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taexual · 10 months

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sleepwalking ● 14 | 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, risky motorcycle ride? (idk nothing bad happens but always wear helmets, friends), some fun flirting & jokes, but mostly ANGST AND PAIN (including explicit descriptions of very intense anxiety at the very end)

words: 12.3k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 14 ► this isn't over 'til we talk in the light, said i was sober, but you knew that i lied

In the lounge area outside the changing rooms of “013” in Tilburg, Jungkook was engaged in a very intense game of table tennis against Seokjin—and winning, even though Seokjin would have disagreed—when you entered to inform the band that they were going on stage in twenty minutes.

The game wrapped up as the members began to stretch while simultaneously accosting Jimin about their in-ears. There were never any serious issues – Jimin made sure he was the Sound Technician of the Year – but they enjoyed seeing him panic when everyone started moaning, “could you turn the backtrack up a bit?” or “I literally can’t hear myself.” This last one was Taehyung’s favourite, until Jimin started retorting with, “well, maybe you’re deaf,” and then continuing with his day.

The pre-show ritual was always chaotic, but it was endearing chaos, full of nervous laughter and sparkling eyes as the members of Rated Riot prepared for their performance.

Then, just as Jungkook left the dressing room, putting his own in-ears back in, he turned the corner and almost collided with Sid, who looked more than pleased when Jungkook took a surprised step back.

What an absolute eye-sore, Jungkook thought. As the tour went on, he began to understand your aversion to his friends better.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and it sounded like he wasn’t just asking about Sid being in this room. He was questioning Sid’s constant presence on this tour. Surely, with Jungkook no longer participating in his little games, he had to get bored and go back home.

The past few weeks have taught Jungkook that some friendships had an expiration date, and sometimes stupid bets accelerated that process. He was okay with that now—he realised that holding onto Sid would be much worse than being left alone.

“Just came to wish you luck before the show,” said Sid, who had never genuinely wished anyone luck before. “We’re here if you want to talk.”

Jungkook frowned and glanced at Minjun—who stood further away from the rest of their friends, and rolled his eyes—then he looked back at Sid.

“I’m good,” he said slowly and cautiously as if Sid was a snake that attacked when it sensed defiance.

Just when Jungkook thought he was safe and tried to walk away, Sid’s saccharine voice—the venomous kind—called out, “don’t forget we’re going out racing tonight!”

Jungkook stopped and turned to him again. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Don’t be like that,” Sid taunted. “This could be your chance to practise riding a rental since it seems like you’re going to lose your bike in five—”

“You really don’t have anything better to do, do you?” Jungkook interrupted. Maybe it was the pre-show adrenaline or maybe he had finally grown tired of Sid’s bullshit, but he added, “I feel sorry for you.”

Sneering because people felt many things for him – mostly contempt – but pity wasn’t one of them, Sid leaned in closer. It was a tactic that Jungkook had already grown immune to, but Sid was a creature of habit.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he hissed, not bothered by the emptiness in Jungkook’s stare. “See you later.”

“You won’t,” Jungkook asserted. “I’m not going out with you. This is all over, including the bet.”

Sid raised his eyebrows. With a very specific sense of justice that no one else in this hallway—or in this world—possessed, he declared, “I get the Katana, then.”

There was something questioning about his tone, however. As if he needed Jungkook’s confirmation that he did indeed lose this bet to Sid.

But Jungkook was firm: “You don’t.”

Sid threw his head back and scoffed with an exasperation that could have put a two-year-old to shame. “Well, then neither do you!”

“That’s fine,” Jungkook said. “Minjun can keep it.”

As Sid huffed and growled in frustration, Jungkook looked at his friend again. Minjun seemed about ready to interject—he was the one person here who did not want the bike and, in fact, wished it did not exist at all—but Sid finally found his words.

“You think Minjun can—the bike is mine,” he insisted. “I won—”

“Sid, you don’t give two shits about the fucking bike,” Jungkook cut him off, very tired of the repetitive argument. “Get over it.”

The conversation with Taehyung at Hoseok’s party weighed heavily on Jungkook’s mind. He knew he had bigger things to worry about right now—forget losing the bike. He might lose you.

In his usual dignified manner—so, not dignified at all—Sid rolled his eyes and snarled, “I agreed to bet on it, didn’t I? Obviously, I do give a shit.”

“No,” Jungkook said. “You give a shit about winning. But it’s over. We’re not doing this anymore. Deal with it.”

There was a redness on Sid’s face that hadn’t been there before. A week ago, Jungkook would have been excited to see it—it would have certainly meant a point in his favour. Now, he didn’t want to see Sid’s face at all.

“It’s not over,” Sid argued, persistent like a fly that keeps hitting the glass of a window. “There’s still five days left.”

“Five days until what?”

Four heads whipped around to see you standing at the end of the hallway, confused by the snippet of conversation that you’d overheard. You had returned to find Jungkook because the rest of the band was already pacing – or, in Hoseok’s case, doing restless sit-ups – by the side of the stage.

Jungkook, Sid, Jude, and Minjun stared at you with eyes so bright and wide that they could have guided ships off the coast.

You’ve never met four boys who looked more stunned to see you. It was as if you had accidentally stumbled into the latest concert of the Masculine Ritual, Absolutely No Femininity Allowed, God Forbid Someone Who Identifies as Female Enters The Room tour, and they could not believe this was happening.

“Uh,” Jungkook was the first to react as he immediately approached you. “I’ll tell you later. They’re just excited about, uh, London.”

You did the mental calculations while Jungkook gently squeezed your shoulder to turn you around and steer you away from his friends and towards the stage.

The London show really was more or less in five days, so you decided not to question that part. But the quick pace at which Jungkook was pulling you away from the others still unsettled you.

As you turned a corner, you looked back and saw Sid frowning at you, while Minjun—as usual lately—looked like he regretted being born, and Jude—as usual always—was picking his fingernails.

“Is Sid in one of his chaotic moods again?” you asked as you walked—nearly ran, actually, with the way Jungkook was pulling you. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine,” he assured with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’s just… doing Sid things. You know. Nothing to worry about as long as—well, as long as you don’t get in his way. I have everything under control.”

Your primary goal on this tour was to stay out of Sid’s way as long as he stayed out of yours. But now was not the time to discuss it, because Rated Riot had three minutes until their performance.

“Alright, then,” you said. “Leave me out of it and we’re good.”

Jungkook coughed in response and stopped once you reached the other members of the band. You thought you saw Taehyung raise his eyebrows when Jungkook took his hand off your shoulders, but maybe you were just imagining it.

You turned to the rest of the band, all of whom looked pale and fidgety and unsure.

The speakers had malfunctioned during the soundcheck earlier, so Jimin and Seokjin had to cut it short to fix the problem. Naturally, the disruption of their usual routine made the band anxious. The table tennis match between Seokjin and Jungkook—arguably the most unhinged members of the team when it came to games—had distracted everyone, but now they returned to the unpleasant arms of anxiety.

“Come on,” you said, trying to sound more energetic than you were feeling. “Stop looking like you’re going to get hanged. You’ll do fantastic out there. Go and have fun. And don’t bother coming backstage until you’re drenched and the crowd won’t stop changing your names. I mean it.”

Finally, a small smile appeared on Yoongi’s face as he rolled up one of his pant legs—for no reason other than he thought it looked cool. Honestly, it worked for him.

“Why did that last part sound like a threat?” he quipped, standing up straight.

“Because it is,” you replied. When you turned to Jungkook, he had his eyebrows furrowed as if he was still worried about something, but he started to smile as soon as he felt your gaze. You added, “I’ll be out there watching you. Kick some ass.”

You high-fived all four of them and pulled back as the boys erupted battle cries and huddled together before taking the stage.

They were still nervous, but they had you and each other, and there was a room full of people excited to see them perform. This was supposed to be just another day at the office.

Smiling, you headed back to your usual spot by the stage where Luna was chatting with a few girls at the barricade, and Maggie was snapping pictures of the audience nearby.

It occurred to you while standing there, that you were thousands of kilometres away from your house, away from everything familiar. But with Rated Riot on stage, and Luna and Maggie by your side, you felt right at home.

There was nothing you wished more than to stay like this forever.

It was an unwritten law that touring with a rock band was fun, but quickly turned very hectic. Insomnia often became an unwelcome friend—especially for the members of the band who had fashionable bags under their eyes almost every day. But when they were on stage or meeting their fans after the show, they looked alive. They looked happy.

And the more drinks they had after the concert, the more that happiness seemed to grow.

“You know what I think?” Yoongi said on the couch in the dressing room where everyone had gathered after the show. He was tipsy as he swung the green Heineken bottle around, nearly splashing you and Namjoon as you sat on either side of him. “I think next time we’re in Europe, we’ll be performing at Wembley. Stade de France. The fucking Coliseum.”

“And Camp Nou?” you teased.

Yoongi and Namjoon—both avid Barcelona fans—nodded in eager agreement.

“And not as guests at festivals, either,” Yoongi continued. “Headliners.”

You smiled. “I can see that.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi’s own smile widened. “When we announced our tour, Kerrang! called us ‘The Next Reconnaissance’ on their Instagram.”

You felt an uncomfortable twinge in your stomach at the mention of the other band and turned away from the two boys. You remembered the alternative culture magazine running rampant with the moniker—always “The Next Reconnaissance,” never just Rated Riot.

“I… don’t think you’re the next anything,” you said. “I think you’re you. And being Rated Riot is already amazing.”

Yoongi needed a moment to process your words. For some reason, he had expected you to agree with the nickname. Part of him wanted to be “the next Reconnaissance,” considering how much they had achieved. But you were right.

