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missgeniality · 3 years

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Opaline Moon (m)

“The Moon can never breathe, but it can take our breath away with the beauty of its cold, arid orb.” - Munia Khan

➺ Banner: @hobiandsprite 💕

➺ Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Friends to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11.2k

➺ Summary: You are ingrained to love Jin, right upto the blood that courses through your veins. Confessing, however, is a whole other game. So it’s a good thing you’re bad at keeping your hands to yourself, because happenstance can handle the rest.

➺ Warnings: talks about dance floor fucking, making out in the bar bathroom, fingering, pussy slapping, passing out drunk, daydreams about thigh riding, reader masturbates, they make out A LOT, neck kissing, a hickey, nipple play, some biting, cum eating (kind of, you’ll see), blowjob, protected sex!, reader and jin are corny, the hurt is real but the sex is real-er

➺ Author’s Note: My lovely, lovely moots - @taegularities, @kithtaehyung and @baepsaetan, thank you so much for betaing this and hyping it up, your comments made this fic a hundred times better! As I mentioned on the teaser, this fic took a lot out of me, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing the angst and will write more whenever the story aligns! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing, and I hope this lovable Jin reaches your heart! (ngl, in usual fashion, I will come back and edit it again, so if you see a spelling mistake, your eyes are lying to you) Do let me know what you think, your asks and comments make my day!

This is the second part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Sweltering heat. Blaring traffic. Little to no sleep. Through all things wrong, one man’s thoughts wrapped around you like a cooling breeze, a shield to protect you from the vicissitudes of reality, to draw you back into all of him. Unfortunately, your reality may never see that day come to light.

Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin, the man who cooked you up a greasy break-up meal at three in the morning with not a sight of discomfort, putting your needs above all.

Kim Seokjin, whose puns make you roll your eyes heavenward, half awed at how he manages to pull one out of his collection at a moment's notice, and half irked by the untimely laugh it brings out of you.

Kim Seokjin, the man who will never be yours, and you have no one to blame but yourself.

One could argue that the miscommunication that had caused this present condition was two-way. If you had stopped him, corrected him, let him know the truth… you wouldn’t have to resort to the extreme measures you’re currently entangled in. One would also say, you are trying to redeem your mistake by trying too hard. Surely, everyone and their mothers could see through your ruse.

This is the fourth time you’re visiting Jin for his BE shoot - a shoot taking place two hours away from the city, disguised under various layers of secrecy to prevent any leakage of the album concept, or Jin in general. Of course, you had been made privy to such exclusive information, because you and Jin were ‘best friends’.

Best. Friends.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Best friends. The term you coined for (and forced upon) the bond you had. The bond that was too close to sprouting into something new, something fresh, something that was filled with glimmering allure and dragged you in like quicksand. But also, it reeked of commitment, of shadows, of newness that you hadn’t felt in the longest time, and fear of already being far too deep in without even taking the first step.

The loud thrum of some internet kid’s new hit pulses through the air of the club as bundles of couples occupy the dance floor, laughing and gyrating to a song that, in your opinion, most definitely does not suit gyrating. But with enough of the weekend happy hours intake combined with hormone-riddled minds, one could very well throw it back to a church choir.

You weave through the drunken bodies, trying not to spill the precariously held three drinks in your hands, making your way to your inner circle, the only people to blame for dragging you to this slosh-fest.

“Y/N!”

Somehow Hoseok’s voice can echo across the club, but you didn’t even need his addressal because Jin’s laughter is loud enough to navigate anyone to your table. Seeing you struggle with the glasses (and mostly the crowd, with some of them living their exhibitionist dreams), Hoseok gets up to assist you.

“I swear, if I see one more couple pretending to be dancing as they rub one off of each other’s thighs, the black market will have my eyes.”

“Oh yeah?” Jin’s breathy voice interjects your black-market dreams, still bursting in short laughs from whatever sent him rolling before your arrival. “Why don’t you go join them?”

“And whose thigh is she taking, yours?” Yeji snorts out, one hand holding her nebula blue drink, the other wrapped around Hoseok, urging him to come closer. Jin’s features scrunch into a cringe, and you’re thankful for the dim lighting because the disappointment in your features does not reach them.

“The only action these leather pants are getting is in the damned laundromat,” he points to his shiny trousers, “some jerk dropped his drink on it.”

“You could be the first person to give some chick an orgasm and a yeast infection.” Hoseok giddily adds, his fifth shot clearly making a mess of his brain cells.

Jin claps and gets up to move away from the group. “Better than a pregnancy!” he yells, before zigzagging through the crowd, possibly to the restroom. He is on his third cocktail, and you’d think cocktails are lighter drinks. But in this bar, their taps just seem to flow with tequila, and it is very evident in the way Jin is currently walking.

His absence hits you harder than you think, but it might be the alcohol talking. Jin has always been the mood-maker of the group, the one who brings everyone together. Of late though, his magnetic persona has been an irritant in your life. Any outing you two take, any chance you have to come clean about the burgeoning crush you have on him, is effectively disrupted by one of his posse. And today, Hoseok and Yeji took that trophy.

“Earth to Y/N. Has the cocktail finally broken you?”

You flutter your eyes in a manic fashion, to disperse the daydream you were indulging yourself in, and bring your attention back to the couple calling for you. Surprisingly, they have stood up, Yeji emptying the last of her neon drink.

“What happened?”

“We are going to the club nearby, they have better stuff. And that’s code for ‘they actually add water to the drink and the surround sound doesn’t shatter your ear drum’.’”

She isn’t wrong. The cocktails and music here are a 19-year-old frat party dream, not something the working class can digest. But you’re tired at this point, and don’t want to be smothered by someone else’s love life when your own is down the dumps.

“You guys carry on! I’ll tell Jin where you are and he’ll meet you there!”

You watch as Hoseok and Yeji lead each other to the exit, hands circling their partner’s waist. They giggle on and on, about nothing and everything, and it only hardens the emptiness you feel inside you.

Why can’t you gather the balls to spit your feelings out? What could possibly go wrong? Yes, you may lose one of your closest friends, but is this friendship really worth the agony? The bitterness you feel when you see any couple enjoying themselves? The anger you harbor whenever Jin tells you about his dates? The heartache, when he hugs you and tells you that you’re the best thing that’s happened to him… as a friend? Is it? Your plastered brain tells you to not make any rash decisions, so you don’t, instead choosing to get up and search for your best friend.

The corridor leading to the washrooms is dimly lit, throwing a merlot filter over your eyesight, making you squint in search of your friend. You being shitfaced does not help, and while relishing in your floating wooziness, you see Jin come out, and feelings you’ve held at bay for so long slither through your currently porous defenses.

He has always been good-looking. He himself has said so a dozen times.

But wow.

His hair lays messily atop his beautiful face, unkempt, like a breeze of beauty swept across his mighty looks and displaced every strand, causing disarray, but even the disarray only frames his superior looks and adds to its potent charm. The black, patchy sweater hanging loose off his broad shoulders makes you feel things you shouldn’t feel as a friend. That stupid gut of yours is currently screaming, yelling for all hands on deck, trying to block all the feelings from gushing in and sending you into overdrive.

By the time you can gather yourself to stop from giving in to those dangerous thoughts, Jin has crossed the distance between you, coming close, too close. Chocolate-brown eyes peer into your soul, searching for whichever fantasy you chose to lose yourself in. His eyes flit down to notice your rumpled dress that has found its way a couple of inches above its designated spot. His gaze returns to yours, but not without a newfound hardness, an almost steely glaze over the kindness that you usually find in the chocolate pools, accentuated under the garnet lighting.

“Hey, umm…” You beg for a reprieve, from your thoughts, from your filthy mind, from the way he is eyeing your cleavage, or just for the burning between your legs. You’re about to make some serious mistakes, you can feel it down to your bone.

You’re far too overdressed.

You knew it when you were in the process of getting dressed, but right now, you feel it much more - you look like a shiny disco ball orbiting amidst the plethora of loose tees, leggings and flannels. Everything screams comfort, because the amount of work they’re putting into this begs for it.

The strappy lace sundress you wear is extremely out of place, the halter-neck tie behind your neck fastened a little looser than necessary, giving your breasts the exposure they deserve, a nice valley view. Your dress skirt, adorned with pretty frills and dainty flowers, cut across your thigh to frame your petite hips. You are one floppy sun hat away from an extravagant Greek cruise - and in the moment you wish you had one to hide your face in shame.

You’re just out here, trying to escape the zone.

“Oh, would you look at the time, it’s tits out Tuesday already?”

Your eyes roll before Sanghoon even finishes his sentence, because you wouldn’t expect anything else from him. On the team of the set design, he is carrying a whole drapery worth of plush, mauve curtains, struggling with the slipping fabric. But apparently not struggling enough to stop him from getting his nose into your business, it seems.

“Literally not even a time you just mentioned. Can’t get one thing right.” You can’t stop yourself from stretching a hand out to feel the curtain fabric, the satiny sheets begging to be touched. Before you can though, Sanghoon moves away, not allowing you to shift the focus of the conversation.

“Don’t steer away from the facts. Your tits.”

“That’s the fact?”

“They’re out.” He bucks up, trying to point with the hand stuffed underneath all the cloth. “That’s the fact.”

“Ugh, can’t a girl dress up once in a while?” The pointed attention makes you uncomfortable, because everything he’s insinuating is true. With every passing staff member, you count a new shade of grey, interspersed with occasional blacks and greens, a stark contrast to your floral overtones. Amidst the thousand footsteps taken in your vicinity, only yours are pointed heels, echoing across the studio with every clack. But you’re a stubborn one, refusing to give in to his totally valid argument. “I just woke up early.”

“Girl.” Like light through frosted glass, he sees through your bullshit, but only partially. “You put an alarm to dress up? I have nightmares of the boss brandishing her whip and telling me to get into position, and even that doesn’t wake me up.”

“Have you ever considered… not announcing your kinks to everyone and their sisters?”

“Ehh,” he simply shrugs, “nothing is new when you’ve serenaded your boss drunk in a karaoke bar and still managed to keep your job. Wait. Is that highlighter?”

“Stop staring into my tits!” You can’t believe you got caught, but also, who can you blame? After testing this outfit out from the crack of dawn, you decided your cleavage needed some extra help. Three YouTube tutorials and one TikTok lady - who make it look far easier than it is - down, the contouring brought out the swell of your breasts, and against the light fabric of your dress, it does look too good to be true.

Memories of that night in the bar come in billows and waves, of how enamored Jin was with the way your boobs looked at that time. Even under the dingy lighting, in the cramped space, under heavily inebriated scrutiny, you couldn’t miss the flicker of heat in his gaze every time it passed your chest.

One thing led to another, and it was a cascade none of you could stop. The heat of attraction between you two does not help your wandering mind, and the fever drowns the knowledge that what you’re feeling is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, crossing some lines that can never be mended back again. With the proximity, his musky scent invades whatever defenses you were trying to patch, piercing through all your inhibitions and you pull him into you, claiming his lips to be yours.

With his wobbly knees and your wobbly heels, you somehow find your way to the washroom - mostly he does, you give in halfway to wrap your legs around his lean waist, his sturdy legs balancing your weight on them as your back hits the wall, and his lips tear down your walls.

“You look so fucking sexy today,” between bated breaths and indulgent sighs you confess, “just driving me nuts.” Letting your hands drag along his abdomen, feeling the ups and downs of his abs, you attempt to rid him of the sweater that’s been on your hit list all night. But to your dismay, your endeavor is blocked, when Jin gathers your wrists in his palm, turning you around to bend you over on the countertop, the smooth marble chill hitting your braless chest, perking your nipples under the cold.

“And you?” Jin bends to give your earlobe a languid lick, progressing very slow, a complete contrast to the movement of his hips as he ruts against your ass, your already short dress bunching up with every move. “You think it’s smart to have your tits torment me like this?” Grabbing a handful from behind, he tests the weight of each fleshy mound, and by now you are certain your perked nubs can pierce his palm.

His free hand, not yet torturing you, decides to get in on the action and disappears under the counter, swiftly crossing the bunched fabric of your dress, gaining easy access to your pussy. The cold touch of his pads sears against the heat of your core, finding your pleasure button and languidly fiddling with it, with no intention to cross you over the brink in sight. The only pleasure you can indulge in is the reflection of him abusing your nipples, pinching and tugging them down, whispering filthy words into your ear as he takes in your fucked out countenance.

You feel lacking, weak hands balancing your dizzy self, finding purchase to keep you upright - but you’re both drunk on alcohol and hypnotized by his beauty to do much more than stare at his mirrored counterpart. “For fuck’s sake, kiss me.”

How he understood your slurred words, you don’t know, but you are glad he did. In a moment you’ve been displaced, the hurried motion sending your neurons into a flurry. Once your back meets the hard marble, and your eyes have the privilege to see his, you pull him in closer, the force enough to hold you against the wall while your legs wrap around his lean waist.

Originally not a fan of drunken misadventures, that side of yours is strangely mute to the going current onslaught. Well, you don’t have much breath left to say anything, because Jin is efficiently stealing it all, his teeth clashing with yours as you engage in the messiest kiss ever known to mankind (or at least, to you). He changes pace often, dragging his tongue leisurely against your lower lip, conveying tacit words, just to switch it up with a sharp bite and reel you in.

One corner of your senses can feel his fingers messing around your cunt, and playing with the wetness your thong can barely contain. It makes you shudder, the damage that his fingers can cause solely circling around your hole.

“Fuck me.”

In your drunken stupor, you don’t know if the words leave you right, but you get confirmation when his long fingers finally penetrate your cunt, giving your walls something to clench on - although nothing could possibly compare to what you imagine you can get from his dick.

“God, you feel that grip,” he grunts, with two of his fingers in you, and Jin’s smile is the most sinister you’ve ever seen. “I think we should take this home,” is what his lips utter, but his fingers delve deeper, searching for the spot that crumbles you. The base of his palm grinds against your throbbing clit, and you are forced to bite down on this sweater, lest an embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and cues outsiders into your filthy doings.

“Now,” you half-hiss, half-growl as you grab the cusp of his legs to feel his half-hard erection grow under the pressure of your hand. Your palm sliters up just to go down again, this time without the blockade of his pants, but you are stopped short of success when Jin’s fingers slip out of you to give you a sharp swat.

“Stubborn, aren’t we? Can’t fucking wait,” he whispers into your ear, and as he envelops your lobe with his cushiony lips, he continues, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

No, no, no.

Your brain rejects logic, chews and spits it out before any of the rationale seeps into you. You have wanted this for far too long. The need inside you for a meaningful relationship materializes in the form of recklessness, desperately looking for surface-level relief for the moment. A night of sewing sutures to your battle-worn heart, stitches that may come off at the slightest strain - but right now, that will do.

“Please, Jin,” your tantalizing tone riles up his cock again, eagerly waiting for your next words, “can’t you feel me dripping? Come on, I can take you.”

“Fuck, hear that wetness.” He lets his palm slap against your sopping entrance, not stopping with one. With every slap, droplets of your arousal splash out, the insides of your thighs coated in the sticky sweetness, but your body is an endless reservoir producing plentiful more for Jin to play with. “Have you been sitting with this all this time?”

Two long fingers invade your channel again, leaving you with no response other than a gasp. They scissor incessantly, preparing you for what could be the railing of your lifetime. One curl inside and his fingertips hit the spot he was looking for, making you warp your body to take the pleasure coursing through your veins. His tongue seems to mimic the actions, looping around your earlobe as he sucks it inside, both ends of your body engulfed in all the attention he could provide.

Your cunt is weeping against the assault of this man’s hands, tears of your cum flowing down your legs with every pump of his arm. You are getting there, the sweet swell of release inching closer and closer.

But something doesn’t feel right.

The tightness in your belly, that is to a point caused by Jin, is harboring other sensations that are not entirely pleasant. Maybe you’re anxious about the happenings. Maybe you haven’t had a good orgasm in a while and have just forgotten how this thing works.

Or maybe, the bar should have the water tap actually give out water.

Either your eyes close, or your brain does, but suddenly all you can see is darkness.

Again, you are just trying to escape the zone.

“Step under those studio lights,” pointing at the too-bright stage lights being set up at the moment, Sanghoon continues, breaking your daydream, “I bet you could signal to aliens with the booby-reflection. Call them to Netflix and chill.”

“In about five seconds, my heel will be puncturing your eye. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Sanghoon’s drivel was cut short, and so were your murder plans, with his entry. “Oh look, he’s on set. Gotta go!”

It’s like the lights, earlier threatening to burn away your skin, dim down in reverence of the glow of his face. The twinkle of his eyes when they meet yours. The shine of his smile when he throws you one. The vibrance of his tone when he calls out your name. Everything he does now threatens to burn you whole and it’s a wonder you’re not scalding, but the singe hurts you deep inside.

“Y/N! How do I look?” It’s a bathrobe. Like satin, or silk. Fucking hell, your brain could explode with the adjectives coming up, a whole chunk of them very much inappropriate to utter out in the current scene. Your arms want to rise, engulf him into you, and you have to physically halt the muscles from doing anything stupid. Brain, quick! Say something snarky and spicy, as best friends do!

“What’s the theme, unicorn puke?” The safest way to deflect is to attack. So you do just that. “You look like you dressed out of Hannah Montana’s closet. Which if it's true, I really need to see it. There’s a top that I’ve been eyeing for decades!”

“Don’t say decades.” Jin’s eyes crinkle in humor. “Makes me feel so old. Your dress is pretty cool too!”

Cool.

You find out how difficult life can be when you count every single minute of yours. So far, you have counted 4,310 minutes. That is two days, twenty-three hours, and fifty minutes. Ten more minutes and it will be three whole days since you and Jin spoke.

Yet again, you can’t blame him. When you came to the next day, you were in your bed, clad in the same shimmering silver bodycon that you had donned last night. The same one that had been privy to the colorful deeds you had committed in what was a dreary, colorless setting.

One ibuProfen and ginger ale, downed with some severe recollections of the previous night, and you had been ready to throw it all up again.

I don’t want to hurt you.

Words couldn’t describe what you were going through, and numbers weren’t invented to count the endless thoughts racing in your brain. You don’t know what is more upsetting. The fact that you actually had a chance to open your heart and you totally let your pussy think instead? Or that he was the one coherent enough to stop you from getting too far, and you let your desperation get the best of you? Everything about that night was wrong. And all the wrongs lie on your side.

I don’t want to hurt you.

In the moment, it was physical, he had to have meant that. But there was a tremor in his voice, you can remember clear as day, a slightly shaken side of him had emerged through the intoxication, and the words he had breathed were not shallow. There was a gravity to them, that you’d stupidly ignored in the heat of the moment.

And now, here you are. Counting up till the last minute, after which you can effectively call the friendship ruined. Stirring your tea mindlessly, you try to focus on the show on TV, the variety show comedy not striking the usual funny bones that they could 4,311 minutes ago.

The programmed ding of your phone bursts your thought bubble, a sound you have missed the past 72 hours. The ring you dedicated to Jin, that always had you running to receive because anything he sends brightens your day. But unlike those happier times, this ring has your gut fall into a pit of despair, struggling to choose between dispersing the suspense or remaining blissfully unaware of the damage you caused.

Jin: Free tmrw? We could grab coffee Jin: And talk

Talk. How? You barely remember what went down, save for fleeting moments that you recollected with great difficulty. Your fingers type back, trying to mimic the nonchalance in his text, that is very much absent in your actual demeanor.

Y/N: Sure. Paik’s at 1? Jin: Yup. See ya

Three texts, zero laughs. Of course, you’re not expecting him to land his jokes in this situation, even someone as talented as he can’t flip this tension. You’re just going to have to wait for tomorrow, when he decides whether you have a place in his life or not.

The painstakingly worn outfit, accessorizing the whole look, the straps of your heels digging into your toes, the specks of makeup dust lying stale on your collar bones, the shine faints at that word. Cool. A perfectly normal phrase for a normal friendship. You are left maimed, while he absent-mindedly tends to the rope of his robe, blissfully unaware of the cyclonic emotions churning inside you. All you can possibly do is gulp it down.

He runs his hands through his hair, beautiful locks coming out of place, and from one corner of the set, a groan of anguish emerges.

“Oppa! Don’t play with your hair and face.” A masked lady runs forward waving combs that look like artillery, “We just got done setting it!”

Some finger guns, a happy apology, and some silly jokes later, all the stylists merrily round up to undo his doing, and Jin signals to you to catch up later. And as he walks away, the strings tugging at your heart reappear, as they do every time you come to meet him.

You have a masochistic streak in you, putting yourself through this every day, when he had made it clear, that you two never stood a chance.

As if things aren’t already difficult, he looks like a dream.

Soft, snowy skin gleaming like it has personal lighting wherever it goes, you get flashes of the rarely witnessed sweat on his skin, from the ferocity of last night. He’s blowing away the foam of his cappuccino, and tiny bubbles float into the air before falling flat on the table, like an animated shine that follows him along. God has His favorites, and God makes sure all the lighting in the world is perfect for these favorites.

In no hurry, you wait at the counter to get your latte. After receiving it though, you can’t linger any longer and drag yourself to the table of doom.

“Hey.”

If the rasp in your voice is evident, he doesn’t show any recognition on his face. But you’ve learned to never trust an acting major.

“Hi. How are you doing?”

Inadvertently, a snicker escapes your lips. “Are you interviewing me for a job?” you joke, trying to disperse the heavy air, filled with unspoken words. “If so, at least know that I’m very expensive.”

The familiar windshield wiper laugh does not greet you. Dead silence does. The half-smirk he painfully gives you is heavy, and the furrowed brows haven’t an inkling of joy. It shoots daggers in your heart, to know that you are the reason for this jolly man’s despondency.

“Listen, I don’t think we should skirt around the issue too much. It happened, these things happen. You think Hoseok and Yeji didn’t have sex before making it official?”

His matter-of-fact nature isn’t new to you. Jin has always been a very practical man. Regardless of his inane sense of humor, his logical point of view has always been flawless.

But right now, at this very moment, logic isn’t what you are looking for. You are looking for answers, but as far withdrawn from logic as possible, to take the edge off of the tension-laden air that surrounds your table.

“Yeah, but even… unofficially… we aren’t a thing, right?”

Your abrupt question takes Jin unaware, almond eyes widening, like a toddler caught in an act.

“No, no! Of course not! I would never!”

His confession slips out with an ease that hurts you, digs deep to carve out the part of you that dreamt of anything more. Your eyes fall to your knees to avoid his perceptive gaze, the sting clear as the sky on a summer day.

You force a smile and continue. “Then there’s no issue. Anyway,” you gulp your coffee down, burning your throat, but it's a distraction from the burning inside, “I need to get to work. Anything else?”

He’s still searching you, for what, you can’t possibly fathom. From the looks of it, he should be happy with this homeostasis; he doesn’t even know what this means for you. To still stay suspended in limbo, not being able to move up or down, to continue having thorns digging into your beating soul as you watch him like nothing bothers your already frail feelings. Scene by scene, you can visualize the future, him distancing himself from you as he finds the one he calls his, with you left in the shadows. Your knees tremble in fear of the impending future.

Seeing you in a tizzy, he calls out, the voice too loud for the cafe and your mind’s prison cage.

“We’re still best friends, right?” If you knew better, you’d say his expression is that of sadness, of regret. But your judgment is clouded with your own bothers, and you interpret it as a look of pity. Like a lovesick puppy, kicked to the streets, with nowhere to call home.

“Yeah! Always.” You give it as much enthusiasm as you can muster.

Best friends.

Ropes wind around your heart, tugging and causing the deep ache that sets in as you walk back into your dreary building. Each string pulls you into a different dimension where you could move on, where you could be okay with the setting you had just agreed to. Where you would keep up your end of the promise and truly remain friends with him.

But no matter how strong the tug, your heart never yields, never lets go of the castle of dreams you built, staying steadfast in its own misery, choosing to hope, choosing to live the life of unrequited love.

“And that’s a wrap! Good job everyone!”

Applause and hurrays echo across the set to bring you back to the present. The shoot has officially concluded, which means it's time for your most favorite and least favorite part of the day - Jin and you doing best friend things, like grabbing lunch, gossiping about obnoxious coworkers, threatening to disembowel each other (in Mortal Kombat, of course) and other friendly activities.

Ever so respectful, Jin takes his time thanking every member of the set, regardless of whether they moved a cushion or held the reflector screen for hours. All the women gush over his beauty, reminding him of how, even amidst the glowing ornaments, his face was the brightest. His responses vary, from quiet little giggles, to complimenting the crew for making it happen, to straight up owning his charisma like a boss. That’s your man.

Well, not quite. Not one bit.

After exhausting the handshakes and hugs to be received, Jin walks to you, hands pushing his robe back to give it a cape like effect. You’re just glad that the man’s child persona still stays with him, no matter the situation. He guides you to his green room, cracking his bones on the way, (very sexily, might you add).

“Holding a pose for that long gives me cramps! You’d think dancing breaks my back, and you’d be wrong.”

You’re desperately avoiding looking at his fingers, and keep your eyes below them - shoot! His ceaseless stretching gives you a glimpse under his shirt - it is dragging your memories back to the last time you saw them, and you’d rather not. It is hurting you in more ways than one.

Eye contact is your safest bet. Looking up, you give him a lopsided grin. “Your grandfatherly days are approaching, Jinnie.”

“Hey!”

The rest of the conversation was less speaking, more yelling and chasing after each other to the green room, Jin taking mock-offence at your jab at his age, and his fingers reaching out to flick your forehead in retort. In your noisy, messy fashion, you both finally enter the room, dim gold light bulbs and shiny mirrors meeting your huffing self.

One hand on your knee, you hold on to Jin’s arm with your other, gasping for breath.

“Your grandmotherly days are already here, Y/N,” he snorts, and earns a kick on the shin, but that doesn’t stop him from bursting into snickers.

“Wow, why does one man need 4 mirrors?” You gape at his current green room, mouth wide open. It looks better than your entire apartment, with the counter carrying top-of-the-line makeup products. Only the best for this man. “So you can admire yourself from 4 different angles?”

Jin has disappeared into one of the inner rooms, but you can hear him snort at your comment. “Come on, I’m not that conceited. When the whole crew shoots together, the extra mirrors help.” The last part of that sentence is muffled, and that cues you into an important fact.

Jin is currently changing into something more comfortable.

A process that includes him getting naked.

Well maybe he doesn’t get fully naked, top on, top off, bottom on, bottom of-

Still. You’re sweating like a whore in church.

And things only get tougher when he finally comes out.

The ocean blue sweater he dons is tucked in. Who tucks in sweaters? Kim Seokjin. Why does he tuck sweaters? Oh, because he’s got an amazing waistline that he should most definitely show off, and the heat between your thighs becoming increasingly potent is a testament to that. You pretend to adjust your heels, giving the right expressions to show you’re in pain, but in actuality you are bringing your legs closer to get you some relief, just any relief.

Ripped jeans too. You get a peek of the thighs you were denied access to the night of the fuckening. Ridged and beautiful, not a speck in sight to mar his perfection. You are glad the facial expressions for pain and pleasure are not far apart, because your thighs, albeit very lacking, are helping the imagery in your head. Just Jin, seated on one of these leather chairs, and you straddling his thigh, clit aching against the strands of the rips in his denim, the fabric soaking up the wetness, with every push forwa-

“Now that you mention it, I do look dashing.”

And there goes that dream.

You pinch his cheeks in adoration, the vulgarity of your thoughts getting whitewashed by his silliness and blooming heart-shaped flowers in their stance. You feel your own pinch in you, wondering if this scene would be the same had you blurted your feelings out that day at the cafe.

It's times like these when you remind yourself why you choose to quieten that side. This dynamic cannot reincarnate in any other form. Any imbalance to this equilibrium could cause a serious case of best-friends-turn-awkward-acquaintances, and you don’t know if that’ll hurt you more than you currently do. You don’t plan on finding out.

