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taexual · 8 months

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sleepwalking ● 18 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, mentions of violence, descriptions of smoking, ANGST, some fluff, SLOW BURN

words: 13.9k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 18 ► if everything i said was true, then why am i paralysed?

You and Jungkook spent the rest of Rated Riot’s day off in your hotel room in Manchester.

People kept coming to check on you, including Minjun, who made a hesitant appearance but brightened up immediately when he heard you and Jungkook laughing just before he opened the door to your room. And after the last visitors—the rest of the Rated Riot members, who had accidentally knocked over a lamp and broken the wardrobe door within fifteen minutes of entering the room—had left, you and Jungkook found yourselves alone in the room again.

You both reached a compromise to lie on the bed and talk since you refused to sleep, and he refused to let you out of the room.

It wasn’t exactly a pillow fort that you’d built for yourselves—really, it was more of a loose, cosy blanket hut—but it still brought back memories of the nights you’d spent in your dorm room years ago. And after last night’s conversation, you couldn’t help but think about all the nights that hadn’t happened because Jungkook was trying to do something more for you.

Really, this was all you needed—back then and, as it turned out, right now: some pillows for comfort and Jungkook laughing next to you.

He rolled onto his side, and you mirrored his position until you were facing each other. Suddenly, you both had to strain very hard not to laugh again. But the story that had amused you at first—about Jungkook and Hoseok’s failed attempt to bake a cake for Yoongi’s birthday the previous year, which was another thing Jungkook hadn’t mentioned to you after nearly setting his apartment on fire—had almost faded from your mind.

You were just happy to be in the moment.

You felt dizzy from the vitamins you’d received over the past few days. And from the shower you’d taken half an hour ago. And from the fact that lying here on the hotel bed with Jungkook was almost overwhelming. It felt a little like you had lost an important piece of yourself—just dropped it somewhere absentmindedly—and now you’d accidentally found it, fully intact.

But at the dark corners of your mind, there were worries. You couldn’t help it—not even the star-shaped pattern reflected in his dark eyes could distract you from the inevitability of the Future. And of Consequences.

What did this mean?

All the thoughtful gestures, the well-meaning mishaps, the inevitable insecurities, and the constant presence of his friends that the two of you had talked about last night. And the bet, too.

What would happen next?

You were about to pull away and succumb fully to your anxiety, but Jungkook reached out a hand—his tattoos blurred in the shadows of your dark room—to sweep a strand of hair from your cheek, and you discovered that, despite everything, your body had not relinquished its instinctive response to his touch.

You felt your breath slowing down, your muscles relaxing. His fingertips gently brushed over the skin of your cheek, and the goosebumps on the back of your neck ran wild. You closed your eyes and exhaled.

Five minutes, he’d once asked you. Five minutes that won’t mean anything once they’re over.

“I feel,” he spoke up softly, and you opened your eyes again, “a bit like we’re back in Amsterdam.”

Hesitantly—against his wishes, really—he withdrew his hand and placed it on the pillow under his cheek.

“We’re, uh—we’re very far from Amsterdam,” you replied.

You didn’t mean the physical distance, of course. You meant the moments from leaving the bed in Amsterdam to being in this bed here, in Manchester—with your arm still slightly stinging from the catheter.

“I know,” Jungkook said. You rolled onto your back, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, even though your mind kept shouting at you to look at him. “But I’m scared to leave this room because I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

You pressed your lips together and ran your tongue over them. You wondered if his fear matched yours, or if they were two opposite sides of the same coin.

You turned your head. “What do you mean?”

He observed you for a moment. The lines of laughter hadn’t faded from your face yet, and you looked breathtaking.

He realised that it was much harder to admit things in the daylight than at night. Arctic Monkeys had made a good point.

“I mean, I don’t know if you’ll be okay,” he said. “If—”

“I will be,” you cut in.

He swallowed. “I don’t know if you’ll talk to me again.”

The look in his eyes was hopeful but uncertain, and you turned back to the ceiling. There was something comforting about the smooth tiles above. They didn’t make you feel like your chest was exploding into millions of little pieces, each with his name inked on it.

“I’m talking to you now,” you managed to say, even after your voice broke on the third syllable.

“Right,” he said. “But I mean about things that really matter.”

“Well,” you inhaled, “we talked about a lot of them last night.”

“Yeah, but that was—you know.” This time, it was Jungkook who rolled onto his back and clasped his hands on his stomach. “Things that happened years ago.”

“Yeah, but they’re new to me,” you pointed out.

“Sure,” he agreed. His foot twitched as he tried to find his words. “But I’m—we haven’t decided if that changes things. Not that I’m—I mean—”

“It changes things.”

He turned his head to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I don’t know what to say because my mind is just, sort of… well, I don’t know. What I do know is that I like being here with you, and I don’t want to think about leaving.”

Jungkook thought that feeling this way was impossible.

After the existential fever that he’d gone through—and all the cigarettes he’d smoked to stay on his feet—his chest and lungs and, really, about three-quarters of his entire body should have turned to ash by now.

But lying next to you and hearing you say that you liked being here with him made him feel more alive than ever before.

“I don’t want to think about it, either,” he admitted in a hushed tone, as if he was revealing a secret. “B-but—we—we’ll have to leave, though.”

A small smile formed on your face. “You sound like me.”

He smiled, too. “I try.”

You snorted and looked away. There was a time restriction on how long you could look at him and keep your brain functioning.

“I know we’ll have to,” you said. “But here’s a, um—an unconventional suggestion. How about we don’t do this right now? How about we don’t talk about the bet, or about us, or about what anything means, and just—let’s just not talk.”

He could do that. He could just not talk.

But it would kill him—having five, fifteen, even thirty minutes of ignorant peace with you. That was simply not enough time.

He didn’t just want an hour with you. He wanted a lifetime.

“Okay. So,” he started, scratching a spot between his knuckles, “what do you want to do?”

“I want,” you replied, swallowing your inner disquiet, “not to have to make any decisions.”

“About us?” he asked. The slight hint of panic in his voice made you tap your restless fingers against the blanket beneath you.

“About anything.”

The room lit up as a car pulled into one of the side alleys behind your hotel room window.

“Reconnaissance?” he said—not really a statement, but not quite a question, either. The name of the band that he’d loved so much suddenly sounded like the start of a curse. “Have you—have you decided if you’re leaving?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, almost nauseous from the sudden surge of stress. It seemed like every aspect of your life required your immediate attention and demanded an answer to a crucial, life-altering question. It felt like everything was slipping away—and you were trying to catch it all at once, and couldn’t catch anything at all.

You really didn’t want to leave this room.

“I haven’t decided how I’m getting out of this bed,” you finally said, your groan muffled by something thick lodged in your throat. You shifted your body to face him but kept your eyes closed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jungkook. I’m so—I’m just—”

“Okay,” he cut in hastily. He didn’t like the wrinkle between your eyebrows—he preferred the wrinkles by your lips. “Well, look—we don’t—we don’t have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable. If you want to go back to work, we can do that. If you want to avoid me, then I’ll—well, I—”

“I don’t want to avoid you,” you said.

“Okay,” he said again because that was the only word he trusted himself with. Hesitantly, he added, “so… truce, then?”

You opened your eyes. “Truce?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s stop avoiding each other. And let’s just focus on our work.”

It sounded a little like another one of his five-minute promises—driven by the urgency to make it so, to drown out the doubts that this was weak. That it wouldn’t work. That you could never go back and expect everything to be okay without making any real decisions about anything: not your relationship, not your future, not even what you’d do tomorrow.

“Can we actually do that?” you asked anyway—and because you did, Jungkook nodded enthusiastically.

“Of course,” he assured. “We can do anything.”

You needed to hear that—even if it wasn’t true. Even if it was temporary.

Knowing that someone was willing to take the responsibility for a decision away from you was good enough for the moment.

“Okay,” you said. “Truce, then.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“We’ll talk,” you promised quietly, closing your eyes again. “Just not right now.”

You could almost feel the unease settling into a slumber deep inside your mind. It would wake eventually.

All the words, all the feelings—all of it had been left unsaid. Some of it unthought. But it was still there, hovering on the hazy edge of your subconscious, and fighting—the more you resisted—to break out.

But then Jungkook asked if he had ever told you about Taehyung walking in his sleep when he had the flu on tour last year, and all the anxious spaces inside of your chest eased. You smiled as you listened, and you had all you needed—and nothing less—right here again.

The next morning, you left your hotel room feeling a little lighter.

You haven’t fully processed—or adjusted to—the things that Jungkook had revealed to you, but you’d found somewhat of a common ground with him. You could tolerate each other’s presence with surprising ease despite the weight of all the decisions looming over you.

You returned to your duties as soon as you left the hotel. You saw a new text message from Nick on your phone, but you had no time—or wish—to deal with Reconnaissance right now.

At such short notice, the best solution you could find for Jungkook’s black eye was an eye patch. Fortunately, you didn’t have to go far from the venue to find one before Rated Riot started their soundcheck.

Even more fortunate was the fact that the band and the staff all found the eye patch so amusing that they kept making pirate jokes—much to Jungkook’s growing annoyance—and it distracted everyone from your fainting spell and the two days you had spent in bed.

The eye patch was black to match his outfit, or at least that was what you told him. In reality, the only place near the venue where you could buy eye patches was a costume shop.

When you returned to the venue with a dark costume bag, Namjoon happened to be passing by in the corridor. He had no choice but to become an accessory to your petty crime as you grabbed the eye patch and hid the rest of the costume in Namjoon’s suitcase.

There was no reason for Jungkook to know about the rest of the costume, and Namjoon—once he stopped laughing—agreed.

You figured that as long as the patch covered the bandages and discolouration around Jungkook’s eye, it would be okay.

Jungkook, of course, had a different opinion.

“I look stupid,” he insisted when you and Jimin were double-checking the sound equipment. The two of you wanted to make sure no damage had been done to it when the venue staff cleaned up after the flood.

“Should’ve thought about that before you got a black eye,” you mumbled half-heartedly, too preoccupied with the list of electronics that Jimin had handed you. You didn’t recognise most of the devices on the list and couldn’t even read what some were called in the awful lighting backstage.

Meanwhile, Rated Riot’s temporary opening act finished her set, allowing Seokjin to go out and prepare the stage for the band. Expectant cheers from the audience lifted your spirits as you followed Jimin’s list.

Maggie had been the one who secured this up-and-coming artist to open for the band tonight. Her name was Ivy, and she had tattoos of ivy vines all over her arms, which may have been the initial reason Maggie chose her. But as soon as Ivy started to sing, there was no question about her talent.

“Hey, Jungkook!” Seokjin called out ten minutes later, and you glanced up just as he walked down the steps from the stage. “Serious question: what has six eyes, six legs, and six arms?”

You guessed the punchline before Jungkook could even open his mouth. “How is that—”

“Six pirates!” Seokjin answered, and his endearing—and so contagious that it was almost ungodly—windshield wiper laugh made you chuckle as well. Jimin hiccupped and turned away from everyone, presumably to conceal his own laughter.

“That’s it, I’m taking this off,” Jungkook declared in frustration, reaching for the string that secured the patch.

You stopped laughing and jumped up, shouting a panicked “no!” and quickly grabbing his wrist.

He looked up, momentarily stunned by your touch.

“If you go on that stage with your bandages and a black eye underneath, the label will send us straight home,” you said. “I don’t care how much you sweat or how many pirate jokes these guys make. You’re wearing this.”

He pouted, exaggerating his reaction, but there was genuine discomfort in his healthy eye, even if it was drowning in black eye shadow. He knew it would be unprofessional to get on stage without covering up his wounds, but he worried the eye patch was a worse alternative.

“I look fucking stupid,” he said, and to be fair, he did look silly—to say the least. But you had seen him at the soundcheck. When he performed, his make-up and accessories faded against his voice and stage presence.

“You don’t,” you reassured him again. “You’re a rockstar. You can pull off an eye patch.”

He continued to watch you, his pout becoming more dramatic when he scrunched his nose. You felt a smile spreading on your lips. He had looked at you like this on purpose many times—usually to convince you that he couldn’t possibly survive without seeing you right this instant, even though you had to study for exams—and your chest immediately warmed.

You managed to nod again to reaffirm what you’d just said. Finally, he sighed and let go of the patch. You released his wrist and took a step back.

Just then, Jimin emerged from behind one of the amplifiers to your left. You couldn’t see the wide grin on his face, but Jungkook could, and he reached for Hoseok’s drumsticks right away.

“Ready when you are, Captain,” Jimin said and then quickly ducked as Jungkook tossed the drumstick at his head.

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, ignoring Jimin’s laughter and allowing Yoongi to guide him to the stairs that led to the stage.

“Do you really think he can pull this off?” Jimin asked you as the band members walked towards the dimly lit stage entrance.

All four of them stumbled over their feet at least once, but you didn’t react—you’ve been their manager long enough to know that tripping before a concert was almost a good luck charm.

“Because I assume,” Jimin went on, “that he was trying to divert attention from his eye patch by applying all the black eyeshadow he has to his other eye.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, suspecting the same. “Up close, he sort of looks like Captain Hook and Edward Scissorhands had a baby.”

“Oh my God, he does,” Jimin whispered in awe and grabbed onto your shoulder to steady himself as his laughter erupted in violent waves. “Someone needs to get him a wig, so—so he could wear Captain Hook’s hat, too—with the—with the feather and everything—”

The image finally made you lose your composure, too. Seokjin looked up when he heard your laughter and approached to learn what was so funny. After Jimin panted through an answer, the stage manager joined in.

The three of you laughed so hard that you transcended noise and just wheezed voicelessly like malfunctioning dog whistles.

Suddenly, Jungkook turned to look at you from the side of the stage as he inserted his earpiece. You had half a second to pull yourself together before he lost confidence and threw the eye patch away.

Quickly, you raised your hand and formed an ‘O’ with your fingers to signal that everything was okay—even though you had tears in your eyes and the laughter of the two boys did not help you keep a straight face.

Jungkook had doubt in his eyes—well, eye—but you bit your lip and gave him another reassuring nod. Despite your amusement, you could tell he looked ready. And from this far, his eyeshadow didn’t look all that threatening.

As you watched the intense concentration on his face, it was hard to imagine there being anything in this world that could make him look bad. Neither the eye patch, nor the heavy make-up truly managed it.

Jungkook took a step forward just as Taehyung played the first note on his bass. The audience greeted the band with explosive cries that reached you at the back of the stage.

“I have to go,” you told Seokjin and Jimin while they continued to gasp for breath—because they started laughing every time they looked at each other. “Someone has to make sure the eye patch doesn’t fall off during the show.”

“We should find him a bottle of rum,” Seokjin said, and Jimin threw his whole body backwards as he laughed.

“A parrot,” he managed between wheezes, prompting Seokjin to clap in vigorous approval as his face contorted with near-painful laughter.

You were still snickering when you walked away to watch the show from the venue.

Fortunately, Jungkook’s eye patch stayed in place throughout Rated Riot’s performance. What surprised you, however, was the effect it had on the audience.

Unlike everyone backstage, the fans didn’t find the eye patch funny or ridiculous. They loved it.

Granted, you probably should have seen this coming. When Jungkook took off his shirt in the second half of the show, which had become almost a tradition at this point, the eye patch—along with his tattoos, dishevelled hair and messy make-up—did, sort of, make your breath catch in your throat as well.

But as luck would have it, you couldn’t concentrate too much on what was happening on stage because your friends—bless them—kept giving you worried looks. It was very sweet of them, of course, but you started to feel sicker than you really were.

As the show approached its conclusion, you realised that you were feeling slightly lightheaded, after all. It usually got very hot very quickly this close to the stage, so you weren’t too worried. Still, you decided to miss the last few songs just in case.

You returned backstage just as Rated Riot started their encore. You hoped to have a few minutes alone with your thoughts and a bottle of water. However, as soon as you walked through the corridor towards the waiting area, you nearly collided with Minjun.

You pulled back, startled. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Headache,” he said, holding up his beer bottle as if that was his solution to the problem. “What about you? Do you—do you maybe happen to have a minute?”

You were surprised that Minjun would need any of your minutes at all.

“Uh—” you glanced back, even though the noise of the concert was loud enough to hear without turning around. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he explained, putting his bottle on the table near the dressing room. He shoved his hands in his pockets and paused before turning around. “Uh, first of all, um—are you okay?”

Your polite smile seemed to hide a deep weariness. The corner of your lip fluttered treacherously.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“I heard that’s your default answer,” he remarked sheepishly.

You hadn’t expected that. Unlike Sid, who only asked questions to fill the silence, Minjun observed you in a way that Jungkook often did—with a quiet determination to get you to admit the truth.

Your expression softened.

“I mean it,” you said. “I really do feel better. Just a little dizzy, but I guess that’s because it’s really hot out there.”

“Yeah—oh, can I get you water? A beer?” he asked. You sensed guilty undertones in his offer; as though he wanted to do something nice for you to redeem himself.

“Water would be great,” you said. “But I can—”

“One second!”

He hurried into the dressing room and returned half a minute later with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, its plastic cloudy from condensation.

“Thank you,” you said. “Do you want to sit?”

You gestured towards the couch, pushed against the far wall of the corridor. He nodded in response, and the two of you sat down in complete—and a little awkward—silence.

“So, was that… what you wanted to talk to me about?” you asked, unsure what to make of his discomfort as he fiddled his fingers next to you. He looked like he was about to shed his skin.

“No, um—it’s not,” he said. “Uh… I wanted to talk about Jungkook. I meant to do it earlier, but, well, you weren’t feeling well, and I didn’t want to—”

“That’s okay,” you said, hoping to hide your impatience with another polite smile. “Talk to me.”

You took a sip of your water, which was far too cold to feel refreshing, while Minjun collected his thoughts.

“Well—h-he fucked up,” he said profoundly.

You nodded, not quite present in the conversation because you were trying not to open your mouth and hah-hah-hah from the cold water like you would if your throat was burning.

“Sure,” you said.

Minjun looked a little thrown off by the word. Given the extent of Jungkook’s suffering after he told you about the bet and couldn’t convince you to hear him out, Minjun assumed you would refuse to even hear a word about it.

“Sid had a lot to do with that,” he added, crossing his arms and stretching his denim jacket.

You nodded again, still as nonchalant as before. Minjun was a little perplexed.

But really, you’ve already talked to Jungkook—and Luna—about this. Not extensively, but it was enough for you to accept that it had happened, and that you didn’t possess a watch that could magically turn back time and make different choices.

Sid had proposed the bet, and Jungkook had played along with it. It was done. And now there was no reason to scream or storm out.

“He always does,” you said.

“That’s—well, that’s very true.” Minjun looked at the ground. He knew what he wanted to talk to you about, but your reasonable responses had left his thoughts in disarray, and now his mind was throwing random, incomprehensible bits of his rehearsed speech at him. “Jungkook, um—he thinks Sid likes you.”

You were already nodding once more when you froze, frowning instead. “Excu—what?”

“Yeah,” Minjun said, feeling a little more collected now that you finally reacted as he’d expected. “Apparently, he believes that Sid pressured him into making this bet because of that. To sabotage your relationship, I guess.”

You couldn’t help a scoff. “That’s dramatic.”

Minjun arched his brow. “Have you met Sid?”

“I didn’t say it didn’t fit his personality,” you said. “I just said it’s dramatic. And unnecessary”

“Well,” he shrugged one of his shoulders, “those are his middle names.”

“I don’t think it’s true, though,” your answer was quick. As if you hadn’t needed any time at all to think if this was possible. The very idea that Sid liked anyone other than himself was laughable.

“You don’t?” Minjun asked. He didn’t seem surprised by your disagreement. Merely curious to hear your reasoning.

“No,” you said. “If he liked me, he would have done something about it. I’ve known you guys almost as long as I’ve known Jungkook. And all that Sid’s done in this time, is make my life difficult.”

Minjun lowered his head. Those were his first assumptions as well. Sid wouldn’t stay on the sidelines that long. If he wanted something, he went to great lengths to get it.

But on the other hand, if Sid couldn’t get something, he often acted as if he’d never even wanted it, and harboured a deep resentment towards the object of desire at the same time.

Minjun sighed.

“I think I agree with you,” he said.

You turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” he said. “I don’t know if Sid ever really liked you, but I think the real problem is that Sid’s jealous of Jungkook and everything Jungkook has. He’s inferior to Sid, you know? That’s how Sid sees it. And yet, Jungkook is in a rock band. He has shows almost every night. He has real friends, real talent, real support. And he has a girl he loves more than anything. All Sid has is money. He probably doesn’t even understand how it’s possible for money to matter so little.”

You bobbed your head in contemplation. Money held such a massive significance in this world. The fact that Sid had it in abundance and still couldn’t find contentment only proved how pitiful he truly was.

“I thought the same thing,” you admitted. “I always assumed there must be some tension between them now that Jungkook is more than just Sid’s friend. Or, really, his sidekick.”

Minjun nodded. “Exactly, yeah.”

You exhaled and stretched your legs. You wondered what Minjun’s logic was, since he knew what Sid was like, but did not do anything to rid himself of him.

“Why are you, by the way?” you asked. “Sid’s friend, I mean.”

Minjun’s sad smile confirmed to you that there was something more here. No one would have willingly chosen to keep Sid in their lives.

“I’m doing a community service to rescue Jude from his claws,” he said in a very serious tone. “And to leave Sid alone and miserable.”

“I admire your mission,” you said with an amused smile. “But seriously. Why?”

He sighed. He preferred the silly, made-up versions of his story.

I’m an undercover FBI agent collecting information on Sid so we can lock him up for good.

I’m writing a book on insufferable psychopaths. Sid is my primary research subject.

All of these made him appear like he had some control over his choices. They made him feel less pathetic.

“It’s a family thing,” Minjun said, closing his eyes and pulling the corner of his lip into his mouth. “I don’t...”

He let the sentence trail off, and you interjected softly, “you don’t have to tell me everything.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “It’s just… stupid. My family—well, my parents—they’ve been business partners with Sid’s mum for a long time. She bought my parents’ company, and they signed some partnership agreement that was supposed to guarantee that my parents retained full control of their business. But, uh, you know.”

“They still answer to Sid’s mum in the end,” you finished.

Minjun clicked his tongue. “Yeah. It’s… they used to send me off to play with Sid, and they would tell me to be nice to him. Because if I upset him and it gets to his mother, my parents are the ones who suffer for it.”

“That’s—that makes no sense,” you said, lacking a better description for something that sounded ridiculous and, frankly, surreal.

“I know,” he agreed. “But Sid’s mum is—he’s her only kid. And she really, really wanted to have kids. I don’t know the whole story—I never cared—but from what I’ve heard, Sid’s parents tried everything they could for a very long time to have children. They have the money for it. Still, nothing worked. And then, all of a sudden, Sid. Their miracle baby. Their little angel. Maybe if they hadn’t treated him like he was king, he would have turned out differently. But his mum doesn’t even hear the way he talks to her sometimes.”

You tsked, unimpressed. “I’m not surprised. Nothing’s sacred to him.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t care about others. And still, his mother is ready to unleash hell if anyone wrongs him,” Minjun said, reaching to brush some invisible dust from his upper arm. “The ironic thing is, though, everyone in my parents’ company was very happy when Sid was born. His mum was—well, understandably, she wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around when she was going through… all that, you know? And I say that respectfully. She threatened to bankrupt my mum after she got pregnant with me and tried to talk to Sid’s mum about parental leave.”

You’ve never met Sid’s parents, but you’ve had the misfortune of meeting Sid, and it wasn’t hard to imagine where he got his personality from.

“Ah,” you said. “So, the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

Minjun snickered and shook his head.

“Hmm, it doesn’t. But Sid’s mum found out a few weeks later that she was pregnant, too. And from then on, she was a real saint,” he said. “So, my parents were hoping that I could be the leverage if something went wrong in their business. ‘Oh, but our sons have always been almost like brothers’ kind of thing. That way, they won’t lose all their money if Sid’s mum has a sudden change of heart.”

“Fuck,” you concluded.

“Yeah. They would have gotten him and me engaged, too.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t, actually.”

A small, ironic smile had crept onto Minjun’s lips.

“I’m sure they’ve thought about it,” he said, looking at the bottle of beer he’d left across the room. He’d put it there because he didn’t want to drink if you weren’t drinking, but now he was regretting his manners. “Unfortunately, Sid isn’t my type. My parents had the decency to respect that, at least.”

You chuckled, and Minjun brightened a little, too.

“To be fair,” you remarked, “I don’t think Sid is anyone’s type.”

“Good point.”

You looked at the floor tiles and considered this. You wanted to know if it had happened before—something to convince Minjun that he should obey Sid as much as possible, or his parents would face the consequences—but you didn’t think it was fair to ask him to elaborate.

The way Minjun looked right now, with all colour drained from his eyes as he tried to keep smiling, it seemed like he knew exactly what Sid’s mum could do if her son said one word to her.

So, the two of you sat in silence for a little while longer, while shouts of excitement from the concert echoed around you.

“And, uh—what about Jude, then?” you asked after a minute. “Why does he stick around?”

Minjun didn’t make jokes this time.

“I honestly think Jude just doesn’t know any better,” he said. “He’s known Sid the longest. Their mothers were friends before Jude’s parents got divorced and his mum moved abroad. He just doesn’t know a different life.”

“You mean he’s too used to Sid to see that he is bad for him,” you summarised.

“I think he sees it,” Minjun said, analysing the plaster on the walls of the waiting area. “He just doesn't care.”

“Ah.” You nodded your head. “He needs help.”

“Lots of it.”

“Mmhm.”

That about confirmed to you that Sid had always been the problem. The poisonous leech.

Jungkook saw the problem, even if it took him a while. And Minjun saw it, too. It was just absurdly unfair that there was nothing he could do about it.

And then you wondered if Jungkook could do anything about it. He’d fought Sid and banned him from Rated Riot shows. But would that accomplish anything?

This was Sid. Sometimes it seemed like all it took for him to be summoned was just the mention of his name. He had to be at least half-demon.

“Kind of sad, when you think about it, isn’t it?” Minjun spoke up then. You thought he was referring to himself before he added, “that Sid doesn’t have one real friend.”

You grimaced.

“I’m—not sure if I’d call it sad,” you said. “I don’t think he deserves to have real friends.”

“Yeah, no, that’s true,” he settled. “Still, though. He acts like a king. And all he really has is just paper.”

You considered yourself a compassionate, caring person. But you didn’t think you were capable of genuinely pitying Sid.

“Did you come here to make me feel bad for him?” you asked. “Because if that’s the case, we might be here for a while, and I’m not sure either of us has the time.”

“No,” Minjun said, chuckling awkwardly. “He’s the last person you should feel bad for. I’m just saying… he’s miserable and he likes to make others miserable, too. Especially Jungkook.”

He gave you a look, and you turned away, realising that you were circling back to his original reason for talking to you.

You took another sip of water. It had warmed a little and tasted less violent in your throat.

“Yeah, well.” You popped your lips. “Pretty much everyone who knows Sid knows that.”

“Yeah, and I… I should have found you earlier,” he said, lowering his head in a manner reminiscent of all the times you had seen him avoid your gaze when you entered the room. “Sid made sure Jungkook couldn’t tell you, but I wasn’t—I could’ve told you about the bet.”

“That would have—well, it would have saved us a lot of, uh, time,” you said and gave him a kind smile that was supposed to let him know you weren’t really angry. But Minjun only felt worse after he saw it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked up as he spoke and the regret in his eyes added a deeper significance to his apology. “I was… afraid, I guess. I don’t know how else to—well, it’s not a good excuse, but—”

“I get it,” you interrupted. “And thanks. It’s not really your mess to clean, though.”

He didn’t think it was. Still, he felt like he had let Jungkook down.

After seeing you two laughing together in your hotel room, Minjun hoped that Jungkook had explained his decisions—no matter how backwards they were—to you. So, now it was time for Minjun to say something, too.

“Jungkook, uh… he made the stupid decision to play Sid’s game,” he said. “And now you’re both suffering because of it. I don’t think you should give Sid that much power.”

You contemplated this for a minute and gave a slight shake of your head.

“See,” you said, “I think Jungkook is the one suffering because of Sid’s game. And I’m in this because of the consequences of a stupid decision that Jungkook had made.”

“True enough. He shouldn’t have cared about Sid that much,” Minjun agreed. The pounding in his head doubled as he tried to think of how to phrase himself next. “It’s not really my place to say, but um—I’ve been friends with Jungkook for most of my life, so I think I know him pretty well. He’s—he has always been in love with you. He’s just… blinded by a lot of irrelevant things. And I think he realises that now. He was really shaken up after the bet, and that’s when these things happen, isn’t it? Something massive strikes and it makes you rearrange your priorities. Well, his priority is you.”

Minjun felt your body tense next to him on the couch. He had never said anything like this to you—and Jungkook had never soberly told Minjun that he loved you, either—but it was about as obvious as your warm eyes and clenched jaw.

You knew it, too. You just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“He made a really stupid decision,” Minjun reiterated. “And I think he knew that right away. Except you know Sid. He couldn’t let him off the hook, especially when he saw how miserable this made Jungkook.”

You hummed, incapable, suddenly, of a verbal response.

The shouts around you grew louder. Rated Riot were finishing the final song of the encore—and it started to sound like another band member had removed a piece of clothing.

“The bet and his feelings for you,” Minjun continued, “those are two separate things. So, I just—well, which one of them do you feel upset about?”

The anxiety in your lungs didn’t have much room to spare for oxygen, but the question still knocked all breath out of you.

“I—”

“No, actually,” Minjun said, closing his eyes and drawing back, “you know what? This isn’t something I should be asking you. I’m sorry. It’s something you should talk to him about. When you’re ready, of course.”

You still looked near panicked when Minjun glanced at you, and you hurried to respond in a way that would end the conversation, because the staff and the band would soon join you backstage. You needed another bottle of water before you could return to your job.

“Yeah. Uh, I’ll—I’ll see about that,” you ended up saying, which wasn’t much, but Minjun wasn’t going to push. “I’m, uh… they’re about to get off stage—I—I have to go check on them.” You stood up. You still hadn’t made eye contact with him. “We have an eye patch situation as you’re well aware, I’m sure.”

Minjun smiled courteously.

“I know,” he said. “But make sure to think about what I said, okay?”

“I will,” you said, trying to nod, but your head felt too full. You were worried that if you moved it, all of your uncertainty and fear would spill out.

You had hoped to delay talking to Jungkook about everything a little longer, but something in your universe was pushing against that.

“Thank you,” you said almost as an afterthought.

“Hm?” Minjun raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

“For staying with him.”

Minjun’s eyes warmed as his smile spread.

“He’s my oldest friend,” he said. “Of course, I’m staying.”

The usual lines of people waiting to meet Rated Riot at the merch stand after the show had tripled tonight. It appeared that almost everyone who had bought a ticket stayed back for the band.

You didn’t know if the eye patch had anything to do with it, but Maggie’s Instagram post with preview pictures from tonight’s show, half-jokingly titled “Rockstar Pirate”, quickly became the most-liked post on her account.

However, before Jungkook could go out and meet the fans, his bandages had to be changed. The intense jumping and sweating had not been good for his wounds, and the ten-minute shower after the performance had not been enough to prevent some fresh bleeding.

But that was to be expected. Some of his cuts were narrow but appeared deep.

What was unexpected, however, was his insistence that he was fine. He would just put the eye patch on and head right back out.

“Do you have any idea,” you scolded as you forcefully sat him down on the counter next to the sink in the bathroom of the venue, “what sort of problems I’d have if these got infected?”

You brought the cotton swab over the scrapes above his cheek, and he gritted his teeth as the antiseptic burned his skin. “It sounds like it’d be me who would have problems.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Maybe even sepsis. But I could get sued for not doing my job.”

“Hmm. And if I die?”

“Then I’d have a funeral to plan on top of that, too.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry my death would inconvenience you so much.”

“It would,” you said, pulling back. “So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t die, seeing as I already have a lot to do.”

He grinned, always thrilled to tease you back. However, this time, he took the opportunity when you weren’t looking at him to ask, “how are you feeling?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, equally as determined to insist that you were okay and that the last two days hadn’t happened.

“I’m fine, of course,” you said.

“Of course,” he repeated dryly.

“I really mean it,” you said as you struggled to open the glass bottle of ointment. Jungkook had informed you earlier that the nurses at the hospital ‘had used something similar’ when he went there the other day, so you felt a bit more confident about this procedure. “I got eight hours of sleep two nights in a row. That’s unheard of.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

You finally got the bottle to open. Jungkook frowned and drew back.

“Well, can you be glad without moving?” you asked, approaching him with the ointment and a few cotton pads. You’d hoped the antiseptic had soaked into his skin by now. You didn’t have time to wait.

“Is that even necessary?” he asked, pouting and pulling his head back until he hit the mirror behind him. “This stings like a bitch.”

You were nearly leaning over him with all your weight to reach his face. One of your palms pressed into his thigh as you fought to keep your balance, and Jungkook stilled, but did not shut up.

“T-the cuts are not getting infected,” he insisted. He paused and bit into his lip ring when you exhaled and he discovered that he could feel your breath against his cheek. As soon as he realised that he didn’t actually pass out for a minute there, he continued, “do I really need bandages if I wear the eye patch? I personally think I’m—”

“You’re sweating under it,” you cut him off, your eyes narrowed in concentration as you traced the cuts on his cheekbone with the pad. You continued to speak distractedly, “and it’s a rental, in any case. You can’t put that on a bare wound.”

He blinked and jerked his head to the side, nearly causing you to topple over him.

“Jungkook, come on—”

“It’s a rental?” he repeated, his face twisted in a comical expression of disbelief. “How—how do you mean?”

You sighed. You shouldn’t have let that slip.

“I’m sure they disinfect the costumes after they’re returned, so, don’t worry about that,” you said. “Now please—”

“It’s part of a costume?!” he shouted, but you grabbed the back of his neck with your free hand to keep him in place. He felt a sudden shiver ripple down his spine. “Wait, w-what—a-am I a joke to you?”

The corners of your lips quivered as you tried to resist a smirk. You dabbed the cotton pad onto the bruise around his eye and did not speak until you finished applying the ointment to every cut and scrape you could see.

“No,” you said then. “You’re not very funny.”

Locked in place by your cold hands on the back of his neck, Jungkook realised he did not have any reflexes left whatsoever. He did not have much of anything, to be honest, aside from a severe case of hot, violent wings in his stomach.

“Not very f—I’ll—oh, I’ll show you funny,” he finally managed.

He grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. Surprised—and, honestly, amused—you tried to pull back from him, but found yourself trapped in his grip as he jumped off the counter.

You pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh. He tried very hard to glare at you, but his lips were pursed in an obvious attempt not to smile back and his cheeks were tinted with the softest shade of pink.

A part of you was glad, actually, that he was restraining you right now because you weren’t sure if you would have found it in yourself to resist the urge to bring your hand over his flushed cheeks.

After a loaded minute, Jungkook finally released you and shook his head, turning his back to you in a dramatic demonstration of defiance.

“Jungkook,” you said. He could hear the playful lilt in your voice. “Come on, sit down. I’m almost done.”

“I’m wearing a pirate costume!” he protested.

“You’re not wearing a costume. It’s just an eye patch. Sit down.”

He shook his head again, but turned around, mustering as much irritation as he could. You were smiling and he was hardly capable of being angry about that.

“I look like Jack Sparrow’s long-lost, half-blind cousin,” he accused half-heartedly.

He looked almost scandalised when you laughed at this.

“You wish,” you teased, peeling off the adhesive tape from the new bandages that Namjoon was kind enough to buy earlier in the day.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “Now you’re going to tell me I’m not good enough to be related to Jack Sparrow?”

You were glad he did not move when you approached him again and carefully applied the adhesive pad to his bruises.

“That’s Captain Jack Sparrow,” you said.

He glowered, but his image crumbled the second he saw your grin.

“You nerd,” he said, breaking off into a soft laugh. His eyes were fixed on you as you gently tapped the edges of the bandages to make sure they stayed in place.

“Hey, now,” you warned, pulling back to give him a look that was about as stern as your tentative touch. “You’re the one who forced me to watch the films.”

Jungkook felt his smile spread—impossibly so. He thought he looked a little like one-eyed Joker now as he remembered watching films in your dorm room. He remembered how the two of you had complained about the slow wi-fi, which kept reducing the film quality to 240p. Remembered pretending not to cry when one half of the couple in the film died. Remembered getting distracted by the look in your eyes as you got immersed in the plot. Remembered kissing you. Remembered making you smile as you gently pushed his chest away and told him to ‘look at the screen.’

And then he remembered where he was now, and the dim bathroom brightened under your smile as you packed up your medical kit.

“Hey, so, um…” He swallowed, watching you walk away to dispose of the waste. “Can we talk, then? Later?”

Your head was still heavy, and you had a startling realisation that the only time the weight on your shoulders lightened was when you were with Jungkook—when you were smiling at each other like middle-schoolers on a clumsy first date.

“We’ll talk,” you said while trying to quiet down your thoughts that insisted that this moment here was a sign. That this was the decision. “When the time is right.”

Jungkook looked almost ready to protest, but then he realised you were teasing him for having said the same thing to you before.