“I like that,” he said. “That’s good. Yes. We’re Rated Riot. We’ll get Wembley. And Camp Nou.”

“I second that,” Namjoon said, pointing his beer bottle at the other boy. “But, oh, we saw Reconnaissance at Rose Bowl last year, remember? Might be the best concert I’ve ever been to. I know they were in town again before we left for Europe, but I didn’t get to go. It was at a smaller venue anyway, I think. Rose Bowl, though... Stadium shows are something else.”

You raised an eyebrow as you looked at Namjoon over Yoongi’s head. The producer didn’t normally say this much in one breath. He was clearly getting drunk.

Yoongi, on the other hand, didn’t notice anything wrong. He was likely equally as buzzed. He hummed as he threw his head back and took a large swig of his beer. Then he turned to face you.

“We’ve never opened for a band their size before,” he said. “Do you think we even could? I mean, they’re not The Rolling Stones, but they’re… well…”

He let the sentence falter because he couldn’t find a fitting word, but both you and Namjoon understood.

“Uh, well, who says you can never work with them in the future? I know their manager,” you said, trying to sound uplifting, but quickly catching yourself. You could have made your point without mentioning this. But because the two boys suddenly looked at you as if you’d just said you were Kurt Cobain in your past life, you had to explain, “he’s, uh—he’s Nick Zhou. I worked under him after university.”

“No shit?” Yoongi raised his eyebrows even higher. “Are you still in touch?”

“Not really,” you mumbled, finding yourself in a tough spot. Avoiding the subject now, when you were the one who mentioned Nick, would essentially mean lying to them. You didn’t want to do that. Awkwardly, you admitted, “although, he did, um—he called me a few days ago. Back in Oslo.”

“What?” Namjoon leaned forward to look at you over Yoongi, who stopped drinking his beer, distracted by the conversation. “Why didn’t you say anything? What did he want?”

Suddenly, you regretted finishing your beer before you joined them on the couch.

“Well, see, that’s the thing. He, uh—he wasn’t calling about the band. Or, well, he was, but it wasn’t—okay.” You closed your eyes and took a breath. This was a very long detour to get to the most important sentence. “He said he’s looking for an assistant manager.”

The two boys next to you exchanged a look.

“And… he wants you?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “But only because he needs someone quickly and he’s already worked with me before, so—”

“Well, fuck,” Yoongi concluded, cutting off your humble explanation, while Namjoon offered an equally insightful, “wow, shit.”

You nodded – both observations accurate – and quickly added, “I didn’t—I’m not going to do it, though.”

“No?” Yoongi asked. “Why not?”

The hint of surprise in his voice made you uncomfortable. It sounded like the reasonable decision would have been to accept Nick’s offer and leave Rated Riot to work with this much bigger, much more intimidating band.

“I-I guess I don’t want to be anyone’s assistant anymore,” you stammered. “I like running the ship myself.”

The guitarist’s expression softened. But before he could speak, Namjoon slapped his palm on his thigh and cheered so uncharacteristically loudly that you and Yoongi both pulled back from him in surprise.

“I know that’s fucking right!” Namjoon cried out. “Steer us all right and Rated Riot will surpass them. You’ll be calling that guy to get him to be your assistant.”

You laughed at the unexpected proposition, and Yoongi gave your knee a friendly pat.

“We won’t let you down,” he said, much more collected than the boy next to him. “You know?”

“I know.” You were smiling with all the warmth in your chest. “I believe you, that’s why I don’t want to leave. But, uh—would you mind not telling anyone else about this? I don’t want it to, you know, blow out of proportion. It wasn’t even an official offer, really, he just mentioned that there was an opening. But I just… I thought it would be unfair if I didn’t eventually tell any of you.”

Yoongi nodded knowingly. Rated Riot didn’t have a designated leader, since Namjoon—as their main producer—and Seokjin—as their stage manager—called most of the shots, but as the oldest member of the band, Yoongi was typically the one to talk to you about the heavier topics.

“It’s cool,” he said. “As long as you’re staying with us, no one else really needs to know about this, right?”

What he’d just said—paired with the way he looked at you for a few seconds longer than necessary—seemed to imply something else. Your eyes automatically drifted to Jungkook, who was talking to Seokjin and Jimin on the other side of the room.

You lowered your eyes. “Yeah.”

Yoongi finished his beer in one swift gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, he looked at you again.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he said.

You met his gaze. “For what?”

“For believing in us enough to stay.”

Namjoon felt himself smile as he quietly finished his beer. He knew he was tipsy, but he wasn’t drunk enough to interrupt the moment between you two.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you said. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Here, you turned to Namjoon. “Right?”

Looking at you in surprise after you addressed him, the producer scrambled to nod.

“Oh, hell yeah!” he said, leaning forward to reach Yoongi’s completely empty bottle with his own. “Here’s to Wembley next year.”

You smiled as the older boy clinked his empty bottle against Namjoon’s, then tipped his head back to get the last stubborn drops.

“Oh, by the way,” Yoongi spoke as he swallowed and immediately coughed. “D-did you find out what was going on with Jungkook and his lyrics?”

It took you a minute to recall your last conversation with Yoongi—the one that had led you to Jungkook, where he had dodged your questions and later snuck into your bunk on the tour bus and kissed you.

“Uh, well.” You tugged at the sleeve of your leather jacket. “He said that the song he played you was just a demo. He’s still working on the melody. And he said that he just has someone who reviews his lyrics for him, nothing more.”

Yoongi nodded to the rhythm of an unusually slow Asking Alexandria song that played from the speakers of the dressing room.

“So, we shouldn’t worry?” he asked, clearly hopeful.

“Apparently, no,” you said with an uneasy smile.

“Alright,” he decided. “Then let’s not worry.”

He looked at Namjoon who nodded in support of this decision.

And so, not worrying was exactly what they did. Instead, Namjoon brought three more bottles of Heineken and you all decided to just feel happy tonight.

As you scanned the room with a new bottle in your hand—while the boys finished their beer in under a minute and Namjoon got up again to bring more—it seemed to you that everyone had made the exact same decision.

Except Taehyung for some reason.

For a good minute, you watched him walk in circles in the very centre of the room. Then, just when you thought he’d stopped, he started another lap around the carpet.

“Excuse me for a minute,” you said to the two boys on the couch—they both nodded—and stood up.

A brief, unexpected fight broke out over the bottle of beer that you’d handed them—Namjoon won—and you hesitated for a moment as you realised you had a new problem and weighed it against the previous one.

The new problem was that Yoongi and Namjoon were getting very drunk. It was almost ridiculous, but probably harmless. Taehyung, on the other hand, seemed to be waiting to perform at four more gigs as soon as he left this room. You had to go to him first.

He had noticed the commotion by the couch, but he did not acknowledge your approach.

“Is everything okay?” You had to stop right in front of him to ask as he continued his frenzied pacing. “You’re kind of walking in circles here.”

Taehyung stopped as if in a daze and looked at you. “Hm? Ah. Lots on my mind, I guess.”

You nodded slowly. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Uh…” He looked around. The movement seemed thoughtful, but without a clear purpose—it seemed like he was just avoiding your eyes. Then you saw his gaze land on Jungkook. Taehyung looked at him for a moment, then turned back to you and scratched the back of his neck in a telltale sign of universal discomfort. He said, “honestly, maybe it’s not me that you should be talking to.”

You glanced at Jungkook, too—he was explaining something to Jimin with very wild hand gestures. He still appeared to be on a high from the concert.

“You mean Jungkook?” you asked, shifting your attention back to Taehyung. “Is he the reason why you’re pacing?”

“Sort of,” the bassist replied, blinking at the carpet.

You didn’t like the trepidation in your stomach. And you definitely didn’t like the unexpected memory of the alarm that you had seen on Jungkook’s face in your hotel room in Amsterdam.

“Why?” you asked because, despite the ominous dread that you were feeling, it was still your responsibility to know what was going on with the band.

“Just talk to him,” Taehyung advised. “But don’t tell him I said so.”

You hesitated, wanting a bit more information before you dived off this cliff headfirst. You asked, “at least tell me if something happened, so I can be prepared.”

He glanced at Jungkook again. This time, the younger member seemed to sense his gaze as he turned around. Taehyung looked away immediately.

He muttered quickly, “ask about his friends,” and then retreated to the very back of the room until he was fully concealed by Hoseok and Maggie.

A reluctant “oh,” passed your lips, but knowing that Jungkook’s friends were involved meant that there was nothing else that Taehyung could have said to you anyway.

You had to go straight to the source.

You couldn’t say this surprised you. You already got an odd feeling when you walked in on Sid and his Asshole Alliance before the concert tonight, but Jungkook had assured you that everything was fine.

However, if this was something that made Taehyung stomp around the room—which never happened unless the situation was extremely stressful, like the time Luna was getting surgery and he almost rubbed off the soles of his shoes, walking back and forth in the waiting room of the clinic—then it most certainly wasn’t fine.

Your original plan was to wait until everyone was back on the tour bus, since you’d be spending the night in Tilburg anyway. But then you remembered all the times you’d asked Jungkook if everything was okay—and all the times he said it was—and you decided that waiting would not cut it this time.

“Hey,” you said right in the middle of his conversation with Jimin. You added an apologetic, “could you excuse us, please?” but Jimin could tell as soon as he looked at you that he’d better leave.

As quickly as it was humanly possible, he nodded and jogged to join Yoongi and Namjoon by the door of the room. The two of them were loudly discussing their plan to go out and find a bar, but they paused after noticing Jimin.

