undoubtedly headed for his tower.

“Thank fuck,” he breathes as he’s finally left alone, tossing his rag down on the bar and stretching his arms above his head with a groan until he feels something in his back pop. He closes his eyes, letting his exhaustion settle on him for a few moments before the ghost of a smile touches his lips as he reminds himself who’s waiting for him upstairs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Niffty has long since dimmed the lights that line the winding halls of the hotel, and the ache between Husk’s shoulders seems to ease the closer he gets to Angel’s door. Soft pink light glows beneath the wood of the door, the gentle hue beckoning him like a warm embrace. He isn’t surprised to find the door unlocked already, and an ear flicks forward as it catches the familiar sound of canned laughter from a studio audience.

The door barely makes a sound as it opens, and gratitude for that wells up inside him as he steps into the room. The television is playing through some sitcom low, room. The television is playing through some sitcom low, the shifting light of the screen warring with the lowered pink lights lining Angel’s walls. A snuffling sounds by Husk’s ankle, and he bends down as soon as the door is closed to rub behind Fat Nugget’s ears, a light, breath of a groan slipping out past his lips as the movement pulls at the muscles in his back. The piglet nuzzles into his palm, oinking happily, before trotting back over to the bed in the corner.

And that’s the only greeting Husk gets; his affectionate smile growing as he takes in the two of you on the bed. Angel is sprawled inelegantly across the mattress, all long limbs and soft fur and cute pink pyjamas and knee-socks. How someone who routinely made the bartender blush just by opening his mouth could look so adorably innocent, he’d never understand. Still, it sent warmth right into the middle of his chest all the same, and despite everything in himself that told him to keep his distance, it was a feeling he knew he’d chase.

The spider is laid out on his back, splay-legged and mouth opened, a soft, barely-audible snore leaving him with every rise of his chest. He has you wrapped up with two of his arms, your body curled snugly into his side. Your face is tucked up into the curve of his neck, his fingers fisted gently in the fabric of the over-sized tee-shirt you’re wearing. Between that and the way your leg is hiked up over Angel’s thigh, Husk can just glimpse the hint of the baby-blue lace beneath.

The first beads of a more carnal desire drop into his stomach, but he pushes that away, smile still playing on his lips as he approaches the bed and sits on the edge of it. He ghosts a hand up over your thigh at a glacial pace, mapping out a path over the flesh, feeling the goosebumps that have risen in the chill of the air conditioning. He catches hold of the hem of your shirt, tugging it gently back into place over your thigh.

“Mmm…” you groan softly, turning your hand away from Angel’s chest to blink blearily up at the bartender. “…Husk?”

“Hey, Vix,” he says, a quiet purr rumbling through his chest as your hand comes down to curl over his where it still rests on your thigh. “Sorry I’m late.”

“We waited for you.”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” he murmurs, lifting your interlocked hands so he can brush his lips against the back of your palm. “Couldn’t get Al to leave.”

“He’s an asshole,” you grumble sleepily, and Husk chuckles.

“Yeah, he is.” he smiles, returning his paw to your hip, letting it drift higher to follow the curve of your waist, to trail up your arm to your shoulder. When he reaches your throat you lean up to meet him, his lips brushing against your cheek before meeting your own. You hum contentedly into it, curling your fingers around a suspender before dropping back onto the pillows. You tug on it in a weak but convincing urging to remove them. “Alright, baby, I’m comin’.”

“Ooh, promise?”

Husk rolls his eyes with a smirk and you giggle at his reaction. He stands, hooking claws under his suspenders to drag them down off his shoulders. He scoffs as you wolf-whistle, shaking his head.

“Woo,” you cheer, keeping your voice low. “Take it off!”

“Hush up,” he replies affectionately. “You’ll wake up Angel.”

“Too late,” the spider’s voice is nasally and torn with sleep, but he still shifts to bend an elbow against the pillows and rest his cheek against his palm. “An’ I ain’t complainin’. I second her request, by th’way.”

You grin, leaning back to bump your head against Angel’s shoulder. One of his other hands comes up to cup your throat, sliding up your neck to your chin. He tilts your head back, holding Husk’s gaze as he kisses you, nice and slow and deep. You can’t help the soft moan that you breathe into his mouth. Angel grins up at the bartender as you part. “C’mon, Huskie. Ya heard the lady. Take it off. Give us a show.”

“I ain’t a piece of meat,” Husk protests jokingly even as he continues to undress.

You and Angel let out a series of appreciative hoots and he rolls his eyes again, tail flicking behind him as he climbs onto the bed and shuts you up by kissing you, braced above you with a hand on either side of your shoulders. He kisses you breathless, his purr returning as you curl fingers through the downy fur of his chest. He breaks away from you to give Angel the same treatment, groaning into it as you dare to snake a hand between you to squeeze him through his briefs.

Husk jerks away from Angel with a breathless laugh, his tail swatting at your thigh. “What’d I just say, Vix?”

“That you ‘ain’t a piece of meat’.” you repeat, feigning contrition.

“Fuckin’ right,” Angel laughs, leaning up to kiss Husk’s neck. The cat’s eyes roll back and close, his breathing unsteady as Angel’s teeth graze his pulse point. He shivers as Angel coos in his ear, “You’re all man, baby.”

Angel slips a hand past your and under the waistband of Husk’s briefs, winking at you as man on top of you moans. Another one of Angel’s hands slips over your thigh, urging your legs apart. You wrap your arms around Husk’s neck as he shifts his hips to rest between your thighs, his head dropping against your shoulder as Angel pumps his half-hard cock slowly. Each stroke of his hand manages to slide Husk’s cock against the lace of your underwear, and you moan softly in Husk’s ear. The bartender presses his lips to your throat, licks a line over the edge of your jaw, and you shudder at the rough tease of his tongue.

Angel speaks teasingly in Husk’s ear, his other hand stroking through the fur of his back, teasing over the spot between the base of his wings that makes the bartender’s back arch into his touch. “Why don’t ya show her jus’ how much of a man you are, huh, Huskie?”

#mckeeks #huskerdust #huskerdust fic #huskerdust x reader #my fic #hazbin hotel #husk #angel dust #huskerdust x you #husk x reader #qpr angel dust x reader #angel dust x reader #husk hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk x reader

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smoft-demons · 1 year ago

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hey hey! I really like your writing :) I have a request for the brothers:

gn!mc who has trouble sleeping alone bc of nightmares. they can very rarely sleep but are great at hiding it, because they don’t want to bother anybody. they never notice because mc always sleeps fine during sleepovers??? until eventually the lack of sleep gets to them too much and it becomes too noticeable. how do they respond when mc (reluctantly) reveals the truth?

thank you and have a lovely day ❤️

Good prompt! I like this one :)

(This one took a good few hours! Hope you like it!)

MC has nightmares when they sleep alone

_______

Lucifer:

‘…something’s amiss with our human.’ Lucifer thinks.

He’s been observing them lately. Since he cracked down on his brothers sneaking into their room at night—in order to give the poor human a break, so they may rest well and have time to study for the upcoming wave of tests—they’ve been… sluggish. More forgetful. Their assignments are coming back notably worse. He was irritated at first, but when he brought them into his office to confront them about it, he couldn’t ignore how… off they seemed.

Lucifer sets his irritation with their slipping standards aside, in favour of concern. He is above petty reactions, he decides. No, he is reasonable enough to see that there must be a cause for this.

“MC. I did not call you here to berate you. I am not angry with you. Something is obviously wrong. Please, I cannot help you until you tell me what it is.”

You’re not sure if it’s the jarringly unmasked concern in his eyes, or the rising feeling of guilt for stressing him out more than usual that finally cracks your resolve.

Whatever it is, you confide in him. You tell him that you’ve not been sleeping well. He pries the reason out of you, by pointing out his observations about the timing.

Begrudgingly, you admit to having nightmares when you try to sleep alone.

Outwardly, he remains businesslike and practical as always. In his mind, he’s facepalming. In retrospect, the signs are all there! How did he not notice??

He feels just a bit sorry, too. In his attempt to help you, he directly made everything worse. What a great job he’s done…

Then he snaps out of it and steels himself. There’s no use dwelling on that! He can fix this. Very, very easily!

“I see. Then, sleep in my room tonight. I will ensure no nightmares bother you. Once you’ve recovered enough to learn again, I will help you bring your grades back up to your usual standard. Is this satisfactory?”

He refuses to hear any guilt from you about imposing, or taking up his time, or being a burden.

“I am choosing to carry you, MC. There’s no burden.”

From that point on, you’re always welcome in his bed. On the rare occasion that he isn’t home and none of his brothers can sleep over with you, he lends you his coat to sleep under. The familiar scent of him that clings to it is better than nothing.

_______

Mammon:

…Okay, at this point, he HAS to pry. Mammon is one of the first to notice that you’ve not exactly been well lately. You’re being unusually scatterbrained, clumsy, and spacey. You don’t have any energy. It’s obvious to him that there’s a sleep issue! He’s more observant than he looks, ya know!

Now that he thinks of it, these traits are not THAT out of character for you. They’re not usually this bad though!

…shit, does that mean you’re usually sleep deprived? That’s not good. Well! You’re HIS human, and he loves you lots and takes your well being very seriously, as much as he hates to say it out loud. So, he commits himself to figuring this out!

Evening comes. Mammon follows you into the hall leading towards your room. You bash your hip against a wall corner and almost fall to the floor as you dizzily stumble, trying to catch yourself. Mammon grabs you to steady you. Yeah, at this point he has to pry.

“Be careful, human! Seriously, you’d break all your lil toothpick bones without the great Mammon around to protect ya! What’s up with that, huh?”

You trust him of course, but… you’re embarrassed. You don’t want to tell him.

He clicks his tongue impatiently. You don’t say anything. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you into his room. He pushes you down to sit on his bed.

“C’mon, MC. Talk to me. Your first man is here to help!”

“…”

“…please?”

Now, that… almost does it. You feel bad for being stubborn. You know he’s worried, and chaotic as he can be, he’s proven himself as a very good guardian demon time and time again. You take a deep breath, gathering your resolve.

You take just a bit too long. Mammon groans.

“I’m very annoying, yknow. I’ll get it outta ya somehow!”

Mammon pokes your cheeks, gently shakes you, tugs lightly at your hair, as he demands that you talk to him.

“Tell me, tell me tell me tell me tell me, c’mooooon humaaan, tell me!”

‘Oh, fucking fine!’ You think. You confide in him.

He’s mildly tempted to be like, ‘was that really so hard,’ but he won’t. He’s far more concerned than annoyed with you. He feels bad about all the super late nights out he’s been having lately. He wants to always be there for you! Him having missed something like this has him mentally kicking his own ass.

Mammon puts all that aside for now, though. He roots around in a drawer to get two pairs of his old, worn and comfy sweatpants, plus an old tshirt, faded and worn soft from use. He throws the shirt and one of the sweatpants at you

“Go brush your teeth and change, then come right back. We’re having an early night.”

When you return, he locks his door, then puts you back in his bed. He’s changed into the other pair of sweatpants. Mammon wraps himself around you as much as he can, as if to bodily shield you from the nightmares, then pulls his blanket over both of you.

“Sleep, human. No nightmares’ll DARE mess with you now. Not while I’m here. I’ll protect ya.”

Having him so close to you feels like home. Nothing else has ever felt so safe. You sleep deeply, for hours longer than you have in a while.

(Mammon is never letting you sleep alone again)

_______

Levi:

As much as Levi doesn’t want to bother you, he’s getting worried. You’re performing WAY worse at your video games than usual! You’re missing so many inputs! He knows your usual skill level, this game should be a relaxing walk in the park for you! He’s too worried to even make fun of you!

“Ok, that’s it! I can’t take it anymore! What happened to you, normie?? Are you sick?? Do you… not want to play with me? What’s happening??”

He’s worked himself into a panic. You know he’s sensitive enough right now to take it personally if you don’t confide in him. So fine! You’ll talk!

You’ll talk… auuugh, you can’t get the words out! You’re too self conscious about it. Fuck it. You take your DDD out of your pocket and send him a text.

>not been sleeping well. Nightmares. So tired, can’t pretend anymore! >:( Nothing personal, promise!

Levi reads the text. He chews the inside of his cheek for a long moment, thinking. Then he snaps to attention, looking at you with intense determination.

“We can’t have that! I need my player two in optimal condition! There’s no other way for us to win at any games!”

Levi resorts to his old faithful: relaxing slice of life anime! He makes a big pile of pillows and blankets on the floor, arranging them into an MC-and-Levi sized nest. It’s late enough into the evening that it’s reasonable enough to try to put you to sleep.

If just the anime and the blankets and the being in his room isn’t enough to knock you out, he’ll shyly inch over to you to hold your hand. Blushing and looking away from you because he’s shy, but he’ll do it.

If you ask him—or just look sad and cute enough—he’ll even curl up behind you in the blanket-nest and hold you. Levi won’t have ANYTHING hurting his Henry, not if he can do anything about it!

He doesn’t mind holding you all night like this. The fact that you’re asleep helps, he’s not shy when you’re not perceiving him. The anime he’s still watching is helping too. It’s a good distraction.

_______

Satan:

As soon as he started to get the feeling something was wrong with you, he began watching you intently. He’s sharp, so he would have caught this very early on.

He can’t help but have a little fun with this investigation at first, thinking of it as detective work.

Soon though, he gets concerned. You’re irritable, you’re not retaining information or remembering small things as well, you’re clumsier and less generally aware… all dangerous things to be in this realm.

He doesn’t need you to tell him what’s wrong. He puts it together himself. He knows you sleep just fine with him, he knows you seem well rested after sleepovers with any of his brothers too. Clearly it’s not general insomnia. He also knows that the usual frequent sleepovers haven’t been happening for a while now.

When he confronts you, he doesn’t start with asking questions. He lays out all the evidence he’s collected and states his guesses as to the cause.

He tells you he has concluded it’s most likely to be any of these causes: loneliness, separation anxiety, touch deprivation, nightmares, stress-induced insomnia. He asks you to tell him which it is, if it’s more than one, if it’s something else?

He’s so clinical about it, you pretty much forget to be self conscious. All you have to do is confirm that it’s nightmares and they only happen when you sleep alone.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he says, regardless of how little you’ve actually told him. “You’re more than welcome to sleep over with me any time. You don’t even have to ask. Just tell me that you’re sleeping over.”

That evening, he leads you into his room. He lies on his back, book in hand, and beckons you to lie on top of him.

He guides your head to rest in the crook of his neck. He balances his book against your shoulders, holding it with one hand. The other wraps around your waist, his thumb rubbing your side soothingly, and he begins to read aloud to you.

His voice and his warmth soothe you to sleep. Not a single nightmare dares touch you.

Asmo:

The first thing Asmo notices is the darkened circles under your eyes.

“Oh, my darling! Your skin!” He gasps, genuinely horrified. “Come, we can do better than that. Let your Asmo take care of you~”

As he often does, Asmo brings you to his room for a spa day. Evening. Night. It’s late.

He smooths moisturizer into your skin, using all the appropriate human-safe products for revitalizing you when you’re tired. He gets a helpful mask on you, then one for him too. As you wait for it to dry, he asks you what’s up.

“Can’t sleep, lovely? You know, if you’re restless I can always tire you out~”

You roll your eyes and elbow him lightly. You expected nothing less from Asmo. Knowing him as well as you do, it’s more endearing than bothersome. You know he’s showing you that he cares.

“Offer’s always open, darling!” He giggles. “But, is there anything else I could do for you? Need to get something off your chest? Or just some good company, hmm?”

Asmo’s really sweet. It’s easy to open up to him—or, as easy as opening up gets. He massages your hand in silence as you gather your resolve to confide in him.

He listens sympathetically. Nodding and humming encouragingly at all the right points as you speak. Squeezing your hand when you need support. Just… being the emotionally intelligent sweetheart that Asmo always is with you.

“You’re welcome to sleep here, love. Nothing you don’t want will happen, of course. Now, let me wash that mask off you, then we can snuggle if you like.”

He washes off the mask, touching you very tenderly as he does. He takes his time gently washing the product off your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb affectionately. He gives you a little forehead kiss when your face is clean as his thanks for trusting him.

He lets you lead on how much contact you want. He really just wants to help. He’s happiest if you choose to cuddle with him, but he’s totally chill with just holding your hand, or even just lying next to you. He’s awesome like that.

No matter what you choose, the familiar perfume of Asmo’s room and the reassuring rhythm of his breathing lulls you to sleep. It feels safe.

You sleep really well. Asmo really is the best.

Beel:

Beel understands nightmares. He gets them too. He spots the signs easily, familiar as they are to him.

All he has to do is spot the haunted look in your eyes when he sees you before breakfast. Very distracted he usually is at that time, yes, but he loves you. He pays attention to you. He notices it pretty quick.

He can’t help but wonder why you haven’t approached him about it. Hasn’t he demonstrated to you that nightmares in particular are a thing he’s safe for you to confide in about? He’s not going to take it personally, but he IS going to worry.

He keeps an ear trained on your room whenever he goes into the kitchen at night. Carefully listening for any signs of distress.

After a few nights of this, he gives into his impulse and goes to check on you after his midnight snack. He brings you something he knows you like.

He’s not surprised to find you awake.

“Hey.” He says through a mouthful of his own food. “Want a snack?” He comes in to put it in your hands as soon as you acknowledge him.

The two of you eat together, sitting quietly on your bed side by side. Beel’s careful not to drop any crumbs.

You remain quiet even after all traces of snacks are eliminated.

“Nightmares?” Beel asks gently, looking at you with those irresistible soft worried puppy eyes he does. You can’t lie to him. You’re not a monster!

You nod. He hums sympathetically, looking genuinely saddened on your behalf. He gets it.

“Want a hug?” He offers

You press yourself into his side. He wraps one very big arm around you, and you melt into him like warm mozzarella. His solid presence is reassuring. You feel so safe with him. You’re already starting to drift as he rubs your shoulder with one large thumb.

“Would it help if I stay?” Beel murmurs to you.

You nod again.

So Beel picks you up, settling himself in your bed with you and arranging you comfortably in his arms.

He starts softly stroking your hair. Trying to help you relax more.

“Thanks for letting me help you.” Beel says earnestly. It’s obvious that he really means it. He’s grateful you’re trusting him with this. He’s very happy that you’re accepting his comfort, because he wants nothing more than to help you and protect you.

He’s good at that. Being comforting. Helpful and protective—that’s Beel.

You drift off peacefully, with nothing on your mind except the sleep-blurred sentiment of feeling grateful for him, too.

Belphie:

Without question, Belphie is the first one to notice that you’re having nightmares. Sleep is his main thing!

You only get to have one bad night before he steps in. He drags you up to the attic to nap with you right after school. No nightmares happen, of course, because you’re not sleeping alone. Belphie congratulates himself on a job well done!

…wait. Again?? He finds himself aware that you’re having another nightmare that night, hours later when you’re trying to sleep by yourself. Fuck sake.

He goes to your room. You snap awake at the disturbance. Without a word, he pours himself into your bed, draping across you like a clingy cat and going right back to sleep.

Bit rude. But this is helpful. You go back to sleep too, and have no nightmares. Good job, Belphie.

Then the next night, it happens again!! Mildly vexed at the persistent issue, he does the same thing as last night.

The next evening, he doesn’t let you go to bed alone to begin with. He goes with you, staying just aware enough that he can snipe your nightmares before they get a chance to terrorize you—but… none happen? Huh. Wild. Okay.

The next night, he finally asks you what the deal is. You hesitate to tell him. Belphie has no qualms about annoying the information out of you, if his initial blunt concern isn’t enough to get you to talk. If you don’t crack, he’ll try tickling you until you talk to him. If you STILL don’t crack, he’ll sic Beel and his concerned puppy eyes on you. No one can resist Beel’s concerned puppy eyes. Especially not when it’s BOTH twins looking at you like that!

Resistance is futile. You reluctantly tell him that you have nightmares only when you sleep alone.

He mentally slaps himself. Obviously!

He was prepared to use any of his avatar of sloth abilities necessary to cure you of your nightmares—and he still is—but he’s happy (and secretly endeared) to learn that the cure is nothing more than his presence. Less work for him! Less work, AND a good excuse to steal you away for naps all the time! Two of his favourite things!

Belphie is never letting you sleep alone again. No, you’ll either be together in your room, together in his and Beel’s room, or together in the attic.

He’ll make an exception for sleepovers with his other brothers too if you miss them. You’re so lucky he loves you.

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ronearoundblindly · 6 months ago

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a kiss out of envy + ari 🤭

As promised, love, I give you...

frat boy!Ari Levinson x reader, one of my Valentine's Fics of 2024 (yes, you read that correctly, and no, I don't want to talk about it. 🥲 It's been a rough year lol.)

Summary: You and Ari want each other for all the wrong reasons.

Warnings (regarding both parts of the story) for drinking and partying, language, shitty behavior from...yeah everyone is a bit of a mess in this ngl (it's college), vaguely taboo mutual pining, and not-really cheating/implied cheating (applies to multiple people). This is an angsty weird fluffy sorta romance with an ambiguous ending because no one can communicate to save their f**king lives...BUT HEY! KISSES. MINORS DNI. There's plenty for younger readers on my Light Masterlist, but not here! WC 3.9k

A/N: This is the first half from Reader's perspective.

College is…predictable.

You spent the first weeks of your freshman year faking self-assurance you didn’t actually feel because confidence is sexy—or whatever the saying is,—and if you had to start from scratch, you might as well start from a place you’re proud of.

You made friends. You went out with your roommate. You stayed out late with lots of people you don’t know, and you smiled. Holy shit, did you smile…

The attempt to ‘get out there’ brought constant stress; you wanted to define your social life right off the bat, but good people are hard to find.

You officially decided you were looking in the wrong place for any good people while at the Lawn Party three-quarters of the way through your first semester.

Finally, you’d tried. You pulled out all the stops. You wore the nicer, trendier clothes that you splurged on for events just like this. You put on extra makeup, brought some with you in your little purse to touch it up, and when you smiled in the mirror seconds before running out of the dorm with your roomie, you really were self-assured. You felt sexy.

Though the party was outdoors, you stuck with just the one layer of a light-colored, flowy top, something whimsical and fun, something less useful and more useless, but that’s the idea of fashion, you suppose.

When the breeze caught the fabric, you imagined you were in a movie, one of those scenes where the heroine is about to get noticed by the man of her dreams.