He remembered how that conversation went—he remembered everything and with such clarity that his palms tingled and his heart pounded.

“3 AM, then?” he asked, grinning. “Will you come find me?”

You smiled back. “I’ll come find you.”

When the members of Rated Riot returned backstage after meeting fans, the drinks had already been finished. Everyone was leaving for the bus.

Jungkook knew better than to stay in the dressing room by himself—despite having banned Sid from his shows and being across the continent from him—so he asked Taehyung to wait for him.

Then, as he was unplugging his charger by the bathroom door, his phone vibrated with a text message—from Jude, of all people. Throughout their friendship, Jungkook didn’t think Jude had ever texted him personally, and not in their groupchat.

The text read, “come outside to the smoking area? Sid is fuming bc he can’t enter the venue.. gotta talk.”

Right away, Jungkook felt a sense of unease in the pit of his stomach.

He’d kicked Sid out in Cologne. What the fuck was he doing in Manchester?

For a brief moment, Jungkook toyed with the possibility of saying he was busy. He did have to return to the bus in case you would look for him, after all. However, he knew that not answering Sid’s call—because, really, Jude was just the proxy here—could have ugly consequences.

Why’d he fly to the UK? What was wrong with him?

It wasn’t that Jungkook felt afraid of him. He was annoyed more than anything—he’d blacklisted Sid, and still couldn’t escape him.

But Jungkook was afraid of the impact that his inescapable connection to Sid could have on you and your relationship.

“You know what?” he said, raising his head to look at Taehyung. “Maybe you should go ahead without me. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

Taehyung glanced at the younger member’s phone, then back at his face. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing,” Jungkook said as he typed back a “K” to Jude. “It’ll just be a second.”

Taehyung merely shrugged. This reaction was so casual that Jungkook automatically assumed it to mean that the older member was going back to the bus.

“I can wait then,” Taehyung said instead.

Jungkook did a surprised double-take before he put his phone away. He realised suddenly that he was embarrassed for Taehyung to witness whatever would happen in the smoking area.

“No, it’s—I have to talk to Jude,” he said, hoping that the name would deter him, but the older boy stood his ground even more firmly.

“All the more reason for me to stay with you,” he said, making it clear that one black eye was already too much.

Jungkook knew they could continue to argue about this while Sid raged outside the venue. And he knew that if he refused Taehyung’s company again, the older boy might seek you out instead.

“Okay,” Jungkook decided. “That’s fine. You can wait here. Jude’s right outside in the smoking area, so—”

“Great,” Taehyung said, taking the first step towards the door of the dressing room. “I’ll come with.”

Jungkook watched him open the door. “Why? For the fresh air?”

His bandmate gave him a sarcastic half-smile. “To make sure you won’t need a whole blindfold for your performance tomorrow.”

Aware that he’d been outwitted, Jungkook rolled his eyes and left the dressing room with a protective Taehyung following behind him.

Sid, Jude, and Minjun were all gathered in the smoking area. Sid and Jude were standing tall—with Sid towering over the other boys, of course—while Minjun looked more like he was crouching. His eyes were downcast, and his posture reflected his wish to be anywhere but here.

Fortunately, Mick, the head of security, was there, too.

“What’s going on here?” Jungkook asked, his voice surprisingly firm—as if these people had never been his friends.

“This gentleman refuses to leave,” Mick reported, casting a scornful glance at Sid. Sid, in turn, responded by raising his middle finger. “I think that calling the police will resolve this issue faster.”

Jungkook would have loved to see Sid in the back of a police car.

But he was worried that this would only cause you more problems with the label. The executives were okay with Rated Riot embodying the rockstar stereotypes, but they probably wouldn’t approve of any police involvement.

On the other hand... why not get rid of Sid once and for all? If he continued to preach his truth without listening to anyone else, it might do him good to spend the night at the station. And if he was high, too, or happened to have something on him—both were likely, Jungkook decided when he glanced at the pockets of Sid’s puffy jacket—then he might stay in a cell for a while longer.

“Give me a minute, Mick, please,” Jungkook asked, taking out his phone. He’d decided to try to handle this quietly, but he still wanted the option of calling the police.

Mick looked at Taehyung for confirmation—which irked Jungkook, because he didn’t like being reminded of his young age and relative lack of authority here.

After Taehyung nodded, the bodyguard turned back to the vocalist.

“Alright,” Mick said. “I’ll be right inside.”

Minjun raised his eyes suddenly, and Jungkook expected to see relief on his face. He saw anxiety instead. Minjun regretted that Jungkook was getting involved again.

After Mick left, Sid finally stepped into the light from the neon sign above the exit. Immediately, Jungkook started to feel more confident about his eye patch, because Sid’s face was red, black, and blue, and so swollen that he could have auditioned for the role of the pumpkin in Cinderella.

“You have one minute to state your business and get your ass out of here,” Jungkook told him. “Or I’m calling the cops.”

Sid scoffed. Challenged by the doubt in his eyes, Jungkook unlocked his phone.

“I’ll pretend I don’t know that you’ve blacklisted me,” Sid snapped, ignoring Taehyung’s presence—which was alarming, because that had never happened before. Sid typically only showed his true self to those closest to him. Or to total strangers. “But it has come to my attention that Minjun broke the rules of the bet, and I can’t ignore that.”

Of course, Jungkook thought. Of course, he would follow him to a different country, even after their fight. Sid thought they had unfinished business.

“Technically,” Minjun said, “the rules don’t apply to me, seeing as I’m—”

“Seeing as you’re the one supposed to enforce the fucking rules,” Sid finished for him, feral rage dripping from every single word he spoke. “What should I make of that, hm? You’re picking sides?”

“I’m not—”

“Your parents won’t like that, I’m sure,” Sid added because he couldn’t help but always assert his dominance with veiled threats.

Minjun clenched his jaw. He remembered the repulsion in your eyes when he told you about this earlier. He felt himself gain strength from your reaction.

“Grow some balls,” he rasped, “and keep our parents out of the shit that you pull. We’re not in kindergarten.”

Sid narrowed his eyes and took a threatening step closer to him.

Meanwhile, Jude leaned over Jungkook to provide an unnecessary explanation, “Sid knows Minjun gave you back the keys.”

Jude smelled of booze and of something intentionally sweet. Ignoring him, Jungkook kept his gaze on Sid.

“It’s just a bet, dude,” Jungkook said before Sid decided to raise a fist. Minjun had never fought anyone before. Jungkook didn’t like his friend’s odds. “Let it go.”

Sid turned his head in what seemed like dramatic slow motion.

If there was a worse thing that Jungkook could have said, he hadn’t found it yet—Sid looked about ready to bite his head straight off and tear it into little pieces before feeding the remains to baby cheetahs or whatever scavengers he undoubtedly raised in the backyard of his family’s mansion.

“That narrative works out awfully well in your favour, doesn’t it?” Sid sneered. “Considering you walk out of here with the girl, after all, hmm?”

“The girl,” Jungkook countered, “was mine to begin with.”

Sid laughed, throwing his head back. “You were ready to give her up for a game just a few weeks ago!”

Jungkook clenched his fists. He couldn’t help but notice that it was “the girl” in particular that Sid brought up as unfair.

Taehyung watched the younger boy’s body language. He knew what might happen next: Jungkook had nothing to say to that, so he seemed intent on shifting the conversation to a more physical level. A level that would likely result in more black eyes and knocked-out teeth.

God, when did he and Luna become babysitters?

He let out a sigh and took a step forward. “We should go, Jungkook. The bus is leaving soon.”

Grounded by his voice, Jungkook glanced at the older member. Taehyung nodded and Jungkook took a deep breath to relax his muscles. He turned around.

There was no point to any of this. He had nothing left to prove to Sid.

“Oh, that’s right,” Sid called out as soon as Jungkook started to walk away. “You don’t have shit to say, so you leave. Fucking typical. Once a loser, always a loser.”

Like any rational person, Taehyung groaned and opened his mouth to suggest calling the police since Sid clearly didn’t want to go away quietly.

But the older member wasn’t able to react quickly enough when Jungkook suddenly whipped around and marched back towards Sid, his expression not just determined, but downright murderous.

Minjun widened his eyes and stepped into the gap between the two boys.

“Drop it, Sid,” he said, facing away from Jungkook. His voice sounded nervous, but he pushed Sid’s chest to prompt him to take a step back.

Sid stepped back—and then took another step to give the impression that he had pulled away voluntarily.

“Why should I be the one to drop it?” he demanded.

“Because you’re the only one who still cares about it,” Minjun said.

“And I’m one part of the bet,” Sid argued. “So, it’s hardly fair, isn’t it? I won the bike.”

Jungkook calmed down when he lost sight of Sid. Instead, he noted that Jude hadn’t objected once.

Technically, three people had made the bet, but Jude seemed to consider himself part of Sid now. Or he simply didn’t care about being involved anymore.

Taehyung lingered by the door, keeping quiet as Minjun handled the unfolding situation.

It was difficult not to say anything, however, because they seemed keen on having a discussion here, yet no one was bringing up the thing that seemed the most obvious to Taehyung: the real reason why Sid cared about the Katana so much, considering that he could have easily bought twenty of them if he wanted.

Just then, Jungkook chuckled sardonically.

“You just want to win for the sake of winning,” he said, giving Minjun a grateful pat on the back and stepping out from behind him.

Taehyung was taken aback by the statement. He had assumed—perhaps unfairly—that Jungkook would resort to violence to make his point. He wasn’t expecting the younger boy to voice everything that he’d been thinking.

“You don’t care about the bike,” Jungkook continued. “You just want me to suffer. Or—oh, that’s right. She’s the one that you really want. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

Everyone in this empty lot behind the building, including the stray cat that monitored the scene from across the street while licking its paw, watched Sid hesitate.

Probably for the first time in his life, Sid was confronted with the unexpected increase in his heartbeat.

He scoffed. Then scoffed again. Then once more, so that everyone and their mothers would understand that he found the accusation ridiculous.

And everyone understood, really. But Sid’s fidgeting wasn’t making the point he thought it was.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re implying,” he retorted. “I’ve—I always get what I want. Why the fuck would I play games about—I never fucking grovel for girls. I don’t care how hot they are—”

“Right. But not this time, hm?” Jungkook countered. “You couldn’t get what you wanted, so now you’re doing everything you can to make sure I don’t either. You want to make us both miserable.”

Sid was embarrassed, Minjun realised as he watched his jaw tighten. He was utterly humiliated that someone would accuse him of having a crush.

“No. No, that was you. You made yourself miserable,” Sid deflected. “I had no part in that.”

How pathetic, Jungkook thought—but there was a satisfied smirk on his lips. He’d seen through Sid. And he’d forced him to lose his composure. Forced him to defend himself.

Jungkook remembered your description of Sid’s appearance last night; namely the comparison to a sewer rat—which was, honestly, very unfair for the rodent in question—and couldn’t hold himself back.

“Seeing your face every day actually brings me nothing but misery,” he said to Sid, “so you can’t escape the blame there.”

Taehyung looked away and puckered his lips to hide his reaction to the immature remark. Even he had to give a point to Jungkook here. Childish or not, it was clever enough to make Sid squint his eyes and hesitate once more.

“Don’t change the subject,” Sid said, which made Jungkook smile wider. “You broke the bet. The bike is mine.”

Minjun cut in with a groan.

“Sid, for fuck’s sake,” he said, tired of listening to the same thing over and over—and over—again. “It’s just a bet, so just fucking drop it. We’ll pay off the Katana if you care so much—”

“No.” Jungkook reached out a hand to touch Minjun’s shoulder, cutting him off. He glared at Sid. “You know what? You can keep the fucking keys to the bike,” he said as he pulled the keychain from his pocket, removed it, and tossed the keys roughly at Sid’s chest. The older boy scrambled to catch them. “Choke on them for all I care.”

Despite the venom in his words, Jungkook did not lose the sneering smile, and Sid’s eye twitched when he looked at him.

It didn’t feel satisfying when he held the motorcycle keys, but Jungkook was the one who looked like he won.

Jungkook turned away before Sid could come up with another mocking comment to make him stay, and headed towards Taehyung, who looked a little confounded.

The bassist needed a moment to process that the conversation had ended because Jungkook had decided it was over.

Taehyung felt quite proud of him, and when Jungkook looked at him, he reached out to tousle his hair affectionately. Jungkook backed away from his touch with a groan but still gave him a grateful look.

Instead of entering the venue, Taehyung led Jungkook to the side of the building, gesturing at the pack of cigarettes he had in his pocket.

A puzzled Minjun caught up with them a moment later.

“Why did you do that?” he asked while Jungkook turned to watch Sid and Jude walk away—both of them looked a little awkward, like they weren’t sure if the show they’d started was really over. “Why did you give him the keys?”

“He can keep the bike,” Jungkook said. “He’s never getting anything that really matters anyway.”

Minjun and Taehyung exchanged a look. They had both heard Sid stumble over his words earlier. They could tell that Sid had hoped the bet would end with Jungkook losing you, and not just the motorcycle.

Minjun still wasn’t sure if Sid’s actions were motivated by his wish to make Jungkook suffer, or if he really had feelings for you.

But he supposed it didn’t even matter anymore. Jungkook seemed ready to go to war for you either way.

“So, what—what are you going to do?” Minjun asked.

Jungkook shrugged and stuffed his hands into his now-empty pockets.

“It’s too late to do anything,” he said, smiling at his friend. “There’ll be other bikes. I don’t—it’s not what I’m worried about.”

Minjun nodded. He knew Jungkook wasn’t thinking about Sid actually trying to make a move on you. You’d snap his neck if he tried, and leave his body for the crows and pigeons to enjoy. Everyone knew it, and they would have wholeheartedly supported your reaction.

No, what Jungkook was really worried about was that Sid might have already done irreparable damage to your relationship. Minjun had hoped to help Jungkook by talking to you, but he wasn’t sure if it was any help at all.

“Good riddance,” Taehyung said slowly. “Sid, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah,” Minjun agreed right away. “Fuck him.”

“I can’t believe he’s here, though,” Jungkook said. He turned back to make sure that Sid had really left. “You think he’ll come to Glasgow, too, just to fuck with me?”

“Honestly, he might,” Minjun admitted. “He’s got the bike, but he can tell he didn’t actually win. He might want to retaliate.”

Jungkook groaned. Despite his hopes, he feared that Minjun was right.

“What can he do, though?” Taehyung asked, taking out the Marlboro pack from the pocket of his oversized leather jacket. “He’s alone.”

“Yeah.” Minjun pointed at him in agreement. “It’ll be a while before he finds someone who will follow his orders.”

“Well,” Jungkook said as Taehyung passed his cigarettes to both boys, “Jude might.”

“Jude can’t wipe his own ass unless he’s high as a kite,” Minjun said—his vowels softened by the cigarette between his lips. “I’m fucking pissed that he left with Sid, but—I mean, there’s nothing we can do.”

Taehyung opened his engraved Zippo lighter with a crisp click. He lit his own cigarette, then did the same for Jungkook and Minjun.

“If he shows his face anywhere near us again, I’m calling the cops,” Jungkook decided, shakily inhaling the smoke. “Tonight was the last time. I gave up the bike. I don’t care whether he thinks that’s enough. There’s nothing that he can hold against me anymore. We’re done.”

Minjun smiled at this.

Truth be told, he felt a little giddy from the significance of this moment. He’d never spent any time with Jungkook’s bandmates, and he knew it was because of Sid. Taehyung would not have offered them cigarettes if the obnoxious menace had been here, so this moment felt a bit like the start of something new. Something better.

Minjun exhaled the smoke while Jungkook confessed, “I don’t know what it’ll be like with him gone, though.”

Taehyung scoffed so vehemently that the smoke from his cigarette nearly got caught in his throat.

“I know,” he said. “Better.”

Minjun smirked and Jungkook nodded in agreement, but he still looked a little pale and wide-eyed as he toyed with the cigarette between his fingers.

“We’ll be fine,” Minjun promised. “Might get bored much faster because Sid won’t be here to think of ways we could kill ourselves, but honestly, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah, no—definitely.” Jungkook tried to smile, but there was something else on the tip of his tongue. He took a deep drag and slowly blew out the smoke before speaking. “This is, um—kind of weird, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you, but, uh—thank you. For being… for being yourself.”

Taehyung looked away, exhaling smoke into the parking lot to give the two boys more privacy without actually walking away from them.

Minjun was smiling, too. “Who else would I be?”

“You could have tried to be Sid,” Jungkook pointed out.

“Fuck no.”

They both laughed, and Taehyung stopped trying so hard to hide his smile.

For a minute, Sid’s absence was very palpable and it felt absolutely blissful.

“You’re welcome,” Minjun said, just when Taehyung offered, “another one?”

He pulled out another cigarette for himself and passed the rest to Minjun. While the two of them lit up another round, Jungkook finished his first one.

He was restless all of a sudden. This tended to happen to him, especially lately—the longer he was away from you, the harder it was not to think of you.

You’d told him you’d find him so you could talk.

What if you were looking for him? And he was wasting his time dealing with Sid’s temper tantrums again?

“I’m going to go,” he announced to the other boys as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He dropped the cigarette and stepped on it, twisting the sole of his shoe to put it out. “If those two come back, knock them out or call the police, I don’t care. I’ll see you on the bus, yeah?”

Taehyung chuckled, much calmer to let Jungkook wander off on his own now that he’d seen Sid leave with his own eyes.

“Sure,” he said, blowing smoke out. “You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

As he walked towards the door, Jungkook remembered what you’d told him in Stockholm. You’d been right back then.

If he surrounded himself with people who genuinely cared about him, he would have enough voices to keep his mind calm. He would have someone to call if he was alone.

He would be okay.

Jungkook came to a sudden stop in the corridor when he heard your voice inside Rated Riot’s dressing room. The door was ajar, and he could see your profile as you leaned against the dressing table and talked to someone. He bent down to listen and recognised Luna’s voice in there, too.

“Did Nick text you again?” Luna was asking you. “After that time on the bus?”

Naturally, Jungkook froze on the other side of the door.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really.

But who in the great fuck was Nick?

As quietly as he could under the circumstances—his heart had flat-lined for a second or two before breaking into the most passionate beating he’d ever experienced—Jungkook stepped to the side so you wouldn’t spot him through the gap in the door, and strained to listen.

“Yeah,” you replied with a sigh. Were you always this quiet when you spoke, or was he going deaf from his rapid heartbeat? “He texted me this morning. I didn’t reply, I was—well, with Jungkook.”

Now, Jungkook thought as he paled to match the plaster on the walls of the corridor, what—the absolute fuck—was that supposed to mean?

“But, uh, he said he’d like to arrange a formal meeting with me,” you continued, and the dressing table creaked as you moved away from it, “when he comes back from Australia with Reconnaissance.”

The terrified lightbulb at the end of the corridor flickered erratically as Jungkook frowned.

Nick Zhou—your supervisor at your first internship after graduation—returned to his memory. Jungkook had heard enough to understand that Nick managed Reconnaissance now.

That probably meant that you weren’t seeing anyone else. But Jungkook wasn’t sure if he was relieved by this.

“Are you going to go to this meeting?” Luna asked.

Good question, Jungkook thought. And then, immediately after—please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

“I… I don’t know. I think I should,” you said. Jungkook dug his nails into the pillows of his palms. “All our conversations about this had been over the phone, you know? I think it might be good to hear him out properly, face-to-face.”

“So, you’re really considering this then, huh?” Luna said.

You were quiet for a very long time.

Jungkook measured each second of your silence in the beats of his heart: bang-bang-bang, one, bang-bang-bang, two, bang-bang-bang, three.

“I guess I am,” you finally said. “N-not because I suddenly decided I don’t want to work with Rated Riot anymore. I just—well, in light of everything that happened, I think that hearing Nick out just seems like a… reasonable thing to do.”

Jungkook decided he’d heard enough.

He thought he knew what you would say next. He knew what happened. He knew what this “everything” was.

His immaturity. His constant dependence on you.

His tendency to fail at everything that he tried to do for you.

His inability to prove that he deserved another chance with you.

Finally, the bet.

So, there it was, then. He’d always been terrified of letting you down, and he did that anyway.

Exhaling shakily, Jungkook turned around and crossed the corridor toward the main exit where the tour bus was parked.

You were supposed to talk. Now he wasn’t sure if he’d find what to say.

If Jungkook hadn’t walked away, however—if he’d stayed for a minute longer—he would have heard what Taehyung caught as he returned to the dressing room, biting on the filter of a new cigarette.

“If it really came down to it, then—you know,” you were saying, “I-I couldn’t be with him, and still be his manager at the same time.”

The door creaked.

“Oh.” Taehyung stopped in the doorway, not sure if he was more surprised by your words or by the unexpected noise from the door. “Sorry, am I—? I can leave.”

You had been cleaning up backstage when Luna joined you after she lost track of Taehyung. That made you realise that you hadn’t seen him or Jungkook in a while. But now that Taehyung was here, the two of you looked at him as if you had never seen him before in your lives.

The expression on Taehyung’s face was not at all ambiguous. He knew what he’d just heard. You hadn’t used Jungkook’s name, but he was everywhere in this room and in your eyes.

Noting your expression and the way the can of beer in your hands began to tremble, Luna slid off the couch and walked over to her boyfriend.

“We were looking for you!” she exclaimed with far more anger than she actually felt. “Where were you?”

“I was—Jungkook and I just—we stepped outside for a second,” he said as he pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and tucked it behind his ear. “Sorry.”

“You could have texted,” Luna said, her voice rushed. She glanced at you over her shoulder. “We were just about to head back to the bus, weren’t we? That’s what we were discussing.”

“Right,” Taehyung said. “Well, I didn’t hear anything else.”

God, you thought. The three of you were the main cast in a poorly scripted tragicomedy all of a sudden.

“Yeah, we should go,” you said, hoping that the warmth you felt all over your body didn’t show on your face—it didn’t. But your panicked gaze still gave you away. “We’re leaving in half an hour. Is he on the bus?”

Again, the pronoun that did not need an explanation—Taehyung nodded right away.

“Yeah, he—he was on his way there,” he said.

“Okay,” you replied. “You can go. I’ll pack the rest of our things first.”

“We’ll help,” Luna offered. “You need to rest as much as possible.”

You were afraid she would say that. But she and Taehyung began to gather the empty paper cups and the staff members’ forgotten phones before you could object.

Stunned momentarily, you realised—like Jungkook had before—that you were surrounded by people who loved you.

And you were afraid, suddenly, to lose this if you left to work with Reconnaissance. Just like you were afraid of what would happen between you and Jungkook if you didn’t leave.

The hopelessness of the situation stayed with Jungkook as he got on the bus.

He chose not to wait for you, and instead went to the mini-fridge to find Jack Daniels. And while looking for that, he also befriended Jim Beam and Johnnie Walker. Jose Cuervo was, sadly, already almost empty.

When you opened the door of the bus half an hour later—surprised (and a little concerned) to see that it was empty—Jungkook was already feeling a pleasant buzz. He wasn’t quite drunk, but he definitely wasn’t sober as he stumbled a little while trying to climb out of his bunk and stretch his legs outside before the trip.

The alcohol had dulled the pain a little—as it was notorious for doing—but he still flinched when he saw the door open and heard your voice outside the bus.

“You need help standing?” you asked—louder than he had anticipated—and he spun on his axis, gripping the stair railing to steady himself.

He was happy to see you. And so tremendously hurt.

“Nope,” he said, licking his lips. “I’m perfect.”

“Where’s everyone else?” you asked.

“Flat tire,” Jungkook mumbled, slurring the consonants as he joined you outside the bus. “Driver said we’d be here for another hour. He doesn’t have a spare. Everyone else went—for a smoke, I don’t know.”

His eye patch had slid off and was caught in his messy hair. But the bandages around his eye had remained in place.

His scent was whiskey, but the look in his eyes was sober pain.

You were a little afraid of him like this because you didn’t know what he would tell you next.

“Mmhm,” you said. “And, uh—how come we’re drinking tonight?”

“Ah.” He chuckled. “We have our reasons.”

You waited for him to continue by counting the dark pebbles under your shoes. He leaned his back against the metal railing of the bus steps and gave you a long look.

“Sid’s here,” he said.

You looked up, aghast. Terror was the first thing you felt, and aggravation followed shortly after.

“What?” you questioned. “How?”

“He followed me to Manchester for the Katana,” Jungkook explained. “Minjun had given me back the keys, and Sid found out about it.”

“I thought you had—”

“I had,” he confirmed. He’d triple-checked with Mick to make sure Sid was really banned. “He couldn’t enter the venue, so Jude texted me to come outside. Mick suggested calling the police.”

You liked Mick. Everyone did. He was the quiet backbone of this entire tour.

But you didn’t like that Jungkook seemed to disagree with Mick’s suggestion.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked slowly. You thought you understood why Jungkook decided to finish off the most expensive bottles of whiskey that you had on the bus. Sid’s unexpected reappearance was a good reason to drink.

“I would have,” he said. “But I gave Sid the keys and he left. He’s got no reason to come back now. We’re done.”

You appreciated the cold wind on your face, because learning that Jungkook had given up his Katana willingly—to get Sid off his back for good—was painful. It felt heavy in your chest and in your lungs.

“Oh,” you managed.

“I really mean it. If he decides to show his face again despite that, I’m—I’m letting Mick handle it,” Jungkook promised. “He can call the cops or do whatever else he wants. Sid wanted to win the bet, well, he won it. I’m not going to see him again. I really mean it.”

His voice grew in volume despite getting hoarse. He was so distressed that he was nearing hysteria.

It occurred to you that he thought you would blame him for this. Like it was his fault that Sid was so dedicated to his craft of being a pest that he travelled across Europe for it.

“I’m not saying one word to him ever again,” Jungkook continued, all his words coming out in one breath. “I’m—I’m done. I swear. I’m not going—”

“I know,” you cut in softly before his panicked rambling could get worse. “I believe you.”

“I—” he stopped. His face regained some liveliness. “Thank you.”

“Is that your reason for drinking?” you asked, even though, deep down, you knew it wasn’t. “I thought we were supposed to talk.”

“I thought so, too,” he said, then inhaled sharply and plopped down on the bottom step, banging his thigh against the metal railing and wincing in pain. “Shit. But then I thought—I thought I’d rather get drunk than have my heart shattered. So here we are.”

Your stomach plummeted and the muscles all over your body jolted awake.

“What—what are you talking about?” you asked, looking around. Taehyung and Luna wanted to grab some snacks at the corner shop across the street, but you were still worried they’d catch you here.

Jungkook rested his head against the door frame.

“I’m... really, I’m tired of everything,” he said with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have messed around. I should have been honest with you about—about everything right away.”

You leaned your hip against the side of the bus. You appreciated him talking to you now, but you both knew that this hadn’t always been the case.

“You... should have been,” you concurred awkwardly.

“But I wasn’t,” he finished. “And now I’m too tired to keep trying. To keep knocking on a—the door is closed. Locked. I get it. You say you believe me, but I know the truth. I really fucked up. Not just with the—with the bet. I never treated you right. You do so much. You take care of everyone in your life.” He paused to take a breath. “And I’ve always been another fucking burden. I won’t—I won’t be that anymore. You won’t need to take care of me anymore. I promise.”

You looked at him with a worried wrinkle between your brows. “Jungkook, I’m your manager—”

“You’re my everything,” he cut you off and brought goosebumps to the surface of your skin. “But I’ve been fucking awful to you. You deserve so much better. I’m so—I’m so sorry. I have no right to—to expect you to come back to me. B-but I want to show you that I can be different. I want to show you the guy that I am without Sid. You know that guy. You know what he’s like. I want to show him to you again.”

You swallowed as your eyes drifted from his face to the rough gravel under your shoes, to the door of the venue, and eventually settled on your own crossed arms.

You felt tired, too, but this wasn’t what you were expecting to hear from him. You wondered what brought this on so suddenly.

“I really don’t want you to leave,” he continued. You straightened, realising what this was about. “But I… I understand if you will. I’ve always been selfish when it comes to you, but if I want—I want you to see that I’m growing. And because of that, I can’t hold you back.”

Your heart was beating too much, too intensely, too desperately for you to respond.

It felt—and, evidently, your heart realised it before your brain did—like Jungkook was making the decision about the rest of your life for you. A decision that you didn’t want to make.

“It’s over,” he said. “I get it. But the band loves you. We need you. You’re our—we’re nothing without you. We’re not Rated Riot. But we—the guys wouldn’t force you to stay. And I know I can’t do that, either. So, if leaving the band is the right choice for you… then you should go. You should always do what’s best for you. I wish I was what was best for you, but I’m not. Actually, I don’t think there’s anyone who would be good enough for you in my eyes, but—”

“Jungkook, please,” you finally whispered—the words painful on your numb tongue.

“Right, sorry,” he pulled back. You were afraid that if you closed your eyes, you wouldn’t be able to hear him anymore. “What I mean is, you deserve the best, and I’m so fucking far from it. I love you so much, but I don’t know if that’s enough. I just—I want you to know that if you decide to stay with us, I’ll never let you down again. But if you choose to go… I-I would understand. Ultimately, it’s your choice, as it should be.”

He stopped talking and allowed the night to fill the silence.

You didn’t know what was going to happen next.

He’d told you a lot over the past few days. He brought back a lot of memories, a lot of mistakes. And now he was taking action, too, to make sure to fix those mistakes. To make sure he didn’t repeat them.

He made a bet with Sid.

And this bet tried to prove that he still hadn’t changed, that his friends were still his main priority. But he black-listed Sid from Rated Riot’s shows and gave up his bike to make sure Sid didn’t come back.

The bet tried to prove that the two of you still couldn’t communicate. But he told you everything that he had been too afraid to say in your relationship.

The bet tried to prove that he didn’t really care about you. But he stayed with you when you were feeling your best and when you were at your most vulnerable.

The bet tried to prove that he only cared about himself. But after telling you how much he loved you, he was letting you go.

Again and again and again his words echoed in your head.

The determined I’ll be here, and the tentative It’s a song about my favourite thing in the world.

The terrified I can’t lose you, and the confident I’ll always love you.

You didn’t want to believe him when he had told you he loved you—and that was what this was about.

You were afraid of what it would mean—of what would happen—if all that there was to it, if all that hid under your uncertainty, was just your love for each other.

Minjun had made a reasonable point when he asked whether you were upset about the bet or about Jungkook’s feelings.

Perhaps the bet had quickly turned into an easy excuse not to be together. It was bad, it was awful, it was so terrible—but all it really did was provide a comfortable cover for your own fear and anxiety about him. About yourself. About you, together.

In retrospect, probably the worst repercussion of the bet was that it returned the two of you to the same place you were in before you learned about it. The place where you both wanted each other—so much—but you couldn’t.

As the silence continued to envelop the bus, competing with the night for dominance, it swallowed the sounds of the distant chatter of the people nearby.

You pulled back from the bus. It was time to stand up. Time to go.

“Come on,” you said quietly. “It’s getting cold.”

Jungkook looked at you from the bottom step by the door, and you realised that he’d been wrong that night in Manchester when he said that your favourite thing in the world was the night sky.

It wasn’t.

It was the stars—whole constellations, each formed after a specific moment in life—and the moon, and half of an entire galaxy in his eyes.

It was the way they brightened when he smiled at you, and the way they narrowed when you teased him. It was the way they stilled when he was listening to you speak, and the way they softened when he saw you at every venue. At every practice. Every soundcheck. Every concert. Every hotel. Every empty European street. Every night, and every morning. Year, after year, after year, after—

Your hands trembled as you watched him, realising with a startled burst in your chest that he loved you. He has loved you for as long as you’ve known him.

And against all odds, against all rational thoughts and fateful coincidences, against all wishes upon stars, you realised that you’ve always loved him, too.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

chapter title credits: the devil wears prada, “salt”

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nayedoll · 2 months

Note

babe im gonna need a part 2 of the tattoo fic before I combust. it was sooo sweet <33

maybe joost getting to see all of the tattoos they talked about or something? doesn’t need to be smutty if you don’t write that kind of stuff 🤭

like a tattoo; part 2

joost klein x fem!reader

read part 1 here 💌

summary: after meeting joost through a tattoo appointment, you and him get closer resulting in a date at your house.

warnings: 18+, smut, some fluff

word count: 3.7k

a/n: first time writing full on smut so pls be considerate, i really tried my best yall😭

rpf ahead, do not real if uncomfortable !!!

───────────────────────

The evening sun briefly appeared between the grey clouds, casting a faint glow on the walls of your apartment. You rested your back against the closed door, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes to numb the ongoing headache you had been having for the past hour.

After spending the entirety of the day in the tattoo studio, to say you were exhausted and in need for some comfort was an understatement. That comfort was soon found as you opened your eyes again and looked around the cozy smallness of your apartment, the warmth of your own home making you sigh in relief.

Tossing your bag somewhere on the couch, you hurried to the bedroom to change, the discomfort of your worn out clothes being replaced by a soft hoodie and some pajama shorts.

You practically collapsed into the couch as you returned to the living room. The sun had almost set by now making the room lose all of its light and you sat there in silence, sinking into the darkness. You suddenly felt lonely at the isolating emptiness of the room, a feeling that was intensified by the distant noises coming from your half opened window that reminded you of the lively city life outside of your apartment.

Your phone ringing from inside your bag interrupted your thoughts, the vibrant blue light that emitted from its screen momentarily lighting the space around you. You flinched at the buzzing sensation and quickly grabbed your phone, unsure about who would call you at this hour.

The contact name displayed on the screen sparked an excitement in you and you answered the call, attempting to suppress your growing smile.

“Joost?”

As of last week, Joost had been the only thing occupying your thoughts, inking them with his presence like a tattoo. You weren’t exactly the type to flirt over text, but with Joost it was different, it was more fun, more meaningful. His messages felt like a breath of fresh air amidst your hectic life and you appreciated his genuine interest in you in contrast to all of the sex hungry men you had had the unfortunate chance of meeting in Amsterdam so far.

“Hallo,” Joost’s voice was raspy and low as he spoke over the phone.

“Hey.”

“Am I bothering you?” he asked, his tone suddenly becoming reluctant and shy.

“No, of course not,” you reassured him, finding his thoughtfulness cute. “If anything, I needed a distraction.”

“Busy day?” he asked.

“Yeah”. A sigh left your mouth, hinting at your exhaustion.

“Mhm”. You heard some muffled noises on the other end, indicating that he was moving around. “So I’m assuming you’re going to sleep soon?”. He sounded a bit disappointed, as if he had different plans in mind.

“Well I don’t have anything better to do,” you replied before an idea sparked in your mind, “Unless..” you trailed off, “You have any ideas?”.

You were half serious half playing, not really expecting Joost to agree with your last minute suggestion. But then again, why not try? Texting was fine, but you wanted to see him, touch him, hear his voice without the muffled sound of the speaker getting in the way. A quiet laugh from his side filled the short-lived silence before Joost spoke again.

“Would an improvised dinner at your place be enough to please you, ma’am?” he asked jocularly, you chuckled as you rubbed your legs together in excitement at the confirmation that he’d be coming over.

“I’m very hard to please,” you teased him further with an exaggerated cockiness.

“I’m willing to take up the challenge,” Joost affirmed, his words sending a lightness to your heated chest.

“Alright, I’m intrigued,” you replied giggling, “See you in..?”

“Twenty minutes at most if the bus driver arrives on time.”

“Doubt that.” You hung up, finally allowing yourself to vocalize your excitement, squealing in anticipation amidst the silent room.

You didn’t exactly know what Joost meant by improvised dinner but that was a question to be raised for later seeing as the amount of time you had to get ready wasn’t very ideal for -what you assumed was- a date.

Nonetheless, you rushed to your vanity where makeup sat scattered on top of it. Just a little you mumbled to yourself, applying makeup, just enough to enhance your natural beauty and finished off with your favorite lip gloss, as always.

You didn’t change much about your outfit, only discarding your worn out hoodie and replacing it with a cuter one. Your white pajama shorts stayed on, as you considered them to be perfect for such an occasion: pretty, maybe even a little sexy, yet comfortable.

You hurried to the door, the floral notes of your perfume filling the air along the way. Opening it, the anxiety you were feeling vanished at the sight of Joost’s warm, genuine smile.

“Hey there, lieverd” Joost grinned.

“Hey” you smiled welcoming him inside, “What’s that?” you pointed at the medium sized paper bag he was holding.

“What does it smell like?” Joost asked, setting the bag on top of the kitchen island.

“Hmmm” you leaned closer in an attempt to figure out the smell, “Fish?” you looked at him through uncertain eyes.

“Close enough,” he smiled, “It’s sushi.”

“No way” your eyes widened, “I love sushi.”

“Yeah I know, you’ve told me.” Joost responded. You bit your lip suppressing a smile, he remembered.

“So I presume this is the improvised dinner of the night?” You added, taking the neatly packaged sushi out of the bag. Joost nodded and took a seat, his eyes fixed on you.

You looked away, blinking rapidly as he spread his legs and crossed his arms to sit more comfortably. Shit you thought, wondering if you were this flustered by him just sitting, how the rest of the night would unfold.

“Yeah” Joost said all too casually, carrying on the conversation, “I do however hope you have some kind of alcohol we can drink.”