You watched them for a moment, wondering if you should have stopped them from leaving when they were already so drunk, but they noticed you, waved, and left before you could open your mouth.

Sighing, you turned to Jungkook just as he asked, “what’s up?”

He didn’t appear unusual when you looked at him. But he rarely ever did.

“Are you okay?” you asked in return.

You were both tired of the question, but Jungkook disliked the sound of it particularly much this time. He’d seen you—out of the corner of his eye—take six steps in his direction right after you finished talking to Taehyung.

What if he’d told you?

“Uh, of course,” Jungkook said, looking at you with just as much confusion—and a sprinkle of suspicion—as you were looking at him with. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” you said. Your heart rate increased as if you’d already heard the bad news you were expecting to hear. “How are, um—how’s Sid and everyone else?”

Jungkook disliked this question even more.

“Oh,” he said in a relaxed tone that sounded forced even to him. He cleared his throat and scanned the room for the older member, but didn’t find him. Even more nervous now, he turned to you and tried again. “You mean Sid and the others? They—they’re okay. Sid’s just being annoying, but what else is new? But I’m—we’re all okay. Thanks for, uh, for checking in.”

“Of course,” you said. You waited for him to elaborate so you could discover the reason for Taehyung’s anxiety which resulted in two more members of the band that you needed to worry about.

Honestly, Hoseok was the only one who wasn’t playing with your nerves tonight. You saw him peacefully tapping his foot to the music in the room as he chatted with Maggie and a few other staff members.

Jungkook did not pursue the topic further.

“What did you talk about with, uh—with Taehyung?” he asked instead with all the subtlety of a frightened elephant in a porcelain shop.

“Oh, this and that,” you lied. Then, feeling uncomfortable about lying, you scattered a bit of truth in there, “Luna’s face-timing her mum on the bus, so he was—he’s bored.”

“Ah.” Jungkook nodded. “Makes sense.”

He didn’t think—or didn’t want to think—that Taehyung would tell you about the bet after he asked him not to.

And, really, he tried to be reasonable. If Taehyung had told you, would you be here, peacefully asking him if he was okay?

No. You’d use fists, he presumed. Possibly knees.

“So, there’s nothing you want to tell me?” you asked suddenly, interrupting his masochistic fantasy.

Jungkook swallowed. Whatever it was that you talked about with Taehyung, it was clearly neither this, nor that.

“There is, uh, one thing,” he admitted slowly.

You inhaled. “What is it?”

“What are you plans for the rest of the night?”

This was not what you had braced yourself for. Annoyed by his stalling, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket.

“Well, depending on what you tell me, either I’m arguing with you or going to sleep,” you said. Glancing at the phone in your hand, you added, “it’s two in the morning.”

“We have tomorrow off,” he reminded you. “Well, today, I guess.”

“I know, but we’re going to Cologne—”

“That’s only in the evening.”

“Okay.” You looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear the two of you. Not that you were doing anything forbidden—just merely bordering on it. “What are you getting at?”

“You’ve finished all your work for the night, right?” he asked and you nodded apprehensively. He said, “come do something with me.”

Once again, the dilemma that plagued your mind whenever you were with him returned.

The responsible thing to do here would be to, of course, gently suggest going to sleep. There was a long day of travel ahead of you, after all.

However, this could be your chance to determine if there was truly something alarming happening between him and his friends. Not to mention, he clearly still had something to tell you, despite appearing to have lost courage after the strange moment in your hotel room.

And, alright – the truth was, you wanted to do something with him.

“That’s very vague,” you finally said. “What do you have in mind?”

“Come with me,” Jungkook said, gesturing towards the door of the dressing room.

You agreed to follow him to the door but paused before leaving the room.

“I’d like more information,” you said, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest.

You tried to convince yourself that there was no logical reason for the entire room to be watching you and Jungkook right now, but you still felt phantom eyes all over yourself.

This wasn’t Hoseok’s party. You were still at the concert venue where Jungkook was the performer, and you were the manager.

He noticed your unease. First, he sighed. Then, as if he was compromising, he extended his hand.

“Take my hand,” he said. “And come with me.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant—”

“Come on,” he cut in, waving his hand in front of you. “Less talking, more holding my hand.”

Because your back obstructed the view of his outstretched hand for everyone else in the room, you knew you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing this. Still, you let out a slow, anxious breath.

“Fine,” you said with exaggerated irritation to emphasise your displeasure about being kept in the dark. Then you took his hand.

As the two of you exited the room, there were ulterior motives firmly set in both of your minds.

You had to find out what was going on.

He had to tell you what was going on.

And Jungkook had a plan here somewhere. He knew he needed to tell you about the bet tonight, especially since you almost found out about it accidentally right before the show. And also because Taehyung looked about ready to start climbing walls.

He had a rough idea of how he’d like to tell you: it had to happen in a beautiful spot that would make up for the awful revelation he was about to make. If not make up for it, then at least make it worth your while.

And he’d done his research—as always. This was the one lesson from your relationship that he hadn’t learned as he continued to strenuously plan everything in the hopes of making it memorable and unique.

“There’s this spot. The Wandelbos,” he said as the two of you walked hand-in-hand down the corridor of the venue.

He pronounced the word with relative ease, making you wonder how many times he’d heard it. Then he showed pictures on his phone.

“This looks like a forest,” you commented, stopping to scroll through several photographs of squirrels and autumn trees—which wasn’t easy because he refused to let go of your hand as you held his phone.

“It’s a baroque park,” he clarified. “It’s beautiful, supposedly.”

You handed his phone back to him. “I’m sure it is. But not at two in the morning.”

“The path is star-shaped,” he continued, ignoring your interjection as the two of you kept walking. “And there’s a clearing in the middle with a pond and a bridge and—oh, and it’s only about six kilometres away.”

He held the exit door open, allowing you to walk out into the brisk night air.

Crossing the threshold, you looked at him with your eyebrows raised. “You want to walk over there?”

Actually, he did. But your question made him pause. “Uh... no?”

You stopped and waited until he walked out into the parking lot, but his attention was suddenly drawn to something behind you.

You ignored that and said, “well, we can’t rent bicycles at this time and—”

“Sorry—hold on for one second,” he stopped you abruptly.

You turned around and followed his gaze until you spotted Minjun by the restaurant across the street. Your lips parted in involuntary surprise, but it wasn’t Minjun’s presence that really startled you. It was the fact that he was leaning against a motorcycle, of all things, and there were two more bikes parked right next to him.

When you looked back at Jungkook, he looked almost relieved.

How wonderful it was, he thought, that Sid was such an insufferable idiot that he would decide to have a drag race in the middle of the Netherlands.

From across the street, the bike Minjun had rented out appeared to be a Kawasaki. Despite Jungkook’s previous bad experiences with the brand—involving a mild concussion and a dented metal fence, which, in his defence, appeared out of nowhere—this gave him an idea immediately.

“Could we go over there? Or maybe you could wait here for a minute?” he asked you while already walking away—and pulling on your hand until you had to let go because you were absolutely not going over there. He promised, “one minute!”

You could tell right away that he’d just found a potential means of transportation.

“Jungkook, that’s probably not a good idea!” you called out as he neared the street.

“I’ll be right back!” he shouted, forming the shape of a heart with both of his hands as he went.

You cringed as he crossed the street without looking both ways, but fortunately, there weren’t a lot of cars around. Unfortunately, however, you couldn’t hear what he and Minjun talked about due to the distance and the heavy gusts of wind.

You waited alone, with only your confusion for company.

If Jungkook stayed with the band while his friends went out, and now he went over there to borrow some devil-sent motorcycle, then clearly, that had to mean that he finally started to make smart(er) decisions while still being on good terms with his friends.

So, what was it that worried Taehyung so much?

“Dude!” Jungkook exclaimed across the street from you when he finally reached Minjun and scared the hell out of him with his shout—he flinched so vehemently that he nearly knocked the bike over. “Whose is this?”

“Uh—mine. We rented bikes for the race,” Minjun explained and glanced at you standing by the exit of the venue. “Sid was about to call you and force you to come with us—”

“I need it,” Jungkook interrupted, choosing to ignore the fact that there wouldn’t have been enough bikes if he had come along.

Minjun turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Huh?”

“I need to borrow it.”

“Borrow—it’s a rental.” Minjun turned his head to look at the neon green motorcycle. He knew that riding down the city streets with Sid and Jude on rented bikes was already reckless. Subletting the motorcycle to someone else, however, might be equally as stupid. “It’s in my name.”

“It’s the least you can do for me,” Jungkook said right away as if he had planned this in advance instead of only noticing Minjun and the motorcycle a mere two minutes ago.

His words weren’t entirely true, considering that Minjun wasn’t the one who had manipulated him into this mess. But Jungkook was appealing to his conscience—and that thing was eating Minjun alive. You could see it from across the street, even without knowing the reason for it.

Minjun bit his lip, fighting a very unpleasant battle with his own self.

“Okay. Fine,” he conceded, even though he knew very well what Sid would say about his impartiality and about the fact that he’d now have to ride as someone’s passenger—likely Jude’s, because Sid would rather cut his own head off than allow someone else on his bike, even if it was a rental. Hurriedly, Minjun added, “you have to return the bike back by midday tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” Jungkook replied brightly. “That’s more than enough time.”

“I’ll text you the address of the rental place,” Minjun continued, getting his phone out.

Jungkook kept on nodding. “That’s great. You do that.”

His friend typed a text message and pulled out the keys to the bike from his jacket pocket. He tossed them to Jungkook just as his phone vibrated.