That is exactly the opposite of what happened.

You’d been there all of half an hour, your roommate off to get drinks (after you whined and waited and stalled, hoping to strike up some conversation without partaking in the shared, bad decisions of the swath of 18-22 year olds meandering across a grass field behind the sports complex), when you heard a really loud, shrill laugh behind you and turned.

A red Solo cup crumpled against your boob and beer exploded across your chest, drenching your shirt and dripping grossly down your stomach.

“Wooooah,” the big guy still gripping shredded plastic drawled, eyes glued to your see-through blouse as it clung to your front. “Sorry.”

The girl who laughed with him put her hand up to her mouth. “Oh. My god.” Yet she just laughed more.

That was it. That was the sum total acknowledgment of your destroyed outfit and evaporated dignity.

“Ari,” someone called, startling your assailant to look away with his unresponsive, blown pupils.

You noticed a few drops of beer on his letterman jacket, so, sure, in comparison to your entire front half being soaked, that seemed a fair-and-equal trade for your embarrassment.

Then he was gone, the laughing girl following the asshole, Ari, and his idiot friends as they recapped the football game from…whenever.

You left the party once the waistband of your jeans felt soggy.

You spent longer washing your beer-sponge bra in the dorm sink than you did on the lawn.

Now you know college is a fucking joke. That party became a defining moment in your social life. You realized men—no, boys—like Ari will never care about you as you really are, and finally, you’ve accepted that you don’t want them to.

They don’t deserve to know you.

Sophomore year. Women’s Studies. Of all the fucking classes…

On day one Ari plopped down in the desk next to you.

He plopped because his whole left leg was strapped into a thick brace that kept it straight and jutted out, unable to fit in the tiny seat. He’s so tall his thonged foot tapped at yours beneath your own chair.

In your utter frustration and irritation (since the professor had already started talking), you automatically muttered an apology—to Ari, like some pushover—and moved your legs.

“Not your fault,” the footballer softly chuckled, taking another long moment to settle his crutches on the floor.

Were there no other seats?

You sighed and knew, you just knew down in your bones, that this would be a long damn semester. You also had every faith, however, that this fuck-boy classmate would do just about anything to stay in the course dedicated to his favorite pastime: women.

Though that was an assumption, Ari proved you right, and it sucked.

It took all your innate kindness and compassion not to spit on him. Honestly, the guy is just…dumb. When your eyes wandered every so often, you always found him looking confused, but he wouldn’t ask questions. Several times you caught him sneaking peeks at your notes. You just couldn’t take it.

He fell asleep in one class!

With the course final mere weeks away, the OCD part of your brain kicked in and shoved several sheets of important points you’d written down into his lap before he fully woke up.

His brace was off by then, but Ari still moved slowly.

Again, he looked so confused.

“I expect them back on Wednesday,” you said with a tight jaw, barely restraining the choice names you’d wanted to call him.

You’d been conditioned so heavily to be nice that you smiled at him. A small smile, yeah, but you smiled at the coddled asshole who did not deserve to pass the class. You should have let him fail. You should have let him lean harder on that damn scholarship.

Football held his dead-weight up this long; what’s a few more years?

Nearly the end of your Senior year. Off-campus. You’ve tried.

Socializing is a hit-and-miss game, and you’re learning that sometimes the miss happens slowly, without failed plays, with all the effort you could muster.

“Look, if we’re not doing anything here, then I’m going to the party. You coming? The house is two blocks away.”

Your boyfriend, Billy, stands with his apartment door open and his roommates calling to him from down the hall. He’s frustrated, you know that, but his frustration doesn’t negate the uneasy twist in your gut you get whenever he tries to take things further than making out.

Billy is perfect on paper. He studies hard, has a job already lined up for summer, is driven to achieve…and desperately wants to get laid.

He’s cute, totally adequate in that department, yet still, you can’t force yourself to let him touch you any more than absolutely necessary. You two have excellent conversations, multiple shared interests, and you have no words to describe your lack of…want. It eats you up right along with that twisting aversion to fuck him—because it is specific to him.

You don’t lack for interest in men, even if these are still boys around you. You’re attracted. Kinda. You thought attraction could grow from affection, too, but it hasn’t in months with Billy. It doesn’t make you think he lacks in some way; you feel lacking.

Maybe you lack sympathy. Maybe you lack understanding. Maybe you are just as superficial as those slutty girls you hate, the ones sure to be at this party. Maybe Billy thinks those girls will rub off on you if you’re surrounded.

There’s no one thing, no quantifiable logic; he just doesn’t do it for you. That won’t change.

Your relationship has an expiration date, and you feel it approaching.

Unsurprisingly, you can’t bring yourself to be mean and tell him an outright ‘no.’ It’s rude to say ‘I’m not attracted to you,’ right? You’re a nice person, and it’s not nice to hurt someone who hasn’t done anything wrong.

The heavy pain in your belly grows dense, but still, nothing changes.

The compulsion to be kind and quiet continues as you follow him out, tucking your hands under your arms so Billy won’t try to touch you, but it doesn’t matter. He walks a few feet ahead to keep up with his friends on the walk down the road to the Kappa house.

The two-story, plantation-style home is packed to the gills, making it hard to maneuver past the front door, and of course, the first person you recognize is a brother of the fraternity living there.

Ari Levinson stands halfway up the staircase overlooking the crowd like a king surveying his domain, hair grown long and a beard worthy of his fifth-year undergrad status. He’s wearing a button-up linen shirt as if he just walked in from the beach, perpetually sun-kissed skin glowing, the carefree blue fabric matching his eyes.

Asshole.

He probably showed up to his own damn house, cocked his head, and smirked.

“Y’all having a party?” he probably asked, chill as fuck.

Idiot…probably. You don’t know what happened to him after Women’s Studies, but you can’t imagine he got better. Nothing changes.

His queen-for-the-day leans into his ear, her chest covered only by a red bandana and not much below that hidden by a miniskirt.

What sluts. Both of them. They deserve each other.

He’s so sexy though.

His smile is bright while he doesn’t spill the contents of his red Solo cup on anyone beneath him on the stairs. Seems his drunk coordination has improved at the very least.

“Babe,” you hear yelled close to your ear, “take it!”

Billy shoves one of two cups he’s carrying into your hands and shouts to follow him. He wants to play beer pong in one of back rooms downstairs, a room with no space to stand and watch. There are no chairs, but Billy asks if want to play with him. In no reality would he think you’d answer ‘yes’ in this chaos, but then again, he hasn’t noticed you won’t take a sip of the drink you didn’t see poured either. That’s not even a trusting him problem; for all you someone else made the drinks for Billy, and then you absolutely don’t trust it.

If he can’t manage to notice your reticence, why should Billy care if you’re comfortable?

You yell back that you’re going to find a seat somewhere. Billy gets whisked away for the next partnered game, and relief washes over you.

The only open spot that isn’t a squeeze beside couples going at it in public is a bench underneath the cutout of the staircase. You take a detour to dump your cup in the crowded kitchen’s sink and sit alone for a while, people-watching, wondering vaguely about the king and queen above you on the steps.

Parties…are not all that fun when you don’t feel safe, welcome, or seen. College is predictable this way.

You’re not sure how much time passes before a light blue linen shirt invades your view.

Looking to your right, you don’t see anyone paying attention, and looking to your left you see a sloped wall.

He’s looking directly at you.

“Thirsty?” Ari asks casually, offering the only cup he carries.

You wave it off with a polite ‘no, thank you,’ even though that should be sketchier than your boyfriend getting you a drink.

Ari takes a huge gulp and shuffles his broad body onto the too-short edge of the bench beside you. He seems careful not to touch you or invade your space, the barest graze of a short-sleeve cuff brushing the skin of your upper arm.

Again, Ari tilts the cup toward you. “Jack and Coke,” he shrugs, lifting his eyebrows, “mostly Coke though. I’ve been here a while. You’re basically late.”

You can’t help but blurt, “you live here.”

“That is an astute observation, smartie pants,” he adds with a proud smile. Those, you imagine, might be the biggest words the guy knows.

You also imagine he wouldn’t drug himself with anything,, and worst case, Ari’s already much drunker than you.

You pluck the half-full Solo from his hand, your pinky running the length of his forefinger in the process, knuckles hard beneath callused skin, and take a small sip. He’s right about one thing; you can’t smell or taste any alcohol.

His smile softens. Your pinky tingles even after you return his drink.

“Where’s whats-his-face?” Ari scans the hall. “Probably getting you something better, huh?”

You can’t help but frown and sigh as he takes another swig of soda, pink lips nearly hidden beneath the hair of his beard, but you remember they are quite plump. He only had stubble in class two years ago. You shouldn’t be thinking about what those lips might feel like. Hell, you shouldn’t be sharing a drink with anyone because that’s more intimate than anything you’ve enjoyed doing with Billy recently.

Billy is pushy and inexperienced. Every time he goes to touch you, it reminds you that he’s desperate for it, but…not in a flattering way. It’s difficult to describe.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you throw out loudly, keeping your guess silent. Perhaps hugging the toilet bowl?

Though a simple question, Ari looks somewhere between giddy and chided while contemplating his answer. He’s so dumb, poor thing. “Flying with the pigs,” he settles on.

“What?”

He repeats himself, and then, seeing your confusion, he leans closer to clarify, “she doesn’t exist. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Ow, rough gig bandana girl. That’s a little harsh: being fobbed off mid-party. Although, you aren’t exactly replacing her. Ari is just talking to you. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s sitting beside you, only a little closer than Women’s Studies, sharing a sip of soda. That’s all.

“So, genius—”Ari elbows you gently, taking advantage to stay arm-to-arm this time “—how you been?”

You notice you’ve been shrinking against the wall and straighten as best you can without looking as if you’re pushing your boobs out.

“Fine. Just…busy with school work.”

Internally, you groan, hating to sound so boring and feeding into this idea you are nothing but a bookworm.

Ari swallows the last of his drink, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs lewdly—at least, it should be considered lewd with how the motion leads your eye down to the matching dark chest hair peeking behind the shirt collar. He scrunches his nose when the bubbles hit the back of his palate.

“Good. You always seemed happy. Bet you’re top of our class.” He emphasizes the year because he should have graduated already. Originally, he was a year ahead, but then he took a red-shirt year while injured. Ari doesn’t appear to mind that’s something else you share.

You bite your lip and wonder if he’s baiting you. If there’s one thing you’ve heard consistently in your whole young adult life, it’s that you ‘look angry’ and could ‘benefit’ from smiling more.

“I’m…somewhere up there, yeah,” you allow.

He points over his other shoulder and shimmies the empty cup in front of him. “You want one? What’s your favorite?”

For the first time all night, what you want has been considered. Not only if you want a drink, but which one do you want. Such a small thing, and yet the twist in your stomach unfurls a little. The drink itself doesn’t matter; the thought does. That, and being comfortable near him.

“Whatever you’re having.”

Ari flashes that megawatt smile of his and says he’ll be back in a jiffy.

The true value of a beautiful idiot is you don’t have to be on edge. Your basic knowledge of any subject (save sports) would read as genius to a guy like him…which is also why it feels so unbelievable Ari’s choosing to hang in this corner with you. He’s friends with everyone. He could get anything from anybody here. It’s nice to be wanted, not needed.

He returns with two cups, one with a couple shots worth of Jack Daniels, the other full of CocaCola. He looks at you for approval, hesitating in case you want just plain soda, and then makes a huge show of his ‘mixing’ skills.

Absolute moron did not consider the carbonation exploding with every pour back and forth.

It’s a horrible mess of foam and splashing liquid. Both his hands are dripping and sticky, but you laugh freely by the end. You never thought you’d see the day Ari Levinson spilling a drink wouldn’t be triggering.

Not even a fleeting image of that ruined blouse crosses your mind while you weakly clinkthe plastic cups together. It’s the epitome of the college experience in your eyes. For once, you aren’t upset by that fact.

You keep smiling, wrinkling your nose at the fizz bursting on the back of your tongue. You can’t help it.

Ari is a happy drunk, and he starts talking, joking with you, tucked away in your own little bubble.

It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak.

He’s self-deprecating about the same, drunken party behavior that you have watched him participate in for years, and yet you dismiss that as nothing, normal even, and unconsciously nudge closer to Ari, your side flush with his as you bend to see the person he’s bad-mouthing now.

He seems to like the irony in that and chuckles as he says someone over there is getting sloppy, lifting his Solo to his mouth with a dainty pinky raised in defiance. He’s a goofball. You haven’t been so relaxed with someone in…months.

Both drinks are finished quickly, and Ari offers to grab more.

The warm buzz humming beneath your skin tells you ‘yes,’ but your higher brain function steadfastly puts a foot down.

“I shouldn’t,” you mutter, sounding undecided.

He shrugs. For whatever reason, you appreciate that Ari isn’t pushing for anything from you, but that’s exactly what makes you want more from him. He stacks the empty cups and mentions walking you home. He could use some fresh air, he says.

“I should find Billy…”

Ari rolls his shoulders and thinks, his eyes follow suit, scraping his peripheral vision for an alternative that never presents. He stands up, arms akimbo, dramatically squinting to ‘think’ harder.

“He was wearing that red ball cap, right?”

“What?” You’ve never seen your boyfriend don a hat once but suddenly remember the pong partner who pulled him over. “No, that’s Leo,” you scream over the noise now that Ari is standing a few paces away. “Billy’s in, like, a neutral t-shirt.”

Ari smirks, scanning. “One beige Billy, coming up!”

Off he darts into the crowd, much faster than you’ve ever seen a drunk man move, and you skitter behind, realizing Ari stops at the kitchen only when you slam into his back.

He throws the empty cups into the trash and turns to the sink, washing his hands with dish soap, drying them on his shirt, leaving darker streaks of blue.

“Okay, not sticky,” Ari beams, “so now we go.”

Easily, naturally, his hand scoops up yours, and Ari leads you deftly through the throng.

He’s holding your hand. It’s damp and rough and cool and warm all at once. And you grasp it. You’re holding his hand back.

Though tall enough to see over most heads, Ari takes a good long while to notice everyone because they keep moving about.

Pointing with your still-joined hands, you shout to check the beer pong room, but no Billy.

You two amble through the entire lower floor, stopped several times by people greeting Ari, and he introduces you automatically. You hope none of these other drunk frat boys remembers seeing you hold his hand while asking where your damn boyfriend is.

Without fail, each friend asks if you two are together, and to his credit, Ari quickly changes to “have you seen a guy…” and describes Billy.

“Dunno, man. Check upstairs?”

Ari thanks them and glances at you, a look of defeat creasing his forehead.

He drums his free fingers on the banister. He hesitates.

“Wait here?” he offers but drops your hand and doesn’t pause for your reply.

Using a football drill tactic, Ari bolts expertly up the stairs while you get waylaid by some girls holding up a selfie-stick to make a video. They bitch at the angle, ignoring you, and have to reshoot. You can’t get past.

Yelling.

Suddenly, there’s lots of yelling coming from the packed second floor and a door slams. Half the people in the stairway and hall look up.

More crashing and thudding noises ring out.

With everyone frozen, you shove your way through.

“What the fuck,” you hear just as some guy backs away, almost knocking you down. “Who the hell do you think you are, man?”

Your legs take you inside though your heart lodges in your throat.

Ari’s got Billy pinned over a wrecked desk on the other side of the room while the girl with the bandana top stands by a bed, pulling down her mini skirt. She snaps for Ari to mind his own business, and Ari immediately shoots a glare at her over his shoulder, keeping Billy pinned beneath him.

“Beks, for fuck’s sake,” Ari starts, but quickly, the guy who pushed you in the hall cusses her out louder than anyone else.

“Serves you right for getting back with Erin,” Bandana Girl snaps.

“Eat shit, Rebekah. You don’t actually care!”

What…is going on? These people are nuts.

At least four more bodies squeeze through the door, all looking blazing-mad while you get pushed farther into the suffocating room. You’re bewildered and overwhelmed.

Blocker Guy lunges forward and shoves Ari off of Billy.

Your hands are up, claiming space to breathe, but there’s way too much going on. No one—not even you—can hear your voice crying to be let out.

Funny thing is, you aren’t crying for Billy to help you. Only after you yell for Ari does your brain process that your boyfriend’s fly is down, his jeans unbuttoned, too.

A large, rough hand grabs your wrist and yanks you to the door, barreling you both through the crowd to another room down the hall. It’s surreal to see the group descend on the fight like moths to a flame, drawn to watch what horrible thing these students will do next.

Ari man-handles you inside without hitting a light switch. It’s pitch black, but the closed door at your back muffles only a fraction of the commotion.

From the other side, you hear Billy calling your name, but Ari’s soft, panting breath steals your focus as it gusts across your neck.

His lips shift close to your ear.

“Don’t do it, smartie,” he whispers. “Leave him.”

The stale smell of beer wafts forward when you lean farther into that letterman jacket Ari keeps prominently hung. You feel the ribs of the cuffs against your bare arms until, suddenly, it’s the ridges of Ari’s rough fingers ghosting over your skin.

If Billy’s still screaming, you can’t tell. Your heart thunders in your chest as the hot breath rolling over you moves up your neck and over your jaw.

He’s right there.

He’s right there. He’s drunk. He’s stupid. He doesn’t matter. You don’t matter to him. It’ll never work and it doesn’t have to. This could be so simple.

You envy how easy this is for him, always another girl around the corner, in the next room, who will want him, but you can’t bring yourself to feel bad about wanting to use him. He’s right there, willingly, single or not, sober or not, and so you grip the soft linen of his shirt collar and tug him straight to you.

It doesn’t matter how sloppy you are, how shy or how forceful you get, because you live like him in this moment.

Ari doesn’t care about anything. Self-assured. Confident. Sexy. Popular. He doesn’t have to care.

Now, neither do you.

[Next Part]

⬅️ Steve Rogers and a kiss where it hurts

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro answers #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #frat boy!ari #ari levinson one shot #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson smut #valentine's day fanfic #valentine's day prompts

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landosjpg · 1 year ago

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‘tis the damn season | ln

the one where you go back to your hometown just to end up in lando's bed.

lando norris x gender-neutral!reader

word count: ~1.3k

warnings: ex-bf!lando, little bit of angst & fluff, implied smut

note: part 2 of this blurb series i have going on rn, it’s not proofread so there might be some spelling mistakes!

you looked at the screen of your phone absolutely perplexed, reading the simple conversation over and over again.

"heard you're back in town?"

"i'm sorry, who's this?

"lando."

you couldn't believe that was actually happening.

it had been years since you and lando had last seen each other, or even talked. growing up in the same town, you had been friends since early childhood, and you had grown together with your group of friends.

you also happened to date him for a year before you had decided to move to L.A for your studies, and with him also making his move up to f1, you had decided to call it quits.

and when you left, you never heard of him again.

you had been out of the country for a little over five years, and had never came back til that very christmas. flights from california to england were not only expensive, but also a lot of time; so you had never found yourself in the right state of mind to go back to your hometown, having your family and friends visit you instead some times.

from what your friends had told you, lando had lost contact with everyone in your old friend group, so how on earth did he even findd out?

"my parents told me, they saw your mum at the store yesterday."

the answer to your question came as he double texted at the lack of a reply from your side. you sighed, not sure where he was going with all that.

"just came back a few days ago."

"are you free tonight? haven't seen you in forever."

straight to the point, classic lando.

"can't, i'm staying with my parents. they probably want to have dinner together."

you knew it wasn't a great excuse, but you hoped he would accept it and move on with his life.

part of you wanted to accept his invitation, it had been so long since you had last seen him. as you looked at your screen, you reminisced your relationship with him.

you had dated other people during those years, but even on the other side of the world, you sometimes thought no one would ever make you feel the way he used to do, no one would even know you the way he did.

the rational part of you knew it wasn't a great idea. in the end, you were leaving again in just a few weeks. and you didn't want to go back to your new life with the "what would've been..?" question lingering on your mind.

୨୧

you knew lando could be persuasive. but you thought he wouldn't have much of an effect in you after so many years.

silly you.

he had convinced you to come over to his place in the matter of a few minutes, claiming that his parents were out of town for the weekend and he would appreciate some company.

you parked your car between your old school and the town's church, the place where you and lando would usually meet when you were younger.

sighing, you left your car and started walking the cold streets that led to his house.

the same path you used to follow every other day a few years ago, but this time you weren't sure what was waiting for you there. and it was too late to retreat when you knocked on the door and a smiling lando welcomed you inside from the other side of the door.

he looked different.

more mature, and definitely a lot more handsome than you remembered.

he had ordered something for you two to eat, and with a movie on the background, you talked for hours, time flying by without you even noticing.

you were sat on his couch, one bottle of wine gone during your joyful chatter; and with the alcohol getting to your head, you couldn't stop yourself from leaning into his body, sighing contently.

you looked up at him, a smile creeping up to your lips when you saw him staring back at you.

"what's with this?" you giggled, scratching his chin, amused at his attempt of growing a beard.

"hey," he pretended to be offended, poking on your side with his index, which made you squirm. "it's not that bad."

"i didn't say it was," you answered, "you look hot."

the words slipped out of your mouth before you could ever think about it, and a pink flush quickly painted your cheeks as you mentally slapped yourself.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean to..." you tried to make the situation less awkward, but his hand cupped your cheek and forced you to look back at him again.

he was leaning into you, and your breath caught in your throat at the proximity between your faces. a deep, shaky breath left your lips as you looked into his piercing eyes.

"is this okay?" he asked, his voice low and husky. and fuck, was it inviting.

you nodded your head, not able to form a proper sentence, or even a word. and he broke the distance between your lips, crashing his mouth against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

you sighed against his mouth before you let you hands and lips do all the talking and soon he was guiding you into his room with his arms around your waist.

୨୧

a few hours later you found yourself walking back into his room, your hair messy as you put your clothes back on. he smiled at you from under the covers, having gotten in bed already.

you chuckled at the sight of him, tucked under the blankets with messy curls and sleepy eyes. and it reminded you of all the previous times you had spent with him in that very same bed, your heart growing fond of the sight before you.

"you're not staying?" his question caught you by surprise, making you stop gathering your things to turn to look at him.

"what?"

"you're not staying?" he repeated, as if you hadn't heard him the first time. but you were still as surprised.

"no," you simply mumbled, sitting on the edge of his bed to put your boots back on.