“Hm” you briefly turned your back to him to grab a bottle of wine from one of the cabinets, “Will wine do?” you asked, holding out the bottle for Joost to see.

“Sounds romantic,” he smirked, giving you a small nod, “I like it”. You scoffed, averting your gaze from his. As you did so, your eyes landed on the balcony door and a new idea emerged in your mind.

“Well, since you like romantic things, it is only right that we dine on the balcony together,” You suggested, nodding towards the direction of the sliding glass door. Joost took a glance at where you had pointed, a smile plastered across his face as he looked back at you. “Has a great view” you added, shrugging your shoulders.

“Sure.” Joost affirmed, following you outside to the narrow balcony.

A table was placed in the middle ,small but enough to accommodate two people with two plastic chairs on each side. You both sat down silently as you took in the lovely view that the balcony offered.

The street your apartment complex was built in wasn’t too crowded, therefore it allowed you and Joost to enjoy the peacefulness of the night, while also staying in touch with the city’s night life.

You reached for the chopsticks but Joost stopped you by repeatedly clicking his tongue. “What is it?” you laughed, watching as Joost pulled out his lighter and used it to light up the old vanilla scented candle on top of the table. He glanced back at you with a proud smile as a chuckle escaped your lips.

“God, are you always this cheesy?” you scoffed, though deep down you were appreciative of his little gesture.

“Just for today,” he explained with a sheepish smile as he poured a glass of wine for you and himself.

“Whatever you say,” You rolled your eyes, giggling.

—

It was 12:41 A.M. The streets had become completely empty by now, the only sound filling the street being the distant music from bars and some cars passing by every now and then. Joost had moved from his seat, now standing directly across from you against the balcony railing, smoking a cigarette. You looked up at him as he spoke, silently admiring the way the soft moonlight illuminated his sharp features.

Your eyes instinctively trailed down his bare arms, gazing at his tattoos. You stifled a smile as you noticed the freshly tattooed phrase on his forearm that was done by none other than you. Only then, you recalled the way you and Joost had met and how he wouldn’t be here, standing in your balcony, if it wasn’t for that appointment.

“Nice tattoo,” You said playfully, hinting at his forearm.

“You think?” Joost furrowed his brows, briefly looking down at his tattoo. You nodded and reached out for his wrist as if you wanted to take a better look, but truly your intentions were different, more sinister.

Joost took a step closer even though he didn’t have to, considering the already small width of the balcony. You looked up at him, your mouth slightly parting as you realized just how close he was, his crotch mere inches away from your face.

“You have to show me your tattoos at some point too, you know?” Joost said, you felt a familiar heat run through your body as you got an idea of where he was taking things.

“I can show you this one for now,” you smiled and turned your head to the side, exposing the heart tattoo near your ear.

He had already seen that tattoo on the day of the appointment and you knew that. You secretly wanted him to ask you for more, the ones under your clothes at the parts where you wanted him the most.

“But I want to see all of them,” Joost gently grabbed your chin, pulling your gaze back to his face where a sly smile sat on his lips. His eyes reflected the lust you were feeling at that moment, your cheeks burning amidst the cool night breeze.

“Then we should go inside,” you breathed as Joost caressed your cheek one last time and smiled in agreement, making space for you to get up. You lightly held his hand and led him inside to the kitchen.

“Y’know you don’t have to show me your tattoos if you’re not comfortable with that,” Joost said softly, placing a hand on your waist. You smiled at his thoughtfulness as you closed the door and gazed up at him, barely able to make out his face from the poor lighting of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” you shook your head, laughing, “Are you comfortable with me doing that?” you teased, already knowing the answer.

“More than comfortable,” he smiled down at you.

You walked with him to the living room, your hand still on his and sat down next to him on the couch. You paused for a second, unsure of how to start. Just his stare alone drove you crazy at that moment and you wondered how it would feel when he actually touched you. Joost sensed your uncertainty and took the initiative.

“What’s this one?” he asked, pointing at the ribbon drawing on your upper thigh, just below the hem of your shorts. You smiled, giving a brief explanation and showed him the few other tattoos scattered across your legs. You took your time exhibiting them one by one, giving details about when and why you got those tattoos. Joost seemed interested at first, though you could tell he was getting more impatient by the minute as your plan to tease him was working.

“Okay, so these are all the tattoos on my legs,” you said, looking at Joost who had leaned back against the couch, listening to you intently.

He glanced at your hoodie, silently asking you to take it off with his eyes. You removed it and tossed it somewhere behind you, leaving you with nothing but a white tank top that matched your pajama shorts.

Joost bit his lip, fighting back a smile. You wasted no time in showing him your tattoos, running your trembling hands along your inked arms.

“And then,” you breathed and turned your back to him, “I have this little one on my back,” you lifted your hair up, unveiling the phrase tattooed on your back that was written in cursive.

“That’s really pretty,” Joost mumbled, resting his hand on your shoulder as his thumb caressed your tattoo. You winched at the contact as a shiver ran down your spine, rubbing your thighs together to cool off the tension that arose between them.

“Relax,” Joost laughed, his fingers still grazing the skin of your exposed flesh. He moved closer, his hot breath against your neck near the heart tattoo that had started it all, as he kissed softly on it.

“You got any other tattoos you wanna show me?” He said, placing more wet kisses along your neck and biting the area, resulting in quiet moans from you.

“One more,” you exhaled, biting back a smile.

The tattoo you were referring to was the one under your shirt, in between your breasts and you were deliberately saving it as the last one in line.

Joost hummed in agreement on your neck, the vibration of his voice sending jolts of electricity through your body, your breath slightly quivering.

“Show me.” He pulled back, his tone demanding but gentle.

You faced him again, a sly smile on your lips, you were getting closer to where you wanted him.

“Sorry but,” You pouted your lips, your finger lightly brushing against Joost’s cheek, “You’ll have to find it yourself.” you said coyly, inching closer to him at a dangerous proximity.

“Fine by me,” Joost smirked and held your waist firmly, bringing your smaller frame on top of him. You pushed him back on the couch, your thighs now straddling him. His eyes met yours, soft and desperate, quietly begging to kiss you. You leaned down, kissing him with passion in contrast to the softness of his lips against your own.

You instinctively began rubbing your heat on his thigh, desperately searching for a way to release the tension you were feeling. Joost encouraged you by guiding your hips against him, the friction earning a moan from you.

Your hand traveled lower to his crotch, getting an idea of just how hard he was before pressing your palm on top of it. He groaned at the sensation, smiling against your lips.

He moved his lips to your neck, his teeth lightly grazing against various spots, leaving love bites all over your neck and collarbones. You were panting heavily, feeling the wetness in your panties grow the more you grinded on him.

“Can I take your shirt off, baby?” Joost stopped you, tugging at the cotton fabric of your top. You breathed a stifled yes, raising your arms to help him remove the shirt as he pulled it over your head and discarded it to the floor. He stayed silent, gazing at your half naked figure.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled, you weren’t sure if he meant your breasts or the tattoo in the middle of them, but still blushed at his comment. You leaned in for another kiss, this time more controlled and romantic, playing with his hair as you did so.

He broke the kiss, breathing deeply. “Can you uh- Can you lay down on your back for me?” he stuttered, running his hand through his hair.

You obeyed and got off his lap, now resting your back on the soft surface of the couch. Joost stood on his knees in front of you, taking his shirt off, exposing his happy trail. You slightly opened your legs, just enough for him to get in between them. You could practically feel the heat radiating off his chest as he towered over you, panting frantically.

He lowered himself atop of you, his lips trailing from your neck down to your stomach, at a teasingly slow pace, igniting a tingling sensation in your body. His hands toyed with the waistband of your pajama shorts, teasing you all the more.

“You want me to take these off?” You glanced down at Joost, desperately nodding in agreement. “I need words, baby.” His hand lightly brushed your inner thigh, making you wince and clench around nothing.

“Yes, do whatever you want,” you exhaled, watching as a satisfied smile appeared on his lips. He took the shorts off, leaving you almost entirely exposed to him. His hands delicately ran over your legs, resting just at the hem of your lace panties that left very little to the imagination.

“You’re so wet,” Joost whispered, grazing his fingers over your clothed pussy. You whimpered, rocking your hips forward to feel more of him. “So impatient,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Joost please,” you said with despair in your voice. He mouthed an okay before carefully slipping your panties all the way down to your feet and tossing them away.

Despite your lustfulness, he was still so gentle with his touch, taking his time with your body which intensified your desire for him.

His fingers started stroking your clit, earning a sudden gasp from you. Your body was so hot you could say you were practically burning alive, as Joost worked his fingers on your slick folds before pushing his middle finger inside of you. You arched your back, your breath hitching at the sensation of his thick digit caressing the inside of your core.

“That feels so good,” you managed to say in between your strenuous breaths. Joost smiled, clearly enjoying the sight of you, your face flushed as you let out small moans. You rolled your eyes when he added a second finger, feeling dangerously close to your climax with each passing second.

Just then, he withdrew his fingers that were glistening with your arousal, quickly licking them. You whined, making a pouty face up at him and he let out a small, barely audible laugh. “I know liefde,” he mumbled, grasping your thigh with one hand while the other traveled to his belt, trying to unbuckle it.

You stared at him, feeling a rush of excitement pump through your veins at knowing what was coming next, the metal sound of his belt being unfastened only validating your sinister thoughts. He pulled his pants down to his knees, not bothering to fully take them off as he shot you a glance, waiting for a confirmation.

Your eyes flickered to his boxers and you wet your lips, nodding up at him. You held your breath as he lowered his boxers, his hard cock fully uncovered and you attempted to suppress a smile.

He leaned down again, propping himself with one arm next to your head and gave you a soft grin. So beautiful was all you could think in that moment, cherishing his beauty as he stood over you, his hair a cute mess, a pink blush painted on his face that was glistening with sweat.

He carefully lined himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock teasing your folds before he slowly entered you. A groan left his mouth at the sensation of you clenching around his hardness as you exhaled sharply.

Your hand twitched, looking for some kind of support as he pushed deeper into your core. Joost noticed and firmly held your hand that was resting on top of your stomach, his tattooed fingers intertwined with yours.

You let out a stifled cry as he bottomed out, not moving to allow you to get used to his size. Before long he started thrusting inside of you at a slow pace, your grip on his hand loosening the more he continued.

Your moans and his grunts filled the silence of the room, as you let yourselves be consumed by the intimacy of the moment.

“So good,” Joost breathed, his pace increasing, “You’re perfect.” he added. You whimpered in response, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss. You felt yourself getting closer as your legs began shaking and your moans became louder and faster.

“Joost,” you cried out, grasping at his shoulder.

“I know baby, it’s alright,” Joost quickened his pace all the more, the ecstasy from his rapid movements making it harder for you to resist your orgasm. Loud cries escaped your lips as you came undone on his cock, trembling furiously under him from the immense pleasure of the moment.

Joost muttered a few curses, his movements becoming sloppier and faster, the dirty sound of his skin slapping against yours now filling the room. You quieted down, tilting your head to the side from the exhaustion.

“Just a few more seconds schatje, I promise,” Joost said, letting out stifled groans as both of his hands sinked into the skin of your waist. With a final grunt, Joost pulled out of you, letting his release spill on top of your stomach and chest.

He placed a peck on your hair, leaning back and resting his back against the couch as he caught his breath. You slightly sat up, propping yourself on your elbows, your chest heaving slowly.

“I’ll get you something to clean yourself up,” Joost said, fumbling his fingers through his sweaty blonde hair.

“No it’s okay,” you smiled as you collected his release with your fingertips and licked it, savoring the salty taste of it on your plump lips.

Joost stared at you in amusement, eyes widening at your action. “You’re insane,” he laughed and shook his head.

“Just a little,” you joked and got up to take a shower.

Not long after, Joost and you had moved to the bedroom where you were cuddling, your head tucked away into his warm chest that carried the sweet scent of your body wash on it. Joost was running his hands through your hair, twirling it with his fingers as you talked.

“By the way,” he cleared his throat, “I like your tattoos. Didn’t really get the chance to tell you earlier.” he said, the gentleness of his voice almost therapeutic in a way.

“Thank you.” you smiled, stroking his stomach.

“I’ll come by for another appointment soon.” He added.

“Really? What are you getting?” you asked,excited that you’d be tattooing him again.

“A heart tattoo.”

#joost klein #joost #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #thanks anon!

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k0juki · 4 months

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Wolf in sheep's clothing

Dark!Joost Klein x fem!reader

Warnings: (Joost is not famous in this!) stalking, bad behaviour, maybe paranoia? mentions of killing and mentions of dead people... NOT EDITED!

English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors!

Wc. over 1500

---

You always thought that you met Joost by accident. But was it really? With him you never know, and now you were pretty sure that it wasn't by accident. He is a man with charm, that's a very dangerous thing.

His blue eyes held more darkness than you had ever seen in anyone else. But there still was something in them, you just hoped it wasn't too late for him.

And even now that you aren't together, you still hoped there was some way to save him.

"By safe on your way home." Said your mother through the phone you had between your ear and shoulder.

"Yeah mom, I will. Don't worry, okay? I love you, bye." You ended the call and made your way home on the busy streets of Amsterdam. It was getting colder this time of year and you feared it would start snowing in a few weeks.

You hated that you had to lie to your mother, but it was for the best. She knew about your and Joost break up and she worried about you. And she would definitely get crazy if you told her the truth about your real parting.

It was a short trip home from the grocery store. Just around the corner, by the book store, where you always walk by. But you tried to walk here only during the day, not night. You saw in the news many times before how some doubtful people robbed other people near your apartment. This wasn't the best street to live on, but it was still your home after all.

The place you loved no matter what. Yes, it has some advantages and disadvantages, but what hasn't. And after you and Joost broke up, you tried to avoid this this shortcut as much as possible. You always thought that someone was watching you going through here, and now that you and Joost weren't together, you felt this feeling growth.

But it wasn't this unfamiliar gaze that scared you. No, you knew it very well who exactly it was. He is the one you should avoid, to hide from and to fear. Maybe you didn't know where he was, but you knew he was close.

You speed up a little and adjust your jacket around you with bag full of food in one hand and the other in your pocket. "It's alright Y/n, no-one is here, there's nothing to be scared of." You kept telling yourself, you were ready for everything.

"Y/n"

It was so quiet, you almost didn't hear it. You stopped in your tracks and slowly turned around. It was him, in all his glory. You didn't say anything. You couldn't, it was like he took all the oxygen and you just couldn't breathe.

"Y/n" he repeated and took a step towards you. But you couldn't move, it was like you were glued to the floor. Looking closer at him, you saw behind his glasses how his right eye was a bit swollen and purple around the corner. He didn't look good, in fact he scared you.

He stopped a few centimeters before you, practically breathing right in your face and you were sure, you were breathing just as hard.

"Wha..." you couldn't bring yourself to even speak properly, but you had to for your sake. "What are you doing here?" It was a simple question, but you didn't expect him to answer truthfully.

"I'm here to see you."

"No," Stepping back, you took your other hand out of your pocket, keeping distance between you and him. "You can't be here."

"Why not." This dull look in his ocean eyes wasn't the one you fell in love with, he wasn't your Joost. The one that cared for everyone so much all the time, even though he didn't have to. This wasn't your Joost that told you how much he loves you right when you woke up in the morning and before you fell asleep in his hold.

This wasn't him. This was someone else.

"You know why." Came out as a whisper. "We are done." You turned back around and continued your way home, you didn't stop even when you heard his voice calling after you.

"You can't keep doing this Y/n!"

He wasn't coming after you and you were glad, you just hoped you won't have to see him again.

As soon as you saw your apartment, you sighed and walked inside the building. He was gone.

Opening the door, you were greeted by loud meowing. It was like your cat brought you out of the trance. He was hungry and rubbed his head against your leg.

Kefir. He was a present from Joost and the name was an idea from him too. He knew how much you liked milk, so you immediately agreed. Your little nonstop meowing little Kefir.

You put the full bag on the counter after you made sure you locked the door. That night you couldn't sleep, how could you, and all because you saw something you shouldn't. It didn't had to end this way, but he had made his choice.

How can you hurt someone, let alone kill. This was twisted. Beyond disguising. And what was worse, you didn't told that to anyone, too scared to say something to someone. But you made your choice to break up with him. It didn't make you feel any less guilty, but you had to do something, anything at this point.

And you knew that if you looked out of the window, behind curtains, you would see him here standing with a cigarette in his mouth. How he was watching you every night for the past month since you broke up.

He scared you. Joost scared you.

---

You woke up later than usual, but there was no wonder. When you went to sleep, the sun was already up. When you looked out of the window, he was no longer here.

"Are you hungry?" You asked the cat and he just meowed as you made your way to the kitchen. You put kefir granules and got ready for the day.

Then you made your way to work and after the whole day, you had to say, you had enough. All those rude people and their bizarre ideas how you could do your job better.

When you went home you couldn't help but notice certain things. He wasn't here. Normally he was right there waiting in some dark corner watching over you or going behind you in crowded streets.

You didn't think much of it, thinking he finally stopped following you around like a lost puppy. You took a deep breath and stepped inside the building and made your way to the fourth floor. As you opened the door, you knew he was there, in your home that used to be your both.

You immediately noticed, but it wasn't for your cat, because he came to greet you as soon as you opened.

You knew he was here because he didn't follow you home. It was a strange thing for him to do, but you got used to it.

"How did you get in?"

You heard his chuckle and saw him step to the light of your living room.

"I don't want you here Joost. I made that clear." You said to him feeling confident, but that didn't mean you feared him any less.

"I didn't mean to scare you that night, you know?" He admitted and made his way slowly to you.

"Do you..." You began "Do you want me dead?"

He didn't answer that, you didn't expect him to. He looked at you and after so long, you finally saw something in his eyes other than emptiness. It was like he recognised you.

"Dead?" Joost asked and tilted his head to the side. "Y/n, I don't want you dead."

"Then why do you keep doing this? Why are you scaring me? Why did you kill that guy?"

"I love you, can't you see that?"

He looked desperate and ashamed of himself. Like he didn't recognise himself too. Looking down he pulled you closer by your waist and put his head on top of yours. He squeeze your waist and then whispered.

"You don't get it, I had to do it."

"Why?"

"Because of you. For you."

Now it was your turn to be quiet. Too scared to say something. You didn't return the hug he was holding you in and he noticed. You closed your eyes as you felt them fill with tears of psychical pain and regret for someone's life they couldn't live.

This only made him hold you closer and harder. You took a deep breath and whispered.

"It doesn't have to end this way."

"No, it was always going to end this way."

---

Don't copy or translate my work. Also the picture is not mine, credit goes to owner.

A/n: idk how I should feel about this... it's not edited so... :))

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kvetchinglyneurotic · 3 months

Text

It's late at night when the door creaks open and Roy blinks muzzily half-awake with his face pressed into the mattress, reaches out an uncoordinated arm to pat the empty spot beside him. Murmurs, "c'mere then, Phoe," but the footsteps that pad across the floor are heavier than his niece's — she's at his sister's tonight anyway, he realizes, and he's just started to wake in earnest, alarm curdling in his chest, when the darkness resolves into grainy blobs, bigger than Phoebe but just as familiar.

"C'mere, Jay," he says, and Jamie creeps closer, hesitant and soft where Phoebe'd throw herself on top of him like a clingy octopus and it knocks the breath out him more and more every day but he'll let her do it still when she's forty and he's the frail old man Jamie says he is.

The mattress dips as Jamie perches at the edge, and Roy reaches for him, pats around 'til he finds a wrist and squeezes. "C'mere," he repeats, and this time Jamie does, worms his way under the blankets and lays his head on Roy's chest, breath ghosting warm against the side of his neck, and he's just about to fall back asleep when Jamie whispers, "I went to Manchester."

"Yeah?" he whispers back.

The lad's been twitchy for days, too quiet and too loud in turns, the words all rushing out of him like they had in Amsterdam but sometimes Roy catches him staring blank off into the distance when he thinks no one's looking. Been twisting himself in knots trying to figure out if he should push or let it be, pressing energy bars and sports drinks into his hands and eyeing his hair for signs it hadn't been conditioned.

He runs his fingers through it now, the strands silky soft the way they usually are when Jamie's been doing his hair routine, and part of him wants to rebel at the thought that he knows what Jamie's hair usually feels like, wants to be annoyed that the kid's bothering him when he should be asleep but mostly there's just relief that he'd come to him at all; that Roy had pressed the house key into his palm as he sat there loopy off painkillers and champagne and lack of sleep on the treatment room table after the last time he'd been in Manchester.

"Went to see my da," Jamie says, and Roy tucks him closer. Feels the steady rise and fall of his chest and reminds himself that he's safe. His fingers grapple into the back of Roy's shirt. "He's doing better."

"Okay," Roy says, instead of, I don't give a shit how he's doing, I just care that he hurt you.

Jamie sniffles against him. Not properly crying, but there's a damp spot on his shoulder. Roy holds him and hopes it's enough. "I don't want to see him again," Jamie confesses. "Is that bad?"

Relief crests over him like a wave. "I'm so fucking proud of you," he says past the choking tightness in his throat. "So proud, Jamie." And then, because he's trying to be more open about his fucking feelings and telling people what he wants from them, "I'm glad you came to me. So. Thank you for. Doing that."

"Sappy." Roy can feel the curve of his smile where his face is pressed into his shoulder.

"Go the fuck to sleep, you Muppet."

#look sometimes you just need to write some pure self-indulgent platonic cuddling #jamie tartt #roy kent #kvetch oc

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keravnous · 1 year

Text

desperado! ; tangerine/fem!reader (smut 18+)

read pt. 1 here | read pt. 3 here | read pt. 4 here

The Twins are laying low in Amsterdam. Growing bored of being stuck in the hideout all day, Tangerine decides to explore what the shifty parts of the city have to offer at night.

word count: 12,9k

warnings: i mean if atj can dance then tangerine can too, tango dancing bc it's very sexy and steamy ok; car sex, head while driving, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female), fingering, rough and passionate sex, undernegotiated kinks: (light) spanking, daddy kink (once or twice), unprotected sex, choking, pet names, dirty talk, name calling, hotel sex; they steal a car bc why not, short intro from tangerine's pov, small glimpses into his dysfunctionality, rather slow story development at the beginning, i still have very strong feelings about this angry man so please, have this

title is from the song of the same name, desperado by rihanna

the songs they're dancing to are esta noche en vivo by carlos libedinsky and otra luna by narcotango

mel said: kinda sad we didnt get to suck his dick in bathroom b!tch and I said: same

The air is still warm and a little humid despite the late hour, filled with laughter and the sweet, sweet smell of alcohol and marihuana, sweat and summer. Tangerine takes another drag from his cigarette, watches how the smoke curls into the dark sky, illuminated by the colourful lights of the city. He takes a deep breath.

He sighs, relishes in the way his shoulders relax. He feels alive -- again; finally. It's a real relief, has his limbs going a little slack. He had felt anger clawing at his chest for the past week now, the beast inside ripping his skin to shreds and lashing out with its razor-sharp claws - mostly at his brother. But since he had left the flat about an hour ago it has been curled up rather peacefully in his chest, with a satisfied purr in sync with his heartbeat.

Next to him, the water in the canals lays calmly, reflecting the city's lights and echoing the clinking of glasses and music that wafts through the streets. Tangerine passes by a restaurant, people sitting outside under string lights, drinking, chatting, eating and he watches them as he strolls by. They radiate happiness and it catches onto him like a wave, has him smiling at the sight. He takes another drag of his cigarette, enjoys the way the smoke burns in his throat. Jesus Christ, how he had missed this.

There just aren't enough books, good books, that can keep him holed up in a small flat for a whole fucking month. And thus, he had decided to break - well, bend - the rules a little tonight.

Their contact, Henk, had told him about that one spot where one could get anything: from alcohol to various drugs and weapons, maybe even a hitman. If one's lucky. And Tangerine does feel a whole lot of fucking luck pumping through his veins tonight, making him feel a little light-headed, stardust at the heels of his shoes.

His chest feels light and his feet are practically flying over the cobblestones, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth as he lays his head back, watches the illuminated sky above - exhales smoke, inhales the night.

A group of students staggers by, laughing and cheering, passing a bottle of liquor around. His gaze follows them, nostalgia tearing at his heartstrings as he remembers the times when Lemon and him were just that - young and without a care in the world.

Now, their hands are sticky with blood - metaphorically, he had washed his well and thoroughly after last month's job went wrong - and they are both in hiding. Again.

Lemon insisted it would be careless to go out at night, at any time of the day really - "That's bollocks, mate. You can't just go out, can ya? What if they sent someone after us?" -, but especially if it was just to have some fun. Because fuck fun, right?

But, there is nothing else to do anyways, with the way his brain always, always finds a way back to his own recent failure and how it was linked to Bolivia.

Bolivia -- it still leaves him sleepless and shaking sometimes, just like tonight.

Tangerine had been pacing the living room craving a drink until Lemon fell asleep, and then decided that he needed a change of scenery, something to take his mind of the carnage and its debris.

"Yeah, let's just all go fuckin' insane in that flat, huh", Tangerine huffs to himself, looking at his phone. It beeps, signalling him that he is getting closer to his destination. His feet carry him through the streets of Amsterdam, a warm summer breeze rustles his silk shirt and cools his warm skin as he passes by restaurants, bars and closed book and flower shops.

Eventually, he comes to a halt in front of a launderette: Wassen bij Muriel.

The neon lights inside are on, illuminating the sidewalk in a cold white. He blinks. There is no one inside but an old lady behind the counter and a grimly looking man sitting on a plastic stool in the back corner. He can hear faint music coming from behind the glass door.

To an unsuspecting tourist it would look like a rancid shop but to him, it doesn't. Tangerine knows better, has been to a lot of places like this.

"Alright", he says - lets his neck crack once, twice and throws his cigarette away - before pushing the door open, the bell above ringing.

***

You watch your friend leaning down towards the young woman, sitting in a darkened corner. Your father never wanted you to befriend any of his third or fourth row dealers but you never were one to follow rules, always going for the next thrill, the next rush of adrenaline. But tonight, there's been no rush so far, no tingling of your veins - just pure and blank boredom.

You had picked out your favourite dress in the prospect of being offered to dance with a handsome stranger, even ditched on the underwear to make sure the thin fabric hugged your curves nicely, but the men in here are mostly uninteresting, ordinary - simple dealers or lowlife thugs, street criminals that steal money from unwary tourists.

You watch how your friend, with a quick sleight of hand, exchanges cocaine for money, laughing at the woman like she is an old friend and then makes his way back to the bar. He winks at you and squeezes past a young couple, orders himself a drink.

You swirl your glass between your fingers, watching the remaining puddle of wine running up and down its walls - dripping down like blood - and then bring it up to your lips, emptying it in one sip. The taste is warm and full, rich and you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to get lost in the strumming of the band's contrabass and the red wine on your tongue. It reminds you of that one time in Bogotá, when you and your father had visited his suppliers - wine and music melting together with the summer heat, having you dream of the jungle, old villages, and the beaches of private islands off the coast.

Your father had dragged you along once more, this time to Amsterdam, despite your pleas not to - "You will have to take over one day and I want you to be prepared" - and you were gladly sneaking away when your friend invited you to spend the night at his favourite bar.

It is a tango joint and a beautiful place, an old basement with low ceilings and a small bar, people and furniture bathed in colourful neon lights. Purple and red are dancing across faces and sweaty bodies - swirling over the dance floor or pressed against the cold walls, tongues shoved into mouths - reflecting off glasses and expensive jewellery.

It is a place where people like you and your friends get together: the upcoming generation of an international crime elite, sons and daughters throwing away their parents’ blood or drug money, getting high and drunk hidden by the shadows of the night, staying awake until the sun rises again. It's a place where people like you mix and mingle with those working for your families, a welcome change to a certain hierarchy at something a civilian would naively call a safe space.

You open your eyes again, as the band starts to play a new song, blinking while your eyes adjust to the dim, colourful lights. There still are couples swirling across the dance floor to the sensual rhythm of the tango, that the small band in the back is playing. You let out a sigh at both, the loneliness and the boredom creeping in on you, and turn around on your barstool to order yourself another drink as --

Your shoulder suddenly connects heavily with something firm and warm - triggering a muttered Fuckin' hell - and a second later the man, who you just bumped into, turns around. He looks pissed, left eye twitching.

"'M sorry", you say quickly, a little taken aback by both: his anger and his beauty. The former doesn't seem to last very long, with his lips tilting up a little, eyes gleaming mischievously while they dance over your frame.

"Apology accepted, love", he has a strong northern British accent, like some of your father's business partners do.

But he is arguably a lot more handsome than any of them are. Dark, combed, and slicked back hair that curls right over his shoulders building a nice contrast to his light blue, short-sleeved silk shirt, unbuttoned down to his belly - exposing golden jewellery. The necklace shines warmly against his pale skin, glimmering purple in the dim lights.

It might be the alcohol and the loneliness but you really, really want to just dart one hand out, run it over his chest and his neck, feeling his warmth and the few locks of chest hair, smelling and tasting the scent of summer on his skin.

You wonder what he does, what his profession is. The 70s porn-stache, vintage Rolex and golden rings scream Miami and you can't help but imagine him in the hot sun, bare chested, blood on his hands - red red red - cutting open bricks of cocaine -

"May I get you a drink, love?", his voice pulls you out of your daydreams and you blink. He must've caught you staring.

You know, that men like him usually mean trouble. And yet, you can hear yourself say: "That'd be very nice, thank you."

He lifts two fingers up, signalling the man behind the bar that he wants to order something and you notice that his knuckles are bruised. Blue and green mixing with the red of the scab, partially healed. There are scars on his forearm, meandering between his tattoos and up up up his arm below the soft, expensive silk of his shirt.

The goosebumps that erupt on your skin are nothing but pleasant as you immediately know what type of man he is. Everyone in here is on the market for something: drugs, love, sex, guns - but rarely does one sell murder. Real, cold-blooded murder. Ruthless, fast, dirty.

He's trying to hide it but watching him as he discusses the menu with the bartender, it sticks out like a sore thumb: the well-mannered gestures crash with his fucked-up hands, the way he's dressed like a drug-selling pimp refuses to fit in with his sugar-coated talk and the way he moves can't hide a lingering anger, like a raging beast pacing in a cage.

It is a carefully put together façade, but it's no use against you. You know men like him and you know them well. They don't scare you - quite the opposite, and thus the pure and utter danger he emits has excitement tingling in your stomach. As fucked up as it is: it makes you want him - adrenaline kicking in, shooting a tingle right between your legs.

He turns around again and you lean forward a little, deciding to make your move soon.

"'S a Mezcal Margarita alright with you, love?", he asks and you throw him your most charming smile, nodding.

"We'll take two then, mate", he nods and slides a few bucks over the counter, watches the bartender pouring liquid into a cocktail tumbler.

"Sooo", the man turns around towards you and grins, shows some teeth as his hand vanishes in the pocket of his linen trousers, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He's taking a looong deliberate drag, puffing out the smoke, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Y/N", you reply, gaze dropping to his lips and back up, where his gaze catches yours. He has beautiful eyes, blue like the fucking sea and the purple neon lights make them glow with mischief and smugness - dark and oddly promising, inviting - framed by long lashes.

One of your fingers brushes over his hand, that is resting on the counter. The wooden surface is sticky with half-dried alcohol. His gaze holds yours while he takes another drag of his cigarette. You just might lose yourself in the hue that dances over his eyes.

"And you are?", you say, just loud enough to be audible over the music.

His gaze drops to your fingers that are brushing over his golden rings and he chuckles: "Don't ya try stealing those, sugar, I know that fuckin' trick", and you smile innocently, as he leans in a little, "Name's Tangerine, love." There are cheers erupting from the dancefloor, the rhythm of the music picking up.

You pout playfully and his eyes dance over your face, glimmering mischievously. "Oh", you sigh, "And here I was, thinking you'd may even give me your real name."

"Can't, love, m'sorry."

"Mh pity -- who did you kill?"

"Who said I killed someone?", he's dangerously close now, voice a low rumble.

"Your hands", your fingers dance over the crust of his knuckles and his eyes gleam. For a moment he says nothing and then, towering over your sitting form, voice low and rough:

"Aren't ya afraid o'me, love?"

"Terribly", and he grins at that, his eyes holding yours captive.

"Bet you are", Tangerine hums, barely audible and sticks his cigarette between his lips, one hand darting up, has his thumb gently grazing over your chin.

The touch is nice, soft and gentle but firm, in full control. It makes your chest tingle, sends a wave of pleasure through your body. His eyes flick over your face and you find yourself growing a little hot under his gaze. You wonder is he's going to lean in, ditch his cigarette and --

The bartender places two glasses in front of you and it makes you snap out of it for a second, noticing how close Tangerine got. His thighs are touching your knees and his face is so so close to yours, noses mere inches apart.

"Thanks, mate", Tangerine says, pulls the glasses closer. You watch him - slender fingers getting a little wet with condensed water, cigarette between his lips, chain and bracelet rustling with the sudden movement. There's a thin film of sweat glistening on his chest and it has your thighs clench with raw and utter want, wanting to put your lips onto the firm the muscles, licking his skin clean.

The way his body still presses against your knees, is electrifying and you decide to invite him in more. You let your knees fall apart, making way for him. His gaze drops down and he chuckles to himself but moves in nonetheless, one of his hands gently coming to a rest on your thigh, holding you close and in place. The touch shoves the soft, flowy silk of your cowl dress aside, the slit in the fabric exposing your thigh. Tangerine's hand is warm on your skin, rings pressing cooly against your hot flesh, as he starts groping you - thumb digging into your thigh and you gasp quietly.

"Been wantin' to ask -- what's a pretty girl like you doin' in a place like this, huh?", he says, cigarette bobbing up and down in the corner of his mouth.

"My friend sells blow here", you say truthfully - not a full lie and yet not the complete truth, but you know better than to trust a stranger with your ties to your family's business - and piqued interest flickers through his gaze.

Tangerine then, very languidly, takes another looong drag from his cigarette and taps some of the ash on the counter, holding your gaze with his own. "D'you sell yourself, love?"

You laugh at that, violently shaking your head. "Hell, no."

He chuckles, eyes roaming over your face. "Well, looks like I got myself a good girl, then eh?", he knows what he is doing, voice low and deep and you swallow.

"I wouldn't say so", you whisper, "But why don't you come a bit closer and find out?"

Tangerine flashes a grin, shows his bright bright teeth, one of his hands coming up and stroking his moustache while he shakes his head in disbelief.

It's stupid. Very fucking stupid. He shouldn't. He should get the fuck out of here - quickly. This is dangerous. She might be, too.

Instead, he looks up again. Ah, fuck it - fuck the rules. Lemon will get it - maybe. Ultimately, he will, simply has to - with the beast inside rattling the cage.

Tangerine leans in, his hand on your thigh sneaking up, making its way over your hip, your side and then cups your body, thumb digging into your flesh underneath your tit. Your heartbeat picks up as he pulls you close and you nearly yelp, scooting forward on the barstool, your hand coming up and grasping his forearm, holding on to him. "Well, why don't we fuckin' drink to that then, love?", he rasps, the hand resting on the bar pulls your glass in.

With a shaking hand you take it, fingers closing in around the cool glass and you watch him raising his, bud of cigarette nearly touching it. He is exhilarating, demanding and firm underneath the attire of a gentleman and it has your head swimming, wetness pooling between your legs. Excitement bubbles up in your chest, wondering where the night may, will lead.

"Cheers, love", Tangerine smirks and winks at you, both your glasses clink. He is still so so close, your knees still hitting his hips and his tongue runs over the edge, licks the salt away slowly, playfully until he downs half the Margarita in one go, like it's water.

You raise one brow, carefully taking a sip. The salt on the edge of the glass tingles on your lips and the liquor burns nicely in your throat as you take another. It's a hellishly strong cocktail and you wonder if he's a regular drinker. A lot of people like him - call them what you like, assassins, killers, hitmen - are.

Tangerine eyes the glass in his hand, weighs it from left to right a little, then nods to himself in approval while you take another sip. He instead downs the other half of the cocktail and puts the glass back on the counter. It's a quick, routinely movement and you come to realize that you may be right. You decide to not give it too much thought, because he's hot and he freed you from the boredom threatening to swallow you whole tonight and because everything about him has your blood singing with the gleeful promise of adrenaline. You put your glass next to his and look up at him through your lashes. He catches the invitation.

Tangerine throws his cigarette into his empty glass and then leans in again. The tip of his nose brushing over yours, the sensual music entangling both of you as his gaze flicks over your face.

You hook one leg around his waist and he moves in closer, pressing yourself against him, one hand on his arm - to anyone looking over you might even seem like an actual couple, enjoying the night out - and hunger burns in his eyes. His lips brush over yours and you know he's toying with you, keen on him leaning in to fucking kiss you already --

The music stops.

There's sudden silence as the band passes a bottle of whiskey around and the two of you freeze, blinking dumbfoundedly. The silence is odd, stalling both of you but you can't help it, feeling like drowning in the dark dark blue of his eyes, shimmering with green in the purple light. You can hear Tangerine breathe quietly with him being so utterly close to you and it's nice, comfortingly human and you can't help but smile against his lips still hovering over yours, a gentle gesture that is being reciprocated by him.