“Don’t wreck it,” Minjun warned. “Or yourself.”

Jungkook grinned, swinging his right leg over the motorcycle and putting the key in the ignition. “I won’t. Thanks again!”

His friend glanced back at the restaurant, suddenly grateful that the take-out was taking so long to prepare. This meant that Sid and Jude wouldn’t notice Minjun giving the bike away—even though they would notice it gone and would probably realise where it went.

Meanwhile, Jungkook revved the engine and turned towards the parking lot of the venue.

The Kawasaki felt unusual underneath him and it made him miss his Katana, but he swallowed the disconcert. Beggars couldn’t be choosers—this was better than nothing in any case.

He stopped right in front of you in the parking lot, switched the engine off, and leaned back from the handlebar to give you a smile.

“So?” He patted the side of the bike. “Ready for a ride?”

You shook your head, disapproving of the cheesy grin on his face, and sunk your teeth into your tongue to resist a smile.

There were numerous—numerous—reasons why you weren’t ready to climb on this bright green monstrosity that must have been visible from any space station above. If not visible, then certainly audible.

“There’s only one helmet,” was the one concern that you chose to voice.

Jungkook hadn’t considered that as he glanced at the helmet, attached to the tail of the bike. He leaned over to unhook it and offered it to you.

“No,” you said before he started to speak. “If anything, you should be the one wearing it. You’re the driver. And the vocalist of a band that’s literally on tour right now. You can’t perform if you get your head snapped off.”

“Can’t perform if I get yours snapped off, either,” he argued. “Put it on. I’ll go slow.”

This was still a safety hazard, and at first, you debated arguing. Then you tried to rationalise.

Jungkook hadn’t had any alcohol after the show—which was very unusual, now that you thought about it. He must have been planning something all along.

Additionally, the streets were mostly empty, except for one car whose driver gaped suspiciously at the many motorcycles on the street, narrowing his eyes at each and every one of them as he drove past.

There was also Minjun across the street, looking as though he was praying that you and Jungkook would drive off quickly.

“Come on,” Jungkook encouraged. You understood his impatience—if Minjun was here, the rest of the Insolent Idiots couldn’t be far behind.

You looked back at the helmet in his hands.

This wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten on a motorcycle with Jungkook, but it had been a while.

He had always been a huge fan of anything that could reach over a hundred in under five seconds, so he’d been riding bikes since before he was legally allowed to. However, the two of you had already broken up when he purchased and restored the Katana that he never stopped talking about—so you’d never ridden with him when he actually owned the vehicle.

It occurred to you suddenly that Jungkook had probably never mentioned his motorcycle since the tour started. You made a mental note to ask him about that later.

Now, you finally took the helmet from him and pushed it over your head. Maybe the most important justification for your decision was this: you’d missed the excited twirling of your heart when he took you for a ride.

The joy that Jungkook felt as he watched you put the helmet on surprised him.

He remembered the first time you struggled to fasten the straps under your chin and managed to graze your skin. Now, listening to you sigh as you squeezed the helmet over your head and tightened the straps without his help, he realised that you hadn’t forgotten. That you were still used to this.

Excited shivers ran across his skin as you climbed on the bike behind him. But he could sense your apprehension—your initial instinct was to hold onto the back of the bike.

“Come on, now. This isn’t your first time,” he said, looking at you over his shoulder. “You know I won’t go unless I know you’re holding on tight.”

“I assure you,” you said. Your voice was muffled by the helmet. “I’m holding on tight.”

He clicked his tongue as he turned to face forward again. “I happen to not believe you.”

“Tough.”

“We’ll be here a while, it seems.” He released the handles and leaned back. “Maybe we should see if Sid wants to join us, I’m sure he would love to—”

“My God!” you groaned. “Fine.”

You wrapped your hands around his waist but kept your touch light, almost nervous. Grinning, Jungkook reached for your hands and pulled them closer to make sure you had a strong hold.

When he squeezed the clutch, he felt you tighten your arms around him even more. Satisfied that he could feel more of your weight against his back, he finally pressed the starter and pulled the bike off.

He raced down the street—much to Minjun’s relief—at a speed that definitely would have been dangerous for someone without a helmet if there had been other cars around. But the road was empty and there were hardly any turns to make.

And as he sped down these empty streets, you had to admit to yourself that this was, simply, thrilling.

The rapid pace seemed to elevate your insides, forcing you to hold onto Jungkook more tightly as you rested your head against his back and watched the streetlights blur together. The deafening sound of the engine, the dark visor of your helmet, the intoxicating speed, the rough metal underneath your thighs, and the soft leather of the jacket that he was wearing—all of it was absolutely exhilarating.

Jungkook knew—he’d always known—that you would have enjoyed the thrill of a late-night ride far more than a simple walk down the Tilburg streets.

And he was excited to see your silly grin and dilated pupils after you took off the helmet outside of the park. He was almost flustered by your glow—and by the fact that he was the reason why you looked so happy and so overwhelmingly full of life.

He nearly forgot to lock the bike as he looked at you.

But then the sudden memory of why he’d brought you here caught up to him like a painful crash.

“Uh, so,” he turned away, “should we go explore?”

“Might as well,” you joked weakly. Your legs were still a little shaky from the ride. “Since we’re already here anyway.”

“Right. Well, I wouldn’t mind taking another drive,” he said with a more confident smirk—that only grew in size and arrogance when he saw you smile at the suggestion. Then, he looked down and added, “but I also wouldn’t mind just walking and… talking.”

The two of you had done a lot of that—just walking and talking—since the tour started, so agreeing to this felt natural and harmless.

The park was beautiful indeed, just as the pictures on Jungkook’s phone had promised. Granted, walking through it at night when the streetlights were so sparse, provided a layer of eerie uncertainty—but even now, you were mesmerised.

In addition to the bold squirrels, peeking at you through the tree branches—their fur barely noticeable among the dark foliage, but their little beady eyes glistening—you could also see the sky above. You could see all of it, it seemed. And the patterns of the stars were so bright that you found yourself stopping several times, utterly captivated by them.

You regretted not learning the names of constellations—or how to differentiate them—but looking at the night sky was a breathtaking experience regardless.

The sky looked different here. And it felt closer, too. It was something you didn’t believe you could ever get used to, no matter how much you stayed here.

After a short while, you and Jungkook arrived at a pond, and he informed you that this was the very centre of the park.

It reminded you of home in an odd way, even though there weren’t many ponds back home—and none of them looked quite as charming as this one. Yet there was something familiar here, something homely. Even at night, in a park that resembled a forest more than a cosy picnic spot, there was something heartwarming here.

You could have been feeling this way, you supposed, because Jungkook was holding your hand as he guided you down a narrow plank over a dark creek. Without him, the eeriness of spending the night in an old park alone would have been much more noticeable. But with him here, it just felt comfortable. As if you both knew that you were destined to be safe from all harm here.

The stream ran deeper into the forest, and there were several benches scattered in the clearing on either side of the creek. The two of you sat down on one of them and listened to the silence of the trees and the gentle flow of the water.

Remembering suddenly, you spoke up—quietly, mindful not to disrupt the peace of all living things around you. “Did you know that my parents actually had their first date by a creek?”

Jungkook turned to you. He was more comfortable being loud, because he didn’t feel like a guest here. With you there, he sort of felt like the night—and everything that it touched—belonged to him.

“That’s a… very specific location,” he commented.

“Yeah.” You snickered. “There were no creeks in our town, dad took mum to the city where he grew up.”

“Oh, that’s actually nice,” he said, a little surprised. He’d never met your dad, but he knew that ‘nice’ wasn’t the adjective that was usually used in the same sentence as his name. “Was the creek special to him?”

“Not really,” you replied, shattering the romantic image that had already formed in his head. “It was the only pretty place that he could think of at the time. At least that’s what my mum thought.”

Careful, because this was a delicate topic and he didn’t want to come off like he was defending your dad, Jungkook asked, “she never found out if there was, maybe, more to it?”

“She never asked,” you said. “Either way, that date didn’t exactly end well. In the long-term, I mean.”

Jungkook looked down at the dark ground beneath his boots. A few blades of grass poked through the dirt on the shore of the creek.

“I know what you mean,” he said slowly. “But can you really say that with such certainty? She has two kids. And you’re both pretty great.”

You smiled at this, and it gave him the courage to smile, too.

“Thanks,” you said. “And yeah. I guess you’re right. Some good did come out of it.”

The two of you were quiet for a minute. It was a comfortable minute, too, but only as long as you managed to keep your mind empty.

You succeeded—the memories of the stories that your mum had told you were slowly fading, overtaken by the calming whispers of the trees around you—but he didn’t.

“I never asked—and I don’t want to intrude now, but, uh,” Jungkook started, “from what you’ve told me before, I assumed that your parents got back together at some point, right?”

You nodded with an exhale from somewhere deeper than just your chest.

“Several points, actually,” you said.

Happy that you seemed willing to share this, he encouraged, “yeah?”

“Yeah. She kept taking him back when I was young, and my brother was—well, a baby, essentially,” you said. “Everyone told her not to do it, not even for the kids. They told her to move on, maybe find someone better. My uncle—mum’s brother—protested against this especially much. He had been against their marriage from the very beginning. But my mum loved the guy.”

The smile on your face when you said that last part made Jungkook tense—it contradicted so much with the sadness in your eyes.

“Did he love her back?” he asked.

