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gretavangroupie · 11 months

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Vigilance (Chapter 6)

Word count: 14.1k

Warnings: 18+ as always, drinking, language, fluff, angst, smut, violence.

This story is a very special collaboration with my best pal @gretavanmoon.

HER POV

FEBRUARY 2021

You hit send, delivering the new hire paperwork to your new boss from the comfort of your brand new apartment. The final class of your degree and your advisor was able to help set you up to accept an internship at Collective Artist Management. The company you had your eye on for months. You had set up email alerts last fall hoping to see the listing for an intern come up, and on that lonely New Years Day you saw the job posting. You applied immediately knowing there would likely be hundreds of people desperate for the opportunity.

You spoke to your advisor about it, and somehow she knew someone and the internship was suddenly yours. The only stipulation being that you would finish out your degree and move to Nashville, Tennessee. A city you had never been to, with no friends, no family and no sense of comfort. But maybe this was the fresh start you needed, still haunted by the ghosts living in your hometown.

Things with Jake never got better, never seeing him again after that fateful day. Never even speaking about it. He left for tour and you left for school. All there was was silence. Your heart broke into a million pieces. You thought you'd be with him forever. Funny how life takes your plans and turns them inside out.

You dreaded each holiday spent at home, knowing there would be a chance they would all be there. But to your surprise they never were. Three Thanksgivings passed with empty place mats, Christmas came and went each year, never to see any of their smiling faces. They had moved on from this life and had started anew. Sam kept in touch the first few months after you and Jake ended things, but eventually he dropped off too. You tried not to take it personally, knowing that they were onto bigger and better things, but you still felt that pang of sadness not only of losing Jake, but losing your best friend too.

For a while you would watch them through social media. Watch them tour, watch them live out the dream they always told you they would. But at a certain point it started to do more harm than good. So, you did what you had to do and you blocked them. All of them. It hurt and you hated it but you couldn’t bear it anymore. They changed. You changed. You weren’t in their orbit anymore. It was easier to not know, than to know anything at all.

So you put your head into the books, burying yourself in your classes, soaking up every bit of knowledge you could. Ending each semester with perfect grades and the years breezing by. You always imagined yourself in Los Angeles or maybe even New York. Never Nashville. But again, life has a funny way of skewing your plans, so here you found yourself. A new city with new people, wishing and hoping that maybe you would be able to fill the hole in your heart with new friends and new lovers. Leaving the past behind you, as much as it hurt.

—

The first week of your internship was spent going over everything crucial to know in the job. Where to be, where not to be and who you should and should not talk to. You learned about the labels you worked with, labels you no longer worked with and you met your boss, Allison.

You would be working as an Artist Liaison Intern. A long fancy title for unpaid coffee runner, and fulltime errand girl. In reality you would be helping coordinate flights, travel visas, help schedule cars and bus transportation, even help plan parties. There were really no limits on this job title and you were more than thrilled to be working with Collective. You knew after your first year of college that you wanted to work in music. Work with bands and artists like the ones you grew up with. While it hurt to think that they helped pave this path for you, you thought that maybe the pain of it all was just the universe pushing you towards the life you were destined to have.

Your boss Allison started each day with a checklist of what needed to get done, and then would delegate tasks to you. Recently they had all been tasks that would eventually come together to build the pieces of the Label Release Party. A party for all of the bands and artists releasing new albums in the coming year for that particular label. The client for this quarter's party was UMG.

You were handed a binder of information from the last party and began to delve into the specifics of what exactly needed to get done. Each day was spent alongside Allison and her team building the foundation of this party taking place in just two months. Over 30 artists would be there, and UMG had no budget, so you and the team almost had full reign over the entirety of the party.

The nights were long and the interns from other departments became the new friends you were hoping for all along. Dragging you to bars after work each night, drinking away the stress of each day. You were beginning to feel happy here in this new city. Happy with your new friends, and happy with the life you were building for yourself. Allison had mentioned the possibility of the internship turning into a full time position more than once so you were sure to be on your ‘A’ game at all times, really hoping that you wouldn't have to leave at the end of all of this.

As the date of the party drew nearer, so did the anxiety. Was everything perfect? Would the label be happy? Couple that with the stress of your impending Graduation and you were borderline losing it. Allison seemed more than happy with your work and with the party only a few days away, everything began to fall into place exactly as you hoped it would.

—-

APRIL 2021

Smoothing your black dress out with your palms, you look yourself over in your full length mirror one last time before rushing out the door. You wobble down the stairs in your heels and make quick strides to your car. As you put the key in the ignition you slide your heels off and throw them into the passenger seat. You back out of the parking space and try to remember to take deep breaths. Everything you had worked for was banking on tonight. The fate of your job was banking on this. One slip up could make or break you, and you would be damned if you let another good thing get away.

Your heels clacked loudly against the tile floor of the lobby. The label had insisted on the party being hosted somewhere ‘cool and hip’ so when Allison suggested The Blue Room at Third Man Studios they were instantly sold. It was large enough to hold a crowd but intimate enough to feel exclusive. As you stepped into the main space you saw all the decorations and all of the things you had been preparing come to life. The signs, the food, the table placement… everything was perfect.

Allison rushed over as soon as she saw you, frantic with her hands full of paperwork. “We have an hour until artists start showing up. Do you have the flash drive?” she asks.

“Of course, it’s in my bag. I got it from Hazel this morning.” You say handing her the small metal drive.

“Thank god, you’re a lifesaver. I really couldn’t have done all of this without you.” she says, accepting it and walking off, before turning to look over her shoulder. “By the way, the job is yours, welcome to the team.”

Your jaw dropped and she smiled and walked away rushing off to the sound booth. You did it.

You spent much of the evening on cloud nine, running around tending to the needs of the guests and helping with catering and even at the bar. The slideshow went off without a hitch and the artists seemed more than happy with the display the team had procured for each one of them. You watched in awe as each artist flashed across the screen, standing to be recognized. As it reached the final few artists a name flashed across the screen that almost took your breath away. The single from the impending album played in the background as the slide read ‘Greta Van Fleet’.

You’re sure the blood drained from your face as you nervously scanned the room looking for the guys and their representation. In the far left corner of the room you saw Josh, standing with his drink accepting the applause the crowd gave him. He looked so different since the last time you saw him. Granted it had been almost three years since you blocked them all, never once searching them or the band knowing it would send you back to square one. Hearing their new music playing now was the first you had heard them in years. Josh’s voice had matured and their sound had become rock solid. They truly did make it. The guitar playing sent a shock right to your heart though, reminding you that you could very well be in the same room as him right now. You scanned the table where Josh sat but found only him. Part of you was thankful that it was only him but the other part of you felt punched in the gut at the stupid hopefulness you felt.

As your eyes fixate on Josh, you quickly realize that if he sees you he will want to talk so you tear your eyes away hoping to keep a low profile for the rest of the night. You keep your head low working at the bar and keeping to yourself, that is until Allison found you, pulling you away from your quiet task.

“Want to go meet some of the people you will be working with? Wait, you want the job right?” she asks.

“Of course I do! Yes!” you reply eagerly.

“Then let's go!” she says pulling you behind her.

She ushers you around the room, introducing you to executives, co-workers you hadn’t met yet, and even a few artists you’d be working with. Your head was spinning as you tried to process all the new information coming in while simultaneously keeping an eye out for Josh, doing your damndest to avoid him.

After a few hours people began to slowly filter out and you started to collect empty place settings and pack the nameplates back into the little box you plucked them from. Feeling like the coast was clear you slipped your heels off as you worked paying no mind to the few guests still lingering near the bar.

You heard the doors open to the room and you saw the familiar fluff of curls cross the room, back to the table he was previously seated at, scanning over it before grabbing his keys. As you watched him, his eyes flicked upward meeting yours.

You look away quickly hoping he wouldn’t recognize you, but you kick yourself because it’s Josh, and you knew he would. He inevitably makes his way over to you, rushing, pushing chairs out of the way in order to get to you as quickly as possible.

“Y/N?” he questions, as he stands in front of you.

You turn slowly to face him, as you nod. “Hi, Josh.”

Expecting to be met with anger or resentment you furrow your brow waiting for his next words, but instead of that you are met with a beaming smile.

“Oh my god, it is you. I…I thought it was you earlier, but I couldn’t tell. I convinced myself that it couldn’t be. I… Oh my god, how are you? What are you doing here?” he asks, shocked.

“Well…I kind of live here now. I work for Collective Artist Management.” you say nervously. “I graduate next month.”

His hand reaches out and lands on your arm, and you smile to yourself. Typical Josh, always touching. “Y/N, that is amazing! You fucking did it, huh!” he says gripping your arm. “You live here? In Nashville?”

“Yeah, I moved here at the end of January, beginning of February… something like that. Been working and trying to meet new people and get to know my new city.” you reply.

“How did we end up in the same city again?” he laughs, a sound you have sorely missed.

A smile strung across your face at the sound, bringing back the memories you have tried so hard to bury deep inside your brain. He pulls his phone from his pocket, and taps the screen a few times before flashing it to you. “Is this still your number?” he asks.

You examine the screen seeing your name and the emojis you selected all those years ago, still sitting peacefully next to it. “Yep, that’s me.” you reply.

“Good, can we uh… can I text you? Maybe we can get drinks tomorrow or something?” he asks.

“Yeah, that would be fine. I’m sure I have a lot to catch up on.” you laugh.

A giggle leaves his chest as he replies, “Yeah, just a bit. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yep, talk to you then.” you say, before being pulled into his chest for a hug. As his arms wrap around your neck you catch a whiff of him, and you are instantly catapulted back to a time you have tried so hard to forget.

He releases you and walks away shoving his hands in his pockets tossing you a smile over his shoulder.

Your mind is positively reeling, you had no idea that he lived in Nashville. Where were the others? When did they move here? Obviously they had made it pretty big if they were signed with UMG…

As the night wrapped up and you drove yourself home you let your mind wander down those old dusty paths you had roped off for so long. You thought of Sam and your last conversation with him about Elle. How things weren’t going too well and things were only getting harder.

You thought of Danny and Josh and the last time you heard them play. But mostly you thought of Jake and how you left things, broken and beyond repair.

As you showered the night off of you, you thought some more, wondering if meeting Josh for drinks was a good idea. Not sure if you wanted to reopen those old wounds. Though the more you thought about it, years had passed. You had changed. He had clearly changed, filling out more and carrying himself more authentically. You felt compelled to know this new Josh so you decided you would go, and you would leave the past behind you.

—-

The text from Josh came in the early afternoon, startling you from your book.

Josh: Fable Lounge at 8?

You: See you then!

You rifled through your closet for what had to be an hour. What the hell do you wear to meet up with an old friend in a new city? At a swanky bar nonetheless? Your bed was littered with different items of clothing strewn about, a pile for maybe, a pile for no, a pile for absolutely not. After a half hour of madness, you finally decided on some tight jeans with a black tank and green bomber jacket. You let your hair hang naturally, it had grown quite long, and you decided to let your natural waves be. Simple makeup and some winged eyeliner, and you were out the door.

Thankfully, Josh was already at the bar when you arrived, having a casual conversation with the bartender pouring his drink. You walked up and took the stool to his right, trying to take him by surprise.

“Heyyyy, there she is!” He brought you in for a hug. “It’s so good seeing a familiar face in town. Whatcha drinking tonight?”

“Rum and Coke” you reply.

He nods his head to the bartender and he begins to make it. The two of you sat, drank, and laughed, catching up on each other's lives. After a round or two, you felt your body begin to relax.

“Don’t have anyone steady in your life?” he asked, sipping from the side of his glass.

“No, nothing serious.” You suddenly became shy, and he knew why. “Things just haven’t felt right...in a while. Ya know?”

“Do I know?” He asked from the side of his mouth.

You sighed heavily. “Of course you know, Josh. You’ve always known.” you reply.

He smiled his know-it-all smile, “Hmm... Well… maybe you’ve found yourself back in the right place again.” He smirked, and lightly clinked his glass to yours. The blood drained from your face. What on earth did that mean?

You heard the door open behind you, catching Josh’s attention as a smile played upon his lips. Turning to see what he was looking at, the blood drained from your face. Oh. My god. In walked Danny, Sam, Jake, and…a girl. On Jake’s arm.

“SURPRISE! Look who I found!” Josh moved his stool to reveal you, as all of their jaws dropped simultaneously.

“Josh, what the fuck!” You said quietly in his ear, gritting your teeth through a fake smile.

Rounds of hugs came quickly from Sam and Danny, while Jake and the mystery girl stayed quietly far enough away that they didn’t feel the need to partake in your greetings.

Sam immediately made his way over to your barstool. You inhaled a quick breath to prepare yourself for this. You spun the swivel stool and faced him. What you came face to face with wasn't at all what you expected.

He was taller, had filled out a bit, and god damn, he was absolutely gorgeous. His hair was a bit longer, rested below his shoulders, and was finger-tousled. His skin seemed to glow, especially in this lighting. It looked so soft, you had to stop yourself from reaching out to touch it. He had just a little bit of dark peach fuzz around his lips and chin that countered the silken look of his skin, but it suited him well. His eyes, though. They hadn’t changed. Deep brown, sanpaku shaped, and they still squinted into little half moons when he smiled too hard. Which he did, the second you turned to face him.

“Y/N?! Are you kidding me?! What are you doing here? With Josh, nonetheless!” He shoved Josh’s shoulder from behind, causing him to choke a little on the drink he was swallowing.

“Why didn’t you tell me we had an old friend in town?!” Sam asked him without taking his eyes off of you.

His fucking smile.

He was grinning ear to ear, genuinely happy to see you. His perfectly straight and white teeth sat behind his gorgeous lips. You always envied the hell out of his smile.

Before you could speak, he was lifting you off the stool into a giant bear hug that felt more like a back-cracking than a formal hello. He set you back down to your feet and you gathered yourself, flustered by his newfound confidence.

“Surprise? I guess?” You returned his beaming smile, and you felt him lower his head and catch your eyes, taking you all in. In another unexpected instance, you found his hand on yours, lifting it to spin you around. When you had done your full turn, he met your gaze again.

“You look spectacular. Haven’t changed a bit,” he said with a knowing wink.

But, you had changed. Though you had long since lost your freshman 15, you had gained it back in all the right places, finally forming into the full shape of a grown woman. You’d let your hair grow, and decided to change up your style a bit. New city, new you, of course.

Sam took the bar stool next to you, leaving the rest of his group behind. You cleared your throat, mind flashing with dread as you caught Jake in your peripheral, sitting three stools down. Thankfully Josh and Danny separated the two of you. Sam motioned to the bartender and ordered a tequila soda. Next, his elbow was on the bar, head leaning into his hand, looking directly at you. You downed the rest of your drink as you met his gaze.

“What the hell are you doing here, Y/N?” He said quietly through a giant smile.

“Well, my internship brought me here, actually. Remember I was in school? I majored in Music Management and Marketing, so I took an internship and I’ve been working at Collective Artist Management learning how the logistics of the industry work.” you say proudly.

You sipped hard on your skinny straw, getting nothing but watered-down rum. “I basically buy plane tickets, help plan tours and throw big parties for a living now. Anyways, we hosted UMG’s new release party the other night. And, lo and behold, I ran into Josh. Well, he ran into me. We got to talking… He invited me out for drinks. But- he failed to tell me he was bringing the whole family. I didn’t even know you guys lived here.” You rolled your eyes to the side to look toward Josh, but he didn’t hear you.

“That’s amazing. Leave it to the universe. So, you’re living here now?” His gaze was dreamy and intense, like he was hanging on your every word. He folded the straw in half over the lip of his glass, and sipped it from the side.

“Yeah. For now, at least.” You grinned at him, and he returned it.

The drinks continued to flow, and the conversation did too. Danny had made his way over to you, embracing you in one of his all-too-familiar bear hugs and it felt like no time had passed at all. Josh told 5 or 6 stories, Danny announced that he was finally going to purchase his dream guitar tomorrow, and Sam explained, in detail, all the restaurants you just had to try as soon as humanly possible.

Jake…and the girl, Sophia, you learned….stayed put in their seats, adding very little to the conversation, and never once giving you the greeting everyone else did.

“Shots?! Anyone want a shot? Let’s do shots.” Classic Samuel. He clapped his hands together, successfully signaling the bartender. Your face was now well on its way to feeling warm and numb from the liquor, and you threw your head back in aggravated laughter. The bar had gotten significantly more crowded, and the atmosphere was heady.

“Sam, I have to get up tomorrow!” You objected while the bartender lined up the shot glasses.

“Yeah, at what, 11am? You’ll be fine, don't be a baby.” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes. What was this, high school again?

“Besides, we’re celebrating! It’s a reunion!” He slapped the bar top candidly.

The six of you crowded into a small circle and raised the tiny glasses into the air. You ever so briefly made eye contact with Jake from across the circle, and he looked away as soon as your eyes could focus.

“To new memories and old friends, may we be ever compliant with what time throws toward us, and may we accept with grace and dignity!” Josh bellowed, slightly slurry. Everyone clinked glasses and downed the warm liquor. You welcomed it, though these people felt like home, you couldn’t have felt more out of place.

You turned back to the bar, wiping your mouth of the droplets that had escaped your lips. Sam joined you in his original seat. His eyes were locked onto the side of your face and you almost felt them burning holes into the side of your skull.

“What, Samuel?” You said sharply through a tight smile.

He smiled a curt half smile, his eyes hooded but confident. “Let’s get out of here.” He nodded his head toward the door. You might have choked on your spit if you had been a tad bit more drunk. Your eyebrows raised in shock.

“What? L-like...leave? You and-” you motioned to yourself and him, questioning if you had heard him right.

“I hate this fuckin bar. It’s too uptown for me. Not my style, ya know?” Sam said, standing up and pulling out his wallet. “I know someplace else that is more our speed.”

You were speechless, unsure of what to say. But you were well on your way to being more than tipsy, feeling just right, on the brink of confidence overtaking your personality. What the hell, right? You could afford to learn about a few new bars in town, and you were with your best friend. Well, old best friend. And the man at the other end of the bar couldn’t seem to care less if he spoke to you tonight or not. Not that you cared.

After Sam paid his bill and yours, which you didn’t object to out of old habit, he clinked the pen closed and replaced his wallet. “Let’s go!”

In a rush of hands whisking you from your chair, the two of you were quickly pacing toward the door, hand in hand.

“See you guys later, we’re going to get into some trouble. Get the bail money ready, bitches!” Sam hollered to his brothers still seated at the bar.

You didn’t know what to add except a quick shrug and a passing wave of goodbye. You met Jake’s eyes as Sam pulled you past, and the look on his face was unreadable. Pissed? Maybe. Sad, confused, silent.

The outside air was enough to sober you up and make you feel more drunk all at once. The two of you paced down the sidewalk quickly; your arm tucked under Sam’s.

“Where are we going?” You pressed.

“A fun place. Don’t worry about it.” His hair was blowing in the chilled air, and his face was as happy as you remembered it to always be. Carefree Sammy, always so eloquently unbothered by anything.

As you walked into the next bar, you were met with a darker, more relaxed atmosphere. The place was small, and instantly felt cozy. Wooden walls, a lava lamp on the bar, plastic chairs at the tables, and a jukebox on the far wall. Ah, yes. Definitely more your speed.

“Rum and coke?” Sam asked as you approached the bar.

“Yes please.” you responded.

The night continued on, the two of you laughing, sharing old stories, getting significantly more intoxicated…but neither of you daring to touch on the subject that was lingering in the air.

Honestly, you didn’t want to bring it up. You knew it would happen sooner or later, but time had passed. Things had changed. People had moved on. You were adults now. And you were enjoying yourself, things were light and airy and giggly with your old friend again. It felt like old times. Cheerful, breezy, nostalgic. Sam brought about an air of peace that you had so missed.

“I can’t buhlieve my old friends are FAYYYMOUS!” you raised your voice overtop of the old rock song playing from the jukebox, hand landing on Sam’s knee.

He looked at you a little sideways.

“Have you really not kept up with our music, Y/N?” He acted a little offended. “We’ve toured the world, released two albums...we kinda uh, won a Grammy...” he laughed through the last word.

Your eyes widened and your stomach flipped. How could you tell him that you’ve been actively ignoring and going out of your way to block out every word involving their band name on your social media? How could you explain that seeing their faces on your screen or hearing them play in your car brought back such sickening memories that it put you in depressive episodes for days?

Even seeing them here, now, in the flesh made you feel so uneasy it was hard to think straight.

“I heard one of your songs playing in the grocery store once.” You swallowed hard. “Safari Song, I think? It was wild, just minding my own business, picking through the fruit bins, listening to my old best friends play on the radio in a super public setting.”

He was silent.

“I knew you guys had made it, but honestly, I...kind of… Don’t seek you out. It really just…hurts? Kind of. I don’t know. After everything.” you stammer.

Sam placed his hand on your knee and leaned forward. “No, I get it. I really do. It would be strange. But, hopefully one day you’ll come to a show. Let us show off for you a little bit?” He smiled a cheesy smile.

You half cocked a smile back, and put a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah! Maybe one day.”

You knew going to see them play would be absolutely mind blowing. Watching their fans go nuts, hearing their new music and how they’ve grown as musicians, watching Jake. Your stomach felt sick at the thought.

When the night was growing toward a close, and the bar had begun to empty, you and Sam found yourselves two of the only few people left at the bar, heavily and drunkenly engaged in a game of quarter bounce. You’d had a blast with him this evening, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed how the neon was glowing off of his skin, radiating and accentuating his perfectly developed features.

Or how sexy it looked when he pulled his hair back into a low bun when the game got intense, a few strands falling into his face…You sincerely flushed when he kissed you on the cheek after making three quarters in a row. He beamed with contentment, comfort, warmth. Never letting the smile fall from his face the whole night. He was being his goofy self, making you laugh until your stomach muscles hurt, but all the while you found yourself intensely and overwhelmingly attracted to him. For the first time you saw him. Not his brother.

“You cheated! That’s not fair!” He practically yelled. “You don’t get three chances, it’s in the rule book!”

“What rule book, Sam? The rule book doesn’t exist!” You slurred through hearty giggles, knowing well and good that you had in fact, cheated.

He walked over to you slowly, taking his pointer finger and playfully poking you in random spots across your face. You tried to swat him away, to no avail.

“Cheater!” *poke*

“Pumpkin!” *poke*

“EATER!” he taunted.

You grabbed his hand to pull it from your face, he knew he was pissing you off. He sturdied his arm, which in turn pulled your whole body into him. You suddenly found yourselves chest to chest, faces impossibly close.

His nose bumped yours, and normally you would back off, feeling awkward and embarrassed. But his eyes darted down to your lips, and back up to your eyes. Your lips were mere centimeters from his. You could feel his breath, warm and heavy, exhaling lightly onto your partially parted lips. His eyes traveled slowly back down to your lips, and you felt his sturdied arm relax. Your heart began to pound in your ears. You’ve never been this close to Sam before. His hand was still on yours, and without moving his face away, he turned your hand into his, and interlaced your fingers. You swallowed hard, tasting the essence of his tequila on your tongue.

“I don’t like pumpkin.” was all you could whisper before his lips were crashing onto yours in the most heated, yet cautious way. His lips were warm and soft, and he let out a small exhale through his nose at the contact. God, your stomach fell straight to the floor; he felt so sweet. You felt his body relax, and his fingers tighten around yours. After a few seconds of exhilaration, you parted, the both of you darting your eyes back and forth between each others. Each of you exploded into lighthearted and drunken giggles. He let your hand go, and you stood, taking all of him in with your eyes.

“I love pumpkin,” he said through a chuckle.

——

A ten minute walk down the sidewalk, and a short but exhausting trek down side streets found you and Sam approaching his front door. A little bungalow of a place tucked away from the main part of whatever neighborhood you were in. You were still sufficiently intoxicated, probably more so than you truly needed to be. But you were high on the night, on the festivities, and on Sam’s lips. You suddenly felt all your inhibitions melting into the ground below you.

“This is me,” he said, fumbling with the keys as he unlocked the door. When you got inside, he walked over to a tiny lamp and switched it on, sending a light orange glow into the small but spacious area. You kicked off your shoes and hung your jacket on a chair. You made your way to his couch. You plopped down and let it begin to relax you.

“Another drink, or some water?” He asked lovingly.

“How about both?” You replied.

“Excellent choice.” he smiled, disappearing to the kitchen.

He returned promptly with two glasses full of some type of iced amber liquid and two bottles of water.

“Cheers,” he mumbled quietly as he sat down next to you on the couch.

“Cheers, Sammy.” you smiled.

Your head was spinning. From the alcohol, from the kiss, from seeing Jake’s brand new face after so long of not seeing him every day.

The kiss. Your drunken state brought the memory of what happened just now at the bar, amplified, back to the forefront of your mind. You sipped from the glass, then chugged some water. For the second time tonight, you felt Sam’s eyes boring into the side of your face. You slowly turned to look at him. Your face went hot when you met his sultry gaze. Good god, he was so beautiful. Even more so, now, in his matured state and in this dim lighting. You felt your heart flutter.

“Yeeees?” You teased.

Sam rested his head on the back of the couch. His breath hitched. “I’m gonna ask you a question, Y/N. And I need you to answer honestly.”

That shouldn’t be too hard, as the alcohol had given you quite the air of confidence, suddenly at just the perfect spot of leaving you feeling like you had no filter.

He put his head down, and was toying with a frayed string on his shirt. “Did you- ever? Umm... Did you ever feel anything for-”

He was stumbling over his words. You raised your head to look at him with more attention, brows furrowing trying to show him that you were listening.

He huffed. “Did you ever love me, y/n?” Your name rolled off his tongue effortlessly, like he’d spoken it one million times, because in reality, he had.

Your eyes widened. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“I know you loved me, but... I felt so strongly for you for so many years, but I never had the guts to tell you. I was too-” he cut off his words again. You felt like you may pass out at his confession. He stared up at the ceiling, letting his words finally fall.

“You were my absolute best friend. Like, even more so than my brothers or Daniel. It was different with you. I could tell you anything and you’d never pick on me or judge me. I trusted you with my secrets. And I think you trusted me with yours.” he said.

He reached down to grab your hand once again, interlacing your fingers like you had at the bar. “I always thought, you know, one day I’ll do it, I’ll get the balls to tell her. Then- everything happened...” he stammered off, both of your brains revisiting a dark place that you’d had tucked away in the very deepest crevices of your brain.

He turned to look at you now.

“I think I always knew about you and Jake. Even before he told me. At the time, I don’t think I did. But looking back now, I think I knew it. In my bones, ya know? I just kept lying to myself because I always thought it’d be you and me in the end.”

You felt a tear fall directly from your eye and onto your chest. He gingerly brought his hand up to your face and wiped it away.

“After all this time, and even after Elle and our careers and everything getting busy and taking off..I think I realized that I’m not in love with you anymore. I finally feel…like I can break myself free of the chains you held me in for so many years.” He smiled, his words weren’t meant to hurt you, just let you know. “I think I finally fell away from you, y/n. And it feels…”

“It feels what, Sammy?” You asked through another tear.

He huffed again.

“Huh, I dunno. Liberating? If that’s the word.” He laughed a little. You couldn’t help but smile. You turned and wiped your tears away, letting out a choppy sigh.

“Dammit, Sam. You made me emotional.” you said, laughing at yourself. You rolled your head back again. You allowed a few moments to pass, silently.

“No.” You said, finally.

“No what?” he asks.

You paused, collecting your words. “I never loved you like that.”

Sam took a deep and quick breath through his teeth, readjusting himself on the couch. “I didn’t think so.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, taking turns sipping your drinks and exchanging looks.

“So, now that we’ve established that we aren’t in love with each other, want to talk about that sweet little kiss at the bar?” Sam said in his normal cheeky tone. You realized you were still holding hands. His thumb was lightly massaging the back of your hand. It felt like pure electricity.

“Honestly Sam, I don’t want to talk about it.” You answered. You took the last bit of your drink, and placed the glass on the coffee table. You took his drink from his hand, and placed it next to yours. You moved your body so that you were able to throw your leg over top of his, and bring yourself to carefully sit on his lap, facing him.

“I just…kind of want to kiss you again.” you said quietly in a questioning tone, watching his face closely to gauge his reaction. Of course, his eyes widened, and the look on his face was hilarious. Pure and utter surprise. His head lulled back against the couch, and once your words and action had settled in his mind, he put on that seductively shy smile.

“Do you, now? I thought we didn’t have feelings for each other?” he peeked at you through one eye, hands beginning to grip tightly on your thighs.

“We don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t find you…attractive.” you twirled a piece of his hair between your fingers. The silky brown strands, thick and plush.

“I’ve always found you attractive, y/n. Caught my eye the first day I saw you.” His hands were squeezing harder now, moving slowly from your straddled knees up to your upper thighs.

“Gorgeous from the get go. All the guys in school fawning over you.” He continued intermittently squeezing the thickness of your thighs, eyes scanning over your whole body as if he was committing every inch to memory.

“Guys coming up to me to see if they could ask you out...as if I’d have any problem with it.” His thumbs had now inched impossibly close to your heat, gripping the fold where your legs met your hips. He dug the pads of his thumbs into your groin, eliciting the tiniest sound to escape your lips.

“Everyone wanted you...but you were mine…my best friend. I can’t tell you how many times I had to stop myself from sneaking you away into the basement…” his hands were still working your muscle at a sickening pace, thumbs rubbing small circles close, but not close enough.

“But I must say, when I saw you at the bar tonight…” his hands moved from your thighs to your ass, gently but tightly squeezing. “…I knew I wasn’t going to be able to take my eyes off of you for the rest of the night.” His voice had grown low and gravely. His normal frivolous attitude had shifted into something darker and more sinister, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t absolutely craving seeing more of this side of him.

“Of course I was always attracted to you too, Sam. I mean, God, look at you.” He shied away at your words, a rosy blush filling his cheeks. “Watching you play your guitar was always my favorite. Everyone knows you as the bass player, but I always knew you could do both. Talented at both.” You brought your forehead to rest on his.

“You fell into another world when you played. Played anything, really. So talented. I always caught myself having to drag my eyes away from your hands...” you found his hand and intertwined your fingers again. “Just because I didn’t have the same feelings for you then, doesn’t mean that I never wanted to…do this.” your voice trailed off, sticky and full of lust.

You brought your hands to his face, tracing his beautiful cheekbones with your thumbs. You weren’t sure what had come over you. Curiosity, mostly, and drunken and immense attraction to this man in front of you. Your mind flashed with every warning sign and inhibition it could to stop you from doing this- your friendship with Sam, everything with Andy, the fight, Jake….

You worked to ignore every single red flag your body was throwing at you, and to just go with what felt right right now.

And what felt right was kissing Sam again.

So you did.

This time, it was slow and mellow, testing the waters and seeing how he felt. You slowly moved your lips across his, sweetly taking your time and allowing for this strange adjustment. You pulled away to catch his eyes, and in seconds, he had his hands back on your waist, harshly pulling you closer toward him, and down onto his hardening length in his jeans.

Oh.

He found your lips again, and parted his slightly to allow you more access. You took the opportunity, and deepened the kiss, lightly flicking your tongue across his lips, testing the uncharted waters. He met your tongue with his, and damned if he didn’t taste sweet. Your hands found his hair, and tangled into the roots, which only spurred him on. Your brain was flipping and flying everywhere at once, but you liked it.

He tightened his grip on your waist again, and dug his thumbs into your sides, eliciting a sharp breath from you. You parted, meeting eyes. You both began to laugh, and again, you rested your forehead on his.

“This is...weird.” you said.

“Yep. Very weird.” He parroted back. Suddenly he was lifting you from his lap and laying you down on your back on the couch. He climbed to lay on top of you, and what began as innocent explorative kissing quickly shifted into a heated, frenzied makeout session. Your kisses became raw and wanting, you were both fighting for control as you let your instincts take over.

He was an excellent kisser, and you took advantage of that. All four hands were gripping and fighting and pulling, trying to find any kind of purchase that may assist in getting each other undressed. The sounds he was making were causing you to absolutely pool with desire for him. You were both panting and sweating at this point. Both of you unsure what step to take next. Cautious, flustered, embarrassed… But wholeheartedly comfortable and yearning for him. And him for you.

“Sam,” you asked.

“Y/N” he answered.

“Will you umm, take my shirt off?”

Without another word, he was lifting himself off of you and removing your shirt above your head. You realized he had never seen you in a bra before. His eyes were blown out with lust just from looking at you, and seeing him look at you that way ignited something in your chest.

You felt a strange and wanting passion burning, one that felt uninhibited and carnal. For Sam. With Sam. Your best friend. Why did all of this feel so good?

You decided to go with your gut. You were both consenting adults, just looking for a little fun. What did you have to lose?

SAM POV

Jesus Christ, what is happening right now? Am I dreaming?

She looked absolutely stunning in nothing but her bra. A pretty little maroon lace thing. You gave her a smile and a look of admiration, hoping that she didn’t feel any kind of shyness toward you.

You’ve wanted this for so long, so many years. You thought it was never going to happen. Especially after so much time being apart, but look where the universe has landed you.

“You’re really gorgeous, y/n. Seriously.” you implore.

You were returned a sweet smile. “Thank you, Sammy.”

Her smile made your heart melt. “Can I take yours off?”

“Mmhm, absolutely babe.” She sat up and grasped the shoulders of your tee shirt, pulling up and taking the shirt off. She let it fall to the floor. Her eyes raked over your torso, sparkling slightly in the moody light. Beautiful.

As you took in the sight of her upper half, you noticed something. Right on her ribs. A tattoo.

“What’s that? I never knew you had a tattoo..” you asked.

“Oh yeah...I got that a really long time ago. On a whim-” she tried to push the subject away.

“It’s a constellation, right? Stars…oh it’s the Little Dipper.” you eyebrows furled.

What? Where had you seen this before? Old images fluttered through your mind.

Shit…Jake’s guitar. His carvings.

You lifted your head to speak, to ask her if it was a tattoo for Jake. Did he have the same one? She cut you off before you could ask.

“It’s a long story...for another time, Sam.”

You decided to leave it at that.

She made her way on top of you again now, in the original straddled position. “Hm, you like it here, huh?” You joked, and began peppering her jawline with tiny kisses. She let her head fall back, giving you access to her neck, and you swore you could have taken her right then and there.

Her skin was so soft, and tasted so sweet. And the floral smell of her hair was making your head spin. She cawed a little bit at your touch, which enticed you to bring your hands, ever so carefully, to her breasts. You gave them a small squeeze, and bravely slipped your hands underneath the bra, gently massaging, keeping your mouth on her pressure points.

She inhaled sharply at the new sensation, and gave the prettiest little moan, spurring you on again. You found her nipples, and gently twisted them between your fingers. That, she loved.

“Shhhhit Sam,” she groaned, then backed away and looked directly into your eyes. In seconds her mouth was attached to yours, bringing back the intense kissing from moments ago. These kisses were deep, forceful, and intentional. Your tongues were wrestling, exploring each other’s mouths as your hands began to haphazardly grab anything and everything. You mewled into her mouth as she grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of your head, pulling it back to look at her as she craned over you. She grinded her hips down onto you again, making the need for her all the more difficult to bear. Both of you were insanely starved for one another.

You decided it was time to move. You couldn’t wait any longer, and you had barely done anything but land one foot on second base. You grabbed underneath her thighs, standing and lifting her with you. She giggled. You met eyes again, this time with a question written on your face. Her arms were wrapped around your neck, hands lightly massaging the back of your head.

“Can I take you in my room?” You asked, more confidently than you anticipated.

Her eyelids were half open, her hair a mess, anticipation dripping from her aura.

“Please,” was all she stated.

You walked her down the short hallway into the back bedroom; you were thankful it wasn’t too messy in there. Not like she would care anyway. She never did.

There was only the significantly bright moonlight coming through the windows, and you decided to not turn on the lamp. The pale blue light was already illuminating her skin in the most beautiful way. You gently set her down on the bed, never breaking from her kiss. She began to scoot herself backwards up the bed, you crawling overtop of her, following her lead. When she found herself in a position she was satisfied with, she settled a little bit and broke away.

“Can we get under the covers?” She asked. You smiled knowing you’d give her anything in the world right now.

“Sure, we can,” you replied. “Are you cold?”

“Kinda, just want to feel comfy.” She responded breathlessly. You stood from the bed and reached under her to pull the comforter down. Before crawling underneath, she made a show of unbuttoning her jeans, and pulling them and her panties all the way off. Good god.

You followed suit, undoing your belt and letting your pants and underwear hit the floor. You crawled in next to her, heart pounding, mouth dry, and skin absolutely on fire with want for her. Condom? Yes, in the drawer. Got it.

For a minute, the two of you laid in complete darkness save for the blue light barely tinting the room. Your faces were close, your breathing steady but labored from the intensity of the past half hour. You couldn’t quite see her face in the darkness, but somehow, it made it all the more alluring. Maybe it was better to have one of your senses muddled, it would also help with the anxiety you felt rushing through your bloodstream. I can’t believe this is actually happening. You ran your fingers lightly over her arm, down her side and back up to her face, bringing a sense of intimacy back after the shift.

“You okay with doing this?” She asked shyly.

“I’m absolutely okay with doing this.” You maneuvered to roll her to her back, resting on your elbows on either side of her head, face to face.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, y/n, but my feelings for you have drifted. They’re almost gone, actually...please don’t take that as anything malicious. I’m still very much in love with the person that you are. You’re one of the most important people in my life, even if the last time we saw each other we left on a…less than high note.” You breathed, long and heavy. “Life’s short, I don’t have any ill feelings toward you. The past is in the past. You’re one of the only people I’ve ever had in my life that I’m completely comfortable with. And to be completely honest, I’ve felt very comfortable learning about you in…this...way…so far…so if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to fuck you senseless.”

She burst out with laughter, covering her face through deep belly laughs. “God, I missed your dumb ass.” She playfully slapped you across the arm. “I feel the same, Sammy. This doesn’t have to be that serious. Just two friends making each other feel good.”

“Exactly.” And you meant it. The only feelings you felt for her right now were lust. Respectful, platonic, gorgeous lust.

“Alright then, come fuck me senseless Sammy.”

You laughed as you dipped down, laying a hot, wet kiss right between her breasts. You landed a few more right beneath the swells, unintentionally finding a sensitive spot. Her back arched.

“Mmm...I plan on it, babe. But first…”

You then drug your tongue right down the center of her chest and stomach, tracing her sternum down to between her hips.

She hummed with surprised anticipation, instinctively running her hands through your hair to pull the strands back that had fallen from the hair tie.

You slowly began to run your tongue along the outsides of her lips, teasing her. She groaned a sound that you didn’t recognize.

“Too personal?” you asked, half joking, half truly wanting permission.

“You really think I’m going to turn this down, Sam?” She responded, giving you the go ahead.

With that, you dipped your tongue languidly straight from her opening to the top, stopping at her clit and running circles over it with slow, intentional waves.

Her body language let you know she was okay with it, as she immediately had a tighter grip on your hair. You began to go to work after that. She tasted like heaven. Just how you’d always imagined. But you’d never tell her that.

You switched between quick and sharp movements to slow, calculated swirls, paying special attention to her reactions and banking them away in your memory. She was writhing, legs falling open as wide as they could only to close again and squeeze around your head. You brought a hand up to tease at her entrance, not entering all the way so as to add to her anticipation.

Her body was shaking and spasming as you felt like you were bringing her closer to the edge. You moved your eyes to look up at her, and she met your gaze. Fucking beautiful. She smiled deviously again, mouth cocked open in pleasure. She gave one last final tug on your hair before she toppled over the edge, her body quivering and vibrating through the orgasm.

You sat up, her hand meeting your mouth to wipe off her wetness.

“Jesus Christ Sam. Tell me again why you never snuck me away to the basement?” She said through pants of exasperated breaths.

You met again in a heated kiss, her pulling you into her by your hair, neck, shoulders…anything she could get ahold of to close the gap between you.

You felt her reach between you and take your length in her hand. She wasted no time in letting you know what she wanted, the strokes of her hand rough and depraved.

“Wait,” you said.

You reached into your bedside table and tore a condom off the long strip, opened its contents and removed it.

“Look at you being responsible...” She giggled as you slid it over yourself.

“Hey, I haven’t talked to you in years, I’m not trying to jeopardize my future love life because of silly old you.” You knew that would get under her skin.

“You asshole!” She punched your shoulder. “I’m clean and healthy, I’ll have you know. I’m the one that should be worried, Mr. ‘We’ve traveled the world and won a Grammy' blah blah bla-"

You quickly placed your free hand over her mouth, effectively muffling her words.

“Shhhhhh, I’m trying to fuck you senseless.” you tease.

No sooner than you had finished your sentence, she bit hard into your hand, pulling your middle finger into her mouth. Her tongue was rolling and nibbling and sucking, it sent a chill down your spine and all the blood rushed straight to your dick. She might kill you tonight.

That was enough to send you over the edge, no more fucking around. You rolled your body on top of her, and pulled your knee up to spread her legs. Your finger was still in her mouth, and your hand was covering it.

“Y/N, are you… a brat?” You grabbed your length in your other hand, and began teasing at her entrance, eliciting a little moan from her. She arched her back into you, looking for more.

She shook her head side to side, “huh uh” she spoke through your hand, smiling giddily. Then she pulled your finger into her mouth impossibly deep, you could feel the back of her tongue on your fingertip. She swallowed. God, your head was spinning like a top.

“Hmm really?” you growled, bringing your mouth to her ear. “Because it seems like you might be.” On your last word, you pressed your dick into her, filling her to the hilt. You left your hand across her mouth, forcing her to stay quiet. Her eyes shot closed at the feeling of you filling her.

You stayed still, taunting her, letting her get used to the feeling. When in all reality, you were taking the moment in. You wanted to savor it, feel it completely. You wished you could take the condom off, feel her completely and wholly. She felt so warm and so tight, you could only imagine what she felt like skin to skin.

She spit your finger from her mouth. “What happened to the senseless part, Sam?”

You took that as an invitation to go ahead. You began slow thrusts, so as not to move things along too quickly. Immediately she was writhing beneath you, hands moving up and down your back and into your hair. You did your best to find a rhythm, but she was making things impossibly difficult with her reactions. Shit. She felt amazing.

You began to pick up the pace a little, grabbing her leg and bending it to wrap around your waist. Apparently, that was the right spot. Your moves were sensual. Senseless, but sensual. You let your head fall to her ear, biting the lobe and running your tongue behind it.

“Fuuuuck yes, Sam,” she spat out breathlessly. You were beginning to lose composure, but were far from being finished with her. Her sounds alone could send you into a frenzy at this point. She began to whine a little as you blew cold air onto the places your tongue had left.

You sat up, grabbed her hips and propped yourself up on one knee, towering above her. This new angle was stellar, you had a full view, though dark and still slightly under the covers, of what was happening. You watched yourself slide in and out of her, and began to slow your pace.

“Take it off, Sam.” she said in a demanding tone.

“What?” You breathed.

“Take the condom off.”

You fumbled your words. “Sh-really? Are you sure? I was just joking earlier, I’m clea-"

“Sam, I trust you more than I trust anyone in my life. Take it off.” she pleaded.

Who were you to deny her that? You removed yourself from her, and the two of you worked together to slide it off.

The air had changed just a little. You peered down to her blissed-out face. “I wanna feel you.” she whispered.

The rush of blood to all your extremities was enough to knock you over. She had no idea what she was doing to you. Her natural confidence was newfounded, she always had it but, damn. This was something else.

She pushed you backwards, and switched your places. You found yourself underneath her again. You immediately reached for her warmth, wanting to touch her. You found her clit, and began making small swirls over top of it. You reached down a bit further, and gathered up her wetness, bringing it to make everything impossibly slick. She tilted her head back in a moan.

“God, babe. You’re so wet. Is that all for me?” You asked in a teasing tone.

“No idiot, it’s for me,” she playfully rolled her eyes as you laughed.

“Touché.” You walked right into that one.

You quickened your swirls with your thumb, and added a finger inside her.

“Shitttt Sam, really?” You began pumping your finger in and out while continuing your assault on her clit. After a few seconds of undoing her, she grabbed your hand and pulled it away, then lifted herself to let you enter her again. The raw contact had the two of you falling onto one another, bodies instantly turning into puddles as she slowly sat all the way down, and bottomed out.

“Jesus Christ, y/n….ffffuck meee, you feel so-” you could do nothing else but sit up slightly, finding her lips again and bringing her to a deep and sensual kiss. All the while moaning hard into her mouth. There were no words to describe how good she felt. Velvety smooth on you.

She began bouncing slowly up and down, almost breaking contact completely before setting herself back down again. Her hands were on your pecs, squeezing and kneading them as her head rolled from side to side with pleasure overcoming her face. She was absolutely stunning.

You reached up to grab a fistful of her hair, you wrapped it all around your hand tightly and pulled hard, bringing her face close to yours. Your foreheads rested on each other as she continued riding her way into oblivion. Both covered in a sheen of sweat, you found yourselves enraptured in pure ecstasy.

The eye contact, the hitched breaths, the quick and deep kisses…you should have been doing this a long long time ago. Her sounds were becoming more and more strangled, like she was going to tumble over the edge at any minute. You began lightly rubbing her back, and she sat back up, stopping the bounce, now simply grinding in circles.

“You’re so fuckin beautiful, y/n.” She smiled deviously, and you reached up a hand to her throat, squeezing gently. “That ok?” You asked.

“Fuck yeah, it’s okay,” she replied.

Yep. She’s going to kill you tonight.

You felt yourself twitching inside her, and you knew it wouldn’t be long. Luckily, you could tell she was beginning to come apart herself. You reached for her clit again with your free hand, letting her take the reigns while she held onto you for dear life.

The sounds she was making were nearly pornographic; you were glad you didn’t live in an apartment. She reached a hand up to grasp the wrist of your hand on her throat, squeezing it tightly, signaling you to do the same and you obliged. Suddenly she was collapsing and falling apart, soaking you in the process. You watched as she rode herself through it, pupils blown out and face beautifully contorted. She smiled when she came back to.

“God damn I wish you could see yourself…” you trailed off again. She began bouncing harder now, quickly bringing you to the brink.

“Where do you…I’m-” she quickly hopped off of you, squatted down, and took your length in her mouth, pumping with her hands and mouth. That was all it took…you exploded into a million pieces, sending your streams into her mouth. She squeezed your thighs on the come down, and left no mess behind.

Once you landed back on earth, she removed her mouth, and chuckled. You were left breathless, wordless, mindless- everything was gone from your brain.

“Are you fucking serious, y/n?” you said through labored breaths. “I think that was the hottest- you’re literally-” you stammer. You couldn’t even form sentences. You covered your face in disbelief as she climbed up to lay next to you.

You could do nothing else but pull her into a tight squeeze. “Where have you been all my life?” You ask through an expectant smile.

She lifted her head and looked at you sarcastically.

“Oh yeah, up my brother’s ass.” You replied, just waiting for her next playful blow to your shoulder.

SMACK.

“There it is. I’m sorry. I deserved that one.” you said, massaging your collarbone.

“Don’t be a dick Sam, that’s a touchy subject.” she scoffed.

You sighed. “I know it is, I won’t pick on you anymore, college girl.” you tease again.

That one landed you a pillow to the face.

“Sam, I’m serious. Quit while you’re ahead.” she warned.

“Ok, ok sheesh.” You paused and pulled her in closer, softly kissing her lips. “I am ahead, aren’t I?”

You decided to not delve anymore, ruin a good feeling. You let yourself drift off to sleep, curled up to the once love of your life, who surprisingly, at this point, no longer held you completely captive. For some reason, even after all of tonight’s events, your heart didn’t beat the same for her anymore.

——

You woke up the next morning tangled in your sheets, but no longer tangled up with her. She had found her spot on the other side of your king bed, perfectly comfortable in her own space. Your head pounded a little from the dehydration setting in.

The sound of crunching gravel had you snapping your head towards the window as you heard a car pulling up, stopping in front of the house. You rubbed your eyes and hopped over to the window, peeking out the blinds. Shit. Jake. You’d forgotten he was bringing a portfolio of paperwork over for you to sign off on for the label. You shook her awake.

“Hey, y/n, wake up, hey!” Her eyes opened one at a time as she craned her neck to look at you.

“Listen, Jake just pulled up, don’t go anywhere.” She shot up out of the bed, and at the same time, you both realized you were still completely nude.

“SHIT!” You both chimed, clobbering over the bed trying to find clothes to dress yourselves.

She was pulling a pair of your sweatpants on and you were pulling your shirt over your head as you heard the front door open. You forgot he had a key.

“Sammy boyyyy! Awakennn!” you heard Jake beckon from the front door. You motioned to her to be quiet with a finger over your lips as you walked out, closing the door behind you.

“Good morning brother. You’re awfully chipper for it to be this early,” you said through a yawn, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. You walked over to start a pot of coffee.

“And you’re awfully fully dressed to have had what looks to be a rendezvous last night, hm?” he quipped back.

Fuck. That was fast.

You turned around slowly to see her green coat hanging from his finger. He looked around, noticing her boots on the floor, and her purse hanging on the back of the chair. You had no words.

“Didn’t bother to take her home after getting into some trouble last night? Or was the trouble you got into here?” he scoffs.

His voice was deeply quiet, but not mad. He seemed to just want you to explain.

Just then, you heard your bedroom door close. And here she came, waltzing through your home like she owned the place, donned in your tshirt and sweatpants. Oh hell.

“Good morning, sunshines! How is everyone this morning?” she asked, like absolutely nothing in the world could faze her. Jake was taken by surprise, you noticed his body language instantly turn from confrontational to timid.

“Jake…hey. It’s really good to see you.” She sweetly walked over to him, and took him in a completely professional hug. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk much last night, Sam and I got caught up in some nostalgic conversation.”

He was still holding her jacket. Neither of you spoke a word, but instead just stood, too stunned to reply.

After the longest pause, Jake finally spoke. “Uh yeah, hey y/n.. it’s good to see you too. It’s been..umm..a while.” You could tell by his tone that though he was trying to be cordial, he was dying to have his own nostalgic conversation with her.

“It has.” she replied, crossing her arms. The three of you stood in awkward silence for a few beats.

“Hey Sam, um, I’ve gotta be at work in a bit, could you run me home?” she asked.

“Yeah, yep. I can do that.” You said, rushing around and looking for your keys.

“Thanks.” She started walking back toward your room to gather her things. “Jake, see ya around.” And she was out of sight.

You felt the weight of the world crashing down on you from just one look from your brother. He stared at you silently seething before he finally spoke, “Just sign the fucking papers and take them back to Josh.” He tossed her jacket across the table, and left your house without another word.

——

“Do you have any regrets?” You asked her as the two of you sat cross-legged on the end of your bed.

She took a deep cleansing breath, and shook her head.

“No. I really don’t.” You felt relief completely wash over your body, as you were scared that in your drunken state last night, you may have made the wrong decisions.

“Do you?” She side-glanced to you, afraid of the answer you were going to give.

You mirrored her action. “Nope.”

“Still don’t have any feelings for me anymore?” She pressed.

You let this one sit with you for a second. “Honestly, I don’t think I do, y/n, as strange as that sounds.” She agreed with a nod. “But I had a really good time last night. Like a really good time.”

She smiled. “I did too. Who would have thought that sleeping with your best friend actually wouldn’t be weird?” The two of you sat in relieved silence. “I’m glad we can be honest with each other again. I missed that.” she said sweetly. “I missed you.”

Three years ago, those words would have made your life turn upside down and fall into a frenzy, but, her words didn’t sting. They didn’t make your stomach do flips. Instead, they gave you a strange sense of comfort and sentimentality. A sense of familiarity.

She was so endearing, enrapturing. You still felt a draw to her, something deep and archaic, that you couldn’t explain. You suddenly felt an innate pull to chase that feeling again and again, not having any idea where it might land you. And also not caring where it did.

JAKE POV

You flung the door to your Jeep open, and hopped inside, slamming the door shut behind you. You were seething with anger. Anger and betrayal and disappointment. You gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, and felt a sharp pain radiate through your right hand. The lasting effects of your fractured hand still hanging around even after all this time. You scoffed at the irony. Her, still tying you to some of the worst pain you’ve ever experienced in your life.

You thought you were free of it. Did you miss her? Of course. Things were left on terms that weren’t great. But the phone worked both ways. She didn’t try. She faded away so quickly.

You thought you’d proven yourself time and time again of wanting to be with her, and only her. But it wasn’t good enough. She had her reasons, and they made sense from the outside looking in. But not to you. Not for you.

She was gone. And you thought it was for good this time. You’d finally found separation and ripped the band aid off. You found what felt like happiness again, in Sophia. And now, here she was again, crashing into your new life like a freight train. Into Sam’s life. And apparently into his bed.

You were speeding down the highway, eyes crossing at the feeling of betrayal from your brother. How could he do this? But more importantly, why were you so affected?

——

A few hours later, you pulled into the parking lot of the practice studio in a cloud of dust from the gravel. You put it in park, and removed your sunglasses. You saw stars. Maybe you shouldn’t have had that last drink. You flipped down the visor and checked your appearance. Eyes bloodshot, cheeks red. Perfect. You popped a piece of gum into your mouth, and replaced the sunglasses. You were the last one to arrive, as usual.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling and calling. And I thought I was the one always late.” Josh spat as soon as you opened the front door. “God, you reek of bourbon. You idiot, are you drunk?”

You straightened up, and leaned in closely to your twin. “Please. Stop. Talking.” you all but slurred. He held his hands up in surrender.

“As long as you can fucking play... I can’t believe you drove like this. Stupid, really.” He spoke as he turned and walked toward the booth.

You joined everyone after taking your guitar from the case and plugging it in.

“Jacob.” Sam said in a blank tone.

“Samuel.” you answered short and clipped. You cleared your throat. “Alright. Let’s get going.”

The tension was thick. The air was heavy. You felt flush, and you were starving. A headache had begun to creep its way into your forehead. You made it through the first few songs without too much trouble, thanking your muscle memory for doing its job while you struggled to even see straight. As time went on, though, you began to struggle a bit.

“Christ Jake, I can’t catch your cues if you don’t play them!” Josh yelled. “We’ve got to get this shit tight.”

“Just do it again.” You spoke.

You heard a collective scoff come from Danny and Sam. You turned to see them rolling their eyes in aggravation.

“Do either of you have something to say? Because I’d like to hear it if so.” You raised your voice, pushing the guitar to hang around your back.

“You sound like shit, Jake! Just get it together so we can wrap this up.” Sam answered in his whiny youngest sibling tone. It struck a nerve.

“Wrap it up? You heard Josh, we’ve got to get this tight. We aren’t going anywhere until we hit it. Besides, where the fuck do you want to go in such a hurry, hm?” You felt heat rising in your face. You knew exactly where he was going.

“You’re the one who keeps fucking up! We all sound fine. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to the bar at 2 pm.” The last bit of his sentence trailed off under his breath.

“Son of a bitch, here we go,” you heard Danny mumble, setting his sticks on the drumhead.

“For your information, Samuel, it’s none of your business what I do with my free time. So I’d shut it before you really piss me off.” You swung your guitar back around to the front.

“I don’t know, I think it’s kind of all of our business what you do in your free time, seeing as how it might constitute you coming to practice fully fucking drunk and unable to play the simplest of chord progressions...” he spat as you cut him off.

“OK Sam. Since we should know everything about each other at all times, why don’t you tell the family what you were doing last night, then? And this morning? Come on, we need details… No secrets anymore.” Your words were flying now, rage filling you to the brim. You held your fingers against your lips, eyes meeting Sam’s and sincerely waiting to hear what kind of reply he had.

Josh and Danny waited in anticipation, all eyes on Sam. You felt the alcohol still pulsing through your veins, vision still blurred.

He cleared his throat.

“Alright, fine. I was with y/n. We went out. Got drunk. And she came back to my house.” He stopped there. It was silent for a few beats.

You felt absolutely defeated. Heartbroken. Truly let down, and the tone of your voice matched it.

“Sam, did you sleep with her? Did you sleep with my girl?” You felt your lip quiver just a little, succumbing to the encompassing blur that the emotions and whiskey had left you in.

He looked behind you, then met your eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek, and nodded slowly.

There was no way to describe the feeling that overtook you. The only way to explain it was just plain sickness. Not madness. Not fury.

You turned around to face away from everyone as you collected your thoughts. The silence that fell on the room was deafening. You quickly pulled the plug on your guitar, tossing the cord to the floor.

“Let’s just... Meet back up tomorrow morning. It seems like we all might need some time.” Josh thankfully spoke up. “Jake, I'm driving you. Let’s go.”

——

Josh didn’t say much on the drive, and you were a bit relieved. You needed a second to just sit and stare at nothing. Your head was still spinning and all you could do was lean it against the headrest and close your eyes. After a few minutes of Josh’s reckless driving, he slammed a water bottle to your chest.

“Chug it, asshole. We’re here.” You slumped down in your seat, feeling like the world had dropped all around you. You unbuckled your seatbelt and slowly trudged your way up the walkway, following far behind Josh who was waiting at the door.

When you made it inside, you immediately went to the fridge and pulled out yesterday’s leftovers. Not even bothering to heat them, you dug in.

“Jesus, you are fucked up,” Josh said, taking a seat at the island.

“I haven’t eaten in 20 hours.” you said, monotone.

“She’s really got you in your feelings again, doesn’t she? I thought we were past this.” Josh said, crossing his arms. “Lay it out for me, brother. I’m here to listen. Tell me what’s going on so I can try to help before the band implodes.”

You took a deep breath, throwing the to-go box in the trash and screwing the top off the water bottle. “I don’t want to. You can just go home. Thank you for the ride, though.” you muttered, walking into the living room to hopefully pass out on the couch until tomorrow.

“Oh no you don’t.” you could hear Josh’s footsteps behind you. You felt slightly aggravated, and the headache was getting worse.

“Josh, you saw what happened at the studio! It should be self explanatory! Do I need to recount every fuckin detail?” You raised your voice to him.

“Have you talked to Sam about it? Or did you just assume their situation?” He asked. The question actually stunned you.

“What do you mean assume their situation? He told me! He told all of us!” Your arms were raising with your voice now.

Josh kept his calm and collected, as always. “Yeah, but have you talked to her?” He asked again, with no emotion in his voice.

“When the fuck would I have had time to talk to her? I just saw her for the first time since they left the bar last night. All cuddled up in conversation over there, didn’t even bother to say hello.” you were rambling now. Placing blame where it didn’t need to be placed out of resentment.

Josh just sat with his arms crossed raising a brow in question.

“Why didn’t you go say hello? Like the rest of us did? Just because Sophia was there? You and y/n aren’t together anymore. It’s been years. It would have been perfectly okay for you to go and catch up with an old friend.” He said matter-of-factly. “But you just sat there, and kept to yourself. Kind of rude, honestly.”

You let out an exasperated sigh and fell harder into the couch, laying out with your legs outstretched.

“No, it wouldn’t have been okay, Josh. It wouldn’t have been perfectly okay and you know that.” You covered your eyes with your hand. “Shit will never be perfectly okay between me and her. It’s like the universe just fucks us over any chance it gets. I thought I was free of it, moving here. Finding Sophia. But everytime she comes around again it’s like my whole world turns itself upside down. Why can’t I just move on?” you plead.

You felt yourself spilling your feelings to your brother. Thanks a lot, Bourbon.

“And now we see her for the first time in fuckin years, and she hooks up with Sam? Are you fuckin kidding me?! She completely forgot about everything we went through together? Everything I said and did…she just disappeared. After I tried so damn hard for us.”

Josh sat stoic, milling over your words. He knew something you didn’t.

“Just let it be, brother. You have a serious girlfriend now. They’re adults. We’re all adults. Not much you can change in this situation.” Josh had a look on his face that you knew too well.

You sat up quickly, “You talked to her, didn’t you? Before we got to the bar. What did she say?” You pressed.

He stood up grabbing his keys, “She said exactly what you think she said, Jake. Now go to sleep. You look like hell.” And with that, he left the house.

‘She said exactly what you think she said.’

Coming from someone who shares your brain cells, you knew what he was implying.

Maybe she does still feel the same.

HER POV

“Thanks for the ride, Sammy. I’ll talk to you later?” You asked, hopping out of Sam’s car.

“Yeah, see you this weekend!” he says, putting the car into drive and pulling away.

You walked upstairs to your apartment door, and let yourself in. You plopped down your bed, mind absolutely racing with the past day’s occurrences.

Excitement from seeing Josh and everyone again for the first time in years, in your new city.

Giddiness and some confusion from the whirlwind of sleeping with Sam.

And pure anxiety from simply being in the same building as Jake. And his new girlfriend. You still held resentment toward him, and the way things were left between you. The way he never reached out again. The way he let you slip through his fingers so easily.

You let your mind trip and stumble over every detail, while watching your ceiling fan spin slowly above you. You tried to keep your eyes locked on one fan blade while it spun, following it around in circles for it to only make your eyes dizzy and lose track of it. It was funny, the metaphor that wrote itself in your mind. You did nothing but chase Jake around in circles for years, only to lose track of him time and time again.

Fate was funny. And you didn’t understand why your mind was so heavy on him after having a very satisfying go-around with his brother last night. You covered your face with your hands.

FUCK.

You SLEPT with Sam! Moreover, you essentially initiated it! You felt embarrassed and ashamed, the normal guilt that always follows a one-night stand. What the hell were you thinking last night? You didn’t have feelings for Sam like that. You never have.

But you let him know that. And he understood. The feeling, or lack thereof, was mutual. You took a deep breath, and tried to talk yourself through the mantra of “Sex is okay between friends. Consenting adults. It doesn’t have to have meaning. It’s a natural, carnal, physical need.”

You laughed at yourself, raising your eyebrows.

It was an excellent lay.

And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you wouldn’t be willing to hook up with him again. Visions of his face and his body and his hands on you replayed in your mind’s eye. Purely physical. Pure lust. Mirrored bodies that already understood each other so well, the physical touch was just an extension of it.

But it wasn’t Jake. Nothing has ever been like Jake. Before or after. After Andy, Jake let you know what it felt like to make love, not just have sex. He cared about his every movement, every touch, intentional. You’ve never felt a connection like that with anyone ever before. You had a hunger for him that was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Insatiable and honest, no barriers or boundaries, and the feeling of complete and utter love.

But you knew you’d never get that feeling back. You’d only be chasing it around in circles for the rest of forever, slipping up and losing track of him over and over.

You sat up and attempted to clear your head. Sam had invited you to a party this weekend, and it was already Thursday. You only questioned going for a split second, until Sam’s begging puppy dog eyes wrapped you into saying yes. You had always had a hard time denying those eyes.

Maybe you’d end up back at home that night. But, more than likely, you wouldn't.

You knew it would be Sam’s bed you’d wake up in, and furthermore, you’d like it.

Outtake: Plan A

Taglist: @gretavansara@jordierama@starshine-wagner@gretavanfvckface@gretavanmoon@gvfjess @misshunnybeebee@fretaganvleet@gvfpal@joshkiszkas@ascendingtostardust @raviolilegs@sammysprincess@gvfpal@objectsinspvce@lallisonl@gvfpal@raviolilegs@jaketlover@ascendingtostardust @indigostreakmorgan @jakemarrymeibeg @fakeplastiqtree @radmads-gvf

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thewriterrr · 5 days

Text

The hating game ~ Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x Reader

In which you are working in LA and have to work alongside the Sturniolo Triplets. Nick and Matt seem happy to have you there, but Chris on the other hand, isn’t happy to have you there at all.

The two of you form a tense relationship built on disdain and dislike, often arguing and making remarks at one another. But when the two of you are alone, you realise there is more to the tension.

**slight angst, cussing, tension!, enemies?**

You had never imagined yourself living in LA, much less the lavish lifestyles and influencer heavy population. Perhaps it wasn’t a crowd you particularly slotted into, but you didn’t mind. You had gotten yourself into a position where you could afford a studio apartment in Los Angeles, albeit not extravagant, LA was the place of endless opportunities. With an impressive, top-level degree in media and marketing at the age of twenty-one, your skillset was much needed across the city, and it wasn’t difficult to find work.

That’s how you ended up where you were today. A management team had come across your work and contacted you. After all, your pay-grade was a stark contrast to others living in LA, you didn’t require an eye-watering amount of money, plus your hours where flexible.

It had come from the Sturniolo Triplets management team. Three guys from Boston, catapulted into fame quickly, now balancing content creation alongside brand deals, tours and interviews. So that’s where you came in. You were a helping hand when it came to preparing the triplets for interviews or any public appearance where they didn’t control what was put out into the digital world. You helped with their communication, topic avoidance, and how to approach media outlets that for some reason gained sick pleasure from warping the words of celebrities and painting them in a bad light. You were there to make sure that didn’t happen.

Nick and Matt were grateful for the help and agreed with the management team that your work was beneficent, though the same couldn’t be said for Chris Sturniolo. He wasn’t on board with having another new face on the team, much less being told what to do.

*Flashback to first meeting*

“You know, we can actually handle this shit on our own. What’s the point in bringing more people in for this? We’ve been coping fine.” Chris complained, earning an eye roll from Nick who was stood beside him.

“Our schedules have been crazy lately, Chris, and we have a fuck ton of other things coming up. We need all the help we can get if we want to do this right.” Nick quipped, earning an earnest nod from Matt who fiddled with the car keys looped onto his jeans.

“I agree.” Matt mumbled back lowly, and gestured towards Nick, allying with him.

Chris rolled his eyes, tightening his jaw for a moment as he bit back another remark.

You stood there, awaiting a moment of silence before you parted your lips to speak.

“I’m not here to infringe on anything you guys do, just to be an extra hand when it comes to the work you do outside of your content creation. LA media is pretty unforgiving.” You noted, your fingers pushing back a few loose strands of hair from beside your cheek.

Chris finally turned to look at you, his expression was cold and unwavering, eyes locked onto you as he responded.

“Are you suggesting that we’re gonna do something wrong?” He pressed, earning a whack on the arm from Nick. “What, Nick? She’s pretty much implying that if we don’t have her around, we’re gonna fuck up and get roasted by LA media.” Chris bitterly added and you furrowed your brows slightly.

Talk about making a mountain out of a molehill, you thought to yourself. This guy is defensive.

“That isn’t what I said,” you defended. “But your management team reached out to me, so I’m here. You don’t have to want me around, but until your management decide that they don’t need me to help you guys anymore, you’ll be seeing me every Monday and Thursday.” You responded in a desperate bid to keep the conversation professional.

“And we’re glad to have you.” Nick chimed in and shot Chris a warning look, enough for Chris to purse his lips and remain silent, but his eyes betrayed him as he looked at you with disdain.

Matt offered a small smile and a nod, though the air remained heavy.

*Present day*

Since then, it had been almost two months. You wished you could say that the tension between you and Chris had eased, but in fact, it was the opposite. It had worsened. Whenever the two of you were alone, the tension could be cut with a knife until Chris would decide to make a snide remark about your being-there. You held your own though, eight weeks in and any essence of professionalism you carried went out of the window when you were around Chris, often biting back until it left the two of you locked in a death stare.

On the flip side, growing closer with Nick and Matt had been nothing short of a privilege, and working with genuinely, authentic nice guys was a perk to your job. With the frequency in which you saw them, for hours at a time at least twice a week, you had formed a light-hearted and banterous bond with the two less bitter brothers.

Standing in the kitchen that belonged to the Sturniolo triplets, you looked over at Nick as he spoke. “Okay so in this interview, I can still be my funny and charming self, but politely avoid any questions regarding…” Nick spoke, listing on from the prior conversation you had with him.

“Exactly. You’re gonna smash this interview, hands down. I know you’ve got it covered.” You said, earning an award-winning smile from Nick. “I’ll talk to Matt when he gets back from the store, if he needs anything. Hey, you might not even need me around much longer.” You smirked at Nick, who gasped and placed his hand to his chest.

“Wouldn’t that be a treat?” Another voice rang through the kitchen as Chris entered, wearing grey sweats that hung loosely on his hips and a black t shirt. Your eyes flickered over him before a soft huff escaped your lips and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s really great when you greet us with your warm presence, Chris.” You muttered as he swung the fridge door open to grab a soda.

“Alright I’m heading upstairs to go over whatever else I need for tomorrow. Don’t be a dick, Chris,” Nick said as he headed out of the kitchen, leaving you and Chris alone.

Chris turned to face you, leaning against the kitchen counter opposite you, his fingers wrapped around a can of soda and his eyes now on you. You looked at him, folding your arms across your chest as you raised your eyebrows.

“What?” Chris asked flatly as he took a sip of his drink.

“You have an interview coming up next week. If you want to stop being stubborn and actually talk about it, we can.” You responded.

Chris looked at you, his eyes didn’t waver, they stayed glued to your face as if he was trying to read your expression. You weren’t the type of person to get nervous beneath the stare of somebody else, but for some reason it was different with Chris. When he looked at you like that, his jaw clenched and eyes low, you felt the familiar knot forming in your stomach that you tried to ignore. Your skin felt like it was warming up and you had to distract yourself from the moment almost instantly, tearing your gaze away from his and looking to another area of the kitchen where Chris wasn’t stood, looking as good as he did.

“I already told you that I don’t need help with this shit. I’m startin’ to wonder if you’re gonna understand that.” Chris spoke lowly, and you could feel his eyes burning into your skin as you pushed some hair away from your neck, exposing the skin.

“You’ve made it pretty clear. But I don’t get paid to stand here and argue with you. It’s been two months, Chris, and it’s tiring.” You complained.

“Well having you around here up my ass trying to tell me how to speak in interviews and shit, is also pretty tiring.” He snapped and you scoffed as you turned your attention back to him.

“I might’ve been gone by now if you weren’t acting like an asshole all of the time.” You retorted, your voice sharp and you could have sworn you saw a ghost of a smirk on Chris’ lips, but you continued anyway. “And if you act in an interview the way you’re acting around me right now, you could fuck up quite a few good things you have going.” You told him, though regretted the way you worded it. But, your point still stood strong.

Chris traced his tongue across his lower lip as he set down his drink, standing up straight from the counter and taking a few steps towards you.

“You’re not gonna talk to me like I’m a fuckin’ idiot, are you?” His voice was more gravelly now, his expression daring as he watched you with close inspection.

As his proximity to you got closer, you could feel your skin heating up and your heart rate quicken, though you fought to keep your expression neutral as you looked up at him.

“I won’t, if you don’t act like one.” You quipped, but your voice wasn’t as steady if you would have liked, it was breathy and unsure.

“You keep runnin’ your mouth like that and you’re gonna regret it.” Chris warned, and with his words, took another few steps closer in your direction until you were closer than the two of you ever had been. He settled both hands on the counter either side of you, his head slightly dipped as he looked at you, awaiting your response.

Your eyes traversed across his bare arms outstretched either side of you as his hands gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, before you looked up at him, your lips slightly parted as you tried to think of a response. With Chris being this close to you, close enough for you to smell his cologne, you weren’t sure if your brain was even capable of forming a coherent sentence. His eyes glanced down at your parted lips for a moment, before landing back on your eyes, silently urging you to respond. After a few moments, you gathered yourself just enough to speak.

“If you think I’m scared of your threat, you might want to think again.” You breathed out, and this time, the sly smirk that tugged on the corner of Chris’ mouth was much more evident.

He lifted one hand, pushing some of your hair out of the way of his quest, before he placed his hand on the side of your neck, his thumb tracing lightly across your throat. Your breathing hitched and you could feel goosebumps forming on your arms, the kitchen had suddenly jumped from cold to hot, much like your own temperature. With one of your hands, you wrapped it around Chris’ wrist that was still on the kitchen counter beside you. “Chris,” you warned.

So many lines were being crossed at this point, your brain could hardly catch up with what was happening, but your heart hammering in your chest was enough to tell you that it shouldn’t have been happening. But, by God, you wanted it to be.

Chris lowered his head, and you could feel his soft, slightly damp hair graze across your forehead, as his lips stayed barely an inch away from yours.

“See where that fuckin’ attitude gets you.” He whispered, and you could feel his breath against your lips, emitting a quiet breath from you.

Before you could say anything else, the sound of the front door opening was a rude awakening for the both of you, shaking the moment into reality. Chris stepped away from you and back to the other side of the kitchen, while you stood breathless and wordless.

“Hey,” Matt chimed as he walked into the kitchen, placing a few groceries down onto the counter, looking over at you and then over at Chris.

“Hey,” you responded and mustered a small smile. “Ready to talk about your upcoming interview? Me and Chris just got done talking.” You said. Chris rubbed the side of his jaw with his hand as he looked at his brother, starting to make his way out of the kitchen.

As he approached the doorway to head upstairs to his room, you caught another glimpse of a smirk on his lips.

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #fanfic #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo fic #imagine #chris x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #enemies to lovers

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myheadphonesareneverloudenough · 5 months

Text

i’m making my own post about the LS Dunes twitter drama because i have a LOT of thoughts.

the hate that LS Dunes is receiving on twitter is some of the most unfair bullshit i’ve ever witnessed within this fandom. if you’re not like me and you keep away from toxic places like dunestwt, good for you, but you also might be unaware of some of the things this band is facing at the moment. let me break it down. a full history and my own take. (there’s an entire fucking essay after the cut) <3

the internet blew up when the AI scandal happened. people who had never even heard or cared about LS Dunes before suddenly had fully formed opinions and were flooding Dunes’ comment sections and Anthony Green’s DMs. when this happened, trust me when i tell you that NO ONE was on LS Dunes’ side entirely. even us who were and still are fully a part of the fandom were disappointed in them. it was a horrible idea, lacking research and insight. something they probably had to double down on due to contracts that made them release the video despite the backlash. but do you know what the fans did? we didn’t watch the video. that’s it. it’s that simple. however, there were some individuals who decided that an appropriate response was sending death threats to Anthony Green. i think i speak for all of us Dunes fans who say to that; fuck you. that is the lowest low anyone could’ve gone to and anyone who messaged him that, you should be ashamed of yourself.

when all of the sudden this cool new band that had a smaller fandom compared to that of MCR, Thursday, Circa, and Coheed, got shoved under a spotlight that opened the floor for apparently anyone to say whatever they wanted to the members of Dunes, fans of My Chem especially were now paying attention to Frank Iero, despite never having cared about his projects outside of MCR before. He was under a microscope, just waiting for him to say something about Anthony or about AI. When he finally was spotted active online, it was in the comment section of his friend's Instagram post. This is where the irrational anger and hatred began, when the screenshots were shared all over twitter and labeled Frank as antisemetic. something that would've been a harmless joke if Frank wasn't already in that AI spotlight, now it fans the flames.

after that, most of us moved on. the small community of angry people on twitter, however, did not. if you remember earlier this year, there was a group of people who decided that Frank Iero was "cheating" on MCR due to the fact that he plugged both the MCR Australian tour and the LS Dunes California show in the same instagram post. essentially, this only escalated. there are people on twitter who genuinely believe that Frank is single-handedly preventing the production of MCR's fifth studio album due to his dedication to LS Dunes. as if Dunes didn't function as a band that worked around the members' schedules, assuring that an LS Dunes tour never collided with the touring or recording of MCR, Thursday, Saosin, Coheed, etc. etc. do you actually, genuinely believe that Gerard, Ray, and Mikey are currently sitting in a recording studio in Los Angeles, just waiting for sweet sweet Frankie to stop touring and return to them in Cali so they can FINALLY record MCR5? obviously Gee, Ray, and Mikey have NOTHING else to do in their lives and Frank is totally just destroying everything by using his free time to make amazing music with LS Dunes.

LS Dunes is a band of 5 dorky dads who, guess what? already have money! they have bands that are HUGE in the scene. LS Dunes exists because Tucker, Tim, Anthony, Frank, and Travis LOVE doing it! so yes, sometimes the band pulls funny stunts because they can do whatever they want. like selling vip tickets for a fucking pizza party. there is literally nothing harmful about Dunes wanting to hang with a few of their fans who are willing to pay to eat pizza with them. if you go to twitter, this will be one of the many many things that people are angry about. why? because they have NOTHING else to be mad at. all they know is that they want to be angry at Dunes and to be angry at Frank because they don't have MCR5 yet. however, when they can't find anything to be mad about, i guess it means we can be mad at pizza?

finally. the very recent video that is still circling. the video that was posted by one user and then immediately was thrown into a completely different context than anyone had intended in the first place. the video in question is LS Dunes on tour with PTV, between songs on their set with Anthony chatting up the audience. now, i'm not sure about y'all, but i would say that if Anthony in any way has seen the kind of shit people say about him on twitter, he would have every right to distance himself. i would say that for anyone. the internet is a horrific place where you can get attacked and insulted for pretty much anything. Anthony knows this, and he knows what kind of effect that can have on someone's mental health. believe it or not, Anthony cares about his fans and their mental health, too. so, as a word of advice, he told this particular crowd that it was okay to stop and take a break for a few days. it was okay to put a pause on constantly having to respond to anything and everything going on in the world. because if you don't take a break, you're hurting yourself. you will burn out. and no one wants that. Anthony doesn't want that. in the heat of a rockin LS Dunes set, Anthony tells his crowd "don't post political shit". lets be real, politics is one of the MOST emotionally draining things online.

now, what does the angry twitter mob say about Anthony advising people to take care of themselves? why, they make it out to seem like Anthony was spreading hate for real world tragedies and bluntly stating that he didn't give a shit about the state of the world!!!! because of COURSE thats what you got out of that!!!!!

it isn't JUST that Anthony and Dunes are getting unnecessary hate thrown at them, it's the gleeful attitude that people on twitter have when talking shit about this band. as if its okay. as if its justified and NORMAL to beat down musicians like this. (and it's not just twitter. i see the dunes haters on tumblr too. i see you. and i hope if you're reading this it means you'll take some time to re-evaluate). the main problem i run into with this attitude is that i have noticed that the people who complain on twitter are JUST on twitter, and they do not see the LOVE and the SUPPORT that Dunes has from their real fans. in their minds, EVERYONE thinks like them, so that must mean EVERYONE has decided to take a fat shit on LS Dunes. i just want them to zoom out. zoom out of your twitter circle and realize that there are real things to worry about than trying to make Anthony Green look like a villain.

if you feel the need to spread lies and hate about the members of LS Dunes, send threats or nasty messages to them and their families, and boo them off stage at the PTV tour, and yet you STILL have the audacity to consider yourself an MCR fan, take a look at yourself in the mirror. still don't see it? fine. you may not see where you're wrong, but i know Gerard, Ray, and Mikey would. you can't consider yourself an MCR fan and continue to shred apart the livelihood of 1/4 of the band.

you don't have to love LS Dunes. hell. you dont even have to LIKE LS Dunes. i would never shut you down when you share your opinions that LS Dunes' music isnt for you. the music you love/hate is for you and you only. what i WILL shut you down for is nonsensical hate against the PEOPLE who make the music.

my name is J, LS Dunes is my favourite band in the whole damn world. they saved my life, and Anthony Green continues to save my life every god damn day. clearly, i am passionate about it. if you read this far i am fucking amazed, but i hope you learned something. my asks are always open.

#j screams #a lot #ls dunes #frank iero #tucker rule #anthony green #tim payne #travis stever #mcr

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chronic-ghost · 9 months

Text

Chapter 6 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 9305

chapter summary: a honeymoon of sorts.

chapter warnings/tags: relapse, depictions of drugs/alcohol/actions under the influence, dubcon because neither character is sober, lots and lots of smut

a/n: this chapter is particularly bittersweet for me. so begins the continues the downward spiral. highly recommend reading this on ao3 so you can see the proper formatting for the text!

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“Refill on your whiskey, sir?”

His fingers hover over the keyboard on his phone. Her question broke his concentration, if there had been any at all. He has rewritten that last line at least three times now.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

The flight attendant smiles at him, a tall brunette with a bob down to her chin. If she recognizes him, she gives no indication.

“Your whiskey, sir. Would you like another? We still have an hour before we land.”

He rattles the plastic cup that’s mostly ice water now and then throws the remnants back. He nods.

“Thanks.”

She takes the cup and puts it in the trash bin in her trolley. She unscrews the bottle of Buffalo’ Trace before preparing a new cup.

This early, the plane is mostly empty. The lights are low, the air is warm, and most passengers are asleep. The flight attendant speaks softly as the plane rattles in the wind.

“Is this your first time visiting New Orleans?”

He nods.

“On your honeymoon?” She nods to the woman asleep in the seat next to him, her head on his shoulder. He spins the gold ring on his finger with his thumb.

“Something like that.”

She wipes the bottom of the cup with a small napkin before giving it to him.

“Congratulations, then.” She smiles brightly. “As they say, laissez le bon temps rouler.”

The trolley squeaks as she rolls down the aisle, gently asking those still awake if they’d prefer coffee or anything stronger. Beneath the half-closed window blinds, a strong pink light peaks through.

His glance returns to his phone. He still hasn’t sent the text he means to. It won’t go through this high up, but he doesn’t want to look at it once the plane lands.

He looks at the woman next to him. His heart swells. He kisses her forehead. He goes back to his phone, types the first thing that comes to him, and taps send.

It’s not his problem right now. It’s not going to be for the next two weeks. Two weeks and he has to be back in Los Angeles to start touring for the press junket. He intends to make the best of it.

He clicks the phone to lock it, and he slides it back into his jacket pocket. And without much thought or hesitation or anxious overthinking, he slides off his wedding ring and pockets that too.

He picks up the sleeping woman’s hand and kisses her knuckles. She stirs in her sleep and he smiles.

Maybe it’s the second glass of whiskey he’s had in two years, but he feels good about this.

His last text sits, waiting for reception.

“Dieter, you cannot be serious.”

He slips his hand into yours and kisses your knuckles. He can do that here. “I am.”

You let yourself be dragged, mouth agape, as he guides you past a cobalt blue swimming blue, lined by red brick. Your baggage bumps and clatters as it knocks over the ridges. He leads you through a green door, where the French Colonial style homes have been refurbished into individual rentals. Black metal railings puff and curl on the upper balconies. Pastel green shudders line white windows. Flowering dogwood trees bend and wave in the breeze from their stations in the courtyard between doors.

He leads you down to unit 162, gold and embossed on the front of a green door. Grinning over his shoulder, he unlocks it with a comically large brass key.

“Hey, now, I’ve seen Skeleton Key,” you tease. The humidity in the air makes his curls extra tight, scooping up the back of his neck. “This isn’t going to end badly for me, is it?”

“Depends on how you define ‘badly’,” he shrugs and shoulders his way through the door.

Inside is a gorgeous kitchen that manages to straddle the old and new. Modern appliances tuck up against the wall on the right, while on the other wall sits a beautiful square kitchen table, with fat knobs and white molding. Above the table, the entire wall is made of chalkboard.

You frown at the French written there in an elegant hand.

“What does that mean?”

He shuts the door behind him, smiling. “It’s an old Creole saying. It means, let the good times roll.”

You smirk at him, eyebrow raised. “Expecting a lot of good times here, Mr. Bravo?”

His hand takes a big squeeze of your ass as he pulls you into his chest. You giggle as his sharp nose trails along your cheek.

“It’s certainly on the itinerary.”

He can almost smell the desire that flickers within you. You bend your head to catch his mouth, but he turns away at the last minute. He runs his finger underneath the strap of your white dress. It's currently in the running for his favorite of yours, tied only with those fucking denim shorts.

“Go look upstairs. I’ll get our bags.”

Your cork heels clatter as you bounce up the white wooden stairs. He smiles to himself when you gasp. He takes your bag and his and follows you up.

The white shutter doors are flung open to tempt some bayou breeze, offering the beautiful view into the courtyard below. From this cottage, you can see over the private wall, down into the street on the other side. You smell sugar and molasses, and you sigh. Inside is a white bed with a brass frame. The tan walls are offset by a single wall of red brick, similar to the pathway outside. Above you, a fan spins, a much needed relief to the humid heat.

You stand out on the porch, clearly enjoying listening to the music that can be faintly heard from Jackson Square, hands wrapped around the railing. The breeze blows your dress and any remaining anxiety around the phone in his pocket is gone.

He hasn’t heard from Chloe.

He hasn’t heard from Heidi.

He’s made a decision. It’s time to fucking commit.

Finally allowed to, finally where no one could see, he joins you out on the porch and tangles his hand into your hair. He thumbs the curls there encouraged by the humidity and with a sigh, he presses his lips to your hairline at the back of your neck. You wait until he pulls back, to turn over your shoulder to him, his arms ensnaring your waist.

“This is beautiful, Dieter,” you murmur as you nose his jaw, your hand scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know how you found the most perfect place, but you did.”

“I want to take care of you, baby.” You smell like lemons and lavender, as he runs his nose against the length of your neck. “I want to show you how much I care.”

You stiffen momentarily before folding into his open arms even more.

The cottage block is quiet, discrete, and rather empty of prying eyes. He intends to take you out, to let you wander as any other normal couple in the Crescent City, but not just yet. His hands rub up your sides, thumbing your exposed skin on your shoulders where the shoulder straps are tied together. The sweet smell of powdered sugar in the humid wind and the curve of your neck is making his mouth water.

“Besides, I’m making up for my other decisions. One regarding an office and a very sturdy desk,” he whispers in your ear, delighting in the way you shiver from just his words. Delicately, he slides up the hem of your dress and squeezes your thigh as a reward. His hand travels up, then in, and his finger brushes the line of your panties.

“I’m suddenly very interested in your apology.” You turn in his arms, the bunched up fabric of your dress running against the front of his jeans and he has half-a-mind to take you on this goddamn balcony in the open air. Because he can.

“Hmm, it’s going to be very long.”

He eases your legs up and around his waist and your arms glide over his shoulders. Your breath smells like the gum and champagne you bought at the airport. He swears he can see your pulse point flicker on your throat.

“Oh? And?”

“Very complicated.”

He carries you back into the room and folds you backwards onto the bed. Your cheeks are flushed from the warmth outside as you slide your feet out of your heels and he positions himself in between your legs. You drop onto your back, fingering his belt.

You mock-frown. “Complicated? Oh, I dunno if I can follow along.”

The two whiskeys he’s had are thrumming in his veins, wants to taste that biting sweetness off your mouth again. He takes you by the heel and kisses your ankle, his other hand diving under your dress and back up to your panties. Your eyes flutter when he finds the spot he wants. He drops your ankle over his shoulder and steps forward, closer. You’re losing the ability to speak – he can tell by the way your mouth parts as his thumb rubs your clit through your underwear.

“You won’t be able to do much of anything, once I’m done with you.”

“Dieter–,” you’re already getting impatient.

“Oh, don’t ‘Dieter’ me. What’s the saying, good things come to those who wait?”

“I like the other one more. Especially the part about things rolling.”

You grab at his wrist and, as if to demonstrate, roll your hips against his fingers, trying to angle them where you want. He smirks as he twists his hand and grinds the heel of his palm into your clit, his fingers stroking you through the fabric. He nearly loses himself when he feels just how wet you are. The thin strip of underwear you so foolishly decided to wear is hardly anything more than damp twine now.

You whine as he gathers your slick with his thumb and crowns your clit with it. “Dieter, c’mon.”

“I told you I was gonna go slow. Maybe I need to be reminded of what comes next. What do you need, baby?”

“Your fingers,” you huff, eyes half-lidded as you watch his forearm flex, not being able to see but instead, feeling exactly what he’s doing to you. Do you always close your eyes when you come? He wonders.

“You have them.” He steps closer, your ass against his thigh.

“I want them inside of me.”

Grinning like the bastard he is, he drags your underwear off one hip, then the other, then he rolls it up your thighs – you gasp when you see just how completely destroyed they are, slick making them sticky – and he tosses them by the luggage.

Your eyes drop shut when his warm hands return near to where you need them most, but not quite exactly. He’s kneading your thighs, your ass, dragging his middle finger up through your slick and sucking on it. He hums, lips all the way down to his knuckle, and you drip more at the thought of sucking him off.

“What do you want?”

You swallow, mouth dry. “F-fingers. I want your fingers. Inside of me,” you clarify, as you learn how to ask him properly.

There should be an award for the amount of restraint he shows by not flipping up your dress and watching as he slowly presses his finger into your pussy. He wants to watch, but he also wants you a little bit angry with him, teased to the point of frustration, so he explores you with his finger. And then a second one.

Your walls pinch his fingers and your back arches. “Oh, yes, Dieter, that’s it.”

He brushes and strokes and fucks you with his fingers. Slowly. Methodically. He follows every line of your face, every twitch of skin, as you frown with pleasure. Your nails bite his wrist, your other land flat out next to you, fingers clenching the blanket. If there are stories of the Legendary Dieter Tongue, there had to be fucking songs about his fingers.

He groans and drops your ankle from his shoulder, pushing your thigh to the side and exposing more of you.

“Do you like this, baby? How you’re spread out for me?”

You nod, bottom lip chewed beyond recognition. He curls his fingers and you moan, the sound stifled and muted. He gently presses down on your lower abdomen to feel himself fuck up into you.

“I’ve already opened your legs. Do I need to open that mouth too?” He leans over you, somehow getting even deeper with his fingers, the sound lewd and squelching. He kisses you on the corner of your mouth because he wants to keep your lips parted. “You have to be loud for me, okay?”

You huff, skin pink, and nod.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Yes, Dieter. I’ll be loud for you.”

“Good girl.” And he adds a third finger. The stretch is exquisite and you let him know with a moan that digs into the ceiling.

“Told you you’d like it if I took it slow.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, voice strained. “But I want it rough later. I need it, Dieter.”

That intensely satisfies him. He beckons you towards the edge just for that. He thumbs your clit in purposeful, deliberate circles as his fingers curl and twist inside of you. “We’ll stay here as long as you need it, alright, baby? For as many orgasms as you can give me. And speaking of, I’d like one now. Please.”

Maybe it’s the low gravel of his voice– laced with need and want – or the faint tease of his mustache and beard against your throat, or it’s the final relief after a thousand denials. For once in your life, you listen to him and the orgasm sparks out from your core and up through your spine. Your back, hips, shoulders arch off the bed as that wildfire sends you into orbit.

He should make you clean yourself off him, but he wants that scent, wants his fingers coated in you. He watches you ride your orgasm and he licks his fingers. His pants are unavoidably uncomfortable right now. As you spiral back down from your high, he takes you by the waist and pulls you up near the head board, to give himself enough space to lie down.

“Fuck, Dieter . . .”

“I hope you do,” he grins as he bends your knees, planting your feet wide enough for him to get between your legs. You do your best impression of exasperation while still trying to remember which room you’re in. Your skin is glowing from sweat.

He knows he’s sweating too, feeling it in the valley of his spine, and he doesn’t want to overheat this quickly. While you finally center, he takes off his shirt with one hand over his head. He unzips his pants and your eyes widen, hips arching up, so eager and willing to take him.

He kisses your knee. “Not yet, baby girl. This next one is for me.”

He peels down the hem of your dress and his mouth floods with spit.

Your cunt is pink, swollen from the pump of his fingers. It’s wet and your curls are wet and he knows that is the only thing in the world he needs to drink when he’s so parched. You ache to be filled again.

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

He hums in appreciation and drops to his elbows between your legs. His bare shoulders up against the back of your thighs and his fingers pressing into the creases of your hip, he spares a glance at you.

Your chest is flushed, breath hitching, and your hair has fallen down from its bun. You can feel his breath on your exposed cunt, the burn of his beard feeling as warm as though you held your hand out over an open flame.

As an actress, you are confident, striking, and serious.

Under him, you’re reduced to pathetic whines and humping the air.

“Baby, please,” you huff, voice small as if truly uneasy.

He licks one bold stripe up the length of your cunt, swallowing your slick like he would chase an errant drop of melting ice cream– and then he goes back for seconds.

It’s not sweat-drenched whiskey.

It’s better.

“Oh, Dieter,” you sound on the verge of tears. He strokes as far as he can reach with his tongue, before sliding it back out to wrap warmly around your clit. He sucks once and your hands fly to his hair. He sucks again and your moan is strangled, coming deep from inside of you.

He holds you to him, mouth and tongue wrecking every single sensitive part of you they can reach, his gaze on your face. He adds his fingers back in as reward for yanking so divinely on his hair.

He doesn’t feel like he’s conquering, though he should. After all those fights, he finally managed to make you incoherent, but watching your face contort with pleasure, your moans making the heartbeat in his neck spike, he instead feels more possessive. This isn’t a stupid fuck for him. This might not even be to get back at Chloe. This doesn’t feel like backsliding. How he feels about you is entirely unique to any of the other fucked up shit in his life. This is different.

Mouth more attached to you than if he had fangs, he eats you whole. He grinds his hips into the mattress and the rough rub of the zipper on his hard cock makes him groan wet, damp air into your pussy.

You vibrate against the sensation, as if you are overwhelmed. He drops his forearm across your hips like a steel bar. He’s not letting go until you rattle out a second orgasm. He tongues that one spot that made your breathing stop with his fingers inside of you. That white hot heat inside of you is blooming, the fires expanding every time you look down and make eye contact with him. He’s watching you with determination and focus as though you were an intricate puzzle he wanted to pick apart, its guts all exposed, and remake to hear it click.

He’d rather be flung into the sun than take his mouth off you but he can’t talk to you the way he wants. He mouths the words in between licks.

You’re so fucking beautiful.

I can’t stand it when I’m not around you.

Your cunt is so pretty.

I wanna fuck you on all fours but I know your legs won’t work after this.

You’re not allowed to come for anyone else but me.

He takes off his mouth for a moment, you hiss at the emptiness, and then he blows warm air all the way up your cunt before taking your clit into your mouth and sucking, adding his three fingers again.

Ecstasy makes black spots cover your vision as he carries you through another orgasm, pleasure sparking out from your core again, your muscles locked in sweet rapture. He swallows and laps up your release into his mouth, greedy and eager. Your hips jerk and he stays latched on, thumb rubbing what could be comforting smooth circles over the bunched up fabric of your dress – if his hand wasn’t so fire hot.

He thinks you were close to squirting and he remembers that little spot on the left side for later.

He leans back onto his heels, chin, cheeks and the end of his nose glistening, as you sink into the mattress, your legs and back muscles spasming slightly.

In all your jerking and bucking, the strap on your shoulder became undone. The top of your dress is uneven.

He finally lets himself picture what he only suspected earlier. You are absolutely not wearing a bra. He strains in his pants. He palms himself, knowing he’s not going to last but he needs to see those pretty tits of yours bounce. The last time he fucked you, he could only imagine. The time “before” that, they were bound with tape and he refused to look at them anyway.

“Baby, can I?”

You tear your eyes away from his swollen red cock, visible through his zipper. He’s fingering the other strap’s knot, waiting for permission. You nod, your irises swallowing the lovely color of your eyes.

He plucks the strings loose and, pinching the fabric by your waist, he gently tugs your dress down. You arch as the hem drags across your sensitive nipples and he groans when your tits bubble up as the dress gets to your ribs. He continues pulling, his heart pounding in his ears, and then you’re naked for him. He takes in a breath and your cunt throbs at the sound of adoration.

He feels it. His brain inhales this moment in a snapshot, a flash and a pop of smoke, before he’s ready. This moment will always be there.

You’re scrambling to meet him as his fingers dig into your hips to pull you up. His arm digs around your back, pressing the back of your neck towards him as he kisses you desperately, wildly, as though some sort of apocalypse was minutes away from unleashing hell on earth. His forearm hooks around your low back as he pulls you into his lap, thighs tense.

His nose and mouth run the length of your neck. He feels your pulse jump under his lips and there he finally uses teeth. He bites you and sucks just enough for your hips to jolt in his lap. Hickeys are not part of taking it slow but desire is rubbing itself up his spine, his cock so hard it was painful. He palms your breast, gathering the weight and flicking your exposed nipple. He ducks his head to taste the sweat as it runs from your throat down your under the swell of your breast.

He slips his pants down and off, with your arms around his neck. The second he’s freed, you crowd him, hand dropping to his lap to squeeze him.

“Don’t,” he hisses, “later. Need to be inside of you, now.”

With shocking strength and dexterity, he picks you up by your thighs and hauls you to his chest. You reach back, finding him below you and slowly, slowly, slowly sink down.

He was right. He took his time with you and now, with a single thrust of his hips, he’s inside you with barely any resistance. But –

“Fuck, Dee, the stretch,” you gasp into his ear, head tucked into his shoulder. He murmurs filthy secrets of desperation, mapping you from the flush of your ass, all the way up to the knot of your spine in his hands. He has you, you’re here. You want him. You want his cock. He tugs your knees around his hips, shifting him inside you. From collar bone to pelvis, you are skin to skin– your breasts pressed flat against his chest, your stomachs riding up against each other, you’re seated on him and he is fully inside of you. He grinds his teeth, his mouth pressed up to your shoulder, and then, his hips roll in and out of you, an inch at a time.

Slow. Tense. Filthy.

You whimper.

“That’s it. Take it, baby, take all of me.”

It’s almost too much. You’re sensitive and sore from your other orgasms but just as the last one ebbs, another one is kindling, pleasure knotting again and again in your core. He fucks you almost like he’s bored– playing with a toy, a cock-sleeve, a place to rub one out. But it’s the drag, the controlled thrusts– he’s making sure you feel every slide and touch of his cock inside you. His pace is maddening.

He pulls away from clutching you to him, pulls back to look you in the eyes. His hands slide and grip you by the hips, pushing you down so that his thrusts are that much deeper, almost painful. You tighten your grip around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, the sweat and the heat radiating from him like a solar flare. He knows you need it hot and fast but he doesn’t want it to end yet. He knows he’s being mean, too much teasing, overstimulation.

He fucks you like he’s trying to break something. Or fix something. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath ragged and mouth parted. He cups the back of your head, the smell of your hair making his eyes roll back in his head.

“Tha’s right, baby, hold on t’ me. Grip me. Let me do the work. I’ll get you there. I’ll do it.”

“Dee, please, move faster,” you moan. “I’m almost there. Just give it to me.”

He tightens his grip on you again, easing you against his chest – he’s trembling, control slipping– but he doesn’t change his pace. It’s steady, it’s constant. Your orgasm is staggering, lumbering towards you, so large and all consuming you almost fear the weight of it.

“I can finally-finally fuck sweet baby’s pussy the way I want to.” He puts a hand to your cheek, your jaw, upturning your face to him to kiss you. He thrusts lazily and you feel like you’re going to drown. His back is damp. He’s so warm. “I’m gonn-nuh— make it last.”

“Fuck– please. Please. Dieter, I wanna come. Please.” Your voice is wet, like you might cry.

He can’t resist begging. Or praise.

“Gimme one more like this and I’ll fuck you like you want, alright?”

You squeeze your thighs around his ribs, the only sign you can give him that yes, you’re listening, yes, he’s wrenching another orgasm out of you– thank you, Dieter, oh God, Dieter –

Just as you crest the wave, he shifts up onto his knees in a particularly brutal stroke, holding your knees to his waist, his other hand wrapped tightly around the curve of your shoulder— and starts jackhammering into you.

It’s like he’s rung a bell inside of you.

“Oh, shit—,”

You can feel your body ringing.

Your next orgasm nearly knocks the wind out of you. You call his name – “I’m here, baby, tell me what you need,” – and his fingers dig deeper into your shoulders. There’s no comedown, you’re still coming, as he rams his hips into yours.

“I’ll give you anything you want – just keep saying my name.”

You aren’t sure you’re actually saying anything over babbling words of praise, his name, and some blend of it all.

The puffy pain around your cunt makes you dizzy and now there’s wetness all over his thighs. You arch in his arms as your orgasm steam-rolls you flat, eyes rolling in the back of your head. The steady buildup then his new pace hits you like a train as the detonation in your core sends you into orbit.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it, baby—,”

Three strokes later, he tumbles over the edge after you with a gut-deep groan.

You’re marked in his fluids and he’s marked in yours.

He’s shaking as he lowers you down and your limbs slip off him, every ounce of strength and control seeping from you and into the mattress below. You’re both sweat-streaked and panting, the humid air nearly drowning you. With a care you certainly couldn’t have performed, he crawls back, and one more aftershock leaves you trembling all over.

Dieter is red faced. He’s got crescent-moon indents on his shoulders and neck. It smarts but he’d leave that pain for days if he could. Though a little-light headed and desperate for water, he slips his cock out of you, his hand on your knee. He pushes your knee to the side, just enough to watch his cum leak out of you. He scoops it with his thumb and pops it into his mouth. His eyes close as he sucks.

“Jesus Christ, Dieter,” you moan, flopping your arm over your eyes as if another minute of watching him will send you into another tailspin.

He chuckles weakly and moves your knee to crawl into the empty bed beside you. He tucks his arms up under the white pillow and tries to breathe, his perfect ass exposed to the air. Your last few pants are louder than the spin of the ceiling fan. It might be several minutes, if not hours before feeling returns to your limbs.

“So why New Orleans?” You ask, only a little breathlessly, your arm still over your forehead.

“Are you kidding me?” He lifts his head, the hair at his temples darker than the rest of it. He’s only marginally offended. “Sex like that and that’s the first thing you say?”

“Well, there were other things on my mind,” you shrug against the pillow beneath your head. “That was the only thing that was coherent enough to voice out loud.”

“Damn fucking right.” He kisses your overturned wrist before rolling onto his back with a groan so deep, you’d think he was restarting. “And I, uh, don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go see Jackson Square and I think I’ve been kicked out of my own house, so now seemed like as good a time as any. I just need to be in a place with a lot of people right now.”

You lift your head as if expecting to see a full orgy at the foot of the bed.

“Well, you might be off track there. With the tons of people thing.”

He smirks and adjusts to his side. He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb on the other side than his fingers. With an encroaching dark haze in his eyes, he lowers his hand around your throat. Not squeezing. Not even putting any pressure. But just a reminder. A thought. A promise.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

You press your chest up against his forearm, tilting your head back to give him more room. You’re not actually interested in more sex but it’s this game you play. Coin flip. See who can survive the longest.

“You did promise to be rough with me next time.” Your fingers tighten around his wrist and at your hip, you can feel his cock twitch.

His hand compresses once around your throat before he lets go and lets out a deep sigh. He pulls away, huffing, and collapses back onto the bed.

“And people call me crazy.”

You smirk, now completely satisfied. You stretch like a cat in sunlight. But then something he said earlier makes you frown. You roll up onto your elbows, looking down at him.

“I didn’t know you were kicked out of the house. Why did you say anything?”

He takes the inside flesh of his cheek and worries it between his teeth. He’s not sorry, exactly, but this is not at all where he wanted this conversation to go. “Thought it was kinda obvious when I asked you to come with me to the airport at three in the morning.”

You stare at him, something transfixed in your gaze, before you nod. You lean forward, a curtain of your hair closing off you and him from the rest of the world. His stomach flip-flops; rarely do you let anyone see this soft side of you.

“I’m glad you did,” you whisper as you kiss him, gently, patiently, sweetly. “It’s not like this with other people. For me.”

Beneath the curtain of your hair, it’s just the two of you. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, awe-struck that he finally has you. He feels it humming under his skin, his want for you, itching to dig his fingers in. It’s a high unlike he’s ever known. “You’re all I have, you know. Even when you don’t want me, I’ll still want you.”

“I always want you.”

When you finally pull away, the light outside the window has gotten heavier, shadows forming in the corners.

“Sun’s going down,” you say, the light of the (still) open shutter doors making the outline of your head glow. “Probably cool enough to wander the streets, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, in a little bit.” Looking up at you, he tucks your hair behind your ear. In the warm late afternoon light, you’re radiant and he is transfixed. Finally, all mine. “I think there was something about a promise in there.”

Your eyes twinkle as he pulls you back down on top of him.

It’s nearing ten o’clock when you’re finally seated at your table. The restaurant is dark, hidden away from the noise of Jackson Square and Bourbon Street. The only indication that anything existed inside of the low, squat building was a copper sign, a cut out in the shape of a Magnolia tree. But Dieter seemed to know where he was going, going on about having heard rumblings about the jazz music and grilled oysters. He simply walked into the unmarked building with all the confidence you’d expect from a man so boldly named Dieter Bravo.

The hostess seated you in the corner, each table designed with half walls, making them slightly enclosed like a carved out egg. The set of the man with the cello on stage in the front of the room ends and you clap softly, along with the rest of the room. Except for Dieter. He’s flipping through the bourbon offerings and has his hand on your thigh. A gentle hum grows in the room as its occupants return to hushed conversations before the next act arrives.

When he told you to bring a nice dress, he couldn’t have fathomed this is what you would bring in his wildest dreams.

It’s long, gossamer, and so dark blue it looks black. The front is held up with a silver halter that connects around the back of your neck, exposing your sinful chest. But his favorite might be the back. Or rather, the lack thereof one. The material cups your chest, but drops like a chandelier down at the back of your ribs. It flows and pools at the base of your spine and the instant he saw you in it, he had you pressed up against the nearest wall to lick your shoulder blades.

“Dieter, I will strangle you if you mess up my hair,” you huff breathlessly while at the same time digging into his own curls.

“Why are we going out? Whose stupid fucking idea was this?” He rubbed the crotch of his dress pants up against the curve of your ass, as if he hadn’t actually had his cock in you from this angle less than an hour ago. After a bottle of champagne to celebrate, the shower to finally clean off hadn’t really gone as planned.

“You made the reservations, dumbass,” you said before hissing as he sucked the soft spot below your earlobe.

He still can feel the bubble of the champagne under his skin, in his mouth. Still pouring over the bourbon selection, he mouths your shoulder, gently using teeth. He’s being overtly playful, the low lighting and single burning candle at the center of the table as the only nearby light source making him even more daring. But he knew he’d be admonished – it was too much in public and –

His breath catches in his chest when you lift your hand slowly from the edge of the menu and palm him over his pants. Like him before, your eyes don’t leave the menu, as if morbidly interested in the catch of the day from the Pontchartrain.

“Don’t dish out what you can’t take, Bravo,” you say lowly, cupping the curve of his shaft before dragging your fingers back up to his crotch.

“Th-that’s cheating,” he hisses, fighting the urge to roll his eyes back in his head. “I wasn’ even close to touching you anywhere n-ngh-near there.”

“Well, that sounds–,”

“Is that fucking Dieter Bravo?”

You retract your hand so fast, it bangs the table underneath, as you both look up to watch a young man with bright blonde hair, a blue suit, and an annoyingly punchable face approach the table.

He snags the chair from another table, twirls it around, and sinks into it like he owns the place. And judging by the Jaeger LeCoultre watch around his thin wrist, he very well might.

Dieter blinks as his pale face solidifies in the half-dark. “Oliver? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Come now, dear boy, that’s no way to greet an old friend.” His posh accent speaks of boarding schools and yacht clubs. “Especially one you haven’t seen in ages.”

Those pale eyes slide to you and his lipless mouth drops open.

“Well, if I had someone half as stunning as you to keep me company, I too would fuck off and not look back. Oliver Hastings, madam.” He reaches out across the table and you take his hand, which he quickly presses to his lips. His blue eyes sparkle in a way that makes Dieter put an arm around you. You don’t look at him, but a small smile uncurls across your lips.

“Pleasure to meet you. Where did you two meet?”

Oliver and Dieter exchange knowing glances.

“A club in the Netherlands. My people knew his people,” Oliver says, simply. It was as close to the truth as time allowed.

“I never thought I’d see you in New Orleans,” Dieter says, genuinely surprised. “Didn’t figure this was your scene.”

“Oh, it’s not.” Oliver sniffs. “What are you drinking and can I have some?”

He pokes a pinkie into each of your drinks, unimpressed.

“I’m here on business,” he continues and turns to wave down a waitress.

“You don’t work, Oliver,” Dieter says, smirking. “You never have.”

“One of the pleasures of being distantly related to the Queen of England, I suppose,” he says when a waitress comes and asks for their drink orders. You gape up at Dieter while Oliver looks away.

“That Queen of England?” You hiss at him and he grins.

“A bottle of your most expensive bourbons and three glasses. They do drink bourbon here, right? That’s a thing?”

Dieter nods, still grinning. For all his immediately off-putting mannerism, there was a charisma about Oliver that one could perhaps only buy.

The waitress leaves to get their order and Oliver inches closer and wraps his arms over the back of the chair.

“So, yes, on here for business, not that kind of business, but the other kind of business. The kind of business that the wealthy elites and ravers alike all fall over themselves to get.”

“I wonder if that sort of thing is hard to get through customs,” you smirk over the dredges of your red wine.

Oliver stares at you as if seeing you for the first time all over again. And then he smiles wickedly.

“I’m sorry, I just cannot get over the fact how stunningly gorgeous you are. Did I already ask your name? You’ll have to forgive me if I’ve forgotten, I haven’t slept in three days.”

“I’m Natalie Lorraine. I’m Dieter’s co-star in an upcoming movie.”

“Ahh, well, that explains a lot of things, doesn’t it? American movie stars are rather quite fit, aren’t they? Much more than our old birds back home. Well, I can already guarantee that I’ll be first in queue to buy a ticket.”

The waitress returns with the drink and glasses. “Thanks, love,” Oliver says and hands her a one hundred dollar bill. “I’ve got it from here.”

Shocked by the tip, the waitress nods and wanders off.

Oliver uncorks the bottle and begins pouring out three fingers for everyone.

“Oli, you still haven’t told us what exactly you’re doing here in New Orleans,” Dieter teases. He runs his thumb nail lightly over your shoulder and in return you put a hand on his thigh.

The British man smirks and caps the bottle. “I still haven’t told you what exactly I’m doing here in New Orleans. And I could. Or I could just show you.”

In a move that would have impressed the most skilled of card sharks, he coaxes out a small plastic bag from his sleeve with his middle finger.

Inside are three gold dots on white cards. “They call it Stevie. Because it looks like gold dust when you rub it on your skin. Or put it in your drinks.”

You sit forward and Dieter’s fingers nudge the knots of your spine. “What is it?”

“Bit like ecstasy, bit like Molly. None of the bad comedowns.”

Dieter snorts and chews on the leftover ice in his glass. “That’s what they all say.”

Oliver gasps softly and puts a hand over his white-collared chest.

“Are you doubting my stock, Mr. Bravo?”

Dieter rolls his eyes. “How long does it last?”

“Eight hours, twelve max.”

You take the bag and hold it up in the low light. “And it’s new?”

“Originally started as a pain-killer that could be absorbed on the skin. FDA never approved it so the pharmacy that developed it went under. The blokes that made it tinkered to make it more of a party drug and here we are.”

You look over at Dieter, an excitement in your eyes that he hasn’t seen in weeks. He’d be offended if he didn’t feel the same sort of stirring.

Oliver leans forward, his pale eyes looking up under pale lashes. By the upward tilt of his mouth, Dieter knows he knows he has you both.

“C’mon, Dieter boyo, for old time’s sake. You should show lovely Natalie here how to have a good time.”

He’s fine. He’s not hurting anyone. He’s having fun. He’s in control.

He can stop at any time.

You know he’s going to say yes before the words form in his mouth. You lunge forward and kiss him on the lips.

“Alright-y then!” Oliver pops open the bag and on three fingers, he plucks up each of the gold dots.

“To old friends,” he says as he dips a gold dot into each of their drinks, “and new.”

Your eyes glitter as the three raise their glasses.

“To friends.”

And he drinks. The gold mist swirls.

If the time he spent with you in New Mexico was slow, like molasses, dripping in sunlight, the rest of the trip in New Orleans is a blur.

He stands on the precipice of a mountain, the wind whipping through his hair and his cheeks. Lights unfocus and flash. There’s music and then there isn’t. There are sensations –

“Oh, God, Dieter, faster, harder, more – please, more,”

Sweat flows down his neck, down his back, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your voice is high, breathless, as he drives himself deeper, deeper into you. You are warm and pliant beneath him and he thinks he’s going to choke on the taste of your neck under –

– the paint is cool underneath his palms. He wipes streaks of yellow and red and green and blue up the side of the wall. He can smell the chlorine from the pool outside and the birds are singing and he thinks he can taste the yellow in the back of his teeth. The morning air is fresh and curls itself up in his bare chest and –

– he wants pastries, sweets, his mouth is tangy with the taste of your cunt –

– giants on stilts wander over his head, their pants gold and green and purple, you curl up next to him giggling and it's the most perfect sound he’s ever heard in the world. The crowd around you pushes you closer to him and he’s struck by you, by everything you are. He stops you in the middle of the street, the dark night sky arching above the streets, his hand up by your cheek, your beautiful eyes black and wide and tripping –

No, wait, I have to go back. Go back to her.

– The mural in the kitchen grows. It expands up into the ceiling, down onto the floor. The kitchen table and the chairs are thrown out into the brick courtyard. He paints and he paints. But he doesn’t know what it is yet –

– the bed is a mess, blue paint everywhere. Your beautiful thighs are smeared with blue. His eyelashes feel heavy with paint but he can’t tell what color. His chest is cold and sticky. You’ve got one hand pressed up against the headboard, your thighs spread around him as he finds the missing warmth in the clutch in your cunt. Your tits, stained with purple, bounce and sway with the forces of his thrusts. The shutter door is open, fluttering in the wind, and it’s raining beyond the balcony. It’s pouring and he’s pouring out blue. He stains your cunt with orange, his thumb pressing up into your clit and you shriek. He can feel the white in him burst out and coat your chest and throat in his own paint –

– it’s quiet. You lay on the grass next to him in front of the St. Louis Cathedral. You’re pointing out constellations in the sky, a white powder near the corner of your mouth and the sweet scent of out-of-reach beignets hovers near your lips. As you talk, he reaches over and swipes the powder from your lips. You giggle because he’s only made it worse. There’s powder all over his hands –

You’re an artist. It rages in your blood.

No, it’s paint –

– he wakes up and it’s quiet.

The racing has stopped. The universe has settled. He lifts his head, barely able to comprehend where he is, but beyond grateful for all of it to end. He’s back in the cottages, on that white billow-y bed. It’s morning. The world is still quiet. He drops his head back against the fluffy pillow and sighs deeply.

But that smell is . . . it’s familiar. That sweet smell and . . . something else.

Girlsex.

He glances down, suddenly recognizing a weight on his chest.

Your back curves down his side. You’re covered in paint and powder and his own cum, but you rest soundly with your arm across his chest, the rise and fall of your breathing slow and deep. His cock actually aches from overuse. He picks up your hair and twirls it in his fingers, marveling at the way the light catches it. The way it smells like him.

“Dieter Bravo,” you mutter into his clavicle. He smiles, his right leg hanging off the mattress. He skims his toes along the warm wood. “That’s not even your real name, is it?”

He can feel you grin against his chest and the drowsy, unused thing in his heart stretches.

“Just as much as Natalie Lorraine is yours.”

You both laugh quietly, too spent to really do anything else. You lift your head and purple is smeared by your cheek. He wants to lick it into his mouth. He feels like you are peeling him down to his bare essentials and he doesn’t know what you’re going to find. You’ll have to tell him when you do.

You kiss him, gently, as much as your aching body will allow. He hums. If he never comes again and can only kiss you like this, he’ll be satisfied.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” you whisper against his lips. There’s only gold light separating you from him.

“Okay,” he says, thumbing the apple of your cheek. There’s nothing he ever wants to hide from you. “Dieter Bravo is a stage name. My real name is–,”

– he wakes up again, just as your tongue slips a thin, square paper into his mouth. The air is moist and his jacket is too hot but the thumping beat of the music curls into the base of his spine. The building behind you shakes with noise and you’re next in line to enter the club. The crowd of people behind you vibrates with excitement. It smells like piss and vomit.

“See you on the other side, baby,” you murmur into his throat.

Music. Music music music.

It’s in him, it’s grinding up in his teeth, he swears he feels it behind his eyelids. It’s coming out of him, leaking out of his pores and thrumming in his pulse. His heart — it slipped out of its natural rhythm and attached itself to the new beat, this new pulse — and he is everywhere and nowhere. He exists only in this sea of pumping, sweating bodies and never existed anywhere else.

The only thing centering him, the only thing real, his living heart outside of his body, is you. Your sweat-streaked hair is in his face, the damp back of your neck is inches from his mouth, flooding his senses with the taste of your sweat, your scent. For a moment, he thinks he can see the electric blue synapsis of your brain firing in pace with the music, with the LSD in your body, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He wants to feel the threads with his fingers.

He wants to bite through your neck and slurp your synapses up like noodles.

“Baby,” you murmur below him, barely audible above the thunder of the music, “you’re squeezing too tight.”

He blinks and the image is gone. He sinks his jaw over your shoulder, loosening his grip on your elbows and sliding his hands over your forearms. He tries to focus on dancing, swaying with you between his thighs.

“Sorry, darling, sorry.” He holds you to him, oozing back into that blackness with you as a warm light.

Your ass, in that black leather skirt he bought you, moves out of sync with the beat, with the swaying you had both fallen into, and rubs him through his jeans. The light travels to his crotch.

It’s like someone dripped honey all over his brain.

“Fuck, baby.” He noses your ear and takes your earlobe into his mouth with the curl of his tongue. You moan and, with his hands over yours, he pushes the heel of your hand over your clit. His grip moves around your waist, to the bare skin between your skirt and your high-cut top. He can’t see in the purple haze of the twitching lights and thick, fluorescent fog but he can feel you. You are dripping with sweat, almost feverish. He thinks about the blue in your brain and his dick jumps. He laves the knot of your neck with his tongue.

“I want you. I want you right now.”

You lean back into his damp chest and clutch the back of his head in your hand. You draw his other hand to your thigh. Your breath reminds him of flowers, flowers pressed into a book, pressed until they aerosolized. He can’t find your eyes in the dark, in the haze, and in the pulsating light, your face looks blurred. “Then don’t wait. Fuck me here, baby. Right now.”

In the beat, the cleft of your ass rubs his cock and he thinks he can see the blue in him. Glowing blue in his gut. He nods, frantically, hand leaving your thigh to undo his belt, then the buttons of his jeans.

He rucks your skirt up, the leather sticking to your damp skin, and he adjusts his hips. You moan, feeling his cock hard at your back. He’s sure his dick is glowing in the dark.

“Are you ready? I can’t get you wet like you need it–,”

“Baby, I am wet. Just need you. Need you rough.”

He thinks he might puke blue but the blunt head of his cock rubs in between your sweaty, warm thighs and the pressure in his stomach collapses. If he doesn’t fuck you right now, he’s going to break apart.

Your skirt clutched in his hands, he swipes your underwear to the side and slides up into you in one stroke – now you’re both blue, from the tips of your heads down to your toes. He doesn’t even move, it feels so good – he says this outloud. You whine loud in his ears, the music distant and far away. You’re closer than you were before, even if it didn't seem possible at the time.

He grinds his hips and you throw back your head against his shoulder, gasping, nails digging into the backs of his hands at your hips. He throws his forearm around your waist, before grinding his hips back and forth – never leaving you. He wants to be this close to you forever. He can’t imagine ever pulling out of your sweet, hot cunt. He thinks of his cum leaking down your thighs and he groans low in your ear. He wonders if his cum will glow and everyone will see who you belong to.

He wants his cum all over you. His hips jerk back an inch before slamming them up again.

“Tha’s it, baby,” you whine. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly. “Keep going.”

He does. At some point, he hears the blood in his cock thump to the beat of the music, and he wants you to know.

“Can you feel that, baby?” He slurs in your ear. He pushes your wet hair over your shoulder and presses his teeth into your skin. “You’re takin’ me. All of me. Wanna paint you blue.”

His hand slides over your thigh again, his thumb diving in towards your center, then up. He hopes to find your clit but your entire cunt is hotter than a furnace and he’s afraid of rubbing up against metal. His hand ghosts over your clit and you cry out.

“Fuck me harder, baby. Leave a bruise. I need you.”

There’s a memory of being surrounded by people, but it’s not here. It’s not now. It’s ages ago. A lifetime ago. The only thing that ever existed was your cunt squeezing his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you up,” he hisses. There’s a chemical smell in the air and he thinks it’s from the lights or it might be from inside him. No, there’s only music inside him. Music he wants to share with you. Gift to you. Fall to his knees and lick up inside you.

You both only exist in blackness and there’s nothing to press you up against, but he tries. He adjusts his hips, his grip, and he fucks you deep.

Pretty thing.

Pretty girl.

Pretty cunt.

Blue. Blue in your hair. Your eyes. Gonna paint you in blue.

He wants to split your skull and live in your brain.

Your moans are higher, airless, gasping, begging. The pressure behind his gut is a black-hole and he wants to fall, wants to drift.

He braves metal burn and presses down on your clit with his middle finger.

You are gushing blue.

He fills you up a moment later, hips stuttering, thighs quaking. And that makes you come again.

It’s never ending. It’s a cycle. It’s infinite. You’re infinite. If you ever leave him, he’ll die. Broken blue.

“I love you,” he whispers in your ear in a voice so soft he purposefully won’t remember it the next morning. He drags you into his chest, to feel his heart burning for you. Only when he gets like this again, which is soon after, does he remember. When he’s sober, it’s only a feeling. When he’s out of his mind, higher than God, he has to say it.

“I love you. I fucking love you. So much.”

When he’s this high, he doesn’t remember if you say it back.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble 2016 #dieter bravo/f!reader #dieter bravo/you #dieter bravo/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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chimivx · 2 years

Text

yellow. (4)

pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Female!Reader ( ot7 KIND OF... they're there )

summary: Life is unreal in this moment of time. It's a dream come true, you've been swept off your feet... And the magic is only beginning. Your person, your soulmate, an Idol known by thousands, is completely, utterly, wrapped up in you. Time means nothing, you're stuck like glue.

words: 7k

warnings: SEXUAL CONTENT, 18+, swearing (always), kissing like crazy, sex talk, bad parents, yoongi gets mad in here, if I missed ANYTHING please let me know!

a/n: HI! PART FOUR of this series!! Thank you for all of the support, and the continued support, you all keep me inspired. Thank you for loving this couple as much as I do, they melt my heart. This part was fun to write, the different snippets of the tour... SO fun!

~ July 27th, 2015 ~

That was the first and only time Min Yoongi ever lied to you.

On the morning of July 27th, 2015, the morning after an exceptional night, you were not allowed to sleep for however long you pleased. There was a meeting to attend.

Waking up beside him was a dream, and almost didn’t feel real. Cuddled together directly in the center of the mattress, Yoongi had an arm slung over you with a grip that didn’t ease as the two of you slept. His chin was pointed down, his nose nestled in the fluff of your hair.

After sharing a shower, the steamy air inducing sleep on you both, once Yoongi was curled up beside you he made it his mission to never let you go.

Until the phone rang around seven thirty in the morning.

Opening your eyes to the gentle glow of sunlight from behind the closed curtains, you take a long breath and comprehend your situation. You were laying in the softest bed, in Los Angeles, in a hotel room, with Yoongi pressed to your back and his arm underneath your shirt wrapped around your bare waist. He hadn’t stirred yet, the shrill ringing of his phone not seeming to affect him.

Turning your chin to try to peek at him, the sight of his peaceful expression makes you smile. You almost felt bad for having to wake him up.

“D,” You half whisper, not wanting to startle him completely. He doesn’t move a muscle, but he speaks.

“I hear it,” He says. Waiting a couple seconds, you think he’s going to roll over and stop the incessant trilling of marimba, but he’s glued to your hip.

“Are you gonna get it?” You ask, smiling harder. Yoongi shifts his head, eyes still closed, and sighs.

“No,” He says softly, assuming you’ve held back a laugh by the way your body slightly shakes.

“We have to get up,” You whisper, flipping yourself over in his hold so that you were facing him. His hand slides up and down your back a couple of times.

“Mm,” He hums, “No we don’t.”

“Yes we do,” You challenge. His eyebrows furrow.

“No, we don’t,” He grumbles.

Copying his face, even though he wasn’t seeing it, you say, “And why not?”

“Because,” He says, then pops his eyes open and lets out a gentle laugh, “Is that what I look like?” He questions.

“Yeah,” You giggle.

The phone stops ringing, finally. Your brows raise, Yoongi copying your face this time.

“I hope that wasn’t important,” He says, and it’s like the night you met all over again, the giggles were contagious.

“You better check it,” You say.

“No, I wanna do this,” He whispers, dipping his chin down to try to catch your lips in a kiss, but you cowered away from him. You clicked fast, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still embarrassed about completely normal things that happen to humans that you shouldn’t be embarrassed about.

Giving you a weird look, Yoongi tries again, and fails.

“What are you doing, weirdo?” He scrunches his nose, “What’d I do?”

“Nothing,” You reassure him, “I just… woke up, that’s all.” Yoongi deadpans, then gives you the world's most dramatic eye roll.

“Fuck out of here with that, and kiss me,” He says, and that was the last time you were ever afraid to do anything to him, with him, or near him, ever again.

Turns out it was Jin on the phone, he called two more times while Yoongi was peppering the skin of your collar bone with tiny little marks. He didn’t even have anything important to say, he just wanted to know how the sex was, and gave a reminder about the meeting you had to have.

With a, “Great”, and a, “Thank you”, Yoongi hung up and tossed his phone to the floor to continue to drive you crazy.

“D?” Your voice was quiet as your fingers tangled in his hair. Yoongi picks up his head with a goofy smile.

“I love that you still call me that,” He says. Narrowing your eyes, you start to smile.

“I don’t know if I can stop, it’s stuck in my head,” You say.

“Why?” He asks, gazing at you with something fierce. With a subtle shrug of your shoulders, you take a deep breath.

“‘Cause when you said it… And I finally knew part of you… I knew I liked you,” You say, “Ten days later, here I am.”

“Twelve,” He corrects with a straight face. Twisting your face in confusion, he laughs at you.

“What?” You squeak, wondering if he read the message you sent to Sunita last night.

“Twelve days,” He repeats himself, “We’ve known each other for twelve days. Including the day we met.” His eyes hold onto yours like they were afraid to miss something, it was absolutely endearing.

“You’re counting?” Your voice is barely audible. Yoongi smiles.

“Maybe,” He says tentatively, seeming afraid to answer honestly. Pressing your lips into a smile just as big as his, you then lean up to give him a kiss.

“Me too,” You say.

Papers upon papers were scattered across a desk in the hotel room of one of Yoongi’s team members, one he was shouting at, standing on his feet. You were already a nervous wreck on your way down here, Yoongi getting angry wasn’t doing anything to help the worry swirling in your gut.

Sunny and the boys were on their way out of the hotel, you passed by them in the hallway, sharing some uneasy looks without saying too much. Shifty eyes were enough to know you’d all be discussing this later on. Your best friend gave you a smile, a sincere twist of her lips to let you know that you were going to be okay… and a quick glance to Yoongi’s hoodie you were wearing, turning around with a wink.

Clinging to your hand tight, you could feel Yoongi’s frustration before you even entered the suite. He gave a quick kiss to your hand and opened up the door, being greeted by the long, tan and handsome Branson. It surprised you both, he had told you he wouldn’t be here, but after you were introduced to a couple of other men in classy-wear, Branson left the room.

Fast forward to where you are now, staring down at papers titled “Non-Disclosure Agreements” with various contracts, you were feeling sick to your stomach wishing he could come back inside.

“She’s not signing a fucking NDA!” Yoongi shouts, pointing straight at the peach colored papers. The man sitting in the chair behind the desk folds his hands over the wooden top and sighs. On either side of him there were men dressed similarly, leaning against the wall with their arms crossed over their chests. All three of them were giving Yoongi a look of dismay.

“Listen,” The man in the chair begins, his voice deep with age, “If this had been brought to our attention two weeks ago we may have been able to avoid this… Sit down, would you,” He winces and gestures to the chair next to you as he sits back in his own. Following suit, Yoongi flops down with a sigh.

“However, we don’t know what’s been happening since… What, New York?” The man blows air through his lips and chuckles, “It needs to be signed.”

“No,” Yoongi objects immediately. The man in the chair looks at you with just his eyes. You kicked yourself for not getting a lesson on NDA’s from Sunny so that you knew what was at stake here, otherwise you’d be fighting back like Yoongi. It seemed like the end of the world with how he was acting.

He was keeping his cold glare on the man that seemed like his keeper. Looking between the two of them wondering if you should speak up and just ask what it was, you gulp and turn to the man.

“Um,” Your voice is quiet while you speak, fighting through the shakiness, “Does it mean I have to leave?” You ask, feeling Yoongi’s eyes on you, “Because if signing this means I leave and don’t talk about anything with anyone, or, I leave and never talk to him again, or see him again… I don’t think I can sign it.” Your eyes fall to the papers as you feel your heartbeat incessantly between your lungs. One of the guys behind the boss starts to laugh.

“God,” He mutters, getting everyone's attention, “There’s two of him.” He shakes his head as he looks at his boss, gesturing to the two of you on the other side of the desk. Swiveling back around in his chair, the big boss leans forward on the desk and eyes you both with a growing curiosity.

Yoongi, slumped down in the chair, was chewing on his thumb nail still wearing the deadliest look you’ve ever seen him make.

“What’s going on here?” The man asks just above a whisper. Funny he should ask this when absolutely nothing has been discussed between you and Yoongi. As of right now you were just happy to be going through the motions, experiencing life as Sunny would say. When it came down to it, you had no idea what would come of this, you just knew you didn’t want to let him go, and he felt the exact same way.

Sharing a look with Yoongi’s softened eyebrows, you can sense his panic much like he can sense yours. This was about to be discussed in front of his team.

“Uh-”

“Oh…” You both stammer at the same time, every muscle in your body tensing up suddenly feeling like you were under so much pressure. Sitting back in his chair, the boss takes a breath and crosses his arms with the tiniest smirk.

“Can we… step out for a second?” Yoongi asks, opting for a gentler tone than the one he was using previously. The man had every right to tell him no with how he was being treated, but he allowed it, after a moment of anxiety ridden silence.

Following you out into the hallway, keeping the lock on the door open so it wouldn’t shut you out, you run into Branson waiting out there patiently. Once he sees you two step out, he rolls his eyes and starts to step away, heading toward the end of the hallway. Depending on how this conversation went, if you were sticking around you hoped your relationship with that man got better. He seemed like a cool guy.

Things were quiet for a second, the walls of the hotel keeping it seemingly soundproof- thank god. You avoided Yoongi’s eyes for a bit though he was unable to look away from yours. Neither of you had any idea how to start this conversation, the way you were standing made it inherently clear. You were on either side of the hallway with about a foot long gap between you, uncertainty just dancing round the open air.

“Is this going to make you want to leave?” Yoongi asks, breaking the silence. Finally looking at him, you frown and scoff.

“What? A couple of mafia looking men telling me to sign a piece of paper?” You joke, “No.”

He glanced nervously at his shoes before saying, “You sure?” A little smile pricked at his lips. Smiling back, you hesitate, then nod your head. He notices your uncertainty, questioning you with a narrowing of his eyes.

“What?” His voice is quiet.

“Nothing,” You shrug, “I really don’t know what an NDA is…” Cringing, you scrunch your nose and laugh. Yoongi shakes his head, puffing a laugh from behind his lips.

“It means what you said inside,” Yoongi explains sweetly, “You can’t talk about me, any of the guys, the team, what you’ve seen or what you’ve done… Who you’ve done…” Both of you laugh again, stepping closer together. Pulling a hand out of the pocket of his hoodie, you reach for one of his hands and lace your fingers with his.

“Why don’t you want me to sign it?” You look up at him and his sharp eyes that were studying you. He glances behind you for half a second gathering his thoughts with a hard swallow, then focuses back on you.

“Because,” He whispers, “It makes it seem like… Makes it feel like this isn’t real,” Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nod, egging him on, “People sign NDA’s when they hook up with celebrities and shit. I don’t think we… Don’t think we just hooked up…” His voice falls even lower, Yoongi half questioning you with what he’s said.

“Me either,” You say, and he releases a weighted breath in relief.

“I think… At least, I feel…” He gets wrapped around his own words, struggling to pick out what's appropriate to say and what’s not going to scare you off. Smiling, having flashbacks to the day you met, you cut him off.

“I really like you,” You say, and he’s frozen with his jaw agape, “You live a complicated life, one that scares me a little bit if I’m being honest… But it’s exciting, and I’ve loved the time I’ve gotten to spend with you… Three days worth.” Holding a serious face for as long as you could, you giggle, getting him to roll his eyes with a chuckle.

“Oh my god,” He groans, “Are we stupid?” Squeezing his hand, you weigh his question by shifting your body side to side, then nod.

“Probably,” You say to his surprise, and he cackles, tossing his head backward.

“I did not think you were going to say that,” His smile is cheesy as he looks back down at you.

“But we’ve known each other for twelve!” You counteract, holding up your other open palm for emphasis, “We’ve just spent three of those twelve days together… If that.” Yoongi cackles once more, grabbing your other hand you had out in front of him. He tugs on both of them, pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your back. Resting his chin on top of your head after pressing a kiss there, he sighs.

Holding him tight around his waist, gazing down the hallway at the back of Branson’s alert stance, you feel comfort flood your veins. Crossing that line last night, after limited time together also seemed stupid, but it’s brought you to a place with him that just feels right, like you were supposed to do it. It sealed some sort of deal.

Sex was something incredibly personal, so vulnerable and revealing, and with the potential to turn things for the worst… It created a bond, a deeper understanding of one other. A love that neither of you could comprehend at the moment. You just knew you felt immensely emotionally involved with him now.

“I want more than three days,” Yoongi says, drawing circles on your back over top of his sweatshirt. You could feel his heart racing in his chest, he was telling you the truth. Lifting your chin to look at him, you smile.

“Me too,” You whisper and rise to your tiptoes to press your lips to his with an innocent kiss. Right as you’re about to pull away you feel his fingers tighten around the fabric of the black hoodie as if he’s trying to hold onto you for as long as he could.

“Then stay,” He whispers with his eyes closed as your lips part from his.

This part was supposed to be scary. It was supposed to terrify you, make you cower away back to New York City to hide in the safety that was Sunny’s tiny apartment. You expected this to smack you upside the face, tackle you to the ground with panic, but, none of that happens. It’s quiet, and calm.

Some might say you’re not thinking straight, that you’re seeing the world through rose colored glasses, but for the first time in a long time, your mind has never been clearer. You’ve never been more sure of what you want.

“Okay,” You say after a couple of seconds. Yoongi opens his eyes, giving you a soft look of shock.

“Really?” He sighs, fighting back a smile.

“I think so,” You giggle, “I mean, as long as I can… live like this.”

“‘Course, of course,” Yoongi says quickly, hanging onto everything you say, “I’ll do, I’ll do anything… You just, I just- I want you to be happy. Don’t let this be me trying to convince you, but… I… I can’t let you go.” His voice breaks at the end, his eyebrows squishing in the center of his forehead just below the blonde hair that hung there.

“Swear to god, if there is one,” He huffs, “I don’t know what the fuck you’ve done to me. The way that you make me feel, it’s intoxicating,” He presses his forehead to yours, keeping his arms around you tight, “Everything in my head goes quiet, and, and it’s just you. I finally feel like I’m okay.”

The ice cold, intimidating presenting Yoongi you’d met twelve days ago had finally, completely cracked. Over the past two weeks you’ve shed some of his layers, but now… Now you’ve got him, making the future of learning more about him so much more exciting.

“Come on,” You say to him, pulling away to walk back into the hotel room hand in hand, but tugs back, keeping you in the hall.

“What am I saying?” He asks, searching your eyes for answers.

“That… We want to date,” You say with a confidence, one that has him nodding slowly, convinced, “That’s allowed?” The disbelief is knocked off of his face as he laughs.

“Oh, no, it’s not,” He pressed his lips together. Dropping a hand at your side with force, it slaps against your thigh in disappointment.

“D, what the fuck,” You grumble, losing the lovey, perky attitude. Yoongi laughs even harder and leans into your side, grabbing your cheeks to squish them with one of his hands.

“We’ll find a way, I promise you, let’s go,” He says, then guides you back into the room of mafia men who he worked for.

“So?” The man behind the desk asked, glancing down to where you were holding each other's hand. Between that and both of your eager eyes, he sighs, knowing what kind of answer he’s going to get. “What’s the verdict?” He taps his fingers on the wood.

Looking at one another, you and Yoongi take a deep breath together, and you give him a small nod, telling him to let it all go, and he does.

The following couple of days are a whirlwind. After the meeting where you and Yoongi officiated things, you were granted permission to stay with him only if you agreed to sign the NDA out of sheer protection for you both. The men that listened to your confessions, all of them, provided in depth explanations of the reasons why you should still sign the contract.

Yoongi read it three times, making sure neither of you were missing anything within the fine print. The last thing he wanted was for this to backfire in a month.

Sunny was talked to before the team left Los Angeles. There was nothing of importance she needed to sign, other than the paperwork of her permanent employment with Big Hit Entertainment. Turns out two nights of work with the boys was enough to make them want her with them for as long as they were allowed.

For days, you and Sunny reviewed rules and practiced them so that you were guaranteed your stay. Social media was a no-brainer, you weren’t allowed to post anything to your Instagram that was open for everyone to see, and you weren’t allowed to publicly share your whereabouts, who you were with, or what you were doing. Your life was becoming an NDA, but you were having a little too much fun to start to care.

The day after Los Angeles you were flown home to New York to pack again for the rest of the tour. Poor Sunny had to put up with your sappy phone calls to Yoongi, but she definitely enjoyed hearing every detail about her best friends newfound sex life. She started to live through you vicariously.

By July 28th, the two of you were in Mexico City, ushered there personally by a security guard from Big Hit themselves. Your arrival came the day before a show for the boys, which gave you a lot of time to kill.

While the others spent time like tourists, you and Yoongi stayed confined to the comforts of your room you decided you’d share, spending hours upon hours getting to know each other between the sheets.

The more time you spent together, the more you realized he was your person. It was kind of unsettling how fast the two of you got so comfortable.

~ July 31st, 2015 ~ São Paulo, Brazil

“You gotta go,” Comes out of you in nearly a moan.

Straddled across Yoongi’s lap on a chair in the dressing room, his hands were underneath your shirt, greedily gripping your waist, pressing his fingertips into your skin while yours were wrapped around his neck trying not to mess up his hair. Sunny’s already been on you once before, you didn’t need that to happen again, she was strict about her work.

“No,” Yoongi groans to your lips, his attached to them hungrily, “Not yet.” Slipping his tongue between your lips, dancing it with yours for a second, he tightens his grip around your body and lifts you up, flipping you over. He sits you back on the chair, not pulling his lips away from yours once.

Sliding your hands off of his warm skin, you drag them down the front of his body and slip them underneath his longer shirt to tug on the waistband of the pants he was set to perform in. Sensing what you wanted, Yoongi smiles and hums a soft sound against your lips, parting from them. His voice is hushed, and it’s deep and sultry.

“What do you want?” He asks, and you pop out your bottom lip. Pressing kisses to your cheek, down the side of your jaw, Yoongi hums again, a sweet sound that makes your heart flutter. Closing your eyes you unfortunately cannot help yourself and slide your hands into his hair, tugging hard enough to trigger something within him.

“Mexico,” You whisper, and he lifts his head, smirking at the bliss written on your face at the mere thought of what occurred a few days ago, “I want Mexico, right now.”

“Right now?” He lifts a brow. Opening your eyes, you nod slightly.

“Right now,” You kiss him slowly, pulling away with an obnoxious smack, a sound that stirred all the right feelings. You watch as his brain buffers in real time, totally frozen over top of where you were laid back in this chair. “Don’t need anything else but you, D, promise.” Your whisper was enough to have his lips back on yours with more passion.

Unspoken, but agreed to, you both worked at each other's bottoms, undoing ties and buttons, getting rid of anything that was in the way, and with his tongue wrapped around yours he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock, then slides inside of you effortlessly. An anticlimactic start, but there wasn’t any time to drag this on. It certainly was no Mexico, however, neither of you cared.

“Fuck,” He groans, his forehead dropping to yours as you release your own gasp at the stretch, “You were serious.” He hadn’t moved yet and your body was already tingling with pleasure, bouts of it erupting within you. A soft smile grows on your lips as your hooded eyes look up at him.

“I thought you’d never do this here?” You tease him, mentioning his disapproval of sexual acts in the dressing rooms. Laughing once, Yoongi takes your bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling it a bit before he releases it and knocks the current thoughts out of your head with an insatiable snap of his hips. Moaning aloud for him, and probably whoever walked by the door, Yoongi clamps a hand over your mouth and puts his lips over your ear.

“Shhh,” He hushes you, “Be a good girl and be quiet,” He says, and when you whimper underneath his grasp, he nearly jumps five feet away from you. Throwing his hand backward, he looks down to you with worry. He’s confused for only a couple of seconds, wondering if he had held you too hard, but after meeting your devilish grin he realizes what he’s done.

“Oh,” He whispers, “You like that,” He smirks, and once you bite down on your bottom lip Yoongi’s gone.

For ten minutes he pistols into you, hand traveling from over your mouth to holding you tightly beneath your jaw while he shamelessly marked up your neck behind your ear. It was the marks on him you guys had to watch out for, your skin however was free game, and Yoongi didn’t hold back. It was one of his favorite things to do, have his lips and teeth pulling and nipping at your skin, even if you weren’t kissing him.

Just the other night at dinner with Sunny and the boys it happened during conversation before heading out for the night. In the loud, dimly lit restaurant, Yoongi leaned into you and nipped at your neck, sucking gently where he bit, getting groans of hilarious disapproval from around the booth. Granted, everyone had had a couple of drinks so it wasn’t like anyone cared that much… But it was usually Namjoon who had something to say.

They all honestly had it coming, traveling with a new couple who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. The seven of them should be thanking you and Yoongi for at least having the courtesy of waiting until you were alone to do anything. Even on the plane rides you’d share nothing more than a smooch, patiently waiting for everyone to fall asleep or get distracted by their own activities so you could finally kiss for a little bit longer.

It was never more than kissing, you guys had some sort of respect, you weren’t animals. Even now, swapping spit while his hand was pressed gently to your throat, you were respectfully keeping the volume down, with the door shut, many many many feet away from the others. At least you thought you were safe here.

You were moments, seconds, miniscule fractions of time away from coming undone, Yoongi could feel it. He could hear it honestly, tuned into how your body reacted to him, observing everything you’d do in these blurry minutes just to know you a little better each time. The way your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders you could find around the collar of his shirt was telling enough, but then the door swung open.

Yoongi caught a quick glimpse of Jin before the door slammed shut, just as fast as it had opened up. Jumping at the sound, having seen nothing of what had happened behind the chair Yoongi was fucking you in, you pulled him closer and held your breath.

“Let’s go! Christ!” You hear Jin shout from the hallway, then his feet shuffle away. Feeling your cheeks turn pink, you find Yoongi’s eyes and the two of you can’t do anything else but start to laugh. It heats back up fast, Yoongi kisses you slowly and gives a lazy thrust of his hips.

“Finish,” You whisper between kisses, and he smiles.

“You first,” He says, gripping your jaw, getting you to your high within a minute.

Standing side by side with your arms linked together, you and Sunny were in the midst of the crowd of fans watching the boys put on a crazy fun show. Surrounded by people who seemed to adore each member onstage, screaming their names, going berserk whenever they appeared onscreen, it brought such a warmth to your heart. Memories were created in these venues, unfathomable ones that the guys and their fans will remember for a long time.

Knowing the words to some of the songs now, you and Sunny refused to hold back, taking part in the chaos that was created in these crowds. The music was good, and it brought such joy to everybody no matter how old, no matter how small. BTS made music for the lovers. Music for the artists, music for the ordinary, music for people who were unsure of where they fit in this fast paced, unforgiving world. Without a doubt it was imminent that they made music for people just like them, those looking for the place they belong. Those looking for home, and most seemed to find it every night right here in these crowds.

At least that’s what happened to you.

You’ve never been more content in your twenty-two years of life. Sure, you’ve been to concerts and shows in your lifetime, but you’ve never felt a love like this be manifested within a room of thousands of sweaty human beings, nor has it ever been this strong. There was a connection made between the boys and every person in the room, no matter where they were standing, and the seven of them didn’t leave the stage until they were certain they'd expressed enough gratitude.

Yoongi was a firecracker tonight, not that you expected any less. Music was his first true love, and it forever will be, and he is not afraid to show it. Though he was more on the quiet side offstage around others, when he gets up to perform it’s as if he’s embodied some sort of charismatic God without a fear in the world. You can practically see the passion flowing through his body when he gets under those lights.

However, at this show, he was all of that on speed.

Three songs into the show, the boys fizzle down to chat it up with the crowd and cause some mayhem together, prompting Sunny to nudge your shoulder and smirk at you when Yoongi starts acting a fool. Unable to keep the smile off your lips, you turn to her, checking your surroundings before opening your mouth.

“Wanna hear something crazy?” You ask, keeping your words between the two of you. Her brown eyes widen, as does her smirk.

“Always,” She sings, leaning into you.

“That boy,” You point at Yoongi, “Was just inside of me.” Sunny cackles, tossing her curls back.

“GIRL!”

“There's more,” You nibble your lip, smile still brewing.

“Oh my god.”

“That boy,” You now point at Jin, “Walked in on us.” “That's why he can't look at Yoongi,” She claps her hands together after putting the pieces together. Chuckling, you sigh audibly and nod.

“There's more.”

“Good lord.”

“After I finished, he came in my mouth,” You pressed your lips firmly together. Sunny’s jaw unhinges, your words rendering her completely speechless for a few seconds.

“Holy fuck,” She whispers. Her eyes draw back to Yoongi, causing a scene in front of Jungkook who was giggling at him. “No wonder he’s off his rocker tonight, you guys are a couple of nymphos!” Falling into a fit of laughter with her, it’s promptly cut off by the intro of a song playing, one the two of you have grown to love together.

“Hip Hop Phile!” The two of you shout at once, leaving the suggestive conversation behind, shifting into an energy that was going to have you buzzing for hours even after the show was over.

~ August 29th, 2015 ~

Experiencing the life of a pop-star is nothing short of unimaginable. Under proper guidelines and boundaries you were free to explore the places you visited, usually with Sunny, and occasionally with Yoongi when he was allowed to.

You two native New Yorkers tried and ate an atrocious amount of food, and guzzled down drinks with names you took some time with the waiters to learn to pronounce properly. With Sunny stuck to your side most days, there was an insufferable period of shopping she quite literally drug you through, by the wrist. When it came down to it, you couldn’t complain, there wasn’t an ounce of time spent in the last several weeks that you’d ever speak ill of.

For either of you know, you could be stuck inside the deteriorating walls of her shoebox of an apartment.

Instead, here you both were walking the streets of Hong Kong, hand in hand, shopping in stores taller than buildings in New York. You were having some much needed best friend time, which equated to you spilling stories about Yoongi while Sunny used you as her own personal dress up doll.

Standing in a fitting room, wearing matching sunglasses with a lollipop between your teeth, you have your arms out to the side as she slides a zipper closed over your back.

“And what happened after you told him?” Sunny asks, focused on the maxi dress she had slipped you into. Shrugging your shoulders to give her an answer, she orders you to put your arms down, brows furrowed above her sharpened eyes.

“Nothing really, he thanked me,” You say, knocking the hard candy against the back of your teeth, “I don’t even consider any of those people an ex, so, and, please, he has a few of his own,” Lifting your chin as requested, Sunny tosses a scarf around your neck, one made of silk, “We’re in our twenties, we’re gonna have a bodycount.”

“Mhm,” Sunny hums, studying your appearance, “But you’re the only one who’s got him- put the shoes on,” She points to the ground, “You’re the only one who’s got him like this.” She puts a heavy emphasis on the end of her statement, making you smile.

“Yeah, I am,” You wiggle your brows, stepping into the high heels that were sitting underneath the mirror on the wall. From the pocket of your pants, that were laying on the floor, your phone starts to ring.

“Fuck,” You mutter, muffled by the lollipop. Sunny, who can’t take her eyes off of you, stops you with a palm before you trot over to grab it, and goes to grab it for you. “It might be him, I haven’t texted him since breakfast.”

“Think you can go two hours without speaking to each other?” She teases, slipping the phone from the pocket, taking a peek at the screen. Her amusement drops several levels, borderline plummeting into hell.

“What?” You question slowly, taking the candy out of your mouth, twirling the stick in your fingers. Sunny eyes you carefully before handing it over, and once she does, your gut takes its place in hell as well.

It was your mother. Someone you hadn’t spoken to in over a month. Someone you should be speaking to daily, if she wasn’t intolerable and a Grade A bitch.

The moment you lodged up with Sunny after graduation was the moment your communication with your parents started to dwindle. Everyday calls became weekly texts, and weekly check ups became bi-weekly greetings. The last time you had actually spoken to them was when you told them you didn’t get the job they wanted you so badly to land, the phone call that led you to meet the boy you were now traveling the world with. Something they knew nothing about.

“They can call me over here?” You ask genuinely, staring down at the screen. Sunny, with queasy brows, nods her head gently.

“Yeah, they can,” She says quietly.

“Should I answer?”

“That’s up to you,” Sunny folds her hands over her chest, watching with anticipation. To her surprise, you actually answer it.

“Hey,” You sigh, a nonchalant tone resonating out of you, one Sunny didn’t expect. Keeping your eyes on your best friend for some sort of support, your tone shocks you just the same, but you're reminded in Sunny’s rich, chocolate eyes, that you’re experiencing life. A life your parents weren’t a part of, one they had no control over. And it was invigorating.

“Oh, no, I’m not in the city actually,” You say after your mother asks if you’re around, because they were both visiting Manhattan for the weekend. With the numbing anxiety of her calling cocktailed with the taste of life you’ve been blessed with, you’re physically unable to stop yourself from speaking.

“I’m not in New York at all,” You let out a sarcastic laugh, nearly taunting them, “I’m in Hong Kong.” Now it was Sunny’s guts turn to drop to the fifth layer of hell, right beside yours. Her eyes shoot open as you continue to ramble back through the phone at the woman who started to raise her voice.

“How was I supposed to know you were coming to the city? You didn’t tell me, it’s not my fault… You could’ve sent me a message, or something, if you cared… Yeah! If you cared!... I’m not telling you who I’m with, and ye-... Yes, I could afford this, I’ve been working… If you reached out more you’d know… You know what… I’ll just talk over you? I’m irresponsible, got it. And heartless, too? Wow, that’s a new one… Keep going and I’ll hang up… Not stopping? Okay, bye!”

Hanging up, your arm drops lifelessly to your side. Your fixed, empty gaze on Sunny can tell her all she needs to know about what was said on the other end of the line. Shit, she could hear enough just from you repeating it aloud.

There isn’t an ounce of you that wasn’t affected by this call, every fiber in your being was on edge, swallowed whole by a guilt that wasn’t yours to carry. In forty three seconds, that woman was able to break into the parts of you you had learned to lock away over the past several weeks, bringing them back to the frontlines.

In this minute of quiet, you’re subconsciously holding back tears. Sunny, unsure of what to do, steps forward and opens up her arms for you to take if you wanted. She never pressured you, you would come if you were ready.

“Fuck her,” You whisper, repeating a mantra that became a staple in the relationship you had with Yoongi, “Fuck my parents.”

Sunny gives you the smallest smile, and nods. “Fuck your parents,” She says, and you wrap your arms around her neck, breaking into sobs over her shoulder.

“I don’t understand how anyone could be so hurtful toward you,” She speaks in a whisper, rubbing her hand in circles on your back, “You’re nothing but kindness wrapped up in something sweet. You’re also a fantastic liar, where do you work?” She gets you to laugh.

She holds you a while, letting you calm down before suggesting you get changed and head back to the boys. Right as you turn to let her unzip you, your phone rings again.

“I swear to fucking God,” Sunny swears, looking over your shoulder to catch a look at the phone screen, “Oh, answer that, babe.” She leaves the zipper alone for now, taking a step back to give you some space.

Pressing the green dot, you put the phone to your ear and take a deep breath.

“Hey,” You say, timid, with a sniffle.

“He- What happened?” Yoongi stammers, picking up on your tone awfully fast, “Where are you?”

“I don’t even know,” You answer, glancing up and around at the tiny room you were in, “My…” Trailing off, you look at Sunny in the mirror as she encourages you to tell him what just went down.

“Baby?” Yoongi questions. With another deep breath, you nod to your best friend.

In a whisper, “D, my mom called.”

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~ @damn-u-min-yoongi @my-dark-happy-place @ahewlett

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