"come on, y/n," you felt his weigth shifting closer to you, his arm wrapping around your waist and his lips pressing a tender kiss on your hip, over your jeans.

it wasn't a good idea, spending the night with him. you knew that much.

"it's late and it's cold outside, you can leave in the morning," he added, not letting you reject his offer again.

and the softness of his voice with the puppy eyes he was giving you, could've made you do anything he asked for.

he smiled when you didn't reply, knowing that you weren't going to turn him down again. you rolled your eyes with a smile and changed into the shirt he was offering for you to be more comfortable.

his shirt.

and you knew you shouldn't have come to his house in the first place. you knew you shouldn't have slept with him and surely, you should've left instead of crawling back into his arms, letting the warmth of his body envelop you as you lied with your head on his chest.

because you knew you would leave again in only a few weeks; and having a taste of what could've been if you didn't run away years earlier would only lead to breaking your very own heart.

but you sighed and snuggled closer to him, nuzzling your face on his chest and allowing yourself to be his, just for the weekend.

#lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris blurb #lando norris drabble #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #ln4 fic #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 x you #ln4 fluff

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cravingpepsimax · 8 months ago

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since he’s beginning to spread, here’s a rough timeline of events for the fujo bill au:

bill is defeated and is put in the theraprism

after who knows how long, bill begins coping with his spite and rage towards stan and ford by doing/making stuff that he thinks they’d hate.

he begins “shipping” stancest. bill doesn’t really GET the incest taboo, it seems pretty much entirely arbitrary to him, but he knows it exists and is something humans are REPULSED by. thus, he starts making stuff involving stan and ford dating each other. theraprism staff thinks it’s odd but him writing books about stan and ford kissing is significantly better than him writing books in an attempt to escape.

over time, bill starts getting actually invested. it may have started as pure spite, but he begins to remember things that, oh boy, sure do seem pretty incestuous, now that he thinks about it. at first, it’s funny — “HAHA, WOW, SIXER REALLY IS A FREAK, ISN’T HE?” — but then it becomes real.

since bill’s calming down and is no longer talking about wanting to murder the entire family 24/7, theraprism staff decides to move onto the next step in bill’s karma program: becoming pen pals with one of the people he used to terrorize. mabel’s a lot like bill, but not evil, so the theraprism staff choose her.

meanwhile, a 13 year old mabel gets a Crazy Paranormal Experience, in which she is told what’s going on. mabel agrees to be bill’s pen pal (he won’t be able to do any actual harm, and, worst-case scenario, it’d be funny to mess with him (note that, even though mabel’s 13, well over a year has passed for bill — time is merely a suggestion for beings as powerful as the theraprism staff)

bill HATES being made to do this stupid pen pal stuff. he can’t use it as a way out — the theraprism staff have been keeping a VERY CLOSE EYE ON HIM ever since the book, and it’s gonna be hard to trick mabel into doing ANYTHING for him. so, his first few letters are him insulting and trying to upset mabel, who doesn’t really seem to care at all.

eventually, in one of bill’s pieces of hate mail, he says some shit like “SIXER AND HIS BROTHER ARE REAL FREAKS, KID! WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY’RE DOING ON THE STAN O’ WAR II? I’LL GIVE YOU A HINT: THE ANSWER’S ‘EACH OTHER’!”

mabel promptly ignores the rest of the letter entirely, and makes a GIANT response excitedly going “oh my gosh, you noticed, too??”, and listing everything romantic she’s ever noticed about them.

bill responds, filling in some gaps here and there, telling her about some incestuous stuff from 30+ years ago, pointing out things she missed, pointing out things he missed (“WOW, THEY DID WHAT? TALK ABOUT NEEDING TO GET A ROOM, YEESH.”)

they become stancest gossip buddies from there. mabel fujopills him in other regards (bill never thought he’d watch a show called “ouran highschool host club”, much less at the request of a 13 year old who thinks the pair of twins kissing would be hot/cute, but hey, afterlife’s full of surprises, ain’t it?) but his main love is and always will be stancest

they eventually become close enough and the theraprism staff trusts them enough to get interdimensional phone call privileges. any time anything happens mabel calls him and goes “oh my gosh, you’ll NEVER guess what just happened!” and they gossip for like an hour

stan and ford are completely clueless as to what’s going on at all. i like to imagine they find out eventually but it takes awhile LMAO

#stancest #fujo bill au

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blvckqwz · 2 years ago

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Officer Grimes (SMUT)

TWs: smut duh, teasing, a lot of teasing actually, sexual tension, semi-public sex kinda?, brat reader, switch Rick, age gap (reader is 21 and Rick is 38), alcohol use, Shane slander (as I should), mention of cheating (Lori), sassy reader, dirty thoughts, Rick is technically still married oops, season 2 era, it’s like 99% flirting and 1% smut sorry. Also this sucks since it's my first smut sorry again.

Rick knew deep down, really deep down, that he was a sick man, meeting you was just the confirmation. It all started a few weeks ago, when he and his group had just arrived at the farm. At first he only saw glimpses of you, whispering in your sister’s ear and giggling with her as you two watched the new group, or helping around the farm, sweat running down your neck to under your shirt, making Rick’s head spin. But you never spoke to him, to much of his disappointment. Well that was until two weeks before…

“Dude, Maggie’s sister is totally into you.” Glenn said, whispering to the sheriff as they walked to the makeshift camp they had built a few days before.

“What?” Rick asked in disbelief as his eyes landed on you, chatting with Maggie while sitting on the front porch “She’s too young for me.”

Glenn shrugged, replying, “Maggie said she turned 21 last month but whatever you say.” before walking past him to Maggie, waving to her.

"Really?" He murmured as his eyes scanned you, already watching him as you sent a small smirk to him, followed by an almost imperceptible wink.

But oh boy he surely did notice it.

Glenn must have said something about his talk with him to you because since then your attempts to flirt with the police officer had become more bold, making the poor man every day more frustrated.

“Good morning Officer Grimes.” You said with a cheeky smile as he walked past you and Beth. “Good morning Y/N,” He replied, trying to sound as cool as he could.

Your eyes kept following his figure as he walked away, eating him with your eyes until Beth elbowed you, “Are you trying to get in his pants?” She asked in disbelief, whispering-yelling in case your father or someone else happened to hear you.

“So?” You ask with a nonchalant smirk, “I think he’s hot.” You admitted, making your sister giggle.

“Isn’t he also like 40?” She said, shaking her head, “And what if Daddy finds out?”

“Well first of all he can’t find out what no one knows, and I’m sure you’ll keep your secret,” You said, waiting for Beth to nod, “And second I think older men are better.” You continued with a shrug as you closed your eyes, enjoying the sun shining on your skin. “What?” She laughs, “I can’t believe you just said that!” “Well,” You reply with a grin, “I’m sure he can do things Jimmy couldn’t dream of.” “Y/N!” Beth exclaimed with a fake shocked face as she lightly pushed you as you laughed.

If only you knew how right you were…

Rick was reaching his last strike, he realized as he whipped his hand on his pants, trying to erase the tension as he watched you return home from a supply run, riding your horse like you had done multiple times before. God he wondered if you would look as good as you did right now while riding him instead of a stupid horse.

By now he had picked all her habits and routine, as creepy as it might sound. For example he knew how she would sneak out the house every night, disappearing between the trees before returning hours later, when the sun was almost ready to rise. He also knew about the whisky bottles that were coincidentally disappearing with you. The only thing that was still a mystery was what you did during the night with those bottles. Did you have a secret boyfriend? He hoped not, only the thought of you with any other men made his blood boil. He knew it wasn’t right, he hardly ever spoke to you, a miserable attempt to hide what he was truly feeling, but he was jealous as hell.

“Hello Officer.” You winked as you approached him, making his Adam’s apple shake. “You don’t have to call me like that, it's not like I’m a police officer anymore.” He said with a breathless laugh, “You can just call me Rick.” “Really?” You ask with a brow raised and a half grin, “Then why do you always seem so tense? Like you’re always ready to arrest someone or stuff like that.” You say, nonchalantly touching his shoulder as you talk, making his mind go blank and his pants feel tighter.

“I guess it’s just because I’m talking to a pretty girl.” He replied before thinking, cursing himself immediately after the words left his mouth.

“Smooth move Rick.” You say with a laugh before walking inside the house, sending him one last wink as you hurried inside.

Yup, this was his last straw for sure.

“Shit” You hissed as your backpack fell off your shoulders, the bottles in it loudly slamming on each other, “Shit, shit, shit.” You kept murmuring as you picked it up, quickly checking inside if the bottles broke. Lucky for you they didn’t. Unlucky for you, someone heard the noises.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” Rick’s deep voice asked from behind you, holding his gun in one hand while the other one rested on his hip as he made his way towards you.

“Shouldn’t you be with your wife?” She shots back before pulling her backpack back on her shoulders.

“Touché” He chuckled as you too couldn’t help but feel a smile growing on your lips.

You knew him and his wife had their problems and that she was cheating on him, you wouldn’t have eyed him otherwise. Marriage was still a sacred thing even during the apocalypse, that’s what your father had taught you. Plus it was unbelievable to you how she went from someone like Rick to a scumbag like that man she saw yelling at the most random things manytime. One thing was sure: if he was your husband you wouldn’t let him go. Ever. God if you just had the chance to show him how good you could make him feel even just once he’d forget about that Lori girl immediately.

“Why are you out here?” Rick asked, snapping her out her unholy thoughts.

“I wanted to take a walk.” You shrugged, “Are you going to arrest me, Officer?” You asked, the name making Rick feel things that were very very wrong. But still very very turning him on.

“No, although I’m sure I could give you a fine for the bottles in your backpack.” He replied, shaking his head, “But I won’t, just because you are nice to me.”

“Am I corrupting you, Officer?” You asked then, slowly advancing towards him.

Oh yes, you were very much corrupting him, he thought as he took a deep breath to calm himself. “That’s not how corruption works, sweetheart.” He says with a smirk.

“Well, maybe that wasn’t…” You say, finally reaching him.

He could smell his scent from where he stood, fresh grass and soap, and he could swear his head was spinning.

“...But this surely is.” You say before quickly grabbing him by the wrist and running towards the woods, coughing him off guard.

“Hey.” He says between the pants, “Where are we exactly going?” “You know my secret so now I have to kill you.” You reply with nonchalance as you slow down your pace. “I'm just kidding, you asked why I was out so I wanted to show you.”

“I still have to decide about the killing part.” You then add.

“Do you still think about the old world?” You ask as you tilt your head to look over at the man sitting next to you on the roof of an old building you had found weeks before and had claimed as your secret place.

“Sometimes,” He replies with a sigh, “Nothing will ever be the same again, not after what we’ve all seen.” You hum in agreement before taking a sip from the bottle that was now just half full before handing it to Rick, who gladly took it.

“I think about it everyday.” You admit, your eyes fixed on the trees as you avoid Rick’s piercing blue eyes staring at you, “Although the world had already fallen apart years before.” “True.” He replied, fidgeting with the neck of the bottle, “Do they scare you?” He then asked.

“Not anymore, I just find it sad now.” You say, “Those people were just like you and me and now we kill them like it’s nothing.” You sigh.

“You think we shouldn’t kill them?” He asked then, handing you the whisky bottle.

“No, of course not. I just think it’s sad we have to.” You explain as you take a large sip of alcohol.

Rick cautiously watches as your lips perfectly adapt around the bottle, wondering if they would be just as perfect around his c-

“You are staring.” You state with a laugh, breaking the silence.

Rick lets out an embarrassed laugh, “Sorry.” You shrug in response “I don’t mind.” You say with a smirk before letting your eyes wander on the man’s body. He was surely hot, you thought as you met his blue eyes, and he was probably into you too.

“I…” Rick’s voice died in his throat as his eyes found yours, already admiring you. Suddenly he felt like an awkward teenager with his first crush again, so shy yet so whipped.

“You know,” You say, “If I didn’t know you I’d say you have a crush on me, officer.”

The poor man almost choked when those words reached his ears, his eyes widening, not daring to look at you in fear you might be disgusted. God of course you were, he was too old for you. He takes a deep breath, clears his throat and then dares to start speaking, still avoiding your gaze, “Don’t you think you are a little too young for me?”

Now it was your turn to be disappointed, you really thought that he might be into you? He was probably just a very polite man and you just misread his actions. But still something about the way he was acting was telling you to not give up just now.

“I don’t mind.” You answer, your voice barely audible.

But sure as hell he heard it. And it all went straight to his cock. Still it felt very much wrong to flirt with a girl half his age.

“You are drunk, you don’t know what you are saying.” He murmurs, not noticing how close you two were standing until you started talking.

“You are drunk too, doesn’t that make us even?” You ask as you keep staring at his face, hoping he would look at you.

“I… I can’t.” He shots back, “We can’t.”

“Hey,” You say, placing two fingers on his face to make him turn to you, “I know you want me just as bad as I want you.” You say as you sink into his deep blue eyes, “Isn’t that right?” You then ask, making Rick nod in response.

“Then what’s wrong with it?” You ask, bringing your face closer to you, “Just give in.”

Rick’s Adam’s apple bounces up and down as the dirtiest thoughts flashed in his mind, all the things he could do to you, the things he wants to do. No, he doesn’t just want to do them, he needs to. He needs to do you.

You murmuring his name brought him back to reality, his eyes lingering on your lips, his cock twitching in his pants.

“Fuck it.” He murmurs before putting a hand behind your neck and pulling you in a heated kiss. You quickly reciprocate, one of your hands tugging his hair as the other rested on his chest.

Rick quickly pulls you on his lap, basically making you straddle him as the kisses become more desperate, all the unsaid words purred in it. You could feel Rick’s tongue teasing your lips, begging you to let him in. Of course you do, quickly gasping for air as you begin to roll your hips on his painfully hard dick.

Rick groans against the kiss, sending vibrations through your whole body. You still could taste the whisky on his tongue as it kept exploring your mouth, making you go insane. You could feel Rick’s hand trailing up from your hip to your back under your shirt as you fidget with the collar of his jacket, goosebumps forming on your exposed arms at the cold breeze.

“Here.” Rick murmurs, breaking away from the kiss to slip his jacket on your shoulders, “I don’t want you to get cold.”

You can’t help but let out a breathless laugh, “You are supposed to undress me officer, not cover me up.” “I guess I’m just too much of a gentleman.” He replies with a smirk, “You haven’t met many of them, have you?”

You shyly nod, your eyes falling on the oversized jacket on your shoulders. You knew there was no one like Rick, you just didn’t know how right you were.

“Then I guess I’ll have to show you how a real man treats a proper lady.” He says as his big hand cups your cheek before leaning closer, “And for the jacket don’t worry, I’ll eventually take it off you along with all your other clothes, if you give me the chance.” He whispers against your neck.

“You can have all the chances you want.” You whisper back before reconnecting your lips with his. His mouth quickly started to pepper kiss on her neck, leaving a few marks when he found her sweat spots. You softly moan at the feeling of his bears scratching on your neck as he keeps kissing your jaw and neck.

“Rick…” You murmur as he softly bites your neck, soothing the pain with his tongue. “I need you so bad.” He whispers as his hands raise from your hips to your breast, squeezing them lightly under your shirt, making you whimper.

“I’ve always wanted you…” He keeps mumbling as you fidget with the buttons of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it.

“You have me now.” You whisper back before pulling him in another heated kiss, making him groan as you press yourself against his erection. You can’t wait, you realize as the kiss becomes even more passionate, breaking apart just to quickly take off her shirt and tossing it somewhere near his.

“God you are so beautiful.” He mumbles, making you suddenly feel so shy as you look in his eyes and find pure adoration as they scan your semi naked body, looking at you like you were the only person in this world. It makes your head spin.

Quickly the rest of both your and his clothes are scattered around. Rick cautionally holds you as he swaps position, now hovering over you as he propped himself up on his shoulders. “Are you sure you want this?” He asks breathlessly. You nod, “I’m sure.”

You eagerly reattach your lips to his as Rick’s hands roam your body. Your hands also wander around his bare back, your nails involuntarily digging into his skin when he squeezes your naked hip.

“Rick, I need you so bad.” You pant as your eyes meet his.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He answers as he ghosts your lips with his thumb.

He pushed some hairs of your face before lining up himself with your entrance as you could feel yourself get wetter each second that passed. Your legs quickly wrap themselves around his hips as he slowly pushes his length in. Your back arches as he completely fills you up, making him groan. He soon starts moving, each thrust making you whine as your hands tug his hair. Rick moves his hips back slowly, watching your reaction as he moves back inside you. He starts moving faster, finding his own rhythm that you waste no time to meet, raising your hips against his, allowing him to go deeper inside you, forcing a low moan from him as you feel your high coming closer. Rick moves his hand to your clit, his arousal increasing even more as you become more vocal.

“I- I’m close.” You say.

“Me too.” He murmurs before bringing his lips to yours, his tongue eagerly exploring your mouth. It’s all it takes for you to cum, burying your head in the crook of his neck as you practically screamed while your body shook, your orgasm taking control. He soon after reached his high too, loudly panting as he rolled next to you.

"That was..." -your words die in your throat as her breathing is still ragged, but Rick knows exactly what you mean.

"I know." He replies with a smirk.

#rick grimes smut #lana del rey #rick grimes fanfiction #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #twd #twd smut #fanfic #rick grimes x reader #i need to go to church after this #rick grimes x female reader #rick grimes age gap smut

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avastrasposts · 9 months ago

Text

Rosemary & Lavender

Plot: The victorious army is in town and Pero feels he deserves some R&R at the local tavern; a hot meal, a bath and a bed. And you just happen to be there to administer that bath. Lucky you!

Mercenary!Pero x female reader

Warnings: Explicit smut, dirt, blood, scowls and time period typical attitudes to safe sex. No use of y/n and the reader is pretty much a blank slate.

Word count: 4.5k

So @nerdieforpedro informed me about her Pero soon being in a tub in the fic she's working on, and that sparked a whole idea. She is wholly responsible for the below spa session. I can't believe I haven't written Pero getting a well deserved bath before! Thank you for the inspiration, Nerdie!

Also, huge thank you to the lovely @lady-bess who whipped up the banner in about five minutes flat when I twisted her arm with sweet words about Jack Daniels. Love you!

The soldiers were loud and triumphant as they rumbled into town, the victory had been resounding, the enemy thwarted and a much larger conflict avoided. The people of the town were out on the narrow streets, cheering the men as they marched onwards to the camp that had been erected on the other side. The victorious officers led the improvised parade, grinning at the boisterous men. The line of soldiers seemed to go on forever, but eventually the line trickled out and you closed the window to the upstairs room in the tavern your brother ran and hurried down to the kitchen. There would be a lot of work to be done when the men came in search of ale and revelry in a few hours.

At the back of the long line of soldiers came those who didn’t really care what side won or lost, as long as they were on the winning side and got their payment, they were the mercenaries. Among them was a tall, dark haired Spaniard whose deep scowl kept most people at bay, Pero Tovar. He scanned the houses of the town as he followed the men walking past them, keeping his eyes open for a tavern who also offered rooms to stay in. He was still expecting his pay from the commander, but he’d found a few coins and valuables as he lingered on the battlefield after it was all done. His body ached, he was covered in grime, blood and mud, and he had no intention of sleeping in a tent tonight. The coins he’d found would buy him a bath, a bed and a hot meal away from the rest of the army.

The tavern sign swung in the wind and he recognised the sign for lodgings. Taking no notice of the other mercenaries, he ducked his head and stepped through the low door, into the gloomy room inside. The innkeeper caught sight of him and raised a hand in greeting as he approached.

“Welcome, and congratulations on your victory, soldier!” he boomed, “You’ve all done us a great service by keeping our border safe.”

Tovar scoffed, his scowl deepening, he had no patience for the locals who were too cowardly to even attempt to defend their homes.

“I want a hot meal, a bath and a bed for the night, in that order, innkeep,” he growled, tossing the coins on the nearest table.

“Of course, sir, of course, take a seat and I’ll make sure your bath is heated while you eat,” the innkeep waved at the serving girl in the corner, who hurried through a door leading to the kitchen. Tovar sank down at one of the trestle tables as the innkeeper disappeared up a creaking staircase. Out of sight, he could hear him call to someone to prepare a hot bath in the available room, and then the stairs creaked as the innkeeper made his way back down.

“Sir, my sister will make sure your bath is ready for when you’ve eaten, please let her know if you want more hot water or need anything else.”

Tovar grunted and gave a short nod in reply, picking up his short knife and beginning to clean the grime from underneath his fingernails with the sharp tip.

Not many minutes later the serving girl reappeared with a large bowl and a flagon. She set both down on the table in front of him and he inhaled deeply. Whoever the cook was, they did a fine job with the stew. It was thick and rich and he could see a bone or two sticking up. While the serving girl fetched him bread, he fished the longest bone from the bowl and sucked the marrow from it with a loud slurp before he tucked into the stew.

It didn’t take him long to finish the bowl and mop up the remains with the last heel of bread. He pushed the bowl to the side and drained the flagon.

“Girl, which room has my bath?” he called to the serving girl in the corner and she all but jumped out of her skin at his bark.

“U-up th-e stairs and to the right, milord,” she stuttered, “l-last r-room.”

He ignored her incorrect title for him and pushed to his feet, making his way up the creaking stairs and finding the room at the end of the hall.

You straightened up as the door was opened and the lodger walked in.

“Your bath is just about ready, sir,” you said, pouring the last of the hot water into the large wooden tub and checking to make sure it was hot enough. The delicate fragrance of rosemary and lavender filled the room, the sprigs floating in the water, the air warm from the fire burning brightly in the stone fireplace. You’d set aside a couple of your softest linen sheets for drying and a pitcher of cider was sitting on the small table in the corner together with bread and cheese.

The man grunted in response and stepped through the door, his large frame taking up much of the space between the door and the tub. He was still wearing his armour, what little could be seen under the grime that covered it, two viscous looking swords equally splattered by dirt and blood on his back, and a knife in his belt. You couldn’t even see much of his face, most of it covered in mud, although it looked as if he’d attempted to wipe it off, patches of tan skin peaking through.

He sniffed the air, nodding approvingly as he saw the lavender floating in the steaming water and began to pull at one of the straps.

“Do you require assistance removing your amour, sir?” you asked, putting down the jug and stepping to the side to make room for him by the tub.

“Tovar,” he muttered, his hand dropping from the heavy looking belt around his waist, “don’t call me sir. And yes, if you’re willing, a helping hand is welcome, but I won’t pay extra for it.”

You raised an eyebrow at his curt reply, but stepped closer, reaching for the first strap.

“I won’t charge extra for it, we’re all very grateful for your service in defending the land around our town.”

He only grunted at that as he stood still, watching your face as you unbuckled a piece of his armour. He hadn’t been close to an ordinary woman in months, only the whores that followed the wagon train, and he’d made sure to stay well away from them. He knew from experience that the easiest way to get something unpleasant festering in your cock was to share the same cunts as the rest of the army. But here was a real woman, clean by the looks of it, the shining hair uncovered, marking you as unmarried, skin clear of any blemishes, round cheeks and soft curves, was it any surprise that his cock twitched as you moved around him? Delicate hands unlatching and uncovering more of him with each piece that you removed.

The pieces of his armour were placed nearby and he stood in his sweat drenched shirt as you worked on the last part. He could feel the foul smell coming off himself, but you didn’t flinch. He had a clean shirt in his pack, this one he might need to discard. Looking at the perfect swell of your ass cheeks under the dress, as you bent down to place vambraces on the floor, he wondered if he could offer you enough money to stay and bathe him, if he had enough coins to tempt you to do even more for him. His eyes were glued to you as you stood up straight and turned around. You felt his gaze slip over your body, greedily taking in each dip and curve, especially where your chest strained against the fabric of your dress.

Without a word, you continued your task of undressing him, pretending to just keep going now that the armour was off. Your hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, and pushed it upwards, feeling his hard muscles under the warm skin as you caressed him under the guise of removing the last layer on his upper body.

Tovar’s cock slammed to attention at the feeling; soft, warm palms, fingers slowly trailing over his chest, and sides, lifting the shirt over his head and dropping it down on the floor. Without stopping to ask, your fingers moved to the lacing in his breeches, and he toed his boots off as you looked up at him, meeting his dark eyes without hesitation.

“You’re covered in all manner of grime, sir,” you said, glancing down to loosen another loop, “will you let me help you get clean?”

“Pero,” he muttered, following your gaze down to where your hands were deftly working their way closer to the evidence of his arousal, his cock tight against the leather of his breeches.

“Pero,” you echoed, slipping your hands around his waist and pushing his breeches down over his hips, curving your hands over his rear, grabbing it a bit more than necessary. His cock bobbed free, quickly growing harder as your hands caressed over his hips, sliding up along his sides, finding his shoulders and slipping down his arms, your fingernails leaving goosebumps in their wake on his skin. Finally your hand closed around his and pulled him towards the tub.

“Get in before it gets cold, Pero,” you said, keeping your voice in the same low tone he’d given you his name in.

He stepped into the warm water and let out an involuntary groan as his muscles first seized up and then relaxed, letting him slip deeper into the tub, the fragrance of rosemary and lavender all around him as he sensed your presence next to him.

“I will smell like a well roasted side of pork when you’re done, are you bathing me or cooking me?” he mused as he sniffed the air, pushing away a sprig of rosemary.

“You look like a very tough side of meat, I’d need to keep you simmering for days to get you tender and soft,” you said, laughing softly as Pero raised his eyebrows at you.

“Tough side of meat,” he huffed, his hand coming out fast as a viper and swatting your behind as you bent to pick up the washcloth, “come here and finish what you started, mujer, or I’ll show you how tough my side of meat is.”

You smiled at his crude humour, his hard erection clearly visible beneath the water, underlining his meaning.

Rubbing down the wash cloth with sweet smelling soap you kneeled behind his head, “Close your eyes, Pero,” you said softly, “let me clean your face and hair first.”

He could only grunt in response as you began to gently wipe at his face, tracing each line and angle, wiping weeks of grime away with every delicate movement. You’d guessed that he was a handsome man, even the dirt couldn’t hide that, but you were taken in as you rinsed the cloth in a bowl and reapplied it to his face, wiping gently. His skin was golden, a smattering of freckles over his nose, long dark lashes rested on his high cheekbones and the full lips were soft and plush looking under his scruffy facial hair. It really was too long, and his hair had begun to curl over his ears.

“Pero,” you asked softly, “can I trim your beard and hair a little, keep it from getting in your eyes?”

He only gave another low grunt in response, not even opening his eyes. You stepped away for the cutters, and then kneeled back down, using a small comb to untangle his locks, cutting until it was all even, revealing more of his handsome face.

Rubbing the hard soap between your hands, you began to wash his hair, running your fingers through it to lift the grime and dirt. Under your hands, Pero moaned, an almost obscene sound, as your nails scratched at his scalp.

“Mierda…” he groaned, “that’s good, keep doing that.”

With a smile you continued, longer than necessary, to rub his scalp, massaging all the way down his neck and the tightly corded muscles holding his head up. Pero tipped forward, exposing more of his broad shoulder to you, and you soaped your hands again and worked through every inch of flesh you could reach, digging your thumbs into the knots and tight spots. Pero was breathing heavily, groaning every time you found a new kink to put pressure on.

“Señorita, I would pay good money to have you do this to me every night,” he mumbled, his head lolling from side to side as you worked your way up again, scratching at his scalp and rinsing his hair. Gently you pulled his head back and rested it on the small pillow at the lip of the tub.

“If you pay better than my brother, I might take you up on that offer,” you smiled at him, even though his eyes were closed. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you moved to the side of the tub and picked up the washcloth again.

Pero peeled his eyes open as you began to gently rub at his chest and arms, rinsing away the dirt.

“And he won’t come after me if I steal you away from this place?” he asked, letting his free hand reach out and trace across your shoulder, down your side, barely grazing the curve of your breast before he let his hand fall.

“He’ll probably only see it as one less mouth to feed,” you said with a smile as Pero shifted his gaze to where your hand was now washing his leg. You moved the washcloth methodically, rubbing circles on his foot, his calf, then on his knee, moving to his thigh and letting your hand disappear under the water. Pero hissed as the cloth grazed against his erection. It had simmered down while you cut and washed his hair, now it was growing rapidly, and he bucked his hips as you nudged it again.

“Mierda….” he muttered under his breath, tipping his head back, anticipating your hand closing around his hard length. But instead, you pulled your hand out of the water and began to work on his other leg, the same methodical motions, circling over his wet skin. His foot…his calf…his knee…his thigh…it seemed you moved at a snail’s pace. When you finally let your hand sink below the water again, he all but held his breath as your hand moved. The washcloth brushed over the tip of him, sending a shiver through him, as you rubbed the very top of his thigh, cleaning the crease where his leg met his torso. It was agony, pure, sweet agony, and he had to bite his lip, his breathing laboured.

“Cariño lindo….” he finally mumbled, putting his hand in the water and finding yours, “stop tormenting me.” With a firm grip he made you drop the washcloth, letting it float away forgotten in the tub, and brought your hand to his aching cock, your hand closing around it as you met his dark eyes. He let go of your hand and it stayed, wrapped around his thick length, an impressive girth from what you could feel. With a sigh he tipped his head back again, and you felt his cock twitch under your fingers, prompting you to slowly drag your hand up to the tip, your thumb slipping over the fat head. Pero bit down on his lip, air escaping his mouth, and beneath heavy lids he watched your face as you moved your hand. Your tongue peaked out, the tip resting on your bottom lip, and he could feel you grip him firmly, the soft pad of your thumb caressing his slit again. The sensation made his hip jerk up and he wondered if you’d let him pull you into the tub. Or even better, let him toss you on the bed that stood by the window, pull your skirts up and see if you were as wet as he thought you must be. The thought of sinking his cock into that wet heat made him jerk his hips again, fucking up into your tight hand.

The water lubricated your movements, Pero’s heavy breathing and almost pained moans egged you on, and your hand stroked him firmly. His eyes were glued to you, half closed and he was mumbling under his breath, his hips jerking his cock up into your hand. He was heavy under your fingers, smooth and hard, and so thick that your hand couldn’t really close around all of him. Through the now murky water you could make it out, jutting out from between his strong thighs, a dark thicket of hair surrounding it. You pulled down the foreskin and let your thumb slip around the smooth head again, making him gasp and curse, pleading with you to go on. The water splashed a little over the edges as you slipped your hand down, picking up the pace, Pero’s incoherent mumbling replaced by heavy breathing and groans. He tipped his head back, his eyes squeezing shut, your hand moving faster, lighting a trail of fire through his spine, the familiar tightness building in his heavy balls, his fingers were gripping the sides of the tub tightly, his knuckles white.

“Please….” he groaned, a loud gasp escaping and you felt his body freeze, only his hips jerking erratically into your hand as you continued to stroke him, white liquid shooting out from his cock into the water.

“Mierda…” he hissed, grabbing your hand under water, closing your fingers even tighter around his still pumping cock, making you rub him through the length of his climax, milking every drop from him.

Eventually he slowed down, making you slow your pace to a stand still too. His head lolled back and his muscles relaxed, only his chest moving now as he drew long, deep breaths.

“Cariño lindo,” he muttered, taking your hand under water and bringing it up to his mouth for a slow kiss, “tell me, are you as wet as I am?”

His question, and the sinful look on his face, made your cheeks heat up, but arousal flared in your body too.

He pushed himself up, hanging his arms over the side of the tub, water dripping to the rushes on the floor. With a sly grin and his eyes on your face, he pushed your skirt up, his hand slipping under and up, finding the inside of your soft thigh. With practised ease he navigated your undergarments and found the apex of your thighs. He found you dripping, the slick liquid coating the lips of your sex, and with a pleased groan, he pushed a thick finger inside. Your body convulsed and you had to grip his shoulders to stop yourself from falling into the tub.

“Pero…” you gasped, his finger deep inside, curling back and making your cunt tighten around his digit as he gave you a pleased grin.

“So wet, cariño,” he praised, “I had a feeling you would be.”

He slipped his finger out and quickly pushed in another, stretching you as his thumb found the pearl at the top of your slit, swirling around it with his rough pad. Lighting shot out into every limb and your grip on his shoulders tightened, your breathing suddenly laboured as he began to drive his fingers in and out, the slick dripping down his hand. You whimpered and dropped your head, leaning against his shoulder, and you felt him turn his head and nip at your neck, adding to the onslaught of your nerve endings.

“Come on, querida, let me ruin you for whatever slow farmer tries to fuck you when I’m gone,” he muttered, his hot breath in your ear as he curled his fingers again, grinning as he heard you whine at his words, or maybe it was the way his thumb changed the pattern on your aching bundle of nerves.

Your teeth were leaving marks on his shoulder, your nails digging into them too. The breathy moans you were panting made his cock twitch and fill again, he felt blood rush to it as your cunt clamped down hard around his fingers.

“Fuck it,” he suddenly groweled, water sloshing over the floor as he pulled his fingers from between your legs and stood up. You gasped in protest but he didn’t let you gather yourself, pulling you to your feet he stepped out of the tub and pushed you backwards onto the bed. He gave your behind a swat, urging you to shimmy up it, and followed you as he eagerly pushed your dress up around your waist again. His grin was hungry, and you saw his heavy cock swollen between his thighs again. With an impatient shove, he parted your legs and sank down, his wide shoulder holding them open.

His first lick through your folds made you cry out, grabbing on to his damp curls as he opened his mouth to fuck his tongue as deep as he could inside you. The feeling made you dizzy as every inch of your skin seemed to burn under him, your arousal ramping up as you heard him growl into your cunt, his tongue lapping at you. He moved above you, pushing your legs further apart as he moved his hand up and mumbled something into your flesh. You tugged at his curls, pulling his face up to look at you and he gave you a grin.

“Your taste is driving me wild, hermosa,” he panted, his short beard glistening with your slick, “I want to feel you come on my tongue, can you do that for me?” He gave you a mischievous grin and held up his hand, wiggling two of his fingers as you nodded weakly. His fingers slid down through your cunt and easily into your heat and he watched your eyes slip closed as you moaned, your head dropping back down on the bed. As you panted out his name, he picked up the speed of his fingers, bending down to close his mouth around your swollen bead, flicking his tongue over it before he lapped at it. Your cries, your fingers tightening in his hair, let him know he was working you the right way and he doubled his efforts. His cock was aching beneath him, hard and swollen, as you tried to close your legs around his head, your body arching up from the bedding. Panting hard you began to moan his name, rocking your face against his mouth with your fingers in his curls, he could feel you beginning to unravel, your legs shaking. With a final effort, he clamped his mouth around your sensitive pearl and sucked, pushing a third finger into you and curling back.

“Pero…” you moaned loudly, “p-please…” A gasp escaped you, your breathing erratic and he felt your body go taught under him, your cunt going impossibly tight around his fingers. He felt his scrotum tighten at the thought of feeling that around his cock, as you cried out, your climax washing over you in wave after wave. He kept his fingers moving, flicking his tongue over your core and pushed your pleasure as high as he could. You were all but sobbing as he finally felt your legs begin to relax around him, gasping to catch your breath. He caressed your thighs, pulling out his fingers and pushing himself back up to sit on his haunches. His cock was painfully hard, bouncing back against his belly as he looked down at you, spent and sated beneath him.

There was something predatory in the way his gaze roamed over your body now, your bottom half exposed to him, your top half still covered by your dress. He put his hand out and tugged at one of the ribbons.

“Take it off,” he commanded, pushing aside the first layer. With trembling fingers, still shaking from his ministrations, you undid the fastenings, pulling the dress apart and wiggling out of it until it lay beneath you and you were as naked as Pero still kneeling between your spread legs. He was watching you with heavily lidded eyes, stroking his cock with lazy movements, the head red and weeping.

“I want to fuck you,” he said, his voice low as he leaned forward and moved up over your body, “I won’t come inside you, but I need to feel this tight cunt around my cock tonight.”

You nodded dumbly, you’d do anything to have more of him, he’d already given you more pleasure than you thought possible, and you ached to feel him inside you.

His rough hand came out and grabbed your soft breast, teasing the nipple and watching it pebble under his finger tips. When he was satisfied, he let his hand slip down your cushy belly, noting how you shivered as he grazed your sensitive core. He grabbed your thigh and pushed it up, making space for himself. When he was satisfied, he closed his hand around his cock and placed it at your opening, watching as he caressed it through your folds, coating it in your slick, and then pushed in, sliding through your swollen cunt in one fell swoop. It made you gasp as Pero groaned, both his hands grabbing your hips and he pulled you onto his cock.

“Cariño, so tight…” he growled, eyes transfixed at the place where his aching hard length disappeared into your wet cunt. He pulled out, and slid back in again, groans escaping through his clenched jaw as he began to fuck you. His fingers dug into your flesh as he held you in a vice, snapping his hips, chasing his rapidly approaching climax.

You watched him, your own body spent and pliant under him, only there to let him use, to sink his cock into, as he growled like a feral animal, snarling when he felt your cunt tighten and clamp down around his cock. His newly cut hair was damp from sweat and bath water, he smelled of rosemary and lavender and every scar on his hard soldier’s body stood out on his flushed skin.

He groaned, his eyes closing, squeezing them tight and his mouth hung open, his breaths coming out in short bursts. Suddenly he pushed your hips away, pulling out with a hiss and fisting his cock, furiously stroking himself. It took only a few seconds, and then his hot spend shot out, coating your belly and thighs as he snarled and moaned like he was injured. With fascination you watched the thick liquid burst from the shining head of his cock while he squeezed, his face screwed up like he was in pain. He tugged at it, milking it dry before he finally gasped, taking a deep breath and opening his eyes.

Looking down at you, his eyes softened as he regarded you for a few long seconds, his hand still wrapped around his softening cock. With a sigh he crawled over you, dropping down on your side and pressing a kiss, wet and soft, to your cheek.

“I’m sorry, hermosa, but I think we need another bath.”

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fanfic

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rabesbabe · 1 year ago

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I like the way you kiss me pt.2

sam carpenter x reader

i like the way you kiss me pt.1

A/N: Hey guys!! So this is the second part to my newest series! I’ve been trying to decide if this should be the last part or if I should do one more so let me know! Also you guys are able to ask for requests now and i’ll make a page with who I write for!! (Also this fic is not proofread pls excuse my typos lmao)

Summary: You go to a party Mindy and Chad host and “coincidentally” Sam is there…

—————————————————————————

After that day you hadn’t really talked to Sam besides necessary conversations you guys would have to have when you went over to hang out with Tara. Which you seemed to be doing more

and more of recently noticing the two of you actually make a pretty good duo.

One day you were getting smoothies with Tara when you felt like you should tell her about what happened with Sam.

“Tara?” “Hm?” She replied, mouth full of the strawberry banana smoothie she was drinking. “Do you remember how Sam acted when she met me that first time?” You asked looking at her. “Yeah but I told you not to worry about it I swear she’ll get used to you at some point she just isn’t exactly a people person.” Tara shrugged. “No that’s not it,” you sighed. “The day before that, I met Sam at the grocery store and I slid her my number. And that night we talked for like 3 hours before I hung up.”

Tara looked at you confused. “You slipped my sister your number…” you looked down waiting for her to yell at you for talking to her sister. “AND SHE ACTUALLY CALLED YOU?” She smirked at you. “God, I knew you were fine but not fine enough to create a miracle!” You looked up at her almost choking on your smoothie at her words. “That was your takeaway from what I just told you? You’re not mad? Or even sad?” “God no.” She replied “I’m just shocked my sister actually made an attempt at being a normal person. No wonder she acts so weird whenever I mention you. She totally likes you y/n.”

That night you think about Tara’s words a lot. Did her sister actually like you? Whenever you were around her she seemed like she was seconds away from punching you in the face. But, maybe that’s just how she is. She’s not exactly bubbly. You think about the time Tara left the apartment for a bit while you were there to go do something, leaving you and Sam alone. Sam couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. But she also didn’t dare utter a word to you. She always left you confused and wondering what was going on inside her mind.

That week you and Tara went over to Mindy and Chads place. Tara decided to find something cute for you to wear and she did your makeup. You weren’t sure why she was dressing you up so much but you let her anyway as it was fun.

As you arrived at the door Tara fixed your hair up and you gave her a weird look as you were still confused why she was trying so hard to make sure you looked good even though you were just seeing friends. You handed her the wine glass you brought as a gift before knocking on the door. After knocking you hear familiar voice say “I’ll get it.”

To your surprise as the door opens you’re met with a wide eyed Sam looking you up and down. She mumbles a quick “Hi” to you before moving over to let you in. After giving Mindy and Chad hugs you look over at Tara and Sam talking.

“You didn’t tell me you were inviting her Tara.” Sam says. “I didn’t think I needed to Sam? We’re constantly together it should’ve been a given.” Tara says raising an eyebrow at Sam. “Plus why do you care? You’re very clearly enjoying the sight of her.” Tara gives a small smirk to a slightly open mouthed Sam who is clearly shocked her sister caught on to her not so secretly checking out her friend.

As the night goes on the drunker and drunker everyone gets. You guys talk for hours, play games and watch dumb reality tv shows. “Who wants to play a classic game of drink or spill!?” Says a very very drunk Mindy. “What a good idea lil’ sis” exclaims Chad. “You know you’re only a few minutes older right?”

“Can we please start playing before you two get into a fight and ruin all the fun?” Sam says rolling her eyes. You all sit in a circle in their living room waiting for Mindy to ask questions. “Tara,” Mindy says, “how many people in the room would you kiss?” “Oh come on, that one’s easy! Three.” Tara says. “Thank god.” Sam replies letting out a fake sigh while laughing.

“Y/N, sweet, gorgeous, lovely, y/n.” Mindy says in a jokingly sweet voice. “Who in this room would you say no to if they asked you out?” You let out a chuckle, “if it wasn’t obvious before, I’m sorry Chad I’m just not into your uhm…kind?” You give a fake apologetic smile. You make eye contact with Sam who looks at you shocked. Obviously thinking she was going to be the one you would say no to. You give her a small smile before she looks away.

The rest of the night is a drunken blur for you. You can’t help but notice Sam staring at you all night and wonder if you look insanely hot or like a drunk mess. Later on you decide to go find Tara who’s probably making out with Chad somewhere to tell her you guys should head home.

“Tara?” You ask while knocking on Chads room door. “If you and Chad are in there eating each other’s faces please take this as a warning to stop before I walk in.” Suddenly the door opens and you see Sam smiling at your remark.

“Hi, Sam.” You say awkwardly. To your surprise she opens the door more for you to come in. “So my sister and Chad huh?” You nod. Confused as to why she’s talking to you. But then you think about the fact that she drank 5 shots during the game you guys played. She sits down on the bed in the room looking at the floor avoiding your eyes. And you join her. “I’m sorry I’ve been kind of a bitch to you y/n.” “It’s fine I guess?” You say confused as to why she would apologize now. “I really liked you that night we talked Sam. I wish you gave me a chance.” She looked up at you finally making eye contact. She stared at you for a second as if she was thinking about something.

Before you could think more she leaned closer to you, grabbed around your waist and kissed you. Only for a moment but just enough to show you she meant it.

“Im sorry,” She said looking away from you when you didn’t say anything. “That was more than okay Sam.” You smile at her and she kisses you again. This time more passionate and confident.

“Y/n!” Tara’s voice calls out a little before the door to the room bursts open. Tara’s eyes go wide at the sight of you and her sister and she stares for a moment before laughing. You and Sam look at her in bewilderment. “Thank god!! I was so sick of you two undressing each other with your eyes all night.” Sam scoffs at her boldness. “As much as I hate to break this up we need to go y/n we have class tomorrow.” Tara says as if she’s not gonna be insanely hungover the next morning. You stand up and smile at Sam. “Call me?” She says before you walk out. And you nod with a goofy smile plastered on your face.

#wlw ship #scream 6 #scream #sam carpenter x reader #sam x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ghostface x reader #melissa barrera #jenna ortega

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togrowoldinv · 1 year ago

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Everything Has Changed

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

You’re vying for the Avengers to choose you as one of the Shield agents to go on a mission with them. Nat performs her own evaluation and you grow closer

Note: Some soft Nat! It was going to come out yesterday but my nephew was born lol. Enjoy this one!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

“Agents, we will have a very special guest for training today,” Maria Hill’s voice sounds from the entrance of the gym.

You and all of the other agents stand up straighter in her presence. Soon, she’ll be choosing the best agents to go on a mission with some of the Avengers.

You have been working extremely hard to make sure that one of those agents is you.

Agent Hill walks to the center of the room. You keep your attention on her as she instructs everyone to warm up. It’s hard to pretend not to notice when the special guest arrives. Her steps are light, but her presence is undoubtable.

Still, you keep your focus on warming up with the other agents. Some simple stretches and laps to get your blood flowing.

“Okay, focus up,” Maria says, bringing everyone together.

Chatter erupts at the sight of her standing next to Maria. The Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff. You were all expecting the usual special guests, like Steve Rogers or Agent Coulson.

“For training today, I’ve asked Agent Romanoff to join us. As she will be on the upcoming mission, she has some say in what agents will come along,” Maria explains. “Agent Romanoff, is there anything you’d like to share?”

Natasha takes her time before she answers. You wonder what is running through her head as she looks at each and every agent in the room. You swear her eyes linger on you for the longest amount of time.

“I’m not one for speeches,” Natasha finally speaks. “That’s more Cap’s area of expertise, as I’m sure you all have had to deal with.” A few chuckles fill the room. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Agent Hill gives everyone assignments for the next hour of training. She and Natasha walk around and observe. You never hear Natasha say as much as two words as she watches. At the end of the hour, the agents circle up again.

“I will choose a few of you to spar with me,” Natasha explains. She says a few agent’s names before she says yours at the very end. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“The rest of you can be dismissed,” Maria Hill adds. The five agents that were chosen, including you, remain in the room.

Natasha goes in order that she called the names out, so you are the last to spar with her. Everyone else lasts under a few minutes with her.

“You ready?” She asks you, a smirk on her face.

“Yes ma’am,” you reply, trying your best to sound confident.

Nat swings first, not pulling her punches at all. She lands a blow on your ribcage. You respond by taking a lunge at her, but she blocks your attempts at hitting her. You try not to let it rattle you.

“Try again,” she says. “Follow my eyes. Try to see what I’m going to do next.”

You nod and reset your feet. This time you manage to block her first swing, but the second one lands hard on your abdomen. You fall back a bit but regain your balance. This process repeats for a few minutes before Nat calls it.

You sigh and fall back in line. Maria dismisses you all for the day after explaining that the five of you are to attend a Stark event tonight. There is more to the job than just fighting, she says.

The rest of the day is spent with you preparing for the next day and getting ready for the party. Stark events are notoriously good opportunities to network, so you prepare yourself for being socially burnt out by the end of the night.

Once you arrive at the party, you find the other agents and get a drink together. There is a lot of laughing and cutting up. Someone brings up Natasha and things get a little more interesting.

“I’m just saying someone that beautiful cannot be as good as they say she is,” one agent says.

“I don’t know, man. I’ve heard she has more kills than anyone else here combined,” another adds.

“Guys, come on she’s just a pretty face,” someone says.

“No,” you jump in, your voice a little too loud. “She’s a hero. You guys know that. She is not just a pretty face,” you say.

You storm off and don’t notice that Natasha was standing near you. She heard everything. Nat walks by the agents and they all look away sheepishly. The bartender hands her the drinks she asks for and she leaves the room.

Standing on the roof of the building, you look out onto the city. You don’t know why it got under your skin so bad that the other agents were calling Nat’s abilities into question. Maybe you just don’t like bullies.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of heels on the concrete. You turn around to assess the threat.

“Sorry if I startled you,” Natasha says.

“No, that’s okay.”

“Mind if I join you?” Natasha asks, offering you a smile. You nod. She walks your side and holds out a glass to you. “I wasn’t sure what you were drinking.”

“Thank you, Agent Romanoff,” you say, accepting the drink.

“Natasha is fine,” she says. “Or Nat.”

“Y/n,” you offer her your first name.

“I know who you are, y/n,” Nat says.

“Oh.”

Nat takes a breath and rests her arms on the edge of the building. You don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t feel awkward.

“Maria will tell you tomorrow, but you were selected for the mission,” Natasha says.

You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. It’s what you’ve been working for for so long now. You take a sip of your drink and look out at the city again.

“Are you excited?” Natasha asks, taking note of your body language.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Thank you for choosing me.”

“It was a group decision. You’ve earned it, y/n. You went toe to toe with everyone, including me,” Natasha says.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t go toe to toe with you,” you say with a light comedic tone to hide your frustration.

“You did,” Nat argues. “Well, more than anyone else did. Seems to them I'm just a pretty face."

"You heard that?" You ask her, turning to face her. She nods. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Nat says. "I'm used to it. I also heard you defending me."

"Oh, yeah."

"You don't think I'm pretty?" Natasha asks, a hint of teasing in her tone.

You're sure your face cannot hide your reaction to her words. A heat creeps up your neck.

"Oh, no. You're so beautiful, Natasha," you say.

"You're beautiful, too. Very much so," Nat replies.

You smile shyly. Natasha feels herself falling for you. You realize how late it is when your phone dings in your purse.

"I should probably get some sleep so I can be ready for the mission," you say.

"Right," Nat agrees. "Maybe after the mission, we can see each other more often."

"I would love that," you reply.

"Goodnight, y/n."

"Goodnight, Natasha," you reply.

Before you step away from her, she leans close and drops a kiss on your cheek. It's soft, and delicate but perfect.

You can't wait to get to know her better.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff comfort

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taexual · 1 year ago

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sleepwalking ● 20 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, mentions of drugs, fluff, some angst, SLOW BURN

words: 17.9k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 20 ► so if your wings won't find you heaven, i will bring it down like an ancient bygone

The next morning arrived very quickly and not even five hours after your nightly rendezvous in the garden, you saw Jungkook again in the corridor of the hotel.

“Your room is right next to mine,” you observed with a certain surprised amusement. “Yet you thought it would be wiser to go out, find some rocks, and toss those at my window?”

Jungkook glanced at the door of his room as if he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Much more private that way,” he said with a shrug—but a mischievous grin betrayed his attempt at nonchalance. “No one suspected a thing.”

“If someone had seen you doing that, they would have probably suspected a lot more,” you said. “Compared to you just knocking on my door like a normal person.”

“I’m a romantic,” he declared, clutching his chest to emphasise his dedication to his actions, which he preferred to regard as whimsical and sweet, rather than unusual and unnecessary. “I prefer my way.”

You looked away and he wondered if he’d taken it too far. But he relaxed when he saw the corners of your lips curve into an already familiar smile as your gaze wandered from the carpeted floors to the fraying edges of the wallpaper near the entrance to the staircase.

His predilection for extravagant gestures and dramatic moves rather than simple, everyday things had been a consistent part of his personality for as long as you’ve known him. And however much you teased him about it, you still found it endearing.

Although to be fair, you found the wildflowers that he’d brought you endearing, too. Pictures that he sent you, captioned ‘us.’ The look in his eyes when he teased you about something. The way he held your hand so absentmindedly sometimes, almost forgetting about it as though your hand was a part of him.

“Should we go, then?” you asked, a little breathless. The old hotel didn’t have an elevator, and you gestured at the staircase. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to climb into the restaurant through the window.”

Jungkook took the teasing in stride, maintaining a dignified grin. “Stairs will work, I’m sure.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

He followed you, beaming as if he were a ten-year-old who had just held hands with a pretty girl for the first time during fifth-grade recess. He didn’t know how to contain everything he was feeling. He might have actually stopped, dropped, and rolled down the stairs like an exhilarated sack of potatoes if he’d known you were feeling the same.

“So,” you said, keeping your eyes on your feet as the two of you climbed down the narrow, creaking staircase. There were small, foggy windows scattered here and there, filtering beams of tired sunlight. “Escape from New York.”

It took Jungkook a few seconds to recognise that this was the film you’d talked about last night. His mind seemed to consider this information secondary—overshadowed, understandably, by his grandmother’s voice after she called him and the lingering memory of the scent of your hair.

“Yeah,” he said, stopping in front of the arch that led from the stairwell into the lobby. “I’m thinking the odds of catching it in cinemas are very slim, right?”

“They are,” you confirmed, stopping, too. “But it’s on Amazon like I suspected. We could watch it tomorrow if you’d like?”

A childlike excitement ignited in his eyes, but a sudden memory dimmed them.

He recalled you telling him that you had plans with Luna and Maggie tonight, and before that—his hands trembled a little at this particular memory—he recalled you saying that you had set an alarm to call your mum.

He was anxious, he realised, on your behalf.

“Tomorrow, uh—” he stammered, lost in the shadows on the staircase behind you as the two of you lingered by the archway. “T-that sounds good.”

You smiled and nodded—that was essentially all you did, but he felt the change. He felt how close you were, he felt your relaxed posture, your easy smile, your calm, confident eyes.

His gaze met yours for no more than a fleeting moment, but he felt the uncertainty in his chest lift, almost inexplicably so. Likely because, despite everything, you were here and nothing else really mattered. You’d be okay.

“You’re going out tonight, right?” he asked and you nodded. He tsk tsk-ed in response, feigning disapproval. “It's a school night. How very irresponsible.”

Your smile grew wider; he noticed it out of the corner of his eye. Something creaked with excitement on the stairs and inside his chest.

“You guys have a day off tomorrow, so I don’t have to babysit,” you bit. “The girls and I had actually been planning this since before we even arrived in Europe.”

“Okay, fair enough,” he said. “How’d you find a bar that’s open long enough on a Wednesday, though?”

“Maggie said she found a cool spot that’s not really a nightclub and not really a bar,” you explained, shrugging. “I’m not sure. We’ll give it a try.”

“Alright. That sounds cool. Let’s do our thing tomorrow,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Is it, uh, a girls’ night, then?”

You began to walk, crossing the threshold but slowing down so he could catch up.

“Well, yeah,” you said. “Because if I invite you, then Taehyung will insist on joining, and Luna will inevitably invite him. And then you and I will end up third-wheeling those two all night, while also comforting Maggie. She’ll have one tequila shot and spend the whole night near tears because she misses Rue.”

Jungkook decided not to admit how pleased he was that in a hypothetical scenario where Luna would bring her boyfriend and Maggie would cry about her girlfriend, he was your equivalent partner. Of course, he would have made sure to keep you company so that you wouldn’t feel like anyone’s third-wheel or shoulder to cry on, but he understood the essence of your point.

“That’s alright. I’ll keep myself busy,” he said, a bit concerned about the colour of his face. He reached up, feeling his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I, uh—I hope you guys have fun. Call me if you get into trouble.”

You raised your eyebrows, recognising his way of turning your words against you.

“As if,” you retorted. “I know how to drink responsibly.”

He could remember times when the two of you were so drunk that the sense of responsibility resembled a dystopian concept rather than something people realistically possessed, but he enjoyed the smile on your face too much to bring it up. Even more than that, however, he enjoyed the fact that your smile did not falter, and you did not pull away to a more respectable distance when you entered the restaurant and reached the buffet table with dozens of other people around.

Things were good. They felt good.

You stayed at the buffet table to talk to Namjoon, and Jungkook went to find an empty table at the restaurant. But even as he walked away from you, he still couldn’t do anything about the tint on his cheeks.

He knew he was grinning like a proper maniac as he poured milk into his cereal. But then he met your eyes, and you were smiling at him from across the room, and your face looked radiant and glowing, and he was so in love with you that he didn’t care about his excitement coming off as threatening.

Just then, Minjun approached him with a concerned expression.

“Hey,” he said, sitting across from him at the empty table. “You look stupid. Did you put too much sugar in your cereal again?”

Jungkook snorted and let the spoon clatter into the bowl. “No. Just feeling good, I guess.”

“Huh.” Minjun looked over his shoulder and caught your gaze. He turned back to his friend with a knowing grin. “And, uh… your constant glances in your manager’s direction have something to do with that, I assume?”

“We’re going to watch a film tomorrow. It’s something my grandma suggested,” Jungkook announced with a grandeur that rivalled a lottery winner flaunting their newfound wealth.

It took Minjun a moment to process the whirlwind of changes in Jungkook’s life overnight. The last time he had seen him in Glasgow, Jungkook was, to put it kindly, a wreck. Now, his grandmother was calling him, and he was making plans to watch films with you.

“I’m—” Minjun stopped. He wanted to ask questions, but he did not know what to do with the expression on his face. “I feel like I’ve missed a few episodes of this TV show, but I’m very excited for you.”

Jungkook nodded eagerly—and then hesitated, his smile fading momentarily.

“It’s good, right?” he asked. “That we’re spending time together again.”

Minjun didn’t consider himself an expert in the field of relationships, even though he had some experience. However, when it came to this particular relationship, he didn’t even consider himself an amateur. You and Jungkook operated so utterly enigmatically that he wouldn’t even know where to begin guessing what the correct answer here was.

“Of course,” he affirmed nonetheless. “So, you’re… what? Friends, then?”

“Mhmm,” Jungkook replied with a mouthful of cereal.

“And, uh,” Minjun tapped his index finger on the dent in the lacquered table, “why is that?”

Jungkook swallowed first. “What do you mean wh—”

He noticed Minjun’s deadpan expression. Friendship was not the destination that his friend had imagined for the two of you.

“Fine,” he said, wiping his palms on his pants. “Well, first of all, it’s better than nothing. And—”

“Wait,” Minjun interrupted. “Why is ‘nothing’ the alternative to friendship?”

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “Because we’re complicated people with complicated problems.”

He almost expected Minjun to laugh at the oversimplified response, but his friend remained serious—he may not have known a lot, but he knew that there was a long story hidden behind these short words.

“Okay,” he said.

“Yeah. And second of all,” Jungkook continued, and Minjun wondered if he realised how much he resembled you in the way he spoke sometimes, “if we’re friends, then we can still work together, even if we don’t actually get back together. It’s just safe for us.”

“Ah.” Minjun nodded, recognising the subtle ways in which Jungkook was making this comfortable for you. “That’s the main thing, isn’t it?”

“It’s—well, I don’t know if that’s the main thing,” Jungkook said. For him, the main thing was you staying with Rated Riot. Everything else was an additional thing. “But it’s a—it’s a thing.”

“Hmm. The two of you are a far cry from friends, though,” Minjun remarked. Naturally, Jungkook was about to object, but his friend raised a hand, stopping him. “But I’m glad you two kids are working it out. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Jungkook released his breath and nodded instead of speaking.

He decided this was enough. He didn’t need anything else—neither a pat on the back nor an empty reassurance—to confirm that things were going well.

You had practically built a castle over the ruins in his chest overnight—things were going well.

After breakfast, Namjoon needed your help with the scheduling of recording rooms for the upcoming tour dates. The boys usually used the equipment they’d brought with them, but Yoongi had barricaded himself in his room—Jimin knocked on his door for fifteen minutes to drop off a croissant—so Namjoon, Hoseok, and you decided to book a studio to lure him out.

The scheduling took a while, because London and Paris, for no reason whatsoever, emerged as the two centres of musical innovation this month. Every studio in the vicinity of your accommodation had already been booked, so you were locked in your hotel room until late afternoon.

When you finally found several available spots, Luna and Maggie had already banished Taehyung from his and Luna’s suite—they had the largest one here—and you joined the girls in the bathroom to get ready for the night.

However, even though you joked and chatted with them, you couldn’t stop yourself from mentally counting down the minutes until your phone alarm rang. You’d set it for eight, hoping this would be a convenient time for your mum. You knew she wasn’t working today.

And, shortly after the three of you got ready—six minutes to eight—you left the girls to pre-game in Luna’s bathroom, and went back to your own dark room.

You felt very silly just sitting and staring at your screen, waiting. You could have called your mum early; you were ready for it anyway. But your hands were shaking, and you decided to wait.

You had already dressed and prepared for the rest of the night, but now, as you stared at your phone—two more minutes—you wondered if that had been a mistake. What if you cried? What if you didn’t even want to go anywhere anymore?

Two minutes, as it turned out, had a habit of passing slowly when you wanted them to pass, and passing very quickly when you wanted to prolong them. You pressed the line labelled ‘MUM’ on your phone and held your breath.

You were sitting on the floor—not because you wanted to fully embrace the dramatics of the situation or because the bed wasn’t good enough, but because your phone was charging next to the door, and you couldn’t reach the charger from the bed.

You had kept the light off, so the room was completely dark—now that was because you wanted to embrace the dramatics of the situation—and you hugged your knees to your chest, seemingly sinking deeper into the shadows.

Your mum picked up after the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, mum,” you said, and your voice shook despite your best attempts to control it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said. She sounded a little disoriented and confused. “Did something happen? Is everything okay?”

You moved your phone away from your head and wiped your cheek on the sleeve of your dark denim jacket. You felt nervous and fidgety.

“It’s—no, everything’s fine,” you replied. “Are you busy? H-how’s Kai?”

“I was just reading. And he’s playing with his friends, love,” your mum said softly—she always spoke as if she was in a crowded room, mindful of disturbing others. “Did you want to talk to him?”

“Oh. No—no, it’s okay,” you said, nibbling on your lower lip. “You, uh, changed your mind about grounding him?”

“Well, he’s awfully lonely,” she said almost apologetically. You figured she wouldn’t stay angry with him for long, especially if he complained about his broken leg—which you suspected he did. “He can’t walk much and he’s miserable.”

“Mhmm. Right.” You scratched under your chin. “I’ll, uh—I’ll check on him later.”

“Okay,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “How—well, how are you? Did something happen?”

The repeated question in place of small talk stung a little, but you knew you’d brought it on yourself. Jungkook had told you that she’d already tried to call you when you were sick in Manchester. And it was natural for her to assume something had happened when you called her yourself in any case. For a while now, you’d both had a tacit understanding: she’d text you if she wanted to know how you were, and only call if there was an emergency—such as your brother breaking his leg. But if you really needed her, you would be the one to call.

“No. No, I just—I wanted to talk to you,” you said. “I don’t, um—I don’t really know what to do, so I wanted to… talk to you and maybe that will be helpful. I don’t know, I’m—”

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” Concern deepened her gentle voice. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m—no, I’m not hurt,” you said. You thought you knew what you had to talk about. But apparently, you hadn’t realised you’d have to articulate your thoughts to have this conversation. “It’s just… I wanted to ask about you and Dad.”

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears while your mum stayed silent on the other end.

“Oh,” she said after a minute. You heard shuffling in the background. You pictured her sitting up, putting her book on the coffee table in her living room, and pulling off the duvet. You pictured her reaching for the floor lamp next to the armchair and switching it on, wondering, all the while, what had happened. “What brought this on?”

You heard a cheerful cry from outside your room and glanced at the window. The stars behind it were obscured by dark clouds. You wondered how long it would take to recap the entirety of this past month for your mum.

“Jungkook and I were talking,” you started. You heard her hold her breath as you went on. “And I just—h-he made me realise that you and I have never really talked about this much.”

Her voice sounded distant. “Well, what is there to talk about?”

Your exhale turned into a half-choked scoff.

“A lot of things, mum,” you said.

She breathed out, then in, then out again in an uncomfortable attempt to keep her composure.

“Wh-what do you want me to say?” she asked.

“Well…” You tugged at the fabric of your black tights. “What was going through your mind when you decided to get back together with Dad?” You paused, sensing the implication in your question. “I’m—I don’t mean to insult you. I’m just—I want to understand your thought process. There seemed to be, um—so much at stake.”

“There was,” she replied with the precision of a teacher confirming that two times two was indeed four. “I had you and your brother. And I still went for it.”

An oppressive silence engulfed your dark room as your mother’s uncertainty made yours grow.

Often, when a marriage started to fall apart, the advice from well-meaning relatives—who, of course, knew more about the relationship than the people in it—revolved around the children. To you, the notion of “staying together for the kids” felt about as profound as a bumblebee repeatedly hitting the glass of a window. And the relationship that your parents had was so bad, so beyond any fixing, that no one even suggested they stayed together in the first place, not even for the children—actually, especially not for the children.

But because your mother had never received this advice—this cursed “do it for the kids”—she did not know how to explain herself to you right now.

“W-were you scared?” you forced yourself to ask.

“Every time,” your mum admitted. You felt a new, powerful surge of despair for this every time and all the years of repeated mistakes that it signified. “But I was still hopeful.”

“But you knew he didn’t change,” you said. “You knew he wouldn’t be a father, wouldn’t be your husband.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t think that’s something you know in the moment.”

You couldn’t tell whether she had convinced herself of this later—as a defence against all the relatives who shook their heads at her—or if this was something she believed from the very beginning.

“Mum, that’s—I don’t think I can ever understand that,” you said, your words pouring out in an uncontrollable torrent of agitation. “Not after what I saw you go through. It—I admire the love that you have. But I just—I can’t help but think it had always been obvious that you and Dad would never work.”

She was silent for another minute, and you were worried that you had really upset her. Then, finally, she spoke again—her voice gentle, warm. “You told me that much.”

“I’m—I did?”

“You were very smart, growing up,” she said. “Well, you still are.”

You felt an unwelcome lump in your throat and a tightness behind your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I probably hurt you.”

“You didn’t, sweetheart,” she said, because she always did. “I know it seems—well, difficult to understand. But I really wanted this to work. I wanted to give it a chance. But at a certain point, you finally realise that this is it. It’s enough. That’s when trying becomes pointless—when you can see that it won’t work. But you can’t reach that point if you don’t even try.”

But how many times, you wanted to ask, to yell, how many times did you have to try to reach that point?

“To be honest with you, my thought process was very… well, foolish, perhaps,” she continued. “Looking back, I realise that my judgement was clouded by many of the good moments we shared—because, believe it or not, it wasn’t always bad for us. We were together for… well, for many years. We had some good times.”

Once again, you felt a little disheartened that she avoided mentioning a specific date. You wondered what number of years she would have given—you knew your parents had already been on and off even before they got married.

“So, he wasn’t always like this?” you questioned. “Cold, detached, dismissive? Not worthy of you?”

Your mum seemed a little taken aback by the exhibition of adjectives—none of which came close to the words you wanted to use to describe the man who was theoretically supposed to be your father, and the words your mother had actually used to describe him herself—but she only allowed herself half of a surprised gasp before she pulled herself together.

“He was a lot more than that,” she said. “Both, in a good way and a bad way. And I wanted to try. Our circumstances had changed, we were in different stages of our lives. We’ve both grown. Clouded judgment or not, I thought that, even if he couldn’t be the person I fell in love with, maybe he could still be the person I could love right now.”

“You thought he’d changed,” you concluded. “Grown for you.”

“I did think that,” she agreed. “I believe that people can change—and they do, really. People can absolutely transform. But your father, he—well, he hadn’t. But I wouldn’t have known that for sure if I hadn’t tried.”

You shook your head. “But had he ever—you—never mind. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with my—”

“No, you’re—you have every right to ask me these things,” she cut in. “I understand your—frustration. But I really wanted this, and I-I felt like I owed it to myself to try everything. Just so I would know that I’ve tried everything. And even though it didn’t work out, I learned more—so much more—about love, about people, and about myself. So, I don’t regret trying.”

You needed a minute to grasp that she really did not sound regretful. But you could not understand that.

You and your brother ended up in the crossfire of it all, and she was the one who put you there, repeatedly. And then she waited for over a decade for you to find the courage to ask her about this because she never volunteered this information herself.

Was there really nothing to regret about this?

“I’m... I’m still learning,” your mum continued after a while. “Because there are some things that we can learn only by experiencing them, and I—well, I want those experiences. I don’t want to look back on my life and wonder what it would have been like if I had tried something that I really wanted, but it really scared me. ‘What if I didn’t run from it, even though running away was safer?’ That was what I thought.”

She had to be brave, you thought, to try and to stop trying. And you knew that she really was. But more than that, she had to stay true to herself as an individual. She had to follow her dreams, her hopes, her wishes. And she did.

Yet, for some reason, you couldn’t find your words.

“I think that,” she said after not hearing your response, “aside from all the other things we do for love, we sometimes need to go through these unsuccessful experiences to truly understand our boundaries and get to know ourselves. And to find peace, really, knowing that we’ve done all that our hearts wanted. At least, that’s how it worked for me. Your dad might have had other motives. I don’t think I will ever truly understand them, but his motives are his own. These are mine. So—well, that was my thought process. I think that’s all I can say.”

“Hmm,” you finally said—just to signal that you've heard her, and now you needed a minute.

She’d told you everything, then.

She was listening to her heart when she got back together with your dad. And listening to one’s heart was not an easy thing to do, you’ve come to know that very well.

But now you wondered if you were okay with her explanation. If you were okay knowing that she did that because she wanted to. If you were okay with her erasing everyone else from the equation and just focusing on herself.

Lately, you’ve come to believe that people were made up of various roles, some of which were put on their gravestones after their death: daughter, sister, wife, mother. They could be more than that, so much more. But they couldn’t suddenly be less.

You thought your mother might have actually been trying to be less.

She was trying, it seemed, to be on her own, void of any roles that framed her into a certain behavioural pattern—the sister, the friend, the wife, the mother—because this way, she could get back together with your dad because she owed it to herself. Because she wanted to try.

It was important to listen to yourself, of course. But her relationship with your dad affected her in every role she had, every role she tried to escape from. It hurt her. And because it hurt her, it hurt those around her, too: her children, her brother, her friends.

And still, she did it again. And again. And again.

No, you didn’t think it was possible to escape all of your roles like that. You didn’t think a person could wake up and, without any repercussions whatsoever, suddenly decide to be an individual, but not a parent. A partner, but not a sibling.

A manager, but not an ex-girlfriend.

A shuddered breath passed your lips, and you closed your eyes. You heard your mum’s even breaths on the other end.

If you weren’t so overwhelmed, you might have admitted to your mum that you understood certain parts of her explanation, but not others.

You understood why she did all the things you’d criticised for years. She did them because she knew that was what she wanted. That was what she believed and hoped for. And precisely because she did what she wanted, she did not regret trying again even though it didn’t work out. She’d listened to her heart, and her heart was now at peace.

And, yet—you were there. Despite her pride about having followed her heart, you were there.

You were the one helping her pick up the pieces for years after your dad left. You were there when she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get up from the floor, couldn’t stop herself from crying.

You were happy that she was at peace now, happy that she did not regret it. But you did. You regretted it for her. You didn’t think you’d ever feel her peace.

That was what you didn’t understand: how she’d erased those nights, those years when you thought you went through everything she went through right with her. You didn’t understand how she didn’t regret any of it.

You could have asked her about it, but she would have probably repeated all that she’d already said. And maybe you’d never understand her because you weren’t her—you were her daughter, and you could never escape this role. You loved her and you could not feel peace for the suffering she had to endure. The suffering you tried to take away, but couldn’t.

Perhaps you were being unfair to her. But you could only judge her experiences through the lens of your own.

She made a mistake—the same one, several times. She tried to explain it to you, even tried to justify it, but ultimately, that was the way you understood it, and you could not make yourself understand it differently.

However—and it took you great effort to admit this to yourself—just because trying again was a mistake in your mother’s case, that did not necessarily mean it would be a mistake in yours, too. There was a bright side to your lack of understanding.

It certainly seemed that your mum would continue to believe her truth, and you would continue to believe yours, but now you identified a core difference between yourself and her: you could never listen to just your own heart; you had to take another heart into account.

Your heart was frightened. It did not know what to do. But you weren’t just his manager. You loved him. And you knew he loved you. You could not let your fear win.

You weren’t your mum, and you weren’t your dad. And Jungkook wasn’t one or the other, either.

You wondered if this precise moment—this clear distinction—would finally allow you to separate your experiences from your parents’.

“Sweetheart,” your mum said quietly. Your phone felt hot due to the duration of your conversation. “Did something happen that made you want to talk to me about this now? Did you and Jungkook fight?”

You were biting into the inside of your lip with so much force that you could almost taste blood.

“We did. At first,” you said. It was futile to evade her questions now, but your throat still felt scratchy. “But it’s different this time. We’re—I don’t know what we are. We’re trying. Well, he’s trying. And I—I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Well, scared that someone will get hurt if we get back together.” You tightened your arm around your calves and rested your chin on your knees. Your room had darkened even more; it was very late. “Scared that I won’t be able to keep going if we don’t. I-I don’t know how to explain it. I’m just scared of what will happen.”

“Darling, sometimes, taking the risk is the only way to know what will happen,” she said. “You have to be brave. There are always two kinds of ‘what ifs.’ One good, one bad.”

You ran your fingers through the braids in your ponytail, nearly ruining Maggie’s work.

“You always hoped for the good one,” you said.

“I did.”

“Hmm.”

“I hope for that even now,” she replied. You closed your eyes and exhaled. “I know for certain that your dad and I cannot be together, but I know that precisely because I tried. It’s terrifying, though. I know it is. But I think that a lot of times, fear is an inherent part of love. You’re afraid of losing this person, afraid of hurting them. But you choose them anyway.”

Your hands were so cold that you could feel them over your tights when you ran your nervous fingers across your calves. You watched the hotel floorboards, attempting to make sense of your thoughts.

“Well, it—that doesn’t always make sense,” you said carefully. “Choosing to be together isn’t always, uh, the right decision.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, and you could tell from her tone that she did not understand your allusion to her own relationship. “How can it be the wrong decision for you? I know you’re really calling me because you’re scared you’re hurting him.” You inhaled so sharply here that she had to pause for a moment and continue in a gentler tone. “But you won’t hurt him by being with him. You would hurt him if you pushed him away.”

Your eyes blurred with a sudden moisture that you tried to blink away. You were determined not to succumb to your emotions—not for your parents’ failed relationship, not for the relentless gap between you and your mother that one conversation could not fix, and not for the haunting what-ifs that loomed in the back of your mind.

“I don’t know what exactly happened between you two,” your mum continued. “But I do know this: Jungkook thought you didn’t love him anymore when you broke up. He was, well—broken. But he wants to try again. That was—well, it was not the case for your dad and me. So, I think your odds are very good.”

You straightened, pressing your shoulder blades against the wall.

It was only in Amsterdam that Jungkook told you he had thought you broke up with him because you didn’t love him anymore. Before that, you’d assumed he was the one who no longer cared.

Was this what he talked to your mum about? Or was she just guessing?

“Where—how do you—h-how do you know what he thought after we broke up?” you stammered.

Another silence enveloped the conversation, and you wondered what your mum needed it for.

“That’s…” she started slowly, “another thing that sets you two apart from us.”

A secret. That’s why your mum needed the silence—to figure out how to talk to you about this.

“What is it?” you asked.

It took her another moment—six and a half heartbeats to be precise—to start speaking again.

“Your dad never wrote me anything,” she said. “Not a letter, let alone a poem. Honestly, he could barely write my name on a birthday card.”

You didn’t immediately understand what she was insinuating because you were too busy screaming inside about the irony of your mum being the one who pointed out all the times when your dad did not care about her. And yet she chose him again, and again, and—

You gripped your legs tighter to focus. “How do you know that Jungkook—”

“He sent them to me.”

“What?” You let go of your legs. “What do you—what did he send you?”

“The songs,” she explained patiently. You were too overwhelmed to notice the caution in her words; she could sense your hyperventilation over the phone. “Well, the verses of the songs that he wrote about you.”

You were quiet for a minute. Then another minute. Your mum had to gently coax, “love?” to remind you that you were on a call.

Jungkook said he had talked to your mum because he needed her help. You simply could not fathom the possibility that she was helping him with his song lyrics.

“Why…” You swallowed, trying to come up with a question that wouldn’t make your stomach clench harder. “Why did he send you that?”

“Because I told him he could if he wanted to,” she said. You appreciated her even tone. It helped to slow down the rapid beating of your heart.

“But,” you said, “we were broken up.”

“That’s one side of the story,” she replied. “The other side is that you were still in love. So, while you locked yourself in your room and forbid his name from being spoken around you, he was coping in a different way.”

The air in the room felt dense. You couldn’t tell if you were getting too much oxygen or not enough. Your head was spinning, attacked by the voices in your head, all of them shouting at you in languages you did not understand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked—the question was heavy, and your voice lowered significantly.

“I asked him if I should tell you,” she explained. “He said only if you asked about him.”

Your heart was in your throat. Your arms were numb. You felt like you were running late for something very important, and you were not going to make it in time.

“I never did,” you whispered.

“No,” she said softly. “You never did. And I didn’t think it was my place to tell.”

“Well, how—what did he say?” you pressed. “Why did he send you th-the songs?”

“He texted me, asking for permission at first,” she recounted. “He wanted to know if—if the lyrics were okay, if they weren’t too obvious, if I would mind and if I thought you would mind.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him you might drop everything and move to the Arctic if you found out the songs were about you,” she said. You could hear the smile in her voice. “He said that’s why he asked me instead.”

“Hmm. But that only happened once o-or... you know, twice?” you asked. “Haunting” and “Cursed”—those were the two songs he’d told you he wrote with you in mind. “Right?”

You were almost desperate for her to agree with you. To say that this was it, just these two songs. It was a lot, but you already knew about them. You’d manage to carry on.

Your mum sensed the hope in your voice. Almost unwillingly, she admitted, “at first.”

You were glad, suddenly, that you were sitting on the floor as the hotel room seemed to tremble around you. The realisation that Jungkook had been in touch with your mum, that he was writing about you this whole time—that your mum knew he was writing about you—was a little too strong.

Yoongi wasn’t far off, as it turned out. He thought it was you who looked through Jungkook’s lyrics for him. Apparently, it was your mum.

“The first time he reached out was right when Rated Riot first started making music,” your mum resumed, her words sharp against the lingering silence. “He apologised, and I didn’t think he would contact me again.”

“But he did,” you concluded, almost voiceless as your words stuck in the dryness of your throat.

“He did,” she confirmed. “I think, a lot of times, he was doing it to find out if you were seeing anyone else.”

The voices in your head were quick to latch onto this phrase – a lot of times! a lot of times! a lot of times! – and they yelled it at you from every crevice of your mind.

“Every time he wrote something new about you—a song, or a verse, or even a line that he ended up never including in any of their songs—he’d contact me and ask if it was okay,” your mum said. “But I don’t think he was only asking about the lyrics. He was also asking if I was okay with him still being in love with you. He was, it felt like, trying to see if I’d tell him to stop. To meet someone new.”

You had a pained frown on your face as you brought a hand over your forehead, wondering if what you were feeling was nausea or vertigo.

“Why didn’t you say that to him?” you asked. “To stop? It’s been four years.”

“For the same reason I didn’t say it to you.”

Your lips parted, but you could not find your voice. “W-wh—what—”

“Four years is just a raw number,” your mum said. “It does not account for the days you spent intentionally avoiding each other, remembering everything, and eventually working together. It is neither big nor small, and it is completely irrelevant compared to what you feel inside.”

It seemed to you, for an unthinkable second, that your mum had been waiting for your call about Jungkook—like she knew it would come. Jungkook had called her, and you would, too. It was inevitable.

But how much time has passed between his first call to your mum, and yours, right now? You wanted to claw at your chest until you ripped out every painful needle in your heart for all the years he waited for you, and for all the years you waited for yourself, too.

“And I’ve noticed that he also tried very hard to act like he no longer had any feelings for you when he wrote many of these songs,” your mum added with a conviction that only fuelled the intense turmoil inside of you. “He always claimed that he just needed something for his lyrics. He was just drawing inspiration from personal experience. But I don’t believe that was the entire truth. The lyrics he sent me… they’re a broken heart on paper. They’re a love confession.

“Mum—”

“He tried to tell himself that he’d moved on,” she continued, “but I could tell he hadn’t. You don’t write songs like that about someone you no longer care about.”

You were shaking your head even though she couldn’t see you. You knew your mum was a hopeless romantic, you thought her understanding of love differed from yours very much, and you desperately wanted to believe that you had a rational reason to argue with her.

But really, you were just trying to trick your heart into feeling better. Into believing that you didn’t have nearly as much of an impact on him as he continuously showed you that you did.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I haven’t heard from him in a while until just recently,” your mum said, gently breaking the silence. “Ask him about the song he’s working on now, sweetheart.”

Your heart exploded again. “He—he sent you something else?”

“A few nights ago,” she said. “He said he’s done with the lyrics; he has the demo. He wants to record it now. It’s called—hold on, the title was a mouthful.” You heard some shuffling on her end, overshadowed partially by your racing heart. “Ah, here. It’s called “The Puddle of Champagne on the Bathroom Floor.””

The force of her words made your stomach plummet as goosebumps battled the heat for precedence over your skin.

The past month rushed back to you in disordered flashes – Amsterdam. Your hotel room. Hoseok’s party. Boxes of champagne in the bathroom of Hoseok’s room. The motorcycle ride in Tilburg. The bet. The IV drip in Manchester. Jungkook’s irreparable tendency for big gestures. The pebbles he’d thrown at your window. The kiss in the garden outside the hotel.

You weren’t just his manager. You’d never been just his manager.

“I—I have to go, mum,” you managed to say, leaning against the wall in an attempt to stand up.

You didn’t actually have to go; the girls had promised to wait for you. But your whole body itched with an unrelenting restlessness, and you thought your legs would turn themselves inside out if you didn’t set them in motion right this second.

“Yeah?” she asked with traces of obvious concern in her words. “Call me later, sweetheart, okay?”

“I will,” you promised, lightheaded as you stood and bumped your thigh into the nightstand next to the bed. You unplugged your phone, letting the charger dangle, and navigated the room to the bathroom. Your fingers felt numb as you clutched your phone to your ear. “I—thank you. I love you.”

“Be brave, okay?” your mum said, sending another shiver down your spine. “I love you so much.”

You mumbled something—or may have actually opened your mouth to reply, you weren’t sure of anything anymore—as you ended the call and tossed your phone onto the bed from the doorway of the bathroom.

You needed water first—to wash your face, to drink, and to possibly drown your feelings in.

You weren’t sure, after all, if you were ready to go out with Luna and Maggie tonight. You weren’t sure if you were ready to leave your bathroom at all.

And that was how the girls discovered you twenty minutes later—perched on the counter next to the sink in your bathroom, cradling a towel on your lap as your mind vacillated between impressive emptiness and a thick fog of thoughts that refused to dissipate.

“Hey,” Luna whispered as the two girls slipped into the room. Now that they were here, you thought you could remember hearing a faint knock on the door. “What’s wrong?”

The question finally forced the racing thoughts in your head to stop.

“Nothing,” you responded, using the towel to wipe the water on your face, even though most of it had already dripped onto your black tights a long time ago. You missed the look that Luna and Maggie exchanged. “Sorry, were you—”

“Babe, you’re crying,” Maggie pointed out, carefully pulling your ponytail away from your face and over your shoulder.

You instinctively reached up to your eyes.

“I’m not, this is—it’s water.” You raised the towel as evidence. “I was washing—”

Maggie rubbed your arm patiently. “It’s water coming out of your eyes, babe.”

You glanced over at Luna, but she stood with her arms crossed over her chest and a concerned expression on her face.

We’ll be here a while, her stance was saying. But we’ll get to the bottom of it.

You looked down. “Sorry. I’m really okay.”

“I know you think that if you say you’re okay enough times, people will believe you,” Luna said firmly because her heart had dropped to her heels when Maggie threw the door open, and they found you here, completely dissociated, with a dangerous vacancy in your eyes. “But that’s not what happens. People just pretend to believe you, so you’d feel better. We know you’re not okay.”

You have started to realise that over the last few days.

So, taking an uncertain breath, you told them most of what your mum had just told you: about Jungkook’s heartbreak, and about your own. About his conversations with her, and about your self-imposed vow of silence. About his songs, and about your deliberate blindness for the lyricism, which had always been saturated with sentiments from the past seven years.

You chose not to mention the emptiness you felt after your mum had explained her reasoning for getting back together with your dad because you were worried you would not have enough water or towels to conceal your emotions.

After you finished speaking, Maggie, in her typical manner, made a profound summary of it all: “Well, shit.”

Luna nodded in agreement and tilted her head.

“But wait,” she said. “Why—why is this—but why are you crying about this?”

“I’m not,” you replied. You felt the childish defiance in your tone, but it was so intrinsic for you that you just said it and gave your friend an apologetic look.

“Right.” Luna glanced at her reflection in the mirror behind you, reminding herself that you’d sooner drown yourself in the flood of your tears than admit to crying. “Why are you trying so hard to pretend you’re not crying, then?”

You had to battle yourself a little more until you finally exhaled and leaned your back against the mirror.

“I—well—mostly because it’s just been so long. Fucking ages. And I was, you know. All this time, I was playing my little game.” You raised the pitch of your voice to imitate yourself, “oh, I’m such a great manager, I’m so insanely professional that you wouldn’t even think he’s my fucking ex-boyfriend.” You scoffed, shaking your head. Luna observed the way your hands trembled when you lifted them to your neck. “And he was—he was writing fucking songs about—a-and sending them to my mum to ask for her approval. Her permission. Her—just fucking talking to her. While I wasn’t talking to anyone. While I was acting like I lived in a magic fucking kingdom with purple ponies and rainbows, and no ex-boyfriends.”

The girls shared a look and half of a whole conversation—albeit in different languages, because when Luna opened her mouth to offer comforting words, Maggie placed her hand on your arm and shook her head.

“To be fair,” she said, “before I found out he’s your ex, I would have never suspected it.”

You raised your eyes. “You—well, see! That’s because I was—”

“No, wait, that’s—” Luna interjected, then paused to frown at Maggie. “Actually, hold on. How did you find out?”

You tightened your lips and returned your attention to Maggie. Most of the staff seemed to just know about you and Jungkook—like they knew most things—and you had obviously preferred to pretend like your relationship had never happened, so you’d never asked how they learned about it. But now you were curious.

“He told me,” Maggie stated simply, pulling away from you to straighten her dress. She kept her eyes on the ground.

“Jungkook?” Luna clarified.

Maggie nodded and looked up at you, tentative. “Yeah. A-and I’m afraid I might have mentioned it to Seokjin after that. And a few people might have overheard, and it, um—well, I think the news spread. But, in my defence, the band already knew.”

“The—” You blinked. “Well, I was the one who told the band. I thought I had to, or it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Oh.” She pondered that for a moment. “Okay. So—okay.”

“But how did you find out about it?” Luna pressed.

“Right.” Maggie bit her lip. She looked at you as she spoke. “It was a little over a year ago. We were drunk one night after a gig, and you were outside with Namjoon and Seokjin, having a smoke or whatever. And one of the roadies made a joke, something about how you three always disappear together. You know, a suggestive joke.”

You groaned. Most of the road crew was not affiliated with the company, so you hired new people for each tour. You recalled a few awful experiences with them and wondered if this would be another one.

“Yeah,” Maggie agreed with your scrunched-up nose. “That’s how I reacted, too. But the roadies kept going, because, you know, it was a joke, they didn’t realise it was hurting anybody. So, they were saying how they’ve heard that you had dated some producer from the label before. And they wondered if Namjoon could have been the guy, and Jin’s just the third wheel to kind of throw everybody off your scent.”

Your frown deepened. “Oh, my God.”

“Right,” she said again, nodding. “Well, Jungkook suddenly stood up and left. I didn’t even realise he was upset or anything, but Hoseok leaned over and asked if I could go check on him, so I went. I found him in the parking lot and asked him what was up, why was he looking so irritated or whatever. And he said he’s the guy you dated, not Namjoon. He said it with so much pride, too, kind of like it was an achievement or something.”

This was the moment when you looked down, and Maggie turned to look at Luna instead. Luna was positively glowing as she processed the new information and made mental notes.

“I think I mentioned that to him, actually,” Maggie went on, “because he later said, “it’s not an achievement if I’ve lost it.” But I was so drunk that I didn’t realise what he was talking about. I asked, “what’s ‘it’? What did you lose?” and he just stopped speaking and pulled out another cigarette.”

Something already tight seemed to tighten even more in your stomach.

Luna was the one who replied with a shake of her head and an affectionate observation: “The two of you have some productive discussions when you’re drunk.”

“Hmmm.” Maggie pulled on the skin around her nail. Her mind was focused on the events that happened later and she turned back to you, admitting, “I-I’m sorry I might have been the one who started the chain of—well, I shouldn’t have told anyone. I only meant to ask Jin if he knew about it, and it—”

“It’s okay,” you cut her off. “No one’s ever said anything to me about it.”

Maggie bit her lip again, still uneasy. “I’m—honestly, up until a few days ago when this whole mess with the bet started, I didn’t even think about that conversation with Jungkook, because—I mean, both of you seemed so normal around each other. Well, you know. He flirted with you all the time, I now realise, but he’s kind of a little shit in general, so it didn’t feel weird. And it didn’t even occur to me to think that the reason he was upset that night was because he was drunk and angry about not being with you anymore. I thought he was just irritated for no reason.”

Your eyes were fixed on the bathroom carpet—hoping, irrationally, that if you stared at it hard enough, it would absorb the fact that Maggie had witnessed Jungkook like this in the very prime of your insistence that you could remain professional and your past relationship would never be a problem. In the very prime of your hopeless attempt to run away from yourself.

“Yeah,” Luna said to her, understanding. “He does that sometimes. Gets upset randomly.”

“Yeah.” Maggie nodded. “A little moody. Comes with the job, I guess.”

Luna nodded back. “Yeah.”

This exchange finally snapped you out of your daze and you shook your head with a resigned smile. Luna’s face brightened as she leaned her hip against the counter next to you, and Maggie chuckled, pressing her shoulder against the wall on your other side.

“You know,” Luna said, turning to look at you. “I always wondered how he managed to resist for so long. I mean, you’ve been with the band for over two years now, right? And all he did was just tease you and make jokes. Like a middle-schooler, pulling the hair of his crush. But, really. How did he hold back from doing more?”

You tried, “but why—”

“I’m sure he was doing it for her,” Maggie interjected, pointing at you as though you were an inanimate object—something placed on the bathroom counter for decoration and easily picked up to discuss. “Maybe because he didn’t think she would want him back.”

“Well, what changed?” Luna questioned. “Why did he suddenly act on his feelings?”

“Well, Sid came along.”

“Ah.” Luna nodded, remembering suddenly how Jungkook told her that the bet had given him the push he needed. “That’s right.”

Your gaze ricocheted from one girl to the other. Your mind processed their conversation as if it were the plot of a series you had watched rather than something you had lived through.

“Yeah, and look, it may not have been that hard for him to hold back,” Maggie speculated. “Jungkook is the King of Bottled Emotions.”

“That’s true,” Luna agreed. “And he put all his feelings into his songs, which probably helped for the time being.”

“Yeah. That’s probably exactly it. And I think—”

“Okay!” you interjected, smacking your palms against your thighs. You didn’t think you had it in you to handle another and. “Hi? I’m here, too.”

Both girls turned to you with grins that indicated they were well aware of what they were doing.

“How are you feeling?” Luna asked.

“Confused,” you replied, wiping the corners of your eyes with your fingers. They were stained with your wet eyeshadow.

Luna raised a curious eyebrow. “Is that better than what you were feeling before, or—”

“It’s different,” you said, exhaling with a great strain. “I have to talk to him.”

Luna looked startled as she glanced at Maggie. “Uh—r-right now?”

The unexpected question made you lose what little courage you had. “I—I don’t know?”

“I saw him in the lobby earlier,” Maggie admitted slowly, very upset to find herself as the bearer of bad news tonight. “With Minjun. They, um—they left together.”

“Oh.” You looked down. “Well, that—maybe that’s good.”

Neither of your friends thought that was good as they both looked at each other in alarm. For once, they both thought the same thing, and that was a plan of how to track Jungkook down for you. They knew you well enough to fear that if you two did not talk about it right now, you never would.

“Really?” Luna asked uncertainly. “Because we can try to—”

“No, no,” you said. “Maybe I need to calm down first. Somehow.”

The girls both exhaled quietly. Calming down first implied talking to him second.

“Would, um,” Maggie said, “getting wasted help with that?”

You looked at her, a small smile on your lips. “It might.”

It started raining while the girls helped you fix your make-up, and the three of you stepped into the empty street laughing as the wind played havoc with your umbrella while you waited for the taxi. You hadn’t had time to properly pack your handbag or take any obligatory group pictures together, but you still felt significantly better.

Once you arrived at the bar, you stopped to shake off your umbrella and briefly split from the group as the girls hurried into the warm, dry building. Standing under the canopy by the entrance, you caught something out of the corner of your eye and turned to look. It was a waft of smoke from someone’s cigarette in the smoking area by the side of the building. You didn’t think much of it.

But when you tapped your umbrella against the pavement one last time, the smoker poked his head, gazing somewhere opposite from you. You looked up to see a familiar jet-black hair, styled in an overly gelled quiff, eerily similar to the hairstyle Sid wore every day.

The person did not turn to look at you, but this was enough for dread to grip your stomach, casting a terrible shadow over your uplifted mood.

You tried to rationalise that there was no logical reason for Sid to be in London. This person just couldn’t be him. Sid had showed up in Manchester, sure, but Jungkook had been certain that this was over. Even Sid couldn’t be pathetic enough to follow him all the way to London.

A group of people obstructed your view of the smoker as they tried to pass you to enter the bar. Apologising, you opened the door and finally walked inside.

The place exuded an unexpected elegance. A bar, with numerous tables scattered about, claimed half the space, while a dancefloor was partially concealed behind a row of private mahogany booths. The music was loud, but not overwhelming, and the area was dimly lit by massive chandeliers suspended above each table in every booth. Their faint light barely illuminated the drink menus strewn across the tables.

There weren’t many people here, and this seemed like a lowkey, comfortable place for the night—provided the person outside wasn’t Sid.

“No fucking way,” a voice cried from your left.

Flinching, you turned and noticed the entrance to the men’s room first, and Jude’s expectant eyes next. A chill coursed through you, rendering your legs numb.

No.

No, no, no, no—

“What are the fucking odds?” he exclaimed, grinning. You realised how odd it was for Jude to talk to you without Sid initiating the conversation, and you dreaded, suddenly, that he might come in, too. “This must be—what’s it called when—something about kissing, I think. Kissling? You know? Destiny?”

You swallowed. “Kismet.”

“That’s the one, yeah!” Jude raised his hands victoriously. He appeared to be on something; he had never looked at you for longer than two seconds when he was sober, let alone moved around so vigorously. “Hey, are you here alone?”

“I’m not,” you replied.

“Do you want to join us?” he asked. You didn’t like the plural pronoun one bit.

This had to be a nightmare, you thought. You half-expected to glance down and find yourself standing naked in the middle of the room—and then you would wake up.

Jude’s grin widened when you didn’t respond, and looked around to see if your friends were near. They were, but they seemed to be busy choosing a table.

“You know we don’t bite,” Jude reassured as if your hesitation was about potential biting rather than the insurmountable headache that Sid and Jude collectively induced just by being in the same room with you.

You managed a weak smile. “I’ll pass. You’re hanging around here, then?”

“We were just leaving,” Jude said—who was this “we,” you wondered irritably—and, most impudently, he leaned closer. “We have some molly to keep us company for the rest of the night. They call it mandy in England, did you know? You mix it with speed, and you just fucking fly. You look like you could use some.”

He chuckled and pulled back. You wondered if your reaction showed on your face; Jude did not acknowledge it.

You did not think you needed club drugs. You thought you needed pepper spray.

“Thanks,” you said. “But I’d prefer it if you just left me alone if that’s not too much trouble.”

He laughed—a disturbing echo of Sid’s cackle—and a shiver of revulsion ran down your spine. While Jude wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around, he was usually tolerable when Sid wasn’t by his side. What had he done to him?

“Alright, well, suit yourself,” Jude responded, unfazed. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

You suppressed the urge to rattle off a list of locations where you would look for them—the sewers, a dumpster, a toxic waste site—and pursed your lips.

“So, you’re staying in London?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied cheerily.

You nodded. “Lovely.”

He turned towards the door with his unwavering smirk, but kept glancing back at you every few seconds, seemingly hesitating. You watched his movements like one might watch the launch of a spacecraft—counting down the seconds until it’s in the air and out of your sight.

“Well, we will see you later,” he said, one hand on the handle. He lingered by the door for a good ten seconds, letting the cold air in and clearly anticipating your response.

You cleared your throat. “Not unless I have a say in that.”

He snorted. “Funny. We’ll be thinking of you.”

You did not speak. He did not move.

“Don’t both—” you started and then stopped abruptly.

Jude raised his eyebrows in the doorway. There was something about the way he looked at you, the way he lingered here while Sid smoked outside.

God, this might have been the same instinct that Minjun had to save Jude from Sid, but you sighed and managed a quiet, “Jude, um—be careful, alright?”

A myriad of colours passed on his face as he tried to comprehend your words.

“Wha—why—what do you mean?” he asked, so wide-eyed and utterly astonished that you felt uncomfortable looking at him.

“I’m just saying,” you said awkwardly. “Sid doesn’t care about what happens to you. Make sure you look after yourself. Drink water if you’re going to be tripping on something.”

He stayed frozen, almost statuesque—not blinking, seemingly not even breathing—for so long that you were starting to worry he had astral projected, leaving his corporeal form behind.

“Thank you,” he said after a full minute, with an unexpected clarity that you hadn’t heard from him earlier.

You nodded in response and he finally stepped outside, lingering as if tethered by a new string of hesitation, before finally letting the door close behind him.

When you joined your friends at the table they had picked, you interrupted their conversation about the atmosphere inside the club. Maggie was the first to notice your expression.

“Jesus,” she said. “What happened to you?”

“Jude’s here.”

Both girls looked at each other in dramatic disbelief—Maggie even gasped—and instinctively rose from their seats to crowd around you.

“What? Did you talk to him?” Luna questioned as Maggie pulled you deeper into the booth. The two of them scanned the bar as though Jude was still here, hiding somewhere.

“I—yeah,” you said. “But he left. I think I saw Sid outside.”

Their surprise morphed into complete horror. You gestured for them to sit down.

“But wait—fuck,” Luna said, standing straight. “We can go somewhere else.”

“No, I’m—if they come back, then yes,” you said. “But if they don’t, then let’s just stay here so we don’t run into them elsewhere.”

They looked around warily once more—just in case—before reluctantly settling down. Maggie took a seat next to you, while Luna sat down across the table.

This was when the girls began to fire every question they had, and you repeated the only answer you could offer.

“So, they’re in London,” Maggie said, tapping her nails against the table. “Why?”

“I have no idea,” you said.

“Does Jungkook know?”

“I have no idea.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea.”

Maggie reclined in her seat, deciding she’s had enough of this game.

“Well,” she said, “that’s great. I need a fucking drink.”

You hummed and brought your hand over the cocktail menu. Luna offered to make the first run to the bar, effectively changing the subject.

But shortly after, when she returned with a tray full of colourful, fruity drinks, you and Maggie were already back to discussing the details of your exchange with Jude—how unusual he seemed, and the awkward turn the conversation took.

“I think that’s enough of Sid and Jude,” Luna said, sitting down across from the two of you and handing out the drinks. “Different topic?”

“Oh, but hold on—while we’re on the topic of awkward conversations,” Maggie said, earning a quizzical look from you both. She ignored it. “Have you talked to that guy? That supervisor guy—you know the one.”

“Oh, Nick?” you asked, picking up your strawberry daiquiri and sliding Maggie’s tequila sunrise towards her. You accidentally nudged the cherry on the rim, causing it to fall into the drink. “Sorry—”

“It’s fine,” she said, deftly rescuing the cherry on its stem and popping it into her mouth.

“I haven’t talked to him yet,” you replied. “But I’m not working for Reconnaissance, that’s decided already.”

“Yeah?” Maggie smirked, punctuating her words with a purposefully seductive sip of her drink. “Anyone in particular help you with that decision?”

Despite her ambiguous question, you took a sip of your drink and felt yourself slowly relax. You were here with your friends. There was no harm to be done to either of you.

“Well, Jin did, actually,” you said. “We had a very productive conversation.”

“Hmm.” Maggie gave Luna a suggestive glance. “And no one else?”

You shrugged. “Yoongi and Namjoon—”

“Okay, you queen of evasion,” Maggie gave up, prompting Luna to giggle on the other side of the table as she absentmindedly stirred her Martini with the paper umbrella. “Are you getting back together with Jungkook or not? After everything that happened tonight?”

The way she said it—almost giving you options, even—was so simple that it made you wonder how much better things might have been between you and Jungkook if the two of you hadn’t been so obnoxiously determined to tiptoe around your feelings and had asked each other questions the way Maggie asked them.

“Well, my mum thinks we should get back together,” you said slowly.

“I care about what you think,” Maggie said—just like that. Luna nodded to herself, making a note to keep drinking until she, too, could start asking complicated questions in such an effortless way.

You finished your drink before speaking.

“I want to try,” you said. “But I’m—you know. I’m also scared that we’ll end up going around in circles, making the same mistakes.”

Maggie regarded you as if you’d dropped your hat in horse shit and put it straight back on.

“Babe, that’s a One Direction song,” she said.

You scoffed and looked down at your glass. “I know. My mum’s favourite, actually. But what I’m trying to say is, I’m scared.”

“Isn’t everyone?” she challenged. “But they still try.”

“They…” Your confidence waned as you realised you might have to talk about the complexities of your parents’ history once again tonight. You wanted to leave that discussion behind, so you finished simply, “they don’t have unsuccessful relationships left, right and centre to get inspiration from.”

“Excuse me?” Maggie arched her brows. “Rue and I have been together for three years—”

“Four,” Luna interjected.

“For four years,” Maggie corrected, “and we couldn’t be happier. Are we not successful?”

Feeling a bit like prey cornered by a very determined predator, you leaned against the back of the booth and cleared your throat. “Well, y-you are, but—”

“Luna and Taehyung!” Maggie continued, fired up. “They’ve been together for a whole year and—”

“Almost two, actually,” Luna said.

“Jesus!” Maggie threw her hands in the air. “I’m bad with dates, okay? Let me live.” She turned back to you as Luna grinned. Exhaling, Maggie continued in a more patient tone, “I mean, there are successful relationships around you. You just choose not to look at them.”

She was right about that, but it didn’t seem quite as simple or straightforward to you.

“Neither of you broke up and then got back together again, though,” you said.

Maggie was mid-syllable (a very frustrated “tha—”) when she realised that she couldn’t really argue. She quieted and frowned, finding her straw with her tongue and taking a long sip of her drink.

Luna took over. “Taehyung and I did, actually.”

Both you and Maggie looked up in surprise.

“What?” Maggie inquired first. “Seriously?”

“Well, it was only for two days,” Luna explained, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser on the edge of the table. “So, I’m not sure if it counts.”

“What happened?” you asked.

She dabbed her lips with the napkin, painting it a gentle shade of plum from her lipstick, and crumpled it.

“We were together for about eight or nine months at the time,” she said. “Rated Riot were on their first cross-country tour. Remember? It was a big deal, and the guys were stressed.” She paused to wait for your nod of confirmation. “We hadn’t seen each other in weeks. He called me one night and just—he said he couldn’t do this to me, that I deserved someone better, that he couldn’t—well, you know. The textbook ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ stuff.”

You and Maggie both nodded.

“How did you make up?” you asked.

“He flew in to see me on his day off and took back everything he’d said.” A faint smile played on her lips as she spoke, but she avoided looking at either of you—the story still felt a little too intimate, too raw to share. “He said he was confused and scared, that’s why he thought it’d be better to break up. But then he said he realised he was even more afraid of losing what we had, so he had to make it right.”

“I remember him flying out to see you,” you said. You remembered yelling at him, too, for leaving the tour right before a concert—but Taehyung usually only listened to Taehyung. “I didn’t know that it was because you broke up. I’m sorry.”

Luna finally looked up, waving her hand dismissively.

“Don’t be, it’s fine,” she said. “We made up. And the break-up barely lasted a few days, I didn’t even have a chance to tell you about it.”

Maggie was smiling as she reached for the brightest remaining cocktail on the table—a Cosmopolitan—and collected the empty glasses, putting them back on the tray. She handed you and Luna glasses of faint pink, peach-flavoured cocktails and settled back in her seat.

You nodded in gratitude and turned to Luna once more. “Were you scared? To take him back?”

“No. I…” she trailed off, searching for a better way to explain herself. Maggie, in the meantime, threw her head back and finished her drink. “I don’t know. I kind of—maybe it didn’t sink in that we had broken up? It was very sudden, we hadn’t seen each other in a while, and I knew his tour schedule. I knew we wouldn’t be seeing each other again anytime soon anyway. So, it didn’t feel like a break-up. I was—I think the whole time, I felt like he would come back eventually. Is that weird?”

“It’s romantic,” Maggie exhaled, resting her head on her palms on the table, a wistful haze in her eyes.

“You’re drooling, Mags,” you pointed out, grinning.

She ran her tongue over her lips, then waved her hand around lazily. “Let me.”

Chuckling, Luna passed her a napkin.

“I don’t think it’s weird, either,” you said. “But I—I guess I never felt that certainty. I didn’t think Jungkook would come back.”

“No? Not even when you found out you’d be managing his band?” Luna asked, her smile widening. “Because—listen—I distinctly remember you calling me after you got the offer to work with them, and you were all panicked, asking me if I knew who they were.”

“Oh.” You felt your own lips stretch into a smile. “I remember, too.”

In hindsight, that day had been absurd. You were offered the manager position for a band that you had never heard of, and during the first meeting with the HR representative at the label, you pretended very passionately that you were familiar with their music and the band members themselves. And the rep, in turn, pretended very passionately that he believed you.

“I don’t,” Maggie spoke up. “You didn’t tell me. What happened?”

“Well, she asked me if I knew them,” Luna recalled and you took a moment to sip your neglected drink, “and I said I’ve heard of them. I liked “Haunting,” one of their early songs.”

The mention of the song triggered the memory of Jungkook humming it to you in the bar in Oslo when he told you that he’d written it about you. This memory, in turn, brought back the conversation you’ve had with your mum. Your pulse sped up, and you finished your drink in a futile attempt to slow it down.

“So, she came over after her meeting, and I played her the music video,” Luna continued. “At that point, I didn’t know the names of anyone in the band. “Haunting” was the only song I’d heard. So, I played the video for her, and I was talking about how I thought the bassist was cute—”

“Oh, that’s right, you weren’t dating Taehyung yet!” Maggie interjected, raising her head with a sudden excitement.

Luna nodded. “Yeah. And then I noticed that she’s just kind of staring at the screen, completely in awe. I thought she liked the song, that’s why. So, I asked, “what did you think? It’s good, right?” and she just turned to me, and said in the most blank tone, “that’s Jungkook.””

Maggie’s mouth hung open as she glanced at you. “You didn’t know he was in a band? In that band?!”

You were counting the lines on the mahogany table and stayed quiet. Maggie gestured speechlessly for Luna to please, for the love of God, continue.

“I was confused, too,” Luna said. “I asked, “what do you mean? Your Jungkook?” and she just said, “yeah,” and went quiet again. Well, she also tried to insist he’s not her Jungkook, but I’m trying to give you the short version of the story. Anyway. I played the video again to check for myself. But he had long hair in it, sort of curly. He looked completely different from what I had pictured in my head based on the few things she’d told me.”

Maggie turned to you again. “And you never showed her what he looked like?!”

“I think I did,” you replied uneasily. You had met Luna shortly after your break-up with Jungkook, but you wanted to believe that your secrecy about your relationship wasn’t that bad.

It was—and Luna grinned as she shook her head.

“She didn’t,” she said, turning to Maggie again. “She made sure to delete every single picture they had together. I only saw him once, when she and I took her dog to the vet. She was explaining the dog’s weight loss to the doctor and had to find a picture for reference. The only photo she could find on such short notice was an old screenshot from Snapchat where Jungkook was the one holding the dog. But he had… like, a bowl cut back then? Not the dog, I mean. Jungkook,” she clarified, and all three of you snorted. “He looked cute, of course. But nothing like the guy in the music video, so I didn’t even think about him when I watched it.”

For some reason, hearing about this random picture hurt. It’s been so long and, obviously, you and Jungkook have been through a lot more together—some of which was far worse than an old picture you stumbled upon in your phone by accident—and still, it hurt.

It wasn’t the memory itself that was painful, but the parts of you that were still alive in it. The parts of you that deleted all the pictures, but kept the screenshots. Threw out all the dried flowers, but kept the matching jackets. Blocked all his profiles, but not his phone number.

And there was another keepsake that you couldn’t bring yourself to delete: a video from that fateful birthday party where Jungkook had drunkenly performed a Backstreet Boys song; one of your friends had recorded it on your phone. As soon as he finished the song, Jungkook—wielding a half-empty bottle—chased after you, threatening to bathe you in champagne if you didn’t delete the video right this instant.

You still had it. You still watched it sometimes.

And then, years later, he walked into your office for the first time, his stupid silver necklace catching the sunlight and blinding you as soon as you looked up—just as it would every day for months to come—and there he was. Existing in your life all over again.

And it felt, you thought in retrospect, like he had never truly left. Every absence of him that you tried to manufacture by deleting your shared pictures only served to accentuate the fact that he’d been here once upon a time, and now he wasn’t. It was like missing a tooth—like pulling it out by force—and then continuously running your tongue over the gap.

“So, how come you still had that screenshot?” Maggie asked, her question snapping your attention back to the present.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to mask the undertow of emotions threatening to surface.

“For my dog,” you said. “He looked very chunky in that picture.”

Maggie grinned. “And what did Jungkook look like?”

“He was…” you looked for an adequate word, did not find one, and finished weakly, “there.”

“Hmm, right,” Luna said, with an ambiguous smile on her face. You were afraid of what she’d say next. “My favourite part about it all, is that you chose to accept the job even after you found out Jungkook is in the band.”

“I personally think that’s beautiful,” Maggie, who found everything beautiful after two drinks, chimed in.

You wanted to disagree, to bring up the fact that this job was a great opportunity—it really was!—and that this was the only reason you’d accepted it. Consciously, at least. But the girls were determined to fully ambush you.

“What did you feel when you saw him again as his manager?” Luna asked, shuffling to the very edge of her seat.

“Nothing,” you said, already a little dizzy from the drinks and the intense attention from your friends. You remembered feeling chaos back then; messy, uncontrollable mayhem roaming in your mind. But, compared to your feelings now, it might as well have been nothing. “I knew we’d have to work together, so I—nothing.”

“Oh!” Maggie groaned. “You’re so full of shit.”

You weren’t prepared for the abrupt shift in her tone. “Wh—”

“Let me show you,” she said, forcing the clasp on her purse open to retrieve her phone.

“Show me what?” you asked, still confused and now a little concerned.

“I’ll show you!” she cried out before proceeding to mumble under her breath with intermittent shouts, “oh, how I’ll show you—like no one’s ever shown you anything! before—you won’t know what hit! you when I show you—”

“We get it, Maggie,” Luna interrupted, reaching out to touch Maggie’s wrist. “Get on with it, please.”

“I’m looking—here!” She tapped her screen. “Here, look at this.”

She pointed her phone at Luna, who looked at it and appeared ever more confused than you felt, even though you hadn’t even seen what was on it.

“What—who is that?” she asked.

“That’s her and Jungkook!” Maggie bellowed, sweeping her arm so far back to point at you that she nearly yanked out your earring. “Sitting in an empty bathtub, drinking champagne, and laughing!”

A rush of heat surged through you as Luna gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God!”

You leaned across the table to grab Maggie’s phone from her.

The picture was beautiful, which was the first thing that you noticed. It was black and white with melancholic shadows swirling in the periphery. It was taken, you realised, from the corridor outside the bathroom during Hoseok’s party in Amsterdam.

Your stomach dropped once more tonight, because, of course, this was the night that Jungkook had named his latest song after.

Your skin felt wrong all of a sudden, and everything inside of you wanted to come out. You gripped Maggie’s phone tighter.

In the picture, both you and Jungkook had your backs to the camera, only visible from the shoulders up because the bathtub concealed the rest. You were holding glasses of champagne.

Jungkook’s gaze, captured in the dimly lit frame, was fixed on you. His head was turned slightly, and if it weren’t for the bright smile on his face, you might not have known it was him; the photograph was too dark. You, on the other hand, had your head thrown back in laughter and blended seamlessly into an unrecognisable silhouette.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you looked up from your friend’s phone. “When—how did you even take this?”

“You left the door open, you idiots,” Maggie replied.

“Let me see it again,” Luna asked, taking the phone from your shaking hands. “This looks like it could be an actual film poster for an indie romantic drama.”

“Titled,” Maggie added, “When In Bath…”

The two girls snickered, cracking each other up by nodding along to the joke until they were pounding their fists into the table in laughter. You wondered if this was the alcohol.

“Alright, alright,” you interrupted. “It—it’s a great picture. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’ve been in love with each other from the very beginning,” Maggie said, seizing the opportunity to play the role of a triumphant attorney, delivering a powerful closing statement in court. “And you can try to act like you haven’t been, like it all came as such a big shock, like you’d moved on, so, oh my God,” she gasped theatrically, “where are all these feelings coming from?!”

You groaned, but Maggie was undeterred, revelling in the dramatic momentum she had built.

“But this,” she lifted her phone as though in a poor production of The Lion King, “speaks louder than words. We know he’s loved you the whole time, your mum confirms it. But look at this. Look at how you’re leaning into him as you laugh. Look at how you’re touching his shoulder. You’ve loved him all along, too.”

Luna, definitely tipsy already, burst into energetic applause, and Maggie took a dramatic bow, her necklace clattering against the table. In her flourish, she nudged her empty cocktail glass with her shoulder, and you leaned over to catch it before it knocked your bag off the table. A few people from nearby booths turned in your direction.

“So, you see,” Maggie continued before you could ask the two of them to take it easy, “all you’re doing is just making excuses.”

“Well. Here’s another one,” you said, sliding out of the booth. “I’m going to grab us some snacks.”

The girls groaned and made various comments about how they knew this would happen—but their complaints soon transformed into a list of drinks they wanted you to bring back. You smiled, grateful for their short attention span, and diligently noted down their orders on Maggie’s phone, since you’d left yours at the hotel.

And still, even as you walked away, your heart refused to rest.

Jungkook had been right when he said that you needed to talk to your mum. Really, you did. But it wasn’t just her words, her experiences, and her arbitrary decisions that convinced you that you should have listened to the beating in your chest when he was in the room with you.

It was your friends, too—the family you had found and did not even realise it. It was their patience, their courage, their certainty, and their belief.

You felt a lot more determined to see what would happen. A lot more daring to make it happen. And a lot more convinced that it would be okay, eventually.

As soon as you reached the bar, you immediately noticed the change in atmosphere. The club, initially laid-back, had completely transformed as the clock struck midnight. Groups of young people filled the space, hanging out by the bar, dancing, or just chatting loudly at their tables. It took you a while to navigate through the lively crowd and return to your table with your order.

When you did, the girls grabbed the cocktails as if they had never seen any sort of liquor in their lives. They downed them in several big gulps, and, amused by their enthusiasm, you joined in, too.

As the glasses—and the bowls of roasted pistachios—on the tray emptied, the rest of the night blurred into swirls of clapping, laughing, spinning around on the dancefloor, meeting Mick Jagger’s doppelganger, buying drinks, swapping shoes with each other, losing your jackets somewhere around the club, having a Macarena dance battle, buying more drinks, recording yourselves singing along to an Elton John song that had no business being played in a club, starting a very successful conga line (not to an Elton John song), and stealing someone’s pink feather boa.

It was a night.

Jungkook had made plans with Minjun to distract himself from thoughts of you until tomorrow, and the two of them ended up doing very cultured things. But strolling around West End in the British drizzle wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as they had tried to convince themselves it’d be. Their enthusiasm about this excursion quickly faded, leading them to the nearest pub for a couple of drinks.

Several hours later, when they returned to the hotel, Jungkook didn’t see any light coming from under your door, indicating that you were still out with Luna and Maggie.

He wanted to text you the whole day, but he held back. Taehyung had told him to give you space; that was good advice. Jungkook only managed to follow it partly, but now that you were on proper speaking terms again, he didn’t want to ruin it by suffocating you.

He was bad at this, though.

He took a long shower and attempted to dry his hair, but the second his phone lit up with a text message, he dropped everything he was holding and executed a very intricate leap for the device—slamming his knee into the bedframe in his excitement.

Hissing in pain, he tumbled pitifully onto the carpet, turned on his back, fixed the towel around his waist, and hoisted himself with a grunt.

Droplets of water from his hair splattered on the screen as he unlocked his phone and momentarily confused the facial recognition. Cursing, he entered his passcode to check the sender and cursed once more when he saw that the text hadn’t come from you.

It was yet another message from the same unknown number, and Jungkook threw his phone back on the bed without bothering to read it.

He dried his hair first, then changed into sweats. It was then—while he was pulling his hoodie over his head—that the realisation struck him: unlike the previous texts from this same number, this one wasn’t fully capitalised.

Tentatively, he picked up his phone again and opened the one-sided conversation. He found that, throughout the evening, he’d received four messages from this number. The first contained a video attachment—the preview screen was black, and Jungkook did not want to click on it—followed by three taunting texts:

Remember this? :)

Come on, take a nice trip down memory lane with me, it’s a cute little clip

Do you think your manager would like to see this too? ❤️

He scrolled back up to the attachment and realised that his hands had begun to shake. Even though he had a feeling what he was going to see, he still clicked on the video and held his breath.

Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Although to be fair, his expectations might have been unrealistic. Unless Sid had resorted to secret cameras, which was extreme even for him, Jungkook had no reason to get this panicked.

But this video was still not good.

It was filmed in a nightclub and the scenes played out in short flashes under the flickering strobe lights, illuminating the dancing bodies around the person recording it. The camera panned to Jungkook and the two people he was dancing with—both dressed in dark leather jumpsuits.

Latex, he saw then. Not leather.

The dancing itself wasn’t the worst part of the video, but Jungkook struggled to decide what was. First, his heartbeat faltered as he watched one of his dance partners pour champagne into his mouth, licking off the excess that missed his lips. Then, he nearly blacked out as the video concluded with him on top of a table—dancing alone at first, and then with his tongue down someone else’s throat, and his hands—

He had a vague recollection of what happened next and stopped the video before he could see it.

It was clear that Sid had to be the one with the voyeuristic lens. Jungkook had gone clubbing with him that night; Jude was sick and Minjun didn’t want to go.

Two things happened then, and Jungkook was vividly aware of both. First, his phone froze: despite turning the video off, it continued to play the faint melody of an old Benny Benassi remix. And then a disconcerting acceleration seized his heart as though the video itself had seeped into his bloodstream.

Instinctively, he turned his phone off and tried to breathe. The hotel room around him fell into a pleasant silence, but that only made the thumping in his chest more pronounced.

Attempting to ease his rising nausea, Jungkook tried to keep his mind clear: the video had been filmed years ago. He wasn’t sure if he was in Rated Riot yet, but he was sure that the two of you were no longer together. Another helpful fact was that, since you became his manager, you have witnessed him in far worse situations—and rescued him from them, too.

And yet, he did not want you to see this.

He wanted to grow, to extricate himself from the clutches of toxic friendships, to find and build a future with you. And this video felt like a painful regression into his past. An embarrassing leap back.

Overwhelmed with discomfort, he chose to keep his phone off for the remainder of the night, even if that meant missing a text from you.

And then, later that night—or rather, in the early hours of the next day—Jungkook was jolted awake by a violent rattle of the doorknob.

Honestly, for an unsettling, half-asleep moment, he thought this was Sid barging in.

However, as his mind gradually woke up, he felt a more realistic concern: other bands had overzealous fans breaking into their hotel rooms. No one on the staff thought that Rated Riot were on a level where they’d need extra security measures, but now he worried that was a mistake.

Just to be safe—in case this was Sid, after all—Jungkook grabbed the nearest available weapon: a lamp from his bedside table. But the cable limited his reach, forcing him to crouch and lean forward to push the handle down and open the door before jumping back into a defensive position.

He nearly dropped the lamp when the door swung open, and he saw you outside.

It was your presence, in general, that he noticed first. Then it was your outfit: the short black satin dress with thin shoulder straps and thick, black tights with a curious embroidery around your thighs. Then it was your tied-back hair. Your dark eyeshadow and glistening lip gloss. A pink feather stuck to your earring.

He didn’t have it in him to move or to return the lamp to its place.

“Oh, shit,” you said, trying to make sense of the scene before you. You propped yourself against the doorframe. “My key wasn’t turning. I thought I left my room unlocked. What are you—wait. Wait, wait.”

You closed your eyes and squeezed the bridge of your nose with your right hand. Jungkook lowered the lamp to the floor, keeping his gaze on you.

“Okay, I’m good,” you decided. “The room was spinning really fast for a second there.” You chuckled, then stopped abruptly and narrowed your eyes at him. “Am I on the right floor?”

Jungkook blinked, then scoffed at the unexpected question.

“You are,” he confirmed, but, even drunk, you recognised the peculiar look on his face—as though there was something else he was waiting for you to realise.

“Shit.” Your eyes widened. You whispered, “I am still in London, right?”

This time, he couldn’t help a small laugh as he approached you. First, he plucked the feather out of your earring. Then, he led you into his room, his arm around your shoulders.

“You are,” he assured again. “You just got the wrong room.”

You exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Amused, Jungkook directed you towards the bed, which was the only comfortable piece of furniture here. You plopped down on it, bouncing slightly from the force of your energetic descent.

“Can I sit down for a second?” you asked belatedly. “Fuck these shoes. They’re not even—not even mine.”

Jungkook glanced down at your feet. There was a black platform heel with an ankle strap on your left foot, and a burgundy counterpart on your right.

He lifted his eyes back to your face, very confused. “They’re—whose shoes are they?”

“The black one is Maggie’s,” you explained, reaching for the strap, but struggling because the bed was too soft, and the room spun too much. “The other one is Luna’s. We thought it would be funny.”

He bit his lip. It wasn’t the mismatched shoes that entertained him in particular—not while he was sober, at least—but rather your sense of humour when you were drunk.

“Lucky that they’re the same height,” he observed.

“No, no, no, no. We saw that they were, that is why.” You hiccupped and it veered you away from the topic at hand. “Anyway, it’s not funny anymore. Now it hurts.”

You finally reached the strap of the black heel, but could not figure out the intricate workings of the clasp on it. Jungkook lowered himself to his knees in front of you.

“Let me help you,” he said.

You shook your head, maintaining your grip on the strap as you felt his fingertips ghost over yours.

“I can do it,” you insisted, passionate about your independence even when you could not tell what city you were in.

“I’m sure you can,” he said, gracefully pulling your hand away from the shoe. “But let me do it anyway.”

You huffed—in fervent protest or in reluctant agreement, he wasn’t sure. After another half-sigh, half-groan, you moved your hand to your lap and dropped down on your back on his bed.

He smiled softly as he unbuckled the strap and slid the black heel off. As he did, he noticed that the embroidery on your tights was a thin row of roses—and it wrapped around your thigh.

He found that very interesting and looked away immediately.

“So, anyway,” he said, fighting with the strap on the other shoe. “What happened to drinking responsibly?”

You hiccupped again. “Famous last words.”

He chuckled, lifting your leg onto his knee to get a better look at the stubborn clasp. Your contented sigh was the only indication of you being aware that one of your shoes was already off.

“I spoke to my mum,” you announced without any sort of transition or buildup.

Jungkook tightened his grip on your ankle in uncontrollable surprise, forcing you to lift your head off the bed with a puzzled look.

“Oh,” he managed, releasing his hold. “Yeah?”

Another dreamy sigh passed your lips as your thoughts clouded with memories, then cleared in a blissful, inebriated ignorance once more.

“Yeah,” you said, lowering your head again. The mattress was hard, but it felt very nice. “And then to Luna and Maggie.”

“And, uh, what did they say?” he asked, finally pulling the shoe off.

He got up to place the heels in a corner by the nightstand, so you wouldn’t trip over them when—if?—you stood up.

“A lot of things,” you replied, your words floating somewhere on the edges of consciousness, leaving Jungkook to grapple with the unpredictability of your confessions.

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe we should talk about all of that tomorrow.”

A smile started to form on your lips, but it was swiftly interrupted by a yawn. “Ye—yeah. That’d be good.”

Trying to push Sid’s messages away from resurfacing in his mind at the mention of your upcoming conversation, Jungkook observed your futile attempt to sit up. Having been there before—fairly recently—he empathised with the challenge of keeping your head up when you were drunk.

“Are you sure you want to stand?” he asked as you wriggled on your back, stretching out your hands helplessly—sort of like a tipsy turtle that had tipped over on its shell.

It was dangerous, he realised, just how completely infatuated with you he was to still find this incredibly endearing.

“I must,” you declared with an angry determination. Your anger was largely fuelled by the strain in your neck, caused by your perplexing attempts to lift your head and your legs at the same time. “This isn’t my room.”

It could be, Jungkook thought, at least for tonight.

However, the right thing to do was to guide you back to your own room.

“Come on,” he said, taking your hand and settling beside you to wrap his other arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get you to your bed, then.”

“That would be—” you began, gasping when he abruptly pulled you to your feet and the entire room decided to flip upside down. “Oh—you know what? I’m not sure I’m enjoying this spinning much.”

He looked at you in alarm. “Are you going to be sick?”

“I would prefer not to.”

Jungkook pursed his lips to restrain his amusement.

“I don’t remember the last time I saw you this drunk,” he noted.

“Pity,” you mumbled, your eyes closed. You tried to move your lips as little as possible, convinced that this would help with the dizziness. “If you remembered, maybe you could make the spinning stop.”

He tried to take a step forward with you in his arms. “Can you walk? Or I can carry you.”

You opened your eyes and took a deep breath. Dizzy or not, this was now a matter of pride.

“I have—” You peered down as if to check and the carpet by his bed seemed to wobble. “I have legs. Of course, I can walk.”

The proclamation proved short-lived as you stumbled over the edge of the carpet almost immediately. Jungkook shook his head and tightened his hold on you.

“Alright, come here.” He lowered his hands to your midriff. “Ready? One, two—”

“No, no, no,” you protested, pressing your palms firmly against his hands. He felt the cold metal of your room key against his skin; you must have slipped the keyring onto your finger after you tried to use it on his door. “Either I walk, or I crawl. No carrying. Too much spinning as it is.”

He doubted if carrying you would really make your dizziness worse, but he relented nonetheless.

“Come on, then,” he said. “Hold onto me.”

You finally agreed, leaning against him with nearly your whole strength as you attempted to set one foot in front of the other. Your limbs felt wooden and numb.

“You know—it might’ve been nice if you came with us,” you said.

Jungkook felt his heart rate pick up again. You probably felt it too, since your body was pressed into his, but he trusted that alcohol had rendered you oblivious to everything outside of yourself, so he did not worry about it.

“Yeah?” he replied. “I don’t think I could have walked home in your heels, though.”

You laughed so heartily that he had to pause in front of the door before opening it, a cautious—and almost possessive—instinct to shield this moment from prying ears.

“No, no. I meant because it would have been nice,” you clarified meaningfully.

His smile was warm when he looked at you. “Yeah, you said that.”

Dazed, you turned your head to meet his gaze, inadvertently granting him an opportunity to lift you over the threshold as your attention on your feet wavered. “I did?”

“Mmhmm.” He continued to look at you—while holding you so close that you were starting to question how many drinks you’ve really had tonight—as he removed the keyring from your finger. You looked down, confused. You’d forgotten you were clutching your keys in your palm. “So why did you want me to come? Did you miss me that much?”

“Hmm,” you lifted your eyes and poked his cheek in a rare moment of bold affection, “I’m not drunk enough.”

He smiled again. Holding you to him—his grip around your waist was tenacious; not even the slippery satin of your dress posed a challenge—he managed to unlock your door and open it. He wondered if you remembered that your room was three steps away from his.

“Okay,” he said, walking you to your bed in complete darkness with impressive skill. Neither of you bumped into anything or tripped. “Let’s get you into bed until you’re not drunk at all. How does that sound?”

A nod was all you could muster.

Your eyes were barely open when you felt him gently lower you on the bed. Your body, of course, succumbed to gravity with a great eagerness and you dropped onto your back with a grunt the second he let go of you. You felt a sharp corner digging into your side and exhaled in relief when you realised that was your phone. This must have been where you had left it.

Face buried into the pillows, you mumbled, “ffank-oo.”

He deciphered that as an expression of gratitude and carefully rolled you onto your back by pulling the duvet from underneath you. You were still in your dress, but he didn’t dare to go as far as helping you change. You looked half-asleep anyway.

“I’m right there if you need me, okay?” he said, untangling the dark grey duvet and throwing it over you in one swift motion. “Behind the wall.”

Peering at him with half-closed eyes, you turned onto your side.

“I’ll knock,” you said as he tucked the duvet around you in a manner that felt almost familiar, almost routine.

“You do that,” he replied. “Goodn—”

“I think Sid’s in London.”

Your words sucked the air out of the room and locked his breath in his throat.

This sudden lack of filter—or any warning on your face that you were about to say something completely shocking—unnerved him. He had forgotten what a rollercoaster your intoxication could be.

“What?” he blurted out and shook his head. “No. No, that can’t be true.”

You shrugged one of your shoulders against the pillow. Your eyes were still closed.

“I talked to Jude,” you said. “And he said he wasn’t there alone.”

Jungkook turned a few shades paler—a few more and he might have become completely transparent.

“You talked to Jude?” he repeated. “A-about what?”

“Nothing much,” you said. Irony flashed briefly across your features when you opened your eyes. “Just if I’d like to do ecstasy with them. They mix it with speed. And then they fly.”

The surprise on Jungkook’s face was loud. He could not fathom that Jude—of all people—would invite you—of all people!—to do this with them, when you never even drank sparkling water if Sid was in the room.

“Ecstasy?” he repeated.

“MDMA,” you clarified helpfully.

“No—I know what—he—what did you say?”

Your gaze met his for a moment, and the look on your face suddenly appeared very sober.

“I obviously agreed,” you said, “and a beautiful pink unicorn took me back to the hotel.”

He gave you a look and you closed your eyes again, smirking.

“I told him no,” you said. “Or something to that effect.”

Jungkook finally exhaled.

“Okay,” he murmured, glancing at the door of your room. “That—that’s good. I-I’ll take care of it.”

Your eyes flew open, alarm creeping onto your tired expression.

“No,” you said—the steel in your tone made him turn back to you. “Don’t—leave them be.”

“But they’re—”

He stopped when you reached out from under the duvet to put your hand over his outstretched wrist. He hadn’t even realised he was gesticulating—too lost in his sudden panic—but your touch grounded him right away.

“I don’t care,” you reiterated, your words slightly slurred but very firm, a bit like you were talking in your sleep—saving him in the midst of a nightmare that you didn’t realise you were having. “I don’t want you near them.”

“Okay,” he said easily. And again, “okay.”

You watched him for another few seconds, silently witnessing the storm of thoughts behind his eyes. But your own heavy eyelids soon overpowered the few semi-sober areas of your brain.

As you settled back against your pillow and let go of his hand, Jungkook grew even more aware of the texts—and the video—that Sid had sent him.

“Go to sleep,” you mumbled as if sensing his apprehension.

“I will,” he said. Your lips parted as you breathed slowly and he could tell that you’ve told him all that you could manage tonight.

“Thank you for helping me,” you added quietly.

“No problem. That’s what friends do, right?”

You snickered softly and a hazy memory of all that you did as friends rose to the surface of your drunken, tired mind.

“Hmmm.” You buried your face in the pillow, whispering wearily, “I want to kiss you. But I’m so drunk.”

Oh, he realised, breathless. So, that wasn’t all that you could manage to tell him tonight, after all.

Inhaling sharply, he sat down on the edge of your bed because he didn’t trust his legs anymore.

Your intoxication, he thought, should have come with a warning: not suitable for young children and those with faint hearts.

“You—you are,” he said. “You’re really drunk.”

“Tomorrow,” you promised.

Jungkook realised that merely sitting might not be enough to prevent his head from floating away from his body as he gripped your mattress tighter.

“Oh,” he said.

A hint of concern flickered in your drunken mind, and you lifted your heavy head. “Okay?”

“Ye—okay. Of course,” he said, rising to his feet so you wouldn’t strain to look at him. The room seemed to sway, and he wondered if your intoxication was contagious. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

His next actions were reflexive as he leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead before drawing the duvet up to your chest. You hummed in content and Jungkook had to turn away, frightened by his own elated expression in the reflection of your hotel room window.

Over the years, you had been the one taking care of him—almost all the time. He couldn’t even remember a lot of the times when you found him, completely wasted, and helped him get back to his hotel room. Or to the bedroom in his family’s house. But even though the details of those nights were blurred in his memory, he remembered every morning – when he woke up tucked in his bed, and the faint scent of your apple shampoo still lingered in his room.

He wondered, as he paused in the doorway, turning to look at you over his shoulder, if you’d remember much from this night.

For a minute, he watched the gentle rhythm of your chest rising and falling as you drifted into sleep, and he was alive with the realisation that the two of you finally had something that he thought you’d lost forever.

You had tomorrow.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “euclid”

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