You were about to respond with a reflexive answer that had been ingrained in you by years and years of your mother screaming about how your father was a good-for-nothing loser, how he could never love anyone other than himself, and plenty of other colourful descriptions that you probably shouldn’t have known at your age at the time. And yet, despite the intensity of her emotions after every break-up, she still took him back. Until one day she didn’t.

And now you had to pause.

“That’s probably a million-dollar question,” you said with a sad chuckle. “I don’t know. Is that awful of me to say? She doesn’t think he did, but she still got back together with him so many times. So maybe he did love her in his own fucked up way. But I-I don’t think someone who loves you is supposed to hurt you like that.”

Jungkook had leaned back as he listened to you and he nearly toppled over backwards at your words.

You were right, of course.

Someone who loved you should have never hurt you.

He swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking. “That’s, uh—that’s not awful. That’s sad, I think. Your mum deserves better.”

“She does,” you agreed. “But I understand now that—well, in a way, she is who she is because of all that happened to her. She’s very strong and she cares so much. And the fact that her only flaw is loving people too much, it’s—I don’t know. Lately, that just makes me admire her more. Because she sees the best in people. No one does that these days, everyone’s always afraid to get hurt. But my mum, she’s like—she’s fearless. You know? I genuinely respect that.”

“Even if she really does end up getting hurt?” Jungkook asked.

“Yeah. Even then. And maybe that’s the thing,” you said, looking up at the sky again. “I mean, in general. The people we love are the only ones who can hurt us like that. Or, rather, it’s precisely because we love them that it hurts so much.”

“Hmm.”

He wasn’t sure if you were still talking about your parents by the time you reached the last few sentences, but he was too afraid to ask. He couldn’t even look at you as he stayed frozen in the same spot.

“I’m probably not making much sense,” you added with a small, uncertain laugh. “I just meant that it took me a while to understand my mum. Actually, I don’t know if I even fully understand her to this day, but um… I watched her give second chances to people who held the most against her and could hurt her the most. I thought they didn’t deserve it. But she... She knew the risk, she was familiar with heartbreak, and still, she stayed hopeful. For a long time, I resented that. I thought that was a—a weakness. It sounds cruel. But I thought I could never do that.”

You paused again. The memories—of more than just your parents—flashed in your mind a little too quickly for you to collect your thoughts. You looked down to compose yourself and felt Jungkook’s hesitant glance.

Finally, you finished, “all these years of watching the back-and-forth between my parents… It made me think that I could never give someone a second chance.”

Digging into the dirt with the heel of his boot, Jungkook asked, “you, uh… you don’t think so anymore?”

He glanced at you once more and then looked away again, even though you weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on the creek in front of you.

“I don’t know,” you said after a moment. “I think I’m less decided about it now. I admire my mum for having the courage for it, even though it rarely ever works out. And now I guess I think that it is more of a case-by-case kind of thing. It depends on the person.”

Feeling as if his chest had absorbed the water from the pond and everything inside of him was being flooded, Jungkook didn’t dare to inhale.

Breathlessly, he asked, “what about me?”

“You?” you echoed awkwardly. He gave the smallest of nods in response.

You realised quickly that you hadn’t said this to him in over four years, and it felt terrifying to admit it now with the solemn trees, a hurried creek, and curious squirrels for an audience.

“Well, fuck.” You swallowed. “I mean, I love you. You know?” You chuckled to hide your unease and leaned down to touch the blades of grass growing under the bench. “Too much for my own good, probably.”

Jungkook suddenly forgot how to breathe. He looked up instead, but only caught a glimpse of the stars in the sky before he closed his eyes. The view behind his eyelids felt more special to him than the shimmering sky above—it was all darkness and dim echoes of you saying you loved him.

He couldn’t tell you now. How could he? You loved him.

And a second chance with you was all he’d ever wanted.

When he opened his eyes again, you were watching him. There was a haziness in your eyes—from the starry night, from the motorcycle drive, from the long overdue confession—and a small smile on your lips.

The moment that his eyes drifted to your lips, he felt himself inhale—more than once and he would have floated away—before he leaned in, responding to everything you’d said with a kiss.

He’d tell you about the bet, he would—but not now. Not when he felt your breath hitch as his lips touched yours. Not when you kissed him back, replacing all air in his lungs with your taste.

Right now, neither of you needed to say any other word as the forest around you settled. The leaves were frozen as if the wind didn’t dare to rustle them for fear of interrupting you.

The thought made you smile into the kiss—what a self-centred way to interpret your surroundings—and Jungkook pulled you closer.

For a minute, he made it feel like the world really did stop turning for the two of you. Like the forces of the universe had interfered to—

He pulled away all of a sudden, breathing so heavily that he was nearly hyperventilating.

He couldn’t do this. He’d already done too much.

The time that he’d borrowed—that he’d stolen—to be with you in peace had run out. Not even the universe could give it back to him.

“I’m sorry. There’s just, um,” he began, looking down and bringing a hesitant finger over his lower lip. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You felt your heart skip over a beat.

Immediately, you found yourself returning to the hotel room in Amsterdam. It felt vastly different now and the difference sobered you up—you had been in your hotel room then, but you were alone in an empty park tonight. And you realised that discussing it here would be a mistake.

Whatever he was about to tell you might make it difficult for you to stay here and you would have no way to leave.

“Wait,” you said. The word caught him off guard. “Tell me when we get back.”

He blinked. The very reason why he’d brought you here was to tell you the truth in a place that was yours for the night.

“W-why?” he asked.

“It’s not fair to me otherwise,” you said. Your heart had shifted from pleasant pounding to near-panicked banging, and you were starting to feel nauseous. “I’d be very inconvenienced if I was left here alone.”

Jungkook appeared even more perplexed. “Why would you be—I’m not leaving. I’m staying with you.”

“That’s assuming I don’t kill you after you tell me what you’re about to tell me,” you tried to joke. There was a small—almost desperate—smirk on the corner of your lips.

Jungkook looked away.

“Oh.” Nervously, he licked his lips. He hadn’t considered you being so uncomfortable after he told you that you wouldn’t want him around. And now that he thought about it, he felt a little dizzy. “Well, that’s, uh… that’s fair enough. Should we—do you want to go back?”

The dread in your stomach seemed to grow at this question.

You knew that you had to be aware of what was happening with him, but the ceremony of it—the trip to this beautiful spot and the kiss that unintentionally coaxed him into the truth—scared you.

You wanted to resist the rational parts of your mind and stay here, where you had just forbidden him from speaking about this.

“Not really,” you admitted.

Jungkook nodded, relieved by your honesty. “Me neither.”

So, you stayed still for another minute. Then another minute. And another one. Until all the additional time you’d given yourselves had run out, too.

You peeked at Jungkook out of the corner of your eye, afraid suddenly that he would look back at you and then you’d have to talk, after all.

He seemed very far away. Much further than that first night in Amsterdam, when he came to your hotel room to talk.

Now there were sirens blaring in his head and a relentless pounding in his chest. You could almost hear it when you looked at him.

At last, you said, “but we can’t stay here forever.”

Despite looking like he had drifted into another realm deep inside of his mind, Jungkook sighed. He’d been listening to you breathe, listening to the way the wind played with your hair. He was here.

But he really wished he wasn’t.

“I know,” he said.

Still, the two of you remained on the bench for another five minutes, surrounded by the quiet rustling of the weary trees. Even they seemed anxious for you.

This might be the last silence the two of you would share, Jungkook thought grimly.

He felt terrified.

Finally, he took a breath and turned to you. “Let’s—”

A faint buzzing from the back pocket of your jeans startled you both. The sound seemed so foreign here, like something that had travelled across time and space, and accidentally ended up here—in your universe, where it didn’t belong.

You pulled out your phone and saw, first of all, that it was four in the morning, and then that Namjoon was calling you.

“I should take this,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the tension that had left your hands very cold.

“Go ahead,” Jungkook mumbled.

This was fine, he tried to tell himself while you stepped away from him to answer the call. He would take you back to the truck stop where the tour buses should have been parked by now. And then he would tell you.

And whatever happened next would—

“So, that was Namjoon,” you said, returning to him with your phone in hand. The call had lasted for less than a minute. “Apparently, someone stole Yoongi’s laptop.”

Nearly thrown off balance at the news that sounded somehow disrespectful, considering the many things you already had to process, Jungkook frowned.

“Someone stole Yoongi’s laptop?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” you said, sliding the phone back into your pocket. You knew something like this would eventually happen. “Namjoon said that he and Yoongi went out for more drinks, and when they got back to the bus, the laptop was gone. They’re not sure when was the last time they saw it.”

Jungkook stood up from the bench. “Well, why do they think someone stole it? Maybe he just lost it.”

“Yoongi’s not the kind who loses things,” you pointed out.

“Well, Namjoon could have lent a hand with that.”

You shook your head to conceal your small, involuntary smile and shrugged, acknowledging that there was a chance that this really was a false alarm. Especially if Namjoon was involved. You all loved him very much, but he had a talent like no one else to consistently misplace his own—and others—belongings.

“They were already quite drunk when I talked to them backstage before leaving,” you said. “So it’s possible they got even more wasted and just lost track of it. Either way, I need to go back and find out what happened.”

You returned to being the band’s manager, and Jungkook wasn’t sure how to handle the sudden switch. He wasn’t sure how to handle anything that was happening. This whole park was spinning around him.

He felt a little bit like the creek behind him as he watched you—flowing somewhere on pure instinct, with no clear destination in sight.

“Yeah. Okay,” he said. Hesitantly, he extended his hand for you to take—to help you over the loose wooden plank again. And to ground himself with your touch. “Let’s go, then. We’ll talk later?”

You took his hand. “Yeah. We’ll talk later.”