But on God, he tests that resolution every single day.

Jin doesn’t even hint that he knows of the turmoil blasting behind your eyes. He nonchalantly fixes his hair, gives you a one-over as you are mentally undressing him, nonchalantly as well. Then he moves to grab his cologne, and two spurts disintegrates all the whitewashing and takes you back into the obscenities you were unfolding.

“So I’ll just go over the shoot photos, and then we can leave! You’re cool waiting here?”

“Hmmn, yeah!” You don’t let your mouth run any longer, fearing what might slip out.

He gives you a wide, innocent smile. “Great! See you in a bit.” Poor guy. If only he knew how debase plans you were conjuring just from the aroma of his cologne.

It is musky, like cedar or pine, perfectly suiting him. It is the same scent you remember inhaling, face stuffed in his sweater when he was fingering you to the tenth circle of hell. As he walks away, the fragrance diminishes, save for the slightest hint of lingering. You search for the source, and find the culprit strewn across the sofa.

The outfit Jin wore for the shoot held remnants of the perfume, and when you bring the shirt close and take a long, deep whiff, you transport yourself to the land of your dreams. You relish the fever smell of his cologne, mixed with his own natural scent, deciding that this is what you wish to smell like every waking morning.

Your longing for him has crossed way beyond physical boundaries. You longed for his love, longed for his attention. Longed to be the one that brings the light to his face. From morning rays to the darkness of the night, you wanted to experience it all by his side. To be his lone star, shining bright beside the moon.

Your hands are moving without your control, disrobing you of your thirst trap of a dress and putting on Jin’s shirt instead. One look at the mirror and you let out a silent groan - it fits you just right. Just enough to cover your ass cheeks, loose enough to let the air conditioning hit your heated pussy. While well-fitting shirts have never been the cornerstone of a successful relationship, your delusional mind takes whatever wins it gets.

Adding layers to your pipe dream, you don the robe that gave you a tough time throughout the shoot. When you press the tails of the robe to your cheek, the softness of the material is soothing. Soft, like Jin’s eyes, like his hugs, like his smile. Like him.

Leaning against the counter, you steady yourself, mind split in titillation. Your fingers find their own path, drawing circles on your breasts over his shirt, imagining Jin’s long fingers in place. While teasing your nipple to pointed peaks, you slip your other hand under your panties, trying very hard to mimic his digits, twiddling your clit between your fingers. Alas, the effect isn’t achievable, because Jin seems to know how to play you better than yourself.

The scent is getting stronger, without any provoking, and it is doing wonders for your immersion. You let out a loud moan when your fingers press inside, and you’re just glad no one can witness this.

“Y-Y/N?”

Fuck.

You are pulled away from your dreamland that was so impenetrable that you didn’t hear Jin step into the room. All the blood gushing to your nether regions has made a U-turn to flood your brain to think of a plausible explanation for this position. Instead it makes you giddy, and when you try to stand you wobble in your heels, to be rescued by what you think is a very scandalized Jin.

Time stands still when your eyes meet, and what you see are blown out pupils trembling, many questions fluttering between you two. Jin crosses a tenth of the distance between you, lips flutter as they try to make a decision - do they want to part and give way to the voice of question? The voice of reason? The voice that will break this hush, burst this bubble where he has the one chance to give in to his longing?

You bring your lips closer, and cause immense disquiet in his dome, the way of his heart gathering speed against rationale. Your eyes dance between matching his gaze and finding his lips, every fraction of an inch you cross sending tremors through you. You can feel the shockwaves traverse through your body, making a pitstop at your lips, tingling them awake. They move downwards, passing your heart, beating it wildly against its cage, and then to the pit of your stomach to tighten in anticipation; finally reaching the tip of your toes, where you stand right now, a nanoscopic distance between you. Each one of you is afraid to cross the bridge, unaware of the other’s desires.

Finally, Jin acqueises and meets you on your side.

Atomic explosions ring through your head, clearing out every single thought that is not about Jin’s lips on yours. The ropes that held your heart from beating to the tune of your want, they’ve loosened their knots to give you the leeway to love freely. As your lips exchange positions, his teeth lightly drag across your plush petal, and it brings back the most important part of that night that you couldn’t recollect - the one where his lips sang wordless songs of adoration against yours. Blind as a bat, you were.

You dig your fingers into his hair, not minding your residual arousal coating his locks, and you feel his hands doing the same to you. With your eyes closed, you feel a rough edge to his cushiony soft lips, but Jin fixes that mistake - one stray strand of hair trapped in the middle of your indulgence - he pulls it away to give you all of the kiss. The hand tucked in your tresses pushes in, silently demanding more access, and you’re nothing but ready to give it.

His tongue sneaks in to play a game with yours - when you seek it, it goes into hiding, finding perfect pleasure in soft, sweet kisses, but when you stay, it comes back in, awakening your tongue to deepen again. Everything he is doing is too much and not enough in one go, and you whine into his mouth in desperation, seeking some well-earned relief after months of holding back.

Amidst the flurry of your lips, your back hits the vanity countertop, and Jin pushes away everything on top to make space for you, not caring what expensive item flies down the counter to accommodate your ass.

As if you’ve made up for the months of holding back, the softness of the kisses erodes, teeth coming into play more and more, reminiscent of the night that went by in a blur. He swallows every mewl you give in return, blissed out beyond repair, your neediness making his cock strain against the denim.

His hand snakes down, spreading his fingers to get a hold of your back to push you towards him, covering any gap that dared to intervene. Now unworried about the shoot, your hands have effectively ruined his perfectly placed locks and messed them up to resemble the craze he let you spin in.

Before he can glide his tongue back in, you break the kiss, lest you lose yourself in it to the point where you forget to breathe. With attached foreheads, you take deep drags of air, letting the oxygen flow to your brain before you make some ill-advised, unclarified decisions.

“I- I was jus-”

“Shhh. Wait,” he breathes out, wanting to take a second and fully savor the moment. You nod in return, making his head move along with yours.

After sufficient air fills his lungs, Jin starts. “Y/N, we should stop.”

Last time this had happened, you had tried to force your way through his barrier, without giving his feelings a second of consideration. So this time, you don’t repeat your mistakes. “Tell me why.”

“Because, I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m way deeper in this than you think.”

“Jin, I-”

“Let me finish.” He stops you before you can explain how much you reflect his emotions, possibly more. He doesn’t seem to want to listen now. “Let me finish, or else I’ll chicken out, for the millionth time.”

You’re dumbfounded. Millionth time? When was the first? Acting majors, by God.

“I love you, Y/N.”

No, now you are dumbfounded. Your hands, holding his precious locks, drop down in shock, at sheer disbelief that all this time, he has been ready and waiting to return you the favor. Jin though, misinterprets it as a look of disdain.

“I-I know I do, and I’m sorry that I do. I know you don’t feel the same way. You can hate me all you want, but this is the truth.”

“And yes,” he continues, refusing to halt for even half a second, afraid that the courage he mustered to confess would dissipate the moment he does, “I’m attracted to you, and I don’t know what went down here --” flicking his wrist to mention your (his) outfit, “--but I’m looking, okay? And I’m hard as fuck. But that’s not all there is to it.”

“I need all of you.” He takes an audible gulp, trying to stymy his emotions from overpowering him. “I want to take you out, I want to hold you hand, I want to bring you to all the places I love. I want to introduce you to people, not as my best friend, but so much more than that. It hurts me,” bringing his hand to his chest, he emphasizes the point of pain by clutching over his heart, “hurts to call you that because I’m lying through my fucking teeth.”

You break eye contact, because there are tears smarting your eyes at his heartfelt revelation. You can’t believe the idiot that you have been all this while. The man of your dreams stands in front of you, baring his soul, and you can’t even do him the decency of telling him what you felt yourself before jumping his bones.

And you love him, too. Maybe you haven’t said so, even to yourself, but you’ve known all this while.

You love him.

“If you are just looking for a fuck, or want any sort of a ‘benefits’ situation, we should stop. I can’t lie to myself anymore.”

“Jin, my God,” you half-sigh, half-laugh, feeling a burden lift off of you after months of pining.

“You don’t have to pacify me, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Even in this moment, he is looking out for you. His lips are curved upward to show you that he’s okay, but his pupils are shaky and restless, not in sync with his smile. You hope your next words can fix that for him.

“Pacify you? Hate you?” You shoot him an incredulous look, one you will explain to him very soon. “You are a much better person than I am, Jinnie. For months now, I’ve loved you, but even at this point, I didn’t stop to tell you.” The guilt of letting your hormones cloud your judgement for the second time lays heavily on your conscience. “I’m sorry for not making this clear earlier, but let me now. I love you, Kim Seokjin. I have for way too long. I want you, I need you. You have me, in every possible way.”

It feels unparalleled to get that off your chest. The leaden weight of your emotions immediately disappears - or the fact that it's shared, makes it much, much lighter. But then you look at Jin, and he still seems to have not put two and two together. You patiently wait for him to process all the information.

When he finally recoups, he yells, “What?!”

You let out a loud guffaw, the first one with no inhibitions in the longest time. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything that day at the cafe?!”

“You said you’d never date me, asshole!” You punch his chest softly, before slipping your hands behind him and pulling him closer. “I might not look like it, but I have some dignity.”

“I said that?” Jin brings one hand to pinch his nose in annoyance. “What an idiot. I think I was just inverting everything to make sure I don’t accidentally slip up.”

You lift your head to meet his eyes again, letting him see the tears you were hiding. You find a couple in his eyes, too. But the smile on your face is genuine, and that is all that matters. “I was blind too, so don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Flitting your eyes down to find the contour of his cock against his jeans, you ask him innocently, “How about we make up for lost time?”

“Fuck, yes, please.” And with that, your lips are engulfed again.

When you have all your guards down, the kiss tastes sweeter than before. Mere moments ago, while thoroughly enjoying the kiss, a sense of reticence had clouded your pleasure, holding you back from luxuriating in the headiness. A series of what-ifs had plagued your subconscious without your realization, but with all that cleared, you wholly submit to the kiss, emptying your mind until nothing but his name remains.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jin gasps out, when you bite into his pillowy lower lip, “I thought you looked the prettiest in the dress earlier but,” after pulling away, he drinks your current attire in, “you look the most beautiful in this.”

You snicker. “Even more than World Wide Handsome?”

His eyes bore into yours, no hint of the joking lilt he always carries in them.

“So much more.”

Your hands find their place amidst his shaggy hair again, and you lodge his face into your neck - a command Jin acquiesces to with great pleasure. After a long, wet lick to your collarbone, he lays feather-soft kisses on the trail he left, starting from your shoulder and working inward, until he brushes against the back of your ear. You grasp at his sweater, because his lips feel so good. Your breaths are short, sucking in every time he allows your skin the luxury of a soft peck. Once he lays a kiss on your forehead, he brings his gaze down to one of the main reasons that causes his cock to stir.

“Fuck, look at your nipples under my shirt.”

Gazing down, you can see the two pointed peaks that caught Jin’s eyes.

“That tends to happen when I’m thinking of you.”

He twists a nipple over the shirt, hardening it further, and you throw your head back in the satisfying pain. “Yeah, I remember.”

You are unraveling every second, the ache swishing amongst the bliss his fingers are bringing in you. He’s switched over to drawing circles around your nipple, until he snaps and tugs your shirt up, finally revealing the palmfulls of flesh awaiting his hands.

“Ah that night, I didn’t get to do this. Take this off.” But then, he makes you put on his robe again. You throw him a questioning look, to which he responds with a sheepish smile, “Just so, you know… you don’t feel cold… or something.”

“Just say you like me in your clothes and move on.”

“I love you in my clothes,” he admits in a heartbeat, his expression that of anguish, “can we move on?”

“God, gladly.”

Unexpectedly, he bites the side of your boob - not hard at all, but feeling his teeth against your skin sends your head reeling backward. Your involuntary response is to wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your core against him. His teeth continue to nip you lightly across the expanse of your breasts, the trail of saliva he leaves cooling parts of your flushed body. Finally, finally, he latches onto your left nipple and gives it a long, pleasurable suck.

“Ahh, Jin - you’re too - God damn it - you’re too good at this.”

Without stopping the onslaught he is unleashing on your breasts, his fingers begin to move - but soon, they stop, hesitation rippling off of their tips. His pace falters, and his mind is fighting on the next course of action.

“Can I-”

“Finish what you started that night?” you complete for him, already prepared with your answer. “Yes, please.”

All forms of uncertainty shoot out of his touch, and he confidently trudges forward. Playing with the band of your panties, he gives you a well-intended chuckle, murmuring, “As far as I remember, I was so good you passed out.”

“Boy,” You groan, intended in jest, but his teeth slide against your jaw and it mostly comes out more wanton than jovial, “let me see you have tequila for dinner and remember much the next day.”

“Fair fair,” he gives in, shifting to buss the valley of your cleavage, feeling your heart thud against your ribs holding it in place. “Well today,” he starts without moving his face, his nimble fingers moving past the barrier of your underwear, pressing two fingertips directly on your clit, and hissing like it's him at the receiving end, “I’ll give you enough to remember.”

You pull his sweater off and chuck it away, not wanting to be reminded of any blockades that kept you apart, and your hands roam the expanse of his back remembering the touch of his skin from the night at the bar. His body isn’t new to you, but the circumstances make it feel different.

Finally, his fingers find their way inside you.

Yes, this. This was what was missing from your drunken tryst. With your heads in place, your ardor intensifies, and you move his lips back to yours needing to release your animalistic desire into his mouth. Pleasure surges through both of you as you threaten to swallow him whole.

You can feel him being more present, and considering the merciless finger-fucking you had earned that night, this is taking it to a whole other degree.

The night at the bar, his fingers did their best to ravish you, but now, Jin is paying attention, close attention to the way you respond. Every muscle movement is recorded in him as you struggle to accommodate three of his lengthy digits. Leaning close, he gives your peaked nipple the lightest feather lick - the suddenness sends shockwaves through you as he continues to tweeze the other, talented pianist hands performing his musical piece on both ends of you.

His fingers pump into you with determination, finding new depths to explore that he missed out on, and with a curl of his pointer, you blank out, screaming in the orgasm that is washing over you. Every skincell of your body feels the quiver of lust spreading, your cunt squeezing for an eternity, milking the orgasm out to the extent that you can.

When you look down, your metaphorical orgasmic flood manifestes as a deluge of your arousal leaking on the table. And when you look back up, you can see the salacious ideas making their rounds in Jin’s head as he looks at the inundation you released.

Hurried hands still convulsing from the intensity of your orgasm, you undo his belt, followed by his jeans and finally - getting the pleasure you were heartlessly denied of - his cock is out, in all its glory, twitching as the cool air hits its naked skin. Jin’s plans don’t go hand in hand with yours though.

“Are we just - holy fucking shit - just, umm, leave that to waste?” he lustfully looks down to your leaking core, and someway, through your hold on his dick, he tries to steer you into his plans.

“I don’t know about that,” you cheekily reply. You have the right idea to satisfy both of you, and get down to the task.

With the flat of your palm, you swipe across the droplets of cum you released, gathering them to transfer them onto his thick length. Jin thrusts into your hand, the wetness jolting him into attention, and he places an arm on your shoulder to steady himself.

“You’re going to taste yourself?” he asks as you continue your vacillating motion, twisting at the base of his head with the wetness you graciously provided yourself. You give him a nonchalant look, something he is trying to do to you as well.

“Who said I’m gonna suck you off?”

His look changes, and the one you get in return is cocky, arrogant, downright rude if you were honest. You expected him to play on with your banter, but one raised eyebrow and the lazy smirk he gives, to what he probably thinks is a joke - Zeus could land on earth and not be able to stop you from gobbling his meat.

Your mouth is filled with his dick even before your knees hit the ground. Jin staggers back, but your suction on his dick is funnily strong enough to pull him back before falling. You switch positions, having him balance himself against the counter, all while you refuse to leave his cock out. His giggle of endearment has you pouting, but it swells your heart and makes you want to give more, more of anything and everything. With your renewed vigor, you push yourself in until his pubes tickle your nose, and his tip tickles your throat.

“Your-”, “I-”, “uhh-”

Every new sentence Jin starts crumbles to your actions. You furrow your brows both in concentration on your blowing skills and trying to decode what he is trying to say.

Jin takes a large gulp, adamant on making this one a coherent sentence. “You know, I used to imagine this, and in my dreams I used to be very sexy and suave, talking my way throug-oof-” You run your tongue over the tip of his leaking dick, emphasizing the point he is coming to, “Now I can’t even complete sentences here.”

“You being you is super sexy in itself.” And you curve your tongue to match the arch of his cock, letting the incoming saliva pool on it before letting it run down his shaft, dripping down from his balls. Strings of his precum connect to your lips, and you swipe your tongue through them, relishing the salty goodness before going back in for more.

“Y/N, shit, did you just moan?”

How couldn’t you? The fact that he is horny for you, so much so that rivulets of precum don’t stop drizzling down your throat, has you preening. You hum your assent in response, not willing to let go even for a moment, but Jin pulls you off before you can get a chokehold on the base of his cock again.

“Never had a woman moan while sucking me off. It’s sexy as fuck,” Jin breathes into your lips as he dives in for a kiss.

Your chest is heaving, catching the breaths you lost when you were down. “Then why’d you stop me?”

“Are you kidding me? I was about to lose it right there.”

“Jinnie, come on,” you break the fragmentary kiss you were sharing, looking into his glassy eyes, “let me feel you come on my tongue.” To emphasize your conviction, you lick his lips, persuading him of the sinful deeds your tongue is capable of doing if he’d just let you.

“Oh man, stop. What’s worse than busting a nut in your mouth? Busting it while you’re kissing me. Making me feel like a teenager.” You erupt into a loud laugh, soon followed by Jin as well. It is so him to joke about this.

“And babe,” all hints of embarrassment vanishing from his tone, “I’m only going to come inside you.”

“Fuck, fuck, yes. You got a condom on you?”

“Yeah, let me grab my wallet.” The instant he moves away, you feel naked, shivering from the comfort stolen away from you. But then you hear Jin grumble, “I hope I don’t have the bacon-flavored one.” And the absurdity of it all puts you at ease again.

“Ew, stop, even you can’t make that sexy. My lady boner is dying.”

He envelops you again, and you can feel the laughter echoing in his lungs before making it out to your ears. He brings your attention to the familiar rustle of foil wrapper. “Thankfully, we got chocolate.”

“Mmmh, gotta love chocolate.”

You take the condom out of his hands, and roll it onto his stiff length, flattered that he’s holding his erection for so long.

“Okay, stick it in me!” And you smack your ass in readiness, and a very flabbergasted Jin breaks out chortling.

“Y/N, stop being my best friend for like, five minutes!” His brows are furrowed in pretense exasperation, but you can see his lips holding back a genuine smile through the grimace, just happy that your dynamics haven’t changed the slightest, even though everything else has shifted.

“Okay okay,” you try and suppress your own laughter, before continuing, “how do you want me, baby?”

“Bend over on the vanity. And keep your eyes on the mirror.” And as you move into position, his palms grab your ass and squeeze it hard, feeling your glutes push back against his grip, and he pushes you forward till you're on the tips of your toes. You watch him through the mirror, watch him admire the way your ass curves over the table edge, how your toes struggle to keep you up, and how the dimples of your back are deepened by the arch, peeking under the bunched up robe tails, just waiting for him.

“Jin.” Your hushed whisper puts him in action.

Pushing the head in is anguish and relief at the same time. His bulbous head stretches your entrance; even with your preparation, you feel it sting. The searing gets better and better with every inch slipping in, and when he finally lodges inside, you let out a heavy breath, still panting and keeping yourself from screaming bloody murder in pleasure. Jin bends forward to paint the back of your neck, sucking the flesh till the circular bruise comes to surface.

“Can you- can you-fuck, no, wait-” Your brain is at war with itself, battling between adjusting to his girth and having him pump you into adjustment.

You can feel Jin’s snicker from behind you, and he finally makes the decision for you. “I’ll wait, I have things to do here,” he says before playing around the patch of skin, spreading from the base of your hair to the expanse of your back, his teasing licks relaxing your walls and accommodating his girth. The pain is almost gone, expect for the lingering ache that only helps you.

“You can move now, babe.”

“Okay, okay.” Your words snap him out of the painter’s dream he was in, and he twitches inside you. Something about the ease at which you both have adopted nicknames for each other softens his heart and hardens his cock.

Pulling out till only the head rests inside, Jin himself struggles against the third degree grip your pussy has on him. As he is thrusting inside again, your walls tense up, making it harder and harder for him to hold back.

“Y/N, sweetie, relax. I got you.”

“Jin, I’m-” You have tears running down your eyes, the pleasure and unsurmountable happiness rolling out in fat hot drops. “Fuck me harder. I won’t last.”

“Shit. Okay, hold on then.”

To what? Is what you’re going to ask before Jin unleashes his carnality onto you. Your breasts, dripping in sweat and saliva, are plastered to the countertop, which in itself is jiggling to the beat of Jin’s thrusts. His dick is curving inside to hit you repeatedly, and you have to gather the satin fabric to wipe your eyes to keep your gaze fixed on him.

He looks majestic. Forehead embellished with beads of sweat, his hair coiffed up, lips sanguine red after your vicious kisses - you swipe your tongue along your own lips to find them battered in response. His honey chest is heaving with every push, and a particular one hits you just right.

You let out a guttural groan, and Jin takes note of it immediately.

“Up,” he commands, and loops an arm under your belly to you pull you up and closer and now every thrust hits deeper into that spot he has found in you, your back connected to his chest as the two of you move in tandem; this is the most together you’ve ever felt with anyone. This moment is to be etched in your memories forever.

You scream into your fist to muffle the sounds, the edge of the table digging into your hip bone as you feel yourself getting closer to the brink. One swipe to the clit is all you have left to bring you to your release.

And from some telepathic force, or from the clutch your pussy has on him, Jin beats you to it. His fingers come down and carefully find your swollen nub, pinching it between his fingers. If he thought you’d shown him your hardest clench, he was wrong, because right now your dam has broken, and the iron-clad grip you give his cock sends him reeling, too.

You are gushing on his dick, the rubber dripping with your wetness. Jin too releases into the condom in stuttered gasps, his thrusts becoming shorter and shallower as he comes down from his high.

Petal-like kisses fall on your back as the two of you regain your breaths. The mirror that served you two well is covered in a fog of hot breath and perspiration, blearing your vision of yourself, but somehow, it sparkles with Jin’s reflection. His nobility-esque visuals use the haze as a valance for his appearance, framing them to make him look like you’re among the clouds. And in some way, you actually are.

“Ah, let me go.” You jiggle your shoulders back to make the man above you move. “Fuck, can you check if my spine is in place? I think you dislodged it.”

“Shut up and come hug me, I’ll squeeze it back in place.”

Now this is something you could get used to.

As he ties and throws away the used condom, you flip over to face him and fall back into his embrace, broad shoulders promising to protect you, making you feel safe in his care. Jin on the other hand is simply ecstatic to feel you on him, feeling your thumping heart beat for him, after months of pining and pondering whether anything would become of the seed of your tumultuous friendship. Now, it has blossomed to a garden of prospect and promise, every petal of every flower here reading a new opportunity to tell you how much he adores you, cherishes you, treasures you. How much he loves you. An opportunity he doesn’t wait to use.

“I love you.”

The pink tinge of your cheeks either comes from the sex, or from his comment, but either way, he is glad its from him.

“I love you too, Jin. So, so very much.”

If your heart could leap out of your chest, it would do so, to find its way to his and fuse into one. But for now, your entwined bodies give you all you want.

You hear Jin stifle a laugh, and pull back in question. He points to something odd on the countertop.

“What is that?”

The cream white surface of the table, that was maligned by your ignoble deeds, now sports two glistening, wheatish semi circles that look very similar to the sizes of one person who was splayed on top of it just moments ago.

“Is that…” Jin is trying to contort his lips and halt the looming snicker, and he brings his eyes down to your chest (trying not to get hard again), “Did you have makeup on your chest?”

“Shut up.” All you can do is fall closer into his arms, hopefully masking the tint of embarrassment highlighting the apples of your cheeks. “I wanted to make them look extra good for you.”

He’s given up on holding back, the full-bellied laugh that resonated from him echoing across the room. But it dwindles down fast, coming to small chuckles of tenderness, and he slips his digits beneath your chin to have you meet his gaze.

“They always look good,” he whispers, his admittance setting your chest aflame, “trust me, I’d know.”

Taglist 💛: @little7bitchh, @afangirllikeme-blog, @h34rt1lly, @marpotterhead

Thank you so much for making it to the end! I hope you enjoyed the fic, my ask box is always open for your lovely opinions. To read more of my work, find my main masterlist here. :)

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quietmyfearswith · 3 years

Text

was your favorite ; bucky barnes x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

word count — 4,152 words

summary — in which bucky barnes still lives with his ex-girlfriend following their break up.

warnings —fluff?? angst?? ex to lovers, sexual innuendo (just one) cursing i think, sad!insecure!bucky

pairing — bucky barnes x fem!reader

a/n — it too has been long since i got to write for bucky???? anyway i’d love to hear feedback :D also if you choose to follow me please have your age/age range stated in your bio..

tagging — @la-cey @pedropcl @slutforcevans @iloveshawnieboi

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Buck! Have you seen where my cardigan is?” Y/N was bent down over the dryer as she was ruffling through the pile of clothes she placed on the machine to dry but was too lazy to get it out and fold them. The super soldier being addressed to lifted his head from reading the newspaper to cast a worried glance on the woman, “I don’t know; I just did my laundry and I don’t think any of your clothes got mixed up with mine.”

With a huff she got up from her kneeling position, making her hit her head into the top of the machine, then walked away from their laundry room, groaning and rubbing the part of her head that hit the machine; joining his presence in the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water she pouted as she thought of where her sweater was. “Why are you looking for the cardigan anyway? And which one is it?”

Biting her bottom lip, she avoided eye contact with his blue eyes as she stammered out, “You know, it was the one you gave me.” Placing the paper down on the breakfast bar, he leaned closer and pouted at her, “I’m hurt, doll; I knew we broke up but I never thought you were petty enough to throw away my gifts.”

Squinting her eyes at him with a mocking pout, “Ha ha, you know it’s that I don’t treasure your gifts, Buck.” Feeling left out from the whole conversation, Alpine jumped up on the countertops and snuggled herself to Y/N’s stomach; letting her fingers scratch the white fur of the needy cat, “Al, can you go tell your dad how exaggerated he’s being?”

Scoffing, he snatched Alpine from his ex girlfriend's arms and covered his cat’s whole face with his metal hand as if shielding her from evil, “Don’t you dare play favorites! Not with my child who was mine first before she was yours.”

“Let’s be honest Buck, she always cuddles up to my side every time we watch a movie,” Y/N jabbed at him before moving to get her bag, slinging it on her shoulder. Bucky’s blue eyes followed her form from when she picked up her purse in the living room and was about to speak until the sound of someone knocking on their door cut them both off. “I’ll get it,” She placed a hand on his pec and tapped it, “I was leaving anyway.”

The super soldier was thankful that she quickly removed her palm from his chest so she wouldn’t hear how fast his chest was beating; despite having broken up a few months ago, he still gets flustered under her touch. “Hey Steve, how are you?” The Captain hugged her as he entered their apartment, “I’m good; you going somewhere?”

Nodding, she moved out of their apartment and waved the two super soldiers goodbye, “I am! Meeting up with some friends today; bye you two!” When she left the flat, Steve smirked at Bucky, “I got to say two more months of you two living together or not getting back together and I’m gonna lose this bet I have with Sam.”

Expertly, Steve dodged the crumpled up facial tissue Bucky threw at him as he scowled, “Why are you here anyway, punk?” Alpine jumped off Bucky’s arms and settled herself on her bed by the television as Bucky began cleaning up his mug and bowl. “Well jerk, I wanted to come over and talk about the mission.”

After placing all the utensils in the sink, Bucky looked at his best friend with a scowl, “What mission? We both don’t go anymore and just train the recruits.” Loving how riled up his best friend was being, the former captain chuckled loudly as he held his hands up since he got caught, “Okay you caught me. I was just bored at the compound and wanted to swing by.”

A soapy hand pointed to the door as the brunette said, “Well you swung by and said hi; now leave.” Planting his bum firm on one of the bar stools instead of leaving, Steve shot a serious glance on his best friend, “I will after I get the truth out of you.”

Childishly, the metal hand sprayed some water on the blonde who yelled out in surprise upon feeling his face dampen with water, “Real mature, Buck!”

“Says the guy who visited my home because he was bored and decided to play investigator on me!”

Laughing at his friend’s antics and frustrated tone, Steve sighed, “Come on, pal, be honest with yourself this time; why is it you and Y/N still live together even after breaking up?” After moving to place the set of cutleries to dry, Bucky was wiping his flesh hand with a towel as he looked at his friend with furrowed eyebrows. When he was met however with a mixture of worry and stern glance, the former Winter Soldier sighed as he relaxed his brows and he planted his palms on the granite top, “Well it’s beneficial for the both of us.”

“How is it beneficial? You guys are ex with benefits?”

“Idiot! Not like that,” Bucky quickly clarified, “Economically benefit, with inflation and capitalism increasing the cost of living, it helps us save big on rent.” Steve had his mouth hung agape in disbelief at the bullshit his best friend was selling on him. “Economically benefit? You both can afford a high luxury penthouse with both your salaries alone,” His arms opened wide as he referred to their current flat, “And you chose to live in this compact two bedroom apartment following your breakup? You’re not fooling me, pal.”

After grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge and handing one to Steve after he opened both, Bucky gulped down the grainy beverage he sighed out loud as he confessed, “Maybe part of me hopes we both can get back together,” He had to shoot Steve a look when the blonde squealed excitedly at his confession, “But we both just somewhat talked about how much of a hassle it is if we both moved out and during that time we just signed a new lease so it made sense at the time.”

“I didn’t need to learn the last part, you could have just said you wished to get back together and that would have made me happy,” Steve explained before drinking down almost half of the bottle. Rolling his eyes, Bucky walked to the living room and settled himself on the couch — Alpine too followed him and settled herself on his lap, her distinct way of seeking attention — as he stroked her fur and replied, “Well good thing I didn’t really ask for what you wanted, no? Hold on, what are you really here for, by the way?”

Taking the loveseat that was adjacent from where Bucky was sitting, Steve plopped down as he grabbed the remote off their coffee table and turned the television on, “Did you forget that I was coming over to watch the game?”

“And you couldn’t watch it on your own at your living quarter which is bigger and even has the latest television model?”

Steve threw his head back in laughter at his friend’s remark, “Well I could; but the thing is if I didn’t you would probably be grinching your life away,” He tipped his bottle to Alpine who was sprawled over his lap as his metal fingers were delicately scratching her belly, “By the looks of it, you’ve already achieved step one of being a grinch.”

His flesh hand grabbed for one of the throw pillows that Y/N bought first when they moved into this apartment and successfully struck his friend’s head, “Apologize to Alpine this instant!”

A scoff plus an offended look was Steve’s reaction before turning his head back to the game, “Dick! You knew I was kidding! Is this how you are with Y/N, hm? No wonder she broke up with you.”

It was a sensitive topic that Bucky never fully disclosed with any of the friends; somehow he felt that what happened between the two of them should stay with them. And there were many instances where Bucky wanted to tell someone what happened just so he knew how to reconcile with her — but somehow there was always a reason that prevented him from doing so.

“Punk, how would you go about asking your ex to get back together?” His question had the former Captain America smiling; even though his entire face was focused on the game on the screen, the pending conversation had his attention far more than the actual sport. “Well I don’t know, it would depend on how I broke up with that ex.”

Bucky knew what he was doing — he was fishing for more information regarding how things went down. And maybe he does actually have a suggestion. Without going into much detail, he answered, “The breakup seemed mutual and beneficial at first but as time went on it seems to not be the case anymore.”

“What kind of riddle is that, Shakespeare?!”

Somewhat pleased with his confused state, he chuckled, “That’s all the details you’re going to get about my breakup with Y/N,” Part of Bucky was offended with how his Steve let out a disappointed grunt but continued on, “Right now, what’s more important is I get back with her.”

It had been almost an hour and yet the only sounds that could be heard were the announcers detailing the game and the cheers coming from the stadium as the two centenarians thought about how to go about Bucky’s current dilemma. Until Steve broke the silence as he placed his empty beer bottle by the leg of the coffee table, “Why not just be honest and tell her you want to get back with her?”

“It’s not that easy,” Came his quick response; too quick, Steve suspected. Turning slightly to face him, he saw how Alpine now had Bucky’s attention as he baited his metal finger to the feline who was trying her best to bite on it, “It won’t be that easy, at least I think it won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I messed up,” He confessed quietly as he pursed his lips as he recalled how that night went.

“Bubba, did you happen to get the chocolate I asked to buy?” She asked after ruffling through all their cabinets twice, pouting as she failed to see the sweet she has been craving for. He was cleaning the litter box that was in their bathroom so his voice was faint but she heard it loud and clear, “I forgot to, bub; sorry ‘bout that!”

With a sigh, she closed the cabinet door and instead grabbed a glass of water before walking to the dining table, “It’s okay! I’ll just get some tomorrow or some other time.”

As he was washing his hands, he caught a faint glance of her disappointed frown on the mirror. For a few moments, he racked his brain for the other times wherein he saw her frown due to something he’s done. There were far too many instances that came into mind; Bucky didn’t like that at all.

Despite just drying off his hands with a hand towel, he could feel his flesh hand dampen with sweat as he approached her on the dining table and sit at the chair opposite from where she was — something that she noticed, tearing her eyes away from her laptop, making her feel that something was wrong, “You okay, Buck?”

“I think we need to break up,” Came his immediate answer as he stared at her eyes that showed sadness and grief. “What?” Was all that she could choke out as she pushed her laptop to the side so she could direct his attention to him fully.

“I think we need to break up,” He repeated, his voice sounded stronger and more determined than when he said it earlier; but it was just a front for his insecurities and doubts, “It’s something that we both saw coming, but we’re in denial of its approach.”

Tears were now freely falling out of her eyes as she struggled to get out a coherent response, “But Bucky, we can work it out. What is it? Where did I go wrong?” She was to add some more questions but she was stopped by her hiccups.

Both hands grasped hers and rubbed her knuckles soothingly to calm her down, “I’m sorry Y/N, but this is just for the best for the both of us. It’s better we part our ways now rather than later when my ivy has fully engulfed your brick walls that you have put up.”

Snatching her hands from his hold, she crossed her arms, “Don’t feed me that bullshit, Buck. tell me the real reason why you want us to split.” Gone was her earlier tone of sorrow and was now replaced with shaky strength.

When he just looked at her blankly silently, Y/N just bit her lip as she grabbed for her laptop as she scrolled for a certain email; and when she found it, she showed the screen to her now ex boyfriend, “Guess it was a wrong time to sign for a year-long lease huh?”

“We can still live together for the time being,” His immediate answer surprised the two of them and he decided to cover it up by explaining, “We don’t want to pay an additional fee for infringing the contract. Plus that saves us a whole lot of money for when we move out of here.”

Her mind was foggy with sadness which prevented her from thinking logically so she found herself nodding, “Okay, that makes sense.” She took her laptop from his look and began to search for a new bed frame and mattress. “I’ll move to the spare bedroom and get my things later on.”

Following her drying of tears, she now had a determined pout on her face as she began to scout new items for her bedroom, Bucky came to realize the weight of what he had just done. At the expense of her broken and devastated state, he spared his insecurities and doubts. But he didn’t feel even an ounce of relief, instead he just felt miserable seeing her become so detached from him; it’s your fault, you idiot, he scolded himself.

“Oh, okay. I’m just gonna lay down for a while,” She merely nodded when he stood from the his seat and grabbed Alpine that was on his playing with his toes; as he laid his back on the soft mattress were they both spent time and created some of their best memories, he couldn’t help cuddle the feline closer to him as he now looked back on those memories wistfully, “Looks like you’re gonna be my cuddle buddy from now on, Al.”

“Idiot!” Steve yelled after hearing the story and throwing the pillow back to Bucky with the cushion that was thrown to him earlier, “Let’s unpack what you did wrong here; one, you broke up with her because of your insecurities instead of working on it yourself or with her.”

Bucky had a deep scowl on his face and was about to rebut until Steve held a hand up to let him know he was not yet done listing things, “Two, you didn’t even really give her the option on whether she wanted to break up or what. And lastly, you decided to still live together despite splitting under the guise of not paying more due to infringing the lease and moving out, but you guys have two months left before you have to renew or end your contract! What the hell’s your plan after?”

When Steve said it like that, it did look even worse than it initially was. The former assassin could only groan out loud as he removed his hands from stroking Al’s whie fur and instead covered his face in shame, “I know! I was dumb, and still am! I just want Y/N back, okay?”

Steve silently chuckled as he took in his friend’s whine and Y/N’s stunned look as she had just arrived from going out. Noticing the lack of white fur ball on his lap, he removed his hands from shielding his face as he looked at Steve, and was puzzled when the blonde was smirking but did not have the cat.

“Where?” The question died on his throat as he heard her soft mewl and looked to his right to see Y/N cuddling Alpine in her arms, “Hi, I just got home.” The blank expression she had made it difficult for the two super soldiers to read her; Steve however knew that the two needed privacy in order to talk.

“Well I’m heading out,” The former Captain America stood up and patted his best friend’s shoulder as a way of saying goodbye and good luck, “See you both soon.” He kissed Y/N’s forehead goodbye and left the former lovers.”

“Do you want to talk about what I just heard you say or do you want me to forget about it, Buck?”

Being with her for nearly three years he knew that once her interest was piqued, it would be difficult for her to lose her interest in it as she would do anything to feed her curiosity. “What would you rather do?”

This was new, for the previous times they had confrontation he had decided for her; and to be able to choose for herself — and possibly for the both of them. “I’d like to talk about it; if it’s fine with you of course.”

He gestured for her to take the seat beside her — which she gladly took after placing her bag on the dining table and carrying Alpine with her. “I heard you saying you wanted me back — is there any truth to that?”

“Yes, there is,” He sounded a mixture of confident and desperate; but he didn’t care as he just wanted her back, “I want you back and it was a mistake on my part to let you go.”

“But why did you let me go?”

“Because I was an insecure, self-doubting coward. Do you remember the day when I broke up with you?” She nodded her head as she scoffed, “Obviously, I do.” Her sass had him chuckling, lightening up the mood a little. “Well that day, I saw the look of disappointment on your face when I failed to get you chocolate. I thought that if I can mess this small thing up, what more when it comes to more important things — like an anniversary, a mortgage payment, important events, and things like that.”

Her hands reached out for his and gently kissed the knuckles to calm him down as he was now breathing heavily as he continued to open up to her, “I always knew deep down in me that you deserved to be with someone as great as you; and believe me everyday I tried to be that person. But slowly I saw not only how I wasn’t living up to be the person you deserve, but somehow I just wasn’t making you happy any more.”

Despite letting out what he had been bottling up, Bucky felt both heavier and lighter; lighter because now he had told her the real reason as to why they fell out and what has been haunting his mind for months now. But the fact that she now had a say on what goes on between them made him even more anxious compared to how he would be when going on dangerous missions.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through this battle alone, bubba,” Her statement coupled with her use of their pet name for each other had his heart twisting in a good way, “I wished you had reached out to me so that we both could work through this.”

“You’re not mad? Or disappointed? Or disgusted with me?”

She shook her head as she once again placed a loving kiss on his knuckles, “Why would I do so? You were dealing with anxieties and doubts, I can’t exactly blame you for those can I?” He shrugged his shoulders as he avoided looking her in the eyes, “But still,” Came his weak reply.

Clicking her tongue, she wrapped her arms around him, bringing his head to her chest so she could cuddle and comfort him as they were somewhat laying down on the couch, “Next time you got something going in your head, you talk to me, okay?”

He nodded against her chest and he couldn’t hold back the soft whine of happiness when she kissed his forehead, “I meant what I said, that I want you back.”

“Are you sure that’s what you really want?” She stiffened against his hold; Bucky stood up from where laid comfortably and took her with him, looking her straight in the eye with passion, “It is, bubba. I swear.”

“I don’t know, Buck,” She replied weakly and avoided looking him in the eye, “Maybe this is just your way of easing your guilt and making amends with your past talking. You don’t have to lie, not to me.”

“It’s not, I promise,” He placed his hands on her waist, grabbing her to situate her on his lap, “I love you and I never stopped, nor will I ever. You are someone I can never get sick of — I will always want to be with you, no matter if we do something fun and exciting or something mundane and domestic. I want all of you and want to share my life with you.”

“But what happens when you get those thoughts again? Will you leave me hanging again?”

Hating how small and meek her voice was, he shook his head as he kissed the tip of her nose, “I won’t. Like you said, I’ll work on it alone and with you. I love you, bubba.” She could see no sign of lies or deceit in his eyes and loved what she was hearing — he was a man of his word and knew that he wouldn’t boldly claim such a thing if he had no plans of following through with it.

“I can give you time to think about it if you’d like,” The proposition left his tongue as she suddenly kissed his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him even more closer. He smiled into the kiss as he rubbed her back soothingly, missing the heat that radiated off her skin.

“No time needed to think about it, bub,” She breathed out after pulling away from the kiss, her lips still against his, “I want you back too.”

“I hope you’d still want me back even after my final confession.”

She pulled away from him completely so she could take in his nervous smirk, “What final confession?”

Scratching the back of his neck nervously, he disclosed, “I took the cardigan from the dryer.” She laughed at his silly confession before asking, “Why’d you do it, bubba? It smelt like you and I dressed it up on one of my pillows because I missed you.”

Slapping her hand to his pec, she pretended to be upset before laying her head on his chest, “Well I hope it made your lonely nights better! I had an important reason to wear that today.”

“Oh? And what could that be, missy?” He tickled her sides to get her to speak; after a fit full of laughters she did, “Well I was going out with Rachel and she decided to bring along her friend in hopes of setting me up with them.” By wearing the cardigan, Y/N knew that the person Rachel invited over would be less persistent to pursue since the words “James Buchanan Barnes’ property” were sewn on a patch on the clothing article — a gift Bucky gave her when they passed the one year mark of their relationship.

“So you were cheating on me!” He jokingly accused her to which she pinched his ears as she reminded him, “Excuse you! I was being set up with someone before we got back together — it’s not cheating you know!”

He too laughed at their whole debacle before he stroked her cheek with the flesh hand saying, “I missed you so much, bubba.” She was about to share the same sentiments before they got interrupted by a needy cat who placed herself in between Bucky and Y/N.

“I think Al missed being in the middle of our cuddle sessions too, bubba,” She noted as the cat purred when she and Bucky were scratching the space in between her ears.

With a large grin on his face, he tickled Alpine as he kissed Y/N fervently on the lips, “Look Al, we’re one, happy, and complete family again.”

#quietmyfearswith #please dont steal my work thank you #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james barnes x reader #james barnes x fem!reader #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst

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bostongirl13 · 3 years

Text

A SINGLE SHOT OF LOVE

Chapter 1

Summary: She is a federal agent and he is the boss of one of the most powerful mafia. Fate wanted their paths to cross, which could cost them both more than they were willing to sacrifice.

Words: 1.5+

Chapter warnings: murder, a description of a dead body

18+ ONLY CONTENT!

A/N: I know that two more people wrote to me to tag them, but I forgot. I'm very sorry....😭😓

New York City was a vast, intricate, labyrinth of noisy, streets and alleys. You could hear the incessant honking of the vehicles even before the sun rose. Impatient businessmen who had to get to the office, mothers who had to leave their children at their schools, facing the puzzling challenge of navigating through the crowd of parents and children; even some of the teachers who had stopped at the local bakery to get a bagel or two before their morning classes. After every person had reached their respective destination, the traffic congestions cleared significantly as if humungous snakes had eaten their fills and were retracting back into their dark and eerie caves. All this made you know that the city is coming to life. And in all this chaos you were. For several hours you've been awake and just entering your office building.

You greeted the security guard at the front desk, handing him a cup of coffee like you did every day when he finished his night shift and you were just starting your day. Dave was a nice man and always ready to help so you didn't mind buying one more drink.

In the elevator you took a deep breath getting ready for a hard day at work. You tweaked the badge on your belt and took your phone out of your pocket to make sure you didn't get any new information on the new case.

As the elevator door opened, you were struck by the smell of carcass, dust and what you called office odor. You couldn't name it, but it was so specific that you wouldn't mistake it for anything else. In addition, it was only noticeable in the offices of the FBI. But not only that was characteristic here. Most of the people, except for undercover agents, wore suits or very formal outfits. You didn't know how to convince yourself of it, and since you started working as an agent, you wore jeans, T-shirts, sweatshirts, sweaters, etc.

After saying hello to a few people along the way, your boss stood on a dais, something like half a floor, waiting for you, still glancing at his watch. Your boss was the kind of agent who'd been born in a suit. He was never a baby or an infant. He was a serious man with a serious gun who rolled off the assembly line in Quantico, Virginia. He was shaved 24/7 and he spoke with a baritone voice and clipped legalistic words. Life had no color for him, no shades of grey either, it was all black/white right/wrong legal/illegal. He was the perfect FBI agent.

"Y/L/N" only greeted you by saying your name, and immediately moved towards the conference room.

When you entered a large room with a large table in the center, where several agents were sitting and with whom you had the opportunity to work, you realized by their expressions that it was not an easy case. So you took your seat at the table and looked at the image projected by the projector.

First it was a case number, then a map, a few photos of the city, a few criminals, and finally photos from the crime scene. Your eyes widened, surveying every smallest element of the projected image. You noticed one of the agents covering her mouth with her hand and running out of the room. It must have been new, or this was the first time she had dealt with this type of thing.

The photos showed a lantern on the docks by the port, with fragments of a woman's body hung on thick butcher's hooks.

"I invited you here because each of you, well, almost everyone worked to some extent on similar things. However, in other cases, we did not know who was the culprit. The situation is different here, because this kind of cruelty is characteristic of only one person. As you can see Vladimir Elistratov is back, which means we have a lot of work to do.”

The term "murderer" was now reserved for psychopaths. There were those that took life and crumpled under the weight of guilt, even if they'd no choice. There were some who killed when necessary and never lost a wink of sleep over it, that's pretty much where you sit. There are others who have made it a whole new hobby, look at them the wrong way and they attacked with lethal force. That last group are the only ones considered murderers now. Vladimir Elistratov belonged to the latter group.

After explaining, assigning tasks, and settling all the details needed for the moment, the agents went their way. You stayed for a while looking at all the photos from the beginning.

"Memories are coming back, aren't they?"

You looked up at your boss.

"You could say that," you laughed nervously. "Elistratov ... It will be a tough business. You know that well, Jack. ”You got up from your chair and put your hands in your jacket pockets.

“I am not saying that it is not. I want to be sure you can do it. Last time…"

“The last time I had less experience and acted in the dark, not knowing what I was doing. Now, well, now I can do more. "

Jack - your boss - said nothing, just nodded, agreeing with what you said.

"Just remember that you can talk to me at any time."

Although everyone thought him to be a cold, typical FBI agent, not expressing emotions, they were wrong. Jack had a heart and soul, and you saw it perfectly well when you dealt with Elistratov for the first time. However, this is not a story for now. What was over and no one will turn back the time. The mistakes were made and you can only pray not to make them again.

Your first task for today was to go to the docks to look around at crime scenes, see if the technicians missed any traces. Not that you didn't trust their abilities, but it must be admitted that each person pays attention to something else. Especially if they work in various positions.

Upon entering the underground garage, you saw a man standing by a black Mustang. He had a paper bag in one hand and a telephone in the other, typing intently, judging by his frown.

"Clint?"

"Y/N" the man immediately put the phone away and came over to greet you. "It's been a long time," he laughed and hugged you.

"What are you doing here?"

"I help. Jack didn't mention it? " You shook your head, "Well, maybe he forgot. He is no longer a teenager. Well. Get in. We're going to the docks. The technicians must have missed something. "

You haven't thought about it now, but your boss hasn't forgotten anything. Never. However, you trusted Clint too much to question his words, so without unnecessary words, you got into the car and drove to the indicated place.

Clint was a rather remote FBI agent. He was only summoned for important matters, and so no one ever knew where he was or what he was doing. A real secret agent after all.

When you arrived at the place, you immediately saw yellow tapes separating a certain area, suggesting that this area is forbidden for unauthorized persons. But now it was no longer necessary. Both of you broke the tape and started to circle the area, each one on a different side, looking for some traces.

“Something's not right for me. Why docks, why not a park? There are more people in the park, and as we know Elistratov loves the audience. "

“I also think it's a bit off his style. It's as if the copycat did it and not himself, ”Clint agreed with you. "Fuck, I have to pick it up, ”he said, looking at the screen of the ringing phone. You let him know it was okay and indicated with your hand that you were walking towards the hangars.

At first glance, everything seemed normal. A huge hangar, riddled with years of etching rust and bullets after numerous shootings. In the past, fishing boats were repaired here. Now it was a large building with a lot of metal. You went over to the other side, seeing that you wouldn't find anything here anyway, but still wanted to be sure that you checked every millimeter of the terrain.

And then you saw him. A tall man dressed in an expensive suit - or so you thought - hair combed back and sunglasses. He was leaning against a car, a black Audi, and talking on the phone. You didn't hear what the conversation was about, though, but judging from his clenched jaw, it wasn't pleasant. You took out your phone and took a few hidden photos and sent them to Clint. You looked again at the man who seemed to be staring right at you….

~ To be continued ~

Tags: @worksby-d @sweetflowersforthebroken @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @patzammit @ivettt @ozarkthedog @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @a-moment-captured @buckysteveloki-me @denisemarieangelina @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Series tags: @kelbabyblue @a-moment-captured @wayward-blonde @peaches-roses-sins @cynic-spirit @redhairedfeistynerd @stargazingfangirl18

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brockadoodles · 3 years

Text

evermore - b. boeser

AN: Uh, UH, guess it’s been too long since I’ve hit you all with my true brand, angst about my fave blonde boy. So here you go. This is my evermore album fic. Please feel free to yell at me after.

Word Count: 2206

Warnings: Angst.

You sat idly in the front seat of your car, parked outside of an unfamiliar building in the most familiar city. Coming back to Vancouver had opened a wound in your chest that you had spent more time than you cared to admit to patch. Each thread you pulled through your heart, hoping to somehow tie it back together just enough to stop thinking about your own biggest regret.

Regret was a feeling you spent your entire life trying to escape from. You often told people as you grew up that you didn’t have regrets, instead, each decision would lead you down a path. One path would be the right one, and others would be a lesson that you had to learn, no matter how painful it was. It was ignorant of you to miscalculate the meaning of the word because when you dropped Brock’s had and subsequently his heart, it took approximately an hour for the feeling to sink into your chest and build a home there.

You sighed deeply as you worked up the energy to get out of your car. You knew that you were back in Vancouver to stay, you knew that it was long past time to return back home where you belonged. But stepping out of your car and unloading the bags into your new place cemented it as reality. It meant you had to face everything you ran away from. It meant you had to live in the same city as Brock again and the thought was like a hand on your shoulder that was holding you underneath the water, with just enough air to survive but not enough to escape.

You left Vancouver, the place that you had spent your entire life because you thought the opportunity was better. It wasn’t until you came back to the same hometown that you left, a broken heart stitched onto the sleeve of your sweater that you realized. You were ready to tell him you were wrong, that you realized home would never be home again without him, even if his presence was still all over the city. His face quite literally littered the city and you could pick out his apartment building every time you looked at the skyline. But you never felt further from him than you did now because in that apartment was where he started a new life, where he was building a home with someone else.

You spent the next week settling in. You took your time because all of it felt overwhelming. Each day you woke up with an attempt to tell yourself that it would get better but each night as you fell asleep, your mind was invaded with dreams of him. Dreams of life that your heart was telling you that you should have had.

The dreams were supposed to go away, they weren’t supposed to invade your soul as you watched the broken relationship fade further and further away. It had been too long to hold onto this feeling of hope that maybe, somewhere deep down he was still who you were supposed to be with. It felt like you were trapped above the trees and watching as he built an entire life without you. Brock moved on, and you were still there trying to grasp onto willow trees whose leaves slipped out of your grasp each time your fingers touched them.

It was the dictionary definition of torture, having every dream riddled with Brock. Every time you dropped your head to a pillow and your eyes fluttered shut you saw the entire scene where it all fell apart. Only in this version, when he got down on one knee you didn’t grab his arm and stop him. You didn’t start crying because you had to say no, without the explanation that he deserved. In the dreams, your champagne problems didn’t blow up the only love you had ever known. But the dreams weren’t real, and each time you woke up with that painful reminder that the ring was now on someone else’s hand, because you had left instead of fighting the mess of your own mind for him.

It took less than two weeks to run into him again. You had assumed it would happen at some point. For a city that had almost 2.6 million people living there, it was small when you knew your way around. Life had a way of fucking you just hard enough that it wasn’t even unexpected you would run into him in the most mundane of places, a park. You knew Brock had dogs and you knew that the very place you were walking through was in fact, a dog park. You also knew he still lived in the same apartment, the one that you once spent your days in. You had to swallow hard to stop yourself from thinking about the person that now occupied that space with him because part of you selfishly thought maybe everything you had heard from mutual friends wasn’t true, maybe he hadn’t moved on.

Brock walked up to you slowly and sat down on the bench next to you. The mere feet of space between you felt taunting. He was right there. His hair was a bit longer than it was the last time you saw him, and the scruff on his face made him look older. He was a shadow of the Brock you knew yet he still felt as familiar as someone could. You made no move to speak, instead, you thought about how if the strangers passing by could sense that you once spent nights tangled together only to have the two feet between you feel like the distance between the sun and the stars.

“I heard you were back,” Brock mumbled. He turned slightly to look at you, a half-smile adorning his features as you blinked back the onslaught of tears you could feel behind your eyes.

“Yeah, two weeks ago about.” You replied. Brock just nodded in response and took a sip of the coffee he had in his hands. Likely the same order he always had, a medium drip with just a splash of cream. You hated that you remembered. Brock fumbled in his coat pocket, pulling out a small envelope and resting it in his hands. Your name was written in handwriting that you didn’t recognize.

“I actually, uh, knew you were here.” He spoke, handing you the small envelope. You took it from his hand. When you opened it you saw an invitation. An invitation that was for his wedding. You ran your fingers over the words, the embossed lettering was beautiful. The location, the botanical garden, was the exact type of place you would expect Brock to get married.

“It would mean a lot to me to have you there. Regardless of how we ended, you were one of my best friends, and I don’t blame you for any of it.” Brock’s voice filled the silence as you struggled to find the words.

“I’ll be there, Brock.” You whispered, a sad expression in your eye that he noticed. There was so much more you wanted to say, there was always more that you wanted to say when it came to him. Each time he came home you hoped that would be the time you’d finally admit it, you’d admit to him that you weren’t over what happened. You weren’t over him. Each time the words were almost there, bottled up in your chest just needing to travel into the air for him to hear. But you never found quite the right thing to say and consequently, you never got to know that for a time, it would have been everything that he wanted to hear. Instead, you were left to the images in your dreams, the ones where you did tell him you loved him and you were sorry, where it all worked out and he wasn’t marrying someone else.

That wedding invitation haunted you. It sat on your desk, untouched as you carried moved through the next few months. You had started a new job that you were excited about, and each day things were getting easier. The dreams that once felt like they were never going to leave had slowly started vanishing. You were, for the first time in what felt like years, waking up feeling more at ease. It wasn’t until the night before the wedding that the dreams resurfaced, one last hazy cloud that you hoped would dissipate in the morning forevermore.

It felt like a new beginning with him, new roots in an entirely new world that was only crafted carefully inside your dreams. A dark forest where you ran through it, hand in hand, in the rain, and he kissed you in front of the cottage covered in green ivy. The plant spiraling up the building like your heart spiraled out of control. The kind of love that you feel deep beneath your skin, a steady rhythm that followed the beat of your own heart. The kiss entirely complicated everything, and it felt fucking good to be complicated for once, to be the person who got to experience the love that people only wrote about in sonnets. But the dreamland wasn’t real, it wasn’t crafted by anything other than your own imagination. As the scene fizzled into dust in your hands, you felt your eyes well up with tears, because he wasn’t yours. He would never be yours again.

The sharpness of her voice shattered the haze that you were looking through. Her hard words echoing in your mind with each breath as you shot up from bed with a hand to your chest.

“I think he did it.” And he did. In your dreams, he did it every time, and her voice breaking as she said it in your dreams made you sick to your stomach at the thought. Because love at the betrayal of another isn’t an honest or true love at all, and you wanted no part in it. Even if it was just your subconscious dreaming about it.

You did your best to push your thoughts down as you got out of bed. You took your time making your coffee, stopping to take a moment to sit in front of your window. Your small orange cat, Nora, was curled up in your lap, purring steadily as you took the last few moments to relax before what was going to be an emotionally exhausting day. You took your time getting ready, locking the door to your apartment, and arriving at the botanical garden with just enough time to slip in without running into anyone you knew.

The problem with this being Brock’s wedding was that you knew so many of the people here. His friends that you once shared together, his parents who once thought that this would be you and their son. You didn’t want any of them to realize that you were there. You were there because it meant something to Brock. It was the last thing you could give him to hopefully make up for the hurt you caused him. The same hurt that he had found a way to move on from, leaving you right where you left him, dust in your hair, and the same solemn expression on your face.

You sat by yourself in the back of the garden, the space around you was decorated in dusty pink peonies and clouded with baby’s breath. It was beautiful, tragically beautiful watching her walk down the aisle. You had seen it so many times in your own dreams, the evermore sense of dread in your heart as this day approached gathering up into your throat, threatening to send tears down your cheeks. In another life that would be you. In a dream world, that would be you. But this wasn’t a dream, and you had to let him go.

The closure was something you never searched for. To you, Brock was always who you thought you would have it all with. You thought it would be you standing there in front of all of your family and friends, you thought it would be you with the home and the family with him. You were so deep in the own hurt you caused when you left that you told yourself over and over again that it would still happen, he was still your forever because even if right then wasn’t the right time for you, the right time was coming. It wasn’t until you saw him smile at her as she walked down the aisle that you knew, Brock had moved on. He was happy, and that was the closure that you didn’t know you needed.

You didn’t stay, you couldn’t. So you stood up and smoothed your pale blue dress out, slipping out the back with a soft click of your heels that wasn’t audible over the symphony echoing in between the stained glass windows. It hurt, more than anything you ever thought could hurt, but as you stepped out into the rain and flailed down a cab, you took one last look at the church and let Brock go. You never turned back.

#brock boeser #brock boeser fic #brock boeser imagine #evermore fic #brock boeser x reader #canucks imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #canucks fic

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noctualilith · 3 years

Text

The Way You Speak

Like many good things in life, a convo that sparked this idea happened on our beloved Hazelnoots Discord Server Of Love And Inspiration. This fic was then written over three months live directly on the server. Now it is finished and I can release it into the wilderness of the Internet!

So the roster says about Nado ‘Rival with Evgeni for most pick ups on the team’ My brain: They live together, right? So they hear each other have fun all the time. Coughthreesomescough. Tell me I'm wrong I challenge you.

Nuny own my whole heart. A slightly alternate universe, a slightly different getting together story.

Sweater Weather universe and the characters of Kuny and Nado and the ‘I love the way you speak’ line by the wonderful @lumosinlove

My eternal gratitude for grammar stuffs and beta belongs to @tetedump

cw: explicit smut with feelings, mentions of alcohol in the beginning, mentions of food towards the end

word count: 12,8k

Jackson was squinting into the light of the open fridge, pondering the snack choices, when the door of the apartment crashed open. "Kuns, that you?"

"Hello Nado! Have guest!"

Closing the fridge with a sigh, Jackson wandered to the hall to greet his friend, only to find him locking lips with a gorgeous brunette, pressing her against the door, oblivious to their surroundings.

"Uh, hi, um-- have fun? I'll... be in my room. Yeah. With headphones on," he stammered, backing up slowly.

The gorgeous brunette peeked around Kuny's shoulder at his words and extended her hand towards him, stopping his retreat. "Hello, gorgeous, and you are?"

Kuny noticed him too and broke into a huge smile immediately. "I introduce! This my best friend! Best man, best teammate! Jackson, meet Jackie."

Jackie looked him up and down slowly, her gaze rooting him to the spot. She narrowed her eyes and looked between Kuny and him a few times, then nodded to herself as if she had solved a riddle that they themselves were not even aware of. "Hi Jackson. Nice to meet you." A wink, an outstretched hand, and Jackson was nothing but polite when he stepped closer to shake her hand, instead of away, far far away.

He could smell the familiar scent of Kuny's cologne, and the sweet tang of sweat underneath, could almost taste it and something low in his belly twisted and pulled. He kept his eyes locked with Jackie, but all his focus was on Kuny, he could see him in his periphery, feel his gaze on the side of his face. It was hot in here, wasn't it? Maybe he should open the window for a bit, get some air in--

"Jackson, would you like to join us for a drink? I was promised the real Russian vodka, the hard stuff," Jackie smirked as she turned to Kuny and raised her eyebrows.

The answering smile spread slowly across Kuny's face and it was wicked. Oh god. Nado's mouth was dry all of a sudden, as he searched the face of his friend for clues as to what the next best move was.

Kuny cocked his head in his direction. "You want?" The question seemed to contain more than just an invitation for a drink and Nado found himself nodding even before he processed the sudden twist of events, at loss for words and starting to sweat when Jackie pulled on his hand that was still in hers from their introduction, Kuny taking his other hand and pulling him towards the kitchen. What the everloving fuck.

"You get glass, I get bottle." He was directed to the cupboard while Kuny opened the freezer and pulled out the bottle of vodka with a triumphant "Zdes!"

Gathering three shot glasses, Jackson headed to their living room and sat heavily on the couch, still not sure what the invitation meant. They weren't in the habit of introducing their one-night-stands to each other, more like boasting about them the day after and teasing each other about the overheard sounds, the badly hidden hickeys or the occasional forgotten piece of underwear. To say he was nervous was an understatement, but he was also curious. Curious to see where this led, if it was a grand prank or something else entirely.

A squeal and a bout of laughter from the kitchen tore him from his thoughts. A low murmur of conversation reached his ears and he strained to hear but couldn't understand much beyond the cadence of voices. Questions asked in a husky female voice, and the low purr of Kuny's bass answering them. Jackson could almost see his lips shape the vowels, his accent audible even if he couldn't recognize the words.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, digging his fingers into his thigh to try and ground himself momentarily. He didn't dare shape the thoughts in his mind around what he hoped would happen next. Better to err on the side of caution and spare himself the embarrassment of probably being wrong. But what if you're right, the voice in his mind whispered. The same voice that never hesitated to comment when his eyes lingered too long on his best friend, like what you see? He did, a lot. That was the whole problem, but what was he going to do about it? Close his eyes and drown it in vodka, seemed like.

Kuny had the ice-cold bottle of vodka already open, drops of condensation running down his forearm as he lifted it up, stopping right in front of Jackson and nodding at him "The good stuff, you know already. The hard stuff. From Russia." Turning to Jackie who was making herself comfortable on the couch, he addressed her almost conspiratory, "he knows good stuff."

"Oh yeah?" her laugh rang through the room as Kuny poured the clear liquid and distributed the shot glasses, sitting heavily on the other side of Jackson, their thighs pressing together.

"Na zdrowie."

Jackson replied in kind, the Russian phrase rolling off his tongue, one of the few he learned and could reproduce without butchering the language. Everything beyond three or four syllables was hopeless, but this one he could do, putting extra effort in rolling the *r* and waiting for the nod of approval from his best friend.

At the confused look on Jackie's face he explained, "It's like cheers, in Russian."

"Oh, I see. Well then, cheers, gentlemen!"

They clinked the glasses together, Kuny still fixing him with his gaze as they downed them at once. Jackie threw her head back and hissed at the burn as the liquor slid down her throat, but Jackson was still caught in Kuny's eyes, staring back as they both swallowed without a sound.

His eyes were pulled away only by Kuny's tongue darting out and licking a drop of the liquid that caught at the corner of his mouth, Jackson copying the action unconsciously and seeing Kuny's eyes flick down to his mouth. The hot twist low in his belly came back with more insistence and he half-heartedly blamed it on the alcohol, even though he knew the one shot couldn't have done it.

He almost forgot the other person in the room until she cleared her throat delicately and the both turned to her. She looked between them and then held out her glass. "Who's in for another?"

One shot turned into three and the tension in the air dissipated a little as they downed the liquor, cursing and laughing at the burn. The alcohol helped to shake off the apprehension and Jackson found himself relaxing minutely.

He still wasn't sure where the evening was headed, this was miles away from the usual situation he'd find himself in - at a club or a bar, one or both of them picking up a date to go home with that night, easy conversation carried by the beat of the music and flow of drinks, hazy on the details in the headache of the following morning.

This was home and there was a very gorgeous woman on their couch, currently resting her hand on his knee and asking him a question which he totally overheard because his also gorgeous roommate and best friend chose that moment to sling his arm across his shoulders and pull him into his side, jostling them all in the process. "Sorry, what?"

Jackson forced himself to focus on Jackie as she looked at them with an amused smile. He did not like that smile. She looked like she had a plan and when he looked back at Kuny he found that expression mirrored on his face.

Part of him, the reckless, unbound part that reveled in the thrill of pushing his limits and living life to the fullest, damn the consequences and damn what others would think, that part of him was sat on the edge of the seat just waiting for the situation to unfold and sweep him up into what might be an unprecedented adventure.

There was another part of him though, the rational, held-back, make sure you understand what's going on before you jump in part and he felt it pound behind his temples, insisting on making a polite but hasty retreat.

"I'll, uh, leave you two to your evening now. It was lovely to meet you, Jackie. Enjoy the good Russian stuff." He managed to smile and winked at her as he made to stand up, shrugging off Kuny's arm with the movement.

He didn't get far though, before Kuny caught his hand and pulled him back down. His eyes were dark and so, so earnest when he stared at Jackson and took a breath to say what had been unspoken in the room until that moment, his words clear and unmistakable: "Or-- you could stay. You want stay?"

Jackson's breath stuttered in his lungs, surprised at the question even as he was hoping for it, surprised all the same. Careful what you wish for. "Yeah, yes, I do want to stay." he breathed and turned his hand still in Kuny's grip, closing his fingers around his wrist in return.

The touch grounded him, the steady pulse under his fingertips reassuring. He looked at Jackie while still holding onto Kuny, his thumb drawing small circles around his wrist bone. "Are you okay with that? I-- We-- this isn't what normally happens and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in any way so just say the word and I'll go..."

He trailed off as he watched her run her thumb across her lower lip slowly and then bite on it, smiling at him with all her teeth showing. She looked like a wild cat, all confident, contained power ready to pounce, and he liked it, liked the anticipation of her next move, especially with the grounding strength of the man behind him, now pressed along his arm and still holding his hand.

"I suggested it, actually. And Evgeni here was as concerned as you are, so let's talk about this before anything else happens. I understand you haven't done this before? A threesome?"

Jackson heard Kuny behind him whisper threesome to himself, trying to fold his accent around the new word and felt a rush of affection for the man and his determination to add to his English vocabulary in any situation.

"Uh, no, I mean yeah-- at least I haven't." It occurred to him that he assumed it was new for both of them, but he didn't know.

Kuny confirmed a beat later though, shaking his head. "Never have threesome, no. I imagine it many times, but never asked."

"You what?!" Jackson whipped his head around to see Kuny's face, his admission taking him by surprise. "You imagined it? With-- who? You never told me about that!"

Kuny looked down, shaking his head ruefully, a blush rising in his cheeks. He released Jackson's wrist and it left him feeling strangely bereft, wanting those hands back on him. Huh.

Kuny had that look he always got when he wanted to express something that was important to him, fighting the frustration of not having all the words to convey what he meant. Sometimes he'd enlist Sergei to help translate, but if that wasn't an option, he'd take him by the shoulders and look at him intently, face to face, eyes wide and earnest, saying you listen now, I speak. Not make fun. This is important you understand.

Jackson had laughed the first time that happened, but he had apologized a hundred times since, when a frustrated Kuny explained to him in broken English that he regarded him to be his best friend. That he had felt lonely and lost and misunderstood when he arrived in the States, with the language barrier and culture shock. That he had gotten used to feeling like he'd never truly belong. Until he came to Gryffindor and met him. They clicked instantly, and easy camaraderie that grew into a true friendship. Kuny had tears in his eyes when he finished, fingers digging into Jackson's shoulders where he was still holding onto him. You understand. I hate that don't have all words but it is important you understand. Not make fun.

Jackson remembers his heart pounding when he saw his friend so vulnerable, at loss for an answer, so he just went with the first thing that felt right. I love the way you speak. Kuny scoffed at it but couldn't fight the happy smile that took over his face, shoulders dropping in relief and their hug afterwards lasted forever and not long enough at the same time. So, Jackson knew that look and knew to listen now. This was important.

Kuny's arms lifted, but to Jackson's surprise, he didn't go for his shoulders. He took his hands instead, his grip sure. "You are my best friend. I don't want make mistake. But I imagine with you. I ask now."

They both swallowed hard, in sync like they were on the ice, and was it possible that they were in sync on this too? That he actually knew exactly how Kuny felt because it was echoed by his own apprehension and-- desire. Naming things gave them power and now that he named this feeling, even just in his thoughts, it crashed over him in a tidal wave, the same twist and pull low in his belly from before answering and spreading outwards in a rush of warmth all the way to his fingertips.

"Kuns, I-- I imagined it too. And I didn't want to endanger our friendship, too. But yes. I want to. Yeah." He bit his lip against the giddy smile that threatened to break free, not wanting to shatter the seriousness of the moment.

Kuny didn't have the same reservations though and erupted into a relieved laugh, pulling him into a hug, which resulted in him practically landing in the Russian's lap because he didn't do sideways hugs. Not real hug, he'd grumble and then rearrange the person to his liking and fucking envelop their whole body with his giant arms and they were the best hugs Jackson's ever had. He settled into this one happily, Kuny smiling and humming into his neck as one of his arms settled around his waist. Jackie was watching them with a smug smile of her own, waiting for them to part again before she spoke.

Kuny did not seem too keen on removing the arm from around Jackson's waist anytime soon, so he stayed seated where he was, determinedly not thinking about how close they were or the fact that he was only wearing sweatpants. Jackie's chin was resting on her hands, taking in their position and biting her lip.

"I'm loving this," she proclaimed and then clasped her hands together, sitting up straighter. "So glad you boys talked. Let's set some ground rules just so we are all on the same page, then?"

Both men nodded, their attention on her now. Her confidence was reassuring to Jackson, she apparently had some experience, definitely more than them.

"First of all, anyone can call a stop anytime, no matter what the reason. Any reason. Second of all, if we're doing this, no more vodka." She turned the shot glasses upside down one after the other as she said that, the residual liquor wet on her fingers.

Looking back at the two of them, she pushed her thumb into her mouth and sucked the wetness off slowly, a challenge in her eyes. Jackson heard Kuny's gasp followed by a low curse in Russian, but he couldn't look away as she went for her index finger next. Before her lips could connect, Kuny leaned across the couch, his arm around Jackson steadying him and his other reaching for Jackie, hand closing around her wrist and pulling her towards them.

She came willingly, walking on her knees till she was pressed along their sides. Kuny kept pulling on her wrist, raising her hand to his mouth, and Jackson was torn between watching his mouth close around her fingers and watching her face, eyes closing and lips parting on a moan at the sensation. This was actually happening.

He felt dizzy with want and a bit shaky with the newness of it all. A hand cradled his cheek and Jackie turned his face towards her, her other hand in the same place on Kuny's cheek. Her voice was breathy, but her eyes were intent and steady as she addressed them both. "Third of all, we talk. We check in with each other. Something you want to try? Talk. Something you don't want to do? Talk. Yes? I need you to say this one with me."

Kuny leaned into her hand as he answered "Da, yes, I talk. I say what I want."

Jackson was opening his mouth to answer in kind, wholly unprepared for what happened next as Kuny turned to him and bluntly stated: "Want kiss him."

He gaped at his friend, who was looking at him with a small smile and dark, dark eyes, pupils blown wide. And waiting, patiently, for him to say what he wanted. The problem was, Jackson couldn't find his voice at the moment and nothing would happen unless he did.

"Jackson?" Jackie's soft voice prompted him to suck in a breath and then the words were tumbling out.

"Yeah, yes, I want that too. I want to kiss you, too. I wa--mmpfh." Suddenly there were soft plush lips on his and a big, calloused hand replaced Jackie's softer one on his cheek. Kuny hummed into the close-mouthed kiss and the vibration tickled across his lips, making him gasp. Kuny's lips parted in sync with his and then there was a taste of vodka and something else, distinctly Evgeni. A tongue tracing along his, a pull on his lower lip, teeth nipping gently and making goosebumps erupt all across his skin... Jackson was lost in it, hands scrabbling for purchase on broad shoulders and his hips jerking forward, the arm around his back pulling him closer.

They parted on a gasp, both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. "Harasho? Good?" Kuny was searching his face, and Jackson made himself find his voice yet again.

"Yes. Harasho." He nodded, stealing one more kiss because he could.

"I'm loving this," a whisper came from the side, where Jackie was sitting sideways, leaning on the backrest of the couch, chin in her hand and watching them, her eyes sparkling.

Kuny reached for her again, palm up and she slid her hand into his and sat up beside them, one of her legs hanging down the side of the couch alongside Kuny's, foot on the floor for balance.

"Now you kiss. I want watch." Kuny nodded to Jackson and he turned to face Jackie. She placed a hand on his cheek, the gesture familiar now.

"Can I?" It was easier with every time, giving voice to his want, saying yes to theirs.

"Yes."

His hand stroked up her thigh and rested on her hip as she tilted her head and pushed into his space and then they were kissing, soft and exploratory, different from Kuny but exciting in a different way. She yielded where Kuny pushed, moved with him where Kuny would hold still. Jackson was caught up in the feeling and the contrasts, the arousal bubbling up from his core in delightful shivers across his skin.

He was hyper aware of Kuny watching them and he realized that Jackie was into it, turning both their heads so he had a good view when she bit on his lower lip and pulled, drawing a groan from him and Kuny at the same time. Her tongue soothed over the bite right away and she pressed a small kiss to the corner of his mouth before she leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at Kuny who was still watching them, mesmerized, his hands flexing unconsciously, one on Jackson's lower back and the other on Jackie's thigh.

Jackson loved to see him like that, finding it so much better than anything his imagination had managed to come up with. "Let's take this to the bedroom?" He spoke into Jackie's hair, his head turned to her but his eyes still fixated on Kuny who was slow to come out of his haze.

"Da. Bed.'' he rasped and shook his head, grinning to himself. He shifted in place, pressing their hips together with the movement and the arm still across Jackson's back and for a moment Jackson was afraid that he would try to carry him to the bedroom. Not that he couldn't lift him, he easily could and he had proven that often enough. But then all thoughts left him and pure sensation shot up his spine in a sudden flash because his best friend was hard. They both were.

He got so distracted by the frankly awesome making out that he forgot that part but now it was glaringly obvious and he was almost shocked by the immediacy of it, frozen in place and not daring to move.

His eyes found Kuny's on instinct and even though he didn't voice a question out loud, he got a slow nod in return, sure and steady. Kuny wasn't afraid of this or unsure about it, he wasn't pulling back, so Jackson decided he wouldn't be either. He wanted this. He asked for this. He wasn't backing out now. The only question that remained was, "which bedroom?"

The decision was made easily as Kuny stated, "my bed better for three," nodding to himself and squeezing Jackson around the waist one more time before he let go.

They untangled themselves, Jackie standing up first and holding out her hands to the two of them. "Detour through the kitchen? Water for everyone, not optional."

She pulled them across the living room, hands linked and let Jackson spin her around and press her against the kitchen counter to kiss her deeply while Kuny headed for the fridge. He could hear the fridge door opening and closing, footsteps coming closer and a water bottle cap hitting the counter, could hear Kuny drink in long swallows somewhere behind him, but it all faded into the background.

His senses were preoccupied by the woman in front of him, her lips parting for his tongue, her hands traveling down his chest and across his ribs to circle his waist and grab at his ass, pulling him into her-- until he felt the press of cool lips on the back of his neck, a hint of teeth pressing into the skin, another pair of hands, larger and stronger, settling on his hips from behind.

Jackson pressed back into the warm body behind him instinctively as Kuny kissed a winding path up his neck and exhaled right next to his ear with a low hum, the hot breath making him shiver with anticipation.

"This is not drink water," a low voice rumbled into his ear and Jackson chuckled at that, still dazed from the close proximity of two bodies, two gorgeous people vying for his attention.

"Not thirsty for water right now," Jackson countered and turned his head so their lips met. Kuny didn't miss a beat, licking into his mouth even as he was spinning him around and pressing his back into the counter, a repeat of what he did with Jackie just minutes before. Only that didn't seem to be enough for his friend, as he found himself hoisted up onto the counter, Kuny stepping in between his thighs and dragging his hands down his back to where Jackie's had been, grabbing his ass and squeezing.

The movement pushed their groins together and Jackson heard himself moan shamelessly, feeling his cock pulse and the answering hardness press against him when hooked his ankles behind Kuny's legs and pulled. His hands scrambled for the hem of his shirt and stilled when they found the warm skin underneath, both of them stunned at the ease with which they fit together.

They weren't kissing now, just panting against each other's mouth, overwhelmed by each new situation they found themselves in together, wanting to stay there and milk it till the last drop and at the same time eager to keep going, to see where the night would take them next. But now was this; his palms against Kuny's stomach, exploring and wandering upwards, feeling his chest expand with each breath.

"Can I?" he plucked at the shirt, Kuny raising his arms in answer. The shirt landed on the floor the next moment, forgotten, hands pressing over broad shoulders, feeling out the shapes of collarbones and the give of muscle under fingertips.

Jackson followed the path of his hands with his mouth, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the hollow of Kuny's throat, down his sternum and then across to land over his heart, feeling its strong beat against his lips when he lingered there for a long moment, writing the rhythm into his memory. Whether this was a one-time thing or a beginning of something new, he'd always know that heart, in sync with his own, beat for beat.

A large palm dragged up his torso slowly, pressed over his own heart and stayed there, careful and reverent; they didn't need words to understand each other in that moment. In sync like on the ice. Jackson felt the last nerves leave him then, carried away by the pulse of his own blood and the heat of arousal, feeling safe in the arms of his best friend.

After one last press of lips over his heart, he tilted his head up and was met with a scorching kiss that left him light-headed and gasping, clutching at Kuny's back, nails digging in, even as the Russian was pulling back.

"Kuns--"

"You drink now."

A water bottle was pressed into his hand, Kuny stepping back in between his thighs with a warm smile on his face, watching him as he gulped down half of the bottle in one go. He looked around, searching for Jackie and found her twirling her own bottle, her eyes trained on them and a smile playing on her lips.

"Let me guess. You're loving this."

She laughed at that, and then stepped closer, leaning her hip on the counter. "You're not wrong." Her look turned calculating and then she was lifting her own shirt and pulling it off in one swift motion, making a show of dropping it on the floor next to the one already there. "Also, you're overdressed."

Hooking her fingers in Kuny's belt loops, Jackie pulled him towards her and he resisted only for a moment to press a short kiss to Jackson's lips and grab his hand, pulling him after them towards his bedroom.

Jackson had been in there many times for many reasons but this was very different from banging on his friend's door in the morning to hurry up we'll be late for practice, I made coffee, or throwing balled-up socks and t-shirts at him from the doorway because these are not mine you giant, how did they end up in my laundry again? He knew the squeak the hinges made when the door opened all the way and the handle hit the wall where Kuny stuck a print-out of Snape's face so it would hit him in the nose every time that happened.

He could list from memory the few items that were always present on Kuny's desk, like one of the matryoshka dolls he brought for the whole team after he went home for the off-season, standing next to a small bowl that held the keys to his parents' house, for me it always remembers I can go home he explained one night when they both got drunk and grew bored playing videogames so they ended up laying on the floor of Kuny's bedroom just talking, or rather Kuny talking while Jackson went around his room picking up random objects and holding them up to get an explanation. There was a stack of books on the floor next to the bed, most of them in Russian and ‘The Hobbit’ being the only English book on top with a blurry polaroid photo of both of them at Sid's as a bookmark sticking out of it. Jackson's eyes skipped around the familiar room, finally landing on Kuny himself, finding him already looking back.

"Not fair, you still in shirt," he said as he stepped closer, plucking at Jackson's sleeve. Hands snaked around his waist as Jackie stepped up behind him and gathered the hem of the t-shirt in her hands.

"Yeah, alright, take it off," Jackson laughed as they undressed him and bracketed him between their bodies, skin on warm skin all around him.

For the next long while, Jackson's world became wandering hands and lips tracing contours of the three of them, finding ways to fit around each other and swaying together to the rhythm of their slowly building desire. It was an easy dance now that he allowed himself to want what he wanted; his best friend in all the ways they hadn't known each other yet and a beautiful stranger to lead them through the next step when they stumbled.

His hands landed on Kuny's waistband and stopped. Jackie pressed alongside him in the next moment, her warm hand between his shoulder blades, grounding and reassuring.

"Do you want to take them off, Jackson?"

He nodded, looking down where his fingers followed the v-lines of Kuny's abs, dipping below the waistband.

"Words,'' Jackie reminded him. He looked back up and was met with parted lips that he just had to kiss before he was able to form a question.

"Can I?"

"Da. Yes."

He drew his fingers along the waistband to the front, brushing the trail of hair leading down and feeling the muscles flex under his touch. Making quick work of the button and the zipper, he pushed the pants down and-- "No underwear, Kuns, really?"

The Russian just shrugged and stepped out of the pants, naked now but for the black socks patterned with stormtrooper helmets on them. "You have no underwear too," he nodded towards Jackson's crotch where his cock was very visibly tenting his sweatpants.

"I was at home! In my home clothes!" Jackson defended himself, spreading his arms and looking to Jackie for support. "Can you believe this?"

Jackie gave the naked man in the middle of the room a slow once-over, licking her lips as her eyes lingered on his crotch and then smirking back at Jackson. "I assumed, but I can believe it now. You really are a giant, aren't you?" she stated more than asked as she turned back to Kuny and then undid her own jeans, shimmying out of them and her underwear in one go. "Catch up, Jackson, you're the last one again," she teased while she faced him and languidly took off her bralette, handing it to him with a raised eyebrow. Then she was reaching for Kuny with purpose, one hand going to his hair and the other wrapping around his cock, pulling a groan out of him as she kissed him hungrily.

Her eyes closed and her whole body was leaning into Kuny, but his eyes were open and trained right at Jackson, the intense focus making him feel like he was the one being kissed instead. It made him want to be in her place, the surge of want so sudden and unexpected he took an involuntary step back, one hand reaching towards the desk to steady himself. The naked arousal in his best friend's eyes was unmistakably directed at him and his own answering desire still caught him by surprise when there was nothing needed to disguise it or explain it away. He could be in her place, easily.

Jackie was now kissing and biting at Kuny's neck and Jackson found himself hoping she wouldn't leave any marks, the thought spurring him into movement at last. If anyone got to leave a mark on the Russian, it was going to be him.

Pulled in by Kuny's intent gaze and the need to replace Jackie's lips with his own, he stalked towards the pair. He was ready to voice what he was thinking, to ask, to beg Kuny for the permission to mark him up. It was all he could think of, suddenly and unexpectedly, another surprising discovery about himself that felt right as soon as he admitted it to himself.

He tucked himself into Kuny's side, with Jackie still busy with his neck and just as he was opening his mouth to say the words, he saw her bite down on the tendon and then close her lips around it. The sound died in his throat, rapidly being replaced by embarrassment.

"Jacks--" a strangled gasp from Kuny made them both look up at him and Jackson was ridiculously grateful for the interruption when he glanced at Kuny's neck and didn't see any darkened skin.

"Yeah, babe?" Jackie replied without missing a beat, still draped along Kuny's side. Jackson realized that it must have been her nickname Kuny called out and it made the irony of their names being so similar even clearer. Did Kuny find it funny when he found out what her name was? Did she find it funny when they were introduced in their hallway? He'd have to ask them later. Right now there were more important things, like Kuny pulling him closer and talking fast in Russian to himself, his voice rumbling in his chest and then cutting off abruptly. Kuny cradling his cheek with one hand and pressing the pad of his thumb down on his lower lip. Kuny's frustrated huff and that look he always got when he was trying to translate something from Russian to English in his head and didn't have all the words. Jackson knew that look well, just like he knew many of his other looks and was currently learning a whole new category of them in this unprecedented situation.

"I don't know correct word." Ah, there it was. "For-- bruise? Like kiss but--" He looked imploringly at Jackson and then at Jackie. "Love bruise?"

"You mean a hickey? A mark? Do you want one?" Jackie was already moving back towards his neck and Jackson was frozen, still in Kuny's grip, helpless as he saw Kuny nod gratefully while mouthing the words to himself. Hickey. Mark. And then--

"Niet. Wait. Want mark from him." Kuny's dark eyes were back on him, the intent gaze softening with his voice as he spoke the next sentence that almost sent Jackson to his knees. "Only him. Please."

Jackson felt the words all the way to his bones and something in him purred contentedly at the implications even as he swayed in place. Only him. But also, "love bruise?" he couldn't help but quip back at Kuny. His wry smile made him smile too and his thumb that still rested on Jackson's lower lip pressed down against the new shape of joy.

His expression turned wistful then and Jackson was only marginally more prepared for the next thing that came out of his mouth, in a terrifyingly accurate aim straight for his heart despite Kuny's lack of words. "Love hurts, no?"

"I never want to hurt you." Jackson whispered, blindsided by the raw honesty and hurt in Kuny's voice, at loss for words because what do you say to that?

Kuny just shook his head. "I know you not hurt me. Not you. My home, Russia, this--" a quick kiss to reassure, a gentle squeeze of the hand now resting on the back of his neck, "--this is not safe. Not see. Not say. Can be dangerous. Can hurt."

Jackson just stepped fully into Kuny's space at that, tucking his face into his neck and wrapping his arms around him, pressing everything he was feeling into Kuny's body with his embrace, lips against his collarbone, trusting his body to convey what he meant better than words. We're safe here, he wanted to say and, I'll protect you, but he knew those were only partially true. I didn't know was in there too, or rather, didn't realize. I wish you'd told me tightly entwined with I wish I'd told you and all of those wrapped in I'm glad we're here now. I've got you.

Kuny let out a heavy sigh and melted into the embrace, resting his head on top of Jackson's and muttering Russian into his hair. They stood, naked and interlocked, in the middle of the bedroom, neither of them letting go. It was a dance of subtle steps; a deep breath in to feel his ribcage expand and the arms around him tighten in response, a weight shift and a little shuffle so their edges could fit themselves together even more seamlessly, the heartbeat against his breastbone answering the one he could feel with his lips pressed against the pulsepoint where he was tucked under Kuny's chin. In sync, like on the ice, but also so very much more.

The intimacy of the moment took Jackson's breath away, the pause they found themselves in taking nothing away from the course of the night. He still felt the arousal meandering through his body, but unhurried and languid, like a river that knew it would reach its destination eventually; there was no other outcome but to meet the tide of the ocean and be irrevocably changed by it. No need to rush when the anticipation was running deep and sweet through his veins.

Jackie was reclining on the bed, relaxed and still naked and apparently not bothered by their moments that kept happening, but Jackson still felt like he had to say something, that they kept her waiting. He was grateful for her uncanny ability to read them and her easy willingness to adapt to their changing tides but she was a guest and part of him was very aware of not being a good host right now. Yet again, she was way ahead of him when he reluctantly stirred and made to leave the embrace.

"No, no, stay. Take your time, you two. This feels important, give it the attention it deserves. I'm good here and the view is quite nice." She took a breath and they heard her hold it, the silence in the room absolute for a short while. Then with deliberate care, she continued. "I'm not expecting anything so if you'd like the evening to go any other direction than the apparent, just tell me, 'kay boys?"

He could hear the smile in her voice. Still tucked into Kuny's neck, he felt him nodding and the rumble of his voice under his cheek. "Spasibo, Jacks."

It was Kuny who detangled himself first after a long while, but instead of stepping away he pulled and pushed Jackson in the direction of the bed wordlessly and maneuvred them all under the covers with himself in the middle.

Jackson found himself wondering yet again at the way they just fit. Slotting together without thinking, legs tangling, hands finding places to rest and caress, they cocooned themselves in the hushed silence of the bedroom.

Jackson startled when another hand touched his, resting on Kuny's chest right above his heart, but then he met Jackie's eyes on the other side of the Russian. They exchanged a smile and then Jackie sent him a conspiratory wink, trailing her hand lightly down Kuny's chest and brushing across one nipple, drawing a soft gasp from him.

She continued her slow, barely there touches, raising goosebumps on Kuny's skin. Every now and then she chose a path that crossed Jackson's hand or arm still thrown across Kuny's chest, setting off sparks right under his skin and watching him carefully. He could read her silent invitation to join but he was caught up in watching Kuny's face, mesmerized by the myriad expressions the gentle touches brought forth. He'd never seen his best friend like this, never knew he'd be so open and trusting, so expressive in reaction to the slightest touch.

When he finally moved his hand, it was to mold his palm to the side of Kuny's neck, to cup his cheek and press his thumb against his full lower lip in a mirror to their earlier position. What he didn't expect was Kuny pulling it into his mouth and sucking. His eyes were open, boring into Jackson, dark and intent and pinning him in place.

A hint of teeth grazed the pad of his thumb and it was as if a switch flipped; the air heated up and Jackson became suddenly aware that they were naked in bed and he could touch, he could taste as much as he wanted to. And oh he wanted to. He pushed up onto one elbow, hovering above Kuny's face and then he was falling into a kiss, his tongue pushing into Kuny's mouth alongside his thumb. The sensation burned all the way down his spine in a rush that left his head spinning, the heat turning up. There were hands in his hair, on his back, nails gently scratching down his side, a palm kneading his ass and a hot breath in his ear, whispering encouragements. Jackson felt like he was on the edge of a volcano, the heat alive and reaching for him, all that was left to do was jump.

The final push came on the end of a groan as they came up for air, Kuny speaking it right into his mouth, the deep rasp he could feel like a caress against his lips: "More."

Jackson wanted more, oh he wanted everything, but for a start he wanted more of that delicious skin-on-skin contact that was already turning him liquid. He'd melt in Kuny's hands and flow between his fingers, into every crevice of his body if he could, just to get closer.

That's what made it past his lips, "closer" and "please--" among their gasps as he was pulling on Kuny's arm ineffectively, not quite knowing how to get him where he wanted him. "Kuns--''

The Russian pulled him in, wrapping him in his arms and then the world tilted for a second; the next thing he felt was the bed under his back and the grounding weight of a whole hockey player on top of him, as if he knew exactly where and how to anchor him. In sync, like on the ice. Jackson was stupidly grateful for it, unable to form sentences while he was wrapped up in need and want, layers of it, making it harder to breathe, let alone speak.

Kuny kissed him then, pressing him into the mattress and controlling the kiss, slow and sure, humming into it and making his lips buzz and stretch into a smile. Jackson lifted a hand to Kuny's cheek again and this time Kuny chased after his thumb and pulled it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while still holding his gaze, one eyebrow rising in silent question.

Jackson felt his cock pulse at the implication, hard and leaking, the molten lava now simmering low in his belly. He wasn't stupid, he understood, knew what his best friend was implying, but still he'd have to ask for it. Jackie said they had to talk.

Jackie. He knew what to say to her at least, felt her along his side, one leg thrown over his and the slow rolls of her hips against his thigh. Even though tearing his eyes away from Kuny took an effort, he turned his head slightly to catch her eyes, dark with hunger as she watched them. "Loving this?"

It startled a low laugh from her and she hid it in his shoulder. "You know it."

"I know what you'd love even more."

"Oh yeah? I hope it has to do with that mouth of his. Looks like he knows how to use it, and not only on your fingers."

Jackson's gaze was back on Kuny, who in the meantime abandoned his thumb and intertwined their fingers, kissing and sucking down his palm to the inside of his wrist. He pressed his lips to the pulsepoint there and then looked up at Jackson with a calculating look, giving him barely a second before he licked a wet stripe all the way to his fingertips and closed his mouth around three of his fingers, sucking enthusiastically.

"Oh fuck," both he and Jackie groaned at the sight, and then she continued, her voice husky, "fuck, if you don't ask him for it, I will."

At Jackie's words Kuny grinned at him, catching his fingers between his teeth to keep them in place and it shouldn't have been so hot for how ridiculous he looked, but Jackson felt the tug of arousal in his belly all the same.

He sucked in a breath, desperate to try and put into words what his body was straining for, but Kuny made speaking impossible when he closed his lips around his middle finger next and slid them all the way down to the last knuckle. "Mnngh" was all he managed under Kuny's knowing look.

"Oh you're wicked and I like it." Jackie's amused voice was right in his ear, the hot breath making his skin erupt in goosebumps. "Do you like it, Jackson?"

Once again she was guiding him along with ease and he nodded gratefully. Yes and no questions were easy enough to comprehend. "Do you want him to stop?"

"No" the almost-cry carried on a breath, no don't stop just please his lips were moving but out came only a wrecked moan as Kuny pressed his hips down in a grind, knowing exactly where Jackson wanted him next and making it exceptionally difficult to form coherent thoughts to get him there.

“What do you want him to do to you, Jackson?” Jackie purred in his ear while Kuny was taking him apart with his mouth still working at his fingers, the slow, filthy grind of his hips promising more. “Remember, use your words.”

A frustrated whine was all that Jackson was capable of, as wild with desire as he was, lost in the heat of Kuny’s body on top of him.

“Evgeni, babe, I know you’re enjoying this but you’ll have to slow down if we want to hear him.” Jackie soothed, running her hand through Kuny’s hair and tugging lightly.

Kuny followed her lead and halted, lowering his hand and pressing it into the mattress next to Jackson’s head, tangling their fingers together. Jackson squeezed his hand, holding on for dear life, grounding himself in the new sensation that immediately felt so right. A distant part of his brain wondered if Kuny would want to hold hands sometimes, after this, just for the comfort of it. He’d just have to ask, like for anything else he wanted. Like right now. He strained upwards and Kuny met him in a gentle kiss, a stark contrast to the lust boiling under his skin.

Nudging their noses together playfully, Kuny broke the kiss but stayed close. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered against Jackson’s lips. “I’ll do it. I want be good for you.”

Jackson squeezed his eyes at the wave of want that swept him up like a flood in reaction. “Kuns, god, you’re so good, your mouth--” he broke off with a groan, caught off-guard by Kuny’s thigh hitching higher between his legs, the muscle flexing against his crotch. The delicious pressure was almost unbearable and yet not enough. His eyes snapped open, almost going cross-eyes with Kuny still so close, but his look was determined now and he knew Kuny could read it in his face.

Jackson made sure to pronounce his next words clearly. “I want your mouth. On my cock. Now.”

He wished he could replay forever the way Kuny’s eyes widened and then went dark at the request, his breath punching out of him in a surprised gasp.

The surprise didn’t last long though, the wicked gleam in Kuny’s gaze was back in the next moment, eyebrows rising. “Now mean half-hour now? Or now now?” he asked even as he was pulling away and sitting back on his heels, straddling one of Jackson’s thighs.

“Oh my god, really?” Jackson threw a hand over his eyes in mock annoyance, fighting a laugh that was bubbling up in his chest. Of course Kuny wouldn’t just give up a chance to chirp him. It was a semi-regular scene between them, I want pizza now. I hungry now. So we go now, and Yes we’re going, let me just finish this round, I’m almost done. Other times it was We gotta leave now, Kuns, or we’ll be late and Da, da, I’m get dressed now, is not late. Inevitably one of them would end up standing in the other’s doorway, looking pointedly at the watch. Now means now, not in a half-hour. I’m going now, with or without you.

He felt Kuny shift and then his weight left him completely. He heard Jackie next to him hum approvingly, her hand stroking down his chest and settling on his hip. Then another hand, larger and warmer, wrapped around his knee and made a slow way up his thigh, pressing into the muscle and kneading appreciatively. Jackson was equally turned on and exasperated, his cock answering every squeeze and press of Kuny’s hand with a desperate twitch.

When Kuny finally made it to his other hip, his palm warm over his hipbone in a mirror to Jackie’s, Jackson was ready to beg, again. His hips tried to jerk up on instinct, earning warning squeezes from both of them and a disapproving tsk tsk from Jackie, who was now leaning on her elbow next to him, her chin in her hand, watching them attentively.

Kuny was focused on him completely, holding his gaze as he lowered his head so his lips were just above the head of his leaking cock. The smirk was back, half confidence, half disbelief and all desire, directed just at him. Jackson wanted to see it again, a hundred times more, a thousand. He suddenly found himself violently wishing please let this be a first, the thought stealing his breath.

Kuny was still hovering and his exhales felt almost like caresses on Jackson's oversensitive skin, barely there and yet driving him crazy. Then he spoke and his voice didn't carry even a hint of uncertainty as he licked his lips and stated, "I'm go now, with or without you.”

Jackson could have tried to gather his wits and answer him back, he had enough ammunition to win this, thank you, but Kuny was wrapping his lips around the head of Jackson's cock and suddenly nothing else mattered. The wet heat made him curl his toes and arch his back as a lightning of pleasure zinged up his spine and burst behind his eyelids.

Kuny was right where he had wanted him and it was at once too much and not enough. The hands on his hips tightened as his own grasped at the sheets and held on. He felt light-headed, all blood rushing to his core and every nerve alight. By the noises Kuny was making, he was enjoying himself, every content hum vibrating up his shaft and pulling an answering groan from his throat.

Jackson wanted to see, he wanted to touch, he wanted to fuck up into Kuny's mouth and have him take it. He wanted to taste himself on Kuny's tongue and he wanted to taste him in turn. A stray thought fluttered through his mind, we have time for all that. God, I hope we do.

Jackson grabbed for Kuny's hand that was still pressing down on his hip and tangled their fingers together. He wanted to push his fingers into Kuny's hair and feel him moving, wanted to direct him, push him down and hold him in place, but he didn't dare.

He squeezed his hand instead, once, twice, trying to anchor himself in the wave after wave of sensation that washed over him. Then Kuny was moving their hands, giving him exactly what he wished for, pulling off for a moment just to wink at him and say, "you can pull. I like it," as he placed Jackson's hand on top of his head, nuzzling into it a little.

A sharp breath punched out of Jackson as he pushed his hand into Kuny's hair and grabbed the strands lightly, then more firmly, testing. Kuny's eyes fluttered closed as he hummed approvingly, his other hand just stroking Jackson unhurriedly. Jackson could watch him forever. He also wanted his mouth back on his cock. He got better hold on his hair and when he pulled, Kuny followed willingly, licking his lips and widening his eyes in mock innocence before he dove in and licked a hot stripe up Jackson's cock, drawing a moan out of him.

"Kuns, Jesus--"

"Niet. No Jesus. Just me." Kuny seemed to consider something and then his face softened as he pressed a quick kiss on top of Jackson's thigh, speaking into his skin next. "Say Zhenya. I want you say my name."

Jackson felt his lips turn up into a smile, feeling just ridiculously fond of his best friend in that moment. He was feeling all lightheaded and floaty, except for the spots of heat where Kuny's hands were pressing into his skin, grounding him.

He kept the name close, holding it like a gift, a treasure found; and wasn't this all just that? An unexpected and precious thing he still didn't believe he could have even as he was literally cradling it in his palms. He took a breath and noticed with satisfaction the expectant look on Kuny's face. He was going to say it, oh yes, probably say it a lot, but not yet. "I'll trade you. My name for yours."

Kuny - Zhenya - narrowed his eyes at that, biting his lip in consideration while trying to keep his own smile from showing. "Nado. Now say my name."

"You know what I mean."

They stayed locked in the back-and-forth of teasing and bickering, neither of them ready to give in, so familiar Jackson wanted to wrap himself in it, wrap himself in Kuny. Zhenya. He wanted to say that name, wanted to whisper it against his skin, to beg it into the sheets and probably scream it towards the ceiling before the night was over, but-- he also wanted to hear his own name, to find out if hearing it fall from those lips gave him the same rush as his hand in Kuny's hair did, him following where Jackson directed, easy and eager. In sync, like on the ice.

He felt Kuny's resolve falter before he made any sound, knew he had won from the way Kuny leaned into his hand for a moment, lowering his chin and looking at him from beneath his lashes. "Jack-son" he said carefully, folding the syllables around his accent and the timbre of his voice washed over the last of Jackson's reserves and melted them into nothingness. Kuny could ask him anything in that voice and he'd give it without question. "Jackson.”

"Yeah?" it came out breathy and more unsteady than he'd want to admit, but Kuny didn't laugh at him, didn't tease him anymore.

"Say my name, Jackson. Please."

"I love how you talk," Jackson gasped out, trembling with how turned on he was. Then finally "Zhenya" and "touch me, please--"

Zhenya didn't hesitate, diving back in and taking him into his mouth, one hand wrapped around the base, making him arch his back and dig his heels into the mattress. His leg muscles flexed with the movement and drew twin moans from both Jackie and Zhenya, each of them practically straddling one of his legs.

Jackie was tucked all along his side and startled from her hushed stillness when she didn't want to interrupt the exchange, now pressing biting kisses into his shoulder and rolling her hips against him leisurely.

Zhenya with one knee tucked up between Jackson's legs, holding himself up, the other leg stretched out and probably hanging off the bed, the giant. Jackson was vaguely aware of all that, helpless to do anything but hold on as he was coaxed higher still by Zhenya's hands and tongue on him, hand still tangled in his hair. Now that he had said it, he couldn't seem to stop, "Zhenya" and "please" pouring from his lips with each gasping breath.

Time melted away as everything narrowed to the burning points of contact among the three of them; hands roaming Jackson's body, too many hands but it was too good, the overstimulation making him whine every time Zhenya tightened his hand on him, every roll of Jackie's hips against his thigh.

The litany of "Zhenya" and "please" falling from his lips was only interrupted by Zhenya making his way up his body again, kissing and biting and drawing more sounds and reactions from him. A gasp as he bit the inside of his thigh, soothing the mark with his tongue afterwards. A groan as he licked up the crease of his hip, one large hand still on him, slow and tight and bringing him closer and closer to the brink. Even a giggle as he kissed up the side of his ribcage and laughed at Jackson's squirming. "You know I'm ticklish, you asshole! Stop it!"

Zhenya stopped moving his hand at the exclamation but continued on his path, biting down on his shoulder playfully.

"No, don't stop that! You know what I meant!" Jackson was too turned on to summon the proper tone of voice and swatted at Zhenya in frustration, getting only an amused laugh in return.

"I'm know. It's funny."

"'S not funny! Just--" Jackson was half exasperated, half amused at his best friend's timing, because of course he'd tease him now that he was a literal mess in his hands, but he was also half out of his mind with arousal, casting for the right words to make him continue, just-- "Jackie!" he gasped out, she'd know what to do, she knew every time--

His next word turned into a groan as Zhenya's hand on him tightened right in that moment, but he was still not moving and it was maddening and hot and driving him crazy.

Jackson turned his head towards Jackie, their noses almost touching where she was draped half over him. His hand was on her thigh, grabbing for purchase although he didn't remember putting it there. She was straddling his thigh, grinding down in a steady rhythm and he hitched her leg higher up on instinct, drawing an approving moan from her. "Jackie, just, please-- tell him!"

She looked between the two of them, thinking and then nodding, one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. She reached out her hand to trace it across his temple and down his cheek, then a featherlight touch across his lips that tickled and a boop on the nose that made him go cross-eyed. "Ah, sweetie, you tell him. You already know what to say. Just think." She kissed him on the nose and grinned, nodding towards Zhenya, who was watching him intently, looking very pleased with himself. And oh, yes, Jackson knew what to say, actually.

He desperately searched for the few Russian expressions he knew and hoped he didn't butcher the word he wanted to say. Zhenya loved it when Jackson spoke Russian, trying to imitate the sounds and finally getting it almost-right on the tenth try. He loved teaching him words for things, objects around the house, expressions and, of course, curse words, making him repeat the syllables that made no sense to Jackson's ears, but made Zhenya grin so big he'd repeat anything just to bring that smile out again.

He took a breath, hearing Zhenya's voice in his mind teaching him the word he wanted and then, looking him in the eyes and pronouncing carefully, he said it. "Please. Zhenya. Pozhalusta."

At Jackson's words, Zhenya went completely still, his eyes widening in surprise and then going even darker; Jackson felt his gaze like a physical thing, holding him in place and cradling him safely even as he was being taken apart.

Finally, slowly, Zhenya started moving his hand again and it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Jackson's next moan was swallowed by a kiss, until he could only gasp "more" and "please" into Zhenya's mouth, Jackie's panting breaths speeding up along his own, both of them following Zhenya's rhythm.

Then Zhenya was nudging his cheek, turning his head towards Jackie, murmuring "Look her." She caught Jackson’s gaze and held it, eyes liquid and dark with pleasure, gorgeous and panting with how on edge she was.

"Someone kiss me, I'm so close," she demanded and Jackson felt Zhenya's mouth latch onto the tendon between his neck and shoulder at the same time as he dove for Jackie's lips. Her whole body was trembling, following the rolling movements of her hips against his thigh and taking what she needed to finally tip over the edge. Jackson felt her shudder as she rode the waves of her orgasm, clutching onto him and gasping into their kiss. He felt Zhenya tighten his hand and speed up his rhythm again, felt Zhenya's teeth and tongue working a mark into his neck. But it was when Zhenya lifted his head, admiring his work and then breathing "Jackson" right into his ear that got him to gasp out, "I'm gonna-- Zhenya, I'm--"

Zhenya nudged his cheek again, but now it was to claim his mouth for himself, murmuring Russian between sloppy kisses as he finally brought him over the edge. Jackson just gave himself over to the sensation, letting Zhenya kiss him through it, stealing his breath and his heart and somehow still making him feel all the more alive for it.

Jackson came back to himself, cradled from both sides by warm bodies and soft voices. Blinking against the dim light of the room, he made an inquiring sound and was answered by a chuckle from Jackie “You back with us?”

"I never left."

"Oh, you dozed off there for a moment." Jackie jostled him playfully and then got up, throwing them a look over her shoulder. "I'm grabbing the first shower. Don't forget to drink some water, boys!"

Jackson felt Zhenya on his other side smiling into his shoulder and he suddenly needed to see him, needed to kiss him again just to make sure it all happened and he wouldn't wake up alone in his bed with echoes of a dream slipping through his curtains with the morning light. But Zhenya was right there, solid and warm and smug.

"What are you grinning about?" Jackson teased him, feeling giddy on the feeling he didn't want to name yet, even as it filled his whole chest and made him reach for Zhenya's hand, tangling their fingers together. "Oh wait, Zhenya, did you--?"

The Russian just nodded, trying to go back to kissing, but Jackson stopped him with a finger on his lips, just watching his best friend for a moment, amazed and happy and "--are you blushing right now? Wow, this truly is a night of firsts."

Zhenya shot back something in Russian that Jackson was pretty sure meant a not-so polite-version of shut up with how often he'd hear him yell it at the tv, but now it felt like an endearment, with Zhenya unable to hold back a smile and getting shy all of a sudden, his eyes flicking between their entwined fingers and the mess they made between them, the purpling mark on Jackson's neck and the door that was left slightly ajar, letting in the sound of running shower.

"You owe me still-- love bruise? Kak skazatj--"

Of all the words, Jackson would not use 'soft' to describe Zhenya; but now, on this night of firsts he had no better word for the look that was now directed at him. He returned it without hesitation. He was here for it, for all of it. "A hickey. I do. Where do you want it, babe?"

Zhenya didn't answer immediately. Instead he reached out and traced the mark he left on Jackson's neck, as if he needed to reassure himself that it really happened, that there was proof that wouldn't be so easily washed away, impossible to ignore. Jackson could feel the lingering sting, the skin bruised and sensitive, making him shiver and want to find a mirror and see for himself. He could see the shadow of worry in Zhenya's eyes, that look of this is important, he could see him thinking and picking words, probably translating what he wanted to say. He caught Zhenya's hand in his own and pressed a kiss to his palm, then placing it over his heart, threading his fingers through Zhenya's, just holding on and letting him know without words that he was there. Not leaving. Not regretting anything. Not afraid.

"The shower is free, boys." Jackie's voice calling from the hall broke the silence and Jackson realized he couldn't hear the sound of water anymore. She came back into the room and dropped two water bottles on Jackson's chest. He'd deny the sound that came out of him at the unexpected cold shock against his naked skin, but it made Zhenya burst into a surprised laugh and bury his face into the pillows and it was so cute that it made the embarrassment worth it.

"Drink up boys." Jackie prompted, throwing them curious looks as she searched for her clothes around the room. They slowly disentangled themselves from the blankets and each other and emptied the bottles dutifully. Jackson took Zhenya's bottle from him and then took his hand, earning a surprised look. "Shower with me?" A relieved nod was his answer, Zhenya already pulling him to his feet and towards the bathroom. Jackson stopped them in the doorway, turning back to Jackie who was pulling on her clothes.

She was already looking at them with a knowing smile. "Go ahead. Take your time. I'll raid your kitchen in the meantime. Or order pizza. I'm starving."

"Sounds good. Thanks, Jackie."

He let Zhenya pull him the rest of the way to the bathroom, thinking he'd have to thank Jackie properly, profusely, and also ask her how she knew just what to say every time because it was bordering on scary.

But now there was another, more important talk, to be had. There was his best friend, turning on the shower, not meeting his eyes and fidgeting nervously. Zhenya never fidgeted. "Hey. Talk to me." Jackson ducked his head to catch Zhenya's eyes.

Instead, Zhenya avoided his gaze and he was being pulled into the shower under the spray of hot water, getting increasingly worried. Did Zhenya regret what they did? Was he gearing up for a let’s never talk about this again speech? Well, Jackson wouldn’t let him. He took a breath and opened his mouth, preparing to launch into a five-point argument about how this wasn't a mistake followed by an even longer list of reasons why they should definitely do it again, maybe just the two of them...

He didn't even get to start, interrupted by Zhenya's frustrated growl. "Ja nie znayu-- how say this right. So not make fun."

Jackson saw the serious expression on Zhenya's face, his this is important look. "Okay? I'll listen. But-- can I kiss you first? Just. I'm a bit worried now."

Jackson was still trying to catch Zhenya's eyes, standing close and blinking the water away, so he wasn't far for Zhenya to look up at him in surprise and then break out into a wide smile, pressing their lips together and saying "Da, da, vsegda, ty vsegda mozesh." breathless little giggles escaping him in between kisses. Jackson didn't understand the words, but he understood the tone of relief, felt it himself when he was once again in his best friend's arms, his world right again after being tilted dangerously off its axis for a moment. They were okay.

"What-- what were you saying?" Jackson asked, minutes later, eternity later, after they had caught their breath, actually showered and stole even more kisses inbetween handing each other shampoo bottles and later towels, still helpless against the gravity pulling them together. They still had to talk, but Jackson was now sure they were on the same page and for right now that was enough.

However, he was curious about one thing. "Zhenya, what did you say, before? In the shower. It was all Russian..."

"Oh-- I say you can kiss me always. Did I say in Russian?"

"Yeah, didn't you realize?"

"Niet. Only happy you want kiss me. Jackson--" Zhenya broke off, taking Jackson's hands in his and it would have been funny, the two of them just in towels, hair dripping, the mirror behind them misty from the condensation, showing only their silhouettes and the buy toothpaste that Jackson wrote on it with his finger that morning when he used the last of it, next to a word in Cyrillic that Zhenya wouldn't tell him the meaning of. Yet it felt like the most important moment, with how Zhenya's eyes bore into him, warm and earnest, and soft, there it was again, stealing Jackson's breath away.

"You are my best friend." Zhenya announced carefully, willing him to hear it. "I care-- you? I don't know how say..."

"I care about you." Jackson jumped in, helping Zhenya with the words, echoing the same back at him. "I care about you too, Zhenya. You're my best friend too."

"Da. Yes. But-- I like when we kiss. I like this." He squeezed Jackson's hands in his and pulled him closer, wrapping Jackson's arms around his waist and his own around Jackson's shoulders. Next words were spoken against his temple, hushed and treasured. "I want best friends and I want this. Ya khochu tebja. Can we-- have this? Do you--?"

Jackson was nodding before Zhenya finished his sentence, already reaching for him and pouring everything he felt into a kiss, every exhilarating and excited and scary feeling that was filling his chest, because he didn't have enough words for how much he wanted this, too. Then he heard Jackie's voice in his mind, use your words Jackson, say what you want and only good things had happened when he listened to Jackie... "Yes, we can. We can have this. Zhenya, I want you too. I want all of that-- wait, are we, like, dating now?"

Zhenya was smiling so hard his eyes were just slits, mirroring his own happy grin that wouldn't leave his face. He still managed to roll his eyes, of course. "Nado. We live together."

"I know, but do we-- go on dates, now? Like, what are the rules to this?"

"We are best friends who kiss. And make love. And-- cuddle?"

Jackson was more than a bit distracted by the lovely blush that rose in Zhenya's cheeks and the accompanying words but he managed to keep it together and reply because he could use a good cuddle just about now. He was getting a bit chilly with how long they were standing in the bathroom just in their towels and if it went his way, there would be no need for pyjamas tonight. He wanted to wrap himself up in Zhenya and stay there. He could, now.

"Yeah we can definitely cuddle. We can even sleep together!"

Zhenya's eyebrow rose at that and Jackson swatted at him, indignant. "I meant sleep sleep! In the same bed! On purpose! Not you falling asleep on me by accident when we watch Clone Wars after midnight."

"How you know it is accident?" Zhenya winked at him and then stole his towel and ran out of the door towards his room, leaving Jackson gaping and-- happy. He was happy. And-- falling in love with my best friend, he experimentally tried that thought on, just to see what would happen, how he would feel. Nothing broke, nothing shattered. The world kept on turning, the wisps of steam kept escaping into the hall, the light turned on in his room, beckoning him forward. The feeling settled more firmly in his chest, already filling the space behind his ribs, expanding with his lungs and cradling his heart, warm and soft and safe. They would figure it out together, like they did everything else so far. Playing together, communicating together, living together. Being together.

In sync, like on the ice.

- - -

Bonus:

Jackie followed her grumbling stomach and the trail of discarded clothing back to the kitchen. She always got hungry after sex and this was no exception, although everything else about this night was exceptional. She couldn't have foreseen the story that would unravel right before her eyes, between the two men that invited her into their apartment and their bed, only to find each other in the end. She wasn’t complaining, oh no, on the contrary, that was quite something and she won’t forget it, ever… but now, she needed food.

The fridge didn’t offer any satisfactory snack options so Jackie found herself sitting on the kitchen island, scrolling through the takeout app on her phone and ordering pizza instead. She saw the empty pizza boxes from Sid’s beside the trash can so she knew she couldn’t go wrong with that choice. Everyone loved Sid’s, of course they did too.

Everyone also loved the Lions. She was only now slowly connecting the dots. The framed jerseys in the hall. The hockey sticks in the corner of the living room, the pucks on the shelf. Evgeni saying teammate when he introduced Jackson. Both of them being built like Greek gods, strong and beautiful and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Gryffindor loved their Lions. Of course she knew of the team even if she didn’t follow the game - if you lived in Gryffindor, it had become impossible to not know about them after they brought home the cup.

However, she was glad that she didn’t know who exactly Evgeni was when they met at the bar, apart from a fun drinking partner, dorky dancer and very, very good kisser. They had locked eyes across the room, she bought him a drink, he got the burgers and fries, they talked for quite a long time even with him searching for words and having to resort to inventive descriptions with a side of charades to get his meaning across, they danced, they made out… He made her laugh and didn’t push for her number or her attention, he turned her on and he intrigued her, but at the end of the night, he was just a stranger to her.

A gentle, giant, hot stranger that took her home for what she expected to be a one night stand and turned into so much more; at least for the two men. She saw the looks, heard what had been said and felt the connection between them come to life in an entirely new way, witnessing a sacred first and even helping to guide them through it when they turned to her. She had threesomes before, but nothing like this. She already knew she would treasure the memory, feeling rather protective of it; of them.

Her phone buzzed, the arrival of the pizza delivery reminding her of her grumbling stomach again. She hopped down from her perch on the kitchen island, let the delivery person into the building and paid for the three pizzas, bringing them back to the kitchen. The boys would be hungry too, when they finally came out of the shower, but they were taking their time. She suspected they needed the privacy to make sense of what happened. She could give them that.

Grabbing a sharpie from her bag, she scrawled a note and her number on top of one of the pizza boxes that she left on the counter, only grabbing three slices out of it and stacking them like a delicious, greasy, pizza sandwich. With a last fond look around she headed for the door, her eyes lingering on the jerseys hanging in matching gold frames on the wall. Nadeau. Kuznetsov. She didn’t know the names or the jersey numbers, had only a vague idea about hockey, but she was rooting for them now - for Zhenya and Jackson - and going by what she’d seen tonight, she was pretty sure they would make it.

fin

#Nuny #lumosinlove #lumosinlove fanfic #sweater weather lumosinlove #inspired by sweater weather #Nado #Kuny #Jackie #inspired by lumosinlove

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peanut-in-the-goal · 3 years

Note

Ouch OUCH that hurt Ya know what would put my heart back together...a part 2 where Coops work it out and end up even more in love than ever before If you have time🥰

@kielemarie @candy--floss--kid here’s part 2, part one can be found here

The wonderful world of Sweater Weather is by @lumosinlove

This isn’t what you asked for sorry but in my defense you did ask an angst writer for fluff

-----------

Remus is tired of all the stolen looks, the awkward glances they share with each other. He hates the tension that’s separating them, pushing each other away when all he’s looking for is some kind of string that will pull Sirius back to him.

He loves him, of course, he loves him. The further apart they grew it felt like his feelings were getting stronger as if that was even possible. He wanted nothing more than to run back to him, to be wrapped in Sirius’ arms again and feel safe.

But he can’t. He’s not allowed to do that anymore, not allowed that comfort Sirius once brought him. It hurts, aches deep in his chest. He thought the pain would have subsided at least a little, faded as time went on. It had been almost a month since the breakup, but apparently, a broken heart doesn’t mend like broken bones do.

Sometimes time can’t fix certain wounds. It can’t fix that empty feeling that you’re left with after something so normal evaporates with nothing to show as if it was ever there. The one thing you were so sure of, and then it’s just… gone. Taken, and he isn’t really sure if it was real, to begin with.

He thinks of the fight, every time he closes his eyes he can see it.

Every shouted word, Sirius’ cold eyes, not the ones full of love he was so used to seeing. The stony expression that he had when he was staring down Riddle on the ice. He hated the look whenever it crossed Sirius’ face, but when it was aimed at him was surreal.

He wonders if he’s ever felt a pain like this, but then again he’s never loved anyone like this before.

It probably won’t be this easy to love again.

---

Sirius lays in bed at night, staring at the ceiling. His head is swimming with thoughts and what ifs.

They shouldn’t have fought, he shouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t, he said he wouldn’t after the first time. What hurt the most was that when he left, the last thing he heard Remus say was, “You promised.”

It was a whisper, quiet, and broken before the sobs came. Like he didn’t want Sirius to hear but he did, and it took everything in him to not turn around and go back to him. To collapse on the ground next to where Remus was left kneeling with his hands over his face. To hold him, and apologize, and beg for forgiveness.

But he had too much pride for that.

So he left. He turned his back on the one person that ever loved him and left. He drove, considered driving away, just disappearing without saying anything. He almost did as he came to a traffic light. He could turn left, get out of town for at least the night, or, he could go straight.

Going straight would lead him back to his house, where the walls had pictures of him and Remus, and James and Logan, the team.

He built a new life here, one away from the snakes, his parents, his family. He got away from all the people who treated him poorly, with their over the top expectations and Toujours Pur.

He built a life here. And he just threw it all away. God, why was he such an idiot?

---

Regulus watches the world around him fall apart.

The Snakes… Fuck the Snakes. They made him pretend to be someone he wasn’t, trying to mold him to be their puppet. He had to say things about his brother, agree with his parents and their stupid beliefs. He was stuck, trapped, there was no way out.

He didn’t see a way out, lost hope a long time ago that someone would help him. He couldn’t do it on his own.

Then, he got picked for All Stars. More time to spend with Snape. Oh joy, how fun.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

Sirius was playing. He was picked, of course, he got picked, best in the league and all. But Regulus couldn’t wait to see his big brother. Whether Sirius hated him or not, he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know. Either way, he’d take what he could get.

His heart clenched painfully when he saw his brother. His shoulders were tense, eyes steely and cold. Sirius reminded him of Orion, someone he tried so hard to get away from.

It felt like someone stabbed him in the heart, twisting the knife at the hilt when that glare was directed at him. His brother thought he was no better, no better than Snape, or Riddle.

He was wrong. He had to be, Regulus, he wasn’t like them… Was he?

That was then, about a year or two ago. It’s been a year since he was free from the Snakes, from his family. He should have gotten out sooner, should have followed Sirius to Gryffindor. When they were younger, before the NHL, they’d talked about staying together. Never be separated by anyone.

He broke that promise, and now he wanted to make things right. Now that he could.

Remus and Sirius were fighting. Regulus could sense it even if he wasn’t there during it. Remus stopped coming over, every smile and laugh that came from his brother seemed less genuine. More forced like he was trying to cover something but didn’t want to shut down completely.

In some ways, this was worse. Seeing his brother overwork himself with hockey, his boyfriend, and his social life. Trying to maintain this fake face, and mask all the time was draining him quickly.

Regulus found a life here, his own found family, well Sirius’s found family, but they used to share everything, this was no different. He was accepted here, and while he still felt somewhat like an intruder, he was so much more comfortable than he ever was with the Snakes.

And if his brother wrecks this with letting the one thing that mattered the most to him slip through his fingers… He’d be damned if he allowed that to happen.

---

Regulus sighed, cornering Sirius in the kitchen. James had gone home once Harry started getting fussy, promising to be back later. Sirius had finally emerged from the rink, in the search of food.

He looked dead on his feet, the bags under his eyes only got darker as the days went on.

“How’s Remus?” Regulus winced at his own insistence, way to be subtle, he thought. Sirius seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes going wide from where he was leaning against the counter, a large portion of his sandwich still shoved into his mouth.

Sirius looked at the former Snake skeptically, chewing slowly to stall for time.

Regulus shifted uneasily on his feet as Sirius finally swallowed.

“He’s fine.”

“Bullshit.” He learned years ago that the only way to get Sirius to talk was to push, and keep pushing until he broke, and the words tumbled out like a damn breaking.

“I said he's fine, kid.” Sirius’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for arguing. Although Regulus had a thing for being where he wasn’t wanted didn’t he?

“Okay, I call bullshit on that.” Regulus kept his voice composed, strong, even though he wanted to shrink away from his brother’s stare.

God, it reminded him so much of their father.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you kid, or what you want to hear, but he’s fine.” Sirius took another bite of his sandwich.

“I don’t know, maybe the fucking truth Sirius?”

“That is the truth.”

“Fine.” Regulus pushed himself off the counter, taking a step closer to him. “How are you then?”

“I’m fine Regulus, spectacular even.” Sirius dropped the face, opting to shut down rather than fighting back with his fake stupid mask.

“Tout est putain de fantastique et super ma putain de vie est parfaite,” Sirius rambled off, sighing and putting his sandwich down again. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.” Regulus drawled.

“I’m fine,” Sirius said again. His voice wavered, like he was trying to convince himself more than Regulus.

“Sirius…” Regulus took another step forward, and Sirius broke. The words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could register.

“We broke up. Me and Remus broke up. We fought, it’s over, I fucked it up, I fucked it up. It’s my fault, my fault. He was the best thing to ever happen and I fucked up, I left again. I promised I wouldn’t and I did, I’m such an idiot. Merde, je suis tellemente stupide.”

“Sirius.” Regulus held his hands up for a moment, trying to get the word vomit to stop for just a moment. They broke up? When, how, why?

Regulus always thought that they were perfect for each other, the way his brother looked at Remus made that clear. He’d never looked so fondly at someone before, like he’d cross oceans for them, or move mountains just to make them happy.

And somehow that connection, that bond, was broken.

“I told him I hated him mon étoile.” Sirius’ words shook him back, out of his thoughts. Sirius was probably looking for more answers than he was.

---

Regulus left when James showed up. The two had been better brothers these past few years than Regulus and Sirius had.

Sirius was grateful to see James, but it didn’t make it any easier. Harry wasn’t here this time, Lily had kept him home to let Sirius and James talk by themselves. Harry was a good buffer sometimes, but they didn’t need one right now. They just need them, two brothers to talk.

He was happy for that, as much as he wanted to see a mini version of his best friend, he didn’t want Harry’s uncle Padfoot to break down in front of him. The kid was too young to have to think about everything wrong in the world. He didn’t want to take Harry’s childhood from him like his was taken.

He was feeling somewhat better, the pain was still there. The emptiness engulfed him and made him feel alone, back to step one. He didn’t want to have to start over again, with a new team, in a new place.

He didn’t want to start over with anything or anyone. He wanted Remus, not someone who would be second best. He’d fight, he’ll fight for him. He can’t lose this easily, he won’t give up.

---

Remus has been crying all morning. He’s been staying at the Potters in their guest bedroom. He knows he should leave, he’s imposing on their family.

But he just can’t find it in him to go back to his apartment. Usually, he’d stay at Sirius’s but lately, he’s found himself here. It’s silent when he walks around. When he curls up on the sofa under the heavy wool blanket he loves so much, it still feels like something is missing.

As much as he tries to pretend everything is normal, it isn’t. It hasn’t been for a while now, and it’s so annoying because he just wants to fix it. But they don’t teach you how to mend a broken heart when they teach you how to heal a broken bone.

He wants to go back to the apartment, but he just… can’t. He didn’t even want to be there in the first place. It held too many memories.

In the kitchen, his first real phone call with Sirius. When he was making dinner, Sirius called him, and they talked. Really talked.

His room. Where they woke up together and fell asleep together. They made memories there, the way he laughed when Sirius was trying to brush his teeth and take his shirt off at the same time.

They also made memories doing… other things there.

Of course, there was also the spot that he called his parents, coming out to them and Sirius held his hand the whole time. Hell, even the porch, the front door, and the entry room meant so much to him. When Sirius came to him after the holiday, he stayed with Remus instead of going back to his house or James’s of Dumo’s.

Because he trusted him, he loved him. And Remus lost him.

They officially called it off yesterday. Remus told him from the beginning that he wasn’t going to wait forever. And he didn’t. If Sirius wasn’t going to come around and instead try to distance himself without telling Remus, what he did wrong, he wasn’t going to wait.

He’s waited enough.

---

Remus steps out of the guest room. He didn’t leave very much, opting to curl up on the bed and wallow rather than leave. He came out for meals, normally skipping breakfast. He’s thanked James and Lily numerous times and apologized for staying for so long. They brushed him off with a “stay as long as you want, we care about you, Remus.”

Lily was sitting on the couch in the main room, TV playing some kids show for Harry who was playing with blocks on the ground in front of her.

“Hey, Re.” Her smile is gentle like Remus is fragile. And if she makes any sudden movements he’ll break. He hates that they see him as breakable, then again he did spend the last few days crying in their guest bedroom, so it was only fair.

“Hi Lils,” he puts up a smile. A fake one, but it’s the best he can muster. “I just wanted to say thanks for, you know, letting me stay.” He gestures vaguely with his hands.

“Of course Re! I’m your best friend.”

Remus’s smile is a little more genuine this time. He loves Lily, not like he loves Sirius but she’s up there.

“Yeah, you are. Um, I just wanted to tell you that I was going to go stay with my parents for a bit.” It came out as a question, his voice going slightly higher at the end.

“Oh.” Remus winced. Lily looked... surprised, but also like she wanted to hug him and not let him leave. “Are you sure? I mean you could stay here, we don’t mind, really.”

Remus shook his head before she even finished talking.

“It’s okay Lils, I already called. I’m flying out tonight at 8:00. I just wanted to say thank you for letting me stay so long. I’ll be back before the season starts again.”

“Of course, do you need any help packing or anything?” She shifted, moving to stand up. Again, Remus shook his head. He gestured to the small duffle bag he was holding, everything he had with him at the Potters stuffed inside.

“I’m good I think. I have stuff there.”

Lily gave him a sad smile, moving forward to hug him.

“Okay,” she mumbled. “Be safe.”

Remus smiled, wrapping her arms around her. “I will be. I think… I think I’m going to go back to my place before I do.” He bit his lip hard against the rising emotion that was bubbling up.

Lily looked at him one more time, her eyes flitting over his face, searching for something. “If you’re sure…”

“I am Lils,” Remus sighed, “I have to go back sometime right?” He tried for a laugh, but it didn’t work.

Lily nodded slowly before sighing again. “I’ll walk you out.”

Remus heard Harry asking “Where unc’e moony going?” as the door swung shut behind him with a soft click.

---

The drive home was silent, empty. His heart ached and couldn’t help the tiny bit of hope that Sirius would be there when he got home. He wanted to go back, see what he did wrong and fix things.

He wanted that security he got when Sirius was there with them. When it was just them, there, together in the moment, without a care in the world. The way how when Sirius smiled like that and the laughter that they shared echoed off the walls

He wanted the memories to mean something. Not be thrown away because of an argument. They were adults, they could hopefully work past this. He was willing to try.

But he also wanted fresh air. He wanted to be away for a while. Hopefully, he could stay home with his family, catch up with his little brother. He wasn’t looking forward to answering questions from the media when he got back.

His breath caught when he thought about it. This was supposed to be break. Their break to spend together. They should be doing things together like the movies, going on trips, hell they should be at Sid’s getting pizza. And Sirius should be making fun of the way he gets pineapple on it but instead, Remus is alone, again.

He’s tired of putting his heart out there just for someone else to take it and stomp all over it.

---

“How is he?” Sirius asks, his eyes are flitting over James’ face to make sure he doesn’t lie.

Sirius knows Remus is at the Potters. He’s known since he got the call from James saying that Remus turned up, crying and a mess.

“He’s… He’s not doing so good, can’t be in much better shape than you are.” James winces.

“I’m fine,” his words are harsh.

“Mhm, and I’m a cactus.” Sirius furrowed his brows, starting to feel annoyed by his chosen brother. “Oh sorry, I thought we were saying things that aren’t true.”

Sirius huffs. “Je vais Bien.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” James leaned forward from where he was sitting, elbows resting on his knees as he fixed Sirius with a hard look.

“Did you want to break up with him?”

“Wow, way to be blunt Potter.” Sirius scoffed, looking away from James. He didn’t want to meet James’ eyes and let him see that he was slowly breaking inside.

“Answer the question.” His tone was the same, harsh.

“What does it matter? It doesn’t make a difference. Ce n'est plus comme s'il m'aimait plus.” Sirius whispered the last part, James wouldn’t understand anyway.

“I don’t speak French asshole.”

“I’m aware.”

“Rude.”

“Fuck off. And answer the question, because it makes a difference.”

Damn, Sirius was actually starting to feel a little better. The banter was normal between them, an odd thing that made him feel safe. He doesn’t understand why, but there’s a lot of things he doesn’t understand. Like why his parents are the way they are, why Grayback just had to tear apart Remus’ shoulder… Remus…

“No.” He whispered. “Non, I didn’t want to break up with him.” The dam broke.

James was there in a second, tugging Sirius’ hands from his face from where he curled in on himself.

“Then why did you?”

“He wasn’t happy. I had to let him go.” His voice broke, he refused to let the tears fall.

“Were you happy?” James’ voice took a new gentle tone.

“I had him. I had no reason to not be happy.”

James made a sad noise, gripping Sirius’ hand tighter.

“Then fight for him, go after him. Show him how much you love him, Sirius.”

“But what if he doesn’t want me anymore?” Sirius sounded so sad, and yet still refused to look James in the eye.

“Look at me Pads.” Sirius took a minute to comply. “He still loves you — don’t roll your eyes at me — he does. But you can’t expect him to do all the work.”

“I’m not! I want to fight, I want to put in the work. I just want Remus back.”

“Look.” James sighs and runs a hand through his already untamable hair. “He’s at my house, if you really want to fix it come home with me, go talk to him. Okay?”

Sirius is nodding before he finishes talking, “Oui, yes, I want to see him, please.”

James nods. “Okay.”

---

They were too late.

He remembers Lily opening the door with a sad smile on her face.

They were too late. Remus already left. His plane would leave in half an hour. He won’t make it in time. He missed his chance.

That doesn’t mean he won’t try.

He was out the door before he could think twice about it. James’ keys in his hand as the engine roared. Everything was a blur, the lights on the cars merging together as he sped by.

He hovered over the speed limit the entire time, swerving in and out of cars a bit recklessly. It didn’t matter to him, not if it meant he got to Remus on time.

He parked somewhere by the airport, he doesn’t remember where, it’s not important.

He practically runs into the airport, buying the first ticket he sees and throwing money at the cashier. He doesn’t wait for the change.

He curses at the long line in security, praying to whatever higher gods out there that he’ll make it in time.

He checks his watch. 19 minutes. He wasn’t going to make it.

Shit shit shit

12 minutes. He’s hardly moved.

8 minutes, he’s made progress.

3 minutes. He’s not going to make it.

0 minutes. He missed it.

Sirius stares at his watch, no. He missed his flight, Remus was gone. It was over.

He considers turning around, leaving, and giving up. He’ll go home and train. Shot after shot, trick after trick. He’ll play until he can’t anymore, shoot until the stick is falling out of his numb hands. He’ll—

“Sirius?”

And suddenly time stops. He looks up at the familiar voice, trying to find his face in this crowd full of people.

“Re?” And Remus nearly sobs. He hasn’t heard that voice directed at him in so long. He finds those stormy grey eyes from across the huge lobby and suddenly nothing matters but him.

He allows himself to hope, hope that Sirius still wants him.

Sirius spots him, a wide grin stretching over his face, and before he knows it Sirius is trying to get out of line, and he’s running towards Remus, running towards him and doing his best not to run into people but honestly who cares?

Why would he care when Remus is right here and he’s back. He hasn’t left yet. Why hasn’t he left yet?

Sirius finally made it out of the stupid queue line and ran. He ran as fast as he could, almost slamming into Remus when he went to give him a hug.

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“Mon Loup, I love you.”

They both laughed, their faces close enough to feel each other’s breath. Remus’ little puffs of breaths as he laughed nearly melted Sirius’ heart.

“I love you too,” Remus whispered, his chin tilted up to look at Sirius.

And Sirius could have sobbed in relief, attacking Remus’ face in small bursts of kisses while cupping his face in his hands. It didn’t matter who was around, not when he had Remus.

Things were far from perfect, but they could work through it.

“I thought I missed your flight,” Sirius whispered. Remus smiled a little timidly, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“It got delayed.” Sirius smiled so wide his cheeks hurt.

“It looks like the universe is on my side today then.” Remus laughed, shaking his head.

“You and your crazy superstitions I swear.”

Sirius only pulled him closer.

---

Things were a lot better. It had been a few weeks since they met at the airport. Sirius couldn’t express how happy he was that his flight happened to get delayed that day.

He couldn’t express how happy he was that Remus let him back in. That he didn’t give up on Sirius when Sirius was giving on on himself.

They had talked since then, both apologizing profusely the entire time. They stuck close by each other, not wanting to be pushed apart again.

They have to send James and Lily a thank you card now don’t they?

---

Remus is falling harder than he did before. He values all the little cute things Sirius does so much more now that he’s lost them once. The way he fidgets with his fingers when nervous, or cuddles up closer to Remus when he thinks he’s asleep.

He loves the small flecks of brown and blue in Sirius’ eyes. He loves the way Sirius hugs him after a win, holding on as tight as he can whispering, I love you, we did it, in his ear.

He’s definitely falling hard, and he’s okay with that. He doesn’t think he could love Sirius more than he does right now.

But then again, when he wakes up every day he’s proven wrong isn’t he?

#GG writes #wolfstar angst #coops #sweater weather #lumosinlove #break up #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #james potter #lily evans #harry potter

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rainbowshawn · 4 years

Text

Prove It

A/N: I’m fiiiinally back! Sorry it took so long for me to finally post again. My life has kind of hit a low point and I lost pretty much all motivation to write. The past month has been an absolute shit show for me but y’all have been so so so supportive so thank you! Hopefully this isn’t too bad, my writing skills are real rough lol.

Warnings: smut, spanking, dom!shawn, language

Summary: Shawn’s stubble. That’s it.

Word Count: 4.2k

The sound of the door clicking shut was the first thing to break your attention away from your book all night. Your eyes quickly dart up, watching your boyfriend stumble into your shared space for the first time in a few weeks. Shawn had been in New York, attending some not-so-fun business meetings regarding his new album and you could just sense the stress rolling off of him in waves.

You watch as he tosses his keys on the counter and kicks his shoes off haphazardly, leaving them in the middle of the floor to your dismay. He looks exhausted, that much is evident by his messy hair and sunken in eyes but it’s only when he sits next to you, pulling you into his lap that you notice the stubble decorating his defined chin.

“Hey there, handsome,” you sing, cupping his face in your hand as your other arm drapes around his shoulders.

He leans into your soft palm, moving his face briefly to press a kiss to it before quietly responding, “Hi, beautiful. Missed you.”

Your lips meet his, lingering only for a moment before breaking apart again. His eyes are half-lidded, riddled with sleep. You brush your fingers through his hair, ghosting gently against his ears knowing how soothing he finds the action. The two of you catch up for a few minutes, talking about the past few days since he didn’t have too much time to call you. You smile at him softly while he talks, biting your lip as you thumb across the prickly hair on his chin.

“Gone for a week and now you’re all grown up on me, hm?” you tease, watching him blush bashfully as he giggles.

“What do you mean?” he asks, oblivious as ever, looking at you with a confused expression.

“This stubble!” you sing, giggling at his unawareness.

“Ahh,” he hums, suddenly aware of the prickly hair he’d been ignoring all week, “Didn’t feel like shaving, been too tired. I kinda hate it,”

He fiddles with a stray thread on your sweater, avoiding your gaze as you keep petting his curls. You kiss his warm forehead and breathe in his intoxicating scent for the first time in days.

“Mmm, I don’t usually like facial hair but it looks so sexy on you,” you hum, threading your fingers into his locks and tugging teasingly.

His breath hitches at the sensation and he feels his member immediately plump up a bit in his tight jeans. His lip sneaks between his teeth, turning the pink skin white with pressure. You watch it slowly snap back into place and decide they’re ultimately too inviting to resist. Your lips move in sync, sliding and nipping.

His body aches for you after days apart. His soul yearned for you in your absence and he felt unimaginable relief and desire flush his veins as you sat atop of him. His strong palms grab your hips, helping you sling your leg across so you could straddle him. The back of the couch supports him as he leans his weight back, tugging you with him. The kiss is dizzying and you giggle as you feel his stubble begin to scrape down your neck as he dresses you with kisses.

He hums against your skin inquisitively, not bothering to stop his affection.

“Mmm, you’re scratchy,” you hum, craning your neck back as he gives you occasional little nips.

His head pops up instantly, lips resting under your chin as he stammers out, “Want me to go shave? I’m sorry, baby, I’ll get rid of it and then we can keep kissing. Wanna love on you,”

You only giggle more as you take in his concerned expression as he’s trying to lift you off of his lap and stand up.

“No, no, bubby! I like it!” you assure, grabbing his face and ghosting his lips with your own once again, “You look like a man.”

His eyebrows knit together and his palms squeeze your hips tightly as he shoots you an offended look, “I am a man!”

You can tell he’s only half offended but you decide to tease him further; curious as to where you could take the night.

“Mmm, yeah?” you hum teasingly, twirling a stray curl that had fallen into his eyes around your finger.

“I am.”

“Prove it then,”

He practically growls, leaning back into your plump, waiting lips. Your hips rut against his as your mouths work together. The kiss is urgent and most definitely overflowing with passion. The air is stolen from your chest as he presses his stiff member into you. The kiss falters slightly as you gasp into his mouth while your fingers tug at his curls. His hands leave shrill goosebumps in their wake as they trail from your waist down to your hips where they assist your movements against him, gripping so tightly you wouldn’t be shocked if they left tiny little bruises under your skin.

His hands rock you back and forth against him, pulling your centers as close together as he can possibly get them. You groan into his mouth at the delicious friction and it’s only seconds later that he has you flipped onto your back. The kiss breaks for a moment; Shawn pulling away to get a good look at you for the first time in days. His eyes have a deep hunger festered inside of them and you shudder against the couch you’re laid out on. His greedy fingers peel off your top, discarding it to the side and then loop into your pants, leaving you with only panties underneath him.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he pants, worked up from the steamy moment, “You don’t even realize.”

A smile breaks across your face, imperfectly perfect and he swears he feels his heart do a flip deep in his chest.

“You gonna stare at me for the rest of the night or are you gonna make me feel good, big boy?” you tease, blushing madly as he returns to kissing your bare skin.

“Gonna be a brat or do you want to cum tonight, babygirl?” he tuts back without missing a beat; stopping to flick his tongue against your hardened nipple. Your back arches and you bite down on your lip as you feel his stubble scraping against your delicate skin, leaving the most delicious burn behind. If he wasn’t slotted between your legs, you know his words would’ve made your trembling thighs clench together.

His attention goes to the other side for a moment before his lips kiss down your sternum, to your bellybutton, and soon to the top of your panties. The feeling of kisses lingers longer than normal from the added sensation from his stubble and you can’t say you mind one bit. Your body is riddled with goosebumps and you feel your arousal pooling between your legs as he gazes up at you.

His fingers loop into the sides of your panties but his eyes are searching for your consent. It’s only when you mutter out a small ‘please’, that he tugs the fabric down your legs. His large hands quickly grab your shins, folding you up and spreading you open for his greedy eyes. His plump lips hang open at the sight of you; wet and needy beneath him.

“Fuck,” he whispers, mostly to himself, “look at you, babe. All this for me?”

His honey eyes are somehow darker at the sight of you. The dim lighting in the living room only accentuated his sharp features and he could faintly see the deep crimson blush adorning your cheeks. Your breath hitches as you watch his tongue slide over his bottom lip while his eyes bore into yours.

Your blood is laced with desire and you have to fight like a dog to hold yourself back from pulling him to where you need him the most. You know you poked the bear and you’d do anything for him to give you what you want. Your body was aching for him and you decide you don’t have time for any games.

It’s only seconds later that he’s laid out on his stomach, peppering kisses to your thighs. You whimper lightly as his lips tease your sensitive skin; kissing everywhere except where you want- no, need him.

His eyes are fixated on you, watching for every reaction to his trained touch. His lips ghost up your thigh, sucking teasingly on the spot where your leg meets your core. Your thighs clench around his head for a split second before a smack against your bum pulls you out of your haze.

“Sit still,” he asserts, moving closer to your dripping heat. You sigh, trying your best to relax into his embrace. “Be a good girl.”

His lips finally press kisses up your slit and you hum with satisfaction. You feel his tongue poke out, sliding against your bundle of nerves slowly. You’re aching for more, this much he knows. But he’s gonna make you pay for your teasing.

“Ah-” you yelp as his teeth nip at your clit, tugging gently before soothing it with his tongue. Your legs try to shut but his hands are still planted on your shins, keeping you opened up for his taking. He shoots you a warning with his eyes while a smirk makes its way across his lips. Little shit.

His wet tongue stays at a slow pace for a moment- he likes it when you get needy. Your little choked sighs are making his member ache in his tight pants but he’s too fucked to care. He’s too busy savoring the taste of you to even notice. His tongue picks up its pace, swirling around your bundle with ease. His lips stop occasionally, sucking on your plush center before picking back up with his skilled tongue. His coarse hair rubs at your sensitive button, making you groan at the new feeling.

“Shawn, fuck-“ you blurt, reaching for his hair out of habit. Your hand jerks to a stop, falling to your side instead; not wanting the pleasure to stop in case he punishes you.

Your eyes fall down to where he resides between your legs and you moan at the sight of him. His eyes are closed, lashes softly lying atop of his rosy cheeks. His lips are swollen and pink, covered in your juices. The sound of your moan prompts his eyes open, softly fluttering until they meet yours. A smirk sneaks across his lips as his tongue flicks at you.

“Feel good, baby?” he whispers, breath fanning across your core, “Like how my tongue feels?”

“God, it's so good,” you mutter, head falling back against the armrest of the white couch.

You don’t notice his hand sneaking up until his fingers are threading between yours. His warm palm envelops yours, squeezing tightly as he continues his attention on your throbbing center. You take it as an okay to touch him; sneaking your fingers under his soft tee with your other hand and tracing illegible patterns on his back.

He hums, vibrating against you and you buck your hips against his face. His free hand moves and you gasp when you feel two of his fingers prodding at your entrance before slowly slipping in. The feeling of your tight walls tugging on his digits has him aching; rutting against the couch for any friction.

“So tight, babylove,” he grunts against you, mostly to himself. “Got your pussy all wet for me, hm?”

His fingers are pumping in and out of you, assisting his tongue in pulling you closer to the edge. Your skin burns against his stubble but you welcome the sting. The feeling is different but so fucking addicting.

“Shawnshawnshawn,” you pant moments later, creeping towards the blissful edge, “don’t fucking stop,”

He doesn’t, he only picks up his speed as he feels your walls getting impossibly tighter around him. Seconds later he takes in your demeanor; arched and breathless, before he sits back on his knees, replacing his tongue with his thumb. He flicks at you ruthlessly, watching your center pulsate as you explode.

It’s in this moment that he realizes how hungry he is; how selfish. How he wants more, more, more. He wants to please you over and over.

“Fuck that was beautiful, lovey,” he whispers against your lips, shifting to lay his body weight on top of you. Your legs wrap around his waist tugging him closer to you. Your lips meet in a sloppy kiss and it’s on minutes later that he’s got you worked up once again.

“You ready for me?” his voice is low and rugged in your ear, begging for more. Your eyes flutter open, swimming with desire from your last orgasm. You nod quickly, pulling his t-shirt off of his sculpted body. He stands up, making quick work of his jeans and boxers. You whimper at the sight of his member springing up against his stomach, smacking against it with a dull thud.

“C’mere, love,” he says, extending his hand out to help you up. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you to his lips quickly before turning you around. “Want you on your knees.”

His hands rest on your waist, assisting you in situating yourself on the couch. You're knelt on the plushy cushion with your elbows propped on the back of the couch. You spare a glance behind you, shooting him a lustful gaze as he presses his hips into your bum. Chills trickle down your spine as he palms your cheeks, spreading you open for his taking.

“God, look at this fuckin’ ass,” he grumbles, landing a smack against your right side, “You look so pretty bent over for me.”

With all the hormones pumping through your system, you’re left speechless. Wordlessly you wiggle your ass around for him, making him groan at the way your plush bum jiggles. Another slap lands across your ass, leaving a red, blotchy print behind.

“Behave.”

You whimper, pressing your face into the white cushion. He takes his time behind you, admiring your physique. His heart is pounding in his chest as he takes you in. All of you. The curve of your spine. Your hair swung over one shoulder. The smoothness of your skin.

Your pull on him leaves an ache in his bones. Somehow always satisfied, but he just can’t seem to get enough of you. You make his knees weak. His heart race. And he knows he’ll never be the same.

Your back arches further as he takes his member in his hand and presses into you. You yelp briefly at the stretch of him sinking inside you. He watches with hooded eyes as his length disappears in your velvety walls and shudders at the feeling. Whimpers falling out of your chest signal to him that you’re still adjusting so he gives you one tiny thrust before he gives you a moment to stretch out.

“Man enough, babe?” he mutters cockily; pressing sloppy kisses to your bare shoulder.

“Mmm, not sure yet,” you tease, turning back to watch him.

Shawn isn’t one to get his ego hurt, really. But something inside him is itching, clawing it’s way out to prove himself to you. He knows he always leaves you satisfied- he was hyper-aware of your pleasure at all times. But tonight is different.

Your words encourage him to deliver another pointed thrust deep inside you; pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. His hand comes down on your thigh- hard.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, knowing you’re really in for it tonight.

“If I wasn’t man enough, you wouldn’t be dripping down your fucking legs, princess,” he whispers casually in your ear; voice dripping with lust. At his words, your hips rut back into his; signaling that you were ready for him. With that, he’s off for the races.

Although you know what to expect, you’re still taken by surprise when his hips slam into you. He sets a brutal pace from the get-go and you can only whine in response.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ wreck you,” he moans, throwing his head back.

“Fuck, Shawn, please.” you pant, rutting your hips back against him.

He knocks the air out of your lungs as he thrusts deep inside of you. Your moans are muffled by the cushion you’ve buried your face in and his cock swells impossibly thicker than he ever thought possible at the sounds. He delivers a series of deep thrusts, making dull harmonies of skin against skin ring through the air.

“Being so good for me,” he blurts, smacking your ass again, “my good fuckin’ girl,”

A fire is being lit deep in your tummy as he rails into you. It’s only when his skilled fingers sneak around you and press into your clit that your moans double. Your body jerks forward but his strong hand grips your hip and yanks you back to him.

“I’m yours, Shawn,” you whine, trying to stabilize yourself on your shaky thighs.

“That’s right, babe. Who makes you feel this good?”

“You do,” you reply quickly, craning your neck back as pleasure envelops you.

Your neck is further extended as his hand gets a grip of your hair, pulling you back to look at him.

“Say my name.”

His tone creates butterflies deep in the pit of your gut. It’s darker than usual; raspier and deep. It makes you wanna do anything he asks. Makes you wanna scream out your lungs for him.

“S-Shawn,” you stammer, “you make me feel so fucking good,”

Your praise goes straight to his dick, making him throb inside of you. He’s a pleaser, that’s for sure. Now is no exception as he collides into you, pulling sweet melodies from your chest.

“You’re taking my cock so well, baby. Takin’ me so well in that little pussy,”

He watches as his length disappears deep inside of you. Watches your walls wrap around him, getting tugged with the motions. You’re getting tighter and tighter around him as his fingers still swirl against your sensitive button. You feel his veiny cock dragging in and out as he pounds into you at a ruthless pace and clench around him.

“Gonna cum for me? That pussy wants to cum, doesn’t it?” he teases, speeding his fingers up.

“God, please let me cum Shawn,” you beg, “please.”

“Cum baby, cum on my cock” he pants, preparing for the throbbing feeling, “give it to me.”

It’s only seconds later that the coil in your stomach snaps, clenching repeatedly on him. You throb uncontrollably around him, tugging his cock beautifully. His breath hitches at the feeling and he keeps up his pace, fucking you through your high. Your quiet moans reach a boiling point, now echoing through the room and mixing with the sound of your bodies colliding. His eyes practically bulge out of his head as he watches your cunt squeeze him.

“Feel so fuckin good. Gonna make me cum, babygirl,” he blurts out, stammering a bit. His pace is choppier now, faltering a bit as your walls pull him closer to his high.

“Cum in me Shawn, I’m all yours” you whine, trying to get him there, “Fill me up, baby, I wanna feel it.”

His head tosses back as he pounds into you, feeling heat creeping up from his toes. His breath is ragged as he collapses into you, still hammering away at your center. Only seconds later he’s cumming; thick globs inside of you. Your core flutters around him at the feeling, furthering his pleasure.

“Fuck, princess,” he grunts, slowing his hips down gradually as the bliss becomes too much.

A few moments later, he’s tugging his shaft out of you. You shudder as your body releases him, feeling suddenly empty. You collapse back into the couch, chest heaving as you pull your mind back together after your second earth-shattering orgasm of the night. The last thing you’re expecting is to feel his hands prying your legs apart again.

“Shaaawn,” you whine, eyes popping open to gaze up at him in disbelief. Fuck, he’s insatiable.

Your thighs clench when his long fingers slide against you, scooping up some of the cum that was oozing out of you. He only smirks in response, extending his hand out to your mouth, prompting you with his eyes.

The scene is filthy; him slipping his fingers into your waiting mouth, licking up your shared juices like you can’t get enough. And really, you can’t. The simple action already has you throbbing and wanting more. You hum around his fingers, eyes fluttering shut.

“Want you to give me another one. Think you can give it to me, lovey?” he inquires softly, contrasting his dominant demeanor.

You nod slowly with his fingers still deep in your mouth. He pulls them back quickly, moving to prod them at your sopping wet entrance.

“Look at that pretty cunt,” he whispers, “Dripping with my cum, hmm?”

He hums as he spreads the cloudy liquid up to your sensitive clit. You cry out as his calloused fingers start playing with it once again; swirling effortlessly. Your face is burning red and your chest heaves as he plays with your overstimulated center.

His eyes are fixated on your pink slit, dripping wet. All for him. He watches as he sinks two long fingers deep inside of you, hooking them to find the spongy spot deep within your walls. His pace starts off slow, working you back up after two beautiful orgasms. He’s amazed at his effect on you. Amazed that you’re his. It’s pure devotion. Forever. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

“So fuckin wet,” he whispers, rubbing your thigh with his free hand.

“Shawn, oh my god,” you whine as he picks up speed again.

His fingers coax in and out of you, curling perfectly every time. He hits your spot with ease, getting deeper than you ever could. He sits up a little straighter, using his free hand to start playing with your clit again. Your chest is burning with fire, mumbling out incoherent words as he works you back up.

“Come on baby, give me one more,” he murmurs, focusing his eyes on your center.

You’re gripping at your breasts aimlessly, trying to hold onto any bit of this world as you hurdle towards another orgasm. His fingers jam into you roughly, tugging beautiful whines out of your pink lips. Your thighs are shaking and his wrists ache but fuck, he’s lost in you.

His efforts only need to go on for seconds longer before you finally explode for him again. Your body shakes against the couch, overwhelmed with bliss. The feeling is almost too much but the way his eyes are trained on your fluttering center rids your mind of everything else. He watches in amazement as your tight walls clench around his fingers, pushing out more of his cum. The sight is filthy and he can only hang his jaw in response.

He fucks you with his fingers until you’re pushing his hand away, overstimulated by his passionate treatment. He unsheathes you and crawls back up your body slowly before pressing kisses to your sweaty hairline.

“Did so good,” he whispers into your ear, brushing your hair softly, “So good for me, sweet girl.”

Tears leak down past your temples and into your hair as you take deep breaths. His expression shifts and he thumbs at the wet streaks, clearing them off of your blushed face.

“You okay, baby? Too much? Did I hurt you?” he stammers out quickly, suddenly concerned.

You shake your head, giggling softly, “No, just felt so good,”

He smiles down at you, blushing wildly before he presses his swollen lips to yours. You share a brief passionate kiss before he breaks away, pulling you into his lap.

“So,” he starts, brushing his fingers up your spine, “Did I prove it?”

“Mhm,” you nod, smiling softly as you brush your nose against his.

You’re typically quiet after sex, especially after three rounds. It’s how he knows you’re satisfied. He just breathes you in, taking in your embrace after spending too long apart. His lips press against your burning cheek, stamping little pecks of love across your skin as you fiddle with his curls.

“Missed you so much,” you whisper into the still air; finally feeling safe in his arms again.

“Missed you too, lovey. We get a few weeks together now. No interruptions,” he replies softly, leaning his forehead against yours. You giggle in response,

“Maybe we can have more nights like tonight,”

“Oh, believe me,” he insists, raising his eyebrows, “we will.”

You sit together for a few more moments, just re-familiarizing yourselves with each other until he speaks up again,

“How ‘bout I run you a bath?” he pitches, searching your tired eyes for a response. His lips trail across your face, still pressing occasional kisses there, leaving a slight sting behind as his prickly hairs rub against your skin.

“Mmm, sounds lovely. Would you wanna join me, maybe?”

“Of course, sweet pea,” he chuckles, picking you up with ease and carrying you off to the bathroom.

“Maybe I can throw your razor out while you aren’t looking,”

“What?!”

#Shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes fic #Shawn Mendes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes blurb

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

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jksmoongf · 4 years

Text

Baby’s Breath [pt.8]

Pairing: (idol!dad!) Jungkook x reader Genre: angst / fluff /smut Wordcount: 8.1k Plot: Sometimes one reckless night is all it takes to completely turn your life upside down. But what if you can’t even trust your best friends to keep your secret? Warning pt.8: drama, awkward!jk ( a hard fave), just some baby fluff if you squint. A/N: so it’s been a long time since I last updated BB (I’m kinda nervous tbh) but now that KF is finished, I’m finally getting back to it. I hope someone still reads this but probably not lol. As always, feedback would be nice, my loves! 💕 I wanna thank @struggleofarmy for always helping me :( D. you are angel, without you I’d probably never write anything and ily 💕

The car came to a halt; she watched as Jungkook hastily unbuckled his seatbelt and stumbled out of the car. He felt the need to run - to run as far away from his life as he possibly could but his legs gave out when his feet sank into the sand, falling to his knees. He didn’t even try to get up, cowering down as he hid his face in his hands.

How was he supposed to feel okay again? His whole life took a complete 180; the universe had pulled the carpet from underneath his feet as he had tried to make things right for his little family. Not for one second did he have any bad intentions, he just wanted everyone to be happy but it all backfired.

All this hurt inside his chest really sucked the energy out of him; from day one the other members had looked after him, comforted him when he needed them, he had learned everything he knew from them and for them to betray him like this, was too much for him to handle. His heart was crumbling to pieces, bits floating in his body - and he knew they would never find their way back to repair the cracks.

Why did they have to betray him like that? He always tried his best to make them proud, and although he knew he wasn’t perfect, he was there for them to comfort them, to cheer them on, to listen to their worries. Was it all his fault that they went behind his back? Did they only care about themselves and their career and not at all about his happiness? His right hand balled into a fist, repeatedly hitting the sand.

His stomach churned, when his mind wandered off to the headlines when people eventually found out about him leaving the group, bile forced its way up into his mouth. He didn’t want the fans to hate him for leaving but for the first time in a long time, he had to put himself first. He wanted to see his little girl grow up, he wanted to be there on her first day of kindergarten and school; he wanted to go dance recitals and pick her up from school. He wanted to sing her to sleep and comfort her when she was upset. He wanted to help her blow out her birthday candles and see her eyes light up when unwrapping presents. He just wanted to be there for every important moment in her life; even the small ones that people always tend to forget but he seemed to remember those the most.

The thought of being a father had scared him to death when y/n had confessed to him that she was pregnant but now he would’ve given everything to turn back time, just so he could be there for her; holding her hand through all of it - he had been too weak, too selfish back then. But maybe it wasn’t too late to make things right, he would be there for her, for his daughter, no matter what; even if it meant to give up his dream. He would be okay as long as he could be with them.

“Kookie…” Y/n said softly, her hand rubbing circles on his back. “Baby…hey.” She managed to pull him up, his eyes were puffy and red from crying, lips quivering, she brushed his hair from his face. “It’s cold, we need to get you somewhere warm, okay?”

But Jungkook didn’t feel the ice-cold breeze that was seeping through his clothes, everything inside him was numbed to protect the last bits of his heart from breaking. “No..” He yelped, his voice too weak for any real protest but to his surprise, she sat down next to him. “Okay.” Carefully she wrapped her arm around his torso. “We can just stay here for a bit.”

Shakily he exhaled, as his eyes closed more tears seeped from them without his consent. Her fingers intertwined with his, his head was resting on her shoulder as he listened to the calming ocean waves hitting the shoreline.

At that moment he knew that everything would be okay again; they could start over and be happy together- they would fight all the odds that were against them. No one was going to keep them apart; not his company and not his brothers - he so desperately tried to push them to very back of his mind. If he just stopped thinking about them, they wouldn’t be able to hurt him any further.

With his sleeve, he wiped the tears from his cheeks, eyes still fixated on the ocean. “I-I’m sorry I dragged you out here…” He whispered after a little while. “But we had to go, we couldn’t stay in Seoul. They were going to separate us again.” “Who?” “The others told the boss about you and me and he told me I wasn’t allowed to talk to you ever again because it would ruin my career…” Deeply he sucked in a salty breath of air to stop the hiccuped sobs that were piling up in his chest. “He threatened to stop giving you money if I broke the rules and I just snapped…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words to describe what had happened a few hours ago. “I yelled at them…I pushed Jimin, I didn’t care that I hurt him…I just wanted to know which one of them rammed a knife in my back and wanted to take you away from me again…” Closing his eyes to stop the tears from escaping again, he tightened his fingers around her hand. “I-I just can’t believe they would do this to me, they are my family.” “You know they love you, Kookie. They just wanted to protect you, don’t be too hard on them.”

He pulled away, shaking his head. “No, they don’t deserve it. They wanted me to be miserable again, they wanted me to go through all this pain of losing you again.”

“I don’t think that was their intention, they worry about you and they only want what’s best for you.” She tried again to make him see that others were just looking out for him but he ferociously shook his head once more. “Then why can’t they accept that you’re what’s best for me?”

She didn’t say anything, only taking her bottom lip in between her teeth; not wanting to make him feel pressured when he was so upset, knowing him well enough to be sure that he would come around sooner rather than later. He had to forgive them, after all, they were a big part of his life, one screw up surely wouldn’t ruin the bond between them.

For a little while longer she let him rest, just listening to the ocean, hoping that it would wash away his sorrows. “Kookie…” She mumbled, shifting in her spot trying to suppress the shivers that were about to riddle her body. “Can we go back to the car? We need to check on Soo-Yun…” “Oh, yes. Yes, of course.” Within seconds he had gotten up and also pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go.” She smiled, holding her hand out for him to take. Carefully he intertwined his fingers with hers, following her to the silver SUV.

“Why did you leave her in the car?” The question was burning on the tip of his tongue. “I- it’s too cold for her and she was sleeping, so I didn’t want to wake her up. But I-I also wanted to give you some time alone…before I went to check on you…” She rambled, not looking at him.

Without giving it any thought, he stopped in his tracks, pulling her back to face him. His shaking hands cupped her face, thumbs gently caressing her cheeks before he crashed his lips onto hers; the tingling sensation of her warmth making his heart flutter. He knew it would be too soon to say those three words that held so much meaning but he needed her to know that he was still in love with her - hoping she would feel the desperation that had been caged up in his chest. She pulled away, cherishing the warmth his hands provided on her cold skin. “What was that for?” “I’m just happy to have you back in my life. I really missed you.” He knew, he’d be able to blame the cold air for tinting his cheeks and ears red in embarrassment.

Clutching his sweater, she got on her toes to peck his lips once more. “You’ll have such a hard time getting rid off me now…” He puffed up his cheeks, letting out a grunt. “Can’t believe you’re making me say those things…” “What things?” “Cheesy things…” He tilted his head. “You know I’m not good at that.” “It’s okay, you can always just text them to me if that’s easier for you.” She winked, before turning around to open the car door. “She’s still asleep, thank goodness.”

Jungkook peeked over her shoulder; Soo-Yun was still sound asleep, the tiniest snores he had ever heard, leaving her mouth. “Can you believe we made her?” He said in awe, still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that he took part in creating the most beautiful little girl he had ever laid his eyes on.

“Well, yeah she was inside my stomach for 9 months and gave me a really hard time sleeping. She was a night owl just like you…” His hands subconsciously wandered to her shoulders, gently applying pressure. “I should’ve been there for you, I’m sorry.” “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.” Her hand closed around his on her shoulder. “Kookie, please stop feeling guilty, you didn’t know.” “If I- I should’ve reacted differently and none of this would’ve happened.”

She turned around, now cupping his face. “Listen, I’m not mad at you and I’ll never hold it against you so please stop apologizing. You’re going to be a part of her life and that’s all I ever wanted for her.” He nodded, feeling tears brimming in his eyes - hoping that eventually, the overwhelming feeling of guilt would subside.

“Okay, the tank is filled up.” Jungkook shivered as he got back into the driver’s seat, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Where do you want to go?” “I don’t know, I was thinking we could go to my place in Jeonju but…” She trailed off, tracing the rim of the window to her right. “We shouldn’t. I’m sure that’s where they’re going to look for us first.” “I mean, my parents’ house is not too far from here…” He muttered, finally revealing to her what he had wanted to do ever since he had left the dorm. “It’s only a little over an hour to Busan…” “Don’t you think they’ll come looking for you there too?” “Probably yeah but do you have a better idea? At least my parents can help us and it would be easier to take care of Soo-Yun there instead of hotel rooms and they could meet you…finally”

She scrunched up her nose. “Okay, yeah…let’s go to Busan.” Not able to bring herself to crush his newfound sense of positivity, she agreed. Jungkook leaned over the middle console to kiss her cheek. “I’m just going to let my brother know that we’re coming.”

Forcing a smile onto her face, she nodded. It didn’t feel good; she didn’t want to burden his family with her presence and surprise them with a grandchild they didn’t know about. It made her stomach feel queasy as her leg bobbed up and down nervously. She knew his parents had known about their relationship but they had never met and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to meet them under these circumstances.

“Ah, I hope my mom has some food for us, I’m so hungry.” He beamed as he started the car up again - it was almost like he had forgotten all his troubles at the prospect of seeing his family and she couldn’t help but softly smile at his excitement.

Every now and again her eyes drifted off to Naver Maps on Jungkook’s phone on the dashboard, focusing in on the small timestamp that disclosed their time of arrival at his parents’ house; the nauseous feeling still swimming in her stomach, was slowly rising up in her throat.

“Is everything okay? You’re awfully quiet…” He muttered, not averting his gaze from the road. She wanted to lie and tell him that she was fine but her mouth betrayed her before she could bite her tongue. “I’m nervous.” “Why?” Judging by the tone of his voice, it didn’t occur to him that it was a weird situation and that everything that had happened on that day felt simply overwhelming. “I’ve never met your family…and under these circumstances - it’s just making me nervous.”

“Ah, they’ll love you, my parents are really cool. You don’t have to worry about anything. They will be so happy to finally meet you and Soo-Yun and Junghyun is really excited that we’re coming.” For a brief second, he smiled at her, his right hand leaving the steering wheel to give hers an encouraging squeeze.

“Okay…” She mumbled, forcing a smile onto her face. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t aware of the implications of him bringing her and their daughter to meet his parents; maybe he was in over his head and he couldn’t think straight. “I’m being serious! Please don’t be worried, I know my parents will be over the moon when they meet you.” “Sure yeah…” But before Jungkook could try to calm her down, even more, Soo-Yun started whining in her car seat. She turned around, simultaneously sending a prayer up to the gods for the distraction. “I think she’s hungry.” “How do you know?” “I can just tell from the way she cries…” Shrugging her shoulders, she fished the small box of crackers from her bag that Jungkook had bought at the gas station. “Really? Do you think I’ll be able to do that too?” He wondered, watching his daughter munch on one of the wheat crackers in her hands in the rearview-mirror. “Probably, yes.” Turning back around, she offered the box to Jungkook. “Do you want one?” He nodded his head, and she held one up to his mouth so he wouldn’t get distracted from driving. “I’ll have to feed her when we get there…” Jungkook handed her his phone without warning. “Text my brother that we’ll be there in 15 minutes and let him know that we’re hungry.”

She gulped down the lump in her throat when she quickly read the Kakao chat, even in writing he sounded really excited to go home and although he only mentioned a surprise to his older brother, he seemed just as happy that his little brother was coming home for a little while.

Jimin let out a disgruntled noise when he sat up in bed, his back was still sore from when Jungkook had pushed him. His hand automatically flew to apply pressure to the bruise that decorated his skin next to his spine.

“Jungkookie…” He mumbled to himself, as he got up, his face scrunched up in pain and he slowly waddled down the hallway to the youngest room. He had locked himself in and wouldn’t come out or make any noise, even after Jin had told him that there were leftovers in the fridge for him if he wanted something to eat, Jungkook had stayed quiet. Jimin knew he was hurt; someone had stabbed him in the back but he couldn’t help it - his heart felt heavy for his little brother. He just wanted him to be happy and so did the other members but to Jimin’s dismay, Jungkook’s behavior had left a sour taste in their mouths. He had stayed up until the early hours of the morning in hopes of catching Jungkook sneaking into the kitchen which would have given him the perfect chance to talk to him and maybe straighten things out, but it never happened. His feelings must have been seriously hurt if he shut them all out completely.

Carefully Jimin knocked on the door. “Hey Jungkook-ah, are you awake? Can we talk?” He asked his voice piping up in hopes that some sleep would’ve helped to calm things down and make the youngest act more rationally and maybe he would be willing to listen. But he got no response, so instead, he pressed his ear to the wooden door, trying to hear if he was awake yet.

“Screw it…” His hand slowly pushed down the door handle and to his surprise, it actually swung open. “Jungkook-ah?” He asked again, taking a few steps into the room, his eyes looking for the raven-haired boy but his bed was still made and he was nowhere to be found. The first thought that popped into his head was that Jungkook might have gone to the gym to release his anger lifting weights but his gym shoes were still lying on the floor next to the black backpack he always carried around.

“Something’s not right…” Jimin crossed the room, inspecting the wide-open closet. A few hangers were sticking out, others were scattered on the floor. It was very unlike Jungkook to make a mess of his closet, yes his room was always a little messy but he kept his closet remarkably tidy, even color-coding his shirts.

“Jimin-ah, what are you doing?” Hoseok’s voice made him spin around, only to see his roommate standing right behind him, a coffee mug in hand. “Where’s Jungkookie?”

“I don’t know, I wanted to check on him but he wasn’t in here…”

“Maybe he went to the gym?” Hoseok suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

“That’s what I thought too but something is very off…” Jimin let his eyes wander around the room. “You see all the hangers?” He mumbled absentmindedly when his eyes fell on the small collection of backpacks in the corner. “His army backpack is gone…”

“What? How do you know?” Hoseok peeked over his shoulder.

“He always keeps his bags there and it’s the only one missing…” Jimin’s mind was racing, making his heart rate speed up. “I think…hyung...I think he left…”

“Maybe he just needed to get out for a bit to clear his head? I’m sure he will be back soon.”

Jimin nodded, not wanting to worry the older boy but a bad feeling was stirring up in the pit of his stomach. No matter how bad their fights had been in the past, Jungkook had never left, not like this at least - making him feel sick.

“Look, that’s where my friend Kangdae from school lives. We used to go to Taekwondo together.” Jungkook pointed at a house as they drove past it in the dark. “And that’s where I fell because I was wearing Junghyun’s skates and they were too big and I scraped my knee pretty badly.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at how happy he was to be back home and to share a part of his life with her that she had only ever heard him mention a handful of times. He always said that he didn’t have a lot of memories from home and that his life as a trainee was more memorable to him but it was heartwarming to hear his little recollections of his childhood in Busan. Fondly she ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re so cute…maybe you can show me around and tell me more stories…” She suggested, earning an enthusiastic nod from him. “I’d love to, we can take Soo-Yun with us…you know so she knows where I grew up.” “Oh! I-we didn’t take the stroller with us.” She gasped, wanting to slap herself for forgetting one of the most important things. “Don’t worry, we’ll just buy one.” Even in the dark car, his eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky and everything seemed okay for just one moment.

Jungkook turned the engine off. “That’s my house…” He proudly announced, gesturing to the modest house on the right side. “Oh, I gotta text my brother…” Quickly he grabbed his phone when the door opened.

In a daze, she watched Jungkook getting out of the car as fast as he could and running up to his brother. After unbuckling her seatbelt, she slowly got out of the car but hesitantly stayed still next to it, wanting to give him and his family a moment of happiness before she had a chance to ruin it. “Mom! Dad! Come here!” His brother called over his shoulder before ruffling Jungkook’s hair. “I haven’t told them you’re coming.”

Moments later his parents appeared in the doorway and his mother let out a squeal, pulling her son into a bone-crushing hug. “You look so thin.” She scolded him lovingly, cupping his cheeks in her hands before her eyes narrowed and she could feel goosebumps travel down her skin when their eyes met for the first time.

“Ah, right. I-…” Jungkook paused, rushing to her side. “Come on, they won’t bite you.” He mumbled, only holding her hand a second before he let go. “I want you to meet y/n.” He grinned, gently nudging her to take a step forward to properly meet his family but he immediately left her side again.

“It’s very nice to meet you.” Forcing the corners of her mouth upwards before she bowed, her legs wanting to run in the opposite direction. “Y/n…” The resenting tone of his mother’s voice was petrifying - she knew that she had broken her son’s heart into a million pieces over a year ago. “Nice to finally meet you.” Junghyun smiled, the all too familiar crinkles around his eyes forming but before he could say anything else, his mother stood in front of her, hands on her hips, a stern look on her face. “I don’t want a dirty girl like you around my son. Leave.”

Y/n’s eyes darted from Junghyun to Jungkook’s father who was silently pressing his lips together, perhaps he didn’t want to argue with his wife or maybe, he wanted her to leave as well - it was posing more than difficult to read his facial expressions. She felt awful, her heart falling from her chest down to her stomach; she knew that coming here was a bad idea - why did Jungkook think that his family would welcome her, the girl that hurt him so badly, with open arms? “Mom, I think it’s a little too late for that…” Her older son chuckled when footsteps were heard right behind them.

“I’m assuming you don’t want to meet your granddaughter then…” Jungkook slowly walked up to them, Soo-Yun propped upon his arm, the other tightly wrapped around her as she held onto his neck. Her big eyes wearily evaluating the tense situation. “We can go somewhere else, all three of us need to be welcome, mom.”

“Gr-granddaughter?” His father repeated in disbelief, staring at the small child in his youngest son’s arms. “Yes, this is your granddaughter.” “Aw, she’s so cute.” Junghyun made grabby hands at his niece, waiting for his brother to let him hold her. “She surely gets her beauty from her uncle!” He made cooing noises at her. “Yes, you do. Ah, she’s so cute, my heart.” Soo-Yun giggled, as he held her closer to his face to get a good look at her and her hand grabbed a chunk of his hair. “You are the prettiest little girl.”

His mother cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure; still not fully able to wrap her head around what was happening. “Are you even sure she’s yours?” She addressed Jungkook while side-eying the baby, who was happily babbling along to the cooing and kissy-faces.

“Mom, just look at her. She looks just like Jungkookie!” Junghyun held his niece up to his mother’s face and her expression softened immediately. Although she was hellbent on disliking the girl that broke her son’s heart, she couldn’t deny the fact that this little girl looked so much like him when he was a baby - from the little button nose down to the big brown eyes that she had always adored on her son.

“I know, I hurt Jungkook when I broke up with him and I understand that you don’t like me but…”

“Y/n, don’t.” Jungkook interrupted her. “Mom, she’s mine and if you can’t accept y/n or Soo-Yun then we’ll leave. I thought you’d be more understanding but I guess, I was wrong.” Without waiting for an answer, he took his daughter from his brother before turning around to go back to the car. “Let’s go.”

“Mom!” Junghyun’s tone was pressing, fearing that once Jungkook left, he would never come back. “Wait!” His mother called out. “You can stay here.” “Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out if his mother was being sincere or not. “Because if you’re not then we’ll…” “I am. You’re all welcome to stay.” She cut him off, an ounce of panic straining her hoarse voice.

Almost immediately, Junghyun took his niece back into his arms before disappearing in the house. “You know, you should forget about those uncles back in Seoul. I’m your real uncle…” “Thank you.” Jungkook mumbled, pecking his mother’s cheek before his dad wrapped his arm around his shoulders and led him inside. Hesitantly she followed them, making eye contact with his mother in passing - she still didn’t look happy but she forced a smile onto her face.

It was awkward to be at his parents’ house, she just didn’t feel like she belonged; she had anticipated his mother’s reaction but seeing his brother and father playing with her daughter on the couch made her feel a little less on edge. Maybe his mother would eventually warm up to her; she could only try to imagine how shocked and overwhelmed she felt.

“Can she talk?” “No, not yet, still waiting for her first word.” “Soo-Yun can you say Halbi…Hal-bi…” Jungkook’s dad tried to encourage her to call him grandpa but the little girl just eyed him curiously before he started tickling her and her cute giggles echoed from the walls.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Jungkook whispered, taking her hand as he pulled her out into the hallway and up the stairs. “I’ll start making dinner for you.” His mother called from the kitchen, where the rattling of pots and pans could be heard. “If you need help, let me know.”

But she didn’t respond and as they reached the top of the stairs he came to a halt. “This is my parents’ bedroom…” He pointed to the left. “Next to it, is the bathroom and that’s Junghyun’s room, which leaves us with my room..” He opened the door last door on the right that had a few paint chips missing.

“Cute…” She commented, trying to suppress a giggle as she walked around the room. It still very much looked like a kids room, posters on the wall, ribbons from sporting competitions and comic books filled the two small shelves on the left wall. “I’m never really here, so they just left it like this. Last time I was here, I wanted to change it but I never got around to it…” He sat down on the bed that was clearly only fit for one person. “Plus if I changed it, it just wouldn’t feel like my room, you know?” “I get it.” She sat down next to him. “Are you okay?” Feeling his eyes on her, she turned her head. “Yeah, it’s just a little much but I can handle it, don’t worry.” “I know but we’re safe here and my mom will come around. She’s just…she knows I had a really hard time after we broke up, she’s worried.” “I understand, if I were in her shoes I’d probably react the same way.”

He nodded, pinching his bottom lip between his index finger and thumb. “I’ll talk to her, I want you to feel comfortable here.” “Thank you.” She smiled weakly and out of the blue he pressed her down into the pillows, innocently planting little kisses to her lips that she wished would last a little longer each time. His hand softly traveled up and down her waist, slowly disappearing underneath her shirt when his lips left hers to trail down her neck, the tip of his nose brushing against her skin. “Kookie it tickles…” She whined, kicking her legs lightly but he didn’t care, covering every inch in butterfly kisses. Someone coughed, making them pull away from each other.

“Hyung.” Jungkook felt his ears heat up; he let himself get carried away - it wasn’t easy to stop when he felt like he had to make up for all those months they were apart. “Mom says dinner will be ready in half an hour or so but I can just tell her you’re busy…” He winked, making his brother jump to his feet. “No, hyung! No, don’t tell her, please.” “Calm down.” He patted his shoulder. “But - I never thought I’d see you with a girl in here, dreams do come true.” He wiped away a fake tear, earning a slap to his arm from Jungkook. “Stop teasing me.” He pouted, stomping his foot just like he would when they were kids.

“Where’s Soo-Yun?” She interrupted their bickering after checking her watch. “Downstairs with dad, he’s playing peek-a-boo with her.” She nodded. “Would it be okay if I took a shower?” “Of course, I’ll go get our stuff from the car and Soo-Yun.” “Thanks.” Smiling at both of them, she excused herself to the bathroom.

Junghyun followed his little brother downstairs to the car. “Is everything okay? The other day you told me that you were really busy with practice and now you’re here…” He trailed off while lifting the suitcase from the trunk.

Jungkook wanted to lie and pretend like everything was fine and that his heart wasn’t painfully contracting in his chest every time he thought about his other brothers back in Seoul but he couldn’t. “Not really, hyung. Something happened, something really bad happened…” “What’s going on?” He wanted to tell him that they betrayed him, that he yelled at them and that he hurt Jimin but the words got caught in his throat; he wouldn’t believe him anyway. “I-I don’t want to talk about it right now…”

Junghyun watched him as he got the purple plush puppy and the car seat from the backseat; he knew his baby brother was deeply hurt, his eyes drooping in sadness but he didn’t want to press the issue. Jungkook would talk when he was ready. “Let’s go free your baby from dad’s grasp.” “Is it that bad?” His eyes widened. “No, it’s actually really cute how he plays with her.” “To be honest, I thought mom would be the one to…” “Give her some time, she’ll get used to it. You know, when we heard how upset you were from Jin…” He paused when he noticed the tortured expression on Jungkook’s face at the mention of his member’s name. “Mom was really upset as well, she wanted to go to Seoul to take care of you, you’re still her baby and now you have a baby, I think she just needs to process everything.”

He nodded, pressing the button on the car key to lock it. “I hope so, I really want mom to like y/n and Soo-Yun…” “I’m sure she will, don’t worry. When did you find out anyway? You haven’t been with her in over a year.” “A couple of days ago…” Jungkook’s voice was really quiet, almost inaudible when he followed him back inside. Slowly but surely the sinking feeling in his stomach told him that what had happened back in Seoul must have been a result of Y/n being back in his life.

She wrapped the dark blue towel around her body before she took a closer look into the mirror - she was a tired mess, even a steaming hot shower wasn’t able to hide the bags under her eyes. Faintly she heard Jungkook’s voice coming from his room when she walked back, it was a higher pitch than usual when he sweetly talked to Soo-Yun. “Are you sleepy? Oh right, your mommy said you were hungry earlier. I’ll get the crackers, wait.” She watched how he clumsily reached for her bag and rummaged through it to find the small carton.

“It’s okay, I’ll feed her now. It’s almost time for her to go to bed anyway.” She announced herself, crossing the short distance from the door to the bed. “Ah, perfect. Would it be okay if I jumped in the shower real quick? I feel like I have stand stuck everywhere from earlier.” “Sure.” Pressing his lips to her forehead, before he grabbed clean clothes and disappeared in the bathroom.

“Are you hungry?” She sat down, picking her daughter up to place her on her lap. “You’ve been such a good girl today but it’s almost bedtime, princess.” Soo-Yun usually demanded to always be fed on time, she just loved to eat and snack all day, although she was a bit fussy when it came to vegetables, cucumber being her favorite by far but before bed and once during the night, she still wanted milk. Naturally, her chubby little hands reached for the towel that was standing in the way of her dinner, once she had cradled her in arms like she usually would.

“I can’t wait for you to only eat solids.” She cooed, gently pushing her daughter’s hair from her forehead when the familiar sucking noises started.

For a moment she watched her drink, the little eyelashes fluttering shut before she busied herself on her phone. Three messages from Jihoon and two missed calls were amongst the messages from her sister and brother in law wondering where she was. Quickly she replied to the latter, not wanting them to worry but Jihoon was a different story. They weren’t dating- they had kissed a handful of times but only ever after she had cried to him about her struggles with Soo-Yun and to her they were just good friends; maybe she was trying to fill the void in her heart that Jungkook left but to him, they were clearly more than friends. Before she could type out a reply to yet another ‘I miss you’ message, she heard a gasp.

Looking up from her phone, she saw Jungkook standing in the doorway, staring at her with his mouth open, only in his underwear and a t-shirt. “I’m so sorry, I’ll go…” He covered his eyes quickly, wanting to give her some privacy but his body had turned to stone. There were too many thoughts rushing through his head to sort through them. To say that he was embarrassed was an understatement, he could feel himself starting to sweat profusely, his cheeks burning up in a crimson red.

“You don’t have to go, you can stay…I don’t mind.” “No, no…I’ll go…” He wanted to turn around. “Kook, are you embarrassed?” She raised her eyebrows, not fully able to banish the amused tone from her voice. “I-I…” He stuttered, still not looking at her, just wanting to hide somewhere until she was done. “You don’t have to be, it’s normal. Babies have to eat too.” “I know that…” He mumbled, dragging his feet over to the chair by the small desk. “I just thought…she was eating food and you didn’t have to…" Ungracefully he gestured towards her, not wanting to say the word breastfeeding out-loud. “For the most part, she eats regular food, yes, but she still likes her milk in the evening and at night…just like you, you love milk, so that’s something you have in common.”

Jungkook scrunched up his nose, his ears were on fire and he still couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “If you have questions, just ask…” He didn't even have to think twice, there was one question predominantly pushing its way forward in his brain. “Uhm, you know…the other day when we, you know…I did that too and nothing came out…” She burst out laughing, earning a disgruntled noise the baby in her arms. “I guess, you were just lucky. I should’ve warned you, I’m sorry.”

Throwing his head back, he let out a whiny cry. “Yes, you should have. That would’ve been weird.” Suddenly his head snapped back and he was directly looking at her, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “You know, I was wondering why your boobs were a little lopsided” “Just like your balls.” She shrugged, shifting her focus back to her daughter. “What? Are you serious? Is one really bigger than the other?” He leaned forward, trying to inspect his lower region through the black fabric of his briefs. “You’re an idiot.” Rolling her eyes, she reached for a pillow, aiming it directly at his head.

“You did what?” Hoseok whispered yelled, although it was just him, Yoongi, Namjoon and Jin who were at the dorm, while the two youngest were out looking for the maknae. Jin nervously hid his hands inside his pink sweater when he ever so lightly nodded. “I can’t believe you two were the ones that told on Jungkookie.” Hobi’s face was pulled into a grimace of contempt. “So he was right. Unbelievable…” “Well, it was mainly Namjoon who did the talking, I didn’t say much….I couldn’t….” Jin tried to defend himself, still feeling the heavyweight of guilt resting on his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter, you were his accomplice!” “I thought, I was doing the right thing.” Namjoon covered his face with his hands. “He was so happy but I knew that if management found out later, it would be a lot worse for him, them…all of us.” “That was not your decision to make. You did stab him in the back.”

“Hoseok-ah, he just wanted to help and it won’t do any good or change anything if you keep scolding him now.” Yoongi crossed his arms. “I don’t condone what you did but I get it. We all worked too hard to have this potentially ruin everything. You had good intentions but it blew up in your face.” “You should’ve talked to Jungkook first, I’m sure, he would’ve understood what’s at stake here.” Hoseok lowered his gaze. “I-I really only wanted to do what’s right. I didn’t think he would listen to me and I thought, he would understand if the boss told him that he’s making a mistake.” “But he always listens to you, you should’ve been the one to knock some sense into him.”

Namjoon let out a heart-wrenching sigh. “I know that now…” They fell silent for a moment, where they all succumbed to their thoughts. It was the first time that a fight between the members had gotten so out of hand that one of them ran away and didn’t come home. “We have to make sure Jimin and Taehyung don’t find out what you two did, they will take it to heart.” Yoongi muttered, his thumb pressed against his bottom lip before he sunk his teeth into the already tortured skin - if things didn’t start to look up again soon, he’d never be able to break this terrible habit.

Dinner had been awkward, to say the least; not once had Jungkook felt this strange and out of place in his parents’ house, even the light-hearted conversations his brother had tried so hard to hold, faded into silence very quickly.

Y/n was sitting on the floor in his room, watching as Soo-Yun peacefully let out little snores in the car seat. “Do you think she’ll be comfortable enough in this thing the whole night?” He wondered, carefully eyeing his daughter, feeling bad that it was too late to get a proper bed for her to sleep in. “Maybe we should have stayed at a hotel for the night…” “It’s not ideal but it should be okay for one night, don’t worry too much.” She turned around, now kneeling in front of him. “How’s your hand?” She inspected his knuckles, that had slowly started to bruise. “It’s a little sore.” “What did you do anyway?” “I might have punched a wall…” He trailed off, watching her mouth open in shock. “Jungkook, what? Are you serious?” “I was angry, they were still lying to me. I-I just needed to do something and it was better than hitting one of them.” “You know there’s pillows or punching bags for that so you don’t end up with a bloody hand.”

Letting out an airy chuckle, he cupped her face and moved in closer. “Thank you, what would I do without you?” She smiled against his lips before they connected sweetly when suddenly the door opened. Quickly they pulled away from each other, his mother scrunched up her nose, holding extra bedding in her arms.

Crudely she walked over to the bed. “Here, help me put this on. Your father is bringing the air mattress in a few minutes.” “Air mattress?” He repeated with a dumbfounded look on his face. “But we don’t need it, we can just sleep in my bed.” She let out a sardonic chuckle through her pursed lips. “You two are not sharing a bed. Evidently nothing good comes from that.”

“Mom!” He protested, feeling a sting in his heart from the snide remark aimed to hurt his and y/n’s feelings. “Jungkook-ah, I don’t want to hear another word.” Silently he nodded his head as he started helping his mother with the bedding. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Y/n offered, when his father walked in, carrying the old air mattress. “No, I think you’ve done enough already.” Quickly Jungkook looked at her, mouthing ‘sorry’ before stuffing a pillow into its designated pillowcase. “Honey, where do you want me to put it?” “Hm, over there, in front of the bookshelf.” His mother instructed her husband after making sure there would be enough space between the mattress and the bed. “Here’s a fitted sheet for you.” Coldly she handed it to y/n, shooing her husband to the door. “Don’t stay up too late.” “We won’t. Goodnight.” Jungkook wanted to close the door behind her but instantly his mother pushed it back open. “The door stays open!” “But mom.” He whaled, feeling like a little kid again that was being treated unfairly. “If you insist on closing it, you can sleep in your brother’s room, then y/n can have your room all to herself and close the door if she pleases.” She smiled sweetly, her eyes drilling into her son’s, letting him know that she didn’t appreciate his behavior. “Fine.” He mumbled, just pushing the door a little so it wasn’t fully open. “Is that okay?” “No.” “But mom, y/n has to feed the baby later, please…” “Just for tonight.” She caved, turning to leave. Impatiently Jungkook waited for his parents’ bedroom door to close before he sat down on his bed again.

“That’s unbelievable. I’m not a kid anymore.” “It’s okay, at least you don’t have to sleep in Junghyun’s room.” After finishing putting the fitted sheet on the air mattress, she sat down on it. “But still, we’re not teenagers anymore. We’ve already done it, there’s no need to keep us apart.” Groaning, he let himself fall back, hitting his head on the wall. “Ouch, I forgot how small his bed is.” “See, maybe it’s good that I’m sleeping over here.” “You’re not sleeping on that old thing. You can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.” “I don’t mind, you can really sleep in your bed.”

But Jungkook wouldn’t budge, he got up and grabbed the end of the air mattress, dragging it over, right next to his bed before he lifted her up with ease to make her sit on the bed. “Ah, much better.” He smiled, sitting down cross-legged. “You know, your mom will be mad if she sees this.” “I don’t care, I want you to be comfortable and I can sleep pretty much anywhere.” He pulled the duvet over his legs. “Do you need me to set an alarm for when you have to feed her?” “No, my body now wakes up by itself at 2:30 am…fun, right?” “That’s usually my bedtime.” Jungkook watched her, as she tried to get comfortable in his bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “We can stay up if you want.” She yawned, her eyes already hooded with sleep.

He simply shook his head, reaching for the light switch of his desk lamp. “No, it was a long day. I’m glad when it’s finally over.” Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes. Maybe tomorrow would be different, maybe tomorrow would be a better day where he didn’t have to think about his brothers at all; his priorities had shifted so fast that maybe he would be able to forget about them just as quickly. “Kookie?” “Hm?” He hummed drowsily, wanting to open his eyes when she didn’t reply but then he felt her hand underneath his duvet, searching for his; their fingers intertwined. His body relaxed instantly into the mattress, and although he couldn’t sleep in the same bed, it was more than enough to know that she was there, holding onto his hand - and heart like she always did. *

Namjoon was pacing up and down in front of the sofa; his hands were clammy so he repeatedly wiped them on his sweat pants. “Can you please sit down? You’re making us all nervous.” Hoseok’s eyes were glued to the clock on the wall, his pupils moving rapidly as they kept up with the seconds that passed. “Sorry, I’m just…” The leader was cut off when the two youngest members hurried into the room. “Did you find him?”

Taehyung shook his head. “He’s not at the gym, nor is he with any of his friends…” “They could be lying and are covering for him.” “I doubt it, hyung, most of them said that they haven’t heard from him in a while.”

Jimin slumped down on the floor. “He’s not responding to messages and when I try calling him, it goes straight to voicemail. Have any of you tried calling him?” All of them pulled their phones out but every call ended with a disappointed sigh. “Voicemail.” Jin mumbled, dropping his phone to massage his temples.

“He’s just mad and needs to clear his head, he’s probably with y/n.” Yoongi tried to reassure his members but even he couldn’t entirely ignore the uneasy feeling inside of him.

“I tried calling her too earlier but the same thing happened.” “Well then we know that he told her what happened, that’s something.” “It’s not, we still don’t know where he is and if he’s okay.” Taehyung sat down next to his best friend. “I’m sure he’s fine and will be home soon.” Yoongi tried his best to sound hopeful, only to earn a sad look from both boys on the floor.”

“Maybe we should call the police. It’s been over 24 hours…” “But Jungkookie is not missing…” “Yes, he is! We don’t know where he is and that makes him a missing person!” Jimin protested, determined to find the youngest. Namjoon cleared his throat. “We can’t call the police, but we can tell one of the managers what’s going on. They have to know.” “And what are they gonna do about it? If we can’t find him, they won’t either.” Jimin threw his hands up in despair. If only Jungkook would have talked to him; he was sure that he would’ve been able to calm him down and make him stay. Was this just part of a plan to make them all feel bad or had the youngest been so heartbroken, so upset that he couldn’t stand living with them anymore? They would never turn their backs on him but Jungkook had just walked out of their lives.

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