You're a little dizzy with it too, the alcohol, lack of fresh air and his body warmth mixing together, making you a little unsteady. He has pure and raw want tingling in your belly, your hand on his upper arm clenching around the firm muscles a little, thumb brushing over the soft material. And then, just as the music picks up again, his lips brush against yours: "You don't happen to wanna dance, do ya, love?"

"Fuck yes, thought you'd never ask", and Tangerine laughs, a deep, pleasant sound that rumbles in his chest and offers you his hand.

Yours runs down down down his arm and closes around his, while he's making some room for you to slip off of the barstool and then he's pulling you close again - your body pressing smack against his side as he's dragging you along to the makeshift dance floor.

The crowd still cheers, applauds the band and the bandoneon plays the few first chords of a new song. Tangerine gently takes your hand in his, thumb cupping your index and middle finger as your palm rests against his. His other hand sneaks around your waist and rests and the small of your back, holding you close. He looks at you and you feel like drowning in his eyes, pupils blown wide and you wonder when he'll show first signs of being drunk, with the way you already feel a little warm, light-headed. In a few minutes, maybe an hour you'll learn that he holds his liquor way better than you hold your own.

He is even closer to you now than before at the bar and now you can smell his perfume through the thick cloud of smoke that wavers through the basement's air - he smells nice, deep and rich of citrus and a little of vanilla and cigarettes, reminds you of the summer you've spent in Palermo once.

Tangerine gently places one hand below your shoulder and yours comes up, rests on his shoulder, just as he starts to move to the music. He takes a step backwards, guiding your forward and gently guides you through the crowd - a steady back and forth in rhythm with the tango.

Tangerine's hand still holds yours, guides your arm until it is stretched out and then it abandons your hand, runs down down down your arm very gently, pads of his fingers brushing over your soft skin, hairs on your arms rising. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers cradle back between yours, a smile tugging at his lips.

One of his legs pushes between yours while he manoeuvres you backwards, hand on your waist holding you close. Tangerine presses himself against you, heat radiating off of his body with both your arms still stretched out and you grip his hand tightly, leaning back. You arch your back, raising one leg and hooking it around his waist as his gaze locks with yours. You can feel his crotch pressing against yours, with the way the skirt of your dress hikes up your legs. He is warm and a little hard already, has the breath hitching in your throat and arousal igniting your loins.

Tangerine leans down a little, lips still curled up in smile and then pulls you up like you weigh nothing and you stretch your legs in a delicate, slight split as he twirls you around, your chest firmly resting against his.

His arm presses onto your back, holds you close until your feet touch the ground once more and he immediately guides you sideways with a few long and slow strides until he comes to a halt. One of your arms wraps around his shoulders as he holds you close and you stretch your leg out, your heel gliding forward over the concrete floor of the basement, stretching your leg out in front of you and then gently sliding it backwards into a deep lunge, your body following the movement. You lean back and Tangerine follows, leans down and towers over your body.

He holds you there for a moment, chest rising and falling, brows furrowed a little before he carefully helps you back up - immediately embracing your body once more.

The music speeds up and so does he while guiding you over the dancefloor, face close to yours with unbreaking eye contact as you swirl over the concrete.

At the next strum of the contrabass, you take a step back, arching your back. Very playfully you sway your hips, shoulders loosely following while one of hands rests on his forearm, the other lays in his hand, feet tapping the floor rhythmically with the movement of your hips.

You know that he has a perfect view of your body, your hard nipples being visible through the thin fabric of your dress. His gaze drops down, watches how the silk plays with your curves, eyes growing a little darker. You move in and Tangerine pulls you close, your hand intertwined with his resting on his chest and his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, moustache tingling. "No underwear, I reckon, love?", he hums, the fingers of his other hand brushing over your waist.

And you shake your head, whispering: "No, none", and it has his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, a low chuckle escaping his throat. "Fuck me", he breathes and holds you close while moving over the dancefloor, one hand gently but firmly resting on your ass cheek, hiking the hem of your dress up a little.

The touch ignites you and you press against him, leaning in, nose brushing over his jaw, eyelids fluttering. You are pressed against each other, movements slowing down and blooming into a languid sensuality in dance: long strides, toying with him a little - turning your head away, stretching your arm out, only for his hand to gently caress it - feet wrapping around his calf, leg pushing between his. Tangerine is patient with the little game you are playing, unerringly keeping the lead and you in your place.

You wonder if he fucks like he dances. It makes your skin going hot, imagination running wild and breath hitching.

The song ebbs and the crowd applauds and the two of you come to a halt as well, but not parting, not partaking in the celebration of the band. You are clawing to him, breath going fast and heavy and so does his, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His hand momentarily rejects your waist to brush through his hair and then returns. His touch is firm, a little rough and you sigh contently.

Some people are looking your way, intrigued by what got over the two of you, enticed by each other and oblivious to the surrounding world. It's a dangerous thing - letting your guard down, for both of you - but you couldn't care less.

Tangerine smirks down at you and licks his lips. "D'ya know what ya do to me, dove?", he says quietly and you know but you feel the same, and thus, your hand brushes over his shoulder to his neck and you nestle your bods against his.

You wonder if he can feel your raising heartbeat, smell the lust and the excitement spreading in your body. You look up at him, fingers burying themselves in his locks.

"Mhm - do you?", you reply just as quietly and Tangerine chuckles, eyes falling shut.

Your bodies stay like that, closely pressing against each other with the music picking back up. You gently rest your forehead on his temple, leaning onto him as he holds you close. You can't help it, you just want to fucking touch him and your hand runs over his shoulder to the front, gently moves up his throat and then cups his jaw, fingers brushing over the clean-shaven skin. It's soft and warm and you can feel, hear him take a deep breath.

Moving across the floor slowly, Tangerine's body turns into an anchor for your long, ardent strides; his strong arms holding you up during each turn, muscles twitching beneath your touch. He is so so close to you, so warm - each one of his steps lingering with desire and it washes over you like a wave, has the hairs on your body standing up.

You sink against him, falling into his embrace, arms clinging around his neck and his hand is pressed on your shoulder, the other remains in the air uselessly as he looks down in surprise, brows furrowed. He can see, feel your chest heaving, a quiet whimper escaping your mouth.

Then, his lips curl into a smug grin.

Tangerine carefully twirls you around, hands gripping your waist and pulling you closer. Your back rests against his chest and you can feel the tip of his nose brushing through your hair as his hands move over your body - one resting on your belly, the other gently cupping you below your breast, feeling the way your heart races against your ribcage, and his touch sends shivers down your spine, has arousal shooting right between your legs. You remain this way for a few beats, the blood in your veins pumping with the rhythm of the music, feeling his strong frame pressing against you - his breath on your temple and his cologne wrapping you in. His body radiates warmth and you can feel his chest rising against your back, his hardening dick pressing against your ass.

Lust tingles in your stomach looking up at him and, at the next strum of the contrabass, you take his hand and twirl out of his embrace. Tangerine follows and pulls you back in and your hand crawls up his arm, another one resting on his neck. His gaze locks with yours as he leans down, tip of his nose brushing against yours.

The hands on your back keeps you close, a dark shadow resting over his eyes, turning them into a deep deep sea. He slowly guides you forward with two long strides and then firmly hooks one arm around you, lunges backward a little and you follow his movement, bending your leg and resting it against his groin. His hard cock presses against your thigh, and he leans in, lips brushing over yours before straightening both of you back up, heels of your shoes connecting firmly with the ground. Tangerine swirls you over the floor and manoeuvres you through the dancing couples, until he eventually, when the space arises, grabs your hips once more. You let yourself fall, upper body leaning back delicately, enthralled by his strength and the way he guides you through the dance, and he pulls you back up.

Your hand runs up his chest, fingers clawing at the silk as your gazes lock once more. You suck in a few breaths, his scent clouding up your mind, hand running higher and higher, thumb cupping his cheek and fingers resting in his hair behind his ear, earring pressing cooly against your skin.

His lips are slightly agape, eyes you up and down, while his hand presses you close. "Yeah, fuck, you wanna take this elsewhere, love?", he rasps and you nod, eyelids fluttering with the hidden promise.

All the while Tangerine navigates you through the crowd, he holds you close, blood pumping in your ears with the way the music makes your chest vibrate, his scent clouding up your mind - only him him him.

As soon as you are out on the street Tangerine is onto you again, pulls you close in the bright lights of the laundrette and kisses you like a starving man. His arms wrap around your waist, pressing you against him, tits flush against his chest, as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands run up his arms, one of them curling his neck and the other cupping his jaw. You can feel his hard dick through his linen slacks and it makes you hot all over, wetness pooling between your legs. You break the kiss, heaving against his lips.

"Fuck", Tangerine huffs, hand on your waist wandering down, cupping one of your ass cheeks. You mewl, eyelids fluttering. You're desperate to touch him, for him to fuck you.

"My hotel's nearby", you whisper and it sounds so fucking needy, "We could take the tram?"

"Yeah sure, lead the way", and you do, stealing another long and sloppy, hungry kiss from him and then he's pulling you close, holds you by his side as the two of you rush down the streets of Amsterdam - heels clicking, sweet nothings on the tip of your tongues. Some people turn their heads, voyeurism kicking in at the oddly hot couple with the air around them cracking with their energy, watching how the two of you rush by - the woman giggling and clearly a little drunk, hands roaming all over the man's chest, while he holds her close, thick British accent wrapping her in.

That is, until he stops dead in his tracks next to an alley on a rather empty street.

"Oi, wait a bloody minute, love -- would'ya look at that", Tangerine looks down an alleyway and you lean in closer, trying to get a look at what he's seeing, peaking over his shoulder on the tip of your toes. His hand is still resting on your waist, fingers splayed out.

"What?", there's nothing. Just cars parked beneath a warmly glowing streetlight in a dark alley.

"That", his finger darts out and points at a beige convertible.

"I -- that's a car?"

He looks a you, a little offended.

"That's not just a car, love. That's a 1966 Cadillac Coupe DeVille."

You blink, watching him while he eyes the vehicle, fingers brushing over his stache absent-mindedly.

"What are you thinking 'bout?", and it doesn't even take him a second to reply: "I wanna steal it."

Well, that's a surprise. "You wanna steal the car?"

"Yeah, I got this fuckin' thing -- 's kinda like compulsion, innit?"

You raise your eyebrows and he looks at you, lips curling up in an amused smile that's looks an awful lot like Sugar I can't change it, now can I? and before he can come up with something witty to go along with it, you say: "Yeah fuck, alright. Let's do it."

He laughs, eyes you up and down. "Ya naughty little girl, eh."

You can feel your skin growing hot, hand brushing over his forearm, leaning in a little. His eyes gleam. "Show me what you can do, babe", and he does, wraps one arm around your hips and strolls over to the car, carefully eyeing the alley.

The windows are rolled down and he grins. "That's an easy one, love, watch it", his hand brushes over your hip and the touch has goosebumps erupting on your arms, running down down your back and you nod - fuck yes, you'll watch.

Tangerine leans against the driver side's door and reaches inside through the rolled down window. You don't know what exactly he's doing but you can see the way his muscles work underneath the blue silk, as he grabs the handle and then, suddenly lifts the door a little out of its frame. The lock bursts, and for a second your muscles tense, body anticipating alarms going off and reading to flee.

Nothing happens; no sirens erupting - just the door swinging open lazily.

Apparently; obviously this is not his first time stealing a car. The thought of him just taking what he wants does something funny to your stomach.

You peak inside. It is an old-timer, with one large seating bench in the front, instead of two seats. Tangerine is holding the door open for you.

"After you, Lady", and he fucking winks at you.

Crawling onto the seats you make sure to make a little show out of it. You can feel his gaze roaming over your body as you bend down, until you eventually sit down in the middle of the front row seat. Tangerine sits down next to you and you immediately close the distance between the two of you, pulling one leg up, knee resting firmly on the soft beige leather and pressing against his thigh. The fabric of your dress hikes up, the slit exposing your leg up up up to your groin.

The sight distracts him for second, as you throw a look over your shoulder and out of the rear window, into the night. The alley still lays silent and deserted - but for how much longer? Tangerine watches you tensing up next to him.

"Easy, love, just a minute", he huffs and pulls an envelope out of his pocket, takes out a set of lockpicks.

"Oh, so you just carry that around with you?", you blurt out, blinking.

"Yeah", he says casually, bends down a little, trying to get a good look beneath the steering wheel.

If you were to be more of a thief and less of a drug lord's lazy daughter, you'd be able to identify his choice as a Lishi lockpick.

You watch him as he carefully sticks it into the keyhole of the ignition, slooowly starts to move the tool forward and feeling for the contact of the wafer. Quiet clicking sounds fill the humid air.

You can tell, that Tangerine is showing off a little, trying to impress you with speed and precision. He squints his eyes a little, brows furrowing and eyeing the small lock while carefully turning it clockwise.

It jams.

"Bastard", Tangerine curses underneath, pulls the reader of the lockpick back and carefully feels for the missing contact, tuuurns it --

The engine jolts alive, purrs lowly and the headlights snap on.

"There ya go", he mutters, "Piece 'o piss, eh?"

You snort at his vulgar cockney but you must agree - it did not take him more than two to three minutes, from breaking the lock to starting the engine. It shouldn't, but it does turn you on a little.

Tangerine is slamming the door shut and whips out his phone, handing it over to you. "Type in the address, love, would ya?"

You do and then quickly discard it into the cupholder - you want him and your fingertips tingle with it, wanting to touch him and being touched by him. The female voice - uncanny valley personified - of the google maps assistant pipes up and if you weren't so very fucking intoxicated by him you would laugh.

Instead, a fresh wave of desperate lust takes over you and your hands are onto him again in no time, one crawling up his arm, the other resting on his thigh and feeling his muscles work as he backs the Cadillac up. Tangerine chuckles, throws you a quick look before he is steering the car out of the alley.

You are aching for him to touch you, to be closer to you, hand tugging at his shirt a little while you lean in, nose brushing over the side of his throat.

"Jesus, love", he huffs, "Can't keep ya'self together, can ya?"

And you mewl, shake your head and then your lips are closing in around the exposed crook of his neck. Your tongue laps over the sweaty, hot skin, tasting him - his cologne mixing bitterly with his sweat and you hum, gently sucking at his soft skin.

"Fuckin' hell", Tangerine's right hand abandons the steering wheel, coming to a rest on your exposed thigh brushing over your skin. The tone of his voice has your head swimming, spurring you on, encouraging you. Your eyelids flutter as your tongue comes loose:

"Want me to suck your cock while driving?", you say, looking at him - the tips of your fingers are playfully brushing over his shoulder, silk of his shirt rustling under the feather-light touch.

He snorts, shakes his head a little with disbelief, before looking back at you. It seems to click.

"Bloody hell, you're serious, aren't ya?", and you blush a little. You can see the way his Adam’s apple bops as he swallows, eyes aimlessly darting over the road, considering.

The google maps assistant pipes up again, chirps out the directions and then falls silent again.

"Yeah, no, that's a very lovely idea", he rasps, and then: "C'mon love, get to it."

And you do, mouth watering at the same time your sight drops down to his linen slacks, the fabric wrapping around his muscular thighs nicely and pressing firmly to his crotch, exposing the outlines of his hard dick straining it.

Your hand wanders up his leg - feeling his muscles twitch as he hammers down the gas pedal, racing by the light switching from yellow to green - and then sour fingers close in around his cock. It is large and hot through the fabric and just feeling it has fresh arousal pooling between your legs, making you hum, before rubbing his bulge through his trousers. Tangerine's right hand leaves your thigh and comes to a rest on your neck, thumb rubbing over your warm skin and making way for you, giving you some space and encouraging you further.

It's a nice, somewhat patronizing touch that is pushing all the right buttons, has you quivering with excitement.

You make quick work of his slacks, pulling the zipper down - already bowing down a little, stretching your lower leg out on the seat behind you - until you open the fly up. There's a damp stain on his dark silk boxers and your mouth fucking waters, before you pull the hem down. His cock springs free lazily and your breath hitches.

Tangerine's cock is large, cut and a little curved, resting between neatly trimmed pubic hair - vein at the bottom pulsing and the tip already flushed, precum glistening in the low light of the passing street lamps.

You can't wait to suck it, taste it, feel it inside of you -- you are fucking hungry for it, spit pooling around your tongue and heart beating in your chest. Arching your back while bowing down between his lower body and the steering wheel, you put your lips onto his dick, kissing from the base to the top, his musky scent wrapping you in, clouding your mind. You can hear him hum, a nice and deep sound, and the city rushing by through the rolled down window.

Your tongue flicks over the head of his dick, lapping at the precum, circling it. The way he tastes - salt and musk - has your head swimming a little, wetness pooling between your legs.

It makes your brain go mushy, hazy and one of your hands brushes over his thigh, desperate to being closer tohim, to make it feel good for him, caressing the warm skin beneath your touch before you blink up at him.

"Fuck, you got a nice cock", you nearly moan as your tongue betrays your brain, impatiently opening your mouth and letting him slide in a little, feeling him pressing hard and hot against your tongue.

"Shit", Tangerine laughs roughly, hand grabbing your neck as his dick twitches against your tongue, "D'ya even hear yourself speak, girl? Fuck."

You smile to yourself, a little coy, and you start to move your hand up up up his muscular thigh, palming his balls through the linen and then grabbing the base of his cock, slowly jerking him. Tangerine groans, breathing loudly, the city passing by.

Spit runs down his dick over taking him in deeper, pools between your fingers and you flick your wrist, moving your hand in rhythm with your tongue.

The car comes to a halt at the next red light, as Tangerine hits the brakes carefully. Your eyelids flutter and then your gaze darts up, meets his while you are releasing his dick from your mouth a little.

Tangerine moans deeply as tongue swirling around the thick head of his dick once more, his gaze boring into yours. "Isn't that just a lovely sight", he groans, right hand brushing through your hair, while the left grabs the steering wheel hard.

Tangerine watches you, traffic light long forgotten, how your tongue licks over his cock, your eyes looking up at him through your lashes. "You fuckin' minx -- ya do like behavin' like a slut, don't ya", and you smile against his cock, a quiet Uh-huh leaving your lips, before they close in around the tip of his dick.

His eyelids flutter as you start to suck, bobbing your head a little, tongue rubbing over the tip of his cock. "Fuckin' hell", he puffs his cheeks and throws his head back a little, exhales theatrically. The traffic light switches from yellow to green and you let him sink deeper into your mouth - the engine roars. You are certain he's close to breaking the speed limit, veins bursting with adrenaline and testosterone but you couldn't care less, the musky taste of his cock hazing your mind, lust taking over.

You feel yourself growing wet, cunt aching and you surrender to yourself, complying to your body's wishes, as one of your hands slooowly dips between your legs and underneath the hem of your dress. Your fingers brush up your thighs and over your slick folds, mentally thanking yourself for not putting any underwear on, mostly due to the unbearable heat and your skin-tight dress - but it sure does come in handy now, too. Your index finger flicks over your clit, just as his cock slides deeper into your mouth.

It feels fucking nice, the way Tangerine's dick is hard and heavy and hot on your tongue, his taste and scent engulfing you, the way you rub your clit has lust spreading through your body, moaning around his cock.

And then suddenly, Tangerine hits the breaks, hand hammering down on the horn. One of your hands darts out, barely catching onto the dashboard as you are thrown forward. Blood rushes in your ears, hastily sucking in a few breaths through your nose while you sputter around his cock.

The maps assistant chimes up in that second, reminding the driver that he will need to go right at the next intersection but --

"Ya fuckin' prick, imma fuckin' shoot ya in the fuckin' head ya stupid twat -", Tangerine yells and your head immediately pipes up, abandoning his dick and looking out of the windshield. Tangerine is just speeding up, passing by the car in front of him, angrily looking inside. "Ya dirty fuckin' chav, I got a right fuckin' lady with me 'ere, ya git", he spits and the man slowly turns his head. First, he looks at Tangerine, a cascade of insults flying his way and then he looks at you, smudged mascara and spit on your chin, your lips wet with it. You can see the wheels in his head turning, eyes growing wide as they drop down to one of your hands - the one that is still holding Tangerine's cock - vanishing between his legs. The man blinks and Tangerine flashes him the finger, before speeding by.

"Fuck about -- that fuckin' arsehole, love, could've killed ya drivin' like that", he grumbles, throws him one last look in the mirror, "Seriously, where did that prick get his license, the bloody fuckin' lottery?"

Tangerine's eye twitches and you can see his pulse speeding up, aorta pressing thickly against his neck, pumping. He is like a force of nature and a mental image of him, covered in bruises, blood and sweat flashes before your eyes - chest heaving and knuckles bruised, hair curling and framing his face like a halo, dripping with blood.

"You're so fuckin' hot when you're angry", you mumble and then you're bending down again, tongue licking over his cock, from the base all the way up the top, flicking around its head and then gliiiding back down.

A growl, a real fucking growl, leaves his chest, hand on your neck tightening. "You better get fuckin' back to it, love, Jesus fuckin' Christ", his voice is coarse and it gets you going, makes you wet wet wet and has your head diving back in, tongue lolling out of your mouth as his dick slides back in.

"Atta girl, fuck", he groans and then his hips jolt up, pushing his dick deep into your mouth and you hum around it. You start to bob your head up and down, meeting his thrusts - your hand abandons the dashboard to clutch his thigh, nails digging into the flesh a little.

Tangerine moans at both, your hot and wet mouth sucking him off and the slight pain that blooms in his thigh, dangerously mixing with the anger pulsing in his chest and he throws his head back.

"Just like that, fuckin' hell love", his hips buck, shoving himself deeper into your mouth. The sudden intrusion has you choking a little as he hits the back of your throat, spit gathering around the corners of your mouth while you sputter around his dick - jaw going slack and his hand finding its way into your hair, fisting it as he starts to fuck into your mouth.

Holding your head in place his cock hits the back of your throat, steals your breath. Your nose is buried in his pubes, inhaling his scent - sweat and musk - more saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, wetting his locks. You relax your throat and whimper around his dick, the way he uses you has fresh wetness spreading between your folds, squelching sounds filling the air as your finger is joined by a second, rubbing tight circles over your clit.

You moan around his cock, strangled noises escaping your throat while your rock back against your fingers, choking around the head of his cock hitting your throat.

"Shh, shh shh", he tuts, a little breathless, "Daddy's got ya, mh pretty girl? Lemme just--"

Tangerine's right hand lets go off your hair and then you can feel it sneak past your back, a feather-light touch brushing over the silk of your dress. It travels further and then grabs your ass, the sudden rough touch has you moaning around his dick once more. Your eyelids flutter as he pulls the fabric up up up, fists it and exposes you to whoever or whatever may rush past the passenger side's window. Your fingers speed up at the thought while his hand kneads the flesh of your cheeks.

"Fuckin' pretty", he hums, taking another quick look at the way your head bobs up and down his cock, "All over my cock like that, pretty fuckin' slut."

His hand wanders further down and before you can process it, one of his fingers circles your hole, feeling your slick and your plump folds. "Jesus Christ", he nearly groans, "You just love sucking cock, don't ya?"

That you do, whining around his base as the thick head of his dick hits the back of your throat again, with your fingers still working your clit. "Let me help you with that, love", and with that he pushes one finger in, up to his golden onyx ring, nestles it snugly between your hot walls. They clench around him and the sensation - the lingering promise of more - has you squirming a little.

Tangerine gives you what you want, need - finger curling a little, digits brushing over your spongy hot walls, before he slooowly pulls it back out. It circles your hole once more, quickly joined by a second, before he pushes them in again, starting to fuck you fast.

You moan, feet kicking a little and eyes tearing up at the sensation, with his dick pushing further into your throat and your fingers rubbing your clit, quickly has your muscles clench and cunt squirting.

"Yeah, just right 'ere, love, huh? Gettin'ya all loose 'n wet f'me? Such a good girl, aren't ya?", obscene sounds fill the air as he fucks your slick back into you, bottoms his fingers out, rubbing over the spot that has you seeing stars.

Tangerine moans deep in his chest as his cock starts to fuck into your mouth again and you let him use your throat gladly while his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, accompanied by the way your fingers flick over your clit rapidly.

The lack of fresh oxygen has you bucking against his hand, choking and sputtering around his cock that rams deeply in your throat but your stomach still flutters with it, lust igniting your loins and limbs tingling with it.

You can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, heart racing in your chest. Your fucking close and he seems to notice, too, his moans barely reaching your ears through the blood pumping and engine roaring. Tangerine nestles his fingers deep deep inside of you, rubbing over your walls and the spot that has you seeing stars, eyes falling shut and moaning against his cock.

It is all too much and your chest heaves as you finally cum, muscles clenching around his fingers, hips stuttering. His dick pulls back a little, tip resting hot and heavy against your tongue and then, his movements still.

"Open up your pretty mouth, doll, lemme see", he rasps, barely keeps an eye out to the street and you comply, fucked out mind making everything a little hazy, a little slow. Your jaw goes slack as you open your mouth, giving him a perfect view of his dick resting on your tongue.

Tangerine looks at you: mascara pooling beneath your eyes, lips swollen and red and jaw wet with spit and then comes too, shoots ropes of hot cum into your mouth. He watches the way it paints your tongue white, some of it landing on your upper lip, slooowly dripping down, running over your chin.

You swallow and then your tongue darts out, licks over your lips and then darts out, licks his cock clean, too.

Slowly, with your mind still foggy and limbs a little heavy already, you get back up. Your fingers brush through his remaining cum on your chin, wiping it away and letting them slip into your mouth, licking them clean. "Jesus, love", Tangerine's voice is a little coarse, gaze darting back and forth between your mouth and the street, as he carefully pulls his fingers out of you and your body closer instead.

You yelp, pressing yourself onto him, of your knees resting between his spread legs. None of you fucking care anymore, lust tugging at your brains dangerously, daringly. His hand, fingers still wet with your juices, brushes over your waist, grabs your ass and you lean in, lick over his throat, tasting his sweat and cologne.

"Can't wait for you to fuck me", you rasp, hands brushing over his chest, his necklace jingling, down down down, hand brushing over his cock and carefully putting it away, his clothing back in place.

Tangerine huffs, google assistant chiming out a direction, indicator clicking loudly as he sets it and then his hand comes up quickly, grabs your chin hard and holds your head in place. You look at him, deer in the headlights, holding your breath and then he's pulling you close, locks his lips with yours. He can taste himself on your tongue licking into your mouth, pulls you close.

You don't know how you made it to the fucking hotel alive, with Tangerine's hands roaming over your body, lips locking occasionally while he was speeding down the streets, cutting corners and red lights.

The two of you barely make it through the lobby and into the elevator, until Tangerine is onto you once more, presses your back flat against the cold, bronze metal. "I'll fuck ya so good, love", his dick is already hard again, pressing against you through the linen of his trousers and the satin of your dress, "'S gon' be all you'll be thinkin'bout for the next weeks." In a little more than an hour you will come to realize that he is right. You will be thinking about it for weeks. But now, there are only his lips roaming over your throat, occupying your mind and letting you drift back to a hazy, lustful state, with his hands feeling up your hips, your waist.

Eventually, the elevator piiings lazily and the two of you rush out it, like you are on the run from your own lust, hand clutching his as you quickly make your way down the hall to your suite. You unlock the door and turn the dimmed lights on inside. The room's just like you left it, guns and cash on the coffee table, soft light coming from the bedroom on the left. The window there is still opened, a soft breeze rolling in through the light curtains.

Tangerine throws the door shut behind himself and immediately grabs you by your waist, pulls you onto him, hand on your back on your ass as he leans down, devours you with a kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth while he manoeuvres you backwards through your suite. Your hands dart out, catching the doorframe of the bedroom and you grab it hard, using it as leverage as you push back against him, your crotch rubbing against his. Tangerine grins against your lips and grabs your hips hard, makes you moan into the kiss.

He breaks it, chest heaving a little. "Fuck, love, imma ruin ya." Your breath hitches at that and your hands let go of the doorframe, wrapping around his neck instead like you're on some sort of fucking autopilot. "Yeah fuck, please", you whisper.

It takes Tangerine a moment, gaze growing a little soft before the beast takes over again, a gleaming dark hue turning the blue into an endless ocean and he hoists you up, carries you over to the bed.

He is carrying you like a caveman would his bagged prey and he tears at your dress just the same, one hand shoving the straps down your shoulders. Then he's onto the zipper, sliiides it down and throws you onto the bed.

You land onto the duvet with a soft thud, tits bouncing a little and his gaze follows the movement hungrily, before he tugs at the hem of your dress, pulls it down and throws it to the ground carelessly.

Tangerine just watches, gaze hungrily moving over your naked form, slooowly starts to undress himself. His slender fingers unbutton the silky shirt, button by button in an agonizingly slow speed. You know he's deliberately taking his time with you and it works, has your body quivering with anticipation and lust, one of your own hands running up your body, cupping your tit. He lifts a brow as he watches you tweaking your nipple and the haughty disdain has your head swimming, legs falling apart. "Please", you whisper, pussy aching for his touch, "--Need you."

The silk falls open, still hugging his shoulder and Tangerine continues watching you, playing with a ring on his finger, just like he's playing with you. It's cruel but it has lust building up in your belly, shooting arousal down between your legs and making fresh wetness pool between your folds in a way that you just know, that his touch will be heavenly.

And yet, impatience taking over, you mewl and in a desperate attempt for any sort of attention - for him to just fucking touch you again - you scramble to your knees, stretching out on the mattress and pressing your body flat onto it, ass high in the air. You know that he'll see it: your wet cunt, glistening in the dim light, hole clenching desperately around nothing. You feel exposed and at his mercy alone, and the degradation and danger of being unarmed like this in the presence of a killer, has your heart racing, thighs rubbing together for any sort of fucking friction.

Tangerine bellows out a laugh, surprised and dark, can't really hide either how turned on he is, and then his hand comes down on your ass. The sound bounces off the walls and has your bods jolting forward, first a gasp and then a moan falling from your lips, hands fisting the sheets. "Ya dirty fuckin' whore", he groans, hand groping your already reddening flesh. You can hear the silk flowing down to the ground and then he is pressing his crotch against you, fine linen against your wet cunt.

It's electrifying, the rather rough material pressing against your soft skin, your slick immediately wetting the fabric as your start to roll your hips against it, rutting over his clothed dick. Tangerine's cock is so so hard, hotly pulsing through the linen and you can feel its curve pressing against your pussy. You whimper, hips stuttering.

"Jesus Christ, love, can feel ya through my fucking pants -- lemme see", Tangerine groans and then grabs your hips hard, stalling your desperate movement, shoving them forward a little. You can feel his gaze dancing over your cunt, hear him whistle lowly, hands spreading your ass cheeks, assessing your slick. One of them comes loose and then --

He gives your cunt a light slap - the slight pain and degradation making your head swim - has you squirming on the mattress, a whiny Daddy, please escaping your lips. Your mind fogs up, all hazy with lust and his perfume, aching your back for him, pressing your chest flat against the sheets.

Tangerine pouts at you, eyes gleaming playfully. "D'you wan'it that bad, love?", and you nod nod nod, wiggling your hips as you chant - a desperate Yes yes yes escaping your lips, muffled by the mattress - hands uselessly darting out for any leverage.

His middle finger runs through your folds and you tremble, goosebumps erupting on your arms, spreading all over your body. He spreads your slick and his other hand comes up, kneads the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks further apart. "Always fuckin' wet f'me, innit? Picture perfect cunt ya got, love."

You mewl, throwing a glance over your shoulder to see him watching your hole clench around nothing. His eyes gleam. "Shit", you huff out as his finger brushes over your clit, feet curling a little and he grins smugly - Bastard - and gives your ass another sharp slap. You groan and then his hands are off you, making work of his trousers.

You watch him get fully undressed and your mouth waters at the sight. Tangerine's body is covered in scars, smaller round ones from bullets and larger, longer ones from knives and nasty fist fights and you want to crawl to him on your knees, kiss and lick them, worship them and him - his body, his tool of death - like he's your very personal reincarnation of Ares.

His dick springs free as he drops his boxers, completely exposing his muscular body to you, dusted on body hair and tattoos and scars scars scars and in the moment, that you can see precum glistening on the tip of his cock, you realize that you had already missed it. You fucking missed his dick. The thought has warmth spreading on your cheeks.

There's a light pat on your hip. "C'mon love, turn around. Wanna see your face while I fuck you nice and proper", he hums and your eyelids flutter, humming deeply in your throat at the proposition, turning around and laying on your back.

The mattress dips as he sinks down on his knees, chest flushed a little - the golden necklace dangling between your bodies - and then he's onto you, crawls over your body like an animal, leaves sloppy kisses on your skin, tongue licking over your nipples, stache tickling.

"Oh fuck", you huff, hands darting out and finding his hair, gently tugging at it. Tangerine's lips move over your throat and he sucks, makingyou gasp, throwing your head back as he marks you up.

"Spread ya legs f'me, sweetie", he rasps against your jaw and you do, knees falling apart. He grabs his dick with one hand, the other one supporting his own weight next to your head, rubs himself along your folds, using your slick as lube. "There ya fuckin' go", he huffs and then the thick head of his cock presses against your hole.

"Fuck, yes", you whimper, hot with anticipation, one hand leaving his hair and clutching around his shoulder. And then, he finally - fucking finally - puuushes in, your hole stretching around his girth a little, dull pain spreading excitement across your body.

Tangerine groans. It's a low and honest sound, has his chest vibrating against yours while he looks down to where your bodies meet. "Shit, fuckin' hell", he says, hand abandoning his dick as he slowly slides into you, fills you up and spreads your walls, grabbing your inner thigh instead. The way he spreads your legs is delicious and you hum, his dick is completely seated inside of you.

He lifts his gaze once more, looks at you. His eyes are dark, a stormy stormy sea, a few loose strands falling into his face, curls of his hair freeing themselves from the hair gel. He looks like a fucking god. "Fuck", you say, lowly, hole fluttering around him, stomach tingling at the sight.

"Ya cunt's so fuckin' tight, love", he growls and you can hear, feel it on your skin, that he is having a hard time holding back, "'S perfect, Jesus Christ."

Tangerine rolls his hips, once, twice and you moan, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulder. "'S good for ya, too, love?", his nose brushes over yours, lips ghosting over your cheek. "Yeah, fuck", you huff, and then he's onto you, licks over your lips with his tongue and shoves it into your mouth, invites himself in. You lick over it, lips locking with his, stealing the air from both of your lungs. It is a sloppy kiss charged with energy and lust, your hands tugging at his curls, making the thrusts of his dick more feral, as he forces himself in deeper, groaning into your mouth. In return you moan, chest heaving against his, tits rubbing over the muscular skin.

His lips brush over the corner of your mouth, breathes against it, stache tingling a little as they move down to your throat, kissing and nibbling at the skin, marking you up.

"Fuck", you gasp at the stinging sensation, pulling his hair and he groans.

It feels nice; the way he is fucking you - you push away the thought that it's dangerously close to actually making love - the way he feels inside of you, how his body feels against yours, but it's also not enough. You need more.

A whine escapes your mouth, all desperate and needy and breathless and his movements still for a second.

Then, Tangerine looks up at you, dark blue eyes meeting yours. "Tell me what you want", he whispers, hand groping your thigh and dick buried deep deep inside of you. You can feel it twitch inside of you and your breath hitches. "Want -- want you to fuck me", you say quietly, "Like - hard."

"Aint' ya just a fuckin' dream, poppet", he growls and then his lips are unto you once more, licking into your mouth, teeth catching your lower lip; licking and kissing your lips until their sore while picking up a faster rhythm, pounding into you.

Tangerine eventually breaks away from you, leaves you panting and straightens up until he's kneeling between your legs - rolls his hips into you with his dick fucking in and out your hole, accompanied by an obscene squelching sound. One of his hands grabs your thigh hard, rings digging into the flesh, and then he's hoisting it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder and you moan at both: how deep his cock now pushes into you and the way Tangerine looks.

A thin layer of sweat covers his cheeks and his upper body, chest and cheeks flushed, a few strands of hair falling into his face as his brows are furrowed, lips slightly parted. You can hear him breathe heavily, occasionally moaning when your walls clench around his cock, squeezing him. He looks like a fucking porn star, with his defined muscles working beneath the skin and the golden jewellery, a soft summer breeze rolling in through the opened window, toying with his hair. Tangerine's gaze is glued to his dick that rhythmically pumps in and out of you, watches the way your juices squelch around the base of his cock, balls slapping against your wet skin.

His free hand runs up your belly and cups one of your tits, squeezes it, rolls the nipple between his fingers - the bracelet around his wrist jingles and the rings are cold against your skin. You hum deeply, breath ragged and fingers clawing at the sheets desperate for any leverage, while his deep thrusts throw you back and forth like a fucking ragdoll, tits bouncing and gasps falling from your lips.

Your mouth falls agape, watching Tangerine through hooded eyes and dark lashes and his gaze crawls up up up your body until it meets yours. It is accompanied by his hand, ditching your tit, and brushing up your neck, cupping your jaw and then falling in the crook beneath it, pressing down. The sudden lack of air has the muscles in your legs tensing and he feels it, too, mischief illuminating his face, his eyes, as you gasp for air. You know he could kill you then and there, watch you as your lights fade out and as fucked up as it is, it has your rutting your hips against him, spurring him on.