The truth was, you did not want to talk later.

You had a terrible feeling about it, and however irresponsible it may have been, you wanted to delay it as much as possible.

When you and Jungkook returned to the truck stop, Yoongi and Namjoon had already figured out where the laptop was. They looked very pleased to have remembered the Locate My Device app, never mind that you were the one who had kindly reminded them about it over the phone.

The laptop was, as it turned out, at a McDonald’s across the city. Neither boy could recall ever going there, so they remained convinced the device had been stolen.

You listened to their hypothesis with a serious face. But, unlike them, you were sober—the few beers you’d had after the concert were long forgotten—and you knew that the “thief” would probably be smart enough not to stop for a McFlurry after stealing someone’s computer.

The logical explanation was that your usually lovable and dependable boys had gotten so drunk that they’d forgotten about the fast food trip and left the laptop there themselves.

Regardless, you had to investigate. Because Yoongi and Namjoon were both pale with terror—and still buzzing from the spontaneous beer-tasting adventure that they’d gone on—it was up to you to find the computer.

You didn’t mind. This was your job, anyway. And you were eager to do something that did not involve talking about whatever it was that Jungkook wanted to talk to you about.

Jungkook, on the other hand, did mind. And it was evident when you exited the bus and saw him standing by the doors, pouting.

“I have to pick up the laptop,” you said, “and maybe report it to the police if it was really stolen.”

“Should I come with you?” he offered, not meaning to give you the option to refuse—which you took, of course.

“No,” you said, “you need to rest.”

“And you don’t?” he countered. “You’re the one who’s so overworked that—”

“Don’t start with that again,” you said, raising a stern hand to cut him off before someone overheard. You caught the flash of surprise in his eyes and the expression on your face softened a little.

You hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but you’ve had an impossibly long day.

“Don't worry about me,” you said. “This is my job. I have things to do. Laptops to save.”

“If I come, then—”

“Stay here,” you interrupted. “You had a show tonight. Now you have to get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

Biting his lip as mixed feelings of guilt and regret bubbled in his stomach, he asked, “we’ll, uh—we’ll talk, though. Right?”

“We’ll talk,” you promised. “Tomorrow.”

He fought with himself for another moment and then ended up saying, “okay. You never take me with you anyway.”

You didn’t have time to argue, so you kissed him before you went—quickly, softly, and with a nervous smile as you pulled away—and his heart seemed to leave with you as empty echoes of his racing pulse reverberated through his chest.

Tomorrow was very far away.

That would have been good if Jungkook still felt the paralysing panic from a few days ago. But even though he still felt scared now, he had already braced himself for the emotional consequences of telling you about the bet. Delaying it—against his will, this time—felt excruciating.

He knew he was the one to blame – he kissed you in the park instead of telling you about it right away, and then he agreed to wait until tomorrow.

And maybe this was what he deserved. He should have told you. But he hesitated and tried to convince himself of all sorts of irrational thoughts—and now here he was.

Alone.

And he was so frightened of being alone that he climbed right back on the motorcycle and headed to the address of the rental shop that Minjun had given him. He needed to do something, because he couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t scream at the top of his lungs, either.

Easily enough, Jungkook found himself in the bar of a hotel across the street from the rental shop. The shop didn’t open until eight, so he had a little over two hours before he could return the bike. A little over two hours before the night ended and he had to figure out what to do next.

He finished his first glass before a single thought could occur to him. By the second one, he felt his body start to relax, but chaos continued to reign in his mind.

What will I do, what will I do, what will I do?

As Jungkook lost track of how many drinks he had, he pondered every which way to reveal this to you and all the questions that you might ask.

What was the trip to Paris for? And the persistent way he followed you around? The conversation on the bridge in Stockholm? On the rooftop in Oslo? The bicycles in Amsterdam? The nights in your hotel room?

None of that was truly for the bet. But would it matter?

You said you loved him tonight. But you’d hate him tomorrow.

Maybe he could wait for five days until he formally lost the bet. Maybe he should tell you then. Maybe the fact that he lost something important to him would make up for—no.

Jungkook shook his head, nearly spilling the bourbon in his glass. He paused then, not even sure if he was still drinking bourbon. It all just tasted wet to him at that point.

Regardless, he couldn’t tell you after losing the bike. Even losing it didn’t seem like such a tragedy right now, compared to losing you.

While he agonised over it, the bartender continued bringing him drinks—always on the rocks, even though he couldn’t feel the cold anymore. The bartender was a kind elderly man, who probably should have known better than to keep serving alcohol to someone at six in the morning, but his experience told him that Jungkook was someone who needed it tonight.

Soon, however, Jungkook’s pride—his high tolerance for alcohol—became his biggest foe. He didn’t even realise how intoxicated he had become.

For all intents and purposes, he believed he was still fairly sober, considering how easily he spilt everything that was bothering him to the bartender. He even understood the advice he received in return—not that there was much to it.

“You have to tell her, son.”

He did have to tell you. He knew that.

And he was going to, he decided. Right now.

Jungkook found his way out of the bar with relative ease. Sure, he forgot that he had driven Minjun’s bike there, but he was able to walk without stumbling much, and that surely had to be an achievement.

Swaying only slightly, he stopped in the lot where the bus was parked and found your contact in his phone. Of course, the many emojis he’d used ensured that your name was the first one on the list, but he still found it easily enough.

Now, he had to admit this: he wasn’t sure if you actually answered his call. But he asked you to please, come outside, and within three minutes, you were standing in front of him.

If he had been aware of how drunk he was, he would have realised that he was screaming, so it didn’t matter if you’d picked up his call or not. You would have heard him anyway.

“What’s going on?” you asked, too confused to feel worried. You’d just returned with Yoongi’s laptop about half an hour ago. You weren’t sure if you’d even fallen asleep before coming outside again. “Are you drunk?”

There was exhaustion in your posture that Jungkook was too drunk to identify. You were very tired of dealing with the problems of drunk people tonight.

When Jungkook spoke, words poured out before he could properly think them through.

“Listen,” he said. His tongue felt oversized in his mouth. “I have to tell you something. I can’t—I should’ve told you this a long time ago. Maybe on the same day. Actually,” he hiccupped, “I never should’ve done this at all, then there would be nothing to tell.”

He hesitated for a moment, because in his mind—which was positively swimming in whiskey—he worried that his words may have caused a misunderstanding. He saw the frown on your face and cut in before you started to speak.

“Actually, no,” he said. “There would be things to tell. Because I like—I really—I like to talk to you. I want to tell you all kinds of things...” he paused here. Shook his head. “But not this. I don’t want to tell you this. But I must.”

He thought he came off very determined here, very confident. Really, he just sounded tired and drunk.

“Jungkook,” you said. “When I said we’ll talk tomorrow, I meant in the morning.”

“It’s—” He hiccupped again. “It’s morning.”

He wasn’t wrong, of course.

“After we got some sleep,” you clarified.

“Well, I can’t wait that long,” he insisted, stomping his foot and throwing himself off-balance. He had to lean against the side of the bus to stay upright.

You could tell that whatever he wanted to tell you was far worse than you expected. He was so drunk that he could barely stand, yet he was as determined as ever to get it all out right now.

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest. The anxiety that you’d evaded was quick to resurface, and even you felt a little unsteady on your feet.

“Okay,” you said. “Well, what is it?”

Jungkook straightened as much as he could.

A deep inhale, followed by a sharp, rushed exhale.

“I made a bet with Sid that I’d get back together with you.”

Silence came next.

You felt a sinking sensation deep within you as if something—an invisible current—was pulling you under the surface of the water. The ground beneath you swirled in uncertain whirlpools.

“Sid said I couldn’t do it,” Jungkook continued after a moment, his eyes cast low. “And I was—I wanted to prove him wrong. He is wrong. He’s always wrong, he’s such a—anyday. I mean, anyway. T-that’s not—I didn’t—this isn’t making any sense.” He slapped himself on the forehead in newfound frustration and you flinched at the abrupt motion. The slap only made the truck stop start to spin around him. Pressing his hands to his hips, he tried to explain, “I didn’t win or anything. Which you obviously know, since we aren’t back together.”

He laughed sadly here. You narrowed your eyes and felt one of them twitch.

The night was cold, and you clutched your arms tighter around yourself. Your posture was not aggressive—you gazed somewhere past him and you appeared frightened. You looked as if the wind might snatch you and carry you off to a place that he could not reach.

But then your eyes met his and there was a frigid emptiness there that he didn’t recognise. He shrunk into himself when he noticed it.

“I-I bet my bike, so I lost that,” he continued. “Well, not yet, but I’m going to lose it soon. Not on purpose, but Sid won’t fucking let me end the bet—” he cut himself off by inhaling again.

It seemed like there was so much oxygen in his lungs—he kept breathing in as he spoke, but never breathing out.

“That’s not the point,” he finished his thought. “What I wanted to do—to say, I mean—is that I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid. Sid got in my head.”

“Sid,” you repeated suddenly. The sharp sound of your voice startled him into looking up. “Got in your head.”

He looked at you for half a heartbeat. Somewhere in the whiskey haze, he could recall his conversation with Taehyung—or someone who resembled Taehyung. Jungkook remembered something about this being his own responsibility.

But then, he wasn’t sure if he remembered who Taehyung even was. Because, to be honest, he wasn’t sure if he remembered who he was.

“That’s an—that’s… that’s an excuse,” he managed to say. The letter S tasted wrong in his mouth. He clicked his tongue and continued, “he’s always in my head. I should’ve known better. I—I’m so sorry.”

You were breathing heavily, but you weren’t speaking.

He blinked his heavy eyes, each one of his eyelashes like lead.

“I just… I want you to know that everything that happened—it wasn’t because of the bet,” he said, swallowing after a great struggle. All these drinks tonight, and his throat still felt dry. “It was because I am—I really have been in love with you the whole time, and I—but I couldn’t—I can’t ask you to get back together while there’s this bet going on. Not that you’d agree—I just hope that you would—but I... i-it wouldn’t feel fair. It’s so—it’s all so fucking stupid.”

He groaned again and covered his face with his hands for a moment while he tried to collect his thoughts. There was so much he wanted to tell you and all of it was coming out so quickly that he wasn’t sure he told you anything at all.

“I had to—I should’ve told you sooner,” he said. Then, biting his lip harder than he’d meant to—the metal piercing dug into it painfully—he added, more softly, “I’m really sorry.”

You remained firm in your position and really started to resemble a statue. Contrary to what he expected, you didn’t ask him a single question. You just stared at him without any distinct emotion in your eyes.

He didn’t know what to do.

“Aren’t you,” he said shakily, “going to say anything?”

You finally moved—to inhale, then exhale. All through it, your chin was turned up as you looked at the line of trees in the distance.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” you finally said.

It was a sharp knife to his chest, this hollow voice that was supposed to belong to you.

He hung his head and took a deep breath.

None of this mattered.

It was over.

“You’re drunk,” you added then. “Go to sleep.”

He thought he caught a glimpse of sympathy in your words and he grasped at this flimsy straw and held onto it with all his might.

“Y-you heard me, though, right?” he tried, his voice desperate, eyes watery. “None of it was for the bet, I really—”

“Go to sleep, Jungkook.”

He couldn’t go to sleep, not if it meant he’d have no one to wake up to.

“Can I—” He coughed, the words catching on the sandpaper in his throat. “Can I talk to you in the morning?”

You stayed silent for a long, almost never-ending minute. Jungkook counted each second in his head, and he knew he might have messed up the numbers at least three times, but it still felt like you’d never speak again.

“I don’t think,” you finally said, “we have anything left to talk about.”

You turned around, but stopped for less than a moment, seemingly hesitating when you heard him call your name. Then you took another step and opened the door of the bus, climbing inside and leaving him here alone.

This wasn’t the first time you walked away from him, but this time, he knew it was his fault.

And there was another element to the suffocating grip around his neck—ever since you began to manage Rated Riot, you’d never left him alone when he was drunk.

But you left him tonight.

And even drunk, he knew what it meant.

He thought he’d prepared himself for this. But the sight of your back as you walked away from him, the sound of the bus door as it clicked shut behind you, and the feeling of complete silence around him at the truck stop—it all finally knocked all the oxygen out of his lungs. It made his heart beat faster, ridding his bloodstream of alcohol until all that he felt was pain.

He was not prepared for this. He doubted he ever could have prepared for it.

But he should have known this would happen.

He really fucked up. He ruined everything. It was over.

Hunching over as he tried to inhale but couldn’t, Jungkook pressed his hand to his chest. He felt something pulsating under his fingers, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Someone had emptied out the cavity inside of him where his organs had once been and filled it with rocks.

His vision was white and blurred. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t stand.

He didn’t know what was happening to him.

He felt himself slide over the side of the bus until he hit the floor and smacked his head into the bus wall as violent tremors took over his body. He tried to breathe as he counted the beats of his heart until he couldn’t listen to his pulse whispering the same conclusion to him over and over again.

It was over.

It was—

His hand dug into the gravel on the ground, then grabbed the front of his shirt and held it in a tight fist. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Nothing worked to stop the relentless judgment from breaching his resistant mind.

He ruined everything. It was over.

Jungkook didn’t know how long he struggled to fill his lungs with something other than the heavy, opaque pain of losing you again.

He didn’t know why he struggled, nothing even mattered anymore.

When he eventually realised that he was still here and you still weren’t, there was an early morning redness in his eyes and on the edges of the sky above him.

Most unusually, the only clear thought in his head was about the bike that he’d told Minjun he would return. Another promise that he had failed to keep as he suddenly remembered abandoning the motorcycle by the bar.

Then he remembered the bar.

He had already drunk half of it.

He struggled to his feet, rubbed his eyes with the balls of his palms, and went back to finish the other half.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “what do you want from me?”

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wroteclassicaly · 3 months

Note

Bby let's muse over Steve Harringtons ass.

Warnings: Language, smut, anal play, anal fingering, ass eating, anal sex, spanking, submissive Steve, dominant Reader, and NSFW.

~*~

There’s many things that you can say about Steve Harrington. He has great hair, he has a constellation of beauty marks that even dot into his ears, his cock is the unidentified monster of Hawkins, his hands can be used as a human shield, he fights for his friends until the death, he’s loyal, he’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s beautiful, he kisses as if it’s his last day on earth… You can go on, really.

But then… there is also a rather, specific trait about him that’s undeniable. A physical presence that has turned heads of even claimed straight men. It doesn’t matter what he wears, whether it’s swimming trunks, sleep pants, sweats, or those sinful little Levi’s that belong in a museum — it is always on display, front and center. There is no getting past it, zero capabilities to deny it. Steve Harrington has a fat ass.

A perky, shapely, cheekily cut, juicy, bite-able, fuck-able, slap-able — deliciously sinful… ass.

You didn’t start out as his girlfriend, no. Just his best-friend, one that had agreed to benefits, before things became too vulnerable to ignore. And the more open emotions were, the more open things in the bedroom became. Steve was only alright trying new things with you, and the opportunity wasn’t wasted. So you’d showed him with a very targeted rental from the store, assuring that you’d checked in out by yourself under a fake name.

The woman had been taking her scene partner in several stages. First with her hands on his ass, slapping until it reddened, almost resembling a blossoming bruise. Secondly, prepping him with a finger. Thirdly, her face had been buried between his sore cheeks. And the finale, you had to help Steve take off his jeans, pulling his cock out for him as she accustomed to the harness, taking him in wild ways that Steve had taken you.

“Do you like what she’s doing to him?” You spoke into his ear, kissing at that one freckle inside, your fingers wrapping around his cock, thumb stroking off the pre from the head.

“Yeah…” his voice was choked, so low and raspy that it sounded as if his vocal cords had been drenched with molten lava. “What does it feel like?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, hues of blue and orange from the television set reflecting off his blown pupils.

“You want me to do it to you, Steve? Guys have a spot, just like girls do.”

“You mean my prostate, right? I know it’s a place… inside me… there. Is that it?”

You brushed his hair off his already slicked forehead. “That’s right, baby. Right in between your legs, buried deep inside of that tight, unused hole.”

He trembled impossibly, and that is when things got started.

~*~

Steve loves spankings when he’s over work and just needs to unwind. How your hands can make it hard for him to sit, to focus on anything that isn’t you. The way you grab him, pull him apart to observe like he’s on display over your lap.

Steve adores when you just grab him after a shower, through his towel or jeans, giving his ass a little lift or smack. Just staking your claim, feeling him up.

Steve will admit to calling you up several times a day, just so he can ride your fingers in the bathroom or stock room at work, addicted to watching his cock kick and drain all over the floor. He’s already been able to touch himself, but it still isn’t the same as you.

Steve isn’t able to process what happens when you split him open and bury your face in his backside, not permitting him to touch himself (unless you feel giving). You eat him the way that he eats your cunt — animalistic, with one goal. Letting him fuck his opening onto your tongue.

Steve can attest to his eyes crossing several times, upon seeing you in your harness, the shivering trepidation as he props his head on his bicep and strokes himself off at the sight off your dripping pussy as you adjust to the toy. He’ll help you step in on occasion. And the many positions. Depending on what the other needs, you will take him on his side, in front of a mirror so he can see how perfectly beautiful that he is, soft on his back for closeness as you go chest to chest, deeply on his stomach with a taught arch and sweet little pleas from his gifted little mouth, hard from behind, hand on his hair (sometimes in public, even at work. you have become addicted to watching him squirm after, knowing he’s gonna fuck you that much harder for getting him in that state), legs on your shoulders or around your waist, him riding you against the headboard or whatever surface you can find (even in his car), bouncing on top of you and riding you, his hands on your tits for purchase, cock leaking all over your stomach, balls wet with the arousal that has leaked across your thighs — any and everything that you can think of.

It’s safe to say, you’re in love with Steve Harrington’s ass. And will forever worship, remaining eternally faithful to its perfection.

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hellfirecvnt · 4 months

Text

Light my Fire

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader pt. 5

Summary: Your plan goes awry. Tensions are high. What's everybody gonna do about it? Ooh.

Warnings: sex, edging, creampie, quickie, crime makes him horny, low-key fluff at the end (idk how to end stories????)

Notes: EW this chapter is so short, but it's only bc this is the end of this series and I'm about to do another Lee Russell series I'm really excited about. Stay tuned!

Read part one here. // Part two here. // Part three here. // Part four here.

The night air is brisk as you park your car in the far-off lot behind the school. You're swift and careful sneaking inside, unseen. You beeline straight for the principal's office where Neal and Lee wait for you.

"'Bout fuckin' time, Y/L/N," Gamby barks, holding the door for you and scanning the surroundings as if you've been followed. You haven't. That's just how he is.

"Shut up, I forgot we were even doing this until Lee texted me."

"Both of you shut up, this is serious," Lee takes a seat at the desk and Gamby enviously joins him on the other side as if an audience of just you is enough to require them to validate their seniority.

"Why're you so serious? We're just scaring her a little," you laugh, unable to imagine anything going wrong with a plan that's meant to knock a vase or two over.

"Might have something to do with it being a felony." Neal arches his brows.

"You know what else is a felony? Doing hallucinogens on the school campus during a football game. You're already in it, Gamby. I hope you look good in orange," you taunt, earning a pair of narrow eyes from him.

"Will you two fuck sticks shut up for five goddamn seconds?!" Lee bursts, his voice hitting that cracked note it does when he's stressed. You and Gamby look at each other, confused. It seems the two of you have underestimated how much pressure Lee is holding right now.

"Damn, dude. It's alright, calm down." You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Let's just get in there and get out. Easy." Your pep talk seems to do the trick and all three of you file out to the bus lanes to hop in a rented white van.

The trip is silent and eerily long. You and Neal exchange tense glances, but Lee stays stone-focused on the road. He's not even driving, Gamby is. Lee's just unwavering his attention from the asphalt, deep in thought, you assume.

The van pulls up to a house in a small neighborhood, stopping out front. It's a little bold for your tastes, but you don't plan to be in there long anyways.

"Oh shit, is this where she lives?" You ask.

“What a shit-hole.” Neal adds, laughing.

"This is my house, motherfucker." Lee looks at him with wide, angry eyes. "It’s a mid-century sea ranch!"

"It's a... It's a great sea ranch, Lee." You attempt to talk down his stress, but he just shakes his head as he climbs out of the van, promising to be back after he grabs something from inside. When he comes back, his hands seem empty, but you don't question it.

The act continues and Neal pulls the large rental van into the nearby cul-de-sac and parks, turning off the headlights. You stare out the window, scanning for any movement inside the house.

"Looks still to me," you whisper.

"She's gonna be at that game all night," Neal mumbles, unbuckling his seatbelt.

The three of you pile out of the van quietly and make your way up to her back porch. Neal begins to wrap his tie around his fist.

"Are you seriously gonna punch out that window?" You ask, concerned about the risk factor. Gamby only raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, fuck you. No you're not," Lee's laughter is cut off by the shattering sound of a small window in Dr. Brown's back door.

"Oh, shit!" You and Lee exclaim at the same time.

"Bitches first." Neal holds out his arm, welcoming Lee inside. The three of you scramble to find things of value to knock around and stage a thorough break-in. Suddenly, you hear the sound of a loud crash.

"A little much, Lee, don't you think?" You hiss, annoyed by the monstrous volume of the crash.

"Gamby broke the fuckin' window," he protests.

"Yeah, so we could get in. It's a fake robbery, you think they're not gonna break a fucking window?" Neal's sass only amplifies Lee's.

"Darlin', smash this mug and we'll leave right now, I promise." The look on his face tells you loud and clear that he's lying to you.

"You're a lying piece of shit, Mr. Russell," you huff and he shrugs with a "shy" grin.

"And yet, you're gonna do whatever I say, aren't you?" His eyes twinkle and you know he's right. Your expression is one of defiance as you snatch the mug from his hands and slam it on the ground. The tiny shards of porcelain explode in every direction against the polished hardwood floor.

"Well, look at you, hardened criminal." Lee grins, breaking out into a damn near rampage. Gamby seems to have caught whatever enraged bug bit Lee and the two of them tear through the house like maniacs.

"Oh, no..." You stare in horror as the two buffoons tear Belinda's home to shreds. You're watching Neal in horror as he wrecks her china cabinet. The only thing that can tear your eyes away from the mess is the unmistakable stench of burning synthetic fabric. "Lee?!"

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart. We need her gone," he says with an emotionless face. He tilts his head to the side, still looking at you as the flames get higher. It's like he's someone else for just a second, and while you know you should be off-put and even scared, you can't stand how much you want him right now. The two of you are frozen in a stare-off as the house fills with toxic black smoke. Gamby's yelling something, but everything's muffled as all your attention belongs to Lee.

"Y/N, come on!" He screams one more time before cursing aloud and grabbing your arm. Neal drags you out of the burning abode and shoves you out the back door onto the lawn where you land with a thud, only then being knocked out of your lusty trance. Gamby hacks and coughs from the amount of smoke that filled his lungs while he waited for you to get out of the house.

"Neal?! What the fuck? Where's Lee?" You scramble to your feet, blackened by the tarish nature of the soot. You look around frantically for your third other superior, but he's nowhere to be found. "Gamby!" You snap at him, demanding answers.

"Hey, motherfucker. Let's not scream each other's names out here while the place is burning down," Lee appears from the bushes like some sort of Halloween trick. You roll your eyes, relieved to see him.

"Let's get the fuck out of here!" You whisper harshly, leading the men to the van. The drive back to the school is silent. You're unsure what everyone else is feeling now that the heat of the moment has cooled. Have you all gone too far? Did anyone see you? Your mind races with anxiety. You've just been an accessory to arson just because the man behind the lighter looks a little too good in his silly patterned suits.

The van pulls into the school lot and Gamby drops the two of you off by your cars.

"I'm gonna... Get this thing off the road. Return it tomorrow." Neal drives off, leaving the two of you alone in the parking lot. Mr. Gamby is clearly distressed and dissociating from the reality of what he was just a part of, but Lee? Lee's calm. More calm than you've ever seen him. So calm, you wonder if it's an act or if he truly did find that much release and relaxation in destroying another person's home for his own gain. It's disgusting behavior, and the way he's carrying it makes your knees weak.

Lee Russell looks you up and down with a flat face. His lack of readability makes you nervous and excited. His eyes trail back up your body and to your eyes, inviting you to follow him inside the dark, locked school. You can barely stifle an excited squeal as you trail happily behind him. He's uncharacteristically silent, bubbling at the brim with adrenaline and desire. The feeling of conquering his enemy is almost as orgasmic as fucking you senseless in the principal's office.

He opens the door and you giddily trot inside, taken aback by how dark it is in here at night. You're attempting to let your eyes adjust when you hear the door close and feel Lee's nimble, needy hands groping roughly at your chest from behind.

"You looked a little scared back there, darlin'." He kisses and nips at your neck, whispering with warm breath in your ear.

"Lee, we could get in so much trouble," you speak through small gasps.

"But we won't," he chuckles against your skin, tightening his grip around your breasts. "I'm fucking invincible." He suddenly spins you around, almost like dancing, before he guides you backward toward the desk, laying you back on it so he can lift your legs around his waist. Neither of you pays attention to any of the small ornaments and stationary that fall off in the process.

He crashes his soft, balmed lips against yours, moving his head back and forth in sync with yours. It was unclear to you until now how touch-starved you were before he had his hands on you so roughly, never mind having him only a few days ago.

"Lee-" you huff his name, hoping to speed this heated affair along so you can feel him inside you.

"Shh, sweetheart," he whispers, placing a thumb on your pouting lips. "Let me savor this." He tilts his head back, hands gripping your waist, pulling your clothed cunt to his growing erection straining against his slacks. You lie back on the desk, accepting each of his sexual prods and squeezes. Primal groans of pleasure rumble lowly from his chest as he slides his palms up and down your body, studying every inch of you, mesmerized.

It feels like he's toying with you forever. Pressing your breasts together and slipping his hands under your bra. He catches you off guard when he finally slips a hand up your skirt and skillfully slips your lace and silk panties off your legs. You gasp, suddenly fully exposed to him yet again.

"I really don't give a shit if they bring in a new principal as long as I've got a claim on this tight fucking pussy of yours," he sighs, jaw hanging slack as he slips a well-manicured finger up and down your throbbing clit. "Fuckin' Christ."

You release a string of hearty moans, desperate for more and more. He smiles a big, white smile as he plays you like an instrument, filling the room with the sounds of your pleasure. Lee's lips part as he focuses intently on his fingers scissoring inside you, bringing you closer and closer to your climax. Just as it seems you're going to give, he pulls away without so much as a kiss.

"Lee!" You whine, quickly replacing his fingers with your own. That's not part of his plan, though. He grabs your wrists and holds them in front of you, staring into your face in the very dimly lit office room. He holds your wrists in place and watches your shifting, desperate face. "Please!" You arch your back, attempting to run against him like you're in heat, but he doesn't let you reach. Your climax quickly dwindles away and your knees feel like they're made of gelatin.

"Shhh," he whispers, but it turns into a taunting chuckle. He's laughing at you. Laughing at the puddle of a woman you turn into for him. He truly feels invincible. "Do you want it, sweetheart?" He asks with the same emotionless face and tilted head he had in Belinda's burning home.

"I need it, Lee. Please," you moan, hoping so badly this is finally it. Lee reaches for his belt and unfastens the metal and leather painstakingly slowly.

"God, look at you, begging for me to fuck you after what you helped me do." He frees his throbbing cock, positioning his pre-cum soaked tip at your awaiting cunt. He hovers there, hanging his mouth open and tilting his chin up as he looks down at you, taunting. "So close..."

You do all you can to meet him halfway, to feel him inside you, and to dismiss this erotic display of dominance. Lee slaps the head against your sensitive slit a few times, collecting your arousal with his before sinking his tip into you. You release a filthy, guttural moan that makes him shudder as he slips in all the way to his hilt.

"Fucking, god damn it," he groans. "All I've been fucking thinking about..." He slowly slides out, nearly withdrawing completely, but then he slams his hips against yours. This brutal thrust defines his rhythm and he begins to fuck you like he hates you. His bucking hips slam into you hard and fast as ravenous moans pour from his lips.

"You're... Fucking insane," you giggle between rough thrusts.

"This pussy's fucking insane." