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hopplessilse · 6 months

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Dylan's stepfather

bsf!Joel x f!reader Rating: 18+ Halloween special.

Other stories:

The nanny x Joel Insta!Joel serie masterlist

Summary: From the first time you met your boyfriend's stepfather, you found him quite attractive. You could see how his gaze towards you changed over the months. At his neighbor's party, you see that he wants you too.

Warnings: age gab (joel in his 40's, reader early 20's) pet names, comfort person, smut, teasing, fingering, oral (f! receiving), infidelity (on both sides), soft! joel

A/N: just have this in mind, he's a nice stepdad, I don't support infidelity, I just wanted to share my dirty thoughts that's it.

You never thought your relationship with Dylan would go this far.

From the first moment you met him you knew he would be an important person in your life, you were different in so many ways. You were friends from the beginning, but as a man he didn't avoid having a crush on you, he had confessed it to you at a party, you only remember rejecting him at the time because you only saw him as your friend.

But surprise… Because of how close you were he knew everything about you, he knew when something was wrong, he was always with you when you needed a shoulder, when you needed advice. You always appreciated him for that, and from one moment to the next you saw him with different eyes. He was no longer just your best friend, but a guy who would always be there for you, that you could trust and turn to whenever you wanted.

All went to shit when you decided to kiss him, that kiss led to more, and that more became a new story for both of you.

They decided to keep the relationship as smooth as possible, they didn't want to rush things, everything in their own time.

Despite being best friends, you still didn't know his family, because you never went to his house, whenever you went out it was to fairs, to the movies or with other friends to parties. But you knew his dad had left when he was 6 years old, and you knew his mom had a partner he'd been with for 5 years.

On one of those nights out, he let you sleep at his house since you were too drunk to go home. You didn't sleep more than 3 hours, you woke up trying not to wake him, took your boots in hand and left the room quietly. You staggered down the stairs a little from sleep and the alcohol you had in your system.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs one of your boots fell out of your hands, you cursed under your breath since the house was in total silence and total darkness, you lifted it up and at the same time the light in the kitchen that was at the back came on illuminating part of the living room and the front door.

You froze at the sight of Dylan's stepfather leaning back on the kitchen doorstep. It was the first time you'd seen him in person. All drunk, disheveled and barefoot, what a great introduction.

"Who is love?" a female voice sounded in the background in the kitchen, a female silhouette peeked out from behind the man who kept watching you from head to toe, when you saw the lady you knew it was Dylan's mom, she looked a lot like him.

"Oh," she covered her mouth when he saw you, "Hello," she said your name

"Hi" You looked at both of them with your eyes narrowed by the light "I'm sorry, I didn't want to bother anyone, I was leaving" You stepped to the front door to take the doorknob in your hands

"don't worry darlin, be careful"

You just turned around to give them both a smile and quickly left the house.

That had been your introduction to the parents of your best friend, now boyfriend named Dylan.

After that, Dylan decided that it would be prudent to introduce you formally, since his mother already knew about you and it would be best if she knew you in a better state.

It had already been 4 months since that meeting and since he introduced you to his parents. Better circumstances in meeting your mother-in-law and father-in-law… That you found really attractive, it was all a dream. He was cute, gentlemanly, he was funny, he had a dreamy smile, his big, stocky body, you knew he was a contractor, that's why he was so good.

You don't know how many times you've dreamed about him since you met him. It was agony to go to his house and see him sitting on the couch with a beer in hand, sometimes he wore shorts, other times he came home from work, they were the best because you could see him come home at night, Ready for dinner, but before he always went to bathe to look presentable, and you were grateful for it since you could appreciate the way his hair looked wet, his wet curls falling down his forehead, the smell of soap on his skin, a sensual man you wanted to take you right in the kitchen, at the table where he ate with his family.

He always treated you well, invited you to dinner with them, you went out with them, and even when Dylan was busy and didn't listen to you, he would invite you to watch the football game with him. Those moments were the ones you cherished the most. Those were the only minutes where you could be close to him, rubbing your knee against his, laughing along with him, talking about his afternoons, where you could appreciate his beauty more closely for a few more minutes.

Your friend told you that you were obsessed with your boyfriend's stepfather, as much as you wanted it to be a lie, it wasn't, she told you that you should mess with him once and for all to end the agony, that you should do it to see if it was just a whim or you really liked it.

It was crazy for you to think you could do such a thing. You knew it would be hard since Joel Miller doesn't look like the easy guy, he was going to give you too many buts for being his stepson's girlfriend or worse, think you're crazy for trying to mess with him.

On one of those evenings, Dylan invited you to a costume party his neighbor would be giving. He told you that normally his neighbor likes to give parties and they always go, according to him there is always something new, something that makes it different from all the previous ones, this time would not be the exception.

Being in his neighbor's backyard you realized that they all knew each other, they were all close. You felt a little out of place because everyone was getting to know you for being Dylan's new girlfriend, yuck.

You had forgotten the disgust for those titles.

Everyone was raving about how beautiful you were, how beautiful you looked in your dorothy dress, what you wore more than anything to get Joel's attention with the neckline and how small it was, so much so that when you sat down next to him you noticed that he looked away from your thighs when he saw that the dress had gone up revealing more of them.

On the other hand, he was dressed as a pirate, he looked ridiculously sexy, with the hat and the dark t-shirt that was open the first two buttons revealing his chest with pubic hair.

The food was pleasant, you could feel his gaze on you from time to time, he would let his eyes fall on you when Dylan talked, since you were in the middle of both of them, it was a good opportunity to be able to appreciate you.

You were drinking from your glass when his voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Boring?"

You turned to look at him by lowering the glass and setting it down on the table. He had that cute smile that he always gives you when the two of you are alone.

"Not really, I'm waiting for the action Dylan promised me" you smiled coquettishly at him as you turned a little in your seat facing him

"Mmh, I'm sure this time it's going to be karaoke," he said, mimicking your action and putting his arm behind your seat, brushing his fingers against your right shoulder.

"Why do you think that?" You crossed your right leg over your left, swung it a little so that your leg touched his which was covered by his dark pants and boots.

His body was giving you signals, as he brought his leg closer to yours

"Trevor likes to sing, I always hear him through the patio door"

Both of you laughed and stared at each other for a while, until you decided to speak

"Have you come to many of these parties?" You leaned your arm against the back of your chair, your hand hovering near his bare forearm

"Amm I haven't always had the taste, I've only been in 2" He took his beer and drank from it while watching you

You frowned, "but… You've lived here for 5 years haven't you?" your voice dropped when you say the last thing

"haha no honey"

Honey!? It was the first time he had called you anything other than your name

"I've only lived here 2 years, the parties I've had" he smiled at you and you smiled back

You knew he was going to tell you something, but Dylan's mom's voice came in.

"Honey, could you help Trevor put his horns down," she said, leaning back on the table with both hands and making puppy dog eyes

Joel removed his hand from behind your chair and stood up grunting on the spot, before he walked away he turned to look at you and said

"I told you so"

You smiled as you watched him walk away. Forgetting that Dylan's mom was still at the table, dressed as a pirate.

"What did he tell you?" You turned to look at her with the stupid smile on your lips, you just laughed awkwardly

"We were talking about what would be the big surprise this time, and he said karaoke" You gave her a smile and she just smiled a little

"Always know before everyone" she looked at you for a few more seconds while you nodded to her answer and then spoke again "I'll be back now, have fun darling"

"Thank you," you said as she walked away

Dylan was by your side, he was dressed up as the joker because he didn't like the wizard of oz, on the other hand he didn't pay attention to you, whenever he was with people he knew from a long time ago he forgot about you, he concentrated more on his conversation with that person, you wanted him to include you in his conversations.

You sat for a long time doing nothing, watching in the distance Joel connecting the speakers with his ridiculous but sexy pirate costume, you saw how he talked to Trevor animatedly, the smiles he gave to Dylan's mom. Whenever you see her remember that he's her partner, you remember how twisted it all is, how wrong it is to want him, especially since he's Dylan's stepfather. He's been there for him every step of the way, watched him grow up and been a father figure to him from the first moment he met him.

From drinking so much soda your bladder was about to explode, you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose from the urge to urinate. You turned to look at Dylan to touch him on the shoulder and get his attention, he turned to look at you with his eyes open.

"What happened?" he said a little quickly

"I need to go to the bathroom," you said in a whisper

"Go up the stairs, it´s on the right side at the end of the hallway" The music was present and on top of that he spoke too fast that you barely understood him.

You just nodded and he turned to continue their conversation.

You got up sighing heavily, smoothed your dress, tried to grab it with your hands as the air was lifting it up and the people around you were watching you. In the distance you saw Joel by the speakers talking to Mr. Trevor, you walked up to him and touched his shoulder, he turned and smiled at you.

"Hey… Do you know where the bathroom is?" You moved closer to his ear so you could talk to him, as the music was loud and you were both standing next to them.

He came close to your ear to speak to you and your skin crawled as you felt his hot breath close to your skin.

"it´s on the second floor," he said, almost shouting, as soon as you heard his voice over the music

"Eeh!?" you looked at him confused, pointing to your ear and horn, implying that you didn't hear him

He just sighed, turned to see Trevor whispering something in his ear, then took your arm and led you to the steps that led to the door of the living room. Once inside the house, which remained in absolute silence and with some table lamps on, giving a subdued atmosphere, he turned to look at you while he let go of your arm and pointed to the stairs that were in the hallway.

"To your right, the last door at the back," he said as he walked around the room picking up some cans that were on the coffee table

You walked over to the stairs and looked up, the entire second floor was in complete darkness. You swallowed and looked at him, you saw how he left the cans in a bag near the kitchen and he turned to look at you, he laughed when he saw that you were still at the top of the stairs.

"What's wrong?" he came to your side and turned upwards and then turned his eyes back to you, "Are you afraid of the dark?" he let out a small laugh in mockery

You looked at him and fell silent, answering his question.

"For God's sake, honey" he sighed, again that name, it would be your end if he called you that way again "Let's go" he waved with his hand for you to follow him upstairs.

You climbed the stairs behind him, trying to see where you were stepping. You passed through the corridor that was dimly lit by the light that came through the windows that looked out onto the courtyard where the party was going on.Suddenly, Joel stopped in front of a white door and beckoned you in.

"The bathroom" He opened the door for you and turned on the light, coming out of it to let you in

"There's no light in the hallway?" You stood at the entrance to the bathroom looking at him in the darkness

"Probably yes, but he doesn't like to have the lights on" You could see the sparkle in his eyes because of the little light that came in, he looked so attractive in the dark.

"Can you wait for me?" you gave him your puppy look as you leaned your cheek against the door and looked at him from under your eyelashes

You heard him curse under his breath and let out a heavy sigh looking out the window and then returning his gaze to you, he just nodded and you saw him leaning against the wall in front of the window and to the side of the bathroom.

You just smiled and closed the door.

When you closed the door the atmosphere changed, you felt a sudden pain in your chest and stomach, anguish? Nerves? You looked in the mirror and just smiled, a nervous smile.

You relieved yourself and then washed your hands, wet your braids that hung at both ends of your shoulders. You looked in the mirror and your self-esteem went up, you really looked great in the costume, you hoped Joel had made a comment about it, you longed for a 'you look beautiful in that dress' 'wizard of oz, I like that movie' something that made you feel special.

You decided it was time to leave, Joel would probably be gone by now and you'd have to go down the hall of horror by yourself. You opened the door with your eyes down and when you pulled it up or surprise, Joel was still there, leaning against the wall with the light of his cell phone shining on his face. He turned it off when he noticed your presence, he smiled at you.

"All right?" He looked you up and down checking that everything was in order.

"All right" you smiled at him and for a moment you thought about it…

You had it right in front of you, alone, in a dark hallway that was only lit by the light of the bathroom and the dim light of the patio. He looked at you a little confused as you fell silent while you watched him, you couldn't think of anything else to say other than…

"Could you help me with something…?" You looked into his eyes trying not to see or hear you nervously

He pulled away from the wall to approach the bathroom door and look inside, look at you from above.

"How can I help you?" he said almost in a whisper, causing his voice to come out hoarse and deep.

"Can you come in?" you stepped aside, making room for him to enter the bathroom

You saw how his eyes swept over the bathroom, he was thinking about it, you sighed silently, you recoiled when you saw him come in and close the door behind him. You leaned against the sink while you looked at him, he was looking at you from the door, leaning back and you could notice a bulge in his pants, it wasn't that noticeable but you noticed it easily, you hadn't even done anything and it was already like that.

You turned around with your back to him, you looked at him in the mirror and noticed that he ran his eyes down your legs while keeping his mouth half open, you smiled the moment his eyes connected with yours.

"Could you squeeze my corset please" you said it in the most seductive, cute and flirtatious tone you could, you looked at it over your eyelashes wiggling them while tilting your head to the side.

Joel didn't say anything, just approached you from behind, stopped, and delicately ran his hands over the fabric around your waist. You felt his hands untie the knot of your dress, suddenly he pulled the ribbons hard and you let out a groan. He look at you through the reflection of the mirror waiting for you to say something, you just looked at it.

"That hard, is it alright?" Again his voice sounded hoarse from deep in his throat

"Yes… it´s alright" you couldn't stop looking at him with those eyes, you knew they drove him crazy, especially since that's how Dylan's mom looked at him… always looked at him like that, always.

He tied your bows back into a bun, when he finished he left his hands resting on your lower back, his gaze was lost somewhere on it. You jumped at the feel of his hands on the hem of your dress, his fingers brushing against the skin of your thighs.

"This dress is too small to be Dorothy" his gaze was still behind you

"It was the only one they had" you said in a small whisper, now your voice came out nervous

"The only one" he repeated while letting out a laugh, he looked up and looked straight into your eyes, he was much taller than you, despite wearing heels he was still tall, so you could see his face perfectly on top of yours. You noticed that his eyes turned dark and his smile faded and his jaw hardened

"Dylan doesn't like Wizard of Oz."

"I know" you slowly turned to face him, you looked up at him while he lowered his gaze with his face still serious.

You caressed his veiny arms, felt him tense under your touch, couldn't help but bring your body closer to his and felt a series of emotions and sensations as you felt his bulge near your pelvis.

Oh my! It felt big, it definitely was, you had no doubt about it.

He, for his part, closed his eyes at the contact.

"I used it for you," you leaned up and whispered close to his lips. That was the end for him to lose his sanity.

You saw him abruptly walk away from you, you saw him go to the switch and turn off the light in the bathroom, the only light coming in was the backyard light through the window next to you. He come back to you and take you by the face delicately to join your lips in a slow but sensual kiss at the same time. You felt his tongue ask for access and you opened your lips for it to enter, you couldn't help but make a moan from the pressure that his mouth was making on yours.

You placed both hands at the ends of his arms, stroking up and down stopping at his wrists. His hands went down your sides, your neck, your arms, until they reached your waist and surrounded it with both arms drawing you to him.

Joel pulled you towards him so that your buttocks squealed through the sink material, making your dress ride up more revealing your white cotton panties that you were wearing. The new posture made you couldn't help but lift both legs and encircle his waist and if possible be closer to him feeling his hard erection touch your panties. Because of the friction, Joel couldn't help but let out a groan in your throat.

You couldn't imagine a hotter scenario than this, and that it was with Joel.

Joel couldn't help but touch you desperately, he ran his hands down your thighs going up under the fabric, lifted you up a little so he could put his hands under your buttocks and squeeze them in the most delicious way, he was massaging them while his tongue ran over your mouth.

You parted for lack of breath and a trickle of saliva was present between your lips.

"I want to taste you so damn bad," Joel's words came out between gasps, trying to get the air back in his lungs.

"I want to taste you too" You looked at him desperately and put your right hand on his growing erection, gasping as you felt the size and thickness under the pants. Joel couldn't help but let out a laugh when he saw your reaction.

"You can take it, I know that little mouth can" he left a kiss on your lips as he walked away you gasped "but tonight it's about you and this one" his right hand left your buttocks to position itself between your legs and touch your clit on the fabric of your panties, you gasped on contact "this pretty pussy that cries desperately to be tested"

"Joel. . . Please" you cried as you felt the friction between his fingers and your clit, the pain you felt was unbearable, you needed to free yourself from that pressure

"I'm desperate too honey" the words came from his lips as he put his hands in your dress and grabbing the beginning of your panties he lowered them little by little letting them fall to the floor.

From one moment to the next Joel was kneeling in front of you, holding your thighs and resting one of them on his shoulder, while your other leg is more open and your heel resting on the dresser, you were at his disposal, completely. You felt the air from the window enter and touch your pussy that was crying out loud to feel Joel.

“so beautiful” his words were getting lost in the skin of your inner thigh as he moved up with delicate kisses along it. He stopped when he was inches from your clit. You felt his breath caress your wet entrance and you couldn't help but moan in desperation, grabbing his hair by the nape of his neck to bring him closer.

He just laughed and finally joined his lips with your vaginal lips. A loud whimper left your lips as you threw your head back.

“Calm down, sweetheart, you must be careful with those cute moans.” His hand that was holding your leg open, he directed it to your lips to open them wide with his fingers and have better access to your clit. He approached it and with the tip of his tongue he began to touch it from one side to the other.

It was impossible for you to stay silent, you had fantasized about this moment for a while, and just when it came to pass, it was at a damn party full of people, including your respective partners. With your right hand you covered your whimpers but you couldn't help but uncover it to hold Joel's hair with both hands and pull him closer to you.

Joel realized that it was difficult for you to stay silent, you only saw how he left his place to get up and stand in front of you. You looked at him confused, you were about to protest when you saw that he took off the bandana that he was wearing on his wrist and without warning he put it over your mouth, tying it around the back of your head. The bandana got between your lips and your teeth clenched it.

“I need you to stay quiet so I can give you the best oral orgasm you will ever have.”

Hell yeah

Just hearing that husky voice with that southern accent could make you come in seconds. You just nodded, seeing him with crystallized eyes screaming for him to end your agony.

He returned to position himself between your legs and without warning he buried his head between your legs, you let out a merciless moan.

“aahh” you moaned through the red fabric.

The movements that Joel made with his lips and tongue were forbidden, inappropriate, he was attached to you like a hungry puppy to its mother. He accelerated and slowed down the pace of his tongue when he touched your clit, as you could imagine it was red from so much friction and suffering. You felt his tongue pass through your entrance, you felt how he put it in and out to slide it back through your folds and reach your clitoris to suck on it. You were afraid that the bandana wouldn't be enough to silence your whimpers and moans from the guests below.

You were so close when Joel pulled away and sat up. Your vision was blurred with tears, your body arched asking for more, you needed to finish as soon as possible or you would break right then. Joel, he can notice your suffering and he dedicate some words of consolation to you.

“I'm going to give it to you,” he looked at you over your eyelashes, joining his forehead with yours to say in a whisper, “but I need it between my fingers.”

Those last words were accompanied by a moan from you while his fingers separated your folds, making their way to your entrance. When you felt two of his fingers enter slowly, you whimpered, shedding a tear. At no time did you separate your eyes from his, his gaze was full of desire, you could see that the wait also hurt him. He was admiring every expression your face made when you felt his fingers inside you, the way your lips trembled and opened, letting out little moans asking for more, the way you drew your eyebrows together, how you threw your head back in pleasure, the way you moved your body along with his fingers, how your body arched from the pleasure his fingers provided.

If that was because of his fingers, he couldn't imagine how he would have you on his cock

His fingers had a firm and constant movement, moving in and out of you quickly. He needed to feel you as soon as possible, he accelerated his movements while with his other hand he caressed your red clit, your breathing was labored and accelerated, creating a hot aura on your chest.

"Cum on my fingers darling, be a good girl and cum.” That was the last thing you heard before you lost your sanity and collapsed on his fingers.

Both of your hands ended up on his arms, you held him with such great strength that you would surely leave marks from your nails on his skin. Your moans and whimpers filled the bathroom echoing off the walls, Joel held you with his free arm so you wouldn't lose your balance and hit the mirror.

A few seconds passed, you had your head resting on his chest, his fingers had already left your pussy, both of his arms held you by the waist, caressing it over the fabric of your dress. While you tried to regulate your breathing, your legs trembled from the effort and pressure they exerted. This was you, a mess thanks to Joel Miller.

“Do you need a few more minutes?” Joel's voice returned to the room

You let out a heavy sigh and nodded your head still on his chest. You slowly raised your head as you felt Joel's hands untie the knot of the bandana that still covered your lips, he removed it and massaged your cheeks and then leaned in and placed a kiss on your lips.

You smiled weakly at him.

"are you okey?" He asked you with a concerned tone in his voice.

"Yes...just” you laughed nervously “that was great”

you said looking him in the eyes, he gave you a smile and kissed your forehead

“I'll go to the bathroom in the other room, come down to the party or someone will notice.”

“okay”

You got off the sink and reached over to grab some paper to clean yourself, you threw the paper away and bent over so you could grab your panties off the floor and put them on. Joel gave you one last look before leaving the bathroom, you heard the door to the other room close and that's when you left the bathroom.

Once you were at the party again, you realized that everything was still the same, they were singing with the music at a questionable volume, but you were grateful for that.

Dylan was near the pool talking with his friends, and his mother was at a table chatting animatedly with one of her neighbors. Everything was normal, no one noticed your lack of presence. You stayed close to where the beers were while you drank one, in the distance you saw how Joel was leaving the house, as if nothing had happened, his clothes arranged, his hat on and the damn bandana with which he covered your mouth, was put on your wrist.

You watched as he returned to Trevor. You knew he felt your gaze because shortly afterward he turned to see you, with that damn smile.

You didn't know when it would happen again, or if it would happen again….but you looked forward to that day.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #smut #joel tlou #x reader #fanfic #joel x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #halloween #joel the last of us

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yandere-wishes · 7 months

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𝕆𝕦𝕣 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

Summary: You try to escape from two fearsome Sith Lords. Surprisingly they take it rather well.

Author's note: This is totally getting a part 2. Or maybe a series we'll see.

Warnings: dark, absolutely no regard for the rule of two, sorta a vent fic (venting that these two are so fine and I can't get them out of my mind), slightly fluffy.

The empire's warships have a tendency to blur reality. The interiors of their large hulking exoskeletons house endless corridors and makeshift chambers. Vast, endless arrays of space. They've been optimized for housing droids, clones, and artillery. Not for escape, not for an endless search of a freedom that has long since eroded.

Calling yourself anything but desperate would be a lie. Your feet run to the chorus of your broken heartbeat. The need for freedom, the need to escape spreads through your body like a poison. You know it'll end up killing you, either from exhaustion or by their sabars. But you have to try, you have to run. Even if you've left fragments of yourself in the warm bed the three of you sleep on. Even if you forgot your heart under Anakin's pillow and your soul still lingers in Maul's warm embrace. Maybe freedom is worth cutting off pieces of yourself, if only in the hope that someday they might grow back.

There's something wrong with the corridors you're sure of it. You've never been one for directions, instead relying on the holo screens and navigation systems to lead the way. Mirror images as far as the eye can see. Identical, plain. Nothing substantial to store in your memory. There's something ironic about this situation, a punchline that doesn't quite land. You half haphazardly tug on the skirt of your nightgown, desperate for anything familiar. You're not sure why.

You remember how Anakin called you pretty this morning, still hazy, still clinging to the sensation of slumber. Perfect blue eyes too dazed to look at you. Really look at you. The chosen one gazes at your ghost, your ethos. the perfect doll he and Maul had morphed you into. Behind you

Maul pulls you to his chest. Hand running up and down her side, trying to resurrect you into his dreams. It's only when Anakin's eyes close, seeling the shimmering blue orbs, that you crawl out of bed and into the unknown.

You're lost, abandoned in absolute desolation. The marble tiles bleed frost into the soles of your feet. Somewhere in the distance, you feel a disturbance in the force. Too far away to matter, yet leaking with a potent rage that burns. It's hope you think, albeit pathetically, maybe it's better to capitulate this pointless crusade and wait for the Sith lords to find you. The crash comes just as you're about to stop. You bump into him, falling in the process. All armor and steel. The Stormtrooper's mask is off giving you a clear view of his scarred face. His eyes flash, some dreary emotion too obscure to read, he offers you a gloved hand, something human something casual.

You stare frozen.

When exactly did you stop comprehending human idiosyncrasies?

When exactly did you start reading every interaction as a threat?

He's a monster, you think, just like the ones you've been warned about. Lectured time and time again by both Anakine and Maul. Monsters pry on little girls, especially ones who wander off on their own. Monsters lurk behind unsuspecting walls, ready to pounce when their prey approaches. You wonder if, the definitive definition of "monster" could be passed on to the two Siths who call themselves your lovers.

There's blood, too crimson to be real. Metallic aromas wafted through the air. You've only now noticed how close the disturbance in the force really is. Close enough to distinguish itself. To reveal that, in actuality, it's not a disturbance at all.

It's two...

Something cold yanks at your forearm. Pulling you to your feet. for a split second, your nerves calm. The familiarity of the cybernetic arm grants you a heavy ease. Anakin pushes you over to where Maul is standing. Golden eyes burning holes through the stormtrooper's armor. 'He didn't do anything' you long to say. But the words wisely die on your tongue as Maul grips your shoulders. Anakine's saber is lit, stabbing through the soldier's armor as if it were flesh. As if killing him where as easy as killing a rogue thought. "You're quite a foolish soldier for daring to touch that which belongs to your commanders. Even more imbecilic for so much as looking at emperor Palpatine's disciple."

Maul's grip on your shoulders tightens, eyes never once leaving the bloodshed. One of his hands instinctively roams to your belly, then slides down to your thigh. Rubbing it ever so gently as his claws pierce your soft skin. You close your eyes trying to make yourself smaller. You hate how his touch grounds you. How the familiarity plucks at your heartstrings. When he touches you like this you wish you would forever rot in his arms.

"'I'm sorry" You don't know why the words come so easily. As if they've been itching to spill from your tongue. Maybe it's easier to say 'I'm sorry' rather than 'You've broken my perception of love, of reality and now I can only find comfort in your darkness.' "Hush" Maul's anger spills with every syllable. His claws dig deeper, earning him a pained hiss from his doll.

"You're not sorry, in fact, you rather enjoyed this didn't you? Running away making us chase you down, I never thought your species would enjoy being the prey so much, little one." Anakin walks over, saber seethed at his side. His every step promised pain, retribution. He's angry, furious. They both are, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, they'll end it all today.

Maul's chambers have always been a testament to Dathomir, bathed in deep scarlets and endless ebony. You wonder if he's homesick for a place he's only visited in his worst ephialtes. After the incident in the corridors, they drag you back to the Zabrak's room. Neither bothering to say a word. Merely permitting their rage to engulf you, subduing you into submission. It's an unwelcome surprise when they begin to prep for the day. Throwing on their black cloaks, prior to choosing your outfit. An abnormal affinity settles across the room. Too unnerving to go unchecked.

They dress you each morning, a ritual you think, some attestation of love that's never been quite right. Maul drapes you in velvet dresses. Each one harbors a sui generis softness that sits erroneously across your skin. Their opulent sensation only brings forth feelings of aversion and despair. Their softness an ode to your imprisonment.

the dresses come in shades of crimson, detailed sometimes in black, sometimes in gold, and sometimes in a frigid blue that sends shivers running up your spine.

Anakin fusses over your accessories, why they feel the need to dress you so extravagantly daily is beyond you -as you've come to realize many things are- On days when Anakin's hubris reaches its apex, he bathes you in gold. Astonishing glittering collars across your neck and Kuat bangles hanging from your wrists. When he's sober from his pride he chooses black diamonds. Simple and exotic. scintillate and opaque.

Allusions to the dark side.

A hidden reference that crawls inside you.

Once, back when you'd been sure defiance was still an option. Back when callow hope still dared to flow through your veins. Back when you'd been a jejune, stubborn thing. You had refused to wear one of the dresses they'd bought. Adimant in your refusal until Maul had stuck out his hand. Summoning the Force to remind you just who held the supreme authority here.

The Force had strangled you, clawing hungrily at your neck. You felt your bones caving in on themselves, watched with exacerbating hysteria as your feet abandoned the floor. He'd only released you when he was sure you were near death's adorned door. Permitting you to molder on the floor akin to a ragdoll.

Anakin had chastised you after you'd conjured enough strength to sit up, gasping greedily for air. He'd broken two fingers that day. One still harbors a small scar.

A Promise ring.

An augury.

There are days, few and far between. When they've deemed you've been behaving adequately for long enough. That they permit you the choice of which dress you'd fancy wearing for the day. It's a rare event, reserved as a special treat. You think it's their way of proposing variety, giving you the illusion of choice. Making you feel a little less smothered.

Today is not one of those days. Today, you feel them pick you apart, only to reassemble you in their image. Drowning you in extravagance. A reminder, one whose deprecating nature weaves itself within your muscles. You, little girl, are nothing more than a doll. And dolls should know their place.

No sooner do you feel the final lace fasten across your back, that Anakin is tugging you outside the door. Metal arm clasped around your forearm.

Maul follows behind molten gaze locked on your face. The hallways bend to their will as if the walls themselves quiver with their presence. You recognize this corridor, recognize the frigid forlorn.

There's something wrong with Emperor Palpatine's throne room. It's surreal, makeshift. His real throne lays somewhere cold, somewhere even his apprentices don't dare wander off to. The ironclad throne has never felt right. Never felt like it held any real power. Just terror, just dread, just hatred. But here it is in all its glory. Left to two apprentices who'd rather treat it as a toy than a sacred place.

Anakin dramatically throws himself onto the throne. One leg thrown over the armrest as he leans against the other. His other leg planted firmly on the ground. He keeps you steady on his thigh. Torturing you with his distant, disappointed look. Maul stands in front of you. His eyes liquid gold melting into you. You see the galaxy in them. Hear it whispearing secrets meant to be forgotten. It's Anakin's voice that rattles you from your disjointed thoughts.

"You caused us so much worry angel" he's being nice. You don't trust that. There's something sinister plaguing his words.

"You know Ani, she may cease escaping if you'd cease to spoil her." Maul leans down, gripping your chin and squeezing. " The brat forgets her place, merely cause you'd rather coddle her than discipline her."

Anakin glares, a shift in his eyes, blue bleeding into gold. "Hmm, Maul, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Kenobi right now."

"Why's that? Did the old fool tend to also point out your shortcomings?"

You wonder who this Kenobi is, as you watch the Siths' exchange crude childish vitriols. Maybe he'd make a better lover than the two men you have the misfortune of being adhered to.

They never could truly see just how similar they were.

Two sides of the same coin.

One born of copper, the other, black rose petals.

Subconsciously you reach out. Grasping Anakin's robotic hand, fiddling with the panel, peeling it away to gain access to the wires and circuits. You have a bad habit of ripping things open. Anakin learned this the first time he kissed you and you tried to gnaw at his chest with your nails. Not in malice, but rather to satisfy a ravenous curiosity. A raging need to open him and see just how he ticked. You'd wished to perform an autopsy on his soul. Rip him open and devour all his secrets. Back then you'd wondered if you could kiss sunrises into Anakin's eternal night. Strip him of bleak blackened skies and introduce him to stars and a moon that shines. He'd only vaguely permitted it. Opting to pluck the stars lying within you. Swiping them for steel and lava and other mundane things that fueled his incessant rage.

Anakin's head dips, lips pressing on your jugular vein. "You're ethereal" Anakin mubbles against your skin, like the dying prayer of a collapsing star. He's so pretty when he kisses your neck. Biting away pieces of you. Stealing your light for himself.

"Princess" Maul seethes venom pelting from his words. You realize you'd been ignoring him. Something he's not too fond of. "What in the stars was going through your pretty little head?"

he looks like he'd love nothing more than to wring your pretty little neck right now. "I just..." your words feel heavy. Tiny bullets polluting your tongue. It feels so cruel to say when you know just how much they love you. "I just wanted some freedom. Just a bit of space."

"Dumb little angel" Anakin chastes. You lower your head in embarrassment watching Maul kneel in front of you. He cups your cheeks, placing a soft kiss on your head. "You can never escape us beloved".

"I love you," says Anakin. All you hear is, I'll haunt you, I'll break your ribs one by one so that I may possess your heart. Maybe they mean the same thing.

"And I'm pretty sure if Maul could feel normal emotions like everyone else, then he'd love you too." You can't help but let out a giggle as Anakin throws his head back laughing. A rare melodious sound, that causes your heart to skip a beat. Maul merely rolls his eyes before pecking you on the lips.

You trace your fingers across Maul's chest, feeling the pummelling of two hearts. A double heartbeat. Two melodies entwined, You wonder who he harbors in those hearts. One for love and one for family. You nip at his bottom lip. Ushering the blood into your mouth. He tastes of Ichor and smoke. Of sadness and rage. From behind you feel Akanin bite into the hollow of your flesh. Leaving traces of himself upon your skin.

"Our pretty little problem" Anakin mumbles.

You're a problem, a vexation draped in velvet, an unsolvable equation. Trapped between a love that seethes through your body like a toxin. Engulfing you until your mind relents. Maybe it's easier this way. Easier to say 'I love you' without the double entendre.

You do love them.

A rather arduous conclusion to reach.

Maul and Anakin.

Palpatine's apprentices.

Your lovers

Yeah, that sounds about right...

💜💜: @athanasia-day @hotpinkboots @jenn-patterson-69 @nickiiiixoxo-blog @the-chains-are-the-easy-part

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dimepdf · 1 year

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★ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊. + 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. with Ethan being the poor loser virgin that he was, the boy just couldn't help but have some weird fantasies about you taking his virginity.

─── ☆ notes. new pathetic whiny man to obsess over added to the list, i haven't even seen the full movie yet which is why this is more fantasy au instead of anything related to the canon plot . | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 1.3k (10 min read) .

Ethan had the skill of using his thoughts to escape the comforts of his own made-up reality, more commonly known as daydreaming.

He would find himself slouched against any surface, lost in his own dazed thoughts, making up little scenarios that would often leak into his dreams.

Maybe that was why Ethan had liked sleeping so much, mastering the skill of falling asleep every time he would crawl into bed and let his head lay against his pillow.

Just to get back to his fantasy world, he knew that in no actual reality would he find you sitting on his lap.

In real life, you were just friends; having met Ethan through the same group of friends, the feelings that he had for you only seemed to fester more and more, overflowing like a bubbling pot.

He was too nervous to even make eye contact with you, yet here you were, the main character starring in all his fantasies.

well, not the totally normal human version of you, but some sort of demon version at least. Your brown ebony skin, now a dark red, as your eyes glowed a misty light orange, and you had to protrude two small dark horns coming from your temple.

Smothered under your weight resting down, you straddled his hips as your arms steadied yourself with your hands against his chest.

It took Ethan a few blinks to realize the reason he had been panting for air as if he had been taking his last breath. Being covered in a thin layer of sweat, which almost melted into the bedsheets from how on fire his body had felt with the spark of pleasure that had flooded through his system all at once.

The dream had felt so realistic—the thump of his heart in his ears, how soft your abnormal skin had felt against the rough pads of his fingers, almost massaging your pelvis as you slowly rolled your hips against his erection.

Ethan felt like he was dying. That had to be the only way to explain why he felt like every section of his body was burning from the inside, like something inside of him was building up to burst out at any second, as if your touch was coaxing something to escape from his pitiful little body.

In addition to your demon-like features, the clothes you wore were normal in the theme of your usual set of clothes, but just below the sag of your gym shorts peeked a lewd mark of some sort of unidentifiable symbol of some sort that seemed to shine the same color as your eyes.

The symbol on your skin matching one had been embodied into his skin in the same place, just above his happy trail.

the way that they had beamed brighter together in sync, almost like the two were intertwined in the appearance that something was flowing through you, and whatever it was had to be the reason he felt the way he did.

Your eyes had caught his graze, another hammer of his heart beating rapidly against his chest as his tongue dragged over the bottom of his lip by nervous habit.

Your gaze held something completely different, other than the obvious change in appearance.

It was the glint in the way your eyes seemed so alluring that had his hips stuttering to bring some sort of relief to the throbbing problem in his sweatpants.

You leaned in closer, the peek of your breast exposed from the low cut of your loose shirt, making him swallow thickly under your stare. A sharp smile had spread across your lips.

Ethan should have found it worrying.

Alarms should have been ringing in his head, telling him how weird his virgin subconscious was forming some type of freaky monster sex fantasy about his crush.

But there was a bigger part of him that refused to think about anything other than wanting to bury his cock inside of you.

He had almost felt drunk on this new strange feeling, his lips parting and him panting as your foreheads touched, "Awe, you're burning up, Ethan."

Just the mere sound of your voice had his hip lifting from the mattress, your tone going straight to his dick.

"It…feels weird…" He had finally managed to stutter from his mouth, he wasn’t in agonizing pain, but the amount of discomfort he had from you teasing his rock hard erection was enough to bring him to tears.

He shuffled under your weight to ease the deep, boiling feeling coiling in his lower stomach. "I know, baby, I know, I'm gonna make it all go away, okay?" A whine pulled from his throat from the reassurance, the brush of your hands against his cheek.

Watching your lips form with every word, thinking about how much he had wanted your mouth around his cock, the small embrace had him aching all over for you.

"Please," Ethan begged, his tongue suddenly feeling too big for his mouth. "Touch me, please."

A sigh of relief sounds from his lips as your hand trails down his torso straight towards his erection, reaching below the elastic of his briefs and freeing him, greeting the thigh clenching sight of his veiny hilt.

Sitting between his legs, you could feel the tenseness of his leg muscles twitch as you lean down to press a wet kiss against his puffy tip, Ethan shivering at the sight of your tongue poking from your mouth and stealing a taste of the precum that coated your lips as if you were first taking a sample.

His heart started to thump against his chest, the beat of his heart ringing through his ears.

A pained whine tugged from his throat as his hips arched once your mouth had finally engulfed the head of his cock, and he was keen at the feeling of your warm tongue tracing down along the underside of his veiny length all while you never broke eye contact with him.

“S–shit,” The hum of your mouth around him had him stretching out his arms for a fistful of the blanket.

A whimper parted from his lips once your hands guided his to the back of your head, letting him ground himself with a fistful of your hair.

His hips thrusting up from the mattress seemed to be on their own, fucking your throat, trying to chase the overwhelming feeling of pleasure that came from the rawness of fucking the back of your throat.

But then there was a pause, with Ethan coming to a trembling halt, his chest rising and falling from his panting breath. "Um, can—is it okay if I do it inside?" His voice was small and filled with concern as if his cock was already down your throat.

Your lashes fluttered from processing the question. The small bob of your head and the way you continued to take him all the way were more than enough confirmation to have Ethan go back to rolling his hips into your mouth.

With one more buck of his hips, holding down your head with one harsh thrust, it was all the warning you could get for Ethan’s abrupt orgasm as he came down your throat.

It took a moment for clarity to finally kick in. Ethan’s hands stopped moving from your hair to gently caress your face with an adored look plastered all over his blown pupils and his face flushed a tint of pink.

"I—I think I'm in love with you," he whispers as he watches you crawl up his chest, settling just below his still erect dick.

Ethan shivered at the sigh of your sharp fangs poking from your gums and the stretch of your gleeful smile as your tongue dragged over the sharp canines before leaning in close enough to press a trail of kisses up his neck.

"Wanna put it in me now?" Your question being the only thing to knock around in his head and having your mouth so close to his ear so erotically.

Ethan actually whined at the abruptness enough to knock him out of whatever bliss he had felt just seconds ago, his eyes shooting up and sitting up with an uncomfortable groan.

The wet mess in his underwear as he peered from under his blankets at his morning issues.

🔖 ...

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#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #jack champion x reader #scream 6 #scream 6 smut #ghostface #ghostface x reader #slashers x reader

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chronically-ghosted · 3 months

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i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

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“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?”

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.”

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself.

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion.

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you.

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?”

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall.

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?”

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that.

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin?

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more.

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came?

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you.

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.”

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking.

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball.

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest.

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled.

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed.

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.”

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts.

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough.

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress.

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.”

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again.

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring.

“It, uh, popped.”

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?”

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall.

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook.

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist.

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you.

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!”

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast.

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.”

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing.

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more.

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?”

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter.

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back. “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!”

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?”

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.”

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.”

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?”

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly.

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release.

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.”

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door.

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books.

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?”

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better.

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?”

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all.

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.”

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo.

Funny how that all fucking worked out.

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off.

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.”

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh.

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,”

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.”

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest.

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.”

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.”

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear.

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.”

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you.

Don’t look at me like that.

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded.

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot.

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night.

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn.

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you.

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,”

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.”

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar.

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.”

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night.

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life.

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm.

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you?

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once.

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and –

Does not find a bra.

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open.

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him.

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure.

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits.

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it.

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head.

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him.

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?”

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely.

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror.

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you.

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo.

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress.

“C’mere, baby girl–,”

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his.

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air –

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses.

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder.

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.”

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are.

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches.

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl.

God, he’s so hard it hurts.

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try.

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.”

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass.

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him.

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan.

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched.

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all.

Families share similar insecurities, after all.

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts.

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,”

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain.

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales.

Girlsex.

Girlsweat.

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell.

He wants . . . to put his dick into something.

But first –

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan.

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal.

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top.

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent.

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have.

Even when you left him, you’d never forget –

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip.

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple.

Settle down. We’re only just getting started.

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next.

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you.

Oh my God, duh, fingers.

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed.

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt.

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him.

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like–

Do not fucking come right now.

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.”

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off.

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.”

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it.

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee.

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher –

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open.

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you.

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.”

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you.

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation.

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness.

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress.

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain.

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it.

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear.

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes.

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it.

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.”

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock.

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once.

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.”

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick.

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more.

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears.

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles.

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much.

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned.

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast.

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.”

I want to die in this cunt.

“So good, baby.”

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you.

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance.

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees.

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders.

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it.

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips.

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing –

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.”

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours.

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point– all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.”

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw.

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you.

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you.

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes.

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him.

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.”

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet.

“David.”

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood.

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.”

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.”

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest.

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears.

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard.

“Holy shit.”

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps.

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are.

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.”

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.”

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him.

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant.

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece.

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.”

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum.

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple.

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.”

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase.

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests.

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets.

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip.

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.”

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize.

You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once.

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.”

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone.

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty.

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off.

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this.

I never want to see you again.

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%.

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame.

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside.

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean.

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?”

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap.

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.”

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .”

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.”

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all.

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but.

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table.

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist.

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.”

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face.

“Guess so.”

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him.

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling.

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

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

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 5 months

Text

peppermint gum, m | jjk | savor...

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

It’s impossible to fall in love when you’re already in love. And Jeon Jungkook was in love. Helplessly. But what could he do? Time passed. The world became tasteless to his eyes. All he could do was hold onto the crisp and intense color of those memories, remember her words, and wonder where she was now. Savor, and burst forth.

this is part i | click here for part ii | total wc: 25.6k

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; this story contains parental child abuse - child neglect and abandonment; sloooow burn; mild alcohol consumption; hardcore pining JK; angst and fluff and feels; (in part ii) smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamic, so much kissing, hair pulling, scratching / marking. grinding, choking, m-receiving oral, finger sucking, fingering, nipple play, m-masturbation, thigh riding, edging, penetrative sex, doggy, multiple orgasms); shifts back and forth between Jungkook’s POV and your POV; from lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers again :)

non-idol!AU; pining!Jungkook x noona!reader — ft JK's helpful? friends Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin; reader's close friend and talented guitarist, Kang Hyungu (ONEWE's Kanghyun if you want to see his appearance, hehe, same personality); JK has all his piercings and has hair (lol) had to be broken up into two parts bc it is 25k words, rip

“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll forget you?”

Those last words rang in his head, accompanied by her smile.

“Your mind might forget me, but the body always remembers.”

He wanted her to be wrong. But, of course, she wasn’t. Life wasn’t so kind. Life wasn’t so kind to give him a dramatic ending. Rather, it was a calm one of slow decay where he gradually learned to not miss her anymore. No ill feelings. Just helplessness. He had wanted her to be his morning, his afternoon, his night. She didn’t. He had been younger then. He had thought he could change what was already written.

She had done the right thing, actually.

Years past. The memories became a blur with everything else. Everyone else – between nights and bodies and the feeling of not quite right. Searching but not knowing what he was looking for so he cut them off just as he had been cut off. It hurt, of course, but not as much as it would have if he had let it drag on. Maybe that was what he had learned from that time.

He forgot to miss her.

But he still thought of her and wondered where she was now.

Tattoos, piercings, and countless hours at the gym later. Running. Life an endless loop despite the differences. Nowadays, he was making an effort to hang out with his friends more, not just for birthdays or online games, but socializing at in-person events that he still wasn’t very good at. Becoming older meant drifting apart since they didn’t have those common places to mingle in anymore, so it was important to put in the effort. If he wanted to improve in talking to people more casually, well, he should at least put himself in those opportunities, right?

Right.

Running.

Always running.

Sometimes, when he was in the dark surrounded by people and with just the right amount of alcohol in his system, he missed her terribly, but he couldn’t remember what standing next to her was even like.

Other times, he completely forgot she used to like this type of tea or that kind of snack. These details faded into the background, only to return to him in disorienting dreams and half-realities.

And most of the time, he forgot.

In between hands and lips and legs, he felt the rush. The exhilaration. Lust. He could make magic in the bedroom. Wasn’t that what it was all about? Wasn’t it all about the chase between two? Wasn’t love about strangers becoming forever-afters? Wasn’t it? He didn’t know anything about that when he was younger. Right. How could that be love?

Maybe.

Maybe he just forgot.

The spark always died so fast. It must have been not quite right.

She must have forgotten him too, by now.

When Jeon Jungkook saw her again, he hadn’t expected it at all.

It was at a nightclub concert. Loud and obnoxious and full of infectious energy. A friend of his was a singer of the band that was going onstage next. Currently, there was alternative rock band vibing with the crowd, singing songs that no one knew but spoke to feelings everyone understood. Breakup lyrics to sweetheart melodies. He was enjoying himself, but not paying much attention. In a split second, he had whipped his head around because one of his friends was playfully flicking the back of his hair, being an idiot, and then he saw her at the edge of the stage. Right there. He almost didn’t think it was her at first, but his eyes recognized that face right away, even amidst the chocolate smokey eye and cherry lip stain. He almost looked away, not wanting to stare at a now-stranger, but his body froze when she smiled, remembering the way his heart fluttered when those past-lover-now-stranger’s eyes sparkled with mischief when she smiled.

That couldn’t have been love, right?

He couldn’t remember.

Was she more beautiful than before or had helplessness desaturated his memory?

She was cheerfully speaking to someone. A young man who had cerulean hair. His undercut was dyed a gradient purple. Taller than her, with broad shoulders. Black t-shirt and tight jeans showing off a built body. He lingered near her the same way a cat stayed by its owner. She shook her head at him and said something. The man chuckled despite a demeanor full of nervousness. She handed him his purple electric guitar and pushed him, motioning him to interact with the band standing offstage. Oh, that was right. His singer friend had mentioned that their actual guitarist was out taking care of his grandmother. They had to call someone to fill in on short notice.

It was clear, by the instrument, that this was the fill in.

The young man trotted over to the band and introduced himself. He was meant with open arms and gracious bows that left him flustered and shaking his head.

Jeon Jungkook looked away, not wanting her to see him.

Would she know it was him?

He glanced at her again during the break for the band change. She was standing at the side, not too close to the wall but not too far. Could be noticed right away, because she was not drinking and because she was alone. Simply standing there. Almost regal even in a tight white crop top and hip-hugging black trousers. The thick black strap of her sling bag had a large plush keychain dangling by her waist. A tuxedo cat with a tangerine on its head. She didn’t seem bothered to be alone with no one to speak to. She also held onto a big, thick, black leather jacket. Folded and tucked in her arms. Could be hers.

Could also not be.

She was smiling in the direction of the substitute guitarist. Jungkook caught a shared gaze between them. She gave the man a thumbs up. He returned the smile, albeit awkwardly. A wordless exchange. Two people who knew each other very well. The lights dimmed. An announcement was made and cheers erupted around him.

But Jungkook was in the dark, surrounded by people, with not enough alcohol in his system to place the emotion he was feeling right now.

He looked to the stage as the spotlights returned to the stage, lighting up the band and his friend, but his mind held onto the image he had just now seen. Something about her makeup, with the striking eyeliner and black-cherry tinted lips. His own lips tingled, remembering the taste of a kiss from years ago.

A bright and refreshing flavor, so strong that it had seemed to last for hours after.

He was not self-centered or bitter enough to call her an ex-girlfriend. It had been a crisp and intense connection but, in retrospect, the time had been short. Fast and in a rush. The kind of love that made his skin prickle and his heart race. There had been no way to know how long it would last. There had been no comparison to realize that that love could be as fleeting as it was powerful.

A peppermint gum love.

Ah, what was he going on like this for? Maybe she didn’t want to be bothered. Maybe she wouldn’t want to see a ghost of her past. Maybe she didn’t even remember him. Jungkook knew he looked very different now. Back then, he had been a lot more worried about being presentable to everyone. Now, he was old enough to know he couldn’t and didn’t have to please everyone. He could wear loose clothes even if he worked out to look toned the way he wanted. He could get those lip piercings even if people told him eight ear piercings was already too many and adding two more on the right side of his lower lip was overdoing it. He could get a sleeve of colorfully dark tattoos and maybe consider getting more if he really wanted, even if some people found it tacky or not to their taste.

Well.

As long as he had the money for it, anyway.

He tried to discern how she was looking at the young man playing guitar, but Jungkook couldn’t figure out if it was the same expression that she had given him all those years before. He couldn’t remember.

His mind couldn’t remember.

But.

There was an interlude mid-act. He had made up his mind. He excused himself from his friends, mumbling the excuse of the bathroom. It was nerve-wracking to cut himself away from that safety. He didn’t have to do this. There was no ill feeling.

Just helplessness.

He moved through the crowd, winding between the people. Right there. There was so much noise. Conversations. Laughter. Drunken bickering. But all he could hear was silence. Bodies pushed up against him, bumping into him by accident, mumbling out apologies. But all he could feel was the suggestion of a touch, the faded peppermint gum love, grasping for a memory that he couldn’t seem to recall.

His finger tapped her shoulder.

He just wanted to know something.

“Do you still feel the same as you did back then?”

After the hey, how have you been, after the look of recognition and half-amused smile and the flutter of his heart, after the small talk of where are you now, he asked her the question. Those things were only the precursor. The filler and fluff. The pretense to the question that had been on his mind for a long, long time now.

“About what?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“I don’t know if you remember…” He didn’t either, actually. Remember her original words. “But you said that you didn’t think you could ever understand love. You said something like that to me a long time ago and I wonder… I wonder if that feeling has changed.”

He knew it was a strange question and yet.

He just…

Needed to know.

The shadows in her eyes became darker, impenetrable. “Sounds like something I’ve said. But, are you asking me because you think that feeling should have changed?”

He shook his head quickly. “No.” Looked at her head-on, unsure if this bravery was from alcohol or the question itself that had been lingering in his mind for so long. “I remembered what you said after all this time because…”

Hot and heavy, but ultimately forgettable nights.

Cold and bright.

Unable to last and, yet, lasted.

“Because I think now I am beginning to understand what you meant.”

There was a lot of noise around them, but he barely noticed. There was so much light, so many people around them, but this moment was a spotlight between him and the past cold brightness. The shadows in her eyes softened, no longer bristling thorns, fading into a dark forest of overlapping leaves. He couldn’t know, but he felt those eyes were different now. Darker. More decisive. And yet, in some ways she hadn’t changed at all. One of the things that he had always liked about her back then was that she always answered him seriously and wisely even if the question seemed out of the blue.

They always had an inexplicable closeness, even as strangers.

She was even more beautiful and more attractive than he remembered though.

“I lied,” she admitted with a half-smile. Was that a sparkle of mischief in her irises or was he seeing things? “I remember what I said to you. It had upset you a lot, I remember, when I said I didn’t understand love. You cried. It must have hurt you, but I couldn’t understand why back then. Back then, I said I didn’t understand love because I both didn’t want to learn and couldn’t feel it. Only the latter is true now. Or, rather, I don’t think I feel the same things that other people feel when they are with the people they love. But why do you say you’re beginning to understand that I meant?”

His body remembered the feeling of her hand on his shoulder. Now, their relations weren’t close enough for her to touch him. He didn’t remember crying but he wasn’t surprised to be told that he did. When he was younger, he had been a bit of a crybaby. Just because he didn’t recall didn’t mean it didn’t happen.

But.

His heart could still feel that deep scratch of those familiar words, even now.

“When I met you back then… I thought I knew everything about love. Love was for good people. I wanted to be a good person so I could be loved. All I had to do was become the person that people wanted to love. But then I realized I wasn’t doing the things I wanted to do, only what was expected of me. Then you told me you didn’t understand love and I, someone who wanted to be loved by you, realized I had nothing to fall back on because I was only made of others’ expectations and ideals.”

He shook his head. He did remember crying after they parted. He remembered trying to make the sadness go away. He remembered nights in beds and stumbling home to cry in the shower, feeling disconnected in the physical connection. He remembered nights alone, empty bottles and holding a shot glass of tears, feeling unable to speak about this to anyone. Lost without knowing how to be found. Doing things based on impulse because only impulses were truly his and not poisoned by the opinions of others. Laughing at the search of happiness. Above all, he had been afraid. He had been afraid to give voice to his worries because then maybe they would gain power and overtake him.

But then he remembered the person who didn’t understand love.

There was such a person that existed out there.

He wondered how she was now.

“I wanted to tell you…”

And now he knew.

“I wanted to tell you I understand now. Or… don’t. Um.”

She smiled at him.

It was not the same way as she looked at the guitarist.

“Huh, you’ve become so mature and grown up. Well, welcome to the smoke-and-mirrors of adulthood, Jeon Jungkook,” she chuckled teasingly, shaking her head. “I scarred you that bad, eh?”

“No, I didn’t mean–”

She raised a hand to stop him, waving away his apology. “No, it’s okay. I’m surprised you still remember me. And don’t hate me. A lot of them hate me.”

Your mind might forget me, but the body always remembers.

His body did remember.

“A lot of them?” he echoed, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

The faintest tick of her eyebrow. “You gonna tell me you have all these tattoos and piercings and don’t get laid?”

His heart dropped. “You don’t like them?” He blurted that a little too fast.

She laughed. “My opinion of them doesn’t really matter.”

“Yes, it does,” was his quick reply.

She paused. The shadows in her eyes swirled. He tried to discern their meaning as he stared into those dark irises but the shadows were all evasive and clever, flitting away from him playfully. When she spoke again, there was a sternness to her tone. Not scolding him. Just getting her point across.

“Answer the question of whether or not you get laid.”

Hot and heavy nights that meant nothing compared to the cold and bright scratch on his heart.

“I…”

The tips of his ears suddenly burned but maybe it was the alcohol.

“I do. But I haven’t remembered or been bothered to remember a single thing they’ve said to me,” Jungkook heard himself say and wondered where that bravery came from.

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then she smiled in the way that made him shiver.

“Hyungu is gonna be pissed,” she laughed as the sound of a guitar riff pierced the air.

Oh, shit.

The spotlight faded.

Everything rushed back. Sound, color, light. It suddenly became very clear that he was too far and too long gone from his friends to go back now and face them. Jungkook spun around, seeing that the crowd had packed up tightly again. To his dismay, he had no idea where his friends were. They were no longer in that little pocket they had been. Did they get closer to the stage? Had they seen where he had gone? Did one of them text him? He was afraid to pull out his phone, both in rudeness and in the possible mortifying teasing. His phone was always on silent, at least. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

He turned back.

The melody echoing behind him was sharp and bright chords followed by a soulful voice.

She had been looking at the stage but immediately caught his gaze with a surprised expression. As if she hadn’t expected him to stay once the music started. And he shouldn’t, for it was rude and intrusive and inconsiderate to stay and invade a stranger’s space any longer.

But.

“You didn’t give me an answer.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

He pulled up the sleeve of his charcoal hoodie, revealing more of his tattoos. Her eyes tracked the movement, widening in surprise at the burst of color combined with thick black outlines. She had been able to see some of them, as his sleeves had been pushed up slightly, but it was much more obvious with the cuffs to the elbows. His forearm was covered with ink and there was no sign of stopping past the black patch in his inner elbow.

He looked back at her.

For a moment, they were young again.

Haloed by music, immersed in each other. A movie in real life. Suddenly it felt worth it – worth taking the risk of being rude, intrusive, or inconsiderate. Suddenly, it felt worth rolling the die and betting double just to…

Have a taste of that peppermint flavor.

“Yes or no?” he insisted, frowning, stubbornly pushing for an answer.

Deep down, Jungkook had always hoped she was thriving, shining brighter than all the stars, because then it proved that he, someone who also felt like he didn’t understand love, could be as impactful as that sparkling smile.

The corner of her lips ticked up in amusement. “Does a stranger’s opinion matter that much? I thought you weren’t going to let the opinions of others bother you anymore.”

Are we really strangers?

He grinned. “A stranger’s opinion would be the most unbiased, right?”

Can strangers speak like the way you and I do?

She stared at him for seconds that felt like forever-ever-afters.

Then she laughed, reaching up with a graceful hand and touching her fingertips to her forehead. His breath caught his throat, suddenly flooded with memories of youth and rashness, short as it was. He could see it all in a whirlwind. Crystal clear and fleeting all at once. A perfect storm and now caught in the eye, all of his wonders and helplessness thrown to the wayside upon seeing this familiar gesture that he didn’t even know until now was familiar, realizing now just how precious it was.

She lowered her hand with a mirthful and sparkling expression.

Beckoned with a downward wave as the music swelled, dangerously close to melting into the bridge.

“Step closer. You’re in someone’s way.”

Jungkook jolted, stumbling, realizing there was a short woman with carrying three full cups of foamy, honey-colored beer looking confusedly at him.

“Oh, shit, sorry–”

Her hand touched his shoulder, directing him gently.

His body moved but his mind froze at the touch.

“Listen. This is my favorite part. I’ll tell you after.”

One moment, there was space between them.

The next, he was standing next to her.

She tapped the air, closing her eyes.

“Listen.”

He closed his eyes obediently. Took away the visual, and suddenly his world was flooded with the auditory. An intricate guitar solo to bring life to his fluttering heart blending with piano and drums flowing together. Memories flashing past, too fast to grasp onto, happiness and misery, and then the bridge came, the lyrics painting the photo of two colorless roses abandoned by the heavens.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Her eyes opened at the final chorus, exhaling softly. Turned her head and he could see in the shadows of her gaze that she, too, remembered their minty whirlwind of memories.

Or…

Was he just hoping for that?

She smiled.

“I love your tattoos and piercings. You suit them well. I’m glad you found your own color, Jeon Jungkook. You shine so much brighter now than you did back then.”

It was at this moment that he knew...

He fucked up.

He shouldn’t have walked over here. He shouldn’t have asked the question. He shouldn’t have stayed and continued the conversation. He shouldn’t have asked if she liked how he looked now. He should have stayed with his friends and wondered. He should have preserved in the hot and heavy instead of searching for the past of crisp and bright. He might get used to it. He might end up finding what he was looking for, whatever it was. Or, better yet, he might just forget this whole feeling and her lasting words if he never saw her smile as she spoke to him again.

But he didn’t, so that meant he really fucked up.

Pit-a-pat.

He stared at her for so long that he didn’t realize he hadn’t said anything in reply until the song ended and her expression changed, tilting her head in puzzlement. She thinks I’m insane. Say something, Jungkook! Anything! But nothing was coming to mind, as how it always was in these situations. Awesome.

“Uh…”

She smoothly interrupted his awkwardness. “Did you come with friends?” Expression neutral. “I would hate to keep you from your company for too long.”

The notable shift from more casual to formal slightly stung.

No.

Really stung.

“I… Well, honestly, I don’t know where they are,” Jungkook confessed, scanning the crowd for a moment in attempt to look for them. It was a half-assed attempt, but it was an attempt. “I think I’ll have to look for them after the show. We’re meeting up with the band to eat, I think.”

“Oh? You know them?”

He pointed awkwardly to the stage. “Ah, yeah, the lead singer… We met in high school and are in the same friend group… Well, I’ve only recently started hanging out outside again. We’ve played a lot of online games together.”

“Oh, really?” She looked back up to the stage. “In that case, do you think your friends would mind if Hyungu tagged along?” A cautious smile. “It’s just… Hyungu-ah is in a band too, but they’re on hiatus right now. A few of them are doing military service. I think he really misses that environment. I can’t really talk music with him though, I don’t know anything,” she added ruefully, shaking her head and scrunching her nose. “Sorry, that’s probably a bit much to ask you after seeing you all this time. I’m just worried about that introvert, haha.”

Oh, right. The substitute guitarist. Right, because she didn’t simply magically appear as an act of fate or red string level of storytelling in a drama. Real life wasn’t like that.

“S-Sure, we can all go together–”

She was asking him to suggest or go along with the proposition to not alienate the guy. It was clear that she cared about him. He didn’t want to see them together, but… If she became part of his friend group, he might have a reason to go out more. Maybe he was a masochist. Maybe he just wanted to see if she was happy with that guy. Maybe he…

Okay, he wanted her to be close, even if it was all futile.

She relaxed. “Ah, phew. It really did take me a while to convince him to get out of the house,” she chuckled. “It’ll be nice for him to be around people that understand his true language of music, haha. I’ll stick around just in case, but don’t worry, I’ll leave and let you guys be guys, heh.”

Wait.

What?

Jungkook blinked rapidly. “Huh? Aren’t you coming too?”

She stared back. “Huh? Why?”

He looked at her and she looked at him.

Both blank stares of confusion.

“Why wouldn’t you go with your boyfriend?” he blurted.

Invisible question marks popped up over her head. Then she jolted and jerked her head to the band, to the blue-haired guitarist tearing it up on stage with a grin, then back at Jungkook, her eyes wide. “Me? Me?” She pointed to herself quickly, half-laughing in disbelief. “Me and Kang Hyungu?”

Jungkook gawked.

She burst out laughing.

“Oh, fuck, no, no, no,” she puffed, waving her hand all over. “No, no, he’s not… Oh, sheesh, no, we’re not dating. You thought… hah, sorry, there’s a misunderstanding here, hahaha…” She flicked her hand downward as if that idea was so ridiculous that it needed to be physically slapped out of existence. “Ah, no, how can I explain…”

Huh?

Wait, didn’t she mention earlier that his Kang Hyungu was going to be angry? She did directly say, Hyungu is gonna be pissed, right after Jungkook had told her he never bothered to remember what other girls told him, which would imply… argh, this was very baffling and Jungkook found his scatterbrained thoughts spinning trying to comprehend it all.

She straightened and ticked her head to the stage. “Me and him are just friends. We’ve been friends are a long time. Sorry, I can see why you’re mistaken since I came here with him, but Hyungu-ah is the type that really doesn’t like new situations. When he got asked to fill in for another band, he wanted me to come with him, since he wouldn’t know anybody. I believe he said he only spoke to these guys a couple times at festivals and he just needed some moral support.” She grinned. “Ya know, a tough cookie in case things get tough, hehe.”

Jungkook understood but also he was confused. “O… Oh…”

She motioned away his doubts. “In his words, you’re scary, noona. I’d feel much better if you came with me. Can you believe this guy? Just admit you’re lonely.” She rolled her eyes. “Hyungu-ah is a guitar genius. He’s a music nerd. I’ve known him since…” She paused, a dark shadow casting over her eyes as she recalled the past. “I was asked to tutor him when he was in high school and I was finishing university. He was shit at math and science. I helped him pass and then I…”

And again.

That pause.

Jungkook got the feeling she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him or not.

She shrugged. “I moved away. Then I saw his name on a poster. Turns out this nerd made his dream a reality and started that band after all.” Her expression became fond. Gentle. “I went to go see him perform. I was surprised he recognized me, actually. Hah, kinda like–”

Her gaze shifted to him.

It was as if time stopped.

She continued, clearing her throat. “Anyway, I’m not dating anyone. Definitely not Hyungu. He’s more like a little brother to me. Or I’m more like a bodyguard, heh. With only intimidation tactics. I really should work out, huh…”

He frowned. “Have you talked about him before? I would have remembered someone so important to you.”

“Nah, I think you and me was after university. When I was being a slu–” She cut herself off. “Ahem, I mean, I was young and didn’t really want to deal with, well, anything. Running from myself, so to speak.” She sighed. A little heavy. “I meant to say sorry, back then. You got caught up with my madness.”

She winked.

Jungkook felt his heart skip a beat.

“But, hey, you dodged a bullet, eh?”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. That burst between them wasn’t there anymore.

Right?

Wrong.

He grinned.

“Nah, I’m bulletproof.”

Something about her.

Do you feel it too?

Her gaze sharpened and she stilled, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

“Oh, yeah?”

Well.

Can’t say you expected the events of tonight to be on this year’s bingo card.

You laid in bed and scrolled through your phone, but you didn’t pay much attention to anything on the screen. On one hand, you felt a little restless leaving Kang Hyungu to fend for himself with his low alcohol tolerance. On another hand, he was a grown man and would call you in the middle of the night to pick him up if he was really fucked up. Eh, he was too much of a good boy to be irresponsible.

You chuckled to no one in particular.

You were alone, after all.

It was a miracle, really, that little Hyungu still wanted to be your friend now.

In some ways, he was still the same kid you had met all those years ago. You didn’t really interact with him much as you were a couple years older and, well, a girl. You couldn’t really look at him either, all things considering. After all, wasn’t it highly probable that the bags under his eyes was your family’s fault? Your family and his family happened to be next-door neighbors at the apartment complex.

No one really talked about it.

In certain areas, the sounds of yelling and thrown dishes were simply background noise. Normal circumstances. The first near two decades of your life was that every day. Most of the time, your presence was as insignificant as a cockroach. Sometimes you would be spoken of but never spoken to. You learned from a pretty young age to shut up or be forced to shut up. The family motto was, children are not meant to be seen or heard. The adults were speaking. More accurately, arguing, escalating to screaming, and then to scalding silent treatment. Repeat cycle. You learned to snatch food from the fridge as soon as you saw it. No one was going to prepare anything for you, but at least there was always something edible in there.

Until you became a teenager, that was.

It got especially bad when you attended high school as both sides picked up hideous habits to deal with their issues. In your opinion, they should have picked divorce to deal with them, but instead they chose gambling and serial cheating. Sometimes neither would come home for days. Whenever they crossed paths, the endless war continued. There was no way to predict when the silence could become suddenly violate and now you were old enough to understand what was going on – and old enough to loathe it. You barely saw your next-door neighbors at that time because you did basically anything you could to avoid going home. There was only so much a child can take.

They either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

It was also about this time that you started using sex as a coping mechanism.

Approval by society wasn’t high on the list for you at that time, nor was it now. Must have been the upbringing. You watched alcohol become an expensive addiction for your parents and, paired with their mindless days at the casinos and excess spending on extramarital pleasures, illegal drugs were out of the question. Sex, however. If you knew what clinics to go to or where to shoplift, well. Free protection. Yup. During university, though, was when you needed money. You couldn’t go far as you couldn’t pay to live in a dorm. Your scholarships were barely covering tuition, so living at home was the only option. At this point, your parents had mostly forgot forgot that there was someone they birthed living in the apartment with them, which was fine by you, except when you needed to eat.

How Kang Hyungu knew things he shouldn’t know was a mystery you never figured out.

You had gotten locked out, again, and some loud dispute was happening behind the door. Deadbolted. It was shaping up to be a shit night – that was until a tall high schooler with a guitar bag approached the door to your right. You tried not to look at him and decided you would leave to find a PC bang to spend the night. But he must have seen your university-branded bag and called out your family name.

That was when Kang Hyungu started talking to you.

He must have noticed the many times that you had been locked out. Well, how could he ignore it? You didn’t want to do the small talk thing except for immediately informing him with your given name. However, your ears perked up when he mentioned that he needed help with math and science classes. He was looking to pay a tutor. Cram school was pretty expensive. Turns out you both had attended the same high school – of course, considering you lived in the same damn apartment building – and the high school posted notices about alumni that had received scholarships. That shit was a big deal to educators.

That was how you ended up in a basement studio room listening to five high schoolers make songs for hours and teaching them calculus, biology, and chemistry. All of them ended up being mild levels of garbage at those subjects, but it made teaching in a group much more efficient. It was thanks to Hyungu that you were able to eat all of university. Honestly, you didn’t really need the money as much as you needed somewhere to be. Yeah, it was pretty clear that Hyungu knew that somehow. He was a lot more observant than you gave him credit for. Neither of you really talked about it even though you should have.

Maybe, then…

When you graduated university, it was clear you had to leave. It was clear you had to put some distance between you and those who birthed you. Turns out, they did it for you, because one day you came home from job hunting and you didn’t have a home anymore. The apartment door was open and some random people were moving in. Cool. A talk with the leasing office, then. Turns out your parents moved out and didn’t bother to tell you. Together? Separately? Who the fuck knew. You found a box of your clothes in the dumpster along with some other random shit. Your birth certificate, even.

Your entire existence thrown in the trash.

It had really not been the best time.

Couple months of living strictly from PC bangs and business hotel rooms, you started a desk job at minimum wage. Funny how a degree didn’t do much but whatever. You also continued your not-so-great coping mechanism of fucking around, which is how you met Jeon Jungkook. He definitely had a different idea of how it all went down, but.

You paused, seeing that you had pulled up your phone contacts and there he was.

Even through changed models, your phone contacts transferred over. You never bothered to clear them out unless the person was worth blocking. Jeon Jungkook wasn’t worth blocking. The breakup, if you could call it that, was pretty simple. You said what you said and he didn’t fight you. You didn’t need his number in the years after, but you forgot about thinking you needed to delete unused numbers. You didn’t really forget him, though.

He was the only one that you felt sorry for breaking his heart.

He hadn’t been your type back then. Your type had been self-destructive, and you had become tired of that, so you chased for the complete opposite instead. You knew full well that it wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t even go into it invested. But you chose well, and he was the complete opposite. He trusted everything you said. He put up with your cold front. He liked you more than you liked him and he had no idea that he did. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised that he wouldn’t care even if he knew. He was good in bed too. Eager, quick to learn, and listened to everything you said. Tried everything you asked without questioning or judging. It was precisely why you broke it off before it got too deep, because it got too deep way too fast.

He thought of you too highly when, at that time, you were too low to be anything above a grey area.

Aren’t you afraid I’ll forget you?

Just by asking you that, you never forgot Jungkook. He was the only one who seemed worried about that. Everyone else called you a heartless bitch or a dumb whore who was making a mistake. But Jungkook asked you if you were afraid that he would lose your memory, as if it was valuable enough to be tarnished.

Life worked in mysterious ways.

The happening of you seeing Hyungu’s name on a poster was by chance. The choice to go to that concert back then was on a whim. The chance of Hyungu recognizing you and coming to find you, dragging you to his bandmates that all yapped excitedly around you as if no time had passed was surprising. You had always thought they had forgotten or resented you on some level. After all, you didn’t have a working phone for a while since you couldn’t pay for a plan. You had essentially ghosted them for years, but Hyungu acted as if you had always been there. I’ll never forget that you took good care of me, noona. There was no way you could even attempt to date Kang Hyungu. How could you ruin a relationship that he kept preserved so preciously when you abandoned it? He spoke highly of you even when you hadn’t been around, even when you had been too busy being selfish and self-centered. He smiled at you and relied on you once again because he trusted that you could be relied on. You would sigh and be hauled around by these young loons and support their blooming music career as you got your footing and made it to a better desk job with better pay.

And, by some fate, being close to Kang Hyungu caused you to cross paths with Jeon Jungkook once again.

Weird, eh?

You lowered your phone, staring up at the ceiling.

Well, life was full of coincidences, right? There was no reason to think this was a special event. After all, you had been trying your best to forget that time in your life where you felt the most lost. It took a lot of pushing past your own stubbornness to realize that how your parents felt about you had nothing to do who you were. Accepting that you weren’t the worst fuckup ever to exist, thanks to the saving grace of someone who remembered to call you noona in an endearing way and not in an obligated way. It would be counterproductive to…

Jeon Jungkook’s smiling face flashed in your mind.

You only had one orb-shaped lamp on currently. It was one of those that you could set the lighting color and tone to your taste. You liked the low, moody, cool blue lighting. Besides, you knew the layout of your apartment by now, and the overhead lighting wasn’t necessary unless you needed to look for something.

The orb shone like the moon.

Jungkook had known such a different version of you and yet he still smiled at you like that.

“You must have somebody, don’t you?” you sighed to the shining moon.

It was silly to think too much about a random conversation. And, really, all he wanted to know was if you still found him hot or whatever. Yeah, he was just looking for external validation. You just happened to be there. Tattoos and piercings and working out? Sounded like a quarter life crisis to you. One that worked out in his favor, though. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, but it wasn’t from a tangible cold.

In the darkness, the moon-shaped light glowed brightly.

“It would be nice if you had somebody.”

You frowned and turned your back to the light.

It was a coincidence. Another moment of going through life and realizing you had been climbing Penrose stairs all along. How different were you from back then, really? It wasn’t as if you magically started getting into relationships and had a damn epiphany. The cruel epiphany was that we were all stuck in this endless loop of our respective pasts catching up to the present. No amount of heat could dissipate the coldness of the future.

You sighed, melting into the comfort of your cool bedsheets.

“I should just forget about Jeon Jungkook,” you mumbled.

Whatever.

Wasn’t like you were ever gonna see him again.

You dozed off.

Your phone vibrated against your chest.

“You idiot, you know you have no tolerance…”

“Noona, it was so fun, ahahaha…”

The air was cold. The sting of winter clung to his cheeks. He called out her name, feeling like the sound was drowned out by the cars and white noise in his head, but, once again, Jeon Jungkook completely forgot how loud he was.

Passersby jumped as he ran past clutching a guitar bag.

Her arms were wrapped around a blue-haired man who was dwarfing her frame. He looked half-asleep and too proud of himself but that was probably under the influence of alcohol and good vibes. She jolted, startled, her eyes widening as Jungkook skidded to a questionably close stop in front of them, nearly colliding into her.

In fact, he did.

“Woah!”

“Yah!”

He threw an arm out and around them, snapping back to hold the three of them up, pressing the guitar bag to her chest. There they were, a bundle of people who somehow ended up like this with a guitar cuddled between them, standing in the middle of the sidewalk at midnight with nightlife bystanders staring at them like they were all insane. At least Kang Hyungu was completely oblivious. Come to find out during dinner, he had low alcohol tolerance. Less than a soju bottle low. Welp. Nobody had believed him and he had given in a bit. At least he had the backup plan of a close friend picking him up. The group of guys had all stayed at the restaurant, making sure he was safe until she arrived, flushed and windswept, bowing repeatedly in thankfulness.

Therefore, Kang Hyungu was blissfully unaware of the sudden awkwardness of past lovers staring at each other with their stunned faces millimeters from each other.

Jungkook froze, holding her tight.

“H… His guitar…”

Her lips parted but no sound came out.

In his shock, he had only now realized she had removed her makeup. His heartbeat leapt to his throat, suddenly remembering how much he had loved the shape of her eyes and the color of her natural, full lips. How her cheeks seemed more filled out now. Healthier. Her skin glowed. He could almost…

Almost.

His body shivered.

She blinked, casting her eyes down. “Oh, shit, how could I forget… T-Thank you. He would be heartbroken without his precious guitar,” she breathed out quickly and exasperatedly, reaching up to grab the strap. “Thank you. Sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s o-okay…”

Jungkook reluctantly peeled away from her, taking a step back. There was an awkward moment of her still holding onto her friend and shouldering the guitar, juggling between the two. Even in that short moment, Jungkook realized Kang Hyungu must work out. He was not as light as he seemed. Instinctively, Jungkook reached out and held Hyungu’s shoulders when the guitar slipped from her narrow shoulder.

“Aw, fuck–”

Jungkook almost laughed at her puffed cheeks and under-the-breath swearing.

Almost, because his heart ached suddenly.

She had been so cute when she was mad, even if it was being taken out on him. He always thought that, so it had always been hard to argue when he was trying not to be in love with those cheeks.

“Sorry, I got him,” she sighed. “I’ll get him home even if I have to drag him.”

“I’ll help you, noona.”

She froze with her arms around another man. Her eyes darted and fixated on him.

Jungkook realized his mistake and also froze.

He had been calling her formally by name out of politeness until now. The same way strangers would address each other with no intention of ever meeting again. The honorific had just slipped out naturally. Or unnaturally, depending on how one considered the effects of alcohol. The blue-haired guitarist was half-asleep on her shoulder. There were only two conscious souls under this streetlamp on this cold night.

A diffused spotlight.

He sputtered. “S… Sorry, was that too informal…?”

Her gaze shifted. Were her cheeks pink from the crisp air or was it his eyes playing tricks on him? “No, it’s fine, I just…” She shook her head, swallowing hard. “It’s been a while since you… It’s okay,” she chuckled, the corner of her lips rising. “I mean, I would be pissed if you called me anything else. Our age difference is not that significant, but it’s there.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Was there hope in those shadowy eyes or was it all in his mind?

“Don’t you have to go home too?”

He grinned.

“Ah, I stay up until three in the morning every night anyway. Let’s get Hyungu-ssi home.”

Which was how you ended up on a bus with not-so-little-anymore Kang Hyungu snoring on your left shoulder and your past fling Jeon Jungkook on your right.

Awkward.

You clutched Hyungu’s guitar bag like your life depended on it. Actually, deep down you were kind of glad it somehow ended up this way. Being on a bus at midnight meant the crowd was the unpleasant kind. It must have been an odd sight. Sleeping Hyungu by the window, you in the middle seat holding a very expensive guitar, and Jungkook at the aisle being a great big buffer to keep the unsavory folk away. He was wearing a thick black parka over his charcoal sweat set, and he had his hood up to protect his ears from the cold.

For some reason, his jaw was clenched.

His eyebrows were furrowed too, giving him a very mean appearance for no reason. Or, at least, no discernable reason you could conclude. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular as far as you could tell.

“Sorry about this,” you suddenly said.

Jungkook flinched and turned his head to look at you. Instantly, his expression burst into life, the stern expression melting away into sparkling big peepers and pink lips in a small ‘o’, making your breath catch as the small mole under his lip appeared.

You used to kiss that mole first before you kissed his lips.

Used to.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he replied with a smile.

“I feel like I cut your night short.”

He gave you a lopsided grin, scratching his cheek. “Eh, I can go to the club or karaoke bar some other time. And maybe I need to not be so easily influenced, ahahaha…”

You hummed. “Guess you’re still the same, going along with our people’s suggestions.”

He puffed his cheeks. “No, I’m not. I’m here with you now, aren’t I?” he shot back.

Pause.

You both looked away at the same time.

Hyungu snored softly in your ear.

Thanks for that, man.

You tried to ignore the creeping goosebumps along your back. It was not the outside temperature. You were wearing your big black leather jacket over the black sweatshirt and jeans you yanked on to quickly get out the door. Your shoulder bumped into Jungkook’s as the bus stopped and let some passengers off. It was still a few stops yet of this awkwardness. For fuck’s sake, you were the older one. Come on. You resisted the urge to slap your own cheeks to get a grip. Nothing is going on here. The heart palpitations were in your head. Yeah. Totally.

“Thank you, again.”

You felt him shift, sitting up straighter. “I really don’t mind at all, noona.”

You sat up too, casting him a sideways half-smile.

He bit the left side of his lip, mumbling.

“I never minded doing anything for you.”

A strange tingling sensation danced over your scalp and down your shoulders. Sigh. He was doing this on purpose, right? One look and of course not. You shut your eyes. Maybe you could just make up a reason to hate him. You thought you had lost him under other bodies and darker nights and bad decisions. You thought he hated you for ending it the way you did, so coolly and unfeelingly. You thought.

“Have you been happy, Jungkook?”

You felt him hesitate. You could almost remember how he smelled back then. Like crisp linens and bright cotton. He loved fabric softener and similar clean scents. Have you been happy after me? You hoped so. In retrospect, you had been such a small, meaningless part in this winding road of life.

“I… I guess? I’m doing things I like to do. I feel like I’m able to live more freely, and I figure I can just… keep doing what I’m good at.”

You smiled.

“That’s good.”

You opened your eyes.

“What about you, noona?”

Have I been happy?

Did you even know what that meant? And yet you felt the weight of precious Hyungu’s head against your shoulder. Someone who relied on your good heart wholeheartedly. Never mind your opinion of if your heart was good or not, or even there. Happy? You went to work. You enjoyed your hobbies like music and games. You stayed home and shopped online when you were bored. You had the money to buy your favorite snacks and you had the luxury to have poor time management to eat them at midnight and wake up puffy the next day.

You had a very simple life that your younger self could barely dream of.

I don’t want to end up like my parents.

Was that why you didn’t want to be in a relationship?

“Noona?”

You looked up suddenly, noticing your surroundings. Quickly pulled on the cord to create the gentle bell tone.

“We need to get off here.”

Somehow, Jungkook ended up in a stranger’s corner apartment surrounded by vinyl, boxed CD albums, and music equipment. It was on a lower floor so at least they didn’t have to climb any stairs to get to the front door. The living room area was less like a living room and more like a half-music studio, complete with guitars, speakers, and a computer with lots of expensive looking music equipment around it. The surrounding walls had black foam squares taped neatly, even on the ceiling. The rest of the wall space was occupied by posters of various indie and mainstream bands. He was surprised to see the few plushies of penguins on the couch. Along the wall of the stairs were flyers that each had a corresponding nail that hung lanyards with plastic cards – artist passes. Festivals and concerts and such, each one containing a recurring name if he looked closely enough.

He, along with his past lover, helped the young man he had just met tonight into the bed in the loft area.

It was a small space.

Somehow, they managed being that close.

“Thanks, again,” she sighed, descending down the stairs in front of him. “You must be thirsty. There has to be some water around here.”

Somehow, Jungkook found himself standing in the hallways of a stranger’s apartment drinking a bottle of water as he watched the one who got away rip a memo note off a pad and scribble something down, finding a Pingu mug to sandwich it under.

Somehow.

She turned around and sighed, looking relieved. The guitar bag was on the sofa, safe and sound.

Then they stared at each other, realizing they were now alone.

Well, not alone.

Above them, Kang Hyungu was in dreamland.

“Ah…”

Her shoulders slumped.

“Sorry, I didn’t even ask how out of your way this was. I’ll pay for a taxi back.”

“Ah, no, that’s okay. I can make my way.”

“Don’t be like that,” she scolded, although not with much severity. “I can’t take advantage of your kindness.”

He paused, staring into her eyes. They hadn’t turned on too many lights. Enough to see, and then turned off most of them right away to avoid waking up the neighbors with the brightness. Only the warm bulb by the door was on now, illuminating them together.

“Noona, can I ask you something?” he asked softly, realizing his voice shook a little.

She lifted her head, pulling her hands out of her pockets.

“Yeah, of course. What is it?”

Have you ever been in love?

He looked at her, and he remembered the question she didn’t answer on the bus. They had been hurried and trying not to inconvenience anyone. Now that what about you was lost in the whirlwind of sights, sounds, in time past. Jungkook was pretty sure that he knew what the line of love and distraction was, but he found he had no real words to describe it. Only a feeling of sureness, just as he was sure that if he asked this question, have you ever been in love, he would be overstepping a boundary somehow.

Mostly because it seemed obvious.

And also because it was not fair to ask questions that he was personally invested in the answer and honestly didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer.

Had he ever been in love? Sure, although he knew it was always with the caveat of what he knew at the time and driven by the image painted by his own parents. A miracle that he had a chance to witness. He hadn’t really thought about how deeply seeing them interact affected him until he met her. She never spoke about her parents. It was like they didn’t exist. No photos, no calls, no casual drop-bys to hand over a home-cooked meal and say hi. In contrast, Jungkook had the unfortunately mortifying moment of being balls deep and then interrupted by his own mother right before the big finale. She just silently laughed while hiding behind the door as his mom attempted to enter his apartment, why are there clothes all over the floor, aish, I keep telling you that I didn’t teach you to be messy, and him trying to reassure her that everything was fine and he had to be somewhere soon.

Yeah.

Anyway.

It the time it had been embarrassing, but she had told him something that had, again, stuck with him for a long time after. You are lucky that she takes the time to bother you. Some people would do anything to have their parents care for their well-being just one more time. The realization had humbled him. Sorry. I didn’t know your parents passed away. But she had just shaken her head with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

No, Jungkook, they’re very much alive. They just never cared about me, ever.

He had felt very sorry then, but she had waved her hand and laughed.

Don’t be. I can’t miss something I’ve never had.

It was then that Jungkook realized that he believed in love because his parents were in love. It was later when Jungkook realized that he, too, had been in love, but this was only after he had stopped seeing her. Only after he stopped tasting her strong, concentrated flavor. The world had become a tasteless future despite all the color and saturation trying to grab his attention.

Because she had left.

It might have been short, but that time had been a forever-after packed into a few months.

Jungkook jumped as she tapped the back of his hand with her fingertip.

“Hello? Welcome back to Earth. Did you enjoy your time spacing out?”

She looked amused.

“Guess you haven’t changed from your random space-outs, heh,” she chuckled, taking his empty water bottle and tossing it in the recycling. Even removed the paper label and everything. “Come on. You shouldn’t be interrogating me in Hyungu’s apartment anyway.”

She ushered him out of the apartment and made sure to lock up behind herself. He wondered why she had a key. Then again, her and the guitarist were very clearly good friends. Jungkook wondered if it would still be like that if Hyungu or her started dating. Or, maybe not, if they ended up dating each other.

Suddenly, Jungkook felt incredibly helpless.

She bumped into him because he stopped walking, bouncing off. They were still in the narrow hallway, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors at this late hour. The light in the hallway was warm and low. Not due to the night. More because the lightbulbs were generally old and shitty.

“Woah, what’s going on? You don’t know how to walk straight? Do you need a leash?” she whispered lightheartedly, coming around him.

He looked up.

It must have shown on his face because the playful laughter in her features immediately slipped away upon eye contact.

He had millions of unfair questions swirling in his mind, can we try again, is there something wrong with me, why did you leave me, and Jungkook knew he could ask none of them. For fuck’s sake, they had only just seen each other again tonight. He should just be happy they were together now, even in this platonic way. He should just be happy that she seemed healthy and content. He should just…

But you’ve always known me so well.

You aren’t hard to read, Jungkook, she used to laugh when they talked about how fast they had gotten into bed together.

She placed her hand on his elbow.

Dragged from his minty whirlwind memories and thrown into the present, Jungkook stared at her unreadable expression, but there were too many shadows and his vision was too clouded with what was.

“Come on. We can’t stay here,” she murmured gently, pulling him along.

“I’m not letting you go home alone. It’s not safe.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Teleporting?” You scowled. “Besides, turns out your apartment is closer to here and mine is further down. It makes no sense for you to double back.”

One thing about Jeon Jungkook was that once he got an idea in his head, he was more stubborn than an ox. It was true back then when he was chasing after your ass and it was true right now. He was frowning at you and furrowing his eyebrows. The frustrated expression was broken by how big his dark brown eyes were.

“I keep telling you it’s not a big deal for me, noona. I don’t mind.”

“This isn’t about whether or not you mind,” you sighed grumpily. “It just doesn’t make sense. Fine. Fine, do whatever you want.”

Which was how you ended up in a taxi with Jungkook, crammed in the backseat of a tiny sedan with a grandpa who didn’t make small talk and blasted trot music. Well, it probably would have felt less tiny if Jungkook wasn’t right next to you like a big fabric blob. You hadn’t paid much attention to how crowded you had been on the bus since you were already weighed down by half-dead guitarist and his guitar. You had thought Hyungu had been playing up his drunkenness for the attention but he had thoroughly passed out by the time the bus had arrived. He was a lightweight so you weren’t super worried to leave him alone. Then again, you couldn’t tell Jungkook to get lost and leave you at another guy’s apartment, because what kind of message would that send?

Not that Jungkook’s opinion of how you spent your time mattered.

It had just felt rude, that was all.

You were kind of worried about him anyway. You witnessed him zoning out and simply standing there twice already. Boy was gonna get kidnapped one of these days. Sheesh. The car rolled to a stop. You paid the driver through the app and thanked him, getting a wordless nod in return. Cool. Opened the car door and climbed out, followed by a big shadowy blob.

Uh.

The car drove away.

“Jungkook, you should have asked him to drive you to your place,” you pointed out.

Those big brown eyes looked from your apartment complex to you. “Huh?”

Was the heck is on his mind? You sighed and pulled up the taxi app again. “Give me your address. I did say I’ll pay for it.”

“I, erm…”

You looked up at Jungkook’s uneasy tone. Confused. He looked uncomfortable and awkward, not really looking at you in the face.

“I kinda have to go.”

You blinked at him.

He waved his hands. “Eh, it’s fine. I’ll go find a bush or something. Um.”

“Jungkook, I’m not letting you pee in a bush. Do you see this place? You think they’ll let me continue living here after seeing on one of their cameras that my guest peed in a bush?”

He looked from the white walls to the stone fence to the black iron gate to the immaculately clean, very neatly trimmed, small ball-shaped bushes. They weren’t even knee-height. “I-I-I just don’t want you to t-think…” He shifted, wavering a bit. Eyes darting in every direction. “It was all the water and the alcohol earlier, um…” You sighed and turned around to punch in the code. “I didn’t want you to think I’m doing it on purpose.”

You paused.

Then you pushed the gate open and motioned him in.

“Come on before your piss yourself.”

Which was how you ended up sighing as you tossed your jacket onto your large charcoal sofa while Jungkook emptied his bladder in the bathroom of your apartment. At least you hoped that was what he was doing. You weren’t going to be a creep and try to listen for evidence. You flopped down, cozying into the soft but durable fabric. You wouldn’t have brought this couch if it wasn’t for the great deal and the ability for it to be modular, meaning you could lock the pieces together to make a bed and watch television, as well as also having the ability to make it look like an L-shaped sofa when you had guests over so that they didn’t know that you really put the potato in couch potato several times a week.

Hey.

Money well spent.

Of course, you usually only had very few guests over. Occasional one to warm the bed and maybe hosting Hyungu’s band members. Not at the same time. Duh. You weren’t trying to traumatize the five friends you had – Hyungu and the other four band members. Yeah. Wasn’t much, but they existed, even though they were busy right now being Korean men and all that. Soon, Hyungu would be egg-headed and off to duty too. You puffed out your cheeks. Temporary, of course, and yet.

Who knows what could happen?

You were always prepared to find yourself alone.

Wouldn’t be the first time to come home, only to realize home didn’t exist.

It never had.

You heard commotion and Jungkook reappeared, looking relieved. Probably because he was. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off.

You stood up.

You were past the wishing phase. The pretending phase. Past the numbness and looking for promises when there were none. Expectation was only the precursor to disappointment, after all. To be honest, if it wasn’t for your carnal sex drive, you would be past the distractions too. Good to know you weren’t completely ready to throw in the towel yet. If it wasn’t for someone relying on you, you as well have chosen to fade away.

If it wasn’t for…

You made eye contact with Jeon Jungkook, even though you didn’t want to.

Before today, you really wouldn’t have cared about seeing someone you used to date. Past was in the past. You had made a lot of bad decisions. So far, they hadn’t come back to haunt you yet. As you stared into those big brown eyes, frozen in place by your sudden attention, you wondered what you could say to assure him that you were different from back then. You could admit it now. You could admit back then you were weaker than anybody else, fighting your own demons by running away, wondering what was wrong with you to have parents who fought every day and did everything to run away from their internal struggles except the solution of divorce, and you could admit now that you took out that loss on everyone else around you, all the while knowing the reality.

That was just how life was, sometimes.

Life didn’t know fair and unfair. People made choices without caring about the consequences all the time. You didn’t care enough back then, because you knew you wouldn’t know what to do if they cared back. You knew you could never be beloved when you had nothing and no one to call home.

I don’t want to avoid reality, even if I’m afraid.

The past memories flickered like a whirling panorama – Jungkook nervous in front of you, trying to ask about how the automated system worked so he could get ramyeon with the soft-boiled egg at the PC bang in the dead of night. Playing computer games with him, laughing because he wasn’t very good but still trying for some reason. Learning that he wasn’t doing very well in university and that he was trying to do the escapism thing while working on his video editing business on the side. Sharing a bed with him, not saying anything about how all your belongings only fit in one duffel bag. He didn’t have to know. His face between your hands. Kisses that took his worries away. Body to body, warm for the first time in a long time. Your fingertips walking up his chest, all the way to his rattling heartbeat, turning a simple night into a fantasy.

The thought of your actions having any positive effect seemed foreign and impossible.

But maybe that was the victim mentality talking.

“Can I ask you something, Jungkook?”

He looked surprised. “M…Me?”

You hooked your thumbs into the belt loops of your jeans, doing something with your hands so they wouldn’t fidget about. Even now, he was the same. There was still this persistent innocence about him, stubbornly sticking around as if he could be young forever. He still believed in something, even if life kept trying to tell him time and time again that it wasn’t true.

“Do you still have feelings for me?”

You saw the whirlwind flash through his eyes.

Guilt. Nervousness. Uncertainty. Helplessness, wondering if he was asking for something that could never be given. He was still so easy to read. Those big brown eyes couldn’t hide anything and it wasn’t his nature to lie. There were stars in his eyes.

Those stars were tears.

“You said… You said you can’t feel love,” he shuddered, blinking hard.

There wasn’t much space between you and him. Somewhere around a meter. But it felt like light-years of desolate space and sudden heartache from a heart you weren’t sure you had. Maybe you were born with one, but all flowers wither with no care. You were the desert and he was the ocean, at least in the emotional sense.

You wanted to insist.

I can know love!

But, could you?

You collected a breath and nodded. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for back then. For using you, even though you probably don’t think you were used. For breaking the unspoken promise I couldn’t understand.”

Jungkook looked back at you. His voice small, stranded and lost.

“I have never fallen in love after you, noona.”

You were different now, you told yourself, but maybe you weren’t really and that was the problem.

“It’s impossible to fall in love when I have always been in love with you.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that was silly. It had only been a couple months. You hadn’t even really been that attentive. It had been a short-lived romance, if you could call fucking constantly and gaming at the PC bang at three in the morning that. A fleeting gratification. A sharp burst that lit up the timeline of a very long and eventful life that Jeon Jungkook would have. Nothing more.

Just…

A pop of peppermint gum.

You had meaningful relationships. Ones that taught you things about yourself and people. Maybe even ones that other people could consider love, depending on what their definition was.

But, then there was…

Jungkook.

You opened your mouth to tell him he was silly but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Had it been love?

And could it still be love?

“You… You don’t even know what I’m like now,” you blew out, suddenly feeling winded. “I could be a total asshole.” You looked away, tucking your tongue in your cheek.

“But I helped you make sure you got your friend and his guitar home safe?” Jungkook questioned, sounding confused. “Would a total asshole would do that?”

“I don’t know,” you rambled, not so sure about anything anymore. “I mean… you’ve only just met me again after how long?”

“A really long time,” Jungkook answered, frown in his tone.

“Yeah, exactly.” You latched on, not caring that he didn’t even calculate it. “How do you know it’s not rose-tinted glasses and all that?”

He shrugged. Glanced at you. “I don’t really think I have the brainpower for that, noona.”

You stared at him.

Jungkook shrugged again.

You shook your head. “You can’t say that about yourself.”

He scratched his cheek, looking sheepish. “At least I know where I’m still lacking?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “No, you–”

He beat you to it.

“Do I have to understand?”

You froze, realizing you had taken a few steps towards him, perhaps in hopes of shaking some sense into him. This was crazy. This didn’t make any sense. This was only a coincidence turned convoluted by memories, tangled emotions, circumstance…

“My mind might forget, but my body always remembered. There is only you for me.”

Your head snapped up, seeing his soft smile. The recall was so fierce that it was déjà vu, except you had been the one with the gentle smile and he had been the one lost, wondering if you were afraid of losing his love. Now. His short black hair a little windswept, his dark brown eyes a little glassy, and yet he smiled at you, mole peeking out from under the center of his lower lip. Do I have to understand? To understand was to know and to know was to be sure that you were in love, except that you said so yourself that sometimes the thoughts didn’t quite catch up to the heart.

He looked embarrassed, abruptly looking away, letting out a shaky breath.

“It’s just… I think I knew it all along but, even if I know, it doesn’t mean I can change your mind, ha… ha, can you imagine, running off to track you down, you would just think I’m crazy, and if I jeopardized your happiness for my own selfishness, I don’t think I could live with myself… and, anyway…”

He wasn’t really looking at anything anymore.

“Even if what I wanted was ugly, our time was beautiful.”

You stepped forward.

“It’s a common, basic story, isn’t it? My wish for us to be exceptional is too foolish,” Jungkook laughed weakly. Rambling. Speaking from his heart but still unable to focus on the present.

You reached forward.

“I wanted everything about you. I still do.”

Your fingertip touched his cheek.

“Don’t cry,” you finally said.

He froze.

You wiped away a fallen star, the overhead lights of your apartment catching the tears before Jungkook even realized they were there. You brushed the droplet away, but they were falling, falling, and he turned his head, still not really registering what was happening, even as the base of your palms pressed into his cheeks and swept his tears away, quickly breathless as you were captured by the universes entangled in his eyes. You could feel the wetness on your skin. The shudder in his breath. His hands came up to touch your wrists, and you still believed you couldn’t be enough for him, even now, but your body responded on its own, cradling his face, bringing him to you.

“Please don’t cry,” you said again, softly, and realized you said it because, a long time ago, you would have done anything to have someone tell you that in the past, please don’t cry. So, you told Jungkook instead.

He was someone as precious as a memory.

And, yes, even if your thoughts didn’t catch up right away, you pulled him to you, body to body, feeling him shiver, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this isn’t very manly of me, and like clockwork you told him to shut up and cry, holding him because you remembered he liked to be held. You had told him back then that you weren’t really the type to cuddle, but he had finally confessed late one night that he yearned to be close to you, even if only for a little while, and that he had been afraid to admit it in fear of pushing you away. So, you relented, if only to comfort him and make him happy.

Is that love?

“It’s okay to cry,” you murmured gently, stroking his hair. “It’s just not okay to cry alone.”

He buried his eyes into your shoulder and wept.

He was still in his jacket, swamping you with his frame and excess layers. You placed your arms around his waist under his parka, feeling his warm and shaking frame, gently placing your hands on his shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry… I-I don’t k-know why I’m c-crying…”

“Shh…”

You tugged him along. Step by step, and made him sit on the sofa with you, curled up in a tangle of limbs with your hands on his back. His body was hot from emotion, and he pulled his arms out of his jacket to wipe his nose and eyes with his hoodie sleeves, still not looking at you, and you gave him the privacy, not looking at him either, only holding him as close as possible and keeping his parka on his shoulders, covering you and him together.

“T-This wasn’t how… I t-thought… how I would be hugging you a-again…” Jungkook sobbed quietly, leaning his forehead against your shoulder.

You held him close.

“Yeah, well, nothing is really turning out how you or I planned it. Mostly because neither of us had a plan to begin with.”

He laughed, albeit feebly and wetly, but you just smiled and placed your hand on his head again, running your fingers through his hair. You didn’t have a grand speech planned. You didn’t even really know the right words to say or the correct way to organize your thoughts. You simply leaned him against you, nestled in the cushions, and kept your arms wrapped around him for a long, long time.

click here for part ii

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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ghost-sound · 1 year

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On repeat today. ⛈️

#the national #the system only dreams in total darkness #Saturday #Spotify

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thelightsandtheroses · 4 months

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five: we'd only die of lonely secrets

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader.

Chapter Summary: Your relationship with Joel hits some challenges when something happens with Ellie. Meanwhile, Gabe has some questions for Sean. Word Count - 3466 Chapter Warnings - mentions of self-harm (Ellie burns herself to cover her bite as in canon and the reader discovers her afterwards), mentions of secrets, disagreements, discussion of a child’s parentage, reader is a single mum of a teenager, possibly warnings for implied cults, 18+ blog MDNI Notes: I’m sorry for the delay in updating - this chapter marks a little change in the fic and some drama and angst is coming but it’s been planned for a very long time. I really hope you will stick with it! Chapter title is from the National song the System Only Dreams In Total Darkness

Previous | Series | Next

Being with Joel feels like second nature. It doesn’t move too fast or slow, your relationship feels like a natural progression. It’s inevitable and undeniable and it feels good. Really good.

In the weeks that have passed since you and Joel officially first got together, since you turned up at his house that night, you’ve grown stronger. Gabriel and Ellie know about you both now, people around Jackson have stopped gossiping as much about the two of you.

You’re taking things slowly; spending no more than one or two nights at each other’s a week, telling yourselves that it’s okay to slow down a bit now, that you have time. It doesn’t feel like you have time when you’re alone though; then it’s still desperate hands and lips and barely repressed moans.

You thought you knew what life in Jackson was for you now. Joel’s changed things.

The leaves in Wyoming are changing too; the foliage has become bright orange and yellow. It’s a sign of their incoming death and decay but it’s beautiful. You can’t help but be taken in by the colours and vivid beauty of the state you now live in. In Kansas, the city was built up and you hardly saw surroundings like this. Even when the leaves are dying, they’re still more beautiful than barricades and blockades.

You carefully check your reflection in the hallway mirror as you zip up your jacket.

After several artfully rearranged dates, Joel and you have been instructed to have dinner with Maria and Tommy. It shouldn’t be stressful; they’re your friends after all, but they’re Joel’s family and this feels like a test of your emerging relationship.

“Really mum?” Gabriel asks, leaning on the banister and smirking at you. His hair is getting long and in his favourite hoodie he looks younger for a moment, more like the little boy you remember. Not that you can say that to his face.

“Whatever do you mean?” you ask in mock ignorance.

“You nervous?”

”Of course not.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at you. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve done the dinner with the family thing. It’s always been the other way around.”

“It’s Maria and Tommy,” he replies indignantly, shaking his head. “They were like, your friends before Joel even came here. Surely you’ve got the dibs here.”

“They’re his family.”

“They’re your friends.”

“I know. I’m relaxed, honest.” you reply, trying to hide your nerves as best as you can. You’re used to this being the other way around; to the dinners being with your family and this feels unfamiliar and daunting.

“So why are you wearing your best clothes?”

“Maybe, I just wanted to?”

“Uh-huh.” Your son shakes his head. “Well, hope you have fun anyway.”

“Thanks, sweetie.”

You hear a knock at the door and Gabe raises his eyebrows at you, not moving from his position on the stairs and instead sitting down on a stair with a sly smirk.

You open the door and smile widely at Joel. He’s wearing a deep blue chambray shirt and jean. You can’t help but notice how suspiciously clean his boots are too.

“Well look at you,” you say as he steps into the hallway.

“Hi,” he replies, nodding his head at Gabe as well. “Hey, Gabe.”

“Hey,” Gabe replies as he observes Joel, carefully looking him over as well. “Not you as well,” he mumbles which cause you burst out laughing as Joel looks at you in confusion.

“Don’t ask,” you say, grateful for a sudden distraction as Beau steps out from the kitchen, nodding at Joel in greeting.

“You on patrol tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yeah, Tommy and I got roped into an extra shift. Well, Tommy did and he signed me up.”

“Gotta love family for that,” Beau says with a laugh.

“Tell me about it,” Joel replies, shaking his head and raising his hands in the universal ‘what can do you do’ pose.

“Why are there extra shifts?” your son asks.

“Signs of infected, or … signs we ought to be a little more vigilant with our patrols for a couple of days,” Beau says and looking at your son’s face, quickly adds, “We’re not adding extra patrols for people in school, not right now. It’s just a precaution.” Joel looks at your face briefly and then back at Beau.

“Oh, okay.” You wish your son didn’t sound disappointed at the prospect of not being needed on additional patrols. He’s growing too quickly; in your mind he’s still this tiny baby you could hold with one hand and now he’s a man, creeping ever closer to adulthood by the minute.

“Right, we should head out.” You make your way over to Gabriel, briefly hugging him despite his falsified reluctance. “Love you,” you say in a quiet voice so the others can’t hear and squeezing him one last time before stepping away.

When you step outside your house, Joel clasps your hand, pulling you close to him on the porch.

He kisses you tenderly, wrapping one arm around you before you both head towards Tommy and Maria’s.

“You look real pretty today,” he says, emphasising the southern drawl that lingers in his voice. There’s mischief and desire and something else in his eyes. You’ve taken in the details on his face and committed them to your heart now. Each freckle, sunspot or scar has been logged over nights and mornings and stolen moments.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you reply, leaning into his touch. “We could change our mind -”

“Head to the bench?”

“Or yours. Either works for me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m just saying that we have an evening to ourselves and maybe we could do something else.”

“It sounds like an option. Probably for the best, Tommy’s really only good with a barbecue. Lived off our leftovers or takeout back in the day.”

“So you were the cook?”

Joel flushes. “I wouldn’t go that far. I - Sarah cooked too. I worked a lot.“

“Oh yeah?” you ask casually. You only learnt about Sarah recently under similar circumstances, a quick slip of the tongue, a panicked expression and then a brief confession. Joel’s experienced a loss you never want to truly understand, but one you need to try and empathise with. “You were a contractor, right?”

Joel raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Ellie told you that?”

“Oh, yeah. Ellie was extremely proud to tell me about you being a contractor Before. She seems to think it was a real popular job back then.”

Joel looks down, stifling a laugh. “I mean - you can’t argue it’s not better than being a politician, right?”

You smirk. ”Only just.”

Joel squeezes your shoulder tighter as you approach Tommy and Maria’s. “I’ll remember that,” he teases. “For that, we’re definitely not skipping dinner.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I respect the art of carpentry, and spirit levels and building stuff? Fixing stuff?”

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Spirit levels, really?”

“I didn’t hang around a lot of construction sites.”

“Good thing too. Right, let’s get this thing over with so I can get you back to mine.”

“Why Mr Miller, anyone would think you have plans for me.”

Joel smirks wickedly. “You’ll have to find out,” he whispers, kissing you briefly on the lips before knocking on Tommy’s door.

The sun is still rising as you approach the back porch of your home the following morning. The town is lit in a rosy glow; everything is softer, more mellow.

“I’m sick of feeling like she’s keeping secrets from me is all,” Gabe says, kicking the edge of the porch half-heartedly.

“She’s your mum, that’s just - that’s just being a parent. I don’t - I don’t think there’s any big secrets.” You steel yourself for a blow that never comes, for Sean to add something.

“But she never talks about him. I don’t know anything. You don’t say anything either, neither does Uncle Beau. No one talks about it.”

“I know. It’s - it was a difficult time, Gabe, none of us want to go back to then.”

“It’s not like when it had just happened - you know, you can’t just say that, Uncle Sean. I only want to know something - I want to feel like there’s not just this question mark over who my dad was. I know what happened to him and I know loads of kids who had the same thing happen but their parents tell them about the other one, they have photos or memories they talk about,” Gabe pauses and adds, “I want to feel like I had a dad. I’ve never ever seen a photograph of him. Do I even look like him? I know it upsets mum to talk about it. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

You can feel the tears building in your eyes, the stabbing ache in your stomach at your son’s words, at his plaintive desperate voice. What have you done? What are you continuing to do?

There’s a silence as you try and work out if you should intervene, if you should say something and join this conversation or if you’d only make things worse.

“I was there when you were born,” Sean says in a low voice that you can hardly hear.

“What?”

“I helped deliver you,” he says and you watch the way he puts a hand on Gabe’s back as your son sits next to him.

“I did not need to know that. I get it, okay. I know you and Uncle Beau - but that’s not the point.”

“I know it’s not, but I’ve been there for every milestone of your life. So’s your Uncle Beau. You have never been without love for a second. Your mum would do anything for you. She’s our family, you are our family. It might not feel enough, but it’s the best I can give you. I’m sorry you didn’t get to have a dad with you growing up, but you got me and Uncle Beau and that’s like double what most kids get.”

“Really? That’s your argument here?”

“It worked when you were seven.”

You hear the snort of laughter.

”Mum seems happier,” he says, ”She really likes Joel, I can tell.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“It’s a good thing. She’s - she deserves to be happy too. That’s why we all came here, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Joel seems decent enough and I like him better than her ex already.”

“What an endorsement,” Sean says with a laugh.

“Whatever, I’m heading inside.”

“Okay.”

You watch your son head back inside and after a moment dare to step forward. A twig snaps under your feet and Sean instantly looks alert, his hands poised by his jeans pocket.

“It’s you,” he says as you approach. “Shit, how much did you hear?” Sean asks.

“Enough.” You lean your head back and sigh. “Thank you.”

“He’s not stopping, sweetie, he’s a clever kid. He knows we’re keeping something back.”

”I don’t get it.”

“I do. If I was keeping something from you, would you keep asking or let it go?”

“That’s-”

“He’s your kid for sure.”

“So, what it’s my fault for not talking about him enough?”

“I think we didn’t mean to, but we’ve made him realise there’s more to the story and so of course, he won’t let that go.”

“So what do I do?”

“We could -”

“That’s not an option,” you say firmly, arms folded. “We swore we’d never tell him about The Junction.”

“Well, that was when he was five and still fucking believed in the tooth fairy. I just think - maybe, I get it, I so get it, but maybe we’ve made it worse by not talking about it. About any of it.” Sean looks sad for a moment. “We put those years in a box, but they still happened.”

“We’ll figure something out, won’t we?” You feel so small all of a sudden; every moment of confidence, of happiness in the dinner at Tommy and Maria’s, your night with Joel has evaporated. You hug your arms around yourself and look up at the stars.

“Of course we will,” Sean says. ”So, uh, tell me about the dinner.“

You sit next to him and lean your head on his shoulder before you start to talk to your best friend.

You can’t remember if Joel’s due back from his day’s work yet. Him and Tommy were out on that extra patrol because there had been reports of potential infected or raiders nearby. You thought it might be good to

You hear a faint cry and muffled scream from somewhere in the house.

Ellie.

It’s automatic and primal, your instincts kick in as you open the door and run up towards the commotion in the kitchen.

You have no idea what you will find in the house - you prepare for an infected, an intruder, anything.

Somehow you didn’t even consider this though.

Ellie is standing over the sink and her arm - you think it’s cut. Then you realise.

It’s a burn.

Her arm is burning.

There’s a turned over bottle of kitchen chemicals next to the sink and you notice how your legs feel unsteady beneath you. You try and remember the basic first aid, the things you are supposed to and not do.

She needs you.

”Oh shit,“ she says, seeing your face. “I - I uh, spilt it. I didn’t - shit. It really fuckin’ hurts.” She looks so young, so scared and vulnerable at this moment.

“Okay, we’ve got this, Ellie. It’s all going to be okay.”

You exhale and then move.

You’re waiting for Joel. Ellie’s okay, her arm is clean and you’ve bandaged it as best as you can. There are hundreds of small alarms going off in your head. Something feels off about this incident; Ellie’s evasive, hiding something.

“Ellie - I -”

“I’m fine.”

“Did you - is everything okay, Ellie?”

“I just burnt my fucking arm so -” Ellie pauses. “Sorry - I’m okay, I’m fine. It’s uh, a good thing you were passing by.”

“When’s Joel due back?”

“Hey Ellie?” You ask, nervously twisting the edge of your shirt around your fingers. “Is - everything okay at home? Or school?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Why?”

You look at Ellie carefully, trying to sculpt your features into a clear message of ‘you can talk to me’. “I’m worried about you.”

“It was an accident,” Ellie says, looking at you with a piercing stare. “I was trying to clean the sink and -”

“Since when do you clean the sink?”

“Well, now we know why I don’t.” She reaches to touch the bandage and you shake your head.

“Try not to touch it. I don’t want it to get infected.”

“Okay.”

“You - you’re sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes!

Perhaps it’s foolish to think children can just be children these days, you’ve tried to shield Gabriel from so much. Maybe Ellie ….maybe she couldn’t be? You know enough about Ellie to know she’s an orphan, that her and Joel teamed up in Boston and that she’s become his family since then, his daughter.

Before you say anything else, Joel walks in. His face lights up when he sees you and Ellie only to very quickly fall when he sees her arm. He moves over to her quickly, his face wan and wrought with worry as he gets on his knees to examine her bandaged arm. “What the hell happened?”

“Ellie was cleaning the sink; she spilt the chemical on herself.”

“What?” Joel looks like he wants to be sick. He keeps looking at her arm and then at Ellie’s face.

“It was an accident,” Ellie says before looking over at you, “Luckily you were stopping by and you turned out to be pretty good with first aid.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. “I’m hardly a doctor.”

“Thank you,” he says with relief, sitting back on his knees.

“She looked after me. She was really nice,” she adds in a quiet voice. “She uh - washed it and then dressed it and - I’m, I’m going to head upstairs to do some homework.”

“Ellie -”

There’s a moment of silence after Ellie leaves the room. The only sound is Joel’s bones creaking as he gets up from the floor and sits on the sofa.

You move to the armchair next to him, your heart racing as you know you need to say the words you’ve been thinking since you walked into his home today.

“I’m worried she hurt herself on purpose,” you whisper, hands clasped soberly in your lap.

Joel freezes. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“I know you think that -”

“I’ll talk to her, okay?” There’s something in his eyes, some small sense of recognition or something that you can tell he’s keeping from you.

“What aren’t you tellin’ me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can tell there’s something, Joel, give me some credit. I’ve survived long enough to read faces.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you’re reading me wrong.”

“Joel, I - what are you keeping from me?”

“Don’t.” You understand where Gabe gets it from now. You can tell there’s more to this story and you want to push at it, poke the scab until it bleeds, know the truth because you only imagined a hundred terrible stories until you know this.

You’re both standing now, both looking at each other with equal parts desperation and concern. “Talk to me, Joel. I thought you trusted me -”

“You think you get to know everything right away? I have been honest with you, sweetheart, and I like you a lot. I didn’t think I’d find someone so - but that doesn’t mean you’ve got the right to ask that?”

“Joel -”

“I have never pushed you about your past, about your secrets. I have trusted you; I’ve let you into my home, my - Ellie’s home too.”

You feel your face heat with shame. “I just - I was worried about Ellie.”

“You don’t need to worry about her,” Joel snaps, “That’s my job.”

“Oh, fuck you, Joel.”

Joel swallows and exhales slowly. “I don’t wanna fight with you, please leave this. I swear I will tell you what you need to know.”

“I don’t want you to decide what I need to know.” There are moments, memories that rise to the surface like bile. You can’t fall into that trap again.

“Then what do you want? Total honesty, because that goes both ways, sweetheart.”

The conversation you overheard between Sean and Gabe flashes in your head, the many secrets you have kept from so many people, including Joel, over the years.

Sometimes you wonder if you’ve told so many half-truths, you’ve forgotten what actually happened in the past now. If all that’s left are lightly edited ghosts of a life half-lived.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here,” you whisper.

“I can - I promise you that I would never hurt Ellie, or you, or Gabriel.” He swallows. “Not ever consciously at least. I can promise you that right here and right now. Is that enough? Can that be enough?”

“I - okay.”

“Okay.”

You reach out and meet Joel in the middle, letting him wrap his arms around you. “I’ll talk to Ellie, okay? I promise.”

“Thanks.”

You shrug your bag to your other shoulder around you as you lock the library door behind you. It’s still light outside but there’s a chill starting that shows that twilight is on its way.

You turn around, ready to go home, when you notice there are two people standing ahead of you.

Sean and Beau are looking at you with grave expressions.

You take in Sean’s appearance first. His hands are fiercely dug into his hoodie pockets, he’s looking down and the way his leg is nervously shaking rings all too many alarm bells.

“Where’s Gabe?” you ask automatically, looking frantically around. Where is your son? What has happened to him?

“It’s not about him,” Sean says with a devastated voice and somewhere you know you’re starting to piece this together. For Sean and Beau to look at you like this, for your best friend to be acting this way, there’s only a few things it could be. This isn’t normal - something is terribly wrong.

“Beau, just tell me. Please!”

Beau doesn’t say anything immediately, he looks at Sean and then sighs. After a second, he produces a small piece of paper out of his jeans pocket, unfolding it carefully.

It’s such a small piece of paper; you wonder what on Earth is on this, what could possibly cause such distress to both Sean and Beau.

There’s a sick feeling rising in your stomach, the sense of someone pulling a thread tightly around your organs.

“We need to talk about the Junction,” Beau says flatly, showing you the simple design on the paper that instantly sends your heart lurching to your stomach.

Oh.

You knew things were going too well.

Tag List

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #your hand in mine fic #fic: your hand in mine

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