Tangerine furrows his brows and picks up a quicker rhythm, hand closing in tighter around your throat, rings pressing down onto your windpipe, and you lay your head back, feeling the stretch as he's choking you. The lack of fresh oxygen has your chest heaving, body surrendering to him and the way his cock pumps into your hole fast and deep, lust igniting your nerves. Tangerine can feel you clenching around his dick, wetting his trimmed pubic hair as you squirt, slick dripping down his balls and staining the sheets below. The beast inside him roars, thrums against the bars of its cage, his ribs and he sees your eyelids fluttering, cheeks prettily reddened.

"Atta girl", he groans, fingers giving in a little and you suck in a few deep breaths, before he presses them back down again. It's too soon and your hands dart up, clutching in around his wrist, bracelet jostling and clinking under your touch.

The cage breaks.

Suddenly, quickly, with the force and speed of a predatory animal, Tangerine lets go off your throat and flicks his wrist, catches both of yours in an iron grip and pins them above your head, down onto the mattress. His body follows the stretch of yours, bending over you, holding his own weight up with a hand that crashes down next to your chest. He is feral and it should scare you, especially as air floods your system again, lifts your mind out of your foggy state just a little, but it just doesn't no fight or flight kicking in. The way Tangerine hovers over you now has your leg on his shoulder bend, too, allowing his dick to fuck into you deeper, delicate pain from the stretch of your back igniting your loins.

Ragged breaths escape his throat while he pounds, ruts into you and you lose yourself in both, the sound of his utter pleasure and the way your body feels: on fire, chest tight with your approaching orgasm and raw lust, pure want, that chews up the ends of your nerves, has your limbs tingling.

Tangerine's hand keeps your wrists in that iron grip of his as he rolls his hips into you, dick hitting your cervix, his fingers digging into the flesh of your wrists. You throw your head back, gasping with each of his thrusts and his eyes follow your movement hungrily, groans as your eyes roll back. There's a strong pull in your abdomen and your hole flutters around his cock, his balls slap against your wet skin.

"Fuck fuck fuck", you whine, high pitched moans falling from your hips as he ruts into you, "I'm gonna cum, oh shit --"

Tangerine's eyes fall shut, a throaty moan erupting deep from his chest when your muscles tighten around him. "Yeah, shit love -- that's it, fuckin' cum f'me", he rasps, forehead coming down to a rest on your shoulder.

And you do after a few more of his deep thrusts, whining and legs kicking a little, shakes erupting in your chest as you press against him. Everything goes white as you ride your orgasm out on his dick, moaning and gasping as he does, too, shoots thick and hot ropes of cum into you, painting your walls and pulsing deep inside of you.

Tangerine moans, coarse and raw and his chest heaves, presses his nose into the crook of your neck - but you barely notice it, too far gone, mouth agape and legs shaking.

It takes you a while to come down again, eyelids fluttering open lazily. There's a hand on your cheek, a deep hum near your ear. "Welcome back, love", Tangerine says quietly and then, "Ya did so good for me, eh?" You mewl, stretching your legs a little. Your whole body feels sore, his cum leaking out of you and into the sheets. All you want to so is to get up and clean yourself up, but your legs are so so heavy and you just feel so so tired. Tangerine seems to notice, too.

"You stay here, darlin', imma get you something to clean you up", Tangerine says, voice coarse but soft and he gets up, just as a fresh breeze rolls in through the curtains, blows them up and sends them flying a little. The forecast prognosed heavy rainfall for next week. The air already smells like it a little - damp and mushy.

The breeze cools your sweaty skin, has you sighing with content while you watch Tangerine's naked form as he is walking to your bathroom, muscles in his legs and butt working nicely with each step.

***

It has been over a week and this is his third night. It starts to feel like a fucking stake out.

He feels incredibly silly. Silly for coming here again. Silly for lying to Lemon - again. Silly for ordering two Margaritas. Silly for drinking both.

Tangerine leans against the bar, elbows planted firmly on the sticky wood, smoking a cigarette. The band, same musicians, play a soft and melancholic tango. The air had cooled down a little after yesterday’s rain and maybe, just maybe, that'll be the summer's first soft goodbye before it will go down in a last great huzzah with a hot Indian summer before autumn takes over the city.

He wonders if he will still be in Amsterdam by then, if he and Lemon will watch the leaves fall. There is an offer for a job in Japan and he is considering to take it. He'll have to talk to Lemon about it.

"Anything else for you, Sir?", the bartender asks. And Tangerine nods, orders another Margarita. The bartender takes the empty glasses away and he stares at the wood. Oh, he's just so bloody fucking silly, isn't he?

He takes another drag from his cigarette, shifts his weight from one foot to another and rubs his eyes. She won't come. He knows.

She just won't. Tangerine did have a suspicion who she was, has heard stories about her father and he knew, as soon as he had laid eyes on her, that he was in big, big trouble. He wonders if he had already taken her away, wanting better for his daughter than a no-good ordinary killer. Did not want the danger in his life that came with a man, who potentially could be holding his daughter for ransom at some point or worse, could get her killed.

He gets it, though. He would probably do just the same.

"There you go, Sir", the bartender says and Tangerine just nods, suddenly feels very very exhausted and just barely notices that something, someone is moving next to him.

"Can you still afford to buy me one, too?", a familiar voice says, "Or did you burn it all on car insurance?" He chuckles, feels a sudden burst of energy surging through his veins, straightens back up and slowly turns around to her.

"Wasn't my fault, 'prick was driving like a fuckin' loony."

She chuckles and the noise makes his head swim, a strange fluttering feeling in his stomach. He wants to tear his chest open and claw at it, rip it out. That is how much it fucking scares him. How much she scares him.

"Wasn't sure if you were coming back", she says, casually, calmly like she thought about it so much she's just used to it by now.

"I'm not leavin' that soon, love", he says, signals the bartender that another Margarita is in order.

"Where you going?"

"Tokyo, love. Probably -- most likely."

"Come back in one piece then", her smile is genuine. And he knows, that he just has to now.

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine smut #tangerine x y/n #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine imagine #my writing #smut #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #aaron taylor johnson

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aviamulier · 1 month

Text

𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐈𝐈 𝐉𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐧

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𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗁, 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍?

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗑𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗒, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝗂𝗇𝖵, 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖱𝖯𝖥! (𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍, 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌) 18+ 𝖬𝖣𝖭𝖨!

𝖺/𝗇: 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈, 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍. 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗂𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁, 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌. 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒!

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 6,713

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“I can’t do this anymore.”

You’ve been locked away in your room, away from people, away from everything in the last few months only going out to the supermarket or to smoke a cigarette, making your days lonelier and bluer as time went on. You felt like all you did was wasting your whole life, shutting yourself away like a hermit and for what? For art? Twenty-two and having the life of a ninety-year old lady because of your own stupidity.

According to you, the truth about your secluded life was nothing more than the expression of your artistic self. Torturing yourself as a martyr for your work, which at first in your mind was a great idea. Needless to say, this opinion changed quite quickly over time.

Unfortunately, humans are social creatures and you had to admit that to yourself, sadly, by the time you managed to realize this, you had taken up this new lifestyle so deeply that it seemed that you would no longer have the opportunity to live the life of a normal young adult.

At first your friends tried to invite you to places, to have fun or simply just talk, but after a while they stopped trying, realizing that the situation was unsalvageable and they just had to wait until you grow out of this weird phase.

And how did you spend these dark months? Aside from self-pity, crying, and self-torture—writing, of course. You have always lived for your art, a passionate writer lost in her own little world and the people around you enjoyed it. That's why the seclusion happened surprisingly, since you've always been part of a welcoming community, until you started to long for more... Although your friends and family appreciated your work, it just wasn't enough. You needed like-minded people, to break out of the old habits, and so the decision was made to try to finish your “big project", “the novel” that’ll lead you into a new life becoming a part of the community you have always looked up to.

Well, that didn't happen, instead you successfully destroyed both your mental and physical well-being, locking yourself up between four walls with the 200 page word document that became your biggest enemy over time. Just now you were staring at it with glassy eyes. The blinds were down, so you were in a dark room with only the computer providing most of the light. It was the middle of winter in Amsterdam, you moved here years ago because of a friend's recommendation and you, as a really impulsive person, after very little persuasion, were already on the first plane to the Netherlands. You never really regretted it, but you also knew that you needed more stimulation, which is why your current situation was doubly unfortunate.

You looked at the clock in the corner of the computer. 10:34 p.m. You sighed and closed your laptop as you stood up from the messy table, putting your phone in your pocket and headed for your tiny balcony. There, lighting a cigarette, you stared at the dark little street illuminated by yellow street lights with a bored expression on your face. It was cold, you put your arms around you to keep yourself warm, and when you realized it wasn't going to help prevent a nice little pneumonia, you stubbed out the cigarette and walked back to your depressive bunker.

You went to the kitchen to make some tea, the light was already on. Wait...?

"Ah, my dear, how are you?" A sweet and almost deafening voice with a thick russian accent came from behind you, to which you jumped in surprise. Turning back slowly, you saw none other than Maya. She was part of your friend group, although you were never really close with her personally, which is perhaps one of the reasons why you were surprised by her presence in your home.

“I used the bathroom, I hope it's not a problem." she sighed and looked around, not waiting for you to process the situation. "You know, you really should do something about this place, it's truly just sad, even I'm feeling down because of this atmosphere." She laughed and continued her rambling. Oh yeah, she talks a lot, a very energetic and cheerful person which in this case provided a comical contrast between the two of you. You were still dumbstruck, feeling like this time you were actually losing your mind as you watched her walking into your kitchen again, past you to take a seat in the little space.

“What are you doing here, if I may ask?" You asked in a low, hoarse voice, your throat not used to speaking. "Oh my, you look bad." Honest much? Maya dodged the question, looking you over. Your eyes followed her gaze, looking down at your outfit. A knitted, dark, striped hoodie and a pair of long plaid pajama pants, both in very poor condition. You think that your face must have sunken a lot too and you haven't taken a bath in a few days.

You shook your head to keep your thoughts from drifting from your previous question and looked at Maya again. Making eye contact, she sighed as if you were the one who should feel bad for wanting to know the nature of her presence in your flat. “…Tea?” You asked, prepared for a possibly long conversation, since random acquaintances don't often show up on your doorstep. Maya nodded and started. “First of all, sorry for the sudden appearance-“ “How did you even get in?” you interrupted, to which she raised an eyebrow on your manners questioningly and pointed to your spare key resting on the table, which you keep in a vase in front of your door. You formed an "o" with your mouth and mumbled a soft "sorry" under your breath as you started making the tea. She croaked and started again. "So, as I said, sorry to appear unofficially, but lately a lot of people have been worried about you because of your new...lifestyle and I took it upon myself to change that." Wow.

"Why?" you asked with your back to her, wondering why of all times this was the one. "I'm worried about you, too, of course." she stated with not much emotion in her voice which immediately made you skeptical. Jesus, have I become that paranoid? You turned around and took out two mugs, which you placed on the table in front of Maya, then slowly poured tea into them. The oppressive silence encouraged the girl to speak and added to what she had said so far. "Plus, I'm really bored and you know...Daan would be more relaxed too if the circle of friends was complete." Ah! Now I understand. Maya only came to bring you back from the dead as a hero, so that she could show off to her crush. It didn't necessarily offend you, now at least her intentions are more clear.

What perhaps bothered you more was why your closest friends didn't think to visit here. The passage is clearly not too difficult, as it turned out today. But on second thought, as many times as you declined their invitation, it's no wonder that no one wanted to come.

You also sat down next to her, sipping your tea and staring at the table in thought. "So, what’s your big plan to bring me back to life?" you asked avoiding eye contact. Her eyes lit up at that, seemingly happy that you were open to the idea. "This weekend there will be a more relaxed gathering at Sara's studio" Sara was a close friend of yours, a developing musician, really talented, but not too passionate which you never understood in her. Artists mind without an artists soul is what you always said. Weird. "You could walk in there like a guest of honor!" she joked which drew a quiet chuckle from you. "And also..." Maya began in a calmer voice. "There are new faces in the group, it would pull you back into civilization." you nodded, after all this time you realized that what you were doing was not life, you just simply didn't know how to take the initiative. "Fine, I'll be there on the weekend." Maya almost started jumping in joy, which is not bad, but maybe less expected from a Russian person, but let's ignore the stereotypes.

She jumped up from her seat, the sudden movement startling you slightly. "I'll pick you up on Saturday, I'll text when. Also put on something nicer, so they don't mistake you for a homeless person." she laughed loudly. "Well kiss kiss bunny, we'll get drunk on the weekend!" she basically sang that last part and before you could say anything else she stormed out the front door leaving you with a full cup of tea, which she didn’t bother drinking. You sighed and leaned on the table in resignation. It's going to be a long weekend…

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You waited for Maya, freezing in front of the house, with a cigarette in your hand. The depressing vibe of the housing estate only made you less interested in having fun, but if you've already made a promise, you won't cancel it suddenly. Your outfit was a bit reckless, given the winter cold. A thin jacket over a hoodie, a short skirt, and tights didn’t exactly keep the chill out. With your social skills, it looks like your common-sense has also disappeared.

You looked at your watch, it was 8:11 p.m. and you agreed to meet in front of the house at eight. You sighed in irritation when a car finally appeared in front of you with Maya in it. "Get in loser we're going shopping!" she shouted, to which you rolled your eyes and wondered if anyone had noticed the loudness. You awkwardly got into the car and looked at Maya. She was sitting in the car in a pink miniskirt, tights and a huge fur coat, as if you were going somewhere extra cool instead of a downtrodden studio. "I thought I mentioned wearing something decent, didn't I?" she asked, to which I looked at her questioningly. She pouted, but shrugged it off with a sigh. "No problem, this will do for now." and she stepped on the gas.

You had to grip your seat in fright at how fast you were speeding. "Anyway, the others don't know you're coming, so you'll be more of a surprise." she said casually and calmly. "We're a little late, basically the meetup was scheduled for 17:00, so maybe they don't count on me either." she laughed as you were holding onto dear life as she was driving.

When you arrived, you almost sprinted out of the car, promising yourself that you would never let Maya drive you anywhere again. She, on the other hand, walked to you at a leisurely pace, comfortably, grinning. "Ready to restore your social life, you hermit?" You nodded, still in shock. The two of you walked upstairs. Much more anxiety gripped you than you expected. The world around you was spinning, what if they don't even want to meet you and you’ll just ruin the whole party, making everything awkward?

Suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder. You were already in front of the door and Maya turned towards you. "Everything will be fine, don't worry. You've been missed, so much." she smiled kindly at you, and you hoped she would continue to help you when you were inside. Maya knocked on the door and your hands were already sweaty with worry and anxiety. Shortly after Sara opened the door with a very surprised expression on her face. The party was already going on behind her, there were a lot more people than you expected. “Maya and…Y/N?” for a moment you thought she was going to send you away, you were ready to run away and never come back when her face spread into a huge smile. "I missed you so much, honey! Why didn't you say you were coming, I would have thrown a much bigger party!" she gave you a huge hug, and you froze for a moment, realizing that you hadn't made any physical contact with anyone either in the last few months so you didn't really know where to put this. "And you're not even happy to see me now?" complained Maya, not in a serious tone and Sara hugged her too.

Sara invited the two of you into the crowded place. Not many people noticed your presence, which you were grateful for, but regardless, you didn't feel calmer thanks to so many people. You were about to turn to Maya to ask her for help when she ran towards Daan with a big smile to greet him with a hug. There goes my comfort person for the night…You felt a little bad and abandoned that she just left you like that, but Sara, on the other hand, pulled you into the crowd so you could greet everyone. Maybe I should have stayed at home? Fortunately, everyone welcomed you and you managed to catch up on almost everyone's lives. You were also pretty self-concious about your appearance and even though you knew the others noticed, you were glad that no one pointed out your physical condition, with the pale face and thinner body, everyone was just grateful that you were still alive at all.

Later on Maya and Daan also came up to you so that she can finally brag about the fact that she was the one who got you out of your shell, which you thanked her finally, she deserved it.

There were many new faces in the studio, but you didn't feel ready to get in touch with them yet. The little interaction you had with people was already too much, so Sara didn't force their introduction either.

Overall, the party went well, the atmosphere was good, the people were good and so was the booze, which soon showed on you. When people were too much for you, you went out for a cigarette. Wait...did I bring cigarettes? The realization hit you like a truck when you were already outside. "Fuck." How drunk am I? You completely forgot to bring anything with you, because you cleverly left your bag at home, so you leaned against the wall and stared at the street, letting the loneliness come back into you, a now familiar feeling.

Something was moving beside you, but you didn't really care, too lost in your own little world to notice someone staring. "Wil je een sigaret? (Would you like a cigarette?)" asked a deep voice next to you which made you jump. People should really stop scaring me like this. The voice came from a tall, handsome, blond guy with glasses. He had a funny haircut and a mustache that grabbed your attention. He was dressed for the weather, unlike you, in a dark jacket, baggy pants and a baseball cap. You saw him at the party, which calmed you down on some level but you were still skeptical about the man. You didn't speak dutch very well, but you managed to figure out what he was asking you so you nodded cautiously.

He gave you one and after you thanked him (along with the lighter) the conversation fell into an uncomfortable silence. “So…” he began in english with a strong accent, figuring that you didn’t speak dutch considering in what language you thanked him, to which you turned your head towards him. "Are you that living dead girl?"

You asked in a quiet voice raising a questioning eyebrow. "Living dead girl?" "Your friends talked about you. Quite a lot actually. They said you shut yourself away for a while." you blushed a little at that, it filled you with joy that your friends spoke about you, even if in a way that was maybe a little less flattering. "Then, yes. It's me.” you blew out the smoke. He turned to you with an inquisitive smile. "Why?"

“Why did I close myself off?" you asked avoiding his gaze. Peripherally you saw him nod. "I haven't been able to find my place for a while. I felt that they were not my kinds of people and that in order to find my company, I had to finish my book in order to become a recognized writer and therefore be accepted into a better circle for me. No one here understands what I write about, the passion, emotions, thoughts. I'm lost. At least I feel that way.” you lowered your head, looking at the toe of your shoe. "Sorry, I'm just rambling..." "No, no. I asked and I think I understand." you looked up at him, his gaze softened, looking at you with a kind expression. You don't know if it was the alcohol or the months away from people that made him look such a comforting presence, but you certainly weren't complaining.

“But…then how come you're here?” you shrugged. "It's not healthy to be away from people for so long. I was afraid too, I'm glad that Maya stopped by." you smiled to yourself looking at the cigarette in your hand, maybe you're not as lost as you think you are.

"I think I know how you feel.” you lifted you head at that. “I was alone for a long time too" you watched him carefully, with an inquisitive look. He smiled at your curious gaze, which made you blush slightly. "Then I managed to find my family and I'm much happier now, so don't worry... het komt goed (It’s going to be okay.).”

You smiled at that, sincerely, finding comfort in his words and presence, then it occurred to you that you didn't even know his name yet. "What's your name by the way?" you asked suddenly, embarassed by the fact that you’re so inconsiderate. "Joost." he replied and held out his hand which you gladly shook. “Y/N.” you formally introduced yourself finally.

You stood outside for a while, in a comfortable silence. The alcohol made you tired, so much that you already decided, you were not going back to that party, it was enough for now. When the winter evening was too cold for you, you spoke up. "I think it's time for me to go home." you said quietly and straightened up. Joost looked at you. "Just like that?" you nodded and let the cigarette fall from your cold hand. He must have been wondering about something as he stared out at the dark street and then turned towards you.

“Let me walk you home, hm? It’s not safe for a girl like you at this hour.” You had to admit that he was right, but you didn’t want to ruin his fun just because you had enough of people already. “You really don’t have to.” He just smiled softly. “I know.” You flashed a grateful smile towards him and after that, you said your goodbyes to almost everyone, Sara was sad that you were going home so soon, but she understood your situation, so she said goodbye with a tight hug. Of course not before she gave you a knowing look as she glanced at Joost next to you, to which you just rolled your eyes and set off together with Joost. Oh, you forgot to say bye to Maya…oh well…

While you were waiting for the uber, Joost came closer to you and put an arm around you. You jumped at that and he just laughed. "You’re going to catch a cold." he said gently, caressing your back, seemingly still somewhat under the influence of alcohol.

The uber arrived quickly, you told the driver your address and you were already on your way home. Looking out the window and listening to the quiet radio, you slowly drifted off thinking about todays outing, your friends and Joost. Thinking about how kind he is and how lucky you are that he didn’t let you go home all alone. It made you consider that you should be much more grateful for the people around you, the old and new ones too. You woke up to Joost's voice trying to gently help you out of the car. "Don't fall asleep on me." He smiled and offered a hand to get you out of the vehicle. In your sleepy state the cold air was even more uncomfortable, so you tried to hurry into the house's warmth as soon as possible. You mindlessly pulled Joost with you too while the two of you suffered yourselves up the stairs until you reached the door of your apartment. There you thought to yourself, standing outside of your flat awkwardly, both of you waiting for the other to say something. He seemed a bit challenged too, not knowing what’s next. It didn’t feel like saying goodbye to Joost just yet, after all he went through all the trouble to get you home safely and before you could even get to the end of your logistics you glanced up at him pulling him out of his thoughts and asked. "Would you like to come in for a drink?" He was surprised that that was what you chose out of the possibilities, but he didn’t mind of course and gladly agreed.

The flat was really cold, so cold you couldn’t even tell the differences between the winter from outside and your own home. You looked around and realized that you didn’t really tidy up before you left. Embarrassing. "Sorry, it's quite a mess. I wasn't really expecting a guest." he just waved it off. "It’s okay, mine looks even worse." Arriving in the kitchen, you looked around to see what kind of drink you could actually offer him, the truth was that the words came suddenly, almost spontaneously, when you offered him your company just now, so you have to suffer the consequences. You found two bottles of wine in the pantry. "Do you like your wine red or white?" you asked and soon the answer came. "White will be fine." you nodded, really just to yourself and laid it out on the table. You got two glasses, and then you sat down next to Joost, who undertook to uncork the wine. You only just now thought about your current situation, except for Maya, there hasn’t been any guests in this apartment for a long time now, not even before your seclusion. Especially not a man. Never a man. This fact triggers your anxiety and you suddenly become very hyperaware of the things around you. You never really had much luck with the other sex and your current position was largely caused by alcohol too, so the question is what to do now. All of these thoughts and feelings were probably very visible on your face, because you noticed that Joost was staring at you

“So, Y/N…” he began as he poured the wine. "how is your book?" you almost audibly grumbled under your breath, you didn't really want to think about that right now, but you answered anyway. "Ongoing..."

He quickly sensed that this was probably not the best topic at the moment, so he just nodded. You drank the wine in silence for a while when you realized you knew nothing about him. Where are my manners?

"And uh…what do you do for work?" you asked a little awkwardly, the whole setting was so far-fetched, you felt an unpleasant atmosphere in the air. But Joost answered comfortably and casually, as if he completely ignored your awkwardness. "I'm a musician," he said with a smile on his face, his eyes lit up. "Wow, so that's how you know Sara." the realization hit you. "That's so cool, I've always had a lot of respect for musicians. What kind of music do you make?” From then on, the conversation went much more smoothly, and you relaxed too. With Joost, your passion for art matched, which filled you with happiness, finding a likeminded person. You talked about music, books, he even showed you some of his own work, after which you spent the whole time fangirling when you realized that you had heard one on the radio once. The time passed quickly, you drank the red wine too in the meantime and Joost looked out the window halfly. "Look...it's snowing." He stated somewhat drunkenly. You looked out too, he was right, it snowed. Not just a little, it was almost a full blizzard outside, which wouldn't normally be a problem, except when you looked at Joost and then back at the weather you realized that he probably won’t be able to get home soon so without any more thinking, you suggested. "Sleep here." Joost looked at you, in a similar state to you, and agreed with a simple shrug. “Okay.” That was easy.

The only question was where. You had a beat-up mattress that you could put on the floor and use it as a place to sleep, but when you suggested your idea to Joost, he protested vehemently that you will not sleep on the floor in this weather, so you both realized that you had to sleep on your bed. The two of you. Alone. On your bed. This took your mind to places where it probably shouldn't have been, but let's face it, this whole situation was already suggestive.

You scrambled to make your bed while Joost was in the bathroom so you could both fit comfortably on it, which proved to be a more difficult task when you were drunk. In the end, you threw yourself on the bed, in your day clothes, enjoying the alcohol coursing through your veins with closed eyes. Joost had just came in the bedroom with your pajama pants on that were kinda small for him and took a look at you, his lips turning into a sly smile, stopping infront of you, hovering over your half asleep body. Smirking, he stared amused and asked. "Shouldn't you change before sleeping?" you opened your eyes, whole face turning red. "Probably..." You were still fighting with yourself mentally, thinking about what you should do with Joost in your apartment, in your bed, you just couldn't get to the bottom of it. Maybe it’s just the wine.. You changed into something more comfortable, but since you offered Joost your only pair of pajama pants, you had to sleep in underwear and a long t-shirt. Even though Joost offered to return the pants to you, since it's cold in your apartment, you quickly refused because you didn't think you’d handle him in just a pair of underwear.

The next thing you know, you're both lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. The tension is palpable. You thought about the last time you had a man in your bed. Has there ever even been one here? What do two drunk grown adults usually do while lying in the same bed? You tried to puzzle out your set of circumstances in your brain, overthinking everything.

You suddenly spoke. “Joost-“ before you could end what you’re gonna say, he turned towards you in a quick movement and pushed his lips to yours passionately. He quickly lifted himself up for a moment, breaking the kiss and making eye contact. Both of you were speechless, this caught you off guard greatly, just looking at eachother in silence. You didn't even remember what you wanted to say to him, he opened his mouth to speak, but you quickly silenced him with your lips on his. This time it was much more hungrier, like you haven’t eaten anything in weeks and the other was your only source of nourishment, in a metaphorical way, it was technically right. You wanted to eat eachother up. He grabbed your waist, pulling you closer and then under him, still heavily making out.

You were drunk, sure, but that didn't deter either of you from the fact that this felt so right. You had a connection from the beginning, a mutual understanding and the way he touched you at this moment only proved the suspicion that it was as if you had known each other for years now. The way he touched you gently, it was like he was trying not to break a porcelain doll and it turned you on more than anything else. Or maybe it was just the pent up tension that hasn't been taken care of for a considerable amount of time now. Either way, everything was so perfect at this moment.

He pulled his head away so he could take off his top to which you whined, he chuckled at your neediness, and he got right back to you once he threw his shirt somewhere in the room, only to be found the next day. Everything was so rushed, like you two couldn’t get your hands off eachother, which was kinda true. It was like you were glued to him, touching his neck, his newly exposed chest and face, basically everywhere you could reach and he certainly wasn’t complaining.

Of course, this also applied to him too, switching from your mouth to your neck and kissing until finding a spot he liked where he sucked your skin a little harder. That’s a problem for tomorrow. For now you were glad that this needy attitude was reciprocated.

After a while, he started playing with the bottom of your shirt, teasing it, before asking "Is this okay?"

You nodded eagerly waiting for the textile to finally come off you. He helped you peel off the unnecessary piece of clothing, only to be met with you bare chest, at the sight of which he froze for a moment, staring shamelessly.

You turned red under his fierce eyes and brought him back down to the earth with a light cough, indicating that you were still, in fact, there. At that he raised his head and got back to you with a shy "sorry" which you laughed at, hugging his neck and kissing him again. Meanwhile he touched your breasts, squeezing and playing with them, earning some noises from you. That only encouraged him to somehow get more voices out of you, kissing down your neck again.

You started grinding against him, trying to get as much friction as you possibly could with no succes to which you groaned in frustration. He quickly noticed this, trying to move against you also, like two horny teenagers touching eachother for the first time. Even though every movement was a bit sloppy thanks to the exhaustion of the whole day and mostly the alcohol in your systems, it didn’t make it less enjoyable.

After a while you both got bored of this game, now desperately needing to get off the remaining clothes on your bodies and Joost leaned back to take his- well, your pants off along with his underwear what you watched like watching a play in the theater, amused. Once those were off, he moved down to your panties, teasing you through the fabric and looking up at you with pupils blown wide, peering over his lowered glasses. You could easily cum from that sight only if you weren’t so eager to find out how he’d feel inside you. He helped the panties off you, torturing you slowly and you just couldn’t bare it anymore.

“Joost please…” you whined, it was just too much at this point, if you don’t have him as soon as possible, you will absolutely go crazy. He looked into your eyes, seeing the desperation and the tense feelings you want to finally get rid off and he smirked.

“Oh poor baby, how long has it been, hm?”

He said while teasing you slit. “How long has it been that someone touched you like this?” He suddenly put a finger inside you without any warning whatsoever and you arched your back moaning loudly. “So sensitive.” He whispered in awe, mostly to himself as he carefully analyzed your every move.

“L-Long time now…” you managed to stutter out looking at him trough wet eyelashes. He swallowed harshly and added another finger that made you wince.

“It must’ve been so hard, wasn’t it?” He kept moving his hand in and out of you as he spoke in a sweet, teasing tone. “Luckily I'm here now, liefde (love).” He continued, obviously enjoying the sight of your pleasurable expression.

“Please Joost, please…” you practically begged to him to finally stop this teasing. You looked down only to be met with his red and hard dick. And I mean hard. You were seriously considering if he had somekind of masochistic kink, torturing not only you but himself as well. You moaned at the sight and looked back at his face with a pleading expression.

“What is it you need, schat (darling)?” He asked with that stupid toothy grin, you almost rolled your eyes if you haven’t been so horny that you’d practically bring down the moon if it meant he’d finally fuck you, so you did the following instead: you looked at him with a pained expression, heavy eyelids and eyes glossy from unshed tears. You were panting heavily, eyebrows knit, almost moaning the words. “Please Joost I want you-no, I need you inside of me. Just fuck me already or i’ll go insane.” That’ll do. Oh and it did alright…

He visibly sobered up at that, suddenly stopping all his movements, just staring at you astonished with pupils blown wide, you were surprised he wasn't drooling. And as if someone turned on the lights inside his head, he quickly pulled his hand away to which you whined, but he didn’t really seemed to care and replaced his fingers with his cock without a warning once again, he slid in easily thanks to how wet you were. The tenderness from the start quickly disappeared switching to raw passion, great contrast might I add. You almost screamed, rightfully so as he started moving hard against you. Quickly wrapping your arms around him you clung onto him, your nails causing what were likely to be permanent wounds on his back.

You were quite obviously caught off guard, but didn’t really have too much time to think about it as Joost took over all of your senses, he filled your thoughts and soul. He was all over you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. In truth, probably this was what you needed all along. You longed for such a strong human connection so much that in the end you closed yourself off from everything and everyone, giving up. But finally you got it and you couldn’t be happier.

He pounded into you hard, so hard it almost hurt, but you couldn’t care less, just enjoying every second, treasuring it in the back of your mind. Covering his face into you neck he was praising you both in english and dutch, but you couldn’t make out either of them. You lifted you hand a little from his back to grab onto his blond locks to which he replied with a low groan and you couldn’t think of anything else, but how much you want to hear more of those sounds.

Your once cold and lonely room was now filled with the noises of passion and pleasure, a great change. In your happy state you lifted his head up by his hair and kissed him so deeply he thought you’ll eat him whole right there, right then. He gladly reciprocated it, his movements never stopping.

“Can’t imagine how lonely you must’ve been…” He muttered over your lips. “on second thought, I might just can.” He grinned, referring to your neediness and you just laughed. You wanted this moment to last forever, but sadly you already felt the pressure in your stomach, you were already surprised that it didn’t happen earlier.

“Joost…” you started, but he already felt you clenching around him and nodded.

“Let it go baby, I’m not so far behind.” He panted out, his movements becoming sloppier. Almost on command, you let your orgasm wash over you and it came like a hurricane. You were a moaning mess, shaking and panting like someone with a really bad fever. Soon enough he caught up with you, his orgasm right behind yours and he came loudly. He was very vocal, but what else would you expect from a musician? You just hoped that the neighbors didn’t wake up, even though they probably already did, you have thin walls…

Collapsing on you he tried to catch his breath much like you and that’s when you realized…you didn’t use any contraceptive. Panicking you threw Joost off yourself, trying to get as much of his fluids out as much as you could while he watched you in confusion still under the effect of his orgasm. Slowly he realized what you were worried about and he put a hand on your shoulder in a soothing manner and he spoke in a tired voice.

“Hey, hey, hey don’t worry. We’ll get you an after pill first thing in the morning, alright?” you exhaled loudly, putting your head in your hands. How didn’t I think of it beforehand? How wasted was I?

“For now just lay back and I’ll clean you up, how about that?” you nodded, absolutely exhausted and let him help you sit up a little leaning againts the back of the bed. Joost went to the bathroom to get the stuff you needed. We’ll he be able to find everything?…Eh, he’ll be alright.

Until he got back, you decided to check your phone and saw a notification from Maya which read:

𝚑𝚒𝚢𝚊,

𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗, 𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎. 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚗, 𝚒 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚍,

𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚡𝚡

𝟸:𝟶𝟽 𝙰𝙼

You thought a little, giving yourself time to process the content of the message and when you succeeded, your eyes widened. By then, Joost had already returned and started cleaning you up.

You watched him work and then you cautiously asked.

"Joost...” He hummed. “did they set you up with me?" At that he stopped and looked up at you with an unreadable expression. Then he shyly looked away while answering.

“I hope you’re not mad…I really enjoyed this, I swear.” He said looking back at you, for some reason feeling the need to explain himself. How could you ever be mad with him between your legs taking care of you like that? You let out the biggest belly laugh you had in a long time to which he just looked at you as confused as ever.

“After having the best orgasm of my life, I think it’s safe to say that I’m far from being mad.” you said as you wiped away your tears that were formed by your laughing. He smiled at that, admiring this new side of you, it seemed like you finally got to let go of a lot of stress that has been formed throughout time and he was happy that he was the one who helped you with that.

After he finished cleaning you up, you invited him to lay next to you and as he did you hugged his upper body to be closer to yours. As you two layed there together you got lost in your thoughts and while you were drifting off to sleep you realized that the passion you craved from other people was maybe a bit different from what you first thought...

Maya did keep her promise after all, you felt alive again.

#joost klein x reader #joost klein x fem!reader #joost klein x you #joost klein smut #rpf #joost klein rpf #joost klein fic

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scotianostra · 29 days

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On August 27th 1788 the trial began of Deacon William Brodie, a respected pillar of Edinburgh society by day, a thief and housebreaker by night.

Brodie is said to have been the inspiration of Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, which was published a century later.

The prestigious title of deacon did not refer to religion, as many assume, but instead to his presidency of one of Edinburgh's trades guilds. His trade was as a cabinet-maker and his position as deacon of the Incorporation of Wrights made him a member of the town council.

The trial of William Brodie for breaking into and robbing the General Excise Office for Scotland took place at Edinburgh on 27th and 28th August, 1788. The story of his strange career is as enthralling as any romance. The double life which he so long and successfully led – as a respected citizen and town councillor by day, and by night the captain of a band of housebreakers – was the wonder of the country at the time. Nowadays you would call it a celebrity trial.

Brodie was quite rich with 10,000 pounds and three houses that he inherited from his father. He also inherited the business, allowing him to sustain the wealth. Traveling in the highest social circles, Brodie had the key to almost all of the richest people’s houses. Literally. No wealthy Edinburgh resident would ever think that such a respected man would keep a copy of their key in his drawer and that he would slip inside their homes after nightfall to steal everything worth taking.

During the day, he was a well-known gentleman who shared jovial times with his rich customers and enjoyed the company of highly respected persons such as himself, but during the night, Brodie could be found gambling in the dark corners of Edinburgh, accruing debts that forced him to consider a life of crime, and so, he became a thief.

After installing a lock in a rich man’s home, Brodie would also make a copy of the key for himself. Not because he collected souvenirs, but because he intended to visit those homes again, some other night when a burglary without breaking in but entering the house with a key would be his tactic. In this way, the man had supplemental payment to support his double life as a gentleman by day and a gambler in the evenings. On top of everything, Brodie had to support his five children by two mistresses who didn’t know of each other’s existence.

Allegedly, his criminal career began around 1768, when he stole 800 pounds from a bank that he sneaked into during the night by using a key. The Deacon’s nightlife was filled with gambling, robbing, and stealing. He didn’t mix his daily business and finances with his nightlife. Whenever he would fall into debt while gambling, he had the “ace key” that would pay off his debts.

Another source says that although Brodie had already robbed a bank, his real criminal career began in the summer of 1786 when he met George Smith, an Englishman. Brodie and Smith got into business together, targeting the rich people’s homes in Old Town. By the end of that same year, the duo had successfully robbed a tobacconist and a goldsmith’s.

Soon, the Deacon and the Englishman recruited two other members to their group: Andrew Ainslie, a shoemaker, and John Brown, a thief. In 1787, the gang stole tea from a grocer’s store in Leith. Back then, tea was a valuable commodity, a luxury that only members of the elite could afford to buy.

Encouraged by their success, the gang, led by the Deacon, decided to steal the revenues of Scotland from an Excise office in Chessel’s Court on the Canongate. They organized an armed raid, and for the first time, instead of welcoming themselves inside with a key, they broke in. However, they managed to steal only 16 pounds when they were caught. The unsuccessful robbery led Brown to claim the King’s Pardon the same night and named Smith and Ainslie as the culprits.

When his partners got arrested, Brodie traveled to London, and from there he boarded a ship to Amsterdam. But, since there was a reward for Brodie, he was tracked down in Holland and shipped back to Edinburgh. He and his friend Smith were tried on August 27, 1788. Although at first there wasn’t any strong evidence against Brodie, he was convicted after a disguise, pistols, and of course, copied keys were found in his workshop. After a trial that lasted only 21 hours, Brodie was hanged in front of 40,000 people on October 1st that very year.

You can read an account of his trial here https://archive.org/.../trialofdeaconbro00brod_djvu.txt

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #burglar

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cynicalrosebud · 1 month

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Rumor Has It (3)

Part 1 Part 2

I blinked after a coffee fueled daze and this shite was written, and I don’t proofread very much, so enjoy!

Dividers and banners by @strangergraphics , check her stuff out, I could scroll through them for hours!

Amsterdam, Netherlands October 29, 2022 0500 hours

The safehouse was dimly lit, cluttered with maps, weapons, and tactical gear. Price, always the epitome of calm even in the midst of chaos, meticulously cleaned his rifle. Across the room, Gaz glanced through the intel on his tablet, his focus unwavering despite the occasional glance towards Rumor.

Rumor, seated at a table with a cup of strong coffee, wore a wry smile. If he was a cat, the sergeant would have bet that his tail would be swaying slowly. His Welsh accent lent a certain smoothness to his words as he spoke. "So, Gaz, you’ve got everything sorted for tonight then? Or do you need me to double-check anything?"

Gaz glanced up, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. "No, I’ve got it covered. Just making sure we’re not missing anything crucial."

Price, overhearing the exchange, couldn’t help but chuckle. "Rumor’s right; we need to make sure everything’s in order. Can’t have any surprises tonight, especially not the bad kind."

Rumor’s eyes twinkled as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his long fingers on the creaky table, his casual demeanor contrasting with the seriousness of the situation. "Oh, I’m sure Gaz’s got it all under control. But if you need a hand with anything, just give me a shout. I’m very good at checking gear, Cariad.”

Gaz’s gaze flickered towards Rumor, his nerves evident. "Uh, thanks. I appreciate it."

Price, catching the subtle flirtation, gave Rumor a knowing look. "Easy, Rumor. We’re on a mission here. No time for charm."

Rumor’s smile widened slightly. "Just trying to lighten the mood, syr. It’s not every day I get to work with legends like ye."

Price’s grin softened. "Flattery will get you everywhere, but let’s keep it focused. We’re heading out in an hour. Make sure you’re ready."

Gaz nodded, clearly trying to maintain his composure. "We’ll be ready, sir."

As the clock ticked down, the team prepared for the mission ahead. The tension was palpable. Even as the mission loomed closer, there was a certain camaraderie forming between them, with Rumor's charm adding an unexpected layer to their interactions.

0600 hours

The night was thick with fog in Amsterdam, the city's lights barely piercing the darkness. Rumor, Price, and Gaz approached the water's edge, the cold air heavy with anticipation. Their mission was clear: infiltrate the barge, secure the target, and exit without a trace.

Price, taking charge, leaned in to address his team. “Alright, team. We’re hitting the water now. We need to clear the docks, take out any patrol boats we encounter, and then board the barge. Stay sharp.”

Rumor, his confidence unwavering, replied, “Got it, Price. Just lead the way, and I’ll make sure we’re not swimming in trouble.” Gaz had done a minor look into the limited info on Rumor. Known for his exceptional recon skills, the Welshman was adept at locating enemies and navigating through complex environments.

Gaz, slightly flustered but focused, adjusted his gear. “Understood. What’s the plan once we hit the shore?”

Price’s orders were clear as he scanned the dark silhouette of the dock and the barge moored nearby. “We’ll approach from the rear entrance of the barge. It’s less risky. Rumor’s leading us, so follow his lead. We need to take out any patrol boats first.”

The trio slipped through the water with practiced ease. They swam toward a buoy where they would emerge and make contact with Kate Laswell.

Emerging from the water beside the buoy, Price activated his comms. “Laswell, we are in position.”

Laswell’s voice came through the earpieces. “Copy, John. What do ya got?”

Price held up his binoculars, scanning the barge. “I got AQ loading cargo into a barge.”

Laswell responded, “That’s your target. Get onboard and find out who they’re working with.”

Rumor, with a playful grin, swooned, clutching the spot over his heart, “Ah bless me, I hear angels in me ears, ready to take me home to me mam.”

Laswell’s voice, with a hint of dry amusement and a touch of firmness, replied, “Rumor, save the poetry.”

Price chuckled quietly and said, “Rog. Out here”

Laswell’s voice faded as she ended the comms.

Price turned to his team, his gaze sharp. “We’ve got sentries on the perimeter. Stay low and keep alert.” He handed Rumor the binoculars, who checked the area with practiced ease and then passed them to Gaz. As their fingers brushed briefly, Gaz’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he quickly refocused on the task at hand.

Gaz, now holding the binoculars, peered through them. “Got it. I’ll keep an eye on the perimeter.”

Rumor, showcasing his expertise, addressed the pair. “Understood. I’ll handle the navigation.” His knowledge of the barge’s layout and skill in locating enemies made him the perfect guide.

The barge loomed ahead, dark and imposing. Inside, every sound seemed magnified.

Price, scanning the dark silhouette of the barge ahead, added, “We’ll approach from the rear entrance. Less chance of running into guards that way. Rumor’s leading us in, so follow his lead.”

Rumor, with a slight grin, remarked, “I see the hat still never comes off, syr.”

Price shot Rumor a brief, amused wink despite the seriousness of their situation. “Keeps the rain out of me eyes. Plus, it’s good for keeping the noggin warm.”

Gaz, still focused but slightly flustered, adjusted his gear. “Let’s get moving. We don’t want to hang about.”

Navigating through the barge, Price maintained control with clear directives. “Watch for guards. Stay silent and sharp.”

Rumor, now fully focused, scanned the surroundings with a keen eye. “We’re clear so far. Stick close and follow my lead.”

Gaz kept his gaze alert, trying to stay composed. “Point the way, Rumor.”

As they approached their target, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Rumor’s usual charm was replaced by a focused intensity. He turned to Price and Gaz, whispering, “Almost there. Stay alert.”

Price met Rumor’s gaze with a nod of fondness. “Check. Let’s get this done.”

With their objective in sight, the trio moved with determined precision.

The barge was eerily quiet, its darkened interior filled with the sounds of dripping water and the creak of metal. Rumor, Price, and Gaz moved with practiced stealth, Rumor pausing by each door, expertly checking for traps and disposing of them when needed.

They advanced cautiously, their breaths steady and silent.

Rumor led the way, his expertise in recon work making him the ideal guide through the dimly lit corridors of the barge. He signaled for Price and Gaz to stay close, his eyes scanning every corner for potential threats.

Price, his demeanor serious, held his weapon at the ready. “Keep it tight. We clear the barge, take out every enemy inside, and secure any intel we can find.”

Gaz, his gaze sharp, nodded in agreement. “Understood. Let’s move.”

The trio continued, taking out enemies with swift and precise movements. Each opponent was neutralized before they could raise an alarm. Rumor’s keen sense of direction and ability to memorize layouts made short work of their path through the barge.

They reached a central room, where the remaining enemies were gathered. With a coordinated effort, Price, Rumor, and Gaz engaged the foes in a stealthy firefight. Each shot was calculated, minimizing noise and chaos. The battle was fierce but efficient, ending with the last enemy falling silent.

Price, surveying the area as text tones rang in the room, turned to his team. “Check their phones. We need any intel they’ve got.”

Gaz moved quickly, scanning the phone of the defeated final enemy. After a few tense moments, he found a series of text messages that made his eyes widen. “Looks like the Las Almas cartel is working with Al-Qatala. They’re planning to transfer someone into the U.S. The transfer’s happening at Café Gracht at 8am.”

Price’s eyes narrowed with concern. He activated his comms, his tone urgent. “Laswell, we’ve got a situation. The Las Almas cartel and Al-Qatala are coordinating a transfer to the U.S. The operation’s set for Café Gracht at 8am. We need you to locate the café. Something big is about to go down.”

Laswell’s voice crackled back through the earpiece. “Copy that, Price. I’ll find the café and get everything in motion. Keep me updated.”

Price turned to Rumor and Gaz, his expression resolute. “Alright, we need to get out of here and prep for the next phase. We’ve got a lead on where this transfer is happening, and it’s crucial we’re there to intercept.”

Rumor, ever calm, nodded. “Understood. Let’s get to extraction and prepare for the next move.”

With their mission on the barge complete, the trio retraced their steps, moving efficiently to their extraction point.

As they exited the barge, the fog of Amsterdam enveloped them once more. The night air was filled with the promise of further action, and the stakes had never been higher.

#call of duty #fanfic #x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #rumor has it #male reader #task force 141 #poly 141 x reader

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definitelynotstable · 1 year

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Missed You [Price x fem!Reader]

AN: First Price fic!!! He is literally the loml and I've been too scared to write him so hope I did him justice. Lmk what you think!

Synopsis: You're undercover in Amsterdam when your cover is blown. Injured and alone you try to locate Price and Gaz before it's too late. Hurt/comfort. Word count: 1.6k Warnings: Wounds, blood, medical inaccuracies, canon typical violence and canon divergence. Price x fem!Reader (Callsign: Ferris)

✧˚ · .

You‘d been undercover for months. Months and the intel you’d provided had saved countless lives but undercover work always had an expiry date.

And that date was today apparently.

You knew you were pushing at the boundaries when inquiring after Hassan Zyani. But Laswell seemed desperate and time was tight. But here you were now, soaked to the bone and bleeding out in the middle of Amsterdam. Word was Gaz, Price and Laswell were in the city – you just had to find them before they reached EXFIL.

The sun was getting low in the sky and your short swim in the canal hadn’t exactly warmed you. The cobbled streets were slick underfoot and you hugged the buildings bordering the footpath. Gun shots and screams echoed from the street up ahead and you quickly made your way in the direction of the chaos.

A woman ran into you, blonde hair flapping in the wind. She apologised hastily in both Dutch and English, too distracted to notice as you ease the long coat from her arms. You wait for her to disappear behind a corner before shrugging it on.

There’s a bullet still in your torso somewhere and every movement sends a flash of pain which radiates up through your spine. The coat covers most of the blood which has steadily bloomed across your navy shirt – not quite dark enough to disguise the stain.

You duck behind a tree as more shots ring out. You’re wounded and unarmed – if this isn’t Price, Gaz or Laswell you’re toast.

A man dives past you, tackling a man in a black leather jacket to the ground. He’d wearing a beanie and brown jacket with a woollen collar and a beard – a beard you’d know anywhere. Price.

A man with a darker complexion but similarly dressed, squats next to the two on the ground and injects something into the neck of the man Price is holding down.

Together, the two of them lift him up and you’re able to identify Gaz as well.

“Watcher, time to move.” Price speaks into an earpiece and you step forwards, legs wobbling beneath you. Both men look up as you come out from behind the tree, their target hanging unconscious between them. The captains eyes widen as he sees you. “Ferris?”

He reaches a hand out to steady you, hand landing on your shoulder as his eyes sweep across your form. You breath deeply, pushing away the urge to collapse.

“Yeah,” you manage, “yeah – Laswell said you were in town,” you turn to Gaz and give him a smile, “you too.”

Gaz reaches out and gives you a pat on the arm, “good to see you.”

People are still fleeing the scene and time is limited. Price flicks you a concerned look. “EXFIL isn’t far, think you’ll make it?”

You swallow, mustering up every drop of remaining energy you have before nodding. “Anything for a free ride.”

Price eyes you for a moment before looking at Gaz. “Let’s go.”

You trail him and Gaz down a few streets before you reach a corner where a silver sedan has pulled up. Through slightly fuzzy vision you make out Laswell behind the wheel. Gaz shoves the target into the back seat while Price eases you into the front before joining the two men in the back.

“Kate.” You say to the woman beside you. “Hope this isn’t s rental.”

Her eyes snap down to where your arm is curled carefully around your waist. “Fucking hell, Ferris.”

Gaz leans forward and thumps the back of Laswell’s seat, throwing a worries glance out the back window.

“We gotta go.”

The last door in the back slams and Laswell floors it.

✧˚ · .

It’s dark when the car pulls up to the safehouse ad your head is lolling between the back of the seat and the window. Laswell goes between glancing at you and the road, her spare hand reaching over to grip your knee.

“We’re almost there,” she says, voice calm but you know the coat is no longer hiding the blood. She moves her hand down to cover your own which is definitely not putting enough pressure on the gaping hole in your side.

“John?” She asks, throwing a glance over her shoulder at the man sitting behind you, “Can you reach Ferris? She needs to put pressure on that wound.”

The captain swears under his breath and you groan as the lever to the side is pulled and your seat slides back. A callused hand grips your wrist, pulling your hand aside before replacing it – firmly.

“Ah fuck,” you hiss as the heel of his palm digs in to the wound, you weakly grab at his forearm but it remains solid against you.

“Sorry, love.” Price responds, sounding gruff, “it’s this or bleed out.”

You suck in a sharp breath, “not sure there’s much left anyway.”

Price growls, “how long ago were you hit?”

You glance at Laswell, “When did I call you?”

“Ten-hundred hours,” she replies, glancing at you again, “christ, it’s been that long?”

You don’t respond, you’ve slumped forward, head to the dashboard – out cold.

✧˚ · .

You don’t fully resurface till you’re inside the safehouse. Voices murmur around you and things clatter as someone clears the table – laying you down.

A hand cups the back of your neck.

“Gaz, get us a pillow or something, will ya?”

There’s shuffling sounds and suddenly your head is being lifted and then lowered onto a softer surface.

You blink, shapes and colours hazy in the warm lighting; coming into focus slower than they should. Someone hovers over you, Price.

“Gave us quite the scare.” He says, easing the coat aside to asses the damage. “Surprised you’re not dead.”

“Real helpful,” you cough with a wince, glaring up at him, “just fix me up, won’t you?”

“Working on it.”

Gaz hands him a pair of scissors from the med-kit and he carefully snips away at your shirt.

“Hope this wasn’t a favourite.”

You huff out a laugh, ignoring the ache it ignites. “Hole in it now anyway, and a bit of a stain – if you squint.”

Price chuckles, peeling the fabric away from your bloody skin. “Any exit wound?”

You shake your head, raising an arm to drape over your eyes in order to resist smacking the Captain’s hands away as he douses the wound in an anti-septic solution. You let out a slew of curses under your breath and he raises his eyebrows.

“Quite the vocabulary.”

“You learn a word or too working with smugglers,” you quip back, gritting your teeth.

He thoroughly cleans and sanitises the wound before calling Gaz over. Laswell’s somewhere, probably on a call with the higher ups or interrogating the HVT.

“You’re better than me at this stuff, kid.” Price says, handing the sergeant a pair of gloves and some tweezers, “I’ll hold her down.”

“Fucking hell.” You roll your eyes, lip wedges between your teeth. “I am not looking forward to this.”

Price comes to stand by your head, he swipes a thumb over your lips. “Bite this instead.” He slips something soft between your teeth – his glove.

He moves down the table to stand on the otherside, opposite Gaz. The young sergeant looks up, brow furrowed. “We might need Laswell for this.”

Price shakes his head, “She’s busy, doubting my strength, Gaz?”

“More like overestimating mine,” you scoff, before flashing Gaz an encouraging look. “I’ve lost too much blood to put up much of a fight – have at it Gaz.”

The Captain reaches over and pushes the glove back between your lips. “Bite.” He says sternly, “you’ll need it.”

You glare back at him but comply as he settles an arm across your legs and grasps both your wrists in the other.

Gaz looks to you, “Ready?”

You nod.

✧˚ · .

The pain is white and hot but lasts for only a minute. By the time Gaz has dug out the bullet, you’re panting and sweaty. Tears sting at your eyes as the firm grip on your wrists loosens and a hand comes up to cup your cheek.

“Good job.” Price murmurs, thumb stroking your cheekbone, “That’s my girl.”

Gaz, ever the professional, ignores how your face crumples and you curl into Price’s touch. He instead busies himself with threading a needle before nudging the Captain and offering it to him.

Price takes it, giving him a pat on the back.

“Thanks Gaz.” You mumble hoarsely to the younger man who smiles and tousles your hair as he passes.

“Good to have you back, Ferris.”

With Gaz gone, you turn back to Price, sniffing. He pushes your hair away from your sweaty forehead and kisses your cheek.

“Almost over, love. Just some stitches and you’ll be right as rain.”

You relax against the table. Stitches are a walk in the park compared to earlier.

“Make them neat,” you stress and Price laughs.

“Luckily I had a good teacher.”

He ties off the sutures and dresses the wound before discarding of his latex gloves. He wraps an arm around your waist and eases you up of the table, half-supporting, half-carrying your to a room nearby. He lowers you down onto a single bed in the corner, tucking the covers around you and taking a seat on the bed beside you.

“I missed you.” You confess, eyelids heavy. “So much.”

“Me too.” He admits, eyes creasing with a small smile as a hand cards through your hair. You sigh softly, allowing the rhythmic brush of his hand lull you to sleep. Your eyes have already fluttered shut when he whispers again.

“More than you could imagine.”

✧˚ · .

Masterlist

#captain john price x reader #captain john price #price x reader #captain price #john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain price x y/n #captain price x female reader #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #141 x reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #call of duty fluff #cod mw2 #task force 141 #fluff #cod fanfiction

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urfavlarry · 4 months

Note

hi! can u write about a drunk love confession lolll 😭🎀

Why’d you only call me when your high?

Joost Klein x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, bad grammar, mentions of alc0hol

summary: you and Joost have been friends for a few years now but ever since he got more recognized after his song ‘friesenjung’ came out you both became more distant. What will you do after he calls you for the first time in months, drunk?

A/N: this is um.. long .. enjoy!

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You were alone in the house, your parents went off to the neighbours to go grilling. You decided to not go since you were doing things with them the whole day and you just felt exhausted. You went to cook yourself a quick meal, just some toast with whatever on top. You looked at the time, 10:28PM. Joost was performing currently in Amsterdam, not that you knew anything about it. He was probably going to get a few drinks with friends after it like he usually did after his last concert of the season. He has probably long forgot about you, probably replacing you with someone else by now. Ever since he became more famous, you both stopped reaching out as often. There wasn’t any hate behind it, Joost wasn’t the type to cut people off because of fame which you loved about him and you missed him dearly you just.. drifted apart?

You went back up to your room, deciding to go to sleep early tonight, opening the window for some cool air to come into the room. The covers called your name, snuggling into them and getting comfortable. You fall asleep a few minutes later, the room was dark and the wind entered your room like an unwelcome guest, goosebumps appearing on your skin.

A buzzing noise wakes you up, your phone lighting up and blinding your tired eyes. You try and get up, body still a bit weak since you woke up about 5 seconds ago. You grab your phone and your heart skips a beat, the name “duck” appearing on your phone. It was a nickname you gave to Joost years ago. You were teens, trying to make up nicknames for each other and you just took the word dutch and turned it into duck. You watch it ring for a few seconds and then sigh, cursing a bit then pick it up. “Hello?” You say, your voice raspy and very tired sounding. “Hallo?” You hear the dutch accent you oh so loved come through the phone. “Hello, hello.” You turn around and lay on your stomach, waiting for him to speak. The noises in the background were loud and clear, loud music coming through the phone. “Is dat het meisje waar je het over had?” (Is that the girl you were talking about?) “ja ja ga nu..” (yea yea, go now.)

He shifted around before he spoke again. “Sorry, what’s up?” You raise a brow, was this some kind of phone call you get from your dad once a year? “Nothing much, why are you calling me?” He chuckles, voice deep and handsome like always. “Can I not call mijn liefde?” (my love) “What are you on about Joost? Are you drunk?” “No, no.” He slurs, making you scoff. “Yeah, yeah.” He was mumbling things in dutch you couldn’t understand; “Ik wil niemand anders dan jou.. mijn lief meisje.” (I want no one else but you.. my sweet girl.) “Fucking hell Joost.. where the hell are you? Is Apson with you?” He nods, which you barely heard but at least he gave you an answer. Apson would mostly stay sober, only having a few drinks so you decided to call him. He picked up, voice cheerful like always. You told him to take Joost home since he sounded like he had enough for the night and he kindly agreed. You thank him, ending the call with him before trying to go back to sleep.

3:07AM, another phone call wakes you up. “What the fuck is wrong with him..” You ask yourself before picking up. “Joost it’s 3AM can you go to sleep?” You demand and he just smiles. Oh yeah you were on face time now, great. You looked like a zombie compared to him, he looked more energetic than you did, his hair wet and it looked like he was shirtless. Probably just got out of the shower. “I wanted to see your stunning face schatje.” He says, laying down on his side, the side of his face resting against a pillow.

You sigh, watching him like a hawk. The light coming from his side of the phone blinded you, making you groan. “What do you want? I’m exhausted from your bullshit.” You say and he pouts; “Why are you so mean, hm? Do you not miss me?” He asks, smiling, his adorable, genuine smile. “Joost stop it.” He chuckled, moving around in his room when he suddenly turned his lights off, the only light that let you see his face was from his LEDs. He started mumbling things again, his voice lulling you to sleep but you fought back the urge to sleep. “Jij bent zo schitterend..” (you’re so stunning) “Joost I’m hanging up.” “No, no.. Blijf bij me.” (stay with me) “Ik wil je Y/N.” (I want you Y/N.) “Ik krijg je niet uit mijn hoofd.” (I can’t get you out of my head.) All of these things meant nothing to you. You didn’t speak dutch, maybe a few phrases and words but you weren’t fluent. You brushed off all of those phrases, when he said the one thing he taught you during your time as close friends. “Ik hou van jou lieverd.” (I love you sweetheart.)

You face turned bright red, quickly hanging up and flipping onto your back. Your eyes were wide eyed, staring at the dark ceiling above you. You internally scream, maybe he meant it in a friendly way? But the nickname?? It was weird. He was just drunk after all, it probably didn’t even mean anything. You try to fall asleep, tossing and turning before finally succeeding.

Morning came quicker than usual, making your stomach turn and face feel hot. You didn’t even dare open your phone, deciding to pack your things and head home to Amsterdam a little earlier than expected. You booked a flight, canceling the one you were supposed to take 3 days later then this one.

The minute you got home you opened the messages. Some were from last night and some were from a few minutes ago. You tried replying but no words were coming to mind, your fingers just hovering above the cold screen.

———————————————————

Duck🦆💙

Y/N

Hello??

why did u hang up hm?

blijf bij me

please

ik krijg je niet uit mijn hoofd

sent 16 hours ago

————————— new messages —————————

Y/N

Im so sorry I woke u up yesterday

I was drunk haha

hope to see u soon, today Im performing in that club we used to go to as teens

ill look for u after

———————————————————

You contemplated whether to go or not. You wanted to see him, but another part of you didn’t. Why should you be the one running back to him? It made no sense to you, yet you went. It was like you were in a daze, getting ready, taking the train to the city he was performing in.. it all felt forced in a way. You got stopped by a few fans then made your way to the barrier. You bought a ticket last minute most people already in the club waiting for their idol to come up on stage. 15 minutes until it started, you felt disgusting. Sweaty fan girls who never heard of a shower were all around you, all you wanted to do was curl yourself into a ball and dissapear on the spot. It will be so akward talking after almost a year of barely knowing of each other’s pressence yet you still wanted to see him, hug him.. kiss him.

The concert went by fast, you and Joost making eye contact several times which made you even more anxious than you were before. You walked back stage, most of the security recognising you and letting you pass which surprised you. The halls felt endless, walking in front of his door you gently knocked almost instantly hearing footsteps. And there he was. He changed a lot. His hair was now longer, looking more mature but he was still there. Your Joost. “Weren’t you supposed to be the one looking for me?” He rubbed his neck, chuckling awkwardly before pulling you into the room. It looked like he was trying to find the right words to start which made you count down the dreadful seconds going by.

“Well, what I said yesterday was true. I don’t remember all of it but from the messages I said it was pretty obvious. I really do love you and I hate that you aren’t by my side. I hate that I can’t wake up with you in my arms. I miss you. I miss your smile, your energy, I miss hearing your thoughts, I miss everything about you. Liefje please I need you I can’t live without you.” He looked at you with those beautiful ocean blue eyes, looking desperate but it was obvious he truly meant every single word. You smile softly, cupping his cheeks. “I love you too. You have no idea how much I’ve been missing you. It was like a part of my heart was taken away from me.” He kissed your forehead, smiling down at you. “I promise to never leave you. Never.” “Promise.”

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#joost klein fanfiction #joost klein x you #joost klein x reader #joostice for joost #joost x reader #justice for joost #joost klein #free joost #stand with joost #joost klein requests #joost klein x y/n

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gretavangroupie · 5 months

Text

The Ripe and The Ruin (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader, OC x Reader

Word Count: 19.8k

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking, Angst, Anxiety, Embarrassment, Lying, Sexual Themes, Kissing, Oral M! Receiving, Protected Sex.

Find the Playlist Here: Apple Music | Spotify

A new series in collaboration with my talented co-writer @gretavanmoon.

"Like all good fruit, the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin."

AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS

HER POV

The heat of your breath is fogging up the windows of the van as you drift in and out of a dazy snooze. The morning has already been long, with a wake-up time of 3:30AM to be on the van to the airport by 4:00AM. The flight to Amsterdam from Hamburg was short, only a little over an hour long, thank goodness. However, now all you can think about is getting checked into your hotel room and crashing back out for a couple of hours before you have to wake up again.

Paul, Wes, and Corri are occupying the seats toward the front of the van, and you’re thankful you can let your head rest on the window in peace. Your AirPods are stuck in your ears with the volume just loud enough that you could hear if one of them spoke to you, but still enough to fully enjoy the music floating through your ears. You don’t even dare listen to the playlist Jake made for you, it almost puts a sour taste in your mouth just looking at it, especially after what happened last night.

Of course Josh caught you. Of course it had to be him. But what is really still throwing you for a loop is why Josh felt he had to keep the encounter such a secret, locking his lips and doing away with the key.

Jake hadn’t said anything about your last addition of ‘High and Dry’, but you chalked it up to him just wanting to diffuse the situation after you left the bar, alone. You thought he might walk you back, given the situation you’d found yourself in just two nights prior, but he didn’t. He stayed, and let you go. And thankfully you’d made it back safely by yourself.

The more you think about it, the more you realize Jake had plenty of time to text a quick ‘Sorry about that’ or ‘We’ll talk tomorrow, goodnight…’ but he didn’t. Again. Just left you….high and dry. And what made it even worse was that as you were trying to fall asleep in your hotel room last night, you heard the faint sound of the song playing out in the hallway. Jake was coming back to his room, listening to the song you added for him as he meandered closer and closer. But instead of a knock on your door, all you heard was the latch of his closing.

You find yourself feeling a little pissed off, because the moment you shared in the dark bathroom really felt like something. It was…very fucking hot, if you’re being honest. He felt good. He felt strong, and sturdy, but also gentle and delicate when he needed to be. You can almost still feel how he felt between your legs, pressed up against you as you sat on the edge of the sink. His hands on your back, mouth on your neck, fingertips digging into your thighs….

“Y/N! Let’s get out of here!” You hear Corri’s brash voice wake you from your rated-R daydream, and you have to blink a few times to get the image of Jake all over you out of your head. You stretch a little and pull the music from your ears as the cab light comes on, and the four of you exit the van. You check into your far too luxurious hotel room, and crash onto the bed without even bothering to change your clothes.

—

Your alarm startles you two hours later, and surprisingly the cat nap has you feeling extremely refreshed. You jump from the bed and pull the curtains on the window, showing you the scene of a cloudy Amsterdam from your fourth-story room. You can feel the cold air moving through the window, and you know it’s going to be another bitterly chilly day.

After a quick rinse-shower, you sit back on the bed to check your phone and emails and see you have a text from an unknown number from just ten minutes ago.

Unknown

9:02AM: Hey! We’re going to go see the city and walk around a little, you want to go?

You deduce that it is probably Mia or Lyla, and you contemplate on whether or not you want to even move from your bed today. But after a little thought, and another glance to the sun barely peeking through the clouds, you decide, why the hell not. You don’t want to see Jake, really, but the regret you’d feel for not seeing Amsterdam while you’re here would probably be worse. You send up a quick prayer that Josh will keep your secret today, and not make things any more awkward than they already are.

You

9:04AM: Hey, sure! I’d love to 😊

Unknown

9:05AM: Cool! We’re leaving in an hour, we’ll meet up in the lobby. Dress warm!

9:05AM: This is Lyla, btw

You

9:06AM: Sounds great, see you in a bit

You lock your phone and stand up to finish getting dressed, adding on a few more layers to your already warm attire. Your stomach churns with nerves, but you’re excited to see the city and maybe get to know the girls a little better. Plus, Ruth is begging you for photos.

Speaking of Ruth…

You grab your phone and pull it from the charging cord, bringing up her contact for a FaceTime call. It rings out, and you press your eyeball directly to the front camera lens.

“Shit, what the hell, cyclops!” She yells as you pull away snickering.

“Why is it so dark in your room?” you ask, realizing you hadn’t even thought about the time difference.

“Because it’s two o’clock in the fuckin’ morning here, dimwit! I answered because you scared me. Are you okay?” she spouts off with her voice cracking from sleep.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine,” you laugh a little as she rubs her eyes in the light of her phone screen. “I’m in Amsterdam, thought I’d give you a rundown but, you need to go back to sleep,” you say.

“Ugh, if I didn’t have to wake up in three hours for work I would disagree with you. Yeah, just text me. Actually no, that will take too long. Send voice memos. Or a video or something.”

You take a quick breath. “I have a lot to tell you, Ruthie.”

“Fuck, seriously? Damn it, just…send something I don’t care. I gotta know. Is it bad news? It’s good news, right?” she goes on.

You roll your eyes a bit as you place your fingers over your mouth. “It’s…a lot. Good and, well not the best. Go back to sleep. I love you.”

“Kay nighty night.” Her last words were said with her eyes closed, and you know for a fact she’s already drifted back off into her slumber.

You plop onto your bed and scroll social media for a few minutes as you try to kill time, feeling your stomach start to growl and grumble against the mattress below you.

Maybe you should you add a song?

No… You’d be seeing Jake in the next little bit, and you were the last one to make contact. This is up to him, if he even wants to. You stand and grab up your long, heavy coat, making sure you have everything you need for the day before taking off to the lobby to grab a quick breakfast and wait on everyone else.

—

JAKE POV

The music swirling through the steamy air comes to a close as you spin the handle on the shower faucet, the water slowly trickling to a stop. The song she sent last night has been stuck in your head since you hung up with Isla, and you have let it be the soundtrack to your life in the hours since. You spent nearly the entire shower thinking about Y/N, listening along to the track and letting it seep into your bones. You thought about her, and only her for the past few days now. How you left her last night, and how you have yet to speak to her since. Even the plane ride this morning was spent in silence. You knew you needed to answer her song, say something to explain yourself. You were going to, you just had to figure it out, and now that you had time to sit down and think about it, uninterrupted, you would.

Get out, dry off, get dressed and answer her. You had a plan, and you were sticking to it.

You step out of the large walk in shower, wrapping the fluffy white towel around your waist. You take a second to look at your surroundings, remembering how only a few years ago you were all bringing towels from home, feeling lucky enough to shower in a rundown Motel 6 bathroom in the middle of nowhere. Your life had changed drastically in a matter of years, and it wasn’t long into that success when you first met Isla.

She was a vision of auburn hair as she swept through the bar that night, so light and so carefree. You could see why Lyla and Sam had befriended her, her personality very much the same as theirs. It wasn’t long after that night that the two of you started seeing each other, things quickly becoming serious. A year later she moved into your house. It was like she was always there, making the space her own and sharing her days with you. She was with you as the band really started to make moves, never once complaining about the late nights or the long stretches of tour, that is, until she did.

Things started to change last summer. The once light and vibrant girl you fell in love with had become catty and accusatory, her light burning out and her desire to be something other than your girlfriend dwindling away to nothing. It became her, consumed her, and suddenly you became an accessory instead of a partner. Nothing seemed to satisfy her anymore, and the time you could give her was never enough. She reminded you of that, often, as if there was anything you could do to change it. You fought like cats and dogs on any given day, each argument always ending in a band-aid resolution that never got you anywhere.

There were the big ones, the ones that would have you on the couch at Josh’s or in the guest room at Sam’s. The ones they didn’t ask about because they knew better, instead opening their homes and lending their liquor cabinet. The ones that you didn’t dare mention, even months after the fact, for fear of starting it all over again. Those fights started to get closer and closer together, until you found yourself almost needing to chip in for your brothers’ mortgage payments.

You knew it was done. You knew it was over, but the problem wasn’t that you couldn’t do it. No, the problem was that every time you would try, it wouldn’t stick. Listening to her tell you that your reasons were never good enough, or that it would be too hard to end things before you left. It was always before you left, and this time was no different.

Your phone buzzing on the bathroom counter snaps you back to reality, watching as it slowly inches its way closer and closer to the edge. You snatch it up as your hair drips down your back, sliding your finger across the glass as you scoff at the name on the Caller ID.

“Hello, Josh.”

“Oh, so they didn’t invite you either? Assholes…” he grumbles under his breath.

“Invite me where? Who?” you ask, making your way back into the room.

“Sam and Daniel, and the girls I guess…” he pauses, “Just checked their location to see if they wanted to get brunch and they fucked off into town without us. Not even an invite.”

“Really?” you ask, pulling your phone away from your ear to check your texts. “Shit, yeah, I didn’t get a text from them either. Though, I did tell them I was gonna catch a few more hours of sleep when we got here. Can’t you just go with Ty?” You groan, knowing you really planned to stay in your room all day and binge watch Criminal Minds.

“No. He went for a massage a little while ago, so now you have to go with me,” he says matter of factly.

“Do I? I don’t think I do, actually.”

“No, you do, it’s in the rule book,” he answers, an air of playfulness in his voice.

“The rule book…Don’t think I got one of those,” you joke, pulling on a pair of boxers.

“Yeah, they give it to the head twin, you know, the first one out,” he laughs. “I’m in charge, the book says so, and I say brunch with a Mimosa. If you’re good I’ll even get you a Bloody Mary, my treat. Meet me downstairs in like fifteen,” he says, ending the call before you even have a chance to decline. Fucker, he knew you too well.

You quickly dress yourself, checking your phone no less than five times just to see if maybe she had said something, but still there is silence. Your plan has officially gone to shit, no surprise there. You promised yourself you’d do it when you got back. No excuses. You huff out a sigh as you spray your cologne, grabbing your wallet and your phone and shoving them into your coat pocket. You make your way downstairs to meet Josh, finding him lounging in a wingback chair nearly double his size.

“Let’s go before I change my mind,” you offer, watching him spring out of the chair, his white Nike’s scuffing loudly against the marble tiles.

“Did you text Dean?” you ask, pushing open the glass doors.

“Yeah, the place I want to go is just a block away, said to call him if we need him but keep our wits about us. Told him I would, but can’t speak for you since you don’t have any.”

You stop walking and start to turn around, definitely not in the headspace for his antics today. He stops too, and you feel him grab your arm and sling you back in the right direction.

“Alright, alright, sheesh, no games today, got it,” he says, feigning guilt.

You walk in silence the rest of the way, ducking into a little cafe with a heated patio. You felt like you hadn’t seen the sun in days and both of you quickly agree that the patio might be your only chance.

Your eyes scan the menu, looking for any words that seem familiar to you. You’re about half way through it when Josh pulls your menu down and looks you in the eye. You know what he wants, and you know you have to tell him, but you need a drink first, at the very minimum.

Saved by the bell your waiter comes to your table, taking your drink orders and rushing off before you could blink.

As expected the grilling starts, and much to your dismay you are alone on the patio with no chance of anyone hearing the two of you bicker.

“Alright Jake, I let you sleep on it. Time to talk,” he starts, crossing his arms over his chest.

You rub your hand over your face, truly not knowing where to begin. You let out a sigh, and he seems to pick up on your inner turmoil.

“Start wherever, but I would probably choose the beginning.”

You move your fingers to your lips, looking at him with challenging eyes “What is it exactly that you want to know, Josh? I mean–”

“Cut the shit, Jake. What is going on? I want everything, top to bottom, now,” he snaps, aggression present in his tone.

“You’re mad for no fuckin’ reason, Josh!”

“No, I’m mad for great reason, Jake! You’re out here fucking around with our runner, two days into the tour mind you, while your girlfriend is back in Nashville living in your home!” he seethes, his fists clenched tightly on top of the white tablecloth.

Your blood is boiling as he finishes his tirade. “Knock it the fuck off, you know damn good and well she is not my girlfriend anymore!”

“Do I? Do I, Jake? Last I heard, you were ‘easing off for a little bit’...” he replies, gesturing air quotes.

“Do you honestly think that I would have been living in your house for the last month if we were ‘just ‘easing off’? You retort, gesturing the same air quotes.

Josh sits back in his chair a little, his aggression backing off just a little bit, enough for you to keep talking. “Explain.”

You blow out a breath of frustration, “She doesn’t get it, Josh. I can’t seem to get it through her head.”

“What?”

You bite your lips together before you answer, “I have tried to end things no less than five times in the last few months. There’s always some reason… Always something that…Fuck, I don’t know. It just never sticks. She won’t hear it,” you pause, “I was serious this time though, Josh. I told her point blank, I do not want to be together anymore. It was like I was speaking fucking Latin, she refused to hear me. We were up the entire night arguing, man. It’s… It’s just so done, and I’m the only one who can see it apparently.”

“So if she won’t accept it, you’re still technically together, though? She’s still in the house?” he asks, rubbing his fingers over his beard.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess? But also, No? The only way I could get the fuck out of that house in time to make it on the plane, was by agreeing to a ‘break’. But it’s not a break. I’m done, she knows I’m done. Told her she could still live in the house for a bit until she found her own place, but I told her, point blank, we needed to separate. No contact. You can see how that is going for her.”

“Does she know that you are…you know, seeing other people?” he asks, a bit of hesitancy in his voice.

“Am I supposed to care? We aren’t together!” you argue.

“But you kind of are Jacob!” he spits, “Look, I’m not trying to like, take her side here or whatever, but if she is under the impression you two are only on a break, I highly doubt she would be okay with you seeing other people. You’ll be labeled a cheater and god knows what else if she catches wind.”

“This is the messiest shit I have ever been a part of. I swear to god…” you groan, rubbing your hand over your face. “I seriously never thought I would find myself going through something like this.”

His brows pinch together in confusion, “So why didn’t you just say straight up, I want to separate, please move out of my home?”

“I mean, I kind of did, I think. It’s so much more complicated when you’ve been together as long as we have. We’ve had the exact same argument hundreds of times, that’s no exaggeration. She lives with me, man… I can’t just expect her to move out overnight, ya know? Which is why I agreed to the break. To give her time to…Get her shit together, I guess. But she knows I’m out. She has to know.”

“But she is still calling and texting you daily?” he asks.

“All fucking day everyday. I never reply, and she still continues. As if– as if nothing ever happened. Like I said, she is just not getting it,” you explain. “Every time I would come stay at your place, she would just… come up with some reason, or some excuse to get me to come home for a few nights. We would just bandaid the problem, until it just exploded again and I’d end up back at your house or at Sam’s. But I had to be careful at Sam’s because Lyla is her best fuckin’ friend. You’d think she would have caught the drift after so many nights of me crashing there that things weren’t good. I don’t know, I hate this shit, I have suffered long enough. I want out. And I fear that when we get home, I might have to take more drastic measures. And I don’t want that shit, either.”

“So things are a lot worse than you initially led on…” he states, shaking his head as he sips from his glass.

“Yeah, I guess so. Shit’s embarrassing, man. It’s rocky as hell and I don’t know what to do. I obviously still care for her as a person, but I just can’t do this with her anymore. I thought this time and space away from each other would help me get my head right and find a way to sort this shit out, but it seems like it’s only gotten worse and even more complicated since even a month ago, before we ever even left,” you continue.

“And now there’s Y/N…” he grimaces, truly starting to understand your predicament. “I mean, it’s really only been, what, two days?”

You let out a sigh and shake your head, “Yeah, yeah. But I can honestly say that I have felt more in the last two days for Y/N than I have felt for Isla in the last year.”

“Do you think maybe… She’s…just a distraction from your real feelings? Like a space filler type of thing while you figure out shit with Isla?” he asks, broaching the subject very gently. “To be fair, I don’t blame you at all, she’s really gorgeous and a lovely girl from the little I’ve talked to her.”

“I know it looks that way, trust me. I do. But, no… It’s something else. I know it's only been two days, but there is something there, and I have to explore it,” you admit. “Like I said, I feel things I haven’t felt in so long. Not just physical things, either. And yeah, I know she works for us, and shit, but I– It was about two minutes into that plane ride that I knew it didn’t matter. I had to get to know her.”

“Answer me this, do you still love Isla?” he asks, leaning his elbows onto the table as he gives you that horribly painful twin stare that you both can only give to one another. The kind that pulls the truth from you no matter how badly you might not want to admit it.

“I mean, I love her as a person, but no, I haven’t been in love with her in some time,” you confess.

“In your mind is there any chance of reconciliation?”

Your mind flashes through a hundred scenes of screaming fights, thrown objects, tears and accusations, “No. Not anymore,” you pause, rubbing your lips. “A week ago if you asked me that, I might have said maybe. It would be so easy to fall back into the good routine we had, everything would be good again for a little while at least, but it would change and we would be back to where we are now. Endless fuckin’ cycle. I can’t do that my whole life, Josh. I don’t deserve that. I was so excited about this leg of tour, just because she wasn’t coming. I could be alone and not go to bed mad and arguing every night. Do you know how fucked that is? That is not how I should feel about the person I am supposedly in love with. I should want her here, and I just don’t.”

He nods his head in agreement, sucking his teeth with a hiss.

“Two days with Y/N has proven to me just how unhappy I am in that relationship with Isla. How much I’m just…not in love with her anymore. It only confirms my decision,” you admit.

“So she’s calling and stuff to try and keep you strung along… So that you’ll come home and pick right back up on this nasty cycle the two of you are in…” he questions.

“Basically. Which is why I refuse to engage with it. She can text all she wants, I’m not answering her,” you snap. “Things aren’t black and white for her, they are very gray and for me they are stark white. I don’t know how to make it more clear.”

He drops his head and looks up at you as he leans on his elbows again, “Look, I’m sorry. I had no idea. I won’t say anything to anyone about last night, or whatever is going on with you and Y/N. I want you to be happy, and I can tell you haven’t been in a long time. I’m just really sorry I was such an ass. I wish you would have talked to me, you know, like we used to.”

“I know, I know. It’s my own pride that stopped me. I just, I feel like I'm on the precipice of being happy again, I just have to keep following it, even if it looks really bad from the outside,” you pause, “Also, you guys have to stop picking on her, she is innocent in all of this. She already thinks you guys don’t like her.”

“Oh, that's just not true, we all like her a lot, you have to tell her we don’t mean it,” he laughs, tilting his head to the side as he tosses back the rest of his mimosa. “Wait, does she know about Isla?”

“No, absolutely not,” you answer a little too quickly.

“Are you… planning on telling her?”

“Honestly, I haven’t really thought that far ahead, I mean, I know I need to. I wasn’t really planning on Isla blowing my phone up day and night. Guess I should have known better, huh?” you laugh, offering him a small smile.

“You need to tell her, Jake. Don’t fuck it up before you even get things started,” he offers.

“Don’t you know that’s my specialty?” you ask, sipping your spicy bloody mary. “I mean, last night is a whole other problem. When you saw us out there I had every intention of leaving that bar with her and taking her back to the hotel. It was all I could think about. But then you were out there with my phone and the shit with Isla. Fuck…I panicked. I just sent her back to the hotel. Left her out to dry like a fucking prick. Haven’t spoken to her since. She probably wants nothing to do with me at this point.”

“No, no I doubt that. She’s probably a little hurt, maybe a little confused, but I think she will come around. I saw the way she was looking at you last night,” he smiles. “But Jake, seriously. You have to tell her about Isla.”

“God, I know it just, why would I even be thinking about Isla when I’m with her? I swear it’s like none of it exists when we are with each other. Everything is easy.”

“Sounds like you found yourself someone special,” he smiles.

“I think you’re right.”

—

HER POV

The morning had been spent walking up and down the streets of Amsterdam, getting lost and finding your way again over and over as you navigated the map app on Danny’s phone. To your surprise, Jake and Josh hadn’t joined you. Just you, Sam, Danny, Lyla and Mia. It felt a little strange at first, and you felt the fifth-wheel anxiety hit you hard as you trailed behind them, the two couples happy and holding hands as you all explored. But luckily, at the last second, Dean joined you on the excursion, insisting that five of you needed an escort.

You’d taken the time to speak to Dean and get to know him a little; he’s a big burly man with cheeks that stay red and a beard and mustache that hide his mouth. He’s middle aged, and a man of few words, but you were determined to break through his exterior just a little bit, seeing as how he is one of your coworkers.

Now, as you all are heading back to the hotel with your arms full of various shopping bags and leftover food cart goodies, the conversation you’d worked so hard to start up with Dean is flowing freely. The two of you converse about the job, about travel, about where each of you are from and how you got hooked up with these crazy four. He’s fairly easy to talk to, and you find yourself very calm in his presence.

“I heard about what went down at the restaurant the other night, Ms. Y/N. I’m so sorry that happened to you,” he admits as you watch Lyla and Mia pull the guys into a tiny boutique.

“Oh, no need to apologize,” you respond, a little surprised, “It was no big deal, really. I made a stupid mistake by going out alone that late, I learned my lesson. Just glad Jake was able to come help me out.”

“Still, it’s one of my responsibilities to make sure everyone is safe. Mr. Jacob made it very clear that you’re on that list, too.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and pushes a few buttons before speaking again. “I’m gonna get your number right now, so you never find yourself in a situation like that again.” You nod as you agree, knowing that you should have had his number saved a long time ago. You switch phones with him as you each enter your respective numbers, and he smiles as he locks his, pushing it back into the pocket of his coat. It hits you that Jake must have had a conversation with him.

“We’ve got more security coming, I’m sure you’ve heard. They should be here within the next few days. This is usually a one man job, but… I guess as the band gets more and more popular, these kinds of things just need to naturally grow along with them,” he explains, keeping his head on a swivel as he eyes each of them inside the store. “Turns into a team effort.”

You nod, pushing your windblown hair behind your ear before shoving your freezing hand back in your pocket. “I did hear about that. Bet it brings everyone peace of mind having more hands on deck, especially you,” you offer.

“Mmhm,” he replies, “Most definitely. I’ve met these guys before, think everybody will like them. Real straightforward outfit. I’m their head of security, but with the way this group operates, they’re probably gonna be calling most of the shots, if not all of them.” He sucks his teeth, and you can’t tell if he’s irked or maybe, a little bit relieved to have the help.

“You gonna be alright with that?” you press, hoping you’re not stepping on his toes.

He shrugs one shoulder, and you can see his eyes darting around behind his sunglasses. “I’m only one guy, Ms. Y/N.” His response is blunt, so you decide to leave it at that.

You take a second to browse the boutique, meeting up again with Lyla and Mia and gushing over sweaters and dresses that none of you could ever afford, and for the first time in two days, you’d gone more than half an hour without thinking about Jake. As soon as the memory of him and what happened last night flows back into your brain, you almost double over with a strange anxiety. You pull out your phone again, checking to see if he has texted at all, or added anything to the playlist, but you’re met with nothing. Nothing.

“Let’s go get a drink or something!” Mia finally suggests to the group as you congregate in front of the store on the sidewalk, and everyone agrees. “Danny baby, pull up somewhere to go.”

“Let’s just take off walking again, we passed like fifty pubs on the way here,” he argues, bursting through the group and walking down the sidewalk again. The tension feels like it has dissipated for the most part; you have to admit that at first you were still a little worried that things might be a little strange between all of you. But as soon as you all got a couple of drinks in you, the anxiety melts away, and you find yourself laughing along and fitting right in with them. The girls are really cool, and Danny and Sam together keep the conversation going with ease.

An hour or so later, you’re unlocking your hotel door and stripping the layers of clothing off as you now have gotten a little sweaty from the heat mixed with the alcohol. The sun had popped out a little, only adding to your need for a giant bottle of water, and to relax across your bed. As you scroll social media and flick through TV channels in languages you can’t understand, you find your mind drifting back to Jake again. At this point, you know he isn’t going to text. He isn’t going to call, he isn’t going to add another song. If he was going to, he would have by now. You swallow down the realization, flipping to your back to push a pillow over your face. You think about calling Ruth, but at the same time, you hardly even feel like talking about it.

Just as you're about to scream into the void, you hear a knock at your door. Who in the world? You stand up and adjust your clothing and hair, expecting Corri or Paul to be delivering you some information in person. You unlatch the deadbolt and swing the door open, finding none other than Jake leaning with one hand on your door frame, and the other gripping a single deep burgundy flower.

“Hey…” he mumbles, biting his lip.

“Hey, sorry, I wasn’t expecting you…” you fumble over your words, not only because you hadn’t spoken all day, but because he looked so overwhelmingly delicious standing there effortlessly dripping sex in your doorway that you almost catch yourself drooling. Loose, dark slacks, a black button up revealing his chest, his hair freshly washed and still damp around the roots… His skin is still glowing from the heat of his shower, and you can smell his body wash mixed in with that damn cologne he apparently carries with him everywhere. Your eyes flick to the flower hanging loosely from his fingertips before meeting his eyes again.

“I know, I should have called first, ‘m sorry…” he stumbles, pulling his hand from his pocket and swiping it across his nose.

“No no, it’s fine, um… did you need… you wanna come inside?” you weren’t quite sure what to offer at this point; he wouldn’t have shown up if he didn’t want to talk.

He stands up straight now, smoothing his hands over his shirt and then placing them both in his pockets. “No, actually, I came by to see if you would want to go on a walk with me,” he asks, a shyness in his tone that feels new to you. “And to bring you this.”

He extends his hand, offering you the dark red flower, multi petaled and fragrant. “Saw it earlier at a flower stand and I…I don’t know, I thought of you. Thought you should have it.”

You accept it from his fingers, bringing it to your nose to take in its earthy smell, “It’s beautiful, what is it?”

“It’s a Dahlia, I believe. The vendor said it was a Black Dahlia, but it looks dark red to me. I don’t know, I just thought it was pretty. Thought of you.” he smiles nervously. You stare at him as you twist the flower under your nose and think about his question.

“So, a walk?” you reiterate, finding the idea both exhausting and appealing, seeing as how you had just gotten back from an extremely lengthy one with everyone else. “I really should stay in tonight, I… dunno…”

“Please?” he asks, squinting his eyes. “Just a short one, we don’t have to go far. I just– I saw something cool today, and I thought you might like to see it, too. Wanna show you…”

You huff a little as you lean your head on the edge of the open door. His eyes are pleading, and you can tell there’s more to his little plan than simply showing you something.

Maybe he wants to talk. Maybe he wants to explain things… sort it all out…

“Okay. We can go. But, I have to get dressed first,” you say, already dreading putting all those layers back on, but not feeling so bad about it because now you’ll be with him. You feel a little reluctant, the pissed-off feeling you’d had all day still lying heavily present in your mind. But, he’s making an effort, at least…

“Take your time. I’m just a floor up, 507,” he starts to back away, the tiniest satisfied grin forming on his face. His eyes travel up and down your body so fast you almost miss it. “Just come knock when you’re ready.”

You close the door as he rounds the corner to the elevator, and you can’t help but feel that rush of nerves fly up your body again. He didn’t call, he didn’t text, he came to your door. With a flower. God, what a gentleman. You place the flower on the dresser, your heart pounding at the sweet gesture. You rush into the bathroom to freshen everything up and spruce your tangled hair, brushing some powder across your face and adding a little more mascara. You re-apply your favorite perfume to your wrists and neck, taking a little extra time to make sure you looked presentable in the full-length mirror on the wall.

When you feel as if your appearance is as good as it's gonna get, you sit on your bed, wanting to make Jake wait for you just a little bit longer. You go ahead and pull up a facetime call with Ruth, waiting for the tone to ring out.

The screen opens with Ruth holding up one finger, mouthing for you to hang on as she finishes out what looks to be a very annoying phone call with a client. She spins in her chair as she rolls her eyes, letting her head look at the ceiling as she uses her formal, professional voice to end the call.

“...You have an excellent day, ma’am. Mhm. Thank you, Buh-bye,” she presses a button on her phone and rips her headset off, fumbling for her airpods as she picks up her phone. “Oh my GOD today has been insane and I hate everything,” she complains as you watch the screen fill up with her face, and you hear the sound of her acrylic nails tapping all over her screen. You patiently wait, watching her loudly chew her gum, knowing that she has to clear away her notifications before she can even begin to have an uninterrupted conversation with you. “Okay I’m ready what the fuck has happened?!”

You laugh, giving her the rundown of everything that happened since you last spoke, her facial expressions letting you know she is hanging on your every word. “...And now, he just showed up at my fucking door, and asked me on a date, I guess? After basically dry humping me in the bathroom then sending me home without another word,” you finish, whispering your words as if he could hear you. “I dunno, Ruth. Should I even go?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Yes you should go. Give him a chance to explain, at least. He wouldn’t have shown up to your door if he didn’t really want you to come, ya know?” she says, immediately noticing her word choice, and slyly smiling as she bounced her eyebrows.

“Shut the fuck up. Ugh, yeah, you’re right. Does this outfit look okay?” you stand back and flip the camera around showing her yourself in the mirror.

“Slayyyyyyyy that jacket is hot, where on earth did you even get it?!” she rolls her eyes.

“From you. For my birthday. When you found out I was going to a colder climate,” you laugh. “Okay, I'm gonna go, I guess. I’ll text you later.”

“Live updates, please. I want to know the way this man ticks,” she teases.

“Shut up. Bye.” You end the call and grab your purse, making sure your room key is in your bag. You also make sure to grab the jacket Jake sent you home in last night, not able to bear another second staring at it draped across the back of the chair.

—

“Thought you might want this back,” you say when Jake opens the door, taking the coat from your outstretched hand.

He smirks as he takes it, tossing it behind him to land on some unknown surface. “Looks better on you, but it’s one of only three jackets I brought with me.” You both laugh a little as you make your way down the hall and to the elevator. The whole ride down is silent, with both of you standing at opposite sides, more or less feeling no shame in drinking the other in. His arms and ankles are crossed as the elevator descends, and you can feel his eyes boring into you.

“You look really nice today,” he offers as you exit the lobby and head back out into the freezing cold air.

“Thank you,” you reply shyly, feeling the blush creep to your cheeks. “So do you…” you wanted to gush about how perfectly his hair is sitting around his face, how his shirt and jacket are hanging across his shoulders, how poised he just always seems to be without even trying… but you don’t. You hope to god you don’t run into any of his brothers, or anyone that you work with; coming up with an explanation why the two of you are out alone together again is something you truly don’t feel like dealing with right now. “So where are we going?”

“It’s called The Jordaan. It’s a really old neighborhood, with a canal going through the center. Bunch of little shops and stuff. Did you guys walk this way this morning?” you notice the lilt in his voice.

You shake your head. “No, we went the opposite way,” you answer. It’s quiet for just a minute more as you pass by the crowds and other people on the streets. “Why didn’t you and Josh come along?”

He takes a quick breath. “Eh, we didn’t really receive an invite, honestly,” he laughs, stroking his fingers over his mustache. “Had to be Lyla or Mia’s idea to go, if I had to guess.” He was right, but you still felt bad. “But it was okay, me and Josh went to eat and got to… talk a little without the interruption of the other two. Kinda rare these days,” he smiles, and his knuckles brush across yours just barely. The light touch sends your bloodstream to a raging fire, and you have to stifle down the pull to grab his hand altogether.

The sun is peeking through the heavy cloud cover of the evening, and you find yourself staring at the way Jake’s pulled his sunglasses to sit on top of his head, letting the gleam of the sunlight bounce into his mocha colored irises. He looks you in the eye each and every time he speaks, and commands your complete attention away from everything else around you. You’re pulled into him, letting your bodies barely touch and move together as you walk along. This attraction feels different than the heated, blurry, intense pull you had to one another last night. This feels innocent, even though you both know that it’s anything but.

You turn a corner as you come along to the long line of homes and buildings, multicolored and old in their exteriors but, still holding just the right amount of charm to be an attraction. You catch yourself looking above to see the craftsmanship of them. “Wow…” you exclaim quietly as you peer up at the finely detailed architecture, staring in awe at the shape they are still in. You pull your phone from your pocket and start to take photos, zooming in on the details and making a mental note to send them straight to Ruth later.

You walk up onto a little footbridge lined with parked bikes and people stopped to take photos. Suddenly Jake is behind you, barely resting his chin on your shoulder. “Gimme your phone, let me take your picture,” he murmurs in your ear.

“Oh no, that’s okay…” Before the words can even escape your lips, he’s snatched your phone and started backing up, glancing behind him and back to your phone every few seconds.

“You’re really good at taking my phone away and doing whatever you want with it, you know!” you yell at him in aggravation.

He motions his free hand for you to scoot sideways, and then again for you to stop where you are. He snaps a few, turning the phone on its side to get every angle he can. You stand a bit awkwardly, hating that people are having to stop when they notice they are walking in line of the photo. Finally he finishes and rushes back over to you. “They look good! See?” he says, handing your phone back and swiping through them with you. “Now you’ll have record.”

You walk past a few secondhand shops and stores, and suddenly, something in one of the windows catches your eye. “Oh my god, look at that!” you squeal, pointing to a glimmering red dress sitting perfectly on a mannequin. It isn’t like any dress you’d seen before; it looks vintage, bright cherry red velvet with sewn-in sequins weaved throughout. It’s tight, but not too tight, and short and lacking fabric in all the right places.

“Damn, you should go try it on!” Jake exclaims, obviously agreeing with your surprise at how pretty it is.

“Nah, I shouldn’t…” you say, walking away from the window.

“No, you should, actually. That dress is hot, Y/N,” he says, elbowing you in the ribs. “And I think you’d make it a hundred times hotter.”

You scoff. “Be quiet, no I would not.”

“Prove me wrong, then,” he challenges with a smirk, opening the door to the shop, and holding his hand out to invite you inside.

You step inside, and are immediately greeted by a man dressed in a formal tuxedo. He notices that you are not local during his greeting, and switches to rough English.

“Eyeballing the red number, are you madam? Give me one second, I’ll grab it off the mannequin for you,�� you and Jake lock eyes as the man flits away, straight for the window. He raises his eyebrows in anticipation and gives you a grin so adorable you almost melt into putty right there in the store.

“Here you are ma’am, please, be careful, very old dress,” he explains, handing you the dress on a hanger and opening a curtain for you to go behind.

“Go ahead,” Jake mouths, pushing you into the small dressing room.

You stand almost naked in front of the mirror as you slip the soft, tight fabric over your thighs, your stomach, and finally over your shoulders. Jake was right, it fits you perfectly. The velvet material snatches your waist and bust, and cuts right above your knee. Its sequins shimmer in the overhead light, but aren’t so overwhelming that it looks showy. It’s something you could dress up, or dress down. You reach behind you and pull the zipper up only halfway. Of course.

You take a deep breath and pull the curtain back, finding Jake to have taken a seat on a plush maroon ottoman. His jaw drops as you walk toward him, and yet again, you feel the heat rise in your face. You continue walking toward him, turning at the last second with your back to him, pulling your hair to the side. “Finish doing me up?” you say, immediately realizing that could be taken in a way you didn’t really mean. But also kind of mean, if you’re being honest.

You hear him swallow and he stands, and feel his warm hand slowly grip the zipper and pull it up, his other hand resting gently on the back of your hip, this thumb barely squeezing at the muscle. He takes his time, moving the zipper at the slowest pace imaginable. “Everything alright back there?” you whisper over your shoulder, hearing your own voice tremble.

You hear the air push from his nose as he leans in a little closer. “Just taking my time… might be the only time I get to touch you this way…”

Your eyelids flutter closed at his words. You lick your lips, trying to calm your second heartbeat. “What makes you think this will be the only time?”

He finishes the zip, spinning you to turn and face him. He shrugs one shoulder. “Just don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he growls. “Take that as a compliment…if you wear that out in public, I wouldn’t stand a chance against the hordes of guys that would be following you around.”

You scoff at him, and the absolute absurdity of his statement. He has no idea how pretty he is, does he?

“Shh. That’s a lie,” you say as you turn back and motion for him to unzip you. He does, this time with a little more haste. You make your way back into the dressing room and switch back into your clothing, hanging the beautiful specimen back on the hanger the man had provided you with.

“What? You’re not getting it?!” Jake stands as you make your way back toward the employee.

“No, Jake! I can’t buy that! It’s too–”

“Perfect? Because you looked… I–I can’t even explain… You have to get it, Y/N,” he argues.

You hand the dress back to the man in the suit. “No. I wouldn’t even have anywhere to wear something like that…” you go on, internally screaming at how badly you really would like to have it.

“Let me get it for you, then,” Jake says. “It’s not even that expensive…”

“NO!” you squeal. “I mean, no thank you. Please, Jake. It’s completely fine,” you say as you begin to walk toward the exit. You simply could not let him buy this for you. No. Huh-uh. Absolutely the hell not.

He reluctantly follows you out of the store, still playfully going on and on about how you just made a huge mistake. You turn and face him, your face only inches from his. You grab both of his hands in yours, snickering a little at the surprised look on his face. “Jake, I appreciate the compliments, but I’d really like to get on with our date, now.”

JAKE POV

Her words send a shockwave through your system. “Date? So it’s a date now?” you ask, your hands cupped in hers as he looks you in the eyes.

She turns and begins walking again, and you have to physically tell yourself to move your legs and follow along. “You came to my door, asked me to go on a walk because you wanted to show me a certain specific special thing… now we’re exploring and talking and trying on dresses, I’d qualify this as a date,” she turns and gives you a teasing look of intrigue. “Just missing the food part, but I think it would still count.”

A smile comes to your lips as you realize she’s right. “You hungry?” you ask, finally catching up with her.

“No, I’m just kidding. Let’s go down to the riverside,” she points a little ways away, seeing that there is a sidewalk that runs alongside the water.

You stuff your hands in your pockets as you trudge along, the two of you taking in the scenery and the water beside you. The air is still blowing cold, but neither of you seem to mind. “So if we’re gonna qualify this as a date, maybe we should get to know each other a little better,” you suggest, earning a scoff from her.

“Seems a little backwards seeing as how we kinda already–”

“I know, I know,” you laugh. “Um, let’s see. Did you play any sports in school?” you ask.

“I played volleyball all four years, golfed with my dad on the weekends sometimes when he was around… Other than that, not really,” she explains.

“Shit, don’t tell Danny you like golf,” you go on. “He’ll capture you in a week-long conversation and then ask you to go play a round in every country we visit,” you laugh.

“Ummm, what’s your favorite holiday? And you can’t pick Christmas…” she says, pushing her pointer finger into your shoulder.

“Hmm, so, I think it’s a tie between the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving, because in July we’re always out of the country somewhere really beautiful, or we’re all at home blowing shit up together. I’m always really happy that time of year. And then Thanksgiving, because I will eat the fuck out of mashed potatoes any chance I get,” you say.

She laughs again, the sounds of her voice making your insides warm. “Your answer was better than mine!”

“Let’s see… What's your best friend’s name?” Noticing that she hasn’t really mentioned anyone.

“My best friend’s name is Ruth, we’ve been friends since elementary school. She’s… a complete idiot,” she laughs. “We still talk pretty much daily about anything and everything,” she explains. “Don’t have any secrets.”

“Oh so, she’s… getting the rundown of your whole European adventure in real time, isn't she?” you ask, wondering if she had been giving her a play by play of the whirlwind last few days you'd shared together.

She purses her lips and squints her eyes as her hand brushes past yours. “Guess you could say that…”

“Damn!” you laugh, feeling embarrassed. “Don’t tell me you included our bar bathroom escapade…”

Suddenly she’s tripping over her words. “I mean... No! I told her a little but like, not details or anything ya know, but she…I–”

“So she knows we almost hooked up but thankfully stopped just in time that my brother didn’t catch things getting too out of hand…” you say confidently, wanting to see the blush rush her cheeks again.

She stops, standing stiff in her place. “Okay, Jake. Caught me. Sue me, shit.”

You continue walking, pulling her along by the hand. “I’m kidding, I don’t care. I hope to meet her one day.”

She looks at you from the side of her eye, “I hope you do, too. Okay, who’s your best friend?”

“You really want me to answer that?” You’re surprised she can’t already tell. “I’ve got three built right in. All three pains in my ass but I love ‘em.”

“How sweet, Jake. Man, you do have a heart under there, somewhere!” she teases.

“Of course I do baby, I’m actually a sweetheart, didn’t you know?” you respond in a very piratical voice. “Alright, favorite music genre. This is the big one, answer carefully…”

“Ahhh, well…” she looks to the ground, truly contemplating her answer. “You already know the Alt-J stuff you added was way out of my normal choice, I actually listen to um, a lot of harder stuff, I guess you could say. Some metal, hard rock, also older country, some psych stuff. It runs the whole gambit,” she laughs, seeming like she was shy to admit it all.

“Wow,” you say. “So like, almost the exact opposite of what we’re into.”

“Kind of, I mean it probably overlaps… I love the stuff you’ve added to the list. And I’m sure there’s a few classic dad rock songs you like, don’t lie…” she smiles.

“Ehhh,” you argue, “Maybe a few…” you feel a sudden slight disappointment in the fact that the two of you probably will not be able to talk music much. But, that’s okay…

“Me and my dad used to go to rock shows a lot when I was a kid. I’ve seen all the country greats a few times a piece. Just something about that sound, you know? Reminds me of home, it’s very nostalgic… I’m sorry, I’m rambling…” she says, brushing the hair from her face as you find yourself enraptured in her words.

“No, no… it’s okay, ramble on…”

Light bulb.

You sneakily pull your phone from your pocket, adding that very song to the playlist, hoping she won't notice right off the bat, but hoping she will understand soon that you would listen to her ramble all day long. As she continues to talk, you can’t help but notice all the ways that she is so different from Isla. Like night and day. She listens to you when you speak, she doesn’t ever come at you with condescending words unless she’s being playful, she is sure of herself, and confident…and gives you that feeling down deep in your gut that tells you she’s something special. Though you’ve only known her a few days, it’s already obvious that she offers every single thing that Isla doesn’t, never has, and most likely never will. Instead of the uneasy, walking on eggshells feeling that you have everytime you’re with Isla, you get the confident, self-assured and joyful feeling in Y/N’s presence. And something is telling you to hold onto it.

Speaking of Isla… you really need to tell Y/N about her. It’s only right. It isn’t fair to her that she doesn’t have a clue, you wouldn’t have wanted to be left in the dark if the roles were reversed. You swallow, opening your mouth to start the conversation without having a clue where to even begin. But your thoughts are interrupted by Y/N’s sweet voice bringing you back down to earth again.

“I know you bargained for a short walk, but what if we went up there to that little pub and see what they have to offer?” she asks, smiling a toothy grin.

Maybe the time isn’t now…

“Lead the way, love.”

—

HER POV

Warm. Everything is just so warm. Your body, your face, his smile. Warm. The room is a dull hum of noise around you, your world growing still as he sits in front of you. You watch him in wonder as he talks about music and his passions, your face propped up on your fist. You know you must look positively smitten, and to be honest you kind of are. The two of you are giggling back and forth, even though nothing is really that funny. But that was the beauty of it. You can tell you are blinking slowly and try to reign it in as the nearly half a liter of beer swirls through your bloodstream. You can’t help but smile at him while he talks, his eyes locked on yours as a smile stretches across his own face.

You wonder how he is even able to hold a conversation right now, your brain reduced to mush as you continue to sip on your beer. He’s happy, you can tell, a dimple has appeared in his cheek and hasn’t left in nearly an hour. You can’t stop looking at it, at him. Everything about him. The twinkle lights over head have cast a perfect yellow glow on his tan skin, just as the sun starts to dip down below the river the two of you walked here from.

“You still with me, beautiful?” he asks, his knuckles brushing against yours.

“I’m here, but barely.” you laugh, “Why aren’t you feeling the alcohol yet?” you tease, taking a rather large gulp of your beer. You know he definitely has a higher tolerance than you do, but you can tell he is a little more smiley than usual. You place the large glass tankard back on the table as he stares at you, his eyes wide and sparkling.

“What?” you ask, feeling a bit bashful in your drunken state.

“You’re just…so– you’re just really pretty and it makes me feel, I don’t know, shy I guess,” he answers truthfully, biting his lips together nervously.

You feel your chest burst into flames, the heat radiating up your face to your already flushed cheeks.

“I like it when you blush,” he breathes, which of course makes you blush harder. “Like it best when it’s because of me.”

You feel all of your nervousness and anxiety melting away as he looks at you, and suddenly with the help of the beer, you feel brave enough to ask the question that has been on your mind all day.

“Jake?”

He nods his head ever so slightly, letting his fingertips drift across your knuckles.

“Why didn’t you answer? My song, how come you didn’t say anything?” you ask, swallowing down your last bit of nervousness.

He drops his head a little, grabbing your hand in his, letting his thumb skate across your skin. “I searched and searched for a song that I could respond with last night. One that would articulate what I wanted to say, but I just…I couldn’t find one. I felt like absolute shit after you left, Y/N. Really, I did. I fell asleep with that damn song on replay until my alarm went off this morning. It got in my head, and that’s when I decided I wanted to go on this walk today. Make it up to you.”

You stare at him for just a second, letting a smile slowly creep to your lips. He notices and you watch him as he visibly relaxes. He was nervous, too.

His eyes are locked on yours, both of you saying a thousand things with zero words. You let his words sink in, storing away each one until your heart feels a little bit lighter.

“Well, you better think of a good one tonight,” you tease, rubbing your thumb against his.

His phone buzzes on the table top, his eyes flashing down to it, then to you in panic.

“It’s fine,” you nod, gesturing for him to grab it. “I don’t mind, really.”

He picks it up and clears his throat, the loss of his hand from yours stings a little but you know he will do it again.

“From Josh,” he starts reading the message out loud, “Where are you? I knocked on your door and you didn’t answer.”

He smiles and laughs as his thumbs type back a response.

“Oh, another one,” he pauses, “We’re meeting up for dinner, just the guys, in an hour.”

His face drops a little, his eyes looking across the table to you. He locks his phone and sets it back on the table, his hand seeking yours out again.

“We should probably get going if you’re gonna make it back in time,” you offer, taking another sip of your beer.

He lets out a painful sigh, “I don’t really want to. I want to stay out…with you. I see them all the time.”

“No, no, no, you’re in Amsterdam with your brothers. They want to see you. Don’t change your plans around for me,” you insist.

He looks conflicted, you can tell he really does want to stay here with you, but he also knows he needs to meet up with them.

“Well, what about you? What will you do?” he asks, tracing his index finger around your hand.

You smile and shake your head, “Don’t worry about me, I’ll probably just go back to my room and do whatever it was I was going to do before you knocked on the door.”

He smiles and nods, licking his lips before speaking again, “If you’re sure, this is supposed to be me making it up to you for leaving you last night, now I seem to be doing it again.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

He raises his eyebrows in question, ready to hear your answer.

“I forgave you for that about two minutes into our walk,” you smile, squeezing his hand in yours.

—

He walks with you back to the hotel, his hand never leaving yours for a second. His grip is firm and warm, everything you ever dreamed of. You talk about the shops and the sights, and he tries again to convince you to buy that dress, bartering that he was going to have to go back and buy it himself if you refused.

As you step up to the hotel door you pause, turning and looking at him in the glow of the streetlights. “You don’t have to walk me all the way up, I think I can find it.” you tease.

“Alright, well, um, can I text you?” he asks, his tone reverting back to that of a nervous fifteen year old boy.

You feel the butterflies taking flight in your stomach, flapping their wings so hard you feel like you might take off with them. “Yeah, you can text me whenever you want to.”

A huge smile spreads across his face, “Yeah, alright, cool. I’ll um, I’ll text you then.”

“I’ll be waiting,” you answer, watching him stifle back his smile as he steps back a bit, bringing your hand to his lips. He places a soft and gentle kiss to the top of your hand, his cold lips barely grazing your skin, and sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“Won’t be long,” he smiles, stepping away and turning to head back down the street.

—

JAKE POV

You follow the walk route to the pin that Josh had dropped, finding yourself at a tiny pub down a back alleyway of a street. The place is crowded and warm, ambient lights with the damp smell of cigars lingering in the air. You mosy through the crowd, hoping that no one recognizes you and stops you for a drunken conversation or autograph.

Luckily it doesn’t happen, and you find Danny, Sam, and Josh tucked away at a high-top table in the corner. “There he is! Took you long enough!” Danny yells over the loud crowd, the first one of them to spot you.

The other two turn to face you, pulling your stool out for you to take. “Your beer is probably warm, now…sorry,” Sam says, pointing to yet another giant mug of beer, just the same as the one you’d just finished off.

“Fuck, thanks…” you say, tiptoeing to hop up onto the high stool. You simply can’t help the shit-eating grin that’s plastered across your face, even with all the maximum effort you have left in you. You take a large sip, finding the beer to still be fairly cold.

“Where have you been already today? You look flushed and far too jovial…” Josh presses, rubbing his hands together with his elbows resting on the table.

“Cold outside,” you say, shooting him a look.

The bullshitting and argumentative discussions commence as everyone obviously begins to feel their alcohol, and you take the distracted time out to text Y/N, letting her know you made it safely.

You

9:18PM: I’m here, but already wishing I never left

You attach a quick photo of your giant beer, and include the eye-rolling emoji.

Y/N

9:20PM: omg 😂 good luck choking another one down

You

9:21PM: Ye have little faith 🍺

A minute later you receive a photo of her room service sprawled out across the bed in front of her, chicken fingers and fries and some type of dipping sauce. You smirk at how cute she probably looks in whatever outfit she chose to get comfy in, and wonder what she looks like. You notice the TV in the background, and recognize the movie that she has playing.

You

9:24PM: Looks tasty

9:24PM: Damn, is that Wedding Crashers?

Y/N

9:25PM: Yes, I fucking love this movie

You run your hand over your face.

You

9:26PM: That sucks, I quite literally can’t stand that movie

Y/N:

9:26PM: 😱😱😱😱😱😱

9:26PM: You’re insane, this is one of my favorite movies of all time! Why do you hate it!

You

9:27PM: Dunno, not a sucker for cheap comedy I suppose

You’re interrupted by Sam’s snapping fingers in your face. “Hellooooo, Jake, you with us? Tell Isla to leave you the fuck alone, it’s guys’ night!”

You feel your eyes widen at his comment and glance at Josh, who is mirroring your exact expression behind his folded hands.

“Uh, sorry, sorry yeah.” You put your phone down on the table and try your best to be present with them, getting caught up in your normal absurd conversation. Your phone continues to light up and buzz on the table.

“You gonna get that?” Josh asks slowly and quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. You ignore him, finishing off the last bit of your beer that went down exceptionally quicker than you thought it would. Everyone is sufficiently intoxicated, and you have to admit, you’re having a really great time letting loose. The drinks are flowing, and the air is high-spirited all the way around. Danny is taking funny videos of Sam and Josh as they try their hand at some type of trick with a coin and a bottle cap, so you take the second to check your phone again. But what you see brings your serotonin level down just a notch.

Isla

10:12PM: Hey, what’s up?

10:27PM: Why aren’t you answering me babe :(

10:29PM: I miss youuuuu, you never called back last night

10:33PM: Saw Danny’s close friends story, glad to see you having fun ignoring my texts! 👋🏼

10:37PM: Can you accept my location request

10:42PM: I can see your phone in front of you Jake

You roll your eyes and mutter a quiet oh…my…god, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“What’s up?” Josh asks, and you turn your phone for him to see. His eyes instantly widen as he reads.

“This…is the shit I’ve dealt with for the last three years. I can’t—” you cut yourself off, feeling your jaw clenching with aggravation.

Josh settles back in his chair. “Fuck, I had no idea…”

“What, what is it?” Sam and Danny basically simultaneously ask, seeing the disdain falling over the both of you at the same time.

“Nothin’, just a sad video,” Josh lies.

You decide to let Isla’s antics roll off your shoulders; you’re having too good of a night to let her whining bring you down. Things with Y/N are starting to heat up, and you find your tipsy self teetering on the edge of risk. You pull her texts up again, finding that she had responded a while ago.

Y/N

9:30PM: You’re crazy, this movie is fuckin hilarious

You decide to change up the game a bit, adding a song that reflects exactly how you’re feeling right now. You scroll through your library and land on it, bringing up the option to add it to your shared playlist. It’s perfect, ‘In the Mood For You’ by The Record Company.

She responds with a text a minute later, a string of five or six laughing emojis. You’re then met with a song addition on her end, ‘Are You Sure?’ by Willie Nelson.

Holy shit holy shit. You feel your stomach get warm and your head starts to swim at the thought of where this could go, where you want it to go. You take a deep breath as the excitement builds in your system, and you can physically feel your body getting warm. You want to scream. Your eyes begin to cross a little as your thumbs hover over the screen, flicking around as you decide what to do.

The next thing you know, Sam is setting another beer in front of your face, this one thankfully much, much smaller than the other one you had just finished off. Mother fucker...Gonna be very drunk.

You decide to skip out on a text, keeping this little game the two of you have going. You pull up the song search, adding ‘No One Else’ by Weezer. Perfect.

Seconds later, you receive a text.

Y/N

10:56PM: I’ll think about it…….

You feel your cheeks grow pink.

Just then another comes through from Isla.

Isla

10:57PM: Ignoring me isn’t going to fix anything, Jacob.

You scoff, shaking your head. You turn the phone to Josh again.

“God, block her fucking number. I’m so serious,” his voice raises a little, laced with a protective tone.

You ignore it, flipping back over to your texts with Y/N, suddenly feeling emboldened.

You

10:59PM: Think about what, exactly?

You lick your lips as you set the phone down, glancing around to see no one paying attention to you all up in your phone again. A minute later, you receive a photo. You click the message and watch as the attachment comes to life.

It’s a selfie of Y/N sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a barely-there black silk pajama set, with the object of the photo obviously the empty side of the bed behind her.

Y/N

11:01PM: You, here.

Son of a fucking bitch, she is gonna be the death of you. You pull your phone up so no one can see the picture, and you take a second to stare at her soft skin in the silk material, her hair a little messy but lying perfectly. She’s smiling just a little, and the dim light is bouncing off her features in all the right areas.

You

11:03PM: Absolutely stunning

11:03PM: Are YOU sure?

Your heart is positively racing, watching as her text bubble pops up.

Y/N

11:04PM: Only if you want to…

As the breath hitches in your throat as you’ve quite literally forgotten how to breathe, you take a second more, starting in on the beer Sam had provided. You lock your phone, trying to make up your mind of how to answer. What to do, what to do…

You finally decide to reply with a bold text.

You

11:06PM: I think I can make that happen…😉

11:06PM: We shouldn’t be much longer

You get dragged back into conversation with the guys, and fifteen or so minutes later, everyone is gearing up to leave. You glance down at your phone a few minutes later, seeing that she hasn’t responded. Weird.

Everyone stands to leave, and the alcohol hits you in the face. Yeah, pretty fairly intoxicated. You exit the building, feeling someone standing behind, close by. You turn to see Dean bringing up the rear of the group. “Whoa, where did you come from you scary motherfucker?” you tease, earning a big, warm smile from him.

“Been sitting at the bar all evening, Mr. Jake,” he responds, pointing for you to catch up with the rest of them.

You rest a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You’re really good at your job, Dean. I never even knew you were there, should have come and had a drink with us.” You feel your words slurring a bit. Just then, you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket incessantly.

“I wet my whistle with a shot of Jameson as soon as we got there, water the rest of the night,” he replies without looking at you. You laugh and step to the side a bit, pulling your phone out to see Isla calling. Fucking son of a bitch. You slide to answer it.

“What, Isla? Fuck!” your tone is a bit more harsh than you had expected, but warranted nonetheless.

Then, all you can hear on the other line is a rush of screams and yells, her voice loud and her words cramming as she lets you know how she feels. You pull the phone away from your ear, holding it there until you find a chance to speak again.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, can you–”

Her screams continue, and you realize exactly how this is going to go. How it’s gone hundreds of times before. She’s not gonna let you speak. And honestly, you’re too intoxicated to talk, anyway. You set it to speakerphone as Josh falls back to walk with you. You shake your head as you allow your twin to listen to her incessant rambling. “You hear this shit?” you mumble. The two of you listen for a second more before you realize you can’t do it anymore.

“Isla, I’m hanging the phone up. Call me when you can have a mature conversation. Bye.” You don’t even wait for her to retaliate before pressing the big red button. In a huff, you bring up your text thread to see if Y/N has responded. Like the gods of divine intervention decided to reign down their bad luck upon you, you find that you had in fact sent those last two risky texts, to Isla.

“FUCK!” you yell, stopping in your tracks, hitting your palm to your forehead. “Fuck fuck fuck!” How could you have been so stupid?! Of course she had a reason to call and yell at you…

Your fingers move to Y/N’s thread, and you see that you were the one who had left her on read. You’re in the lobby of the hotel now, and everyone is dispersing to head to the elevator or down the halls to their respective rooms. You snap away for a second to tell them goodnight, before deciding to take the stairs up to your room. You needed a second, and to work off some of your drunkenness.

You finally pop into your room, feeling completely idiotic for accidentally sending the right text to the wrong number. You splash some cold water on your face, hoping it will bring you back to earth a little bit, but finding it to have only made your splotchy face and tinted cheeks worse. You brush your teeth and take a piss, finally settling on the edge of your bed to think.

Fuck it, you finally decide, bringing up your texts with Y/N once more.

You

11:47PM: I think I can make that happen…

Surprisingly, she responds within the minute.

Y/N

11:47PM: Hey. Thought you had found someone else to sneak away to the bathroom…

Your nerves flush up all over again. We’re still in the clear.

You

11:48PM: Don’t be crazy fledgling. I’m finding you in 5 minutes.

HER POV

Five minutes? Five minutes! You stare at the screen for a few seconds before your brain starts to work again, giving you a mile long to-do list before he knocks on the door.

“What!? What! What does it say?! Hello! Why do you look panicked!?” Ruth asks from the other end of the phone.

“Oh my god, he’s coming to my room. Right now, he’s on his way right this second, holy shit I have to– I have to clean up! I need to brush my teeth, brush my hair? Shit, I can’t be wearing this! Oh my god, shit I do not have enough time!” you screech, tearing across the hotel room to clean up the best that you can.

“Focus on yourself first! He doesn’t care about your messy room! Put on some deodorant for the love of god! Did you shave your legs today?! Wait, did you end up bringing that little black sleep set thing we found?” she asks, trying to help you prioritize.

“Yes! I’m wearing it stupid! Can you not see me?!” you shout, the clocking continuing to tick by.

“Fuck off, it’s blurry! Okay just go brush your teeth, brush your hair, deodorant, then let's work on the room. Hurry up!”

You run into the bathroom, applying deodorant as quickly as possible and checking your legs for stubble. “I shaved this morning, but I think it’s fine.”

“Did you shave…everything?!” she asks, just as panicked as you are.

“Yeah, thank god!” you answer, wetting your toothbrush.

“Okay, game plan, keep brushing, just listen. He’s into you, you’re into him. He’s been flirting with you all night. He wants you babe, and if it were me? Well, I’d do it. I know what you’re gonna say, ‘Ruthie, I can’t give it up on the first date’, blah blah blah, I don’t care, fuck the police. He’s hot, you’re hot, you’re in Europe, and if you don’t sex that man tonight, you might not get the chance to again.” she lectures, giving you a stern look.

You spit your toothpaste into the sink, wiping your mouth and grabbing for your hair brush. You run it quickly through your hair as she continues. “God, I have got to know what this man is like in the bedroom. I am so living through you right now. I expect every detail first thing in the morning. Not noon, not three, morning.”

You grab your perfume from the bathroom counter and hold it up to the camera, “Should I, or too much?”

“Yes, you should, obviously! But don’t overdo it!” she yelps back. You spray the perfume onto your wrists, careful not to spray too much.

“Alright, I feel better, but do you think I should change? Honestly, I feel so…”

“What? Hot, sexy? Drop dead gorgeous? Didn’t have a problem with it when you sent that picture earlier, what's different now?” she asks.

“Well, nothing I guess, I just… He will see me in person. You can see my nipples!” you admit.

“I think he’s gonna see a lot more than your nipples tonight babe, that’s just the appetizer.” she laughs, crunching the ice from her drink.

“Oh my god you are so gross, okay, fine. I just need to clean up the room and little and–”

A knock at the door renders you both silent. You mouth the words ‘oh my god’, as she laughs silently.

“I’ll call you later,” you whisper, quickly ending the call and tossing your phone onto the dresser. You take a deep breath and smooth your hands over the black satin tank top, pushing your boobs up, but letting out a defeated sigh when they drop back into place. She better be right about this.

You blow out a calming breath as you make your way towards the door, twisting the handle and pulling the door open. Leaning against your door frame you find Jake, cheeks flushed and somehow looking even better than he did this afternoon. He’s in the same clothes, and his hair is windblown, but there is something different about him. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you file it away for later.

You purse your lips in a smirk, “You said five minutes.”

He smiles and nods, “I did, but I had to make a pit stop.”

“What for?” you ask, a playful tone to your voice.

You watch his eyes flick down to take in your appearance, his chest growing as he sucks in a deep breath, “Oh, you know…had to get something,” he pauses, shrugging his shoulders a bit. “Did you make up your mind?”

You bite your lips together as you open the door a little wider, “Mmm, I thought about it…”

He steps forward, his foot on the threshold, “And?”

You instantly reach for his shirt, pulling him into the room and crashing your lips into his. He immediately takes control, leading you backwards and kicking the door shut with his foot. His hands have found your waist, sliding beneath the silky fabric of your top and gripping into your skin. He backs you into a wall, letting his warm lips drag across your jaw as his hands continue to explore the soft skin of your stomach. It’s not long before his lips are back on yours, the taste of alcohol still lingering on his tongue.

His knee slides between your legs, parting them just enough to be able to press himself closer to you. Your arms lace around his neck, your hands tangling into his soft hair, as his hips press into yours. The sound of your lips on his is wet and desperate, the two of you devouring each other where you stand. His tongue slides into your mouth in search of yours, the two of you quickly picking up where you last left off.

You can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket as it presses against your leg, an incessant buzz that drags your attention away from his lips.

“You wanna get that?” you ask, whispering against his lips.

“No,” he growls, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “Probably the groupchat, I’m tired of them interrupting.”

He pulls the two of you from against the wall, walking you backwards towards the bed as his lips pepper kisses up and down your jaw. He tosses you down towards the bed, the fluffy white sheets pooling around your body. His eyes are hazy as he looks down at you, his cheeks still red from what you thought was the cold, but now know is the alcohol flowing through his system. His chest is heaving as he stares down at you, taking in every single inch of your body. You can feel the primal need radiating from him, and you remind yourself to thank Ruth for not letting your change into something else.

You can hear that his phone is still buzzing, and with a huff of aggravation he pulls it from his pocket and taps on the screen a few times before throwing it onto the nightstand. He drops to his hands, hovering over you as his shirt hangs from his body. You keep your eyes locked on his as you unbutton the buttons, letting your hands run up his stomach and over his chest.

His lips drop back down to yours, this kiss a little slower and a little more intentional, you can feel that he wants you, and you hope he can tell that you want him just the same. He hums against your lips, the evidence of his need starting to show through in his voice. You let your hands push the fabric of his shirt over his shoulders and he assists by tossing it to the floor. His necklaces hang between the two of you, the pendants cold as they rest against your chest.

His hand comes up to swipe at the thin strap of your tank top, pulling it delicately over your shoulder while letting his eyes meet yours. You nod your head just enough to give him permission, letting him repeat the action with the other side.

He brings his palm to rest on the side of your neck, his fingertips brushing lightly against your skin before he drags his palm down your body, pushing the soft black fabric down your chest.

“This what you wanted?” he hums, dragging his fingertips over your sternum. “When you sent me that little picture? Wanted to get me all worked up thinking about you in this? Thinking about you, out of this?”

Your nipples harden just at the sound of his voice, deep and rich, a gentle slur from the alcohol. He is pure sex as you look up from beneath him.

“Might’ve been…” you answer, biting your bottom lip nervously.

“Don’t do that,” he says, pulling your lip with his thumb. “Own it. Take what you want.”

A smirk is planted on his lips, his hair hanging around his face as he looks down at you. You decide to do exactly what he says, reaching down to the hem of your top and pulling it up and over your shoulders. His eyes drop down to your chest, now completely exposed to him, the lust almost visible in his dark eyes.

“Shit…” he breathes, his tongue wetting his lips.

He slots his knee between your legs, crawling forward a little bit more and dropping down to his elbows over top of you. His lips connect with your chest, sucking a long wet kiss into the roundness of the skin. You squirm beneath him, the feeling of his lips on your body more than you can handle in the moment. He drags his lips down your body, stopping as he meets the hem of your shorts.

“Smell so fucking good…You’re so soft, everywhere… Have half a mind to have you like this,” he pants, pressing his lips to your skin again.

“Come back,” you plead, needing to feel his lips on yours.

He moves quickly, grabbing your face with his hand and pressing his lips to yours. You reach between the two of you, your hand unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning the button on his pants. He groans as your hand slips into the waistband of his boxers, gently grazing the stubbly trimmed hair at his base. His eyes flick open to meet yours, almost as if he is surprised you’re doing what he told you to do. You stare at him, waiting for him to tell you to stop, but he doesn’t. You have the answer you need.

You press further, reaching for him, but surprisingly finding him still mostly soft. His eyes widen a little, and his head drops just a touch. You can tell he knows, and it’s caught him a little off guard.

You decide to take matters into your own hands, smiling back at him, “Roll over.”

He looks up, a small grin on his lips as he rolls to his back, landing in the empty spot you photographed earlier. You move to place yourself between his legs, reaching for the top of his pants and pulling them and his boxers down over his legs. He kicks them off and you toss them to the floor, taking in the sight of him completely naked in front of you. His chest is heaving as he looks at you, a grin on his shiny pink lips as he watches you slide your hands up his thighs.

“I know I already told you this, but you’re so fucking pretty I can’t seem to think straight.”

You can feel your cheeks grow hot, the way he’s looking at you and the words falling from his mouth have your heart pumping harder than it has in years.

“And god when you blush like that, fuck…”

You crawl forward a bit more, positioning yourself over him to straddle his waist. You lower yourself to a sitting position, letting him guide your hips to rest your body weight where he wants it. His hands grip into your hips, sliding under the silky fabric still covering your lower half. His thumbs rub circles into your hip bones, your hips rolling on their own accord against his. A hum leaves his chest as his eyes flutter closed, clearly enjoying his view and the feeling of you beneath his hands.

You reach for his hand, grabbing his wrist and guiding his palm to rest over your chest, letting his fingers grip into the soft fullness beneath it. He palms at your breast as you continue to rock your hips over his. His mouth opens just a bit as he focuses on you, slowly bringing his other hand to rest over your other breast. His grip is firm and warm, not too rough. A hum of pleasure leaves his lips every few seconds as he drinks in the moment, but still yet he is considerably soft beneath you.

You lean forward into his hands, letting your lips brush against his neck, your tongue darting out and licking a wet stripe up the column of his neck. His grip tightens and his hips buck upward into yours. You’ve got him where you want him now.

You pull away from him, moving backwards on the bed until you are hovering right above his dick. Your eyes flick to his, dark and boiling over with want as you lower your face closer to him. You grab him in your hand, feeling that he is still not truly hard enough to do anything with, but you still had a few more ideas yet.

“Can I?” you breathe, whispering the words against his soft pink tip. You bat your eyes at him, “Please?”

You watch his chest rising and falling quickly, his heart rate sky high as he watches you. “Been dreaming about it.”

You let your tongue glide over his tip, warm against your mouth as your eyes stay locked on his. You wrap your fist around his base and let your mouth sink down over him, running your tongue up the underside of his shaft. You can’t help but wonder why he isn’t rock hard at this point, his body giving you every single cue that he wants you, apart from this one.

His hand swipes the hair away from your face as you take him, feeling him growing just the slightest bit harder as his tip grazes the back of your mouth. You pull off of him just enough to speak, letting your wet lips brush his tip. “That okay?”

“Yes, fuck yes, I just–”

You grip your hand into his thigh as you shush him, “Shhh, I know, I’m not done.”

You take him down again, bobbing your head back and forth at a steady pace as his breathing starts to pick up. His skin is clammy under your hands and his chest is heaving as he watches you take him as far as you can.

Your brain starts to wander as you taste him, his natural musky smell translating to the taste of his skin. Maybe he drank too much? Or maybe you’re just bad at this. He should be hard by now. Maybe he doesn’t really want you like you thought.

A groan leaves his lips and his hips buck up, forcing him further down your throat. “Fuck…”

Okay, that's definitely not it. He has been falling all over you for days, it has to be something else.

His hand grips into your hair as his hips buck upwards again. “Feel so fuckin’ good baby, shit. Perfect little mouth, knew it would be.”

You let your eyes flick up to his, staring at him as his tongue rests between his lips. He’s trying, you can tell, but for some reason, it’s just not working. His brow furrows in anger, and you watch as his demeanor shifts, frustration taking him over.

You pull off him, his dick harder than when you started, but still fairly soft. You don’t know how hard he normally is, but it has to be more than this. Right?

“Jake, we don’t have t–”

He shakes his head, “Mmm, you know what? Come up here beautiful, come lay down for me.”

You do as he says, part of you sad to think that maybe you weren’t doing it for him, but you push the thoughts aside, swapping places with him as he adjusts the pillow beneath your head. He bends to kiss you, pulling away for just a second before pressing his lips to yours again much quicker.

“So fucking pretty, all of you. But especially that mouth,” he smirks.

He hooks his fingers into your shorts, pulling them and your panties off in one swift movement. You are bare before him, his eyes widening as he takes you in, finally getting a reaction from his dick. He fists it up and down a few times as he looks at you, “Can I touch you, baby?”

You nod quickly, letting him spread your legs apart with his free hand. A growl leaves his chest as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, “So gorgeous, shit…”

His thumb swipes up through your wetness, circling your clit a few times causing you to squirm beneath him.

“Jake…” you gasp.

His eyes meet yours, “Yeah? You like that? You’re so beyond wet, sweetheart.”

Your hips twist and turn beneath his touch, every angle proving to be more stimulating than the last. You whine, a string of curses and muffled versions of his name falling from your lips.

“You…” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “Are everything I thought you would be. More, even.”

“Jake, please, I– I need–”

He pulls away from you quickly, his hand still fisting his cock as he reaches for his wallet on the floor. He pulls a condom from the pocket inside, tearing the foil packet open as he kneels back onto the bed.

“Let me!” you urge, stopping his wrist, “I mean, please, can I do it?”

His eyes flick up to yours in surprise, “Yeah baby, you can do it. You can do whatever you want, swear to god.”

You grab the latex between your fingers, pinching the tip and rolling it over his cock. It's hard enough now that putting the condom on is fairly easy, but you’re positive he was even harder than this in the bathroom last night. You roll it to his base, letting your hand drift back up and over his chest before circling it around his neck. His hands grip your waist as his lips meet yours again, his tongue circling with yours as he moves you back towards the pillows, gently lowering your body to the bed. “Want you so bad, Y/N.”

“So have me,” you breathe, barely letting your lips leave his.

You welcome him between your legs, feeling his hand reach down to fist his base, gliding himself through your wetness. In only a matter of a minute his dick is softer than it was, and both of you know it, but neither of you are willing to acknowledge it.

His phone starts to buzz on the nightstand, both of you looking towards it. He doesn’t pay it any mind, letting it buzz on the wooden table until it stops.

“Look at me, baby, don’t mind that,” he demands.

You feel him press his tip to your entrance, his eyes fixed on yours. He furrows his brow as he presses his hips forward, but you feel nothing. Your eyes flick down between the two of you, finding that he can’t seem to get hard and stay hard enough to get it in. You feel a pang of hurt run through your chest, almost like rejection, but somehow a little worse.

“Jake, are you not hard en–”

“Just give me a second, I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” he growls, his attention turning to the still buzzing phone on the nightstand.

“I mean, I can give you head again if you think–”

“No, Y/N, I just– I just need a second, I’ll be fine,” he says. You can hear the anger in his voice, not at you, but at himself.

“Is it me?” you ask, running your fingers up his arm that is next to your head.

“Fuck no. You are everything I want, wet as fuck and gorgeous, no, it’s not you. I want you, I really fucking want you,” he says, stroking himself a few more times. “Alright…”

He repositions himself at your entrance, and this time you can feel him, he’s harder now, enough to slide into you, but still it’s only just enough to slip inside.

Even half hard he is bigger than the last guy you were with, the stretch as he presses into you making that abundantly clear.

“Oh Jesus Christ, you are so tight,” he pants, his dick hardening a little at the tight fit.

You slide your hands around his waist, pulling him down a little further as he starts to move his hips, “Oh goddamn…”

His phone buzzes twice on the nightstand as he starts to pump into you at a steady pace, but you ignore it, letting the overwhelming feeling of him moving inside of you take precedence in your brain.

He groans through closed lips, his brow furrowed in concentration as he slides in and out of you. He rolls his hips as he thrusts into you, a whine leaving your lips as your back arches.

“Motherfuck, you are–” he stops, regaining his composure, “Tightest fuckin’ pussy.”

Your hands grip into his sides as he picks up speed, his hips slamming into yours as both of you start to lose yourselves in the moment. Finally things felt normal, things felt good, way too good. You wanted this, you needed this, and fuck if he wasn’t checking every box you’d ever had.

He cups your cheek in his hand, dusting his thumb over your swollen lips just as you part them to suck it in. You watch his eyes roll back in his head as he starts to pant, and you can tell he is dangerously close to his finish.

You start to speak, ready to change positions but as you open your lips to release his finger, his phone rings, buzzing quickly across the table as the sound plays through the speakers.

“God fucking damnit!” he growls, “What the fuck!”

“Take it Jake, it’s fine, just– answer and they’ll leave you alone.” you urge, looking to the black phone skittering across the table.

“No, fuck no.” he snaps, his hips emphasizing his point. “I’m busy,”

The buzzing stops, and he looks back to you, letting his hand drift down to your chest. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, letting his lips meet yours. His kiss is wet, and desperate, his hips starting to falter as they move in messy strokes above you.

You can tell he needs to cum, his body racing closer and closer with every half hard stroke of his dick. You can also tell he is fighting it, his face is red, and his hairline sweaty. You know it will be seconds, if that, until he is tumbling into his release.

His eyes flick to yours in panic, an almost apologetic look on his face as he breathes, “Baby, I’m, fuck—”

As if right on cue, his phone starts to buzz, the ringtone blaring through the speakers as his hips stutter, slamming into you again as he looks at his phone on the table. His head snaps back to you, sucking in a deep breath of panic as his hips stop, his cock twitching inside you as he fills the condom with a guttural moan.

The fucked out look that takes over his face is like nothing you’ve ever seen. Reminiscent of a Renaissance painting, the features of his face twist into such a blissful expression that he almost looks like he’s in pain. He’s beautiful, there is absolutely no doubt about that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he just came, way, way too soon.

You are in shock as you lay beneath his panting body, feeling him grow soft inside you once again. He pushes up to his hands nearly instantly, his face riddled with remorse as he realizes what exactly just happened. “Y/N–”

His phone buzzes again, for what has to be the sixtieth time in the last five minutes, a snap of anger washing through you. “Are you going to fucking get that?”

He mumbles a curse under his breath as he pulls out of you, the condom full as he looks at it in shame. He covers himself with his hand as he snatches the phone off of the nightstand and makes his way to the bathroom. You can feel the embarrassment swirling through the air as you hear the sink in the bathroom turn on.

You grab the sheet at your feet and pull it up over your naked, unsatisfied body, trying to wrap your head around what exactly just happened. You try to catch your breath, the sound of your breathing filling the room but quickly drowned out by Jake’s phone ringing. This time though, he answers.

“Hello?!” he shouts, his anger apparent. “Yeah I’ve seen him fucking calling, I have been busy goddamnit!”

You hear the sink turn off and the toilet flush, followed by the sound of his footsteps walking back into the room. “Yes, I will call him, Jesus Christ, don’t ever blow my shit up like that again,” he snaps, ending the call. He pauses as he walks, a hand towel in his grip as he taps his phone screen.

You hear another call ringing out, but this time he's the one doing the calling. He walks over to you with the phone on speaker phone, a look of sadness on his face as he slowly approaches the edge of the bed. He sits next to you and reaches for your hand just as the person answers.

“Hey, man, been trying to call you.” the man's voice says, a tone of urgency present.

“Yeah, sorry about that, I was caught up for a second. What’s up, what’s going on?” Jake answers, rubbing his hand along your arm.

He turns to look at you mouthing ‘guitar tech’ as he hands you the damp towel. You make quick work of it, wiping yourself off but knowing you’ll be taking a shower as soon as possible. You throw it across the room as he snickers, waiting for Johnny to answer.

“Listen man, I’m at the venue, trucks just arrived and we are doing load out. One of the stage left Marshall cabinets split in transit. Wiring harness is fucked. Amp is…the amp is not looking good man.”

You see Jake stiffen, “What?”

“Huge gash in the backside, must have fallen or something, I tried to fuck with the wiring as best as I could, it’s not getting any signal right now, man.”

“Holy fuck,” he groans, standing quickly from the bed and gripping into his hair. “No signal? Did you try a direct line in?”

You cut your eyes wondering how he managed to sober up so quickly in the last three minutes.

“Yeah, even DI there’s no signal, just static. Powers’ on, but she’s DOA. Gonna have Mark take a look at it too, but I don’t have high hopes,” he continues.

“Is there anything we can do? How the fuck are we supposed to get a replacement amp and cabinet by tomorrow?” Jake asks, his voice laced with panic.

“We can make some calls, I know a guy with some leads. What are the chances of you coming down here to take a look at it? Maybe I’m completely missing something, man. Hoping it's a quick fix. Need your signature for the insurance waiver, too.”

“Can it wait until morning?” he asks, a pained look on his face.

“Probably shouldn’t, especially if we are looking for a replacement locally.”

He turns to look at you, and you can tell he is conflicted. You bite your lips together and nod your head. This is his job after all.

He runs a hand over his face, letting out a sigh, “Yeah, yeah, I um– I can be there in a bit. I just need to wrap something up here, and I’ll be there. See if you can get in touch with Hamstead, I’m sure they have a loaner we could use for tomorrow at the very least.”

“Will do man, hey sorry about this, I don’t know what happened, maybe it wasn't strapped down or–”

Jake is quick to cut him off, “It’s fine, not your fault. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yep, see you then,” he says, ending the call.

He tosses his phone on the nightstand before dropping his head into his hands. “This night has been…”

He turns to look at you, letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what the fuck it’s been, fuck, I just…”

You can tell he is flustered, he can hardly form a sentence. “Listen, I get it. It’s fine, just go do what you need to do. It’s okay, really.”

He nods as he stands up from the bed, walking around the front to start grabbing for his clothes. He doesn’t say much as he dresses, and he will hardly look at you. You don’t really know why, but you can imagine he is feeling a little bad about himself and his performance at the moment. You still haven't let yourself process what exactly happened with the two of you just now, but you will, soon.

He re-buttons his shirt, pulling his hair up into a hair tie as he lets out a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry about this. I really am, this is the absolute very last thing I want to do right now, especially after… that. But I have to, and I don’t want you to think that I want to because–”

“Jake. I get it. Just go, it’s fine,” you say calmly, hoping he will believe you.

He grabs his phone and his wallet and shoves them into his pants pocket, kneeling on the bed towards you. He leans in to kiss you, but his lips don’t land on yours, instead missing your mouth completely. A new rush of secondhand embarrassment washes through you, and right now you think him leaving is probably the best thing he could do.

He curses himself as he stands up shaking his head in defeat as he swallows back his embarrassment. He walks towards the door with a hand in his pocket, turning to you just before stepping out, “I’ll uh…I’ll text you, I guess, I don’t know, fuck. Have a good night, Y/N.”

The door slams behind him and suddenly the room is silent. No heavy breathing, no pitchy moans, and no ringing phones. Just pure silence.

You stare at the wall for a full five minutes, the muted TV flashing colors against your skin. You can’t conjure a thought. Not a single one. Nothing other than what the fuck was that?

You want to call Ruth. You want to call her and tell her everything, but you also don’t even know what you would say. Something like ‘Hey Ruth, just had the worst two minutes of sex of my life? Oh did I mention he was barely hard? And I couldn’t get him hard? And that his phone rang the entire time? And that he came in two minutes? And I didn’t finish at all? And then he had to leave as soon as he finished? And now I’m sitting alone and naked in my hotel room?’ Yeah, you needed to sit on this one for a minute. Your eyes catch sight of the flower laying on the dresser, now looking a little bit limp and lifeless but still beautiful no less. You feel a pang run through your chest, tearing your eyes away from it so as not to taint that moment earlier with this one.

You rip the sheets from your body and make your way to the bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as it will go before stepping inside. You let the steaming hot water clear your mind and ease your tense muscles, washing away the scent of his cologne that is lingering on your skin.

You wrack your brain for answers, though you can hardly come up with anything that makes sense. There’s just no fucking way he is actually terrible in bed. We had so much chemistry, the electricity between us was nearly electrocuting you. He felt so good last night. We were so in sync last night. This had to be a fluke, right? You’ve seen him with his guitar on stage, where was that?!

You lather your skin in your body wash, rinsing away the remaining evidence that this night ever happened. After the best afternoon with him, why was he so off tonight? He barely seemed like himself. Maybe he really did have too much to drink.

You tried to put yourself in his shoes. If the roles were reversed and it was your phone blowing up like that, you probably would have been a little distant too. But that didn’t explain why he couldn’t stay hard. That was a mystery to you, and you really hoped to god it was the beers and not you. You know he was so much harder last night, you know he was. You felt it. So what happened between last night and tonight?

Something. You knew that much.

You turn off the water and wrap yourself in a towel, letting your mind wander with possibilities, trying to convince yourself that what he showed you tonight was not who he really was. You sat back down on the bed you just shared with him, thinking back to that few seconds where things were good. And it was good, it felt good, he felt good. There was no denying those few seconds. But the rest of it, well, that was still up for debate.

You grab your phone and tap the screen, the display reading 1:02AM. There are no texts from Jake, though you didn’t really know what you expected him to say.

From the little you know about him, when he left here tonight the confidence he naturally exudes was gone, not even in the same building. You knew he would reach out, but only when he was ready and knew what to say. But until then…

You toss your phone on the bed next to you, quickly changing into a clean pair of pajamas and curling back up into the bed. You lay there staring at the ceiling trying to figure out how you are going to handle things tomorrow. You would be with him the entire day, and you didn’t want to make him feel worse than he likely already did.

You go back and forth with yourself until you land on something sturdy: You won’t say anything, you won’t do anything. You’ll act completely normal. The same as you have for the last few days. You decide to tear this page from the book and move forward. This never happened.

Deep down you know there was something holding him back from being fully present with you tonight, but what that is you’ve yet to discover.

—

JAKE POV

The early morning finds you facedown on your bed, still fully clothed, one boot kicked off into the floor, the other still completely on your foot. The sun is far from being up, and you’re thankful that you still have a few hours before its rays beat in through your window. The bustle of the awakening city is loud on the streets below you, and you find yourself wanting nothing more than to stay in this exact position for the rest of the day. For the rest of your life, actually. Maybe, if you bury yourself under these blankets and pillows, everyone will forget about you. Isla will forget about you. Y/N will forget about you, about everything, about last night. It will be like it never even happened. It will be like the most amazing buildup to what could have been a night of pure electricity didn’t take an absolute nose dive into one of the most embarrassing things to have ever happened to you. You’d take tripping on stage a million times over this. Pure. Humiliation.

Yeah, right here, in this bed. Under the pillows. They can’t find you here.

What the fuck even happened?! Whiskey dick was an understatement. It didn’t even begin to explain what you…experienced. Unable to perform for the most beautiful new thing that has happened to you. Everything was perfect, she was perfect… her confidence was enamoring, her head was off the charts good, and fuck, for the few seconds you had things actually going, it was pure ecstasy. She was soaked for you. Her sounds, her face… fuck. It all came flooding back to your brain, even the way she smelled still stuck in your mind. She wanted you, just as badly as you wanted her. Just the thought of it had you standing at attention all over again, at full force this time, though. And you’d let her down.

You sit up and roll yourself over. “Where the fuck were you last night, huh? Let me the fuck down!” you audibly yell at what was happening in your still-belted jeans. You force your face back into the comforter, realizing now that a horrific hangover is on the horizon. Your head is busting in two already, not like you already didn’t feel like shit on a boot.

Staying here, under the pillows until sound check. Right here. Not moving. Hiding.

You know that’s not realistic, though. You contemplate texting her, but what the fuck do you even say? You couldn’t even satisfy her, and ended up satisfying yourself, way too fucking soon. What had you lasted, two minutes? Three max? Like a fucking 16 year old kid. God, what a fucking tool. She probably thinks you’re a horrible lay. You know you’re better than that.

You groan hard into the sheets below you, feeling the metallic taste of a hangover in your mouth. You need a gallon each of water, orange juice, and black coffee, stat. And probably like, nine pieces of the butteriest toast you can find. And probably a shower, yes, a shower. And a straightjacket, for how absolutely insane you feel.

Damnit, the amp. Luckily, the rental was in the works of being en route last night, so you feel just a little bit better about that, at least. It won’t be your baby, but it will sound okay.

You roll and find your almost-dead phone underneath your chest, blinking your eyes as the screen brightens. Nothing. Not even Isla. Good. No one wants you. You can stay here, hidden in your burrow, until you absolutely can��t anymore.

You’ve gotta say something, anything to her, to start this process that you want to stay millions of miles away from. But the first step to healing is admission, so you go ahead and take it.

You

5:31AM: I’m sorry.

You watch as the message is delivered to her, seeing the string of foreplay texts and her photo still sitting in the chat. She’s so gorgeous, how could you have fucked up this badly? Your first chance to show her how you feel and you fumble this hard?

Though there were many factors playing into it, at the very deepest darkest part of your mind, you know why. You know exactly why. Guilt isn’t an emotion you let yourself feel very often, and this morning, you find yourself grasped in the wrath of it. The double-edged sword of your current situation with two separate women is proving to be more intertwined than you’d anticipated, or even foresaw. What you want is clear, though. And you’re determined to get a second chance, no matter how rocky and uncomfortable the road to that chance may be.

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