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zara-renata · 2 months ago

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Wine time with Sylus | ao3 | other stories in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person pov, no use of y/n

This story contains: fluff, banter, angst, mc with obvious self esteem issues, grief, self-destructive behavior, profanity, alcohol use, criminal activity, allusions to violence, sleepy kissing, biting, inappropriate thoughts regarding kitchen tools, the mental gymnastics mc engages in to avoid acknowledging or recognizing feelings on either side should come with their own warning to be honest, one very thirsty mc whose thoughts are NSFW. This part ends with a misunderstanding that you can bet Sylus will not put up with for long.

In the days following Sylus’s latest little… visit, you’re called out more frequently than usual to counter wanderer attacks. You’re barely home, and the few times you stumble home late into the night, you peel your sweat and sometimes blood-stained hunter’s uniform off right in the entryway, promise yourself you’ll do laundry soon, and drag your aching body to the shower. Then you usually spend what little night you have left lying there with your eyes closed, carefully keeping your mind blank as sleep remains elusive. You have to admit to yourself that the few times Sylus kept you company overnight, you slept like the dead, but you refuse to go so far as admitting that you wouldn’t mind if it were more frequent. If you were to admit it to yourself, which you will not, you only yearn for it strictly for the sake of your sleep schedule, and absolutely not because you’ve come to crave his warm, comforting bulk against your body.

Tonight is no different, but you’re both looking forward to and dreading the next few days, as Captain Jenna has ordered you to take some time off to rest and recover from the brutal schedule you’ve been keeping for months now, capped off by the recent spate of increased attacks. All of your wheedling to let you keep going, that you’re fine, that the people of Linkon need you, that you need the constant distraction, has proven useless. Apparently the frequency with which you are getting injured remains acceptable, but she is finally at the end of her patience reading your barely coherent, misspelled reports with unfinished sentences that you only manage to submit before Association mandated deadlines by the skin of your teeth.

“Go home, get your head on straight, and come back rested … and literate again, please.” She looks back down at the tablet on her desk, trying to dismiss you, but you stubbornly remain at attention at her desk.

“That’s discrimination, Captain. I can be a perfectly functional hunter without being able to read or write,” you protest, while Xavier winces behind you. “I mean, obviously I can read and write, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Still able to destroy wanderers!”

Jenna’s already formidable expression begins to darken, but you’re not cowed. You open your mouth to helpfully point out that wanderers don’t care about how well you can spell, when you feel Xavier’s gentle hand on your arm. “Come on, why don’t we go together to get some snacks on the way home? I think they’ve started re-issuing that wasabi flavored chocolate bar we tried at the beginning of the year,” he says softly, and Jenna shoots him an appreciative look before proceeding to ignore you both.

You glumly follow Xavier out into the early evening. Rush hour is over, but the sidewalks are still bustling with life. You weave through the mass of humanity, resisting the urge to drop-kick anyone who cuts you off or brushes against you accidentally. I am a role model for the Hunter’s Association, even when I’m off the clock, I am not allowed to arrest someone for bumping into me…. I am not allowed to arrest someone for…

Xavier tries to distract you from your obvious frustration by describing the plot of the latest manga series he’s reading that he thinks you’ll like as you two make your way home. You listen absently, feeling slightly calmed by his soothing voice, despite its graphic descriptions of violence in the manga that you are pretty sure you’re going to really like.

“Are there any hot guys in it?” you ask as the mass of people begins to thin the closer you get to your building.

“Hot… guys?” he blinks in confusion, his impossibly blue eyes flashing in the streetlamps that have just turned on.

“Yeah. Like that other one we read, Help, I, a lowly office worker, went to sleep and woke up as the Queen’s assassin in the book I fell asleep reading. The main guy in that was super hot.”

“Well, it is by the same mangaka, so you’d probably like the way they draw the main character in this one too,” he says uncertainly, but with a strange expression on his face, like he suddenly doesn’t want you to read it with him anymore.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try. Have you finished the first volume yet? Can I borrow it?”

You’ve reached your building, the trees surrounding the courtyard rustling in the soft end-of-summer breeze.

“…Great,” he says after a brief hesitation. He holds open one of the entrance's doors for you to enter the your building’s foyer. Your boots and his echo on the polished floor as you make your way into the lift. “I’ll be finished by tomorrow. How about we go the bookstore and afterwards you can come over and read since we have the day off? You can start volume one, and I’ll start volume 2. Does that sound good? We can make fancy ramen,” he says, his normally sleepy energy spiking with the idea of adding a boiled egg and some frozen vegetables to the normally plain ramen the two of you consume more often than not while on the go. Xavier’s idea of fancy has always been adorable to you.

The idea of not just sitting in your apartment alone on the first day of your forced leave is a welcome one, and you agree that he can come find you when he’s woken up, so that you don’t risk waking him up. He likes this plan, because obviously, you’re hardly sleeping at all, and he sleeps longer than you ever would have imagined possible for humans until you met him. As the elevator approaches your floor and the doors slide open, you’re about to step out when Xavier’s soft voice behind you has you turning to look back at his pretty face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “I know you feel like you’ve lost everything right now, and that the pain seems unbearable.”

You quickly turn your head—you were not expecting this sneak attack of sympathy and kindness from him. You nod jerkily, trying not to let his warmth sink into you, or else you might start crying.

“It sounds cliché, but with time, even this pain will fade. And you have so much time ahead of you. I can promise you that. One day you’ll wake up, and it will be slightly less unbearable. That doesn’t mean you forget about what you’ve lost. But you can think of it without… without feeling like you’re destroyed again, every time.” He’s looking at you, but you also have the feeling that he’s looking at something else, from a great distance. Knowing how secretive he is, it’s unlikely you’ll ever know what it is he’s seeing.

You nod again, and whatever he sees in you profile seems to satisfy him as he offers you a soft ‘Goodnight,’ and you scurry from the lift to your front door. You tuck away his words, and push them down deep. You know they’re well intended. But you can’t handle crying right now. Not yet. Not yet. So you focus on possible plans for the days stretching ahead of you.

There is a part of you that’s looking forward to possibly being able to rest, it’s true. But the stretch of empty days, without work and battle and the social interaction of colleagues, had been filling you with anxiety before your plans with Xavier were made. But even after tomorrow, you’ll try to make the best of it. You can… try to remember what hobbies you had, before your life blew up. Maybe you can take up a new hobby! Within the span of a few days. Yeah, you can teach yourself to crochet,or make stained glass art, in a day, right? Online videos are super helpful. Maybe you’ll even deep clean your apartment, and go grocery shopping, properly, for the first time in weeks. You’ll buy vegetables that have to be prepped instead of the hottest insta-ramen you can find and slurping packets of applesauce while telling yourself that it counts as fiber, right? You can cook, and bake! You just haven’t in… a really long time. Maybe you’ll bake an entire cake, and then eat the entire cake. Yeah. You have plans, you think to yourself, pressing your fingerprint to the scanner under your flat’s door handle and pushing the door open when it beeps.

As soon as the door closes with a soft whump, you carefully hang up your blades and pistol holsters on your wall-mounted weapon rack, and then you’re furiously undoing the laces on your knee high leather boots, hopping from one foot to the other as you try to kick them off without actually having to sit down and pull them off. You yank off your socks, then shimmy out of your pants, which you also kick off unceremoniously. You’re going to be positive about this little holiday! You’re so close to being comfortable and staying that way for days. You almost rip your buttons in your haste to remove your shirt, and just as you’ve gotten the last one undone, you finally notice the dark, looming figure in the shadows at the end of your foyer.

You’re in your fucking underpants, barefoot, and your weapons are out of reach due to your current strangulation by your own shirt sleeves.

Heart racing, you throw yourself backward against the door, prepared to make a strategic retreat and escape into the building’s hallway to buy yourself some time to free yourself from your shirt, no matter the cost to your pride at being caught out in your underwear, when familiar scarlet-ink tendrils of energy gently wrap themselves around your waist and softly lift you in the air. You find yourself kicking and squirming like a kitten picked up by the scruff of its neck.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you choke out.

“Why are you still struggling, when you can clearly see that it’s me? Cease, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Why are you using your evol on me without my consent?” you retort, wriggling some more for good measure simply because he told you to stop.

“To prevent you from giving your neighbors the show of their lives without even charging admission,” he responds languidly, eyes the color of sunlight filtering through a glass of wine drifting from your probably red, sweaty face down your barely clothed body.

“Oh, they don’t get a free show, but you do?” you sneer, continuing to struggle to no effect.

“Look at yourself,” Sylus commands, and turns his head as if bored. You note absently that he’s wearing a ruby stud earring in his ear... the one that matches the earring in your own ear. So you never bothered to take it out. That doesn’t mean anything—you’re just lazy. You refuse to think about it anymore deeply than that, and then notice that Sylus not only looks bored, but also looks almost… offended? You do as he asks, and see that his evol is wrapping itself around your body in such a way that its bright-dark tendrils are covering all of your exposed, sensitive areas like a fluid robe.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“Oh, indeed.” He continues to look away from you, aggressively bored, but his evol gently lowers you enough so that your bare feet rest on the ground, and then it loosens, but remains swirling around you.

“Then I’ll… just go get dressed.” You begin making your past him, but stop when you see him nonchalantly hold up a large, elegant shopping bag. It’s black, with some brand name you don’t recognize written in flowy silver script. “What is this?” You look from the bag to his face. He deigns to look at you again. Your eyes drift to his other ear, and you see that where it is pierced is empty.

“Wardrobe options,” is all he says, jerking you out of trying to puzzle out this opaque maniac’s intentions. You take the bag from him and quickly walk to your bathroom. No way you’re going to put on new clothes while feeling filthy from a long day and night of annihilating wanderers. His evol dissipates the moment your bathroom door shuts behind you.

It’s becoming a pattern. Thinking the worst of him, only to be proven wrong. But you don’t know how to overcome the cognitive dissonance of Sylus from your first meeting, and this Sylus who seems intent on taking care of you better than you take care of yourself.

You rinse off as quickly as you can in the shower, towel yourself dry, and take a peek in the bag that he gave you. The first thing you see is a black…? You lift it out of the bag, and it unfolds into a very large sweater. It’s thick, the fabric obviously of high quality. You touch it gently, running your hands along a sleeve—is it cashmere? It’s unbelievably soft. It’s probably a nightmare to wash. On impulse, you lift it to your nose, and take a deep breath.

Your suspicion is confirmed. It smells like him. This isn’t a brand new piece of clothing. This is one of Sylus’s own sweaters that he has worn before. The scent of his clean skin, the sharp tang of gunmetal, the bright burst of citrus, probably from some ridiculously expensive shampoo or body wash. The mix sends a thrill through your entire body: after only a few encounters, you already have bone-deep associations with the way Sylus smells. Fear and adrenaline, yes, but also anticipation—and bizarrely, safety. Instead of feeling terrified, you feel the way you would before riding a roller coaster. Yes, you’ll be screaming and holding on for dear life the whole ride, but you are also inexplicably convinced that in the end, you’ll have your feet firmly planted on the ground, safe again. A part of you whispers that it’s safer to avoid the roller coaster altogether—bolts come loose, wheels pull free from the track, tragic accidents happen all the time. But standing here in your humid bathroom, bone-weary from the day behind you, sniffing Sylus’s unwashed sweater makes you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a very long time.

You pull his sweater over your head, and you’re basically swimming it, it’s so big. The collar is big enough that it threatens to fall off one shoulder. But it’s so soft. And cozy. You hug yourself, and peek into the bag again. There are a few more sweaters, each dark with varying degrees of dramatic flair. This is part of Sylus’s wardrobe, after all. But there are also little sleep shorts, like the ones you were wearing the last time he invaded your home. You pick up a pair—no way would they fit on his big ass. You try, so, so, so very hard not to picture his thick cake stuffed into these tiny shorts.

You fail.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds.

When it comes back online, you lift out a pair, and the fabric glides silkily along your skin. You’re pretty sure these are silk. They’re black, because of course, but they also have little red … happy pomegranates? Dotted along the hems. They’re adorable. You pull them on over your own bare ass and the sweater-shorts combo is probably the softest thing you’ve ever had on your body. The sweater swallows the shorts and makes it look like you’re wandering around without bottoms on.

You look at yourself in the mirror, silently telling yourself that you shouldn’t get on this particular ride. You don’t know where the track leads, and it scares you. What if it ends over a cliff, and the last thing you ever see is Sylus’s triumphant, cruel face looking down at you as you fall? There are other, less risky rides, certainly ones without wanted posters, right? Right? On second thought, you don’t even have to go the amusement park at all. You’re just fine with trying to get some fucking sleep, with continuing to hone your combat skills, with just trying to be a good person despite really liking knives and being an enthusiastic hunter.

But maybe you can just. Be friends with the roller coaster? Like, you don’t have to ride him. IT. THE ROLLER COASTER. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO RIDE THE ROLLER COASTER. You can just, watch it from a safe distance. You might indulge in little fantasies about what it’s like to ride… the roller coaster. And honestly, fantasies are almost always a hell of a lot better than the reality ever turns out to be. Not to mention! Sylus has never directly expressed any desire to ride … your roller coaster. Sure, he shows up unannounced and cares for you in ways that no one ever has, and he touches you a lot for someone who has no physical interest in you, but physical isn’t necessarily sexual, right? Maybe it’s an evol thing, and the way he touches you has to do with why you both find yourself inexplicably connected for periods of time. Like charging a battery. The point is! There will be no tickets to either ride, thank you, you aren’t open for business and he definitely does not have the proper safety inspection certificates in order, so. No.

You nod firmly to yourself in the mirror. This should be fine. You can be friends with Sylus. You don’t have to let him drag you over a cliff. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him—he seems to be pretty competent at a lot of things that might be useful for certain aspects of your job. Like intimidating people. And exploding people with a thought and twitch of his fingers. And convincing them to do things they don’t want to do by sheer force of obnoxiousness.

Having sufficiently deluded yourself into believing that your plan of action has a chance of success, you slip out of the bathroom and find Sylus in the kitchen, next to a pretty wine glass that you certainly do not recall owning on the kitchen island.

He’s slicing strawberries with a very sharp knife that you do recall owning, because you do spend quite a lot of time sharpening the set it belongs to. They’re not kitchen knives, per se; you actually have them for work and they are really nice to throw. You already had so many knives before you moved into this place that you didn’t see the necessity of spending more money on probably inferior kitchen knives. But the large, really nice butcher block-style cutting board that he’s chopping the fruit on is not yours. And neither are the delicately arranged variety of cheeses, thinly sliced meat, and savory tarts set in puff pastry that fill up most of the cutting board. And lastly, you do not recall purchasing two bottles of what look like red wine sitting next to the wine glass, nor cleaning your kitchen so thoroughly that Zayne could probably perform surgery in here without worrying about risk of infection.

Despite your presence standing at the island before him now, he continues to serenely slice the ever-growing pile of fruit.

“Sylus?”

“Have a seat,” he says, not looking up.

“Oh, why thank you for offering such hospitality to me, in my own home,” you mutter, pulling out one of the wooden bar stools at the kitchen island. You’re about to sit down when you realize that the repetitive chop of the knife has stopped, and you look up to find Sylus frozen with the knife mid-slice in a fat strawberry. His eyes drift from your neck and exposed shoulder, down the soft expanse of sweater, to your bare legs, and then back again. You’re suddenly self-conscious—he’s the one who gave you these clothes. And now he’s staring at you like a wanderer is about to burst out of your chest.

“Did I misunderstand the assignment or something?” you ask, plopping down on the bar stool in the hopes of breaking him out of whatever weird trance he’s apparently glitching in. He swallows, flicks a final look at your shoulder, and then goes back to slicing.

“I’m simply shocked that you actually did as you were told, for once,” he responds, seemingly unruffled again. “You should also put one of the sweaters in your go bag as a backup in the event that your uniform gets destroyed, again, which it does at an alarming rate these days. The Association’s overheads for keeping you clothed must be in the stratosphere.”

“Mm, yes I’m sure you’re very concerned about the costs of doing business for the Association.” You rest your head in your hand, propped up by your elbow on the counter. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, with only the snick of the knife filling the space between you. The lights underneath your cabinets are on, emitting a soft warm glow from below, but you notice that he hasn’t put on the harsher, brighter overhead lights. The city’s skyline blinks serenely like an endless fleet of starships in the dark expanse of space through your windows, and a cool breeze wafts in from time to time.

Finally, Sylus is done, and he carefully rinses the knife in the sink and sets it on the counter. He turns back to you.

“No interrogation regarding why I’m here this time?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a light sweater in a deep grey, of a style quite similar to the one you’re now wearing. He looks domestic, and delicious, and you tell yourself sternly that he is friend shaped, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster—

You have to say something. “Oh, are you missing my very effective questioning techniques? Sadly, I left my handcuffs at the office,” you lift your shoulders in a what can you do? gesture, and his eyes follow your bare shoulder again.

“Handcuffs aren’t the only means of restraint available to a truly resourceful hunter,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed. “Your lack of imagination is boring.”

“Okay, Sylus. But only because you’re basically begging for it: why are you here?” You lift a puff pastry and brandish it at him like a knife. “Answer honestly, or you’ll really get it this time!” You take a big, aggressive bite as if to illustrate what he’s got coming to him in case of his non-compliance, and then moan because what the fuck, this is so good, is it goat cheese and honey? And suddenly you’re devouring it, licking your fingers clean when you’re done because you can’t get enough.

“This definitely counts as an enhanced interrogation technique.” His voice is low, and has a rough quality to it that normally isn’t there. You glance up from slobbering all over your fingers and find that he’s staring at you in what is probably disgust.

“Ha, yes, and I’ll keep subjecting you to it until you tell me what you’re doing in my home, again. And how did you even get in? I never got you a key.” You finish licking yourself like an animal and reach for a strawberry. If he’s going to play chef in your kitchen, who are you to refuse to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor? You just live here and pay the damn rent.

He holds up the index finger of his right hand, which is sporting a band-aid that you recognize as one of the same kind you have in your first-aid kit. They’re super cute, with a design of sad little cartoon mushrooms. “I was at my accountant’s, which happens to be in this neighborhood, and I got a paper cut while signing some documents.”

You pause before biting into the berry. “You… came to my flat. With extra clothing, wine, wine glasses, and various appetizers, in order to get a band-aid for your paper cut. Is this a correct summary of events?” You decide you’re not going to wait for him to answer, and take a big bite of the strawberry, feeling some juice drip down your chin. You catch it with your index finger, and then suck the juice off after you’re done chewing.

There is a long pause, and you look up to find him staring intently at your finger. You widen your eyes and wave your hand in the universal gesture of hurry the fuck up, get on with it already? He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. Apparently you’re so horrifying to witness eating that he needs to seek some zen before he can answer. It’s not your fault that he brought you half of his wardrobe and wine glasses but didn’t think to bring any napkins. “Yes, that is a correct summary of events,” is all he offers.

You look at him.

He looks back at you, occasionally flicking his gaze down to your mouth and back to your eyes. You consider baring your teeth at him just in case he wants an eyeful of the strawberry undoubtedly stuck in them, but refrain because you’re polite.

“Okay. Do you care to explain the motivation behind these events?” you ask slowly, thinking that maybe you will brandish a real knife at him to hurry up this so-called interrogation so you can straight up devour the rest of this charcuterie board that this wanted criminal has inexplicably prepared in your kitchen.

Fortunately, you don’t have to go for the knife, because he begins to speak. “There was a wine merchant that looked rather appealing on the way to your place. Since you revealed a deplorable lack of discernment when it comes to selecting a good bottle of wine the last time you hosted me, I thought I’d do my civic duty for the week and educate the less fortunate on how to choose, and enjoy, a decent bottle of wine.”

“I see.” You nod slowly. “That’s very civic-minded of you. You’re truly a model citizen. And the food?”

“It’s not wise to have a wine tasting without something to eat. Otherwise, you might find yourself making questionable decisions. We wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetie?” he seems to have recovered from his nausea at watching you wolf down food, because he says this with a playful lift of a silver eyebrow.

“Because letting a man whose baggage includes a wanted poster into my home whenever he wants could hardly be considered a good decision, and I made that one while sober,” you sigh. “I see your point.”

“Exactly. Just imagine what kind of trouble you could get into after a bottle of wine on an empty stomach?” He tilts his head to the side, and runs a middle finger slowly over his brow.

You shudder, because his big hands. You can’t pursue this line of thought.

“And the clothes?”

“Now you won’t need to borrow your partner’s clothes in case of an emergency. And I’ll have something to wear at my safe house in case you decide to assault me with beverages again.”

“That was one time. And if you don’t show up, then there’s no chance you’ll be assaulted. Therefore, no need for a change of clothes. And, pardon me, but your safe house? I think you meant, my flat. But what you’re telling me is that the whole reason you were coming to my flat in the first place was to put a band-aid on your boo-boo.”

He lowers his hand and begins running his thumb along his lower lip. “Even a small cut can turn life-threatening if not treated properly. And I wouldn’t want a scar, now would I? It’s not much of a safe house if I can’t make use of it when in danger of lasting bodily harm.”

“Mmm yes, what with your evol that renders scarring impossible for you, we wouldn’t want your paper cut to cause you lasting bodily harm. And you couldn’t acquire a band-aid at a pharmacy, perhaps like at the one next to the wine merchant I’m pretty sure you’re referring to?” You refuse to look at his big thumb pressing into his thick, soft-looking lower lip. You stare up at the ceiling, and consider cataloguing wanderers in your head to stem the sudden urge to vault over the island counter separating him from you and pulling that damn thumb into your own mouth.

“They didn’t have a box containing such cute little designs. I never knew I wanted anthropomorphized fungus to decorate a bandage intended to protect an open wound until I saw your own box.”

It takes you a second to remember what the hell the two of your were discussing when you realize he’s talking about your adorable little mushroom band-aids.

“A wine snob, and a band-aid snob.”

“I prefer the term cultured, but yes, I’ve told you before. Life is too short to waste on the inferior. Your sad little champignons surpass all others.”

He’s done it again. He has hardly even moved this entire time, and has managed to exhaust you to the point of blissful indifference. He shows up unannounced, rifles through your first aid kit, decides what you’re going to wear both this evening and in the future when you need a spare change of clothes, and has prepared an hors d’oeuvre spread worthy of at least a mid-ranged restaurant for you to eat while offering you a wine tasting? Fine. “Okay,” you say, reaching for another one of those puff pastries.

He watches you steadily for a few moments, as if trying to sense a trap. “That’s it?”

You shrug. “Sure. I told you that you could use my house if you needed it. I’ve just learned my lesson: next time I’ll be very careful in drafting the conditions of any deal we make, since your interpretation of certain terms appears to vary wildly from any reasonable person’s.”

“I think I’m quite reasonable,” he examines his nails. “I come bearing gifts, and this is how you show your gratitude? By insinuating that I'm unreasonable?”

Another thought occurs to you. “How did you even get in, Sylus?”

“Ah,” he says, squinting and looking out the window, as if contemplating a very deep philosophical question. “While you were sleeping last time… I took the liberty of adding my fingerprint to your door’s fingerprint scanner.”

What. The. Fuck. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Again, it’s not much of a safe house if I can’t access it without your presence. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like I can’t just use my evol to teleport into your place anyway, but I thought you’d appreciate me coming through the front door. Fewer feathers. You didn’t seem to like cleaning those up the last time I teleported out of your place.”

You just stare at him. How would he even know that you cursed him, loudly, as you were mopping up the mess of blood and feathers he generously left in your entryway after being shot? And then it comes to you. Mephisto. Of course. You pinch the bridge of your nose, and visualize violently shaking that bird until his circuits are rewired.

Sylus continues, ignoring your mounting rage. “Come to think of it, we should probably upgrade your locks, kitten. It was laughably easy to override the system and add my print as authorized for entry.”

Forget riding the Sylus coaster—you think that maybe he isn’t even friend shaped after all. He might just have slid right back to enemy shaped. Frenemy shaped? Where does a frenemy lie on the spectrum of “fuck his brains out” to “polite, but distant acquaintances?” But then you remember that it’s not a linear spectrum, and fucking his brains out is not mutually exclusively to being mortal enemies. You’ve read enough enemies-to-lovers romances to know that perfectly well, so even if he is enemy shaped… you shudder. Why are you like this? You redirect your self-disgust and deflect, like a true emotionally well-adjusted adult:

“Why can’t you be normal? Like, do you do anything like a normal person?”

“Why would I pretend to be normal when I’m so obviously extraordinary?” he scoffs, looking at you like you’re the unhinged one in this little situationship.

“Sylus.”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?”

You stare at him, and he gazes back at you, leaning leisurely back against your counter, arms folded and long fingers slowly tapping out a rhythm on one bulky bicep. You know that if you remove his authorization on your locks that he will just teleport himself right into your place, and you’ll be endlessly cleaning up feathers. And you also really don’t want your neighbors to wonder who the hell the creep is loitering around your door at all hours of the night and then start asking questions if he actually honors your request not to simply appear in your place on a whim. You did previously offer him a key. Which he declined. Apparently because he was already planning this. You run your hand along the back of your neck in an effort to relieve some tension. “You can’t just let yourself into my place anytime you want. There need to be rules.”

“Fair enough. Provided that they’re not moronic, I can follow your rules.”

“And who decides whether they’re moronic or not?” you ask, knowing the answer.

He just smiles at you, radiating satisfaction.

“Okay. Rule number one—” you begin, only to be interrupted as he lifts a finger.

“I’ll follow your rules, if you promise to taste the wine I brought with me tonight.”

Even though you had already resigned yourself to whatever he had in store for you tonight, you can’t help arguing at this little added condition. “No, the deal is, you can use my flat, with your fingerprint, when you need it, if you follow the rules,” you huff.

He starts shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, kitten. You should have set rules at the beginning of our deal. You can’t just impose new conditions halfway through. A deal’s a deal. I suggest keeping that in mind the next time you have to deal with anyone else less… generous, than myself,” he intones, as if you’re a somewhat lacking student in need of instruction.

“So you’ll follow the rules if I promise to… taste wine tonight?” you ask, hoping that you can catch him out on a technicality and beat him at his own game. He considers for a moment, but must see something in your expression, because his eyes narrow and his smile widens to reveal his sharp canines.

“I’ll follow your reasonable, and not moronic, rules if you promise to taste the wine I brought tonight, with me,” he says.

You need to work on your poker face. You need to get Sylus to teach you how to improve it. Ugh.

“Fine.” If this means more food can happen soon, and honestly, yeah, a glass of wine, you’ll accept anything at this point.

He straightens from the counter and claps his hands once, looking more eager than you think you’ve ever seen him. “Excellent, let’s begin.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what the rules are,” you protest, watching him fish out a wine corkscrew from his trouser pocket. It looks heavy, with a handsome wooden handle, and the stainless steel flashes under the soft lights.

“Send them in a text, I’ll redline them and return them to you, you can counter, and so on and so forth until we have an agreement. Like any proper contract negotiation. For now, it’s wine time.”

And with that, he sets to work opening the wine, humming a little tune so off-key that you have no idea what melody it’s supposed to be. It occurs to you that you’ve never used a corkscrew as a weapon, but as Sylus uses the small blade to slice through the foil covering the neck of the bottle, and then unfolds the lethal-looking twisted screw and begins expertly driving it into the cork, you realize that it could come in really handy in a fight. And there’s something else that’s really appealing to you—the combination of the contained savagery of the corkscrew, the assured movements of Sylus’s hands, the penetration of the cork—you feel a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the sweater you’re wearing.

“See something you like, kitten?” Sylus’s smoky voice drifts into your thoughts, and you look up, realizing you’ve been unabashedly staring at his beautiful hands, again, and the corkscrew, with undivided focus for the past few moments, and he has noticed.

You clear your throat, and then gesture weakly at the corkscrew. “That’s uh, a very nice looking wine opener.” You nod to emphasize your very normal approval of this very normal household item, because you are not thinking any thoughts about Sylus’s huge hands or screwing or penetration. None.

“Good eye. I’m rather fond of this model. I’ll have one delivered to you,” he says as he firmly pulls the cork from the bottle with a soft pop. He sets it on the counter, and picks up the other bottle.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that the kind of wine I drink tends to come with a screw cap instead of a cork,” you decline, shaking your head. You can buy your own damn self a corkscrew for tucking into your pocket if you ever find yourself at a wine bar that doesn’t allow patrons to be armed, but you anticipate needing some kind of weapon.

“Refuse me all you want,” he murmurs, and you feel like there’s an implied part of that sentence that he’s just not saying out loud. But then he’s repeating the opening process with the second bottle, and you suddenly find the night view outside your window immensely fascinating, because whatever is continuing to happen in front of you is just. Boring. Utterly sleep-inducing. You can’t look or else you might just pass out from the tedium of it before you even get to taste the wine. And a deal’s a deal, as Sylus is fond of repeating ad nauseum.

After hearing the soft pop of the other bottle, you sigh and turn back to find Sylus holding the wine glass and pouring the first bottle’s wine along the inside of the glass until it reaches the widest part of the bowl. For the first time, you notice that there’s only one glass on the counter. But before you can comment, Sylus begins to lecture.

“Now, if this were an ideal tasting, I’d have brought a decanter to let the wine breathe properly for an appropriate period of time before pouring. We'd also be using a container for spitting each mouthful out in between tastes, to avoid the intoxication and poor decisions I mentioned earlier and interfering with our judge of taste. But since we only have two bottles to try, and it’s just you and me here, I took the gamble that you wouldn’t mind if we were a little less formal.”

You wait to see if he has any other fun facts to share, but he’s looking at you to confirm that indeed, you can live with not waiting even longer to taste this wine that better have gold leaf flakes in it or something to justify this amount of ceremony and can also live with not… spitting out said wonder wine after tasting it.

But you recognize that Sylus appears to be truly passionate about this, and he’s looking at you so earnestly—you do not have the heart to meet his sincerity with sarcasm, when he's so sweetly trying to teach you something new.

“Your gamble paid off. I don’t mind at all,” you say, meaning it. He perks up and gives you one of his almost smiles, with just the corners of his generous mouth lifted. He then proceeds to explain, in great detail, what type of wine this is, where the grapes for it are grown, its signature characteristics, what year it was bottled, and how it was received by the international wine community. It’s all actually quite interesting, except once again, right now you’re at the end of a long day, you’ve run the gauntlet of interacting with this unpredictable force of nature walking around in the body of an extremely attractive man, and you feel like you should be taking notes to actually retain any of this information.

After he seems to have informed you to his satisfaction and is looking at you expectantly, you nod. “That is… very fascinating. So how do we go about actually tasting it?” You might be an uncultured heathen, but even before Sylus’s lecture, you knew there are rules when it comes to tasting wine. You just always had other things you needed to learn first, like the weakest spots on a wanderer or human body. Or the best method of sharpening knives for the sharpest edge. Or how to clean guns to prevent jamming. How to affix a scope on a sniper rifle and measure the effect of wind speed and direction on a bullet’s trajectory. Or whether you should use baking soda or baking powder as leavener when baking certain kinds of cake. You have priorities. But tonight, it seems, is the night for you to learn about wine.

Before he answers, he moves around the kitchen island to where you’re still seated on the bar stool and leans down, gently spinning your stool so that you’re facing him instead of the counter. He then pushes the one next to you closer and seats himself. Even sitting, you have to look up into his face. You suddenly realize that the way he has positioned the stools puts him so close to you that his long legs don’t have anywhere to go—he just spreads them so that one is stretched out on one side of you, and the other is between your own, his knee incredibly close to your lap. If you shift forward even a little, you could grind on him.

Why is he doing this to you? What does he want? But then it occurs to you that Sylus has never seemed to either recognize or respect boundaries like a normal person—maybe this is just how he interacts with his friends. Constant, small touches, no sense of personal space. You wonder if he and the twins huddle together on the couch, sharing a blanket, while watching something on television.

So maybe you’re the freak, imagining riding this poor guy’s meaty thigh when he’s only just trying to share his appreciation of a sophisticated beverage with you. You close your eyes. It doesn’t matter whether he’s playing this little game on purpose or not. You refuse to let him see how much his proximity is affecting you, because then he wins. You don’t know what he wins exactly, but you will beat him before you let him have it. You try to think about his big hand choking you, but instead of having the intended effect of reminding you why you should never even consider buying tickets to the safety hazard now wedged between your thighs, it has … unforeseen consequences instead. What has this man done to you?!

You open your eyes, reach across the counter and grab a handful of carefully cut pieces of cheese, and then promptly stuff them all into your mouth at once. When in crisis, cheese is always a good solution. Except for maybe the blue cheese you accidentally mixed in with the Manchego or whatever-the-fancy-fuck he brought with him. Aaaand now you’re going to smell like blue cheese for the rest of the night.

You stare at him defiantly as you chew with puffed cheeks, and brace yourself for whatever is coming next. He side eyes you, face impassive.

You’re expecting some biting comment, but “Well, that’s one way to make sure you’ve eaten enough to absorb the alcohol,” is all he says. He slowly slides the glass with two fingers along the base across the counter until it’s sitting between the two of you. “Whenever you manage to finish inhaling all that dairy, we’ll be sure that we’ve given the wine enough time to breathe.” He pauses. “It occurs to me now that while I was preparing the food, I didn’t think to ask if you’re lactose intolerant.”

You deliberately chew as slowly as you can, making him wait as a punishment for making you feel things that you should not be feeling. When you’ve swallowed, you shake your head. “Fortunately, not one of my many flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw.” He shrugs. “How can anything you can’t control about your body be a flaw? And Luke and Kieran are lactose intolerant, so I always have lactase enzyme tablets on me to avoid… unwanted consequences when they decide to have a cheese tasting contest.”

You cock your head. “A what now?”

He rubs his middle finger between his eyebrows. “Yeah, they can’t help themselves from making a competition out of every single human activity, so on the nights the chef prepares a cheese board with dinner, they try to outmatch each other regarding who can identify the most flavors of cheeses without cheating by asking the chef or querying Mephisto or searching online. Or asking me, because I’m undefeated.”

You stare at him, and think if there’s ever any universe in which you voluntarily return to the base where Sylus kept you captive for days and touched you like he owned you, hand violently clasped in his, where you were terrified for your life, exhausted and confused… and if you ever have a friendly enough relationship with the chaos twins, you’re going to practice your ass off so that if you’re ever invited to such a competition, you can wipe the floor with them. Their cheese-off sounds fun.

Your train of thought is derailed as it registers how smug the last thing he said was. “You’re undefeated,” you repeat, giving him a chance to redeem himself. “At identifying cheeses by taste.”

“And smell, yes. So I’m not allowed to play anymore. My palate is too refined, and they know they don’t stand a chance.”

Oh, you’re definitely going to start sampling cheese every week. You cannot let this smugness stand.

“Ah yes, his royal snobness and his impeachable palate,” you roll your eyes. “Now, will his grace the Duke of Gouda please get on with the wine instruction?” You would give him a little mock bow, but that would put your face right in his formidable cleavage and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from motorboating his unfairly huge pecs. Ugh.

He snorts. “Finally, you’re showing me some long-overdue respect.”

You nod gravely, thankful that the aether core in his eye is not currently delving the depths of your depravity. It’s time to focus. On wine.

“So why do you have to let wine breathe before drinking it?” you ask, because you’re focused.

He looks pleased that you’re interested enough to ask a question. “Much like people, it’s good to expose a greater surface area of the wine to fresh air for a while—it allows undesirable scents and flavors to dissipate, so that it tastes better when you do take a sip than if you drink it straight after opening.”

“Well aren’t you wise, philosophizing about wine and people,” you smile. You find yourself being surprised again and again tonight—at his presence, his bearing gifts, his surprisingly sweet attempt to teach you something, his kind takes on lactose intolerance and what people need to be healthy.

“Did you think I only consist of feathers and spite?” He lifts the wine glass by the stem with one hand, and your hand in his other. He gently wraps your fingers around his own.

“Let’s not forget hubris and violence.” You watch as he gently swirls the wine in the glass held between you. His hand is so warm compared to your own.

“If that’s all, then you still have a lot to learn about me,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t seem offended. Almost as if he’s simply determined. To do what, you’re not sure. “I’d tell you that you should always hold a wine glass by the stem so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the temperature of the wine through the glass itself. But your hands are so cold—I don’t think that would be a problem for you. But if you want people to think you’re a connoisseur, you should anyway if you’re ever on an undercover mission. Now, before you take a sip, inhale the scent we’ve just released by swirling the wine.”

You do as you’re told, and lean over, hovering just over the edge of the glass and taking a deep breath. The scent of the wine, warm and deep, fills your senses.

You look up at him and smile again. “It smells really good.”

“Of course,” he lifts the bottom of the glass with his free hand so that you can straighten, and guides your other hand to support the glass while slipping his own from around the stem and allowing you to hold it by yourself. Your hand immediately feels cold again. He leans one elbow on the counter, “I chose it for you. I’m not going to let you drink plonk.”

“Plonk?” What a cute word.

“Shit wine.”

“Mmm, not allowing me to drink shit wine, you’re truly a knight in shining armor.”

“I don’t need armor, kitten. Now that you’ve established that the wine hasn’t gone off by smelling it, you can take a sip.”

You’re about to lift the glass to your lips, when he reaches up and runs his fingertips along your wrist to stop you. “As you do, don’t swallow immediately. Roll the wine with your tongue in your mouth, and try to really think about what flavors you can taste: can you detect the oak from the barrels, earth, tannin, fruit or spices? Is it sweet or dry?”

You nod, mouth suddenly dry. But you follow his instructions and take a slow sip, rolling the rich liquid around in your mouth, and then slowly swallow. A familiar warmth spreads from your stomach, radiating out through your body. His blood bright eyes follow the movement of your lips, your throat. “I taste… fruit.” You pause, trying to appear very serious about finding the perfect description of flavor. You take another sip, close your eyes. “Yes, very fruity notes. Grapes, in particular.”

You open your eyes to find him scowling at you.

“Aren’t you the comedian?” he growls. “I’m going to revoke your wine privileges if you don’t take this seriously. How are you going to feel confident if you ever need this knowledge on a mission? Or on a date?”

You just laugh at him and try to turn a little on the stool, lifting your arm to keep the glass out of his reach, but his knee between your legs prevents you from moving, and he easily leans forward, fingers drifting up the length of your arm to then wrap around your own hand on the stem. He carefully pulls it back between the two of you. Your hand feels warm again. Safely wrapped in his.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my needing to know how to pass as a wine snob on a mission. What kind of missions do you think I’m regularly going on?” You gently lift the glass again, pulling his hand with you, and take another sip. It really does taste so good. You can’t tell if it’s wildly different than the wine you normally get, but you know it doesn’t taste like it’ll leave you with a headache in the morning.

He shrugs. “If we didn’t have to bring the place down when we were at the auction, people would have been watching you at the dinner banquet. What would you have done if people started to notice that you were clutching the wine and swigging it like a drunken toddler and started to suspect that your behavior wasn't matching your cover identity?”

You gasp. “Excuse me, you don’t know how I normally drink my wine!” Who does this bastard think he is? And here you were, thinking he was sweet, sincerely trying to share one of his interests with you. “I don’t need you patronizing me regarding how I’d manage at a formal event or on a date! I’ve been on plenty of dates where I was able to drink wine without driving off my partner.” You try to pull away from him, and the wine sloshes dangerously with your movement.

“Sit still,” he commands, holding your hand tight with his and placing one large palm on your bare thigh. You immediately freeze. “I watched you gulp wine from a mug the last time I was here,” he retorts.

“So you think that just because I don’t care what you think, I can’t read the room and act according to the demands of the situation?” The indignation coursing through you is amplified by the wine spreading through you.

“Then is it fair to say that you didn’t feel the need for any pretense between us last time because you’re so comfortable with me, and not because you’re as civilized as a cactus?” he asks, running his thumb gently back and forth along your inner thigh.

Your brain is being scrambled by his thumb, how close he is to you, his clavicle exposed by the V of his sweater’s neckline, the scent of his warm, clean skin, the wine going to your head after a long exhausting day.

“I’m saying I don’t feel the need to impress you in my own home when you show up uninvited and demand beverages and band aids,” you finally manage. You’re warm. Too warm. “And what’s wrong with being a cactus?”

“Did I say there was something wrong with it? Cacti can survive the harshest conditions on earth and still produce the most beautiful flowers. And they hurt when they stab you.” He smiles like the thought pleases him immensely.

You can’t process this. He says shit like this so easily—he can’t possibly mean it in the way you are trying so hard to deny that you want him to mean it. You refuse to be lured in, only to see the cruel lines of his face when he realizes you have pathetic feelings for him. The man who could as easily rip your spine from your ribcage as offer you a glass of wine, if you lose your usefulness to him. A usefulness you still don’t know the nature of.

You’re suddenly viciously aware of how close he is to you, how he is watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel like the use of his aether core is unnecessary: you’re afraid that he can see everything you’re feeling, and you hate it. You need space. “What are we even doing, Sylus?”

His eyes drift from your eyes to your mouth, and you try very hard to steel your expression, to conceal how utterly raw and exposed he’s making you feel. You can’t tell if you’re successful, when he finally lifts his hand from your thigh and runs the back of his knuckles with such softness along your cheek that it makes you ache. You resist the urge to turn your face and nuzzle his palm.

“We’re tasting wine, sweetheart.” He leans back, pulling the glass of wine you’re still holding with him. He inhales deeply, and then takes a sip, eyes glittering over the rim, watching you. “It is a good vintage. But it’s not the only one I brought.” He guides your joined hands to set the glass on the counter, and then gets up, rounding the counter to rummage in a bag on the floor on the other side. When he stands up, he’s holding another wine glass.

You do a double take. “You brought two glasses?”

He looks from you to the glass in his hand, then back to the glass still on the counter, and then lifts his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why haven’t we been drinking about of separate glasses then?” you demand.

He shrugs. “That glass is for that bottle,” he nods to the glass sitting next to you. “This glass is for this bottle.” He gestures at the other, untasted bottle sitting on the counter. “No need to rinse our glasses in between tastes.”

You want to laugh, and cry. You’re so fucking done with thinking for tonight.

“Okay, Sylus. Whatever you say,” you sigh.

“Oh, I quite like the sound of that,” he smiles, one canine peeking over his lip. “Then you’re going to enjoy the sorbet I brought for us as a palate cleanser.”

He proceeds to go to your freezer, scoop out some of the aforementioned sorbet that has apparently been in there all evening into a bowl, and takes the stool next to you again. This time, he situates one long leg on either side of you, caging you in. He takes a spoonful and offers it to you. “This will help rinse your palate so that you can taste the next bottle without any lingering effects of the other.”

You look from his seemingly guileless face to the spoonful of sorbet. Yup, you’re really done thinking for tonight. You lean forward and open your lips. He slips the lemon sorbet into your mouth. His eyes remain on your lips as he pulls the spoon away, dips it back into the sorbet, and brings it to his own mouth.

After he continues to trade spoonfuls with you until the sorbet is gone, he pours the second glass of wine, and you both take turns sipping it in companionable silence.

“Now tell me. Which one is your favorite?” he asks after you’ve finished the second glass, and return to the first to finish it as well.

“I like them both,” you shrug. “Sorry for not having a more sophisticated answer.” You’re feeling drowsy and loose. He can walk off a tall building for all you care if he doesn’t like your answer.

“They’re both excellent wines. Each one is suited for multiple situations or meal combinations. They’re versatile, just like you are. And I don’t require any particular answer, except your honest one. I think you already know that you don’t need to put on an act for me, ever.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, mirroring his position, and rest your head in your hand. “Why would I pretend with you, if you can just force the truth out of me?”

“I will never do that to you.”

You look away. “You’ve already done it to me once before. What else is there to hide, when you’ve seen the ugliest parts of me?”

“I will not do it again. Not unless you ask me to,” he says so solemnly that you’re tempted to be a fool and believe him. “And is that what you think? That what I saw was ugly?”

You sit up, take the glass from him and knock back the rest of the wine in one gulp. You can't do this right now. You can't think about the the violent hunger, the savage thirst, that his eye brought from the depths of your soul when he forced his way into your deepest, darkest desires the night you met. The extent of how much you wanted to kill him, and make it hurt, when you thought he had killed Caleb and your grandmother. How you still feel that hunger and rage, with every wanderer you kill, every time you hope some dealer in modified protocores resists arrest so you can put them down, with prejudice.

“I’m tired, Sylus. Thank you for the lesson. Now I can successfully fool rich assholes at upscale dens of corruption and unsuspecting dates into believing that I’m a sophisticated connoisseur of overpriced beverages, and swindle them all. And I’ll never horrify you again by swigging wine out of a mug like a drunken toddler. You should invoice the Association for your services. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“I see. You’re still on guard, and defensive, when you're drunk too. How fascinating.” He narrows his eyes, not seeming to get the hint that you want him to leave now.

“I’m not drunk. I’m maybe tipsy, and I’m fucking tired. I’m going to bed.”

“All right,” he says easily. He stands and begins tidying up the counter.

“All right,” you repeat, feeling a little dizzy, a little empty. “You know where the door is.”

“As you say,” he says serenely, pulling out food storage containers you also didn’t realize you own and packing the food away.

“Thanks again,” you say, because you are polite, dammit. You make your way into the bathroom and begin getting ready for bed. When you emerge, your flat is dark. The kitchen looks pristine in the streetlight drifting in through the windows. You stare for a moment longer, wondering if maybe he’s finally given up on whatever his agenda with you is after your little emotional display tonight, and he’ll stop coming by now. You’re fine with that. Maybe this is what you’ve needed to do all along. Get drunk and sloppy. Guarded, defensive, he called you. What an asshole.

You pad into the bedroom, yawning, pulling up your phone to look at it as you walk. Maybe you should try listening to audiobooks to try to help with the insomnia. Like, boring ones with deep, sexy voiced narrators who can bore you to sleep like Sylus did the other night. You crawl onto the bed, and then—

“The fuck, Sylus?”

He’s sitting in the middle of your bed, sweater off and replaced by… nothing. Just the expanse of his big, creamy chest. And he’s wearing a pair of silky looking loose, black pyjama pants. An impossibly soft looking line of silver hair drifts from his tight navel, disappearing under his waistband. His gold-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, like last time, and he’s scrolling through something on his tablet. He glances up at you, but then goes back to his… spreadsheets?

“Haven’t we already been through that little routine tonight?” he asks, and yawns. “I’m getting déjà vu.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” you seethe.

“Going over the financials from the meeting with my accountant today.”

“Why?” You just sit there on your knees, on your bed, gaping at him like an idiot.

“To ensure that my next acquisition is suited to purpose.”

“What?”

His gaze flicks to you, and he pushes the glasses further up his nose. “Well, I made a promise that I wouldn’t change a thing about my latest business venture, so now I need to ensure that the next chain of businesses I acquire can serve one of the functions I had intended for the arcades.”

“What function is that?” you ask, curious now, despite yourself.

“Well, one of two primary functions,” he amends, tapping his temple thoughtfully with a finger.

“Okay,” you say slowly, inviting him to continue.

“Money laundering.”

You shake your head. “Come again?”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure I’d ever receive one again, what with your heavily implied dismissal earlier.”

“Sylus!”

“Yes, my most precious gem?”

“What do you mean you intended to use the arcades for money laundering?” You want to cry even thinking about it.

“To be fair, after you asked me so sweetly not to change a thing, I immediately agreed. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But that’s why you wanted to buy them?” How many times can a heart hurt in one night?

“I said that was one of the two primary reasons I wanted those arcades,” he says, reaching out with one hand and softly stroking your knee.

You look down, watching his calloused fingers drifting so sweetly across your skin. How can this man be so cruel and so gentle at the same time?

“What was the other reason, then?”

“Guess.”

“I’m done playing games with you tonight, Sylus.”

“When was I playing a game tonight?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Just promise again that you won’t change anything about my favorite arcade.”

He sets the tablet on his lap, and reaches over to grasp your hand. He links your pinkie with his, and lifts it to his lips. “I already promised. And I promise again.” He seals the promise with a brush of his lips, and then rests both of your hands on the bed between you.

You don’t know why, and you will probably never know why, but you believe him right now. It’s clear that no matter what you do, he will not be leaving tonight without great violence on your part, and once again, you’re just too tired to fight him anymore. He reads your body like a damn book, because he silently hands you the glass of water that was sitting next to him on the nightstand. "Even if you're not drunk, but only maybe just a little tipsy," he says, doing an awful imitation of your voice. "You should still drink some water so you don't feel terrible in the morning."

Perhaps because of your easy compliance with his reasonable advice by simply taking the water and drinking it, he seems to deem it safe to pull you into his side. You go down, resting your head on his thick shoulder, and let your gaze wander over his tablet.

“So what are you thinking of buying this time?” you ask, yawning.

He shifts, lifting your head so that he can wrap his arm around you, repositioning you so that you’re tucked a little closer under his chin, cheek resting against his chest. “A chain of casinos.”

“Casinos?” you laugh softly. “That’s on brand, I guess.”

“Mmhmm.” He runs his fingertips absently along your arm, from wrist to elbow and back again. “Lots of money changing hands. Ideal for functioning as a washing machine for the dirty proceeds from the weapons business, which comes out clean in the pockets of lucky winners.”

“You make your living profiting off the worst in people, you know that?” you ask sleepily, the numbers on the screen blurring.

“They’ll continue being terrible, with or without my involvement. I don’t make them take the bet, or pull the trigger. And if I don't, someone else will put the chip or gun in their hands. Might as well be me collecting the paycheck.”

“Maybe, through the power of friendship, I can change your mind,” you murmur. You don’t think you’ll need that audiobook to fall asleep tonight.

“Friendship, huh?” Sylus asks, but when he looks down at you, he sees that you’ve already fallen asleep. He traces the long sweep of your eyelashes across your cheeks with his eyes, feels your measured, calm breath drifting across his skin. He gently touches one finger to the ruby earring you haven’t taken out yet. The thrill of satisfaction he felt when you answered the door still wearing it would sustain him for weeks. He is absolutely certain that it won’t be the power of friendship that’s going to change him.

He pulls you a little closer into his chest, snorts when he feels you begin to drool onto his pec, and continues scrolling through his tablet.

That night, you dream. You’re walking through your childhood home—but not your childhood home from before your memories, because you will never know what that home looked like. This one, the home from your earliest memories, with its wood panelling on the walls, old-fashioned lace curtains in the windows that you can’t see out of, because it’s pitch black beyond the glass. Hallways lengthening at the same pace as you can walk down them, boots echoing on the polished hardwood floor. You walk and walk, and you can never reach the end. Doors that won’t open, but you know Caleb might be behind them, because in your dream logic, his bedroom is behind every door you pass. You turn the handles, but they remain locked. Sometimes you think you can hear the sound of someone biting into an apple, crisp flesh giving way to sharp teeth, but the door won’t open no matter how hard you throw yourself against it. You hear your grandmother speaking, just around every corner, but you can’t understand what she’s saying. You follow the sound, and every time you think that she’s just around the next turn in the hall, the corridor stretches in front of you again, empty.

You have been in this empty house for years now, and you’re afraid that you’ll never be able to get out. But you’re more afraid that once you get out, you’ll never hear them making these particular sounds again, this slim proof of their existence echoing through the empty hallways.

Slowly, you wake up, and in that endless moment caught between your dream and reality, it’s just peaceful and black—you are coming from somewhere so far away toward something you know will hurt, and you’re not ready to feel that yet. But then a feeling of suffocation is overwhelming you, and you open your eyes to realize you’re literally being smothered by a very big, very warm body.

The relief you feel, the gratitude, that Sylus is still here, that you aren’t waking up alone, again, from the nightmare in your sleep to the reality that the nightmare is real, and you’ll never be able to see your family again, is more overwhelming than your current need for oxygen. Sylus is still here, and the yawning emptiness you were carrying with you for what felt like years during that long dream dissipates in the warmth of his body against yours. You can’t help yourself. Your throw your arm that isn’t being crushed by him over his torso and hug him tightly to you, giving in to the urge to nuzzle his chest and just listen to his steady heartbeat.

You lie like that for awhile, blissfully listening to his soft breathing, when suddenly you realize that pressed so close to him, you can feel every contour of his body, from your chest against his abdomen, his muscular, silk-covered thigh wedged between your legs, and his apparently very, very big dick pressing into your hip.

You freeze, feeling like the creep you have accused him several times of being. He’s just sleeping, and you’ve plastered yourself against him like a vacuum sealed burrito. You have absolutely no business being utterly thrilled that this part of him matches the rest of him in terms of size and intimidation. You will not be taking this joy stick for a test drive. You can get out of this. You’re a very good hunter, and you can evade detection and make a tactical retreat when necessary. And it’s very necessary right now, because you do not want him to wake up and find you attached to him like a love-sick leech.

Slowly, sooo slowly, you slide your arm from where it is slung over his waist, and begin to incrementally scooch backwards, his leg slipping from between both of yours, freezing when he seems to shift a little, and then continuing the slow slide away when he settles again.

You’ve managed to extricate all of your limbs from him, except the one that is currently numb and squashed underneath him. You slowly roll onto your back and contemplate how you’re going to get it out from under him without waking him, when suddenly his arm flops over your waist. You jerk in surprise, eyes flying to his face, but his are still closed. His hand slides from your waist to your hip, and then snakes around to take a big handful of your ass. He makes a little happy noise and then pulls your body into his again. In the process, he has managed to jam his thigh back between your legs. You stare at his face, trying desperately to see if he’s starting to wake yet—how did you even end up in this situation? Then he pulls you even closer, causing his thigh to press deliciously against you. You suppress a whine, because it has been so long since someone has touched you liked this. But of course the person who is touching you is a maniac and is doing so while still asleep. You reach up and pat his cheek to wake him up, simultaneously trying to to pull away from him, but tightens his arms around you again, dipping his head to your shoulder still exposed by his too-big sweater. You freeze in shock as he inhales deeply and hums, and soft kisses trail from your neck down, and before you can push him away he bites into the meat of your shoulder. The pain, pressure, and warmth of his mouth on your skin have you trying to arch away and into him—you do whine this time, loudly, because it hurts but you want.

Suddenly, his whole body seems to tense. The pressure on your shoulder eases, and he sighs, his breath cool drifting along your over-heated skin.

“Good morning.”

You open your eyes, realizing you’d been squeezing them shut through the last few moments, and meet his sleepy gaze.

"Were you awake?” you demand, terrified of the answer. Because if he was, then what the hell was he thinking, pretending to be asleep? And if he wasn't, was he just dreaming? Was it you in his dream, or was he dreaming of someone else? You don't want to know. You have to know.

“Your rather loud response to my love bite woke me up, I think,” he smiles softly. "I didn't realize that I was... dreaming until then."

“So you didn’t mean to—” you start to pull away.

He tightens his arm around your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sylus, let go. I’m sorry for not waking you fast enough. I was just—I was just shocked. I know you wouldn’t have done that otherwise.” You struggle, but his arm is a steel bar holding you in place.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have,” he agrees, and you feel whatever fragile, tender root that had been growing in the cracks of your broken heart wither, the dry husk drifting away in an autumn breeze. Replacing that faint feeling of hope, you're livid that you do not share the same teleportation ability that Xavier and Sylus have. If you could, you'd teleport in a poof of glittering light or melodramatic feathers. To anywhere else but here.

You nod, and nod, and nod, because he’s not letting you move but you have to do something or else he’ll see it right on your stupid, open face, and you’d rather he slit your throat than see the pain his rejection is inflicting on you. You had lied to him earlier, about not having anything to hide, about always being honest with him. You've been lying to yourself, and to him, ever since you met him.

“What I mean—” he’s looking at you intently, and you want to cover his eyes with your hands, because as always they’re seeing too much, but suddenly, the doorbell rings through your flat.

You both turn your heads to look at the bedroom door at the same time.

Oh. Fuck.

Xavier.

Sylus turns to look back at you, so close that his nose brushes yours. “Expecting company, kitten?”

“It’s Xavier. Shit.” You try to roll away, and this time he lets you. You grab your phone off the nightstand and see that Xavier has already texted you a few times to see if you’re ready to head to the bookstore yet. The texts grow increasingly concerned the longer you don’t respond. The doorbell rings again. “You have to go. Now.”

You turn to Sylus, who is now lying leisurely on his side, head propped up in his hand, silky silver hair cascading across his forehead, occupying the bed like an imperialist force annexing a weaker neighbor’s territory, with no intention of leaving.

“And what are you going to do?” he asks, eyes drifting from your face, to your shoulder, down to your bare legs.

“I need to answer the door and tell Xavier that I’m running late.”

“Late for what?”

“Sylus, I don’t have time for this. You can’t be here. Xavier helped me get into the N109 zone, he spends a lot of time there—he’s smart enough that if he finds out what you look like, he might eventually be able to figure out who you are. You can’t be here,” you repeat, starting to panic. Sylus may not have any feelings for you beyond friendship or a predator toying with its food, but you still don’t want him to get caught because of you.

“You’re not working today. What plans do you have with him?” he asks, completely ignoring your distress.

“We’re going to the bookstore. We were going to spend our first day free just reading manga and eating junk food,” you rush out impatiently.

Sylus just looks at you for a few beats, the picture of lazy boredom on a weekend morning.

“Okay? Are you satisfied? Can you please leave now?” This is good. You can avoid the inevitable, It was a mistake, thought you were someone else, was dreaming about a giant amorous anthropomorphized ruby, you’re not exactly my type, because my type is someone who has their shit together, can identify what fucking region a certain grape was grown in and its exact soil acidity based on the year of the vintage, my type is someone else, anyone else—you reach down and hit yourself hard in the side of your thigh with a fist to get your head on straight, and start heading to your closet, intent on throwing on a robe or longer shorts so that you don't answer the door looking like you're not wearing any pants.

Sylus's irritated voice follows you. “Satisfied? No, I'm not feeling satisfied. But I would advise against answering the door wearing that.”

You jerk to a halt. “Excuse me?” You turn to find him scowling at you.

He waves a dismissive finger at the sweater and silk shirts you’re still wearing. “I think you should change before you answer the door.”

“I look that bad, huh? Thanks for the advice. You need to be gone when I get back.” You turn, hating everything and everyone, and make your way to the front door.

You throw it open, just as Xavier is lifting his hand to ring your bell again. His sky blue eyes, usually so calm and sleepy, widen when he takes in the dumpster fire that you are today.

“Hi, yeah, sorry. I overslept,” you rush out, hoping you can skip this part and go straight to the moving on with your day and your entire life part. “I just need like, fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be ready.”

“Did you get in a fight with a wanderer last night after we go home?” he asks, hand lifting again, this time toward you, as if he wants to touch you, but then thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. He’s wearing the white hoodie that Sylus stole from him. What even is your life right now?

“What? No, I just had some wine and was really tired.” He’s staring at you, brow furrowed now, and it takes a minute to realize that he’s staring at the sweater hanging off your shoulder. You suddenly get a really, really bad feeling. “Why?”

He lifts his hand again, and points, but in a kind of timid way, like a little kid who knows that it’s rude to point but can’t help himself anyway so just points a little so that his mom won’t get mad at him. “It looks like a wanderer bit you.”

You lift your own hand and touch your shoulder, and feel the too-warm skin there, the ache spreading deep into the muscle.

“Oooh, yeah. Yes.” You decide that you need to take acting classes. That is what you will do as your new hobby, on your few days off. You’re going to win the best actor award if it kills you, because if it doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will kill you instead. And you’d rather die convincing everyone that everything is normal and you’re fine, and not from the embarrassment of the fact that your not-boyfriend, not-fuck-buddy, not-interested-at-all, probably not even your friend anymore Sylus accidentally bit you while fucking asleep and left evidence of it for all the world to see. “I did respond to a really minor alert in the neighborhood last night. It was only one wanderer. Hiding in a trash can of all places,” you laugh, not at all sounding unhinged. Convincing. “Bit me pretty good, but it really was nothing, I had completely forgotten about it. So, still on for the bookstore?” you ask, chipper, eager, well-adjusted!

Xavier stares at your shoulder for a few seconds longer, and then just nods. “Yeah, just text me when you’re ready.”

Bless him. You’ve almost put him back to sleep with your absolutely stellar performance. “Okay, great! See you soon.” You back into your flat again and let the door shut with a heavy click.

Xavier stands outside your door for several moments after you’ve scurried back inside. He thinks about how sharp his light blade is. He thinks about how he’s going to use it on whatever motherfucker thinks that he has the right to mark Xavier’s partner like an animal. And then he yawns, and meanders back to his own flat to wait for your text because he has all the time in the world, and the patience to match it. Xavier is your partner, and he’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. If he murders whatever asshole was in your flat last night right now, that might interfere with your bookstore plans with him.

You stand on the other side of the door for a moment, just trying to collect yourself. You lean against the cool surface, look up at your ceiling. Breathe in the smell of shoe leather, oiled metal. Absently you lift your hand to your shoulder. Why didn’t Sylus warn you before you went to open the door? He even admitted that he wouldn’t have … done that to you if he hadn’t been asleep. Why would he just… and then it hits you. He did tell you to change clothes before you answered the door. The asshole just didn’t tell you why. But he would know by now that you’d actually do the opposite of whatever he says, because he’s not the boss of you. He played you like one of his fucking records.

But why the fuck would he want Xavier to see what happened between the two of you? Does he enjoy your humiliation that much?

You have no idea if you’ll ever have the chance to figure him out, especially if he got the hint that you don’t want to see him anytime soon. You shake your head. Even though you should be exhausted after staying up so late and ending up on the human embodiment of a roller coaster with its wheels coming off despite all of your promises to yourself last night, you feel well-rested. You will survive this. You can survive anything.

You head back to your bedroom to confirm that Sylus is actually gone, because last night proved that whether he actually listens when you tell him to leave depends entirely on his own whims. As you enter, the late morning sunlight spills into the room. He really left. The room is empty. The books and various weapons on your nightstands have been stacked neatly and lined up just so. The clothes that had been left haphazardly hanging off your chest of drawer handles or strewn over the floor are nowhere to be seen. It would be the tidiest your bedroom has been in weeks, if not for the fact that your entire bed is covered in a thick layer of black feathers.

“This bitch,” you breathe.

It’s going to take at least two full size trash bags to clean this mess up.

You decide then and there that Sylus doesn’t have a choice about whether he’s going to see you again. You’re going to bag up these feathers and then tar and feather him with them the next time you see his gorgeous, petty fucking face.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #my fanfic #love and deepspace fanfiction #this is over 13k long so if anyone actually reads this you're a goddamn hero #i've already written sylus's pov of this mess but it needs fleshing out #absolutely self indulgent over the top comfort food #which is what sylus is to me

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roosterforme · 9 months ago

Text

Covering the Classics Part 2 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Anna knows her new coworkers want her to meet their friend Bob. But she's too hesitant, afraid to get herself in a situation where she's pining after someone new. During a spur of the moment shopping trip, Bob is delighted to bump into a woman he can only describe as adorable. Too bad he's never been great at the follow through.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

By the end of her first week teaching, Anna had learned many things, almost like she was a student herself. That nice, secluded ladies' restroom she found was secluded because one of the toilets regularly overflowed. The coffee in the teacher's lounge was actually disgusting, but the donuts were available every day. And Dr. Pham from the sociology department asked her out three times on Thursday, apparently because she wore her hair in two braids like Princess Anna from Frozen, a mistake she wouldn't be making again.

And she was so tired. She started to lose her voice on Friday morning from how much she had to talk in her lectures. She took the wrong notes to class with her and had to improvise an hour long class on Emily Dickinson, because she was too afraid to give one of her students the keys to her office door. So she sweated it out, but managed to sound somewhat coherent as she dismissed her class at noon.

She pressed her lips together. If she ran to get her sandwich and peanuts really quickly, she could join her new friends by the weird tree. After two days of joining them for lunch, she really liked both of them. She just didn't want to get their hopes up about their friend Bob whom she was supposedly perfect for.

Anna wasn't perfect for anybody. And frankly this Bob guy sounded like a dreamboat, which just made it worse. He'd probably laugh after taking one look at her, and if she opened her mouth and tried to talk to him, he'd run away scared. She already turned down their invitation to go to the Navy hangout bar on Saturday night, citing that she was too exhausted. But it was really because she needed to stand firm with herself and do everything she could to protect her feelings from now on.

After another few seconds of contemplation, she went to her office and got her lunch before heading to the quad. But today it was just Jessica there eating lasagna and garlic bread from a plastic container while Anna's stomach growled in jealousy.

"Hi," she greeted after she chewed up a bite of her perfect looking lunch. "It's just us today. Dr. Rosenthal apparently had a bunch of questions about the math curriculum and took Advanced Calculus out for a long working lunch at Covewood."

Anna had barely been in the city for more than two weeks, but even she had heard of Covewood. "That's a five star restaurant. A romantic date night hot spot."

"Mmhmm," Jessica agreed as she sunk her perfect teeth into the garlic bread.

Anna realized her own experience was fueling her next sentences, but she said them anyway. "Isn't she married? Her husband is okay with that?" she asked softly.

Advanced Physics burst into laughter. "Bradley loves Dr. Rosenthal. He's in his seventies, and he's one of the sweetest people at the school. They have him over for dinner sometimes. He actually did my tenure review."

"Oh," Anna replied, embarrassed that she could hardly relate to someone who trusted their spouse. "That actually sounds really nice."

"Hey, are you sure you don't want to come out tomorrow night? No pressure. I just think you'd have a fun time. The guys are all sweethearts."

Anna looked down at herself and her sad sandwich. She didn't even have money to spare for a beer that she would probably drink half of before she wanted to leave. And it didn't matter if the guys were sweet, she knew her two new friends would be champing at the bit to see how she and this Bob person interacted. "Not this weekend," she replied. "Maybe another night."

Instead of socializing, she spent her Saturday window shopping in North Park. She had a budget of exactly zero dollars, but she could entertain herself for hours this way. She gasped when she found a two story bookshop that claimed it contained new and used and rare finds, and she ran across the street to get to it.

It was darker and quieter inside than the sunlit, traffic filled streets, and when Anna took a deep breath, it reminded her of a cozy library. The clerk behind the register waved instead of speaking, so really, it just kept getting better. When she noticed the wooden sign on the wall informing her that The Classics were upstairs, she made her way up the creaky steps to a loft area with row after row of tall shelves.

"Perfect," she muttered, walking to the end of the open space and turning down the last tight row of bookshelves. She wasn't alone, but the only other occupant was a tall, slim man with broad shoulders and tidy, sandy colored hair. He seemed to be so absorbed by what he was reading, he didn't look up when Anna reached for an enormous copy of Shakespeare plays.

She almost moaned out loud; it was annotated and contained every play she had to teach in her Thursday morning English 300 class. It was well worn, and the cover felt nice in her hands. Shit. Of course it was seventy bucks. That was more than she spent on groceries last week. Maybe she could expense it to the department? She should probably know how to do that. Maybe she could text one of her new friends and ask if that was allowed.

But she slid the book back into place as a Vonnegut she didn't yet own caught her eye. She reached out for it with a steady hand, but as soon as her fingertips met the spine, a much larger hand, complete with graceful yet calloused fingers, wrapped around hers. Everything suddenly smelled clean like soap and also intriguingly like tea leaves. And then she heard a voice next to her ear that made her bite down on her lip as a ripple of pleasure teased her spine.

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

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Bob had never been to this store before, and he wasn't really planning on stopping by today, but Mickey dragged him in and then ditched him for the children's section at the back of the store. Bob looked around downstairs, but as a poetry fan, he found that section to be seriously lacking, so he headed up to the loft instead.

He considered himself well-read until he realized how many classic novels he'd never even heard of before. And they all sounded really depressing. Which was kind of the point, he supposed, but if he was going to get something new to read, he was in the mood for a more upbeat story. Maybe a romance or a European adventure he could get lost in. Maybe a sweeping, romantic tale where the nice guy gets the girl for once.

After several tries, he still wasn't finding anything close to what he was hoping for. As he re-shevled The Bell Jar, he decided to just reach for a book at random. Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut? Maybe that would be more his speed. But when he reached for it, his fingers wrapped around a soft hand complete with glossy, burgundy fingernails instead of the actual book. He jumped an inch in the air, because he hadn't even been aware anyone else was in the aisle with him, let alone a woman who smelled like sweet perfume.

"Oh. I'm so sorry," he stammered, already mortified. Then she turned to look at him over her shoulder, and he wanted to jump off the loft railing and run out the shop door. There was only one word to accurately describe her: adorable. She had dark red hair done up in a messy braid, big brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose. "Oh."

"It's okay," she replied softly as she tried to hand him the book. "You can have it."

He shook his head, completely distracted, as he kept finding more things about her face that he liked. A grin curled along his lips as he said, "No, it's all yours. Really. I was just looking for something new to read."

She glanced down at the cover and then back at his face, and maybe he was imagining things, but it looked like she was blushing a bit. "Wow. I wasn't really expecting anyone else to be interested in reading a sarcastic take on global destruction on a sunny Saturday afternoon."

His eyebrows shot up. "Is that what it's about?"

Her laughter was also adorable. "Yeah, I mean... it's Vonnegut," she said with a bit of an eye roll. Oh no. She knew what she was talking about, and he kind of didn't. He was probably about to sound like an idiot.

Bob cleared his throat and pointed at a random spine to buy himself time. "What's this one about?"

She cocked her head slightly to the side and said, "Two murders and a kidnapping."

"Oh," he said with a little laugh. "No thanks. How about this one?"

He wasn't even looking at the books now at all, preferring to watch her facial expression change as she checked another title. "Oh, that one's good. Also about murder."

He chuckled and pointed at another. "This one?"

She smirked and looked up at him. "Jealousy, rage, hatred, and also a lot of murder."

"Wow," Bob replied with what he was sure was a stupid looking smile. "I was hoping for something a little tamer? Perhaps less murder-y? Maybe I should go down and look in the children's section?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and listened to her laugh again.

"I could recommend a few books with little to no murder. Maybe even a happy ending," she told him, and he watched as she pushed her braid over her shoulder.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. To his shock and amazement, her gaze followed his movement, and her blush returned.

When her tongue darted out between her lips, Bob could feel his heart beating in his temples. Her brown eyes drifted back up to his face, and he wondered if this was how Jake or Bradley used to feel when girls paid attention to them at the bar. It was decidedly really exciting.

He was going to be bold like his friends. He was going to ask her for her number. Maybe he'd see if she wanted to help him shop for some books, and he could buy her that horrible Vonnegut that she wanted, and then he'd ask her very nicely for her number.

"Floyd!"

Bob watched you jump as Mickey's voice echoed through the store.

"Floyd! Let's go!"

"S-Sorry," Bob muttered, stepping past her and heading for the loft railing. "Just... hang on for one second?"

As soon as Mickey looked up and saw him, he said, "We gotta go, man. I got some books for my nephews, but we'll be late to grab a drink before D&D if we don't leave now. You know how she gets when we're late." He was shaking a bag of books and heading for the door.

Bob did know for a fact that Jessica got annoyed when they showed up late because they got hungry or distracted on the way to The Hard Deck. "Just give me a minute," he told Mickey, but he was already outside.

He swiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and turned around to find the aisle empty. Oh no. He checked the next row of shelves, and the next, and the next, until he got all the way to the stairs, but the adorable redhead was nowhere to be found. And he had no idea what her name was.

"Hello?" he called out softly, checking each aisle again until he was back where he started. Bob might have believed that he imagined the whole entire exchange with an attractive woman, except that there was one book propped up against the others right where he and she had been standing.

"A Room With a View by E. M. Forster," he mumbled as he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. He glanced around again, but she was well and truly gone, leaving nothing except for what seemed like a book recommendation.

"Floyd!"

Bob sighed and tipped his head back in frustration. "Coming!"

He descended the stairs slowly, head swiveling in every direction, searching for brown eyes and a braid while he held the book. Gone. He paid for A Room With a View and headed outside to find Mickey looking quite annoyed. What he didn't see was the mystery girl watching him from the far end of the loft.

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

"She was real," Bob insisted as he held his glass of ginger ale a little tighter. "Just because you were too busy yelling doesn't mean I made her up in my mind. She had red hair and brown eyes."

Mickey gave him a skeptical look. "That's actually a really rare combination. And I know for a fact you happen to have an excellent imagination, my friend."

Bob cradled his forehead in his hand. "Why didn't I ask for her name and number?" Then he paused. "You know what? It doesn't even matter. There's no way she would have agreed to give it to me."

He thought about the book he bought sitting on the front seat of his truck next to his dice bag and character sheet, and he considered just going home for the night. Maybe he could start to read the book. Maybe he'd feel like writing.

Then he felt an arm slip around his waist. "Hi, Jessica," he said as he blushed when he looked down at Jake's petite girlfriend. A second later, Bradley's wife was next to him as well, and Bob realized they were wearing matching smirks.

"Hey, Bob," Jessica replied, giving him a little squeeze. "We were just wondering if you happened to like redheads."

Mickey snickered before he tipped his beer bottle back and finished the drink. "He loves them. Daydreams about them."

Bob shot him a withering look. "She was real."

"Who was real?" Bradley's wife asked as her husband came up behind her and set his chin on her shoulder. Great, now he was going to have a full audience of people informed about his embarrassing afternoon of not even knowing how to ask a woman what her name was.

"There was a cute girl at the bookstore in North Park earlier," he muttered. "She had red hair, and I fumbled the ball."

Bradley chuckled. "You know what your problem is, right? You're too nice. Sugar met me when I was an absolute fuckboy, and she fell hard."

"I've been having a decade long lapse of judgement," she replied, and Bradley kissed her neck. "Don't listen to him, Bob. Girls love nice guys."

But Bob knew they didn't. Even the woman from the bookstore dodged him after approximately five minutes of flirting. If you could even call that flirting. He finished his ginger ale, and said, "We need to go. It's almost time for D&D. I'll drive."

Mickey nodded and said, "I'm ready." He could probably tell Bob had reached his limit with this conversation. His friend may be an extrovert to the extreme, but he was good at recognizing when Bob needed a break.

Jessica nodded as well and patted him on the chest before she pranced off into Jake's open arms. They shared the most adorable looking kisses before Jake straightened out her glasses and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Have her home by midnight, Bob!" he called as he released her.

Bob nodded wishing there was someone besides the elderly woman who lived in the duplex next to him that cared if he was out past midnight or not. Even though he always looked forward to playing Dungeons & Dragons, he kind of wanted to head home and call it an early night. Nothing sounded as good as sending an email to Nat before reading his new book. But he would wait until later, and maybe he would even be in the mood to get his laptop out.

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

Anna went back to her studio apartment empty handed. Well, that wasn't quite true. She didn't buy any books, but she did splurge on a six dollar bottle of wine which would probably taste disgusting. She just hoped it would help her sleep through the night after reading some sad poetry and eating a piece of toast for dinner.

That guy from the bookstore was going to linger in her mind for a long time whether she wanted him to or not. She was more attracted to him after five minutes in his presence than she was to Kevin at any point in the past five years. And if she was going to start thinking about Kevin, she was probably going to cry.

The toast was good, but the wine was bad. And she did cry a little bit. She was never going to get attached to the idea of being in a relationship ever again. She was never going to have herself that level of intimacy just to have it ripped away. She wouldn't allow it. Relying on herself would have to be enough. Handsome strangers with muscular, veiny arms and cute glasses who made her laugh were not part of the plan. That's why she ducked behind the end cap after she left him a book she thought he might like. She watched him buy it for himself, which left her almost breathless. If she allowed herself to, she could picture him sitting in a coffee shop sipping some tea and reading that book.

"Enough," she whispered, vision a little sloppy from the wine. She opened up the website called PoetsAmongUs, read a bookmarked collection about how good it would feel to be loved completely, and passed out.

The realization that she was going to have to spend all of Sunday afternoon getting ready for the week was made slightly easier by the fact that she only had four hundred square feet of space to clean. And then she thought about the beautiful home she once had in New Jersey, and she had to finish the bottle of wine to help her get through her notes on The Great Gatsby.

She was still thinking about that hot guy with the glasses on Monday when she grabbed a donut from the teacher's lounge. Indulging in a little fantasy here and there about being loved and cared for wouldn't be so bad. And putting his face to it just made it even sexier. When she wasn't teaching, she let her mind wander to some possibilities that would never happen again. Pretty eyes, lean muscles, soft looking hair, pink cheeks. He probably had nice friends, too. He probably never cheated on anything in his life.

"Hey, Anna? Are you alright?"

She looked up from her bag of peanuts and realized she'd been so deep in thought, she wasn't paying attention to the lunch conversation. "I'm sorry," she replied, fighting the urge to groan. She wasn't very good at this stuff and should have probably just eaten lunch in her office like she did the past few days. The fact that it was Wednesday and she was still distracted was concerning to her.

"Don't apologize. You just seem lost in thought," said Jessica as she ate another perfect looking lunch.

"Do you want some chips and hummus? Bradley packed me too much food today," her other friend said. And of course he did, because he sounded like a damn dream.

Anna ate a few chips and sighed. "Have either of you ever had your heart smashed to bits?" She didn't really mean to say that out loud, but now that she had, she was met with an awkward silence that she wanted to run away from.

"Yeah," Advanced Calculus replied softly. "And I did it to myself."

"Not my heart as much as my hopes and dreams," Advanced Physics added. "But for me, I think that was much worse."

Now the silence that followed wasn't quite as painful, but Anna was still a little embarrassed. "Yeah. All of the above." She cleared her throat and tried to think of something else to talk about, but her mind was still on the bookstore. "Hey, why didn't you tell me that San Diego is full of hot guys? They are literally everywhere. I went window shopping in North Park and got sucked into a bookstore, and I bumped into a guy with glasses who smelled so nice."

"Ohhh, what did he look like?"

Anna sighed. "You know how you can just tell a guy is really strong even though he doesn't have bulging muscles?"

"Mmhmm."

"He was like that." Anna bit into her sandwich and chewed it slowly. "Pretty eyes, kind of the color of a lake. Sandy hair. Wire glasses. Soft spoken. He smelled like a cup of tea."

A few seconds later, she was snapped back from her drifting thoughts as Advanced Calculus asked, "Did you say this was at a bookstore in North Park?"

"Yes," Anna replied with a nod.

"Did you get his name?" Advanced Physics asked.

"No," she answered, still embarrassed over the fact that she hid from him.

And then she thought she was going to get whiplash again.

"Was he about six feet tall?"

"Was he slim but not skinny?"

"Did he blush when he smiled?"

"Will you please come to the Hard Deck this weekend?"

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

Bradley is so proud of the fact that Sugar fell for him when they were in college. Beer Boy just gets better with age. This little Bob and Anna meet cute might spell disaster when they figure it all out! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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bosbas · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 8: no one wanted to play with me as a little kid

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love (sort of. it's like pre idiots in love. on the cusp of idiots in love), fluff (so much fluff)

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: you know what. let's pretend all of the ages/years make sense. kisses to all of you!

December 4, 1809 - Dearest, loveliest, most wonderful Y/I (your initial),

I am so sorry I have not written in almost two weeks, though I did enjoy the very strongly worded letter you sent me reminding me of this fact and demanding a response. I wish I had a better excuse, but truthfully, this term has just been hectic. But to answer the question you so politely asked: yes, I will be home in time for Christmas, and I will be staying for New Year's and your birthday (your birthday is not even two weeks after Christmas, darling, give me some credit!). Though I rather think you owe me a present instead of the other way around after calling me an oblivious toad.

As an apology for my silence, I've attached my reading list for the courses I am taking at Oxford this term so you can also read them. I am sure you will be able to find them in your library but do let my mother know if you cannot find them. We should also have copies in our library. I will be heading back to Aubrey Hall in ten days to see the lot of you, and I will eagerly be awaiting all of your thoughts on this term's reading.

Yours, B

You couldn't help the excited gasp that left your lips as soon as you were finished reading Benedict's letter. You hadn't even managed to leave your entryway before you hastily opened the envelope addressed to you, blurting out a thank you to your slightly startled butler, who had been taken aback by your eager rifling of the mail.

Now that Benedict was at Oxford, you barely got to see him at all, so you were more than a little excited when you read that you would only have to wait ten more days to see him. The three weeks he was home for the winter holiday were the bulk of your in-person interactions with him for the year, as had been the norm for the past three years he had been at university.

It wasn't all bad, though. Proof of that lay in a box in your bedroom filled with every single letter or note you had received from Benedict while he was away at Oxford. Even the short ones, when he was studying for an exam and barely had time to write a coherent response, had found a place inside your box. You supposed the box contained most of your friendship with Ben over the past three years, neatly organized by date from oldest to newest and separated by term.

Sometimes, you found yourself missing Benedict more than usual, and you would read through your favorite of his letters. Often, it ended up being the shortest notes that were the sweetest and ones you would read over and over. Even years after he had sent the letters, you found comfort in his messy scrawl after an afternoon playing Pall Mall without Benedict and his typical banter. But once you saw him at Aubrey Hall every December, it would be like no time had passed at all. You kept him up to date on everything happening at home with your family and his, and he told you wild stories from his time at Oxford.

And although you enjoyed hearing about his life, it was also bittersweet. You were so jealous of him, wishing more than anything that you could go to university, too. But alas, the pesky issue of your gender prevented you from furthering your education. You got as close as you could, though. Benedict would send you all of his readings every term, and you enjoyed discussing the books you read at length when he returned for the holiday season.

This is not to say that your conversations about literature and art were limited to your in-person time. In fact, most of your correspondence was about the books you were reading or the galleries you had gone to. Ben could spend pages and pages talking about a particular part of a painting, the way the artist had captured the way light filtered through the trees. And you loved every bit of it, engaging in your usual discussions. In a way, if you ignored how much you missed him, it was lovely to have a physical representation of your friendship.

However, you would soon stop being constrained to receiving correspondence from Ben every few days, and you could simply knock on his door if you were particularly interested in talking about an aspect of your book. Your time at Aubrey Hall had become your favorite time of year, three weeks of daily interactions with your best friend being the absolute best birthday present you could've ever asked for.

But this year was different. This was the last time you would have to say goodbye at the end of the holidays, seeing as Benedict was graduating in the spring and returning from Oxford permanently. To say you were over the moon was an understatement. You could barely wait to spend hours in his studio watching him paint again or reading aloud to him under the shade of the tree in your backyard on particularly warm days.

---

August 12, 1799 - Y/I, I thought you would like this one. Yours, B

Bypassing Alex and Anthony having a heated debate about who was better at billiards, Benedict headed straight in your direction across the garden, ignoring Daphne, Colin, Theo, and Bastian, who had been playing some team game that devolved into an argument. Benedict patted your head as he came by to sit beside you on the grass, momentarily drawing your attention away from the massive book on your lap.

Grabbing the book from your lap and transferring it to his own, he asked, "So, what do you think?"

You let out an excited squeal, shaking Benedict's nearest arm with both hands. "It's amazing, Ben! An entire book about flowers, who knew? I've spent hours looking at it already, and I'm not even halfway through! It's got so much information I could die. It's incredible. Thank you so much." Though it was left unsaid, Ben knew these were hours you would have otherwise spent alone. The twins were especially adamant about not having you play with them, and Alex and Anthony were too caught up in their never-ending competitions to pay any attention to you. With your mother and his being occupied with the toddlers, Francesca, Cass, and Eloise, who had only just begun to walk and talk, you and Ben were truly the only odd ones out. But it was no bother to him. He loved when you read aloud to him, and you would happily listen to him talk about his sketches for hours on end, something he could not say about any other member of the Bridgerton-Beaumont cohort.

Ben could only laugh fondly at your excitement, internally very proud that he had found a book you really enjoyed. "It's called an encyclopedia. There are loads of them about just about anything and everything in the world," he told you, leafing through the book himself. Gently pushing the book back in your direction, he prodded, "Well, go on then. Show me your favorite flowers so far."

Grabbing the book, you hastily turned the pages until you reached the flowers, starting with the letter 'd.' Standing up, you rushed to the nearest corner of the garden and dug around for a few seconds, coming back with a bunch of small white flowers clutched in your small hands.

Ben let out a short laugh, but you quickly shushed him, whining, "Stop it! It'll make sense in a second, I promise."

"I didn't say anything!" responded Ben defensively, putting his hands up in the air but unable to conceal the smile you had elicited from him.

"Okay. Look at the page. The daisies. They're also called Bellis perennis, but that's in Latin. We have them here in the garden! Isn't that lovely?" you said excitedly, placing the flowers beside Ben.

"Oh, that is quite nice, Y/N," he responded, picking one of the daisies up and placing it behind your ear, eliciting a bright smile from you. "Did you know that a Violet is a type of flower? And so is a Primrose."

"You mean both our mums have flower names? That's so fun. I wish everyone could have a flower name," you responded, excited to have learned new information.

"You could always give your daughters flower names," Ben suggested, enjoying the pure joy you were getting out of this.

"Well, before I have daughters, I would have to get married. And I don't want to do that! I just want to keep reading books. I want to read every single encyclopedia in the world!" you exclaimed, reaching your arms as high as they could go.

Ben laughed, highly amused by your antics. "Just like me, then. Except instead of reading it's painting," he responded as he laid down fully on the grass, looking up at the sky and feeling particularly thankful that someone understood how he felt. On the other hand, you took the opportunity to dump all of the flowers you had picked onto his torso, arranging and rearranging them into different designs. He could only laugh, not at all bothered that his shirt would surely be dirty now, just happy to watch you enjoy yourself.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke up as you tried unsuccessfully to stack the flowers on top of each other. "That's perfect, then. We can get married, I can read, and you can paint, and we can have a daughter and give her a flower name."

"That sounds wonderful! I'm glad that's sorted," he laughed, lifting his head to find you flashing a toothy grin. "D'you like the name Daisy for our daughter, then?"

"That's lovely! And you can paint her a painting of a daisy for her room!" you responded eagerly. Benedict hummed in assent, busy imagining the dynamics of a blissful imaginary marriage.

---

January 3, 1810 - Y/I, Happiest of birthdays, darling. Come downstairs, where I have a proper gift and card waiting for you. Yours, B

As you came downstairs, you already feared the fate that awaited you. Every year, your birthday would begin with a very extreme and frankly excessive snowball fight involving all the Bridgerton-Beaumont children. You could trust no one. Alliances would easily crumble under pressure, and people were just as likely to betray their siblings as they would someone from the other family. You and Benedict, ordinarily inseparable, could become sworn enemies in the span of two snowballs. You couldn't even trust sweet Hyacinth, only seven years old, to be loyal to any team, seeing as she was an outstanding double agent, a lesson you had all learned the hard way. It was absolute chaos, and you loved every second of it. It didn't matter how old you were; this was always the best part of your birthday.

As soon as you stepped outside, a snowball the size of your fist hit your right shoulder. Slowly turning toward the perpetrator, you narrowed your eyes once you saw it was Gregory, who had helped you defeat Bastian and Francesca in one fell swoop last year. Clearly, that alliance was gone, and you would have to find someone else to rely on this year.

Since it was your birthday, the fight officially started when you threw the first snowball, and this year, you chose to throw it at Cassandra, your own sister, who had annoyed you at dinner yesterday by incessantly flinging peas at you. Once the tightly packed ball left your hand, all hell broke loose. You were hit in the stomach and leg simultaneously as you fired snowballs in every direction you could, laughing as you did.

You briefly ducked behind a tree trunk, needing a moment to breathe. You took advantage of the fact that you weren't a target to form a massive snowball. You carefully stepped away from behind the trunk, checking that the coast was clear. Without a second thought, you flung the snowball as hard as you could in the direction of the person closest to you.

Unfortunately, it hit Benedict straight in the face, blinding him for a few moments. Your mouth hung open, trying not to laugh because you knew you had packed quite a bit of force into your throw. You ran to Ben's side, apologizing as much as possible without bursting into laughter. He cleared the snow from his eyes and turned to you slowly, an evil grin forming on his face.

"I believe you have just declared war, Miss Beaumont," he said finally.

You screamed and ran in the opposite direction, knowing he would be absolutely merciless. You couldn't even look back, not wanting to slow down. After a few seconds of frantic sprinting, you felt Ben tackling you onto a massive pile of snow. Both of you were laughing hysterically while trying to catch your breath. He turned you over so you were lying down side by side, both of you panting heavily, looking up at the winter sky.

"I miss you," you said finally, turning your head toward him, only to find that he was already looking at you. He pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around you tightly before he helped you up and brushed the snow off of your coat.

"I know. I miss you, too. But it'll only be like this for a short while longer, and then you can come round every day and read to me while I paint, yeah?" he said, lifting your chin to look at him.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your heartbeat quicken, his brown eyes not letting yours go. Your eyes flickered to his mouth briefly, your lips parting slightly. Looking back at his eyes, you saw something flash in them that you couldn't quite parse, an expression you hadn't seen before. Finally, you nodded, letting him pull you into him and kiss your forehead, enjoying the warmth and comfort you felt as you were wrapped tightly in his arms.

---

September 17, 1805 - Y/I, I can't believe you had a book about the exact artist I was talking about! I'll pop by yours later to say a proper thank you. Yours, B

Benedict walked into your sitting room, sprawling on the couch before you with his arm behind his head, silently waiting for you to look up from your book. But you had just gotten to an exciting part, and your eyes remained glued to the page, ignoring your best friend's attempt to get your attention.

You heard him huff and muttered a soft "Just a second, Ben" as your eyes raced across the page, eager to know what happened next. In response, he slid further down the couch and crossed his arms, eliciting a laugh from you and finally drawing you away from your book.

"You were barely waiting ten seconds, Benedict!" you exclaimed, secretly pleased he was so eager to see you. He was leaving for Oxford in a few weeks, and although you were trying not to think about the reality of him going, you were acutely aware that you would soon be unable to see him every day.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, responding with a teasing, "It felt like ten years!"

In recent months, the two of you had become inseparable. Your days were spent reading next to him as he painted, listening to him talk about his most recent artworks, or going for nature walks if you found yourself in Aubrey Hall. Anything to keep him close by before he left for Oxford, you reasoned. Though you couldn't help the growing affection, you were feeling, finding it impossible to look away when he tousled his hair just so and being a bit too pleased every time he complimented you. Every handsome smile or cheeky wink he sent your way lit you up inside, melting your heart just a little bit.

The problem was, and of course, there was a problem, that Benedict was always like this. Nothing about his demeanor had changed; your friendship was still the same as it had always been. Except now you found yourself spending a little too much time in the mornings making sure your hair looked good in case he popped by unannounced. Regardless, you knew Ben did not reciprocate your affections, so you tried to ignore these feelings as best as you could, folding them up very small and tucking them neatly in the corner of your heart for later examination.

Now, you found yourself on a couch against a wall of Benedict's studio, reading Romeo and Juliet as he was quietly sketching. This was quite possibly your favorite thing to do. Spend quiet afternoons together, reading and painting, enjoying each other's company. You took a moment to look at him as he scrunched his nose, unhappy with a certain aspect of the sketch.

He sighed and looked up at you, nodding toward your book. "What has Shakespeare got to say today?"

"That marriage is a death sentence," you replied, voice deadpan.

Ben burst into laughter. "Oh, come off it. It can't be that bad in real life. That's only a play! Besides, you've still got a while before you have to think about that," he tried to reason with you.

"Well, maybe. But it just sounds so unappealing. I want to do this. What we're doing now. I want to keep doing it. I don't want to be a wife! I just want to read and study," you argued.

Benedict stood up, coming to sit beside you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I know, darling. I'm sorry," but he knew you had more to say.

You groaned, pushing your forehead into his shoulder. "I just don't think I'll ever be happy if I'm forced to marry. And I most likely will be, knowing my mother. She'd rather die than have one of her daughters turn into a spinster," you huffed, missing the sympathetic look you got from Ben. "And who will my husband be? A clueless man with no interest in me beyond my ability to be a good wife? I cannot imagine a worse fate."

---

May 8, 1810 - Y/I, I'll keep this one short, seeing how I'll be properly back in a few days! I've been quite busy with graduation, but I'm excited to come home. Yours, B

You smiled as you placed the last letter you had received from Benedict back in your box. The collection was complete. Three years of correspondence between the two of you finally come to an end. You carefully closed the box and returned downstairs, where a big family gathering was occurring in the garden.

As soon as you stepped outside, Ben was at your side, chatting your ear off about one thing or another. He had barely left you alone since he had been back, granting you only a few minutes to yourself, but you couldn't complain. You wrapped an arm around his torso as you walked back to the garden table.

"Oh, you look so darling!" cried Violet, cooing at the two of you.

"You're proper adults now! Both of you! How the time has passed," your mother added, reaching out to hold Violet's hand.

Benedict could only smile, too happy to be back at your side to focus on anything else. He had missed you loads while he was at Oxford, but having your arm around him now, he realized just how much he needed you. Ben placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, unable to help himself as you sat down at the table. He sat right next to you, taking one of your hands into his own so he could play with your fingers as you chatted with Primrose and Violet.

Oxford had been a riot, to be sure, but he was so glad to come home to you.

—

previous part || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

Tag List (lmk if you want to be added!): @bellahadidnt16 @like-gabriel-and-castiel @riverraingrayworld @5sos-calm @elissanatok @titanicnerd-blog @noonenuts @moonwayne @lilasblogg @mmontgomeryb @fulltacoparadise @joyfullymulti

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gretavangroupie · 2 years ago

Text

Vigilance (Chapter 9)

Word count: 18.1k

Pairings: Sam x Reader, Jake x OC, Jake x Reader

Warnings: 18+ as always, drinking, language, fluff, angst, smut, talks of illness.

This story is a collaboration with my best pal @gretavanmoon. Please go show her some love!

HER POV

JULY 2021

Your eyes open, blinking rapidly as you try to adjust to the dim light coming in through the small basement window. You’re warm, much warmer than usual, and that’s when you realize it's because you’re laying on top of someone. Jerking back quickly you look down at the face merely inches from yours and see Jake. Eyes shut and mouth parted. Shock runs through your body as you suddenly are overly aware of your body pressed closely to his, and his hand wrapped tightly around your waist.

Oh god. How did this happen? Where is Sam? What time is it?

You can feel his breath on your arm as it lays wrapped around his chest, and you immediately remove it, trying your best not to wake him. The last thing you wanted to do was try and explain why you were laying on top of him. Maybe he didn’t know. But the question comes to mind, how did you end up here, and furthermore, why?

From the arm wrapped around your waist you felt it was safe to assume he knew you were here, holding you tightly to him as he slept. You weren’t even sure when you fell asleep last night, waiting for Sam to return, but you realize he never did, and that's what got you in this situation.

How many nights had you wished for him to hold you like this again? Thought of the way his hands felt on your body?

That's why it made it so much more painful when you had to remove yourself from him. You gently picked up his arm, laying it next to him on the couch as you silently stood up.

He looked so happy. So peaceful. But he wasn’t yours, and you knew that he probably only let you sleep next to him because he felt bad for you. After telling him everything that had happened with Andy, you were sure he felt pity for you. For the situation you were in. He was just being kind. He always had been with things like that. But you were embarrassed. You knew he was with Sophia. It was wrong of you to even put him in this position.

You couldn’t face Sam either. You’re sure he had to have seen you and Jake on the couch when he finally did come back. Of course he left you there. After all the flirting and touching you and Sam did yesterday, and practically leaving him waiting all night, seeing you cuddled up on Jake was probably the cherry on top. You knew he would be mad, and you couldn’t deal with that. You couldn’t bear to have that conversation.

You took one last look at Jake before you climbed the stairs, and made your way to the living room. You grabbed your bag and your keys and left, not knowing when or if you and Jake would ever talk about what happened last night, or if you and Sam were still speaking because of it.

But you would get your answer a bit later in the form of a text from Jake. Something you hadn’t seen flash across your screen in years. His contact still the same as it was all those years ago.

Jake: Hey, everything ok?

You read it immediately, not sure what to say. Did he want to talk about last night? Tell you it was a mistake and should have never happened? What did happen?

Unable to form a coherent thought you closed out of his message and shoved the phone into your purse, boarding your flight home.

—

Your fingers tapped quietly on your desk, and the chatter of people talking around you had your head feeling even more fuzzy than it already did. You had been in a fog since you left Michigan that morning, frazzled and in a hurry, your brain never fully taking the time to process exactly what had occurred. Choosing not to relive the embarrassment. A notification pinged across your computer snapping you from your daydream.

Allison - Hey, I’m coming down in a minute, you free?

You - Yes! Just wrapping up this expense report.

Allison - See you in a minute.

You had only been officially employed by Collective for about a week now, and your cubicle-mates had already been preparing you for the excitement of receiving your first real assignment. They had all been here far longer than you had and had very high profile clients they worked with. You told yourself you would get there one day.

They would talk about the craziness of the tours they would work, the logistics behind them, all the wild stories that would come from it, everything you felt grossly unprepared for, but eager to experience. It was surprising that most of them were here this week. You learned that summer was the height of the touring season for artists, and that typically the office was empty as everyone was on the road with their clients. You were kind of looking forward to being one of the few in the office this summer, providing you a quiet escape from your thoughts as you planned outings and travel you could only dream of, all for someone else.

Maybe one day.

You spent all week preparing yourself for your first client, whoever it would be, getting documents together and preparing for whatever they might throw at you. You knew Allison wouldn’t give you something you couldn't handle for your first job. Right? You hit send on the expense report you finally finished, sending it over to Ted, the company accountant, just as Allison appeared at your desk.

“Oh, cute little plant!” she said, running her fingers over the leaves. “I love what you did with your space, but you better find someone to water this little baby, because you’re hitting the road.” she smiled, doing a little dance with her hands in excitement.

What?

“What? What do you mean?” you asked.

“Your first assignment!” she smiled, handing you a manilla envelope, packed to the brim with documents. “Typically we try to do all of this from the office especially for a first assignment but… this band does things a little differently. You will be coordinating flights, cars, hotels, food, anything they need… but they need you on the road with them. They like to have their coordinator with them. You will almost be like an assistant to them. Hell, you may even have to help backstage.” she laughed..

“Wow, that sounds…kind of…” you said nervously.

“I know this is a lot of pressure for your first assignment, but I think you’re a good match. Same age and all, you’ll all get along great. I have worked with them a few times and it's always a blast, that's why I know you can do it.”

“Well, who is it Allison!” you urge excitedly.

“You remember a few months ago at the release party? The guy you were talking to at the end of the night?” she said.

You felt your blood run cold. No, it couldn’t be…

“Yeah, Josh?” you replied nervously.

“Yeah Josh! His band, Greta Van Fleet, is doing a short tour this fall, only a few cities. Should be a piece of cake, and really fun.” she smiled.

The tour Sam talked about…

“So I’m…going with them?” you asked, confirming you weren’t imagining things.

“Yeah, like I said, I know it seems crazy for your first tour assignment, but it's short, and I think it will be a great experience for you. You’ll love these guys once you get to know them!” she said.

If she only knew how well you already knew them…

“Allison, I don’t think I am qualified to work with a band that big yet.” you said.

“Y/N, I have seen your work. You are good at this. You can do this. These are some of the nicest guys I have ever worked with. Plus, the paperwork is already done, it’s out of my hands.” she laughed.

You stammer on, looking for the words to say, “Wouldn’t, Sarah be more qualified? I mean she just got done working with that big country artist.” you tried to reason.

“Exactly, she just got done. I’m not sending her out for the other half of the year!” she laughed.

“There’s no one else?” you ask, biting your cheek.

“Y/N, do you not want this? I thought you would be thrilled.” she asks, brow furrowed.

“No, no, I definitely do, I have been looking forward to this assignment for weeks. I’m just suddenly feeling like it’s a lot of pressure… Especially not being in the office where I can ask for help if I need it. I… I… don’t even know any of their songs.” you say.

“If you don’t know what to do, just call me! You know I am glued to this thing. This is supposed to be a learning experience, but I have seen how organized and on top of things you are. This is how I learned everything I know, they threw me to the wolves. And I promise you, as scary as it sounds, you’ll have more fun than you ever imagined. As far as the songs go, I’m giving you homework. Go home, listen to their new album. It’s really cool. I think you’ll like it!” she said.

You sigh as you nod your head, “Okay, well…when does the tour start, what do I need to do first?” you ask.

“About a week. First show…” she says, flipping through the folder, “...is August 5th, oooh, and it’s local, so that will be easy to arrange.”

“Wow, that’s… soon. Okay, I guess I need to get started. Oh gosh, and pack?” you laughed.

“You know, you must have really made a good impression on Josh, if he specifically requested you.” she smirked.

“He what now?” you asked, shock running through your body.

She laughed and began to walk back down the hallway, “Good luck, call me if you need me!”

Specifically requested? He knew this whole time?

You felt the panic rising in your chest as you fully realized the gravity of the situation. You would be leaving in two weeks, stuck with them day and night. You flipped rapidly through the paperwork to figure out when their tour ended. Finding the last date you almost passed out, the end of October. Nearly three months. Your heart began to race as your mind started playing out every horrible scenario it could imagine.

You were fully planning on not seeing any of them for a few weeks, blaming it on work and letting them prepare for the tour they kept mentioning. You knew there was a reason Josh kept snickering at you when it got brought up at the lake. You should have known.

Flipping through the pages and pages of information your breath caught as you saw their headshots and stats, along with their instruments and preferences. They all looked stunning. These must be the promo photos for the new album. You had a gut feeling that going on this tour with them was a bad idea. There had to be a way to get out of it.

How could you tell Allison that you couldn’t do this? How could you tell her that you’ve slept with two out of the four and now things are really awkward because you are totally in love with one of them? That, that is the reason you don’t think you should get this assignment?

You couldn’t. You would have to suck it up and pretend that you were completely unaffected by these men, that you didn’t even know them. You would do your job, and nothing else. Keep things strictly professional.

But deep down you knew that that would be nearly impossible.

—

As you sat on your couch that night, glass of wine in hand you stared at the envelope sitting on top of your computer. You knew you needed to get started, or at least take a look at all of the information. But if you didn’t look at it, maybe it wasn’t real? Wishful thinking. Tossing back the rest of your glass, you placed it on the coffee table, and grabbed your computer and the offending envelope.

You pulled out the papers, flipping through until you found the information about this upcoming tour. ‘Strange Horizons’. Interesting name. Your eyes scanned the cities, Nashville, Bridgeport, Chicago and Los Angeles. Wow, they are really hitting the major cities. They would play two consecutive nights in each city, before taking off to the next. Well, except Chicago. Only one night there? There were a few small breaks between shows and you wondered what planning those days would consist of.

You pull that page, and set it to the side so that you can begin looking up hotel accommodations. You flip to the next page and see a list of preferences for each of the guys, and things they require while touring. You smile as you read, even laughing at some.

Joshua Kiszka:

Hotel Preference: King Bed, mini bar preferred but not required.

Travel Preference: Aisle Seat preferred.

Passport: Yes

Food Allergies/Preferences: No Dairy, Low Sugar, Gluten Free.

Access: All

Guests: 1

Notes: Double check tour rider, ensure venue has provided all items listed.

Jacob Kiszka:

Hotel Preference: King Bed, mini bar required.

Travel Preference: Window Seat preferred.

Passport: Yes

Food Allergies/Preferences: None.

Access: All

Guests: 1

Notes: Prefers to sit next to Josh during travel but not required.

Samuel Kiszka:

Hotel Preference: Queen Bed or Larger, mini bar required. Smoking room if available.

Travel Preference: Aisle Seat preferred.

Passport: Yes

Food Allergies/Preferences: Pescatarian Diet.

Access: All

Guests: 1

Notes: Needs to be updated on timeline frequently day of show.

Daniel Wagner:

Hotel Preference: King Bed, mini bar required.

Travel Preference: Window Seat preferred.

Passport: Yes

Food Allergies/Preferences: None.

Access: All

Guests: 1

Notes: Double check on security details upon arrival/departure.

You laugh as you set that page to the side, trying to figure out when they became such primadonnas. The rest of the paperwork is logistics details talking about lighting, rigging and stage design, so you place them back into the envelope and begin to work on the travel details.

Thankfully the first show was in Nashville, so the travel part wouldn’t be too much to deal with, but they would need a hotel close to the venue. It was about an hour away from town, so driving back and forth both days wouldn’t make too much sense.

Reviewing their hotel requests you found one that fit the bill, booking separate rooms for each of them not too far away from the venue. You found lodging for the roadies, and crew and took care of the catering for both shows. Selecting options that would suit everyone's requests was a challenge, but luckily you had insider knowledge on what they liked to eat.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, and you leaned forward grabbing it to see a text from Allison.

Allison: Hey, I forgot to tell you this today, but make sure you plan a couple of activities for them when you are on the road. They need something to do on their off days or they get cabin fever. Lol

You: Got it, thanks for the tip!

Fun days, huh? You knew exactly what they liked to do. Maybe you could do this after all.

Closing your laptop, you place it next to you on the couch, telling yourself that you would need every bit of the next two weeks to pack. While you would be making brief stops back at home between shows, you didn’t want to have to pack and unpack each time. You forced yourself up and off the couch and into your closet, to begin perusing your options. You wanted to dress professionally, but still fun.

You began pulling things from the rack, tossing them onto your bed as options. When you had a large enough pile you began to go through them, piecing them together with other items until you had a stack of suitable outfits.

The lull of the TV was boring you, so you grabbed your airpods and placed them in your ears. Maybe a little music would help the monotonous task. Then you remembered. ‘I’m giving you some homework, go home and listen to their new album’.

Your heart began to beat faster in your chest at the thought. You could never really bring yourself to listen to their stuff before, always having a reason you couldn’t, or wouldn’t. But now you had no choice. It was literally your job. You swallowed harshly, as your shaky fingers typed their name into the search bar.

You were met with a photo of them, and a listing of their albums. They looked so good. You remembered the first promo photo they ever took, right there in their garage, and smiled to yourself as you realized just how far they had come since those days.

Finding their newest album, you selected it. The Battle at Garden’s Gate. Cool name.

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as your finger hovered over the first song, and with a rush of nerves you hit play.

Of course. Sam. The very first sound you hear, his hands dancing across his keys. Low and deep, but still brightly layered notes. You closed your eyes, and turned the volume up almost as high as your phone would let you. Seconds passed, and the sound grew…it was blossoming quickly.

Here come the drums…slow and building, until they peaked into the most powerfully exciting mixture of instruments that you believe you’ve ever heard. It was almost as if you could hear the music in your chest…feel it in your bones already, and you weren’t even 30 seconds in. Instantly, your eyes welled with tears. You couldn’t stop the grin from forming on your face.

Jake...playing acoustic…the sound was so sweet. So him. You pictured him perched on a stool, pick in hand, strumming the simplest little tune.

Josh...oh. Good lord. What? What on earth…he sounds…perfect? Flawless? This isn’t the buzzy-voiced sound of Josh you knew and loved. You knew his voice had probably matured since, but…wow. This was another level. What else can they do?

You made your way through the songs, letting them play in order.

My Way Soon...upbeat and positively catchy.

Broken Bells, Built By Nations, both beautifully reflective and heavy.

Age of Machine and Tears of Rain...somber and hypnotic. God, they were mesmerizing. You were glad you’d decided to not read along with lyrics yet, it would have been a mind-body overload that you were simply not ready for yet.

Stardust Chords, Light My Love. Perfection. And oh, that last one. It’s something special. The rest had given you chills, but this one hit you especially hard. A sweet little ballad with so much emotion and intention that you felt dizzy. This one has meaning, you could tell in Josh’s voice.

Crying harder and harder as you continued, you found yourself wanting to go back and replay each and every song as soon as it would end.

Caravel, The Barbarians, Trip the Light Fantastic...each one just as intoxicating as the last. You reached up to wipe the tears that had pooled in the corners of your eyes and had begun to fall in a steady stream down your face. Why didn’t you listen sooner?

Their sound was so big, so dynamic and layered. You knew Josh was a wordsmith, but these lyrics felt similar to one another, full of depth and history, like they were stories being told from an ancient time. You had begun to see the music in your mind…colors and scenes twisting and turning through your brainwaves. You were positively vibrating.

You made your way to the last song, and was surprised at the length of it. You felt your chest tighten as you listened to Jake strum one of the most melancholy riffs you’d ever heard him play. Your eyes shot open. What is this? The song proceeded on with surprisingly raspy riffs and- what’s that? Strings? So many elements you keep noticing, trying to take mental note.

You felt another build in the song, Josh’s perfectly tuned wail hitting all the high points in your brain.

And then there was Jake. All Jake. So much Jake. You sat up on your bed. The tears stopped. You looked all around your room, focusing on nothing. Your mouth slowly fell open…intense chills flooded your body, you felt like your mind was racing. Screaming. Pleading for anything to grab and hold on to. Like your brain and emotions were arguing with one another, each trying to tell the other what was right.

The guitar sounded like your psyche was trying to climb a mountain that didn’t exist. Exhaustion and pity, remorse and sadness. Your hands found your cheeks, the tears coming again. Your heart was beating out of your chest as the solo ended; a sorrowful acoustic tune for just a few seconds that was such a huge switch from the electric before it. It ended on a note that felt more like the end of a question than the end of an album.

What in the hell was that?

You sat in silence staring at the wall, mouth still ajar at the musical journey you had just gone on. You looked around your room, staring at everything and nothing at all.

Your best friends, your loves… they had just blown your mind. Left you utterly speechless. The pure talent they had, this beautiful work they created, you’d been missing out on experiencing it because of your own selfishness. You never gave it what it deserved. You never let them speak to you through their music and their art because you were too afraid of your own emotions and you felt absolutely terrible about it.

You dabbed at your eyes again, feeling so many different feelings running through your body that you couldn’t think straight. The Battle at Garden’s Gate. What does it mean? Where is it rooted?

The other album and the EP weren’t on your homework list, but you figured that since you had gone this far, you might as well bring it on home and listen to the rest.

You decided to pour yourself another glass of wine and splash some cold water on your face. After that emotional experience, you definitely needed it.

After taking a few minutes to prepare, you delved back in. Might as well keep up with working backwards, Anthem of the Peaceful Army it is.

Just from the design of the album cover, you could tell this one was going to be different from the album that came after it. You took a big sip of wine, and hit play again.

Well, well, well…there’s Sammy starting things off again. Almost immediately, you could tell that this album had such cool elements to it. A bit grittier, less complex, and for sure sounding like a sophomore collection of music.

Again, an album full of stories and metaphors, lyrics describing fantasy worlds and places you’ve never known. They made you think and you knew Josh. He wanted you to think.

About halfway through the album, a pretty little acoustic tune caught your ear. You’re The One. The title alone made your stomach sink, intense sadness taking you over.

‘You’re the one I had…So come on back to me…’

You felt sick to your stomach. The lyrics seemed to really hit home. Could this be…?

You giggled when Josh sang ‘but you’re evil…’ almost in his normal speaking voice he donned when he yelled at you for taking the last popsicle from the freezer when you were kids.

Here come the tears again.

‘See where we’ve been…Won’t you hold my hand and stay awhile?’

You felt all the blood drain from your face while the words sank in.

‘You’re the one I need…’

The words were resounding in your head, and you began to feel the weight of guilt bearing down on you, crushing through to your core. You felt like he was speaking directly to you. Three years too late.

You moved on through the rest of the songs, the emotional toll beginning to really take effect. You felt exhausted. Happy, but exhausted, and you still had the first EP to listen to. You tried your best to focus on the sounds of the songs, and maybe a little less on the lyrics and message, for now.

You tried to focus on one instrument intermittently throughout the songs, trying to drown out the rest as you went. It astounded you how much they had improved as musicians from this album to the next. Anthem of the Peaceful Army ended, and you sighed a sigh of fascinated relief.

God, you were impressed. You were already excited, and anxious, to listen to From the Fires.

But first, another gulp of wine.

Okay, time to time travel back in time.

This one is going to be painful. You started thinking back hard, there was a big possibility you would recognize a few of these songs. All the time spent listening to them practice in the garage, they had to have kept a few of the songs and recorded them. And right off the bat, there was Safari Song. Your mind transported you back to the time you heard it in the grocery store, trying to mind your own business. You thought back to just a short time ago, the first night you and Sam went to the bar, and you told him you’d heard it. What you didn’t tell him was that you left your basket full of fruit right there in the aisle, walked out, went home and stayed in bed for two days. It was around that time you decided to write off their music forever.

All those memories came flooding back.

Edge of Darkness…finding out what it means to love…

Then, the beginning chords of the next song took all the breath from your lungs. Flower Power. It was so…familiar. Like you’d heard it a hundred times.

You had.

Your memories played in rewind as you scanned through the years. Where had you heard this? Then you landed on it. That night, the very first night. In Jake’s room.

‘Makes me feel like I’m alive, she’s outta sight…’

This is the song Jake played for you all those years ago. You remembered after he played it for you, you hummed it for weeks. It stuck in your head from morning until night, until it slowly started to fade away. You remembered it less and less as time went on, the tune slipping through your fingers as time passed.

But now, hearing it again in the way he intended it to sound, was like the first time you heard it that night. Did he write this for me?

Of course, it didn’t have lyrics back then, and was more of just a repeated riff. But the bones were there.

‘As the night begins to die…We are the morning birds that sing against the sky…’

You remembered all the times you and Jake would stay up all night long, talking about life and love and the world you lived in. The world you wanted to create, the world he dreamt about for he and his brothers. You’d only start to fall asleep as the morning birds would wake up. It was your favorite time of day, the early morning. Jake always ended up sleeping through it.

The song ended, and you hit pause. You felt more tears welling up in your eyes. This time, your heart hurt.

He wrote this while we were still happy.

The song itself felt like a poem your grandma would read you out of one of her little books. Short and sweet, full of love. The main character one you always strived to be like. But in this case, the main character was you. At least, you think it was. It had to be.

You remembered the look on Jake’s face when he decided he would play it for you that night. So full of love, he wasn’t yet ready to admit. He was radiating with pride as you watched him, mesmerized by his fingers strumming so effortlessly. The carvings on his acoustic peeking around the corners of the body. He loved that guitar. He loved that song. And he loved you.

But that was years ago. Tears began to fall again, and you had an overwhelming sadness take hold of you. This can’t be real, can it? Why did they keep it and record it? Did he think you would hear it?

He probably did. He probably thought you would buy the record, play the song, remember it and come back to him. You’re the one he wants. But you didn’t. You didn’t buy their record. You didn’t even download a song. You didn’t seek them out, watch their videos, you didn’t support them in any way at all. You pushed them away. They were at the height of their careers taking off, and you were there for everything except seeing it through. You abandoned them.

This whole EP, they were all so young. Sam and Danny…still just kids. Not a clue in the world. Josh, so eager to drop his entire plan to go into film to move on with a life with his brothers, to help Jake achieve his dream. Jake, having the same dream since he was a toddler. Working his ass off to make it come true. Recording this entire EP with a fractured hand, in pain and hiding it, because of you. And what did you do? You left.

When you watched him play the song that night on his bed, you didn’t think you’d ever see him that happy again. His face was like a kid in a candy store, so excited to play it for you, with just a hint of his natural shyness. He had to record that song again, after you left, playing it time and time again and pretending he was okay.

You were a complete mess. Crying wasn’t the word. More like full body sobs, the kind of cry that keeps coming back once you thought you’d dried it up. You’d crushed him. And for what? He’d proven to you over and over that he wanted you. He tried to make you stay, but nothing he could have said would have changed your mind. You were holding him back, right?

No. Wrong. You were fueling him. You gave him a reason to keep going, keep writing, keep pushing through and performing, traveling, recording…just like he gave you a reason to wake up and be the best version of yourself every morning. He wanted you there. For all of it. He told you that. And you left him in the dust.

You felt so much regret at all the time lost. Of course, he kept going. His brothers picked him up off the ground and put his guitar back in his hands. Inspired him to write. “The fans need us, man. We’ve gotta keep going for them…”

But things didn’t work out like that. He never chased after you, and you never tried to reach out. Both of you having too much pride to say what you were really thinking. You were heartbroken, absolutely lost without them. Without all of them. But you knew you had to go.

And now he is happy with Sophia. His life is flourishing, he’s successful and growing and content.

But….was he?

You thought back to the Fourth of July, all the innocent flirting and the conversations. You could feel the pure electricity between you like it had never left. A natural attachment. The way he looked at you, the way it felt when you took his hand on the rock… it was like nothing had changed at all.

You shook the thought from your mind. You downed the rest of your wine, and wiped your eyes once more. You glanced in the mirror on your dresser, and you looked terrible.

Just then, your phone buzzed with a text message.

Sam: Hey, haven’t talked to you in a bit. Everything alright? Make it home?

You probably do owe Sam a conversation. He had to have seen you cuddled up with Jake on the couch.

You: Hey Sammy…yes everything is alright! Just wanted to get home and get ready for work.

Sam: I get it. Hey, I’m about to have a nightcap at the house. Wanna join?

You looked at the clock. 8:30. Then back at yourself in the mirror. You’d definitely need to clean up a bit. You really wanted to go to bed, to cry into your pillow until the sun came up, but maybe you needed your best friend a little more.

You: Sure. Be there soon :)

——

Sam greeted you at the door with a giant hug.

“Heyyyy!” He shouted as you came inside. “So I know I asked you to join me for a night cap, but I may have already had a couple caps before you got here. Maybe.”

You giggled. “That’s alright Sam. I was having some wine when you texted.”

You walked into the kitchen to make yourself a drink.

“How was your flight home?” He asked, leaning on his elbows on the counter.

“Eh, nothing special. Uneventful. The norm.” you said.

“Good. We all had to cram into Jake’s Jeep for 9 hours. It felt like we were back in our tour van again.” He rolled his eyes. Maybe he didn’t see you on the couch.

“Ugh, I bet that was torture.” you replied.

“It absolutely was.” He paused, giving you a stern look. “Y/N, what’s wrong? You seem sad...”

Damnit Sam.

“Oh nothing. I’m just- tired. A little overwhelmed trying to keep up with learning everything at work. Allison keeps giving me special assignments….I’m good. I promise.” You gave him a half-hearted smile.

He peered at you above his glass, taking a long sip of his drink.

“Special assignments, huh?” he pressed.

“Mmhmm…” You nodded.

“Okay well they must suck, because you look upset. And I can hear it in your voice. Babe, your eyes are puffy. What’s going on?” He walked over and moved a strand of hair away from your eye.

“Mmmm...I promise I’m alright Sam. I just-” you took a deep breath, that ended up coming out as sobs, shaking your chest cavity.

“Oh now see? I knew something was wrong. Come here…” Sam said gently, taking you in his arms. The tears immediately began to fall freely. “Shhh...it’s alright. I’m here. Just let it out.” He pet the back of your head and held you tightly in a hug. One of your favorite places on earth.

He let you cry for a few minutes, patting your head and back and squeezing you tightly every now and then. When you finally felt like it was okay to break away, you pulled back to wipe your face.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I’m a wreck, this is stupid.” You spat through aggravated tears.

“No no, don’t scold yourself for feeling things. You don’t cry for nothing. You’re not a crier.” He said, trying his best to comfort you.

“I know. I’m really not.” He made you smile.

He took your hand, and led you into the living room. You both sat down on the couch, and he grabbed a half-full bottle of wine from his coffee table.

“Sounds like this is gonna be a ‘straight from the bottle’ talk, huh?” He winked, swigging from the top of the neck. You couldn’t disagree.

He passed it to you as you nodded in agreement.

“It might be…” you relented. He made himself comfortable, pulling a thick blanket over to cover the two of you.

You cleared your throat. “My special assignment... It was…really..difficult.” Sam nodded, showing he was listening. “Remember at the bar when I told you I hadn’t listened to any of your music because it..because I just couldn’t?”

“Yeah, I remember.” he says, a concerned look across his face.

“Well, Allison made me listen to the newest album tonight since you guys are one of the label clients. I had to listen to it. All of it. And then, I listened to the rest…” you trailed off. You felt the lump returning in your throat.

Sam’s mouth fell open. “Wow so… so as of tonight, you’ve listened to all of our music? Finally?” A huge smile spread across his face.

“Well, almost all. I kinda…stopped at a certain one.” You said.

“Oh my gosh so we can finally talk about it? What did you think! Did you like it? What was your favorite?” Sam’s excitement was almost too much.

You brought your hand up to his chest, “Calm down Sammy, I’m still processing it. I have only listened to each song once. I haven’t even read the lyrics or watched the videos yet.”

“Ok ok, sorry. I’m just really happy you finally listened. Even if you were assigned the task. I always wondered if you would like what we were making while we were making it. Even all the way up to this last album.” He said.

“Really? You did?” You were surprised.

“Yeah, I mean. I always wanted your stamp of approval on everything growing up. It was built into you being my best friend. So it naturally came to my mind…to hope you would like it.” you felt like crying for a whole other reason now.

“Sam, I don’t think I have the words to explain how all of it made me feel. You guys are….” You shook your head, truly lost for words.

“Astounding? Talented beasts? The sexiest of songwriters?” he jokes.

“Yes, all of those things.” You laughed. “And then some.” You gestured to your face. “You can see my gut reaction to the entire thing, I’m still a ball of emotions.” you started laughing through the sadness, feeling like making fun of yourself was the best medicine right now. You reached over and grabbed his hands, and held them in your lap.

“Sam, you guys are…so fucking good. So… cool. Your sound, your production, your talent...I could go on and on. And this is how it made me feel after just one listen.” You stammered through threatening tears.

The smile on his face was growing with every second. “I am so glad you loved it. Right? You loved it?” He asked, genuinely hopeful.

“Of course I loved it! Are you kidding me? I can hardly find the words to explain how it made me feel…how I’m feeling right now. I’m just...” you shook your head, searching for the words. You took a second to gather yourself, finally looking at him in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t listen before. To any of it…I wasted so much time feeling sorry for myself, and lying to myself about it. Ignoring it so I didn’t have to feel any pain again.” You squeezed his hands. “And I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there to experience it with you guys. I dropped the ball. I abandoned you.”

Sam squeezed your hands back, a small tear trickling from the corner of his eye.

“Y/N, you didn’t abandon us. We just kind of…fell apart. It’s not anyone’s fault. Life just happened really quickly.” You nodded and rubbed your nose with your sleeve, tears still escaping your eyes. He passed you the wine, of which you took a big drink of. The alcohol was beginning to warm your belly.

“I just feel so guilty, you know? Hearing those songs...Sam, I swear…” you looked up at him, silently asking him with your eyes.

He smiled back. “You wanna know if they were about you, don’t you?”

You covered your face with your hands, suddenly feeling embarrassed for even thinking it. You peeked through your fingertips as your heart pounded in your chest.

You could see him debating on whether he should tell you, but finally he did. “Yeah, a few of them were about you. All the way up into this last album. Of course they were. Who else would Jake have been thinking of writing love songs like that?” He grinned a huge, cheesy grin. “Of course Josh wrote most of the lyrics, but Jake had a little bit to do with them. The ones that mattered the most.” He winked.

You felt the tears flow again, hearing that the songs had indeed been written about you. Big, famous, popular songs. Songs that people all around the world knew all the words to. Jake’s songs to you.

“You’re joking…” you whispered, feeling embarrassed again at the realization. “All this time, I’ve had love songs written about me, and I never even knew it? I’m so stupid. But why? Why did he keep writing about me? After all this time? He has Sophia...” you rambled.

Sam cut you off by taking the wine bottle from your hands, and speaking sternly.

“Y/N! Did you not hear what you just said?” He asked.

You shook your head, not sure of what he was asking.

“Love songs, babe. Forever immortalized in time.” He took a large swig of the wine and raised his eyebrows. You didn’t know how to respond.

“What- what do you mean?” You asked, purely frazzled at this point.

“All I’m saying is, he writes these big amazing heartfelt songs with a muse in mind, and his muse was never Sophia.” He went on, shoving the wine bottle back in your hand, raising it to your lips and tilting it back for you. You held eye contact with him, replaying his words over and over in your head.

His muse was never Sophia.

“So you listened to the albums in backwards order, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, ended on From the Fires.” you reply.

“Hmmm. I bet I can tell you which song you stopped at.” He said playfully.

“Okay….” you challenged.

“The one he wrote while you two were still together. The one he said he couldn’t get out of his head for weeks until he finally brought it to us and we made it into what it is now. Worked on it night and day until he thought it was perfect. Said the riff wrote itself because it’s what he heard when he looked at you. Said he was going to play it for you at just the right moment. It never happened though. We played it a lot at shows in the beginning. It got pretty popular, but we could all tell it was killing him to play it. So we kind of just stopped. We haven't really played it since.”

You’re positive you felt your heart crack.

“Okay Sam, stop. I really can’t…” You shook your hand in his face, more than ready to change the subject before the waterworks started again.

He chuckled at your expense. “Ahhh, you know I really missed you, while you were gone.” He relented. “I know after everything went down with Jake, shit got confusing but...I thought about you every single day. It felt like the other half of me was just...gone.”

Here came the guilt again. “I know, Sam. I felt the same way. But I had to go… because...well you know why.”

You were beginning to halfway regret coming over to Sam’s house. The emotions were beginning to take hold of you, and you were exhausted. But, you were happy you had him to talk to about this.

“Yeah I know why. I still don’t agree with it, but I see where you were coming from. I probably would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes.” There was your Sammy, always completely on the same page as you. “We just all really missed you. Jake kind of fell apart when you left. I did too. My best friend and the love of his life. We didn’t know if we were going to get him back.” He took the last drink from the bottle, staring off into the distance. “Josh and Daniel really had to… put up with us… for a while. But, after some time, things just started to slowly level out. We figured it out.”

The love of his life? Why does he keep saying these things…what about Sophia?

“It took me a while to get over everything, too. I hated every minute of it, Sam. I swear to god I did. Please don’t ever think I left because I wanted to. I felt like I had to. I couldn’t let Jake risk all of this for me. I’m so sorry.” You felt like you’d apologize a million times if that was what it took for him to understand.

He nodded. “I’m sorry Jake didn’t chase after you like he should’ve. We told him he was stupid, but he didn’t think you wanted him to, so he didn’t. Just made the rest of us miserable instead.”

“Do you think he’ll ever chase me again?” the question spilling out of your mouth before you could sto it.

“Pft, of course he will. One of these days. You guys are like…like two stars hurdling towards each other through space. It’s only a matter of time before you collide for good.” You could tell he was feeling the wine, but his sentiment made you smile. “Just enjoy the ride babe.” Sam playfully pushed your shoulder.

“Collide for good?…You think he wants to…end up…with me?” You motioned to yourself, breath taken completely from your lungs at his words.

“Of course he does. He’s loved you for a decade, stupid.” Sam said matter-of-factly.

“If you know that, then why are we….?”

“Sleeping together? Because until that time comes, who better to take care of you than me? We’re just having fun, right? As strange as this situation is…we’re just adults living our lives. Ask Josh, sex is just a thing all humans crave, whether we like it or not. And when you find someone who can meet you right in the middle, supplying you with something so natural, you make it last as long as you can. Is our situation a little unorthodox? Definitely. But, I’m not over here trying to marry you. I just want to make you happy, like you make me happy. I know where you’ll end up baby, we all do.” He laughed through his nose, making you chuckle.

“I don’t wanna marry you, Sam.” You laughed, the alcohol coursing through your veins.

“Good. I don’t wanna marry you either.” He laughed. “I’m just a mere placeholder and glad to do it.” He put his hand over his heart, showing his true word before he went on.

“All the while, having fun and rekindling our friendship. It feels solid with you in my life again.

I always wanted to sleep with you…of course I did... But you’re not mine to keep. And that’s okay. So until Jake gets his head out of his ass, we keep having as much fun as you want. Is that crazy?” He asked.

“Yeah, actually. It’s completely insane.” You laughed out loud, realizing the hilarity of the situation you’d all found yourselves in. Sam stood up and went into the kitchen, returning with another bottle of wine. Looks like you’re staying here tonight.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You asked, scooting closer to him on the couch.

“Always, love.” He answered.

“I know you know about my tattoo, and how it matches the carvings on the back of Jake’s guitar…” you were speaking slowly, gauging his reaction.

“Ahh, I mean, I always thought they were the same thing. But honestly, I just never asked. I knew you would tell me when you were ready.” He said.

You nodded, “I got it my freshman year of college, went for a friend's birthday. I probably shouldn’t have but… you know how those things go…” you said.

“So why the little dipper? I know it must mean something if you and Jake are both attached to it?” he asks, taking a pull from the bottle.

“Well, one Fourth of July, we were standing out on the deck in your backyard…he asked me if I could see it in the sky and I told him I couldn’t, so he showed me, helped me find it. We talked about it for what felt like hours. It felt like everytime I looked at the sky after that it was the first thing I saw. The first thing I was drawn to. I could always find it, no matter where I was. It felt…constant. I always thought of him and that night. I think I loved him even then. So when I had to pick a tattoo, naturally it was the first thing that came to mind. A few months later after everything happened, he showed me the guitar and the years and years worth of carving he did to it. It meant as much to him as it did to me. He had the same feelings.” you said. “It feels stupid now, it feels like the most painful part of my life is with me all the time. Forever etched into my skin, much like the back of that old guitar. Everytime I see it I’m reminded of the worst decision I ever made.”

“Getting a tattoo?” he laughs.

“No… Leaving Jake.” you whisper.

He bites his lips together as he nods his head. “Did I ever tell you what happened with Elle?” He asked, laying his head back on the couch and looking up at the ceiling.

“No, you didn’t. I figured you guys just split up.”

“Well, we did. But. She ended up moving back home to Georgia for a while. We found out her dad had cancer about a year after you left us. Her mom hadn’t been in the picture since she was a baby, so he didn’t have anyone to take care of him, really. He got really bad really fast. He tried to do treatments, but it was too late. Elle was the only person he had. It was horrible, she was trying to work and take care of him at the same time. I tried my best to help them financially, and flying down there whenever I could find a few free days to spare. Her dad completely refused my help monetarily… “You kids save your money, use it for a home one day, you’ll need it more than I do…”

Scheduling was wild, we were so busy. Everything was blowing up. We were gone so much…not even in this country half the time. I felt awful that I couldn’t help her, be with her through it. But she handled it with so much grace, she never complained once. But I could tell she was breaking down. One day I got a text from her, saying he had passed away, and that she needed space… she didn’t want to be with me any more, that she was staying in Georgia.”

He stopped there. He swallowed hard, still staring at the ceiling. You could tell he was having trouble getting it out, so you rested your hand on his arm. His eyes blinked back tears as he continued.

“I tried everything. I called, I texted, voicemail after voicemail. I stalked her social media to see if she even hinted at any details. I even had plans to fly to the funeral, but it ended up being on the same day as something we already had contracted… I was so pissed. Life was so stupid. So unfair. She never once gave me a real reason. Truly I think she might have had the same feelings you did, “holding us back” or whatever bullshit that was. I don't know…She disappeared on me, too. The worst part is that I couldn’t even call you. I had no one to talk to about it. Had to grow up really fast… all while Jake was nursing his own wounds.”

You sat in silence for a few minutes. You had no idea what to even say. You felt so badly for them both.

“How long ago was that?” You asked through a quiet whisper.

His eyes continued scanning the ceiling. “Almost a year ago, not even.”

Wow. Elle was with Sam through it all. Sweet, gorgeous Elle who would never hurt a fly. Your heart tightened for her. For them.

“I’m so sorry, Sammy. You guys didn’t deserve any of that. Neither did Elle, and what she went through...her dad. Fuckin’ cancer.” Your hand traveled down Sam’s arm to hold his hand. you brought yourself closer to him and laid your head on his shoulder. You squeezed his hand tightly, a silent action of love that the two of you shared so well, so often. You shared a love that not many people understood, or would ever understand. An unbreakable bond that, right then and there, you promised yourself you’d never break again.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam spoke through more unexpected tears, the wine clearly affecting him more than he anticipated.

“Do you think she misses me, Y/N?” he breathed.

You turned your head and placed a kiss right on his shoulder. “I know she misses you Sammy.”

The two of you sat in silence for a little bit, letting yourselves bask in the peace that only you could find in one another before Sam shot up, wiping his eyes clean of his tears and shaking off his emotions. He glanced at his phone.

“Hey, it’s only 10:30, you hungry?” He asked.

“Um, yeah actually. I could eat. What do you want to do?” You answered, realizing you hadn’t eaten in hours.

“Let’s go down to that sushi restaurant that stays open late.” He said, already standing up to find his shoes.

“Alright, sounds good to me.” you replied, following him out the door.

—

Thankfully, Sam was a regular at the restaurant you went to, so the hostess was happy to seat you in a more secluded area, away from the view of most of the general dining area. As you were walking in, you were met with a few strange looks from people walking past you, something new you hadn’t run into yet. You could tell they wanted to stop and say hello, but Sam handled it with grace, and continued normally, giving them waves and “hellos”.

“I guess I forgot you’re famous.” You said lightheartedly as you sat down at the table.

He chuckled. “Yeah, sometimes I forget too until someone is looking at me like I have 6 heads. You get used to it, though.”

“If I would have thought about it, I would have done myself up a little more for dinner with a rich and famous rockstar. Maybe put on a little black dress…” You jokingly fanned yourself and primped your hair, throwing on a proper accent.

Sam laughed at your display. “Haha, be quiet. You look beautiful. All the time.”

The server brought you two glasses of water, and Sam ordered his regular. You left him to it, as sushi wasn’t something you ate often, but was one of your favorites.

After a dragon roll and a few pieces of salmon and tuna nigiri, you were enjoying spending this time with Sam again, joking about silly things and trying to cheer each other up after your emotional conversation earlier. It was like old times again, and you swore you would never pass up an opportunity to spend time with him again. Time lost made you realize that.

“Ready to go? I’m sleepy.” Sam said through a yawn. It was nearing midnight. You stood up from the table, and finally took a second to really take a look around the strikingly nice restaurant. You’d been seated on the upper level, and the lower floor had a casual bar in the center. You walked over to the railing, and took in the decor and look of the place. The bar was still full, considering how late it was.

“This place is really nice, thanks for dinner Sam.” You said.

He joined you at the railing. “It is nice. I’ve actually never seen it this busy this late..” the two of you scanned the generously sized room from above. Suddenly, your eyes caught on a seat at the bar. Someone who looked familiar was hunkered in the corner, cozying up with whoever was seated at the next barstool. You squinted, straining your eyes to focus on the long-haired woman across the room. You blinked a few times, and took a few steps to the side to get a better view.

“Sam…look over there, way at the end of the bar.” You felt him join you as you covertly tried to point. He craned his neck, also trying to focus in. You gasped. “Oh my god, is that…?”

“Sophia.” He said with bated breath.

“What is she doing? Who is she with?” You couldn’t get the words out fast enough as Sam stared in disbelief, wordless.

He grabbed your hand and walked you behind a clump of trees and vines, effectively getting you closer to the bar and out of sight of Sophia. The perfect view.

“Holy fucking shit…” he said, putting his hand over his brow to dim the lights above your heads. “It is her.”

You both watched as she leaned in between the knees of the man she was with, sipping on her drink in one hand, and resting her other on his inner thigh. This was not the man you saw her with at Jimmy’s party, either.

“Oh my God, Sam…who is that? What the hell?” You whispered.

“I have no idea but it’s not my brother.” He answered.

Just then, the man snaked his hand around Sophia’s upper thigh, very visible due to the short, tight black dress she had on. She leaned in, and kissed him, hard. They began to make out, right there at the bar, getting extremely handsy to be out in public.

“SHIT!” You whispered loudly, rage boiling up in your gut. Who does this woman think she is?! Sam shared your fury, you both exchanged glances that were filled to the brim with disbelief and madness.

“What do we do? Do we confront her?” You asked, suddenly feeling like you wanted to make a move.

“No. Let’s see what happens.” He said through gritted teeth. You could tell he was fuming.

After a minute or two more of watching what you felt like needed to be behind closed doors, the two of them stood from the bar, hand in hand, and made their way to the exit. The man wouldn’t take his hands off of her as they snaked through the tables, touching her lower back and arms, and even grazed her ass a couple of times. They had no shame. Completely out of touch with their surroundings and not caring who saw. Brave of her, seeing as how five people recognized Sam from just inside this restaurant. Had no one in here recognized her? A damned miracle.

“Let’s go...” Sam said, taking your hand and rushing toward the exit behind them, following closely behind, but not close enough for her to notice. Not that she would, by the look of her gait and disheveled appearance you could tell she was extremely intoxicated. For the shortest second, you worried for her, going home with a strange man while drunk, but then you thought back to seeing her in Jake’s house, unabashedly throwing herself onto that other man. This was something she’d made a habit of.

She didn’t want Jake. She just wanted the title of being his girlfriend. How long had she been doing this?

When you reached the parking lot, the two of you stood back, watching the man open his car door for her as she slipped in, the two of them laughing and giggly. You made your way to Sam’s car, waiting until the doors were closed to let your emotions loose.

“Fuck! That bitch! I knew I didn’t like her!” Sam yelled, slapping his steering wheel over and over. “Ooooh I’m so mad!” He started the car, and backed out of the lot.

You felt the rage, too. You already knew you didn’t like Sophia, but tonight sealed the deal. Should you tell Sam about what you saw her doing at Jake’s house? No. Not yet. That’s for Jake to hear. Either way, how on earth were you going to tell him this?

“What are we gonna do Sammy? We have to tell him…” you said quietly. You could tell he was rushing through thoughts quickly, trying to make the best decision.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, and looked at the screen. “HAH!” He laughed, turning his phone to show you a text thread from earlier in the night.

Jake

11:09: Hey, anyone want to get a drink? Sophia’s out with her friends so I’m solo tonight.

Danny

11:11: I’m down, I’ll pick you up in ten?

Jake

11:13: I’ll be here

Damn. He thought she was just out with her friends. She lied to him. You shook your head and scoffed at the phone.

“He has absolutely no clue, Y/N. What if they would have come here? Or run into each other in town? Who does she think she is?” Sam mirrored your words from earlier.

“I have no idea but I really do not like her. I can’t believe this is happening.” You said, clenching your jaw over and over.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam spoke, “We’ll go to his house first thing tomorrow. I think he should hear it from us in person.” He looked to you for your approval.

You shook your head. “Yeah, okay…First thing.” He reached out to grab your hand. He held it tightly the whole way home, both of you knowing this was going to be one of the hardest conversations you’d ever had.

JAKE POV

Your morning started off just like any other. Sophia slid into the bed next to you, at what early

hour you weren’t sure. She would often come to you after a night out with her friends, sneaking into your bed and draping herself over you. Sleeping in as you got up to start your day. You really were trying to be better about waking up earlier. You started a pot of coffee and stared out your kitchen window, watching the birds flit from tree to tree. The sun was up and shining down brightly into the backyard, you thought maybe you should enjoy your coffee out there for once.

When the pot was finished brewing you grabbed a mug, and that's exactly what you did. You positioned yourself in the black metal chair, and sipped your coffee. Scrolling through your phone as the birds chirped in the trees.

When your mug was empty, you returned to the kitchen, placing it in the dishwasher and heading to your study. You peeked into the bedroom to see Sophia starting to stir around, and knew it would only be a matter of time until she was fully awake.

You grabbed your book from the coffee table and opened the curtains, letting the bright natural light pour inside the dark room. You laid down on your couch, and found your place in the book.

After about an hour Sophia walked into the room, greeting you with a kiss. “Good morning baby…” she said.

“Hey, love. Did you have fun with your friends last night? I know you got home pretty late.” you asked, setting your book on your stomach.

“Yeah I had fun.” she answered, walking into the kitchen.

Weird, normally she elaborates more.

You turned your attention back to your book, losing yourself in chapter after chapter. A knock on the door startled you, causing you to sit up. You weren’t expecting anyone, and you hadn’t ordered anything.

Sophia rushes past the doorway, opening the door, “Hey, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Where’s Jake? Is he here?” you recognized the person at the door to be Sam.

“Yeah, he’s here. Hi Y/N, lovely to see you again…” Sophia replied with a sarcastic tone.

What does he want? She’s with him?

Your heart began to beat a little more rapidly at the thought of her being so close, especially after not hearing from her after what happened.

You hear footsteps as they walk into the house, Sam pushing past Sophia to meet you in the study, Y/N close behind him.

You notice the look on her face, she’s…Sad? Concerned? Hurt?

“I need to talk to you immediately. Well, we do.” he says, turning to look over his shoulder.

You stand up to meet him, “What’s going on? Is…everything okay?” you ask, looking at him, then to Y/N.

Sam looks over to Sophia standing in the doorway, and back to you silently asking you to ask her to leave.

“Hey, baby, can you give us a minute?” you ask.

“Ummm… sure, I guess…” she says, walking away into the bedroom.

Sam lets out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “Jake… I don’t even know how to tell you this…” he starts.

“Tell me what, Sam?” you ask, puzzled.

He looks over to Y/N, and she nods her head.

She begins to twist her hands around her fingers nervously as she steps closer to you, “Jake… last night…” she starts.

“Sophia was hooking up with someone at the bar last night. Y/N and I went out for a bite, and we saw her. It was… the whole thing, man.” Sam finishes.

“...What?” you breathe. “Are…are you sure it was her? She…she was out with her friends last night…I…” you stammer.

“We both saw her, Jake. They were not just friends.” Sam adds.

Before you can respond you hear the bedroom door flying open and you can hear her barreling into the room.

“Jake, they are lying! That is not true!” Sophia yells.

Sam scoffs at her, shifting his weight onto his other leg.

“Sophia, I told you we needed a minute.” you seethe.

“You think I’m just going to stay in there and let them talk shit about me? Lie about me?” she fumes. “I was with my friends, I told you that!”

“Do you typically shove your tongue half way down your friend's throat?” Sam quips.

“I don’t know Sam, do you?” she says, turning her attention to Y/N.

“Oh give me a break Sophia, we both saw you, don't try to deflect.” Sam replies.

“I’m not Sam, but don’t act so fucking innocent, I know you are talking to her again, I would watch it if I were you.” Sophia snaps.

Talking to her? He’s talking to someone else? What the fuck?

“Sophia, that’s enough.” you warn.

“No, Jake. It’s not. Sam, should we talk about your dating history for a second? Hmm? How many girls have you fucked since Y/N stepped into the picture? How many this week?” she asks. “I have a lot of friends in this city, you know… How many Sam?”

Y/N turns to face Sam, her eyes searching his.

No. Please.

Desperate to change the subject before he answers you interject, “Sophia, can I talk to you for a minute?” you say pointing to the hallway.

“Why? You want to talk in private? It’s all out there now! What’s to hide?” she seethes. “Don’t want to have this little chat in front of her? Fucking slut.” she says, cutting her eyes to her.

You're caught speechless as you see Sophia’s true colors spilling out.

She turns to Y/N approaching her, “I’ve got you all figured out. You think I can’t see right past your little charade? Sleeping with Sam to get in good at Collective? Maybe work your way up a little? Yeah, I did a little research on you… had to figure out just who you were after our little chat the other day. You thought you could scare me with your sad pathetic story about Jake? Newsflash, he didn’t want you then, he doesn’t want you now. So, here you are sleeping with Sam, the whore of Nashville. But you picked the wrong brother, don’t you think? Josh has more pull around there than Sam does. Probably could have put in a good word for you if you blew him just right.” she fumes.

“Sophia!” you yelled, blood boiling under your skin.

“Oh, shut up Jake, you know it's true…” she says, turning her attention back to Y/N. “It’s so sad… all this is blowing up in your face now… How will you ever make a name for yourself without them? Oh! You won't, you’ll end up back in your shitty little hometown serving pancakes at the diner, sad and alone. Enjoy this while it lasts because your days are numbered. As soon as Sam gets a new flavor of the week, you’ll be on the first train back to Hicksville.” she says.

“You know nothing about me.” Y/N replies.

“I know all I care to know.” she spits.

“Sophia what the fuck is wrong with you! No, really what the fuck?!” you scream. “Look at me, in the eyes! Right now!” you demand. She turns to face you, arms crossed across her chest.

“Did you hook up with someone last night, yes or no.” you ask, trying to keep your voice calm.

Her eyes flick away from yours, as you see her mind trying to find something to say.

“Yes or no?” you repeat behind clenched teeth.

“No.” she says, you feel your shoulders relax.

“You’re lying.” Y/N offers up quietly.

Sophia turns to her, “What did you just say?”

Y/N’s eyes flash to yours, nervous as she looks back to Sophia. “I said, you’re lying. I saw you with a guy at Jimmy’s party too. Same thing...” her eyes flash to yours, “Jake I wouldn’t lie about this. I promise.”

Jimmy’s party? That was weeks ago…

“You didn’t see shit. Jake don’t believe her.” she scoffs.

“I believe her more than I believe you, Sophia.” you say.

“You believe this little slut, over your own girlfriend?” she asks, shocked.

“Former girlfriend, and she’s not a slut.” you say calmly, feeling the rage pulsing through your veins.

“Excuse me?” she asks.

“You heard me, former girlfriend. You think you can cheat on me, lie, and insult my family, and somehow think I’m not ending things right this fucking second?” you ask.

“You don’t mean that. You’ll be begging me to come back.” she quips.

You shake your head in disbelief, “The only thing I’m begging you to do is leave. You are never welcome here again. Leave my things on the table and get the fuck out.” you yell.

The redness pools in her cheeks as she realizes the consequences of her actions. She storms off, but not before offering one last slight at Y/N. “Good luck at the diner, bitch.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, and shook her head, letting the insult roll right off her back, but you knew deep down she was hurt. How could she not be?

You hear the bedroom door slam shut and turn your sights back to Sam. The rage you had flowing through you wasn’t from Sophia cheating, no, not all of it anyways. You found yourself more furious at the thought of Sam cheating on Y/N.

“Sam, who the fuck are you talking to?” you ask.

His jaw tightens as he looks at you, “No one…”

“Dont fucking lie to me Sam, you’re shit at it. Please, go on, tell me who the fuck you’re talking to that is better than Y/N?” you spit.

“You are such a fuck up. Do you even realize how badly you are fumbling? Take it from fucking me. You gonna fuck this up with her? Just like I did? You gonna let her get away from you too!? Elle wasn’t enough?” you ask. You watch as she turns bright red, running out of the room.

“That fucking girl should be your life! How could you even fathom cheating on her? What has she done to you, huh? I don't care how many girls you slept with before Sam, but her? She doesn’t deserve this shit! Hasn’t she been through enough?” you yell, pointing towards the hallway.

The words are spewing out of you faster than you can stop them.

“Who is worth risking her over Sam?! I can’t think of one fucking person!” you yell.

He shakes his head, looking down at the floor. His eyes blinking back tears. You realize you may have taken it too far. You can see the hurt on his face.

“Jacob! Stop!” she yells, walking back into the room.

Your face grows pale as you see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Sam and I are not together! We never have been! Not even for a minute! He is not a fuck up Jake! That’s your fucking brother! How could you say that to him?” she asks, shaking her head.

“Sam and I are just friends, best friends. Like we always have been. We are just there for each other in different ways now. A way I don’t expect you to understand. It has never been romantic, not like that. Not ever. He could be talking to ten different girls, and it would make no difference to me. You know why? Because we are not together. Do you understand? Do you get it? Do I need to spell it out for you?” she asks. You can tell that insulting Sam has hurt her feelings more than you imagined.

You swallow harshly, and shake your head, “You’re right, I’m sorry.” you mumble.

“Don’t apologize to me! Apologize to him!” she says pointing to Sam.

Sam’s eyes flash to yours just as he walks out of the room and out the front door. A pang shoots through your chest as you think about how Sam must feel. Totally embarrassed, and belittled. How could you say all that to him? All he ever did was look up to you. Why did you even bring up Elle. You’re such a dick.

You felt a sob creeping up your throat, all the emotions finally hitting you as your brain started to process. Your eyes start to well with tears as you blink rapidly to push them back.

You realize that Y/N is still standing there, just watching you as you start to crack. Right there in front of her. Again.

Your eyes flick up to hers, red with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have told me. We… we were together all day at the lake…and you…” you ramble.

You see her chin start to quiver as her eyes blink back the glossy tears, “I couldn’t Jake…” her voice cracking as she spoke.

“Why?” you plead, stepping closer to her.

A single tear drops from the edge of her wet lashes, “Because… I couldn’t be the one to break your heart again.” she breathes, tears freefalling as her words hit.

“I know I should have told you, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t watch Jake…” she sobbed.

You just stared at her, wishing you could wipe away her tears, your own falling to the wayside. But instead you settle for a nod, completely unable to find the words to say.

You hear her sniffle, the silence in the house deafening.

“You left me… the other morning. I… I looked everywhere for you.” you breathed.

“I know you only did it out of pity Jake, I’m sorry I put you in that position.” she whispers, looking down to her feet.

Pity? Oh my god? She thinks…

“Y/N, I don’t pity you.” you say.

Her eyes flick up to yours, questioning your statement. “You don’t?”

“No.” you answer.

You could see the pain on her face, and just as she went to open her mouth you heard the bedroom door being thrown open, and Sophia stomping down the hallway.

You heard a cacophony of metallic items being thrown onto your kitchen table, before she appeared in the doorway of your study.

“Hate to break up this little moment, but your things are on the table.” she says. “And you…” she says turning to Y/N, “...you can have him…he’s a lousy fuck anyways.”

Your expression turns deadpan, any ounce of what you thought was love for her, had flown out the window.

“So, that’s it?” she asks you.

“Pretty much.” you answer.

“You’re such a prick.” she says, storming out the front door, for the last time.

You feel an ache in your chest as you watch her leave through the window. You don't love her, and you never really did. That part is very clear now. But you did care about her, and to find out that she never cared about you, left you feeling used. Empty.

Y/N steps closer to you, placing her hand softly on your chest, just your thin shirt separating her hand from your skin, “I’m so sorry Jake, don’t listen to her. She is just mad she got caught.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t believe she said those things to you. To Sam…” you trail off.

She removes her hand from your chest, and you feel your heart clench as the contact is lost.

“I’ll be okay. I’ve been called worse.” she says, offering you a soft side smile.

Images of Andy flash through your head, and you cringe at the thought of anyone saying those things to her. Ever.

Sam poked his head in through the doorway, making eye contact with Y/N. “You ready?” he asks her. You can still see the dejected look on his face, guilt washing over you knowing you're the reason.

She nods, and walks over to meet him, and just as she slips through the door, she turns to look over her shoulder, her eyes meeting yours in a silent crushing goodbye.

—

It had only been a few minutes since they left, but the sudden silence of the house had you focusing on the sound of your own heartbeat in your chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. It began to pick up. Your breathing, trying to match its pace. Your mind was racing as you replayed the events so quickly they started to become a blur. Your chest began to heave rapidly as you struggled to find your balance.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and the room began to feel like it was spinning around you. You could hear your breathing louder than you ever have before, and the sweat was rolling down your neck. Your legs carried you to your favorite chair, as you tried to focus on catching your breath. You cradled your head into your hands and stared at your feet on the floor, focusing on the patterns on the rug below them. Your eyes, blurred with traitorous tears threatened to spill as you relived the past few months on repeat.

How did I not see it?

You didn’t know if you should be mad at Sophia, or feel bad for Sam and Y/N. The emotions you typically suppress, running rampant through your mind at full speed. As the room finally stopped spinning and your breathing slowed, the vision of her leaving flashed through your mind. Her eyes. The same eyes she had the day she left you back then, shattering your heart into a million pieces, for the second time.

Feeling the lump form in your throat you pushed past it, pulling your phone from your pocket. With shaky hands you found your favorites, hitting the first name. The line rang out twice before you heard him answer.

“Hello?” he asked, confused since you hardly ever call him.

Swallowing back the knot in your throat, your trembling voice managed, “Josh…”

“Oh shit, what’s wrong?” he asked, you could hear the concern in his voice.

“Can you…” you started, pausing as the tears finally began to spill, you sniffled, trying to conceal your state of mind, “...can you come over?” you finally managed.

“Oh fuck…I’m on my way.” he said, hanging up the line.

You let your phone drop to the floor, watching as the screen went black.

You aren’t sure how long you sat there. It could have been minutes, hours, days even. Your mind reeling so quickly you were unable to snap yourself from its wrath. There was nowhere to run. No alcohol strong enough to free you from the prison of your own mind.

You heard the front door open, finally blinking out the tears that wanted to fall. You didn’t look up. You couldn’t. Trapped in your own body. A prisoner to your own cruel mind, tearing you apart limb by limb.

“Jake.” you heard Josh’s voice as he squatted down next to you.

Your eyes filled with tears again as you felt his hand on your arm. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You finally managed to lift your head to look at him, streams of warm tears leaving their path on your face.

“Please Jake, you're scaring me... What happened?” he begs, shaking your arm.

“Did you know?” you breathe out.

“Did I know? Did I know what?” he asked.

“About Sophia. Did you know?” you asked.

“About Sophia? No, Jake what happened?” he asks again.

You swallow heavily, rubbing your palms into your eyes, taking in a shaky breath. “She was cheating on me. Everyone knew. Everyone knew but me.”

“Ahhh fuck.” he says letting out an exasperated breath. “No, I swear I didn’t know.” he answers.

“I’m gonna be honest with you man, I didn’t realize you were this serious about her. I don’t think I have seen you cry like this since Y/–” he stops.

Your watery eyes flick up to his, “She’s who told me Josh… Y/N knew. She saw it.”

He drops his head for a few seconds before lifting it back to meet yours, “Jake…come sit on the floor with me.” he asks.

You let yourself drop to the floor, laying on your back next to him, as he sits cross legged at your side.

“Tell me what happened, start to finish.” he instructs. You aren’t sure if you’ll even be able to.

Just as you begin to replay the scene in your mind a sob leaves your chest, picturing Y/N standing there, clearly devastated at what she had to do. She didn’t want to tell you, but she had no choice. Your chest heaves up and down as you cross your arms over your eyes. Letting the tears fall freely this time. The sounds of your sobs foreign to your own ears.

“Jake, you’re killing me. I can’t see you like this…please… what can I do?” his voice starts to tremble.

You wipe the tears away from your red swollen eyes, and try to clear your throat. “So this afternoon, I’m sitting in here, reading a book and someone knocks on the door. Sophia answers and I hear Sam’s voice, but I also hear Y/N.” you say letting out a sigh, your chest still stuttering for breaths.

“Sam pushes past her and walks in here and tells me he needs to talk to me immediately, that they need to talk to me. I was obviously nervous, so they came in, right where you’re sitting right now, and told me that they saw Sophia at the bar last night, hooking up with some guy. She told me she was out with friends last night. She came into my bed for god's sake….after doing god knows what with god knows who.” you say.

“Oh shit.” he says, concerned.

“So Sophia comes in like a bat out of hell, in a full on rage saying that they are lying, and it’s not true. Cuts into Sam, says that he is just as guilty, talking to other girls while he’s fucking Y/N. But then she started in on Y/N and I snapped. I asked her to tell me to my face if it was true or not, and she couldn’t. She lied. Y/N called her out on it, and said she saw her with another guy at Jimmy’s party.” you paused. “I started to put all the pieces together, and that combined with the guitar shit she pulled, the weird 2am text while we were out of town… I just… I lost it. I told her to get out, and not to come back.” you finished.

“Jake, I–” he started.

“No, but that’s not it… So then…god I’m so fucking stupid…then I started to yell at Sammy. Our fucking baby brother, telling him how big of a fuck up he was for ruining things with the best girl in the fucking world. Asking him how he could even fathom cheating on her…how there could be anyone in the universe worth risking her for. I threw Elle in his face. What the fuck was I thinking? He felt like shit. I wish you could have seen his face Josh. I hurt him. I feel so fucking bad. Of course after I said all of that it was Y/N who set the record straight. She put me in my place, just like she always does. Her and Sam aren’t together. They never have been. She said she didn’t care if he was talking to ten other people, he was just there for her, and she was there for him. It wasn’t serious and it never has been. It is nothing romantic at all. They are just best friends. I should have fucking seen that Josh. Why couldn’t I see it? How many times did he tell us, and I refused to believe him?” you cried.

“Jake you couldn’t have known… you are being too hard on yourself, you know Sam will come around.” he said.

“The worst part was after… when Sam left the room. It was just me and Y/N, and I asked her why she didn’t tell me about Sophia. You know what she said?” you asked, eyes filled with tears.

Josh shook his head.

“She said she couldn’t break my heart again. She couldn’t bear to watch. But she fucking did. She did break my heart again, Josh. By making me watch her be with Sam. Over and over. I have to live with it every fucking day…” you sobbed into your arms.

“I’m so embarrassed Josh. Why did she have to see me like this again? Why does she have to be there every time I’m broken… and empty.” you cried.

Josh swiped a tear away from his own eye as he swallowed back his emotions. He laid down next to you, turning to face you, placing his hand on your stomach, comforting you in a way that only he could. The same way he would when you were kids. The only thing that could calm you down. The touch of your twin.

“I could tell she was upset, it was written all over her face. I was so angry, so blinded with rage, I…. I can’t even remember what I said. Her and Sam left and I don't know, I… I thought I was going to pass out…” you finished.

A sickening feeling wracks through your body and your eyes fill with tears, spilling out over your already wet lashes. “Why does no one love me Josh? Am I that bad?” you cry into your arms.

“Jake…I don't think no one loves you. I think a lot of people love you. I think the question is why does no one else’s love make you feel the way hers does?” he asks.

He’s right. You’ve never loved anyone like you loved her, never received a love that felt even close to how it felt to be loved by her. You chased it, tried to find it again, but it was never even close.

“Do you think… you still love her?” he asks.

“I know I love her. I never stopped loving her, Josh. But I can’t be with her. She doesn’t want me, not anymore.” you breathe.

“I just don’t think that’s true Jake. I saw you. The two of you, at the lake, on the couch. Those two people laying there, completely intertwined with each other, they were in love. Have been since they were kids. Both lost and drifting without each other. I think she is just trying to find her footing, probably just as shocked to see you as you were to see her. She’s clinging to Sam because he’s comforting and familiar, but Jake… if she really truly wanted to be with Sam she would have been up there in his bed, with him. Not wrapped up with you on the couch. She wanted to be there just as much as you did.” he says.

Your heart constricts as you think on that night. How you wished every night ended that exact same way. But now the memory is marred. You feel sick to your stomach at the thought of her thinking you did that out of pity. You did that because you loved her, but you couldn’t tell her that. She wasn’t yours to tell.

“The timing is just not right, Jake. Not yet, but one day it will be. I know it will. I can feel it. You just have to be patient. Let her figure it out. She has to bloom for herself before she can bloom for you.” he says, placing his hand on your shoulder.

You wipe away the dried streaks on your face, swallowing back the lump in your throat. You know he’s right. You know she still loves you. She has to. You felt it in her touch. Saw it in her eyes as she left today.

“I’m sure after today, after everything that happened, she will never want to speak to me again. Sophia was so cruel to her, I–” you stop.

“I’m sure she will need a little time, so give it to her. Let her come to you. She will. I know she will. When you least expect it, she will come to you, and when that happens you can’t let her go.” he says.

You nod your head, fully understanding what he means. “Can you… stay… here tonight? I just don’t want to be alone. The house is too quiet. I’m stuck in my head…I need you.” you mutter.

“Yeah, I’ll stay here, no problem.” he replies, sitting up from the floor, resting his arms on his knees.

You push yourself up to meet him, seeing your phone lit up on the floor in front of you.

Missed Call: Sophia (3)

Text Message: Sam (2)

You knew you needed to talk to Sam, you had to apologize. Make things right. Even thank him for doing exactly what he said he was doing. Taking care of her, watching over her, making her happy. That’s all you really wanted. Her to be happy.

Josh starts to talk, causing you to look up from your phone, “Jake, I do have something to tell you. Something I have been keeping from you. I was trying to wait for the right time...wait for everything to clear up…but time is up.” he says nervously.

You look at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay…”

“You know, we leave for tour in a week or so…” he starts, you nod your head that you’re listening.

He hesitates, taking a deep breath, “Back in April, when I found out that Y/N was working for Collective, I contacted them and put in a request for her to coordinate for us. I thought it would be fun to have her work with us… that was before all of this… with you and with Sam...” you felt your face grow warm as you realized what he was saying.

“They called me last month. The request was accepted. She’s coming on the road with us.”

—

HER POV

It had been three days since Sam dropped you off at your apartment, after leaving Jake’s house. You knew he needed time to cool off. To decompress. Jake hurt him, that you knew. You could see it on his face as you watched it happen, doing your best to step in. To help, but it was too late. The damage was done. You were so mad at Jake, making assumptions about situations he knew nothing about. For saying those things to someone he loves. His own brother.

Sam started to text you again more and more as the days passed, slowly returning to your normal chatter throughout the day. You still hadn’t told him you’d be with them on tour. You hadn’t told any of them. You didn’t know how. But regardless of whether they knew or not, you still had to be there and you needed to finish packing. So tonight, as you got off work you rushed home to finish up, drowning your stress in a bottle of Red.

As you zipped the suitcase shut you felt a pang of anxiety shoot through you. Were you really doing this? Was this really happening? Especially now, after everything that happened the other day. You wondered if things would be weird between all of you, or if they were going to pretend it never happened. You certainly wouldn’t forget.

Bzz. Bzz.

Your phone vibrated on your dresser just as you tipped back the rest of your glass of wine.

Sam: Nightcap?

You:I have to be at work early tomorrow. Raincheck?

Sam: We leave in a few days to start tour. Want to see you before we go.

You: You’ll see me. I promise. Just because I can’t come over, doesn’t mean we can't talk…

Sam: Is that right?

Sam: You gonna miss me while I’m gone?

You: Why? You gonna miss me?

Sam: Of course I will…

You: I’ll be closer than you think…

Sam: Oh really?

You: Mhmm

Sam: I want you closer than that baby.

You: How close?

Feeling like you know where this conversation is heading, as it so often does, you pour yourself another glass of wine, and slip into something a little more revealing, knowing Sam is all about a good visual. You lay down in your bed, taking a large sip from your glass as the conversation continues. The previous 4 glasses of wine had already gone to your head, leaving you feeling light and airy. Almost carefree for the first time in a few days. You were finally out of your head.

Sam: Practically inside you.

You: You always feel so good Sammy.

Sam: God, you’re always so warm and tight, fuck...

Sam: You touching yourself baby?

You: Do you want me to?

Sam: I always want you to feel good, but I'd rather it was me.

You: You do so good for me Sammy.

Sam: That’s fuckin right, I do.

Sam: Let me see you gorgeous, wanna look at you.

You exit out of your conversation, opening your camera and lifting your arm to hover the phone over your body. You know what he wants, and you’re far too clothed for his taste. But why not leave a little to his imagination this time? Let him beg for it a little. You set the phone down, quickly lifting the maroon silk tank over your head. You pick your phone back up, and rest your free arm gently across your breasts, concealing your nipples beneath your arm and hand. You make sure you can see the matching panties and you snap the photo.

You open the photo to look at it, and considering how much you’ve had to drink, you’re impressed with how it turned out. You can see your face, just slightly, your hair cascading around your shoulders. The curve of your breasts pressed up against your arms giving you incredible cleavage. The skin of your ribs and stomach leading down to the shiny maroon silk that sits just at your pubic bone. You knew this was going to drive him crazy.

You get a sudden head rush as you sit up, your vision blurring momentarily as you try to refocus on the screen. You blink rapidly as you hit the send icon, grabbing your top, and pulling it back over your head as you hit the tiny face of his contact photo.

Knowing you didn’t need another drop of wine, you finished off the glass anyways, and anxiously awaited his reply, settling yourself back into the sheets, and turning on the TV.

—

JAKE POV

You twist the knob turning off the water as you step out of the shower. You flick your hair over your shoulders as you reach for the towel hanging just outside the curtain. You dry your face before you wrap it around your waist, stepping out into the steamy bathroom. The mirror is completely fogged up, not allowing you to look at yourself, but you didn’t really care anyways, just wanted to rinse off the day before you got into bed. Your head was spinning from the far too many whiskeys you’d consumed in your study, but it did the trick.

The water drips off the tips of your hair, rolling down your stomach meeting the top of your towel. You shake your necklace to release the excess water, letting it fall in small drops onto your chest. Just as you start to run your fingers through your hair, your phone lights up. Thinking it's probably Josh checking on you for what has to be the hundredth time today, you grab it and walk out of the bathroom, turning off the light as you go.

As you step into your bedroom you bring the phone up to your face, ready to tell Josh to fuck off, but it wasn’t Josh’s name you were met with. It was Y/N’s.

You stopped in your tracks, hand suddenly becoming shaky as you nervously slid across the notification to open the message. But you aren't met with a message at all. You’re met with a picture.

Jesus Christ.

You lock your phone immediately, tossing it on your bed as you begin to pace your bedroom. Your mind is racing a thousand miles a minute as you try to process what you just saw.

It was her, laid out on her bed in nothing but a tiny pair of panties, her hair framing her face, and her incredible cleavage, covered tastefully by her arm. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Why did she send that?

You run your fingers through your hair, stepping into your closet and finding a pair of sweats, tossing the towel to the floor as you pulled them over your legs. You grab the towel, and hang it in the bathroom, before returning back to your bedroom and crawling into your bed.

You grab your phone, as you slide under the sheets of the large empty bed, resting it on your chest for a few moments, before opening your messages again.

Fuck me.

You tapped on the photo to make it larger, really looking at it. God, it was her. Every beautiful inch. Pieces of her you only see in your memories now.

You look at the curve of her breasts, more filled out and absolutely gorgeous. Her skin still tanned from your day at the lake... You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice how much her body had changed. Everything suddenly more curvy, and full. More of a woman than the girl you once knew. You swallowed harshly as your eyes scanned over her hand covering her nipple, closing your eyes for just a second as you pictured it in your mind. The exact shade, you’d never forget, always smiling when her cheeks would blush the same color.

You reopened your eyes, continuing to look at her, scanning down her body, her smooth, perfect stomach all the way down to the curve of her hips. You could almost remember how it felt to hold her there. Your fingers digging into her hips as you would plunge inside of her. Those moments with her, taken for granted now.

The silky maroon shade of her panties complimented her skin so perfectly but your mind took you to other places, wishing they were gone. You could feel the rush of blood leave your head and travel straight to your dick. Aching to feel the touch of her hand just one more time. The ache becoming more painful the longer you looked at the photo.

Your eyes scanned over the image once again, though this time you noticed something else. The shadows almost concealing it. But as you zoomed into the photo you saw it, just there where it's always been. Her tattoo. Her tattoo for you. You felt your heart clench as you remembered the first time you ever saw it. How you knew right then you’d never love another woman the same way you loved her, and to this day that stands true. You find your hand sliding down your stomach and below the waistband of your sweats in an act you feel almost guilty committing.

As you wrap your hand around yourself a sigh releases from your chest. Fuck I shouldn’t do this. Your eyes flick back up to the picture giving it one last glance as you toss it next to you on the bed, focusing your efforts down below. As you begin to stroke yourself up and down with relief, your mind wanders.

The night in the car. Your favorite memory to replay in moments just like these. It was only a few days before you left to write the first album, and you promised her a real proper date. So that's what you did, you took her out to her favorite restaurant, and you undressed each other with your eyes the entire night. She was so gorgeous in that little green dress… you couldn't wait to get her home that night.

But you never made it home. You took her to the lake, parked the car under some trees and you made love to her in the back seat. Was it the most romantic location? Probably not, but that didn’t matter to her, it never did. She didn’t want all the frills, the bells and whistles. She just wanted you. She only ever saw you. That’s why you loved her.

You peeled her dress over her head, making quick work of her bra and panties, as her hands worked to unbuckle your belt. The smiling and the laughter forever burned into your memory. But as of lately the memory was fuzzy, her laugh morphing into an echo and her smile blurry.

Your hand began to move faster as the memory played out. You sliding into her, so perfectly tight around you, feeling like nothing in the world could feel better than that moment. The noises she made. Fuck. Those alone could have sent you to the edge. Those you can hear clear as day, never once forgetting the sound of her whining your name as she came around you. And as you spilled into her, you told her you loved her.

‘I’ll love you forever Jacob Kiszka.’ her perfect voice echoing through your mind. It’s times like now when you wonder if that sentiment is still true.

Your heart was pounding as you worked your hand over yourself rounding off each stroke over your throbbing tip. Your mind flashed back to the lake, her taking your hand, you could feel the electricity between the two of you. The look of trust in her eyes as she jumped with you, the way she reached for you under the water, trusting you to pull her back to the top. You wanted nothing more than to take her into your arms and never let her go. You remembered watching the water drip down her body, the sunlight catching it just right as it rounded the curve of her ass. You could feel yourself getting close, the familiar feeling creeping into your groin as you breathed heavily into the air of the dark bedroom.

You grabbed your phone, and reopened the photo, letting your eyes travel down to her core as you imagined pressing into her just one more time. With a final flick of your wrist you were tossing your head back, your neck arching into your pillows, your cum spilling into your hand as her name left your lips in a desperate whisper. Cumming by way of her was altogether earth shattering. You missed her. You wanted her. You never really stopped.

Tossing your phone back onto the bed you laid there for a moment before you stood up to clean yourself off, changing sweats and returning back to your bed. The reality of what happened finally hitting you as the liquor began to wear off. As you laid there in the darkness your mind started to wander.

Why did she send that?

Should I reply?

You grabbed your phone and opened the text, feeling like if she took the time to send that, she deserved a response. You typed, deleted and retyped a response probably fifty times before settling on something that didn’t even come close to expressing how you really felt about it.

You: Still just as gorgeous as ever.

You hit send and placed the phone on your chest, letting your eyes close as you waited for her reply.

HER POV

Bzz. Bzz.

Your phone vibrating next to you woke you from your sleep. You must have dozed off waiting for Sam to reply. Blinking away the sleep you grabbed your phone and pulled it close to your face. But it was what you saw on that screen that made your blood run cold.

Jake: Still just as gorgeous as ever.

What? What is he talking about?

You quickly slide your thumb across the notification, opening the text thread. When you saw what he was replying to you felt like you might pass out. It was the photo you meant for Sam.

You quickly opened your texts with Sam, only to see that you never sent it to him. You sent it to Jake.

How did this happen?

Panic washes over you as you frantically send the photo to Sam, and switch back to your thread with Jake.

Did I type in his name? How did it get sent to him? Oh my god, what is he thinking?

You go back to your photos app and retrace your steps, trying to figure out how you managed to send it to him in the first place. As you hit the share icon, you see the contacts line up across the bottom, and you see it. His name right there, clear as day in the spot Sam’s contact usually sits. Oh I fucked up.

You realize that because he texted you about what happened at the lake, he was now showing up in your recent contacts, and in your drunken haze you saw the dark hair and brown eyes and assumed it was Sam.

Fuck!

Realization washes over you that you had just sent Jake a nude, a tasteful one thankfully, but a nude nonetheless. How the fuck were you going to face him now? How would you explain this? What would he think?

You quickly locked your phone, tossing it onto your nightstand, and turning over in your bed. You knew better than to respond. You couldn’t open that line of communication further than you already had. This had to be the most embarrassing thing you’d ever done.

How desperate must you look? God.

But then your mind went back to his response. He didn’t ignore it like he could have, no. He replied, and he replied in a way that indicated he liked it.

‘Still just as gorgeous as ever.’

What the hell does that mean?

But you knew what that meant. It meant that, just as you thought, there was no way this tour was going to stay strictly professional.

No…

Things were about to get very, very Strange after all...

Chapter 10

Taglist:

@gretavansara@jordie-gvf-admin@starshine-wagner@gretavanfvckface@gretavanmoon@eyelinerjake @misshunnybeebee@fretaganvleet@gvfpal@joshkiszkas@ascendingtostardust @raviolilegs@sammysprincess@gvfpal@objectsinspvce@lallisonl@gvfpal@raviolilegs@jaketlover@ascendingtostardust @indigostreakmorgan @jakemarrymeibeg@fakeplastiqtree@radmads-gvf @fwzco @katelynn-gvf @writingcold @jakesgrapejuice @jakekiszkasbabymama @emsfallingsky @gretavanbear @ejoygvf @beebloopbleep

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steddieunderdogfics · 3 months ago

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @stevestark ! With fourteen Stranger Things fics and twelve in the Steve/Eddie tag, their charming works make waves in the fandom!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @stevestark:

they told me all of my cages were mental (so I got wasted like all my potential)

i think your house is haunted (your dad is always mad)

i was hitting my marks ('cause i can do it with a broken heart)

Eddie and Robin's Very Real Heterosexual Adventure

it’s hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound (it’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you)

Whether their fics are under 5k or over 10k, their world-building is so good! they have a way of making our boys feel so natural and the progression of the relationship always feels realistic. they were one of my favorites back in 2022 when s4 dropped, and they've made a sudden return to the fandom this year with new stories that are just as good if not better than what they had written back then! I'm always so excited to see they've posted something new, no matter if it's a new chapter or a whole new story. -- anonymous

Below the cut, @stevestark answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

After watching ST4 Vol. 1 I was obsessed. Steve Harrington was one of literally two characters I loved from the very first time I “met” them (the other being Jim Hopper, which is why he tends to feature heavily in my works as the resident Dad) but I had never really been into any ships for him up to that point. The immediate chemistry he had with Eddie Munson though? Woof. I knew I had to write them, and it honestly was like I blinked and had suddenly churned out multiple fics. I stopped writing in general around the end of 2022, but when I got fired from my job in April, I got bored and reread my own works, which drew me right back in, especially because I had already written about 10,000 words of they told me all of my cages were mental (so I got wasted like all my potential) but had yet to finish it. I wanted to read the ending so badly myself that I simply picked it back up, and then next thing I knew I was writing more and more.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

There’s so many. I’m always a sucker for some good old fashioned Hurt/Comfort or Angst With a Happy Ending, but I think my all time favorite has to be Enemies to Friends to Lovers.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Definitely Angst With a Happy Ending. I don’t think I really know how to write anything that’s just straight fluff or even straight smut. There has to be some angst in there, and I’m not really one for an unhappy ending. I’ll maybe do ambiguous, but I was raised on Nora Ephron and Nancy Meyers ⸺ we’re happy ending girlies.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

The One In Which A Time Loop Is Fucking Exhasuting. by badpancake on AO3. I think about that shit daily. Every part of it is absolute perfection, and I'm in love with it.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Fittingly with the last question, time travel! I have a title for a time travel fix-it already, I just need to let it ferment a little in my mind so I can figure out how to do it in a way that feels at least somewhat unique.

What is your writing process like?

Step 1: Put Taylor Swift’s folklore on repeat. Step 2: Open GDoc. Step 3: Stare at GDoc. Step 4: Start writing the first thing that pops into my head and hope it comes out coherent in the end. Step 5: Publish and then immediately reread my work after it’s already live, and pray I only find minor mistakes that I can quickly fix before anyone else reads the fic and spots them.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I always have the title before I even know what the fic will be! 99% of my fic titles are Taylor Swift lyrics, and it’s usually a process of me hearing a specific phrase and thinking “This is so Steddie coded.” After that, I begin the above process, and hope I do the lyrics justice, because I tend to choose the ones that are the most poetic to me personally.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Definitely when I finish writing. I’ve tried holding myself to a schedule before with multichaptered fic in other fandoms, and it just never works out the way I want it to. I actually have an ongoing Steddie WIP that I haven’t touched since April, because I’m waiting for the next chapter to come to me fully before I start writing it, and I do kind of regret posting it as a WIP in the first place. I feel much more accomplished when I can just push the whole work out at once, i.e. my season 2 rewrite where Eleven is found and taken in by Eddie and Wayne, which I had debated posting as a multichaptered fic as I wrote chunks of it at a time. I talked myself out of it though, and despite the fact that it took me weeks to finish, once I got there it was so satisfying to hit that publish button.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Definitely i was hitting my marks ('cause i can do it with a broken heart). There’s a whole entire 58 track playlist to go along with it that I carefully researched and curated before writing even a single word of the story, broken down into specifically themed mixtapes in a GDoc; it's linked at the end of the fic, with a breakdown of which mixtape each set of songs belongs to, and it is my absolute pride and joy.

How did you get the idea for they told me all of my cages were mental (so I got wasted like all my potential)?

I had a passing thought one day about the fact that Steve seemed to just tangentially know who Eddie was by the time we met him in canon, and wondered what it would be like if he had actually sort of known him, and what that would look like. Then I thought about the legend of King Steve, and the fact that he probably did know Eddie, if only as a dealer, and the whole thing sort of wrote itself after that.

When writing they told me all of my cages were mental (so I got wasted like all my potential), what was something you didn’t expect?

Definitely how long it ended up being! The plot was truly just a passing thought, and I honestly believed I would write little vignettes of the two of them getting to know each other at parties over the years, but what actually transpired was some deep character work and a true slow-build to anything substantial between Steve and Eddie.

What inspired i think your house is haunted (your dad is always mad)?

Honestly the title itself! Sometimes, when I pick a Taylor Swift lyric and decide it would be a pretty fic title, that’s where the inspiration ends. With this one, I thought about the fanon (and somewhat canon) belief that Steve’s parents are assholes who don’t really love their son, and even though I’ve known the lyrics to folklore backwards and forwards since the album dropped in 2020, for some reason that line hit extra hard in April of this year, and all I could think about was how badly Steve Harrington wants to be loved and wanted, and I just started writing and didn’t stop until I was satisfied.

What was your favorite part to write from Eddie and Robin's Very Real Heterosexual Adventure?

The entire thing. I’m not just saying that, either. Sometimes, such a good idea falls into my lap that I actually do a proper outline, and with this one, I fully had little sketches going on and everything. I meticulously planned every date they would go on, and I knew exactly how it would end. Though, if I had to isolate any single part that was the most fun to write, it would be the last few lines. Just pure chaos. It makes me laugh every time.

How do/did you feel writing i was hitting my marks ('cause i can do it with a broken heart)?

That was one of my favorites to write, and it flowed out so easily; I had just finished rewatching all of ST, start to finish, for the first time since right before ST4 Vol. 1 dropped. And the only thing I could think about after finishing was that even though it made sense for Max to be cursed, it would have made infinitely more sense for it to be Steve. All we ever see in canon of Steve Harrington is his insecurity and feeling that he’s never enough for anyone; season 1, he thinks Nancy is cheating on him with Jonathan, and they try to keep him out of the Upside Down stuff. Season 2, Nancy actually leaves him for Jonathan, and tells him that he ⸺ and his love, and loving him ⸺ is bullshit. Season 3 is literally the story of how King Steve became a nobody who never wins a fight and falls in love with people who will never love him back. Even season 4 ⸺ when Dustin comes rushing into Family Video to try to track down Eddie somehow? Steve’s immediate reaction is “Oh, your new best friend Eddie who you think is cooler than me because he plays your nerdy game.” He’s never not a mess of insecurity and self-loathing, and nobody around him ever really does anything to rectify that feeling for him, so he’d be perfect Vecna bait. And the whole thing started with the playlist, really, because I had this idea that Steve is a vibes guy for music, rather than a style or genre guy, and then it was just a matter of writing around the mixtapes I’d mapped out. Which, naturally, led to breaking my own goddamn heart writing what I think it feels like inside his head, because I was ⸺ and still very much am ⸺ that person in the friend group. Never the first pick, always an afterthought, the one people always think is fine but never bother to actually check if they are. So, I guess, it felt cathartic to get it all out somehow, but it was also just so deeply sad, because that feeling never really goes away completely, and I hated doing that to Steve.

What was the most difficult part of writing it’s hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound (it’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you)?

Probably just the physical aspect of shotgunning, honestly, and also trying to accurately describe the high. Weed doesn’t do anything for me mentally, and I don’t like what it does for me physically ⸺ to the point that I actually wonder if I have a mild allergy to it ⸺ so it’s not really something I can pull from personal experience in regards to describing it, which made it more difficult than I was prepared for.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Definitely the opening bit of there’s something about you in the moonlight (but your eyes go so well with the day). Both the Eddie intro and the Steve intro. It was just so fun to tap into that feeling of being a kid and getting hit with the lightning bolt of why people have crushes, but I especially have a lot of love and fondness for the way I described Steve’s desire to find his perfect match, and how it’s not rooted in sex like people thought of King Steve, but in his desire to find someone he’d have fun with forever.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m currently working on a multichaptered fic where Eddie lives, but leaves Hawkins the very night he’s released from the hospital without telling anyone; he does stay in contact though, and he and Steve end up falling in love through letters and phone calls, until, eventually, Eddie realizes that he ran away from the one thing that made him feel the most alive. At last edit, which was yesterday, it’s at 15 chapters and 18,000 words, and I’ve only just gotten to the point where Eddie and Steve are playing phone-tag. Also, if anyone is interested in a non-Steddie but still relatively Eddie-centric fic, I rewrote the entire season 2 canon in are we out of the woods? (are we in the clear yet?) and I am currently working on a season 3 rewrite, which will be followed by a season 4 rewrite, wherein Steddie will become canon. It’s definitely for the long-haulers, but I think it’ll be worth it. Actually, despite being non-shippy so far, it’s probably my favorite thing I’ve ever written. There’s just something about Wayne Munson as the world’s best dad that does it for me, and, as we’ve seen in canon, Eddie is surprisingly really good with kids. I like to think that he’d have been an excellent brother, and I got to explore that with him and Wayne deciding Eleven was theirs.

Thank you to our author, @stevestark, and our nominator! See more of @stevestark works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #writers spotlight #writer's wednesday #writer's spotlight #writers on tumblr #steddie writers #stevestark

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takaraphoenix · 4 months ago

Note

For Stiles month, could I ask for 12 and Steter or 14 with Stiles, Jackson, and Danny? 🥺

(You are lucky you are getting both even though you put 'em in the same ask - just send two next time ;) - because someone else ALSO wants Stackson brOTP for 14!!)

The Birds and the Wolves

Tags: m/m, fluff, getting together, Pack Alpha Peter, post Nogitsune, vaguely post series

Main Pairing: Peter/Stiles

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Peter Hale

@writersmonth Prompts: birds + library

Summary: Stiles is in the Hale Mansion's library when he realizes he's in love with Peter.

This Story on FFNet | This Story on AO3

The Birds and the Wolves

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

Things had been kind of messy when Scott became a True Alpha and Derek gave up his Alpha status to save his sister's life. For a while, Peter, Derek, Cora and Isaac stayed as part of the McCall Pack. Until the Hales left. And Stiles tried not to take it personal, because it wasn't, of course it wasn't, and he wasn't even part of the Hale Pack – not that there was a Hale Pack anymore – and he even understood why they left, because there was no Hale Pack anymore. They'd already lost so much in this damn town, so of course would they leave. But it devastated Stiles.

They stayed in contact, though. Stiles and Derek, because over multiple times of mutually saving each other's lives, they had become friends. Stiles and Peter too though, because they'd been working together to create one coherent digital bestiary, out of the Hale bestiary and the stolen Argent bestiary and any book that either of them could find online. At first, it was all just professional, all about the bestiary. Then they started talking more.

It was the Nogitsune that really brought them closer. Though not possessed, Peter could relate to being a prisoner in your own body and to slowly losing your mind. It was also just easier, for Stiles, to talk through texts than in person. Not having to look at the other, not having to speak. Especially in the early weeks, months, after the possession, that helped him a lot.

Stiles knew that Jackson got his number from Peter, because not long after Peter got Stiles to talk – by offering his own trauma first, talking about the coma and his own experiences to get Stiles to talk – Jackson texted him. Stiles and Jackson bonded over the Nogitsune and the kanima.

That was how Stiles had learned that the Hales had ended up moving to London. Jackson was there, Derek's first beta, one of the scattered members of the Hale Pack. Stiles wasn't surprised when, a few months later, Peter casually mentioned being an Alpha again. That was always going to happen, Stiles had known it from the moment Peter had been resurrected, but it became an inevitability after Derek lost his Alpha spark, because Peter was not going to let the Hale Pack die. So he had hunted and killed a rogue Alpha and started rebuilding the Hale Pack, in London.

Boyd and Erica found their way to London, after Stiles texted them about this development. After running away from Beacon Hills, they had bounced from pack to pack. Never truly finding a home. Stiles hadn't found it in himself to make them stay, after everything, but he had insisted on staying in contact, so he would know they were safe. Safe but not happy. So when there was a small Hale Pack in another country, Stiles told them to go, to give it another chance, with a different Alpha.

After graduation, Stiles packed his bags and didn't even have to think about it. He needed to get out of this town. He loved Scott, dearly, he had many friends in the McCall Pack, it had been his family for so long now, but… he couldn't stay. The town that had killed his mom had also nearly killed him, he'd killed one of his best friends here, and so many others. Scott was sad, but he understood.

Stiles left, and he never even considered any other option than London. It had never been a question for him but maybe he should have considered telling the pack first. He'd knocked and got greeted by absolute bafflement. And then by hugs and fierce declaration that he had to stay.

That had been exactly a year ago now. Stiles settled in, found his place among the pack, fell back into friendships that had only existed on his phone for far too long now. The Hale Mansion was stunning, large and… home. His favorite room was the library though. All the books from the Hale vault, all the books both Peter and Stiles had bought over the past years, in their research. Stiles had been delighted when he first walked in there and he could be found in it about every day.

Especially at first, when he was settling in and was… kind of overwhelmed. There were still a lot of things he was struggling with after the possession, which only made it worse, because then he got frustrated with himself for still not being over it, so he retreated even further into himself. His pack was patient with him though, they understood and gave him time.

Sighing, Stiles turned his head to look out of the library's window. The pack was outside, training. Sparring with each other. Derek and Peter were instructing them. A soft smile spread over his lips as Stiles watched his Alpha. Damn, Peter had come a long way since the feral Alpha who had first turned Scott. Coming back to life had helped him, but becoming an Alpha again, without killing a family member, to bring back his family's legacy this time, to form his own pack, it had helped him so much. He'd become a great Alpha and Stiles was proud to be in his pack.

Stiles couldn't help but laugh when the wolves started chasing birds. Sometimes, when they were connecting a little too much with their wolf side, they acted more animalistic. Like chasing birds.

"Stop that, you unhinged puppies!" Stiles called out of the window. "Behave yourselves!"

"Let the pups have fun, darling," Peter called back, looking up at Stiles with a smile.

Stiles froze, surprised, as a thought crossed his mind. He's beautiful. Not just physically, of course was Peter Hale gorgeous. But seeing him with the pups, seeing him be a good Alpha, seeing him be snarky and teasing, Stiles found it all beautiful, loved it all. Loved… Peter.

It had all developed so naturally, they'd grown closer, Stiles found his place. And more often than not, that place was next to Peter. He hadn't noticed before, because it happened so gradually. But that moment, as random as it seemed, with Peter standing among his pack, smiling so softly up at Stiles, it felt like something was slipping into place.

"Oh," Stiles whispered to himself in awe. "I'm in love with you."

Peter, who'd slowly turned back to the betas to make them stop chasing birds, froze. His head snapped back to Stiles, eyes flashing red. Stiles' heart jumped into his throat and he flushed. But no. No, he didn't want to take it back. He was better, he had gotten so much better, he hadn't felt like he deserved to be happy, after the possession. Now, he was happy, finally. Here, with them. With Peter.

"I love you," Stiles repeated, louder, laughter bubbling in his chest.

It took Peter all but ten seconds to move from the garden upstairs to the library, standing in front of Stiles a little wide-eyed. Still red. There were some fangs too. Stiles smiled at him and reached out, resting a hand on Peter's cheek. There was no doubt, no worry that Peter wouldn't return his feelings, because at the same moment he noticed that he loved Peter, he also realized that Peter loved him. Had loved him for a long time, had shown it in so many different ways.

His support, his help to get through the possession, his patience, kindness and care, when it came to Stiles. There were so many lingering touches, more than just normal scent-marking among pack. A possessiveness. A protectiveness. Stiles smiled warmly at Peter.

"I'm glad you're ready," Peter whispered, resting his hands on Stiles' hips.

"I'm glad you waited for me to be ready. Thank you. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"You're worth waiting for, darling," Peter assured him as they both leaned in slowly.

Stiles' eyes fluttered shut as he pressed a soft kiss against Peter's lips.

~*~ The End ~*~

#Steter #Fluff #Stiles Stilinski #Peter Hale #Teen Wolf #Steter Fic #Stiles Summer Stories 2024

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euphoricfilter · 1 year ago

Text

like crazy ~ part two

☆ﾟpart two of five

pairing(s): namjoon x reader, seokjin x reader, yoongi x reader, hoseok x reader, jimin x reader, taehyung x reader, jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || smut || angst || non-idol au || reincarnation au || friends to lovers || strangers to lovers || established relationships || regency era au || gang au || college au || slight yandere au? ||

summary: the story of how the universe sent you Namjoon.

word count: 9.3k

tags/ warnings: gang leader! namjoon, fluff, a lot more love, angst, namjoon is tatted up, death/ murder, mentions of blood, mentioned sex trafficking, mentioned drugs, obsessive relationship, smut in the forms of: dom/ sub themes— kinda mean-ish dom! namjoon, lots of hickies, spitting in a mouth :), biting, strangely feral sex, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (this is fiction, don’t be stupid), pull out method (again, don’t be stupid), doggy style, squirting, the briefest ass play, implied/planned aftercare!! because namjoon isn’t heartless

notes: not a promise but i'm going to try and get yoongi's part uploaded next week!! it's basically all written i just have to edit it all but this section of the story was getting way too long so i decided to just split it. again, feedback is always encouraged!! i really like this series and would love to know others' thoughts too <3

��like crazy’ mini series masterlist || my main masterlist

🪐 🌠 ∘₊✧─── *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ───✧₊∘ ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 💫

Your third life was perhaps the strangest.

It had also been the shortest of all your lives, and perhaps the shortest of your loves.

You hadn’t loved Namjoon any less than you had Taehyung or Jimin.

Stupid, undying love had wormed its way into your heart; maybe without you even realizing this time. And then once again, you found yourself sinking with no escape and more heartbreak than you knew what to deal with.

When you truly think about it, the universe had been a little crueller in this life.

And in hindsight, she probably had taken pity on your poor soul for all the stories that follow this one.

From the day you could produce a coherent thought, you’d known everything.

There was no life-changing realisation that you’d had with Jimin, no obliviousness to what your life had once been or everything you’ve ever lost.

You’re pretty sure your whole world would have been different had you not been aware of your previous life, the butterfly effect is a real bitch when the knowledge you never asked for is thrust into your hands and you aren’t exactly sure what to do with it.

At eighteen you’d moved out. Because as much as you’d tried, you’d never truly felt anything for your parents in this life.

It wasn’t hard to play the role of a doting daughter, not when your parents never paid much attention to you anyway. Or how you knew attaching yourself to people that would eventually pass was a whole new wave of pain you weren’t ready to put yourself up for.

There was no guarantee that once you died in this life you’d come back for a fourth time, there was no guarantee that if you did ever make your way back into this world that you’d ever gain the knowledge of what once was. But it was a risk you had never been willing to take. If you’d lived another life, come back again and again, then what was there to say it weren’t to happen once more?

You often wondered how your old mother must have felt, finding out the only family she had left was murdered. How horrified she must have been after hearing the news. Or if she’d been the one to stumble across yours and Jimin’s cold corpses.

You doubted she was still alive either way, time hadn’t exactly been on your side, the world so much different than when you were last alive.

So much more advanced than it had been. You had so many more rights as a women than you had in your previous life. Everything seemed so new, the smallest glimpses of the past peeking through the new age that you found yourself living in.

The story of you and Namjoon starts where you and Jimin had ended.

You look up at the set of apartment buildings. The land that used to be the foundation of your home no longer what it used to be. The garden was buried under cement, and all your secrets that had seeped into the walls were probably rotting somewhere in the landfill.

What was once a small house for two had been reconstructed, and built so much bigger and better. Better than anything you could have imagined your home to be.

It felt a little patronizing, the land you’d died on morphed into something so much more spectacular.

You remember how hard it had been to simply own a house of your own. How hard it must have been for Jimin to save enough to buy it. How you felt as though you’d finally achieved something in your pitiful life the day the two of you had moved in.

How when you look at the building stood before you, it didn’t seem like such a wonderful place anymore.

It wasn’t special. It wasn’t yours.

Once again, it was so far out of reach, so different, the familiarity, the warmth, all of it had died along with you and Jimin.

Yours and Jimin’s lives had been so insignificant that no one had thought to keep the land your sacred burial ground.

You don’t resent the world for stripping away such a large piece of your life away. (even less so when the change had been the sole reason you’d found Namjoon. Or rather how he’d found you).

Meeting Namjoon had become somewhat of a blur. Words slipping off your tongue as the wind dug its nails into your cheeks, and your fingers and toes felt numb from the cold. Grey cottony clouds had been stuffed in your ears and your mind had been so far from your body. Perhaps seeping into the gravel, slipping between the frost and the soil as your mind reels with every little moment you’d ever spent on this very piece of land.

Jimin had been the spring, but Namjoon had been the winter.

You see, Taehyung and Jimin had been the gentle things that wandered in the sunlight, flowers and warm afternoons, sweet kisses and heart-swelling love. Namjoon is what lurks in the shadows, and ugly thunder storms or gnarly bite marks imbedded into tender skin. He was every rough edge and anxiety filled heartbeat, his touch gentle as poison seeps into every pore he traces over.

“What are you doing here?”

Your head snaps in the direction of Jimin’s voice. Words catching in your throat, your mouth opening and then closing and then falling open once more.

Your eyes widen only for prickly disappointment to drown your heart when you’re met with the face of a stranger. Jimin's saccharine voice echoing through one ear and out the other.

You lips fall shut, heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks as your eyes meet those of the stranger.

“I used to live here” you point to the block of flats. And although that may not exactly be true, you don’t bother elaborating.

(And Namjoon doesn’t bother to tell you that no one had lived in that building since it had been built. It was his land before it had been constructed and he had no plans of ever renting out any of the rooms.)

He takes a step closer to you, maybe only an arms length away, “It’s not safe in this area”

You turn back to look at the building, “That’s a shame” you hum, “Maybe I should get going then”

A weird sense of guilt runs through your veins. Guilt because you weren’t at all scared. And maybe it’s because after being killed twice, the idea of death doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. Not when you were tired of life, not when you could come back and have the chance to live all over again as a whole new person.

“I never caught your name” he says, mild curiosty dancing in his eyes.

The air is frigid as it fills your lungs, “Y/n”

“Namjoon” he holds a hand out for you to shake.

You look at his hand, debating whether to risk it, wondering if he had plans to grab you, erase you from existence. You’d tell him it were useless if that were the case, that you’re estranged from your family and you barely had any friends that would risk themselves for your own safety. That he’d be wasting his time more than he would be yours.

His lips curl up at the corners as you shake his hand, “Want me to walk you home?”

You meet his gaze, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck, “No. I’m quite capable”

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“I think there’s someone staring at you” your friend nudges you, hand cupping your ear.

As much as you wanted to live a life of solitude, unprepared to face another life that ended in heartbreak, it was hard not to befriend someone along the way.

The both of you would have probably quit this deadbeat job if it weren’t for each other. And luckily the place was run by an old woman that didn’t mind your shifts being practically identical. The income helped with rent and you got most meals free with the job, so really you had no plans to move anywhere else.

Somehow, platonic love was a little easier to let go of, a little easier to mend, soothe until it doesn’t hurt as much and the memories fade like a painting left in sunlight for too long. You’d never wanted to come off as cold either, and what was one friend when you had a whole life ahead of you?

Because as much as you liked to slip into your own world, replay the stories of Taehyung and Jimin until tears slip down your cheeks and you had half a mind to pull your aching heart out of youe chest, the strange sort of catharsis that hurts as much as it heals— having a friend wasn’t all that bad.

And maybe you’d be upset if one day the two of you were to wander down separate paths, only to never meet at the crossroad and continue on with life like you hadn’t trekked for miles together; but maybe that hurt was worth the risk if it were easy to heal later on. A selfish thought, but you’d learnt that humans were simply built that way. That being selfish wasn’t all that terrible.

You look up at her, dropping the mug and cloth behind you in favor of leaning on the counter, arm to arm.

“Who?” your head falls on her shoulder.

“The guy over there” she nods her head in his direction. You follow her line of sight, eyes meeting the strangers’ very briefly before your gaze flitters out the storefront window.

“Do you know him?” she asks, your head falling off her shoulder as someone stalks up to the counter.

You squint as she takes the order, watching as the curious stranger flicks open a newpaper.

You weren’t sure if he was simply confident or overly arrogant. His posture that of a man who gets his way, the kind of man you try to avoid when the sun sets. The kind of man you try to avoid when you go out for drinks and they offer you a night you’d never forget.

His shoulders were lax, open. One leg crossed over the other. Chest broad and arms bulging under his thin dress shirt. He was handsome. Very handsome. And you knew he was aware of this fact, especially with the way all eyes were on him as people left the cafe. Their unrelenting stares doing nothing to deter his relaxed demeanour.

“I don’t think so, no” you shake your head, turning back to grab a to-go cup, “Maybe he’s one of those creeps that have a thing for baristas”

She frowns, hip knocking against yours with more force than intended, almost sending the cup you were holding flying. “Don’t say that, what if he’s a rich CEO and wants to take you on a date?”

You can’t help the laugh that spills from your lips, “Doubt it. I don’t think rich CEOs drink cheap coffee on this side of town”

She hums, “His suit does looks pretty expensive”

“It does” you agree, meeting her eyes.

“French make?”

You tilt your head, taking another glance in his direction, “Italian”

“Freshly pressed?”

“Definitely”

You slide the hot coffee across the counter, bitter annoyance creasing your eyebrows when you don’t even get a thank you.

“I mean, there’s more ways to get money than just being a rich CEO” she tilts her head, eyes squinting ever so slightly.

“Maybe he’s a doctor” you run a finger over your bottom lip, and she throws her head back in laughter.

“Maybe he does shady gang related stuff”

Your nose scrunches up at that, “Like sex trafficking? What if he sells drugs?”

She bites her lip.

“You fiend” you laugh, “There’s bad boy, and then there’s just straight up criminal”

She gives you an exasperated sigh, “What if he’s a nice? What if he wants true love, and cares about his family?”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief, “I don’t–” you swallow, “You have strange preferences” is what you settle with.

“Okay?” she laughs, “And what about you?”

“A gentleman. The sappy ones that believe in true love”

“Doesn’t seem to be many of those around anymore, not in this area at least” she nods, “Maybe we both have unattainable types”

Your lips quirk up into a smile, “Maybe. I’m not really looking for love”

“Why not? Add something fun to your life”

Both of your attention is snatched by the door swinging shut, the stranger that had been keeping as eye on you slinking down the street, newspaper tucked underneath his arm.

“I’m happy where I am”

“You don’t go out” she deadpans.

Your eyes narrow, “I do. For work, groceries, you know all that kinda stuff”

It’s barely a laugh that puffs out of her, more an exasperated sigh, “How are you ever going to meet the love of your life?”

Something bitter coats over your tongue, and you will yourself not to frown. You think your heart slowly starts to sink inside your chest, an ugly weight that has your eyes stinging a little.

“I don’t think everyone has soulmates” you turn away from her, picking up the mug you’d put down earlier.

“You’re so cynical sometimes, you know that? Besides, it’s not like you have to find a soulmate per say, just— a fling or something”

“Yeah” you look at her over your shoulder, “Wanna go change? I’ll lock up today”

She hums, “Are you sure? I don’t mind helping”

You shake your head, pushing yourself onto your toes to place a mug back on the shelf, ‘I’ll be fine, you have somewhere you gotta be right?”

“Yeah. My dad’s in the hospital again, I don’t know how I’m gonna pay the bill this time”

You tuck your hair behind your ear, “Sorry to hear that” and truly you were. But as much as you wanted to offer to help her pay off the bills, you had your own utilities to pay for, a life to live.

And maybe you were a prime example of a selfish human.

She shrugs, “Life is shitty sometimes, not much I can do about it”

She waves before she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. You watch as she walks, only blinking when she’s out of sight.

You stand there for a moment, time inside the cafe stopping as the world continues to move outside.

You can barely hear the chatter, muffled through the glass, though you see people’s smiles, watching groups of them laugh. Or two people holding hands. You see lovestruck looks in people’s eyes. Eyes that don’t seem to hold much emotion at all. Distress from someone on the phone. The smallest hint of happiness from someone listening to music.

You fall back into reality when one of the boilers in the backroom rumbles, your attention quickly snatched as you duck under the counter to wash the tables. Your world now quiet enough for your thoughts to amplify. They fill up the room like thick smog, skipping around you with quick steps you almost stumble over your own feet.

Some days you found yourself wondering what Taehyung would think of you now, how the both of you might have danced around the cafe, a piano piece playing in the background from a jukebox as you closed up for the night. Or what would happen when you’d finally go home to your one bedroom apartment and Jimin would be sprawled across the sheets, hair damp, and skin still damp, wet from just taking a shower.

You startle when someone approaches you just as you lock up the door, “Willing to take my offer to walk you home this time?”

With widened eyes you turn to meet the stranger, acute terror tickling your mind as you think he must have been hanging around the shop since he left earlier, just waiting for you to lock up, “Excuse me?” Your voice breathless.

“It’s pretty late, and girls like you don’t fare well when the sun goes down”

You slip the key to the cafe into your pocket, “I think I’ll pass” your shoulder barely brushes his as you slip past him, though you don’t miss the thump of footsteps behind you. Too close, yet not close enough for you to do anything about it.

You stop, “What do you want?”

“Come on, Y/n, We’re past that, I’m just making sure you get home safe” you watch as a dimpled smile tugs onto his face and you pull your coat tighter around your body, unsure if the shiver was from the cold or from him.

Your eyes narrow, skeptical, “How’d you know my name?”

Something akin to a scoff vibrates from his chest, “You’re fucking serious? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?”

You bite your bottom lip, eyes glazing over his face, memories playing like a strip of film in your mind, click click clicking until you pause when you catch sight of his face, a little blurred but his eyes are hard to forget. “Ah–” you sigh, “Namjoon”

You will yourself no to smack the shit-eating grin off his face, rather turning back around, starting your walk home.

“So i’m not that forgettable?” his steps fall in time with yours. No longer walking behind you, all caution thrown out of the window.

“It took me all day to remember. Why were you just hanging out at the cafe? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“No” he shakes his head.

You don’t open your mouth the rest of the way home, and neither does Namjoon. Not until you’re stood on the step of your apartment building, slightly looking down at him.

“Thanks for walking me home” you rock back and forth on your heels, “You don’t need to do it again though”

Namjoon wets his bottom lip, pulling his scarf a little tighter around his neck. Condensed air whispering into nothing as he open his mouth to speak.

“I want to see you again” Plain. Simple. Straight to the point. But not what you wanted to hear.

You sigh, back of your throat drying as you inhale frost riddled air, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think?”

He runs a hand over his chin, “I wouldn’t say so”

“Whatever it is you want, Namjoon, I don’t want it” you tell him, hoping that by some miracle, your little hint penetrates his thick skull.

“And how do you know what I want?” His arms fold across his chest.

It doesn’t apparently, and you are so close to losing your tether.

“Dating. Marriage. Sex. Simply a fling. I don’t want any of it”

It irks you how he laughs, “Marriage is a bit too soon, I barely know you. But I’m not opposed to the rest”

“But I am”

“We’ll see about that” he waves you off, “i’ll see you around, yeah?”

You choose not to reply, willing yourself not to look back as you push open the door to your building.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Do you fuck on the first date?”

And for a moment you think your mind short circuits, neurones working overtime to piece together a coherent thought. Sparking against one another as his question replays in your mind.

Everything with Namjoon was always so quick. What had been him walking you home had somehow melted into him taking you out to dinner on the nice side of town for a date that truly you hadn’t had any interest in. That was until he’d shown up at your door out of the blue barely a week after the two of you had met.

You’d never told him your apartment number, and it had left you mildly curious as to who you’d gotten yourself involved in. You could only hope that if you came off dull enough he’d choose to go and flirt with another human that was willing to spread their legs for him on the first date.

“I haven’t before. So, no”

Namjoon hums, hand running over his jaw in thought.

“How charming” he muses, and you’re unsure if it’s a laugh that rumbles from his chest or a scoff, perhaps a mixture of both. “They must have been true gentlemen. Let me know what I’m working with”

You raise an eyebrow, and he nods for you to continue.

“The first guy.. I suppose we never exactly had a first date. The second…we ate by a lake and talked about dreams and the universe, and then he made me a flower crown so I made one for him”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, “Men like that exist?”

The corners of your lips quirk up, wistful memories of still-there emotions seeping back into your heart. “No. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here”

“They’re dead?”

You swallow, breath catching in the back of your throat. Namjoon’s head tilts, expectant.

“Something like that” is all you can find yourself to manage.

“You kill them yourself?” his eyebrow raises, though you think the both of you know the answer. And maybe that had been the moment you’d gotten an inkling of what Namjoon did for a living, and how utterly fascinating it was to talk about death so freely with another human being.

It had always been so taboo. But it was simply the end of life, the end of a story. Everyone were to experience it one day, so why would no one ever talk about it?

“No” you shake your head, “And this isn’t about them”

“It’s not” he agrees, “I’ll leave the sex for next time as well”

You cover a laugh with a cough, “How thoughtful of you”

“You don’t seem upset” he points out, piercing eyes making it a point to hold eye contact.

“About you wondering what happened to my dead lovers?” And he nods, “You’re understandably curious. I’m not going to hold that against you” you shrug.

Your finger runs over the seam line of your dress, some small part of you on edge, always wondering what Namjoon’s next words would be. He was always so calculated. And a small part of you was scared he’d ask things you had no intention of mentioning.

“And you’re not curious about my past relationships?” he asks, somewhat surprising you.

You shake your head, “I think I’ve made it clear that I’m not interested in a relationship. So I really couldn’t care what your past endeavours were like”

You sit up a little straighter when his lips quirk up into a smile, “I wonder why you’re here then. If you truly wanted nothing to do with me”

Your tongue wets your bottom lip, “You’re awfully similar to a parasite, you know?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Elaborate”

“Do you believe in destiny?”

“That doesn’t answer me” he shakes his head, “What does destiny have to do with parasites?”

“You’re like a parasite because no matter where I go, you cling on to me like it’s all you know” you say, “For the last week since we’d met that one evening all you do is sit in the cafe all day while I work, walk me home and show up at my door on my days off even though I told you I’m not interested”

“And destiny?”

“I said yes to today, because destiny is a bitch. And maybe it had been her that had sent us to one another”

Namjoon leans back in his chair, “I do believe. To answer your earlier question”

You sigh, “That doesn’t mean I want to dive head first into a relationship with you”

“But you’re not opposed to the idea of us getting to know one another?”

You bite your lip, maybe trying to hide a smile, “I didn’t say that”

“It was implied though” Namjoon’s own lips curl upwards.

“Was it?”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, “Don’t start acting like a brat now”

“Or what?”

He leans over the table, lithe fingers taking a hold of your jaw before he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, “Are you willing to play that game, love?”

“Maybe one day, but I have a shift soon so I better get going. Thanks for dinner, I’ll make sure to add a complimentary cake with your coffee tomorrow”

Namjoon’s fingers fall loose around your jaw, “You want me to visit tomorrow?”

You push yourself to stand, chair squeaking against the tiled flooring, “Something like that”

“When does your shift start?”

“I open up tomorrow”

He nods, “And you’re closing up tonight?”

“Mmhmm” you hum.

“I’ll come pick you up after I get some work done” he calls out to you, and you simply wave over your shoulder as you weave through tables towards the exit.

Everything about life with Namjoon was fast paced. So quick you often found yourself stumbling after him as the both of you wander in the dark, no clear destination in mind. But as you stray away from him, he always seems to find where you are.

Arguable coincidences turning a little more purposeful. You never thought much of it when you’d run into him while shopping, or out drinking with your friend. Never thinking it was weird how no matter where you seemed to be, Namjoon would be there too. Always there to find you, always there to bring you home.

He loomed behind you like a shadow, an obedient guard dog that lurked in your shadows.

When you truly think back to your time with Namjoon, every moment together was clouded by rose tinted glasses that you seemed to have refused to take off.

It wasn’t long after that first encounter with one another that you started dating. And merely weeks after that, somehow Namjoon had convinced you to move in with him. He always told you how he didn’t like the side of town you lived on, how worried he got dropping you off at your door.

Because he knew what happened when people slept, and the world was a little quieter. When the light of the moon didn’t spill into the dark corners of alleyways and brutish men think they run the streets that belong to him.

“I have a lot of people’s blood on my hands, you understand that right?” he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You blink up at him from where you’re sat on his bed, “Yes” you nod.

“That if you accept me like this– wholly me– there is no going back for either of us?”

Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “I understand”

The corner of his lip curls upwards, “Good. Because I had no plan of letting you go”

And maybe that’s when you should have turned your back on him. That through the misted veil of sickly belief that fate had played a game with you again, you’d stayed– evidently leading to another tragedy.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Namjoon was the epitome of obsession, it coursed through his veins just as much as blood did.

He was comparable to a magpie, though his form of treasure was delicate little beings like you that he liked to lock up. And watch as you dance for him behind the bars of a cage, eyes piercing into your very soul until it melts and he mends you back together again.

“What’s wrong, my darling?” Namjoon frowns, slouching back into his chair.

You lay the book over your chest, heart-wrenching deja vu tickling your insides. “It’s just work. The old lady that owns the place is lowering our pay”

Namjoon hums, “Why don’t you quit?” he takes off his glasses, hand running over his face.

“Quit?” you sit up, eyebrows furrowing, “I probably have enough saved for a couple of weeks but after that I’m done for. It’s not like I’m paying rent anymore”

Namjoon pushes himself to stand, slinking around his desk to stand before you, “That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to work anymore, I’ve got the both of us”

You shake your head, “Namjoon I can’t do that” you tell him, leaning into his touch as his thumb caresses your jaw.

“And why not?” He crouches down, head tilting in a way that is so very much Namjoon.

“It’s unfair on you. Plus, I’m capable of taking care of myself”

He runs his thumb over his bottom lip, “I know you are, but why have all the added stress when I’m more than happy to do this for us”

Some days Namjoon seemed awfully normal. Integrated perfectly into society, just like the rest of human kind. And some days you found it scary how ordinary he seemed when you knew of the things he did. He always seemed so in control of his own mind, thoughts easily articulated into convincing words, dressed proper, a kind smile.

It was unnerving how someone so perfect was so very much the evil that you fear as a child. The grim reaper who melts into the darkess, takes a life and thinks no more of that pitiful being’s existence as he stalks through the night ready to chew on another soul.

Maybe it was blissful ignorance that had chained you to him. If he were the being that men feared then it was only smart to latch onto him, to pretend he didn’t do all these bad things and let him squeeze his way into your heart. For you to be docile and quiet and everything he wanted from you. Even if his love hurt, thick shards of glass piercing their way into your heart and your mind and your body and your soul.

It was suffocating. Emotions too hard to decipher when he treated you as if you were the only thing that mattered in this cruel world. His love having a tiny semblance of your previous lovers. Foolish in the way you clung on to the smallest parts of them that you could, even though you knew it was never going to be the same. Namjoon was so far from being Taehyung. He was never going to be Jimin. His love a new type of raw, skinned alive and thrusted into your hands without much thought.

Namjoon’s finger’s slip between your own, grass prickling the bare skin of your arms as you shift, “Sirius”

“Pardon?” you tilt your head to look at him, the softest smile on his face as he looks up at the sky.

“You’re my Sirius” he closes his eyes, smile still lingering.

“I don’t–” you start, mouth falling shut when he turns to look at you, eyes an endless abyss that you find yourself falling into. Every bad thing he’s ever done, suddenly no longer that evil when he looks at you like this.

“If Sirius is the brightest star in the sky. Then you must be my Sirius”

You blink, utterly baffled as to where this had come from.

“Are you ill?” you dare ask, breath catching in the back of your throat. Warm, gentle, love heating your cheeks the lightest pink, though you doubt Namjoon would be able to see it in the light of the moon.

A laugh bubbles from his chest, “No” he shakes his head, “Love turns us into fools sometimes”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, fingers slipping from between his own.

“That wasn’t foolish” you tell him, “Surprisingly profound. And incredibly sweet”

“Is that the way to your heart? Sweet words and a pretty face?” he teases, sitting up. And you fall onto your back.

“It seems so” you say, “Though you’ve already found a home in mine”

“Is that so?” his hands run over your thighs, fingers teasing the hem of your shorts.

“Mmhmm” you hum, eyes flickering back towards the sky.

“Then it is lucky you’ve also found a home in mine” He leans down, arms caging your head as he presses a plush kiss to your cheeks, following the slope up to the tip of your nose before he presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Not here” you murmur just as he pulls away, curious hands wandering over whatever bare skin he can grab onto.

“But how is the world to know you belong to me?” he asks, warm breath fanning over your lips.

You swallow, “I’m sure they’re all aware by now. More than a few men have lost their lives because of me”

Namjoon pushes himself to sit up, frown morphing on his face, “I told you their blood is not on your hands, but mine”

And he had told you that. Many times. Between kisses of reassurance, where his hands wander down for back as you cling to his suit jacket, guilt chewing away at your mind until you couldn’t take it anymore and begged him to stop his merciless ways when it came to you. Because in truth, no matter how many times he’d told you, their deaths are your fault. And will latch onto your weary soul.

And maybe one day when death knocks at your door, he will open his book and list out every man that had ever died because of you, and then he will tell you the devil is waiting downstairs with the door open and a spare room just for you.

Never once had you asked him to slip out of the bedroom as you slept, slaughtering every man that dared lock eyes with you for longer than Namjoon deemed necessary. Or utter your name from mouths made of filth, or gawk at the small sliver of skin you would show at dinner. Skin that was wholly his to touch and defile and bite at until he’d become the artist, painting you red only for flowers of purple to bloom across unblemished skin.

“That doesn’t change the fact their premature demise wasn’t linked to me”

“None of that” he hums, helping you sit up, fingers raking through your hair. “Angels don’t have human blood on their hands, it is above them”

The day you’d kneeled before him, begged for him to stop killing on your behalf, that he didn’t need to do more than he already was, that those men didn’t mean anything at all to you– he’d never mentioned another instance where he erased the existence of another human.

That didn’t mean you were naive enough to believe he’d stopped killing. You weren’t stupid. It wasn’t hard to piece together the little things that happened when you’d wake up during the nights, sheets cold beside you and Namjoon nowhere to be seen until the sun had risen.

Familiar faces printed on the front pages of newspapers, gruely deaths typed out without a lick of sympathy, just another face, just another story.

And maybe it had been all your fault, bringing up such trivial things like destiny. Uttered how you thought fate had brought the two of you together, solidifying whatever little budding obsession Namjoon had for you. And it was ironic, how even after the tragedy of this life, the little flicker of hatred you held for fate herself was blown out, because as fucked up as it was; you had no regrets when it came to Namjoon.

He’d built you up into an entirely new person. So different than you had been. Shown you a life that was so different from what you’d had before. So fresh. And new. And exciting.

Impossible to hate.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

A choked moan catches in the back of your throat when Namjoon’s teeth clamp around your nipple, his chin spit-soaked as he lathers his tongue over your flushed skin.

“Fuc– Namjoon” you huff, hips rutting upwards, desperate to chase after every lick of searing pleasure as your clit rubs against the soft fabric of your panties.

Your pelvis knocks against his stomach, head tipping backwards as he kisses over your tender skin, tongue soothing over every divot that his teeth had left over your body.

His hand slips down between your bodies, awfully mean as he hooks his fingers in the waist of your panties, tugging them upwards until the crotch is tucked snug between your folds, soaked fabric rubbing deliciously against your throbbing clit.

“Yeah?” he laughs when you moan out his name, tears gathering along your waterline as you rut upwards. A feral sort of pleasure consuming your entire being, emotions rubbed red-raw, heart thrusted for Namjoon to chew on, to consume like it were his only life force.

You whine when he lets go of your underwear, pleasure fizzling out, orgasm ebbing away. Your poor clit sending barely-there pleasure up your spine— utter frustration wracking throughout your body.

You tug his face parallel to your own, fingers digging into his jaw, “No, no– Namjoon please” you whisper against his lips, fingers slipping to tangle into the hair on the back of his head.

“What do you want?” he asks, fingers dancing across your thigh.

Your mouth drops open in another shaky moan as his fingers dig into a hickey on your thigh, perfectly crafted; almost a hollowed heart shape. Proof of the rawest lust that’s mixed between your sweat slicked bodies, and his salvia that drips into your open mouth, tongue already out to catch his spit. You swallow, prickly heat dusting your cheeks as he smiles down at you, so proud as your tongue laps up the remanence of his saliva from your bottom lip.

“You– want you so bad” your hands wander, anywhere they can grab on to him.

Nails that dig into covered biceps— muscles flexing, over his pecks, sinking into the plush skin; perhaps some small part of yourself hoping that you could carve a chunk out of him to keep for your self, a part of Namjoon that will always be with you for when he’s gone.

A strange desperate sort of need that has bloomed into your body and mind. Slithering through each valve of your heart, sinking its claws into the muscle, just Namjoon

Namjoon

Namjoon.

He’d consumed your life, your every thought. Your skin alight as he touches you, your mind constantly buzzing with thought of him him him when he’s gone and just more more more of him when he’s with you.

“Yeah?” he kisses your jaw, teeth nipping over the skin, sucking hard enough that you know you’ll be littered in marks of his lust for days to come.

“Yeah” you nod, thighs clamping shut as you try and relieve some of the ache, beyond desperate for some form of release. The sort of release that you know only he would ever be able to give you, the feral sort of release that you never knew were possible if not for him.

“My poor baby” he croons, sitting back on his heels. Goosebumps prickle the skin of your arms, the heat of Namjoon’s body leaving you cold when he pulls away.

Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth as he shucks his shirt off, you eye the ink that slithers up his chest, spreading across his arms. Deep black that stains his skin, bare hints of color peaking through.

“It’s rude to stare” he reminds you, unbuttoning his pants, underwear soon following the rest of his clothes on the floor.

“You’re just very pretty” you say, sitting up, chest heaving as you gasp for breath. Namjoon leans down, lips pressing against yours in a kiss that holds so many unsaid words, both from you and from him.

“Not as pretty as you” he whispers, one hand taking a hold of his cock. He lathers pearly beads of precum down his length, his other hand slipping between your legs, thumb running over the length of your still-covered slit.

“Take these off for me?” he asks, catching your attention that had been on his thick cock, “How precious” he whispers as you fall onto your back again, bare and wholly his to take.

Your hair fanned out beneath you, teeth marks littering your skin and hickies that he doubts you’ll be able to fully cover; the whole world knowing that you’ve been claimed by him.

You wriggle under his sharp gaze, eyes raking down the length of your body as though it were the first time. (He had every little dip of your body ingrained into his mind, though nothing would ever been the tangibility of you spread bare like before him)

You thighs fall open, silent temptation— a silent invitation for him to fuck you senseless.

“Turn around for me, darling. On your hands and knees, I plan to absolutely ruin you tonight” he runs a hand down the length of your thigh.

You roll over, lifting your hips for him, cheek pressed against the duvet. Your outstretched hands grasp onto the pillows, though you doubt they’ll be much help if Namjoon does exactly what he had promised.

You wiggle your hips, breath hitching in the back of your throat when a warm hand ghosts over your asscheeks.

“Precious” he kisses the back of your thigh, sharp inhale from him causing your cheeks to flush the darkest shade of red.

This thumb parts your folds, barely dipping into your hole before he’s trailing wet fingers upwards; free hand pulling your cheeks apart.

He teases over your puckered asshole, nail raking over the delicate skin. “You’re a slut sometimes you know that?” he laughs, choosing to dip his index finger, nail deep into your ass.

Your breath hitches, something similar to a moan spilling out and onto the sheets as you rock backwards.

“Not a slut” you tell him, slick dribbling over your clit.

“No?” he croons, pushing his finger further into you, empty cunt clenching around nothing as he teases a second finger around your ass hole.

“No” you breath, fingers digging into his pillow.

“Not a slut, but you like you like me toying around with your ass?” he laughs, finger slipping out as he finishes.

A watery moan follows, asshole clenching around nothing as he toys with your pussy. Pulling your folds apart, and you hear it before you feel it, wet slap reverberating off the walls, sting following soon after.

Your mouth falls open, fresh wave of arousal slipping from the entrance, dripping onto the sheets.

“More” you beg, thighs quivering as you try to hold yourself up, “Please, more” you try to get a look at Namjoon from over your shoulder.

You hear a mocking laugh rumble from his chest, squeak of surprise punched from your throat as he lands another harsh slap over your cunt, string of slick snapping as he pulls his hand back towards his body.

His next slap lands on your clit, pain morphing into a strange sort of pleasure as you feel it wrack up your body, mind muddling into a mushy mess that has you rocking your hips backwards; desperate for at least one more measured slap to your flushed pussy.

Namjoon groans, wetting his bottom lip as he gets a glimpse of your puffy folds, so wet and messy he’s awfully tempted to lean down and lick you clean until you’re pleading for him to let you cum, only for him to push you over the edge so many time that you have to beg him to stop, and maybe if you start crying, delicate little tears cascading down your pink cheeks, then he’d take a little mercy on you.

Another wave of arousal dribbles onto Namjoon’s cockhead as he runs it through your folds, blunt head pressing against your hole, walls stretching to accommodate his girth.

“Oh” you whine, back arching a little deeper as he feeds an inch into you.

His hands fall onto your hips, fingers sinking into the meat of your hips, ragged crescents far from majestic digging into your skin “Feels good” his hips stutter, your body jolting forwards.

“Fuck– Namjoon” you cry when he loses all resolve, pelvis smacking against your ass, impatient to have your walls fully wrapped around his cock, the closest he’ll ever be to sinking under your skin and becoming one with you. The closest the two of you would ever physically be.

“Fuck” he groans as your walls clench around him, your hand slipping between your chest and the bed, down to your stomach.

It felt as though Namjoon had weaved his way into your body, so far inside of you, you wonder if he’d sunk into your stomach. His cock touches places you never knew felt this good, pleasure buzzing up your body with every unintentional sway of your hips.

He barely pulls out, cockhead dragging deliciously through your walls before he eases himself back into you fully.

“Faster, please, Namjoon” you swallow, throat awfully dry– and Namjoon hums.A hand leaves your hip, tangling into the hair on the back of your head.

His cock drags through your walls, tip still wedged inside of you. You’re unsure if it’s a moan or a garbled scream that leaves your lips when he tugs you back by your hair; back arching uncomfortably as his hips snap into you.

Arousal seeps onto the sheets past his cock and down his ball that barely brush past your swollen clit.

“Ah–” you cry, fingers gripping onto the pillow as he punches back into you.

“Like that? Yeah?” he grunts, the hand that was on your hip slipping underneath you, keeping you propped up as his finger leave your hair to press down on your shoulder.

Tears dance across your waterline, raw pleasure consuming your entire being until all you feel is Namjoon’s thick cock dragging rapidly against your cunt, mind so wholly consumed by him you’d forgotten where you were. Who you were. What you were.

His hands burn where they hold you, your ass red from each wet slap of his pelvis against your ass and the backs of your thighs.

Your moans somewhat harmonise, pleasure coursing through both your bodies, rush of dopamine clouding any sort of sanity you thought you had left.

“Play with you clit for me” he groans, tugging you back onto his cock, position causing his cockhead to hit your g-spot perfectly from this angle.

Your hand shakes as you bring it to your clit, swollen and pink, the barest touch enough to sent you lurching forwards; though you don’t get very far, Namjoon pulling you back with the grip he still has on your waist. Making sure he’s buried deep inside of you, making sure to hit that little sweet spot that has white dancing behind your eyes.

“Oh” you cry, staccato of noises spilling from your lips as you toy with your clit, messy as your nails drag over the bundle of nerves.

Namjoon feels you clench around him, ready to tip over the edge with him.

“That’s a good girl”

You hiccup a sob, “Gonne cum. Joonie I–”

“I know, darling” he huffs out a laugh, “Cum for me, all pretty”

Your thighs quiver, and you’re sure you would have collapsed by now if it weren’t for your boyfriend holding you up.

You peel the pressure build in your stomach, fingers messy as you try to keep the stimulation up on your clit. Climbing higher and higher towards your peak.

“Oh– Fuck” your free hand clamps over your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you tip over the edge, squirting onto the sheets, soaking the fabric, little squeezes of watery cum tumbling past your fingers as you ride out your high— hips stuttering forward with each soft drag of your palm over your clit.

The insides of your thighs shine, wet with your release, Namjoon’s balls seemingly just as wet when they smack against your clit.

“Shit” his head tips backwards, and you cry as he slips out of you, sudden emptiness causing your cunt to clench, another spurt of cum dripping onto the sheets below you.

Namjoon’s hand is rapid around his cock, pulling your ass cheeks apart he groans one last time before he shoots his seed over your red ass.

It drips over your hole, dribbling down to your messy pussy; mixing with the mix of your cum and arousal.

He smears his cum across your puckered hole, rubbing it across your folds and down to your clit. A low groan rumbles from Namjoon’s chest at the sight, your labia creamy white and shiny.

“No” your thighs give out under you, his finger still smearing his cum over your sodden clit, throwing you into a less intense orgasm that has you trembling, sob catching in the back of your throat.

“You’re so good, my darling” he whispers, wet fingers sliding over the expanse of your back, rubbing his release into your sweat slicked skin, “How about a bath?” he smiles when he catches sight of your closed eyes, “Hmm?”

You nod, “Drink too” you whisper, voice hoarse and Namjoon traces over each hickey, feeling the dips in your skin that his teeth had left and over the swell of your ass.

“And a drink too” he nods, “can I go to the kitchen to get a drink? Or would you want to come with me?” he asks.

Your tongue slips past your lips, wetting your bottom lip as your muscles relax, “Come with you”

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I’m gonna pick you up, okay?”

You hum, rolling yourself onto your back. Your eyebrows furrow when your ass is met with wet sheets. “Clean sheets too”

“Of course” he brushes the wet hair from your forehead.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The day Namjoon had acted on impulse, your story had reached its climax– and it had been downhill after that. That is how most stories go after-all.

And for the first time your ignorance to what Namjoon did behind your back had come to bite you in the ass. A sick little reminder that you should have listened to yourself all those months ago. That you should have never gotten involved with Namjoon. Should have just lived this life through with no hiccups and hopefully finally lay to rest at the end of your cycle.

And somehow you found yourself here.

It should have been nothing more than a night out together, nothing more than drinks and hands that wandered in intimate places under the table, no one any the wiser. Clothes imbedded with cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, Namjoon’s lips on your neck and yours on his cheek before he wandered to the bar for refills.

All it had taken was one man to bring you both to downfall. One lingering, sweaty hand, five chubby fingers and two beady eyes that had no respect; one unruly man for your life to once again fall to shit.

You’d never seen Namjoon anything but level-headed. He always had such control over his own life, knew how to control a room, his people, part of the city. He was always on top. It’s always been Namjoon’s world and you were simply living in it.

A small whisper in the back of your mind had told you that surely— surely a man with that much power would one day snap. Perhaps not at you, but you’d placed yourself in his line of fire. Dominoes stacked up one after the other and no matter how fast you ran, they would always catch up to you, knocking you over with them.

And you knew. You knew that a story with you and Namjoon was sure to be another tragedy. And maybe you wanted to believe that he was invincible, that death wouldn’t rattle at behind him like it had the last two of your lovers, and you suppose he didn’t.

Death was after you.

Death was scared of Namjoon, but not you.

“I told you” you whisper, eyes flitting back to your lover when you catch the attention of an officer, “I fucking told you not to do it, that we could sort something out later but you just had to–”

He had to kill him. Well, he didn’t have to. But he did.

“I’ll sort it out” he takes your hands, “Don’t stress too much”

You exhale, chest deflating, utterly defeated, “And how do you plan to fix this?”

“I’ve got a good lawyer” he tells you, leaning into the table a little more.

And you want to tell him his lawyer was shit, that there was no way for him to plead innocent when so many people had seen him slaughter someone out of pure rage, no matter if it were in the back of a club, in a drunk daze, you doubt many would forget the shrill cry of a man slowly losing his life. You doubt many would defend a man that was known for chewing up the lives of any man or woman that he deemed unworthy.

“You trust me? Don’t you?” He interlaces your fingers, squeezing.

You nod, swallowing hard as an officer slinks past your table. Unnerving as you eye the weapons strapped to their belts and the haunting jangle of keys.

“Yes. Yes I do”

“Good.” he nods, “I need you to do a few things for me while I’m held up”

“Okay” you whisper, foot tapping anxiously against the floor. Palms flushing in a cold sweat.

“Pack your bags, there’s money under the bed, go away for a while”

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

“I need you to leave the city for a while until I’m out of here”

“Namjoon I don’t–”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Ever so gentle, a lame attempt at reassurance. Though you only find your heart rate picking up, hands trembling ever so slightly. And you wonder if he can feel it; your fear. You wonder if he can taste it on the tip of his tongue.

“A lot of people are going to be after you now that I’m not around”

You shake your head, mouth opening to say something though you’re unsure what.

“I have a lot of enemies” he says carefully, slowly, “And they all know about the delicate little flower I hold, and they’ll want to pluck her and tear her petals off one by one”

You swallow, “Namjoon” tears threaten to fall to which he brushes a thumb over your cheeks.

Shaking his head, “None of that” he smiles, “Soon we’ll be together again, and everything will go back to normal, and we’ll be happy”

You flinch as a bell rings, hands trembling when chairs scrape against the laminated flooring. You swallow down the lump in your throat, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you simply stare at Namjoon. Curious to see how long it would take for you to get lost in his eyes, to be able to wander his mind and simply live there., Safe, happy.

He told you that you’d be happy. ,

“Go” he nods behind him, “I’ll see you soon, yeah? I think I can have one more visit before trial”

The both of you stand, Namjoon pulling you into his chest. He kisses your forehead, displeased scoff tumbling off his lips when one of the officers towers over you. Eyebrow raised and expectant.

He lets go, and you clench your jaw. Your chest expands, lungs stinging with the rush of oxygen— and you will yourself to look up at Namjoon, painting every little crevice of his face into your mind before you’re slipping past him towards the door. Unable to say anything.

Because you know if you did you’d break down. And you wouldn’t do that to him right now. Not when he’s told you how much it physically pains him to watch you suffer, how your tears should never fall, how your heart should never hurt.

“Sirius” Namjoon calls out and you look over your shoulder, “Remember that. My brightest star”

You wave, swallowing down the sob that claws up your throat.

And you’d barely made it halfway home before your life had slipped from beneath your feet for a third time.

Stem snapped, and petals picked; a rotting rose left to decompose on blood-soaked concrete, with the regrets of not even leaving Namjoon behind with a final ‘I love you’. And a faint wish that life after you would fare him a little better.

thank you for reading!! <3 🌌

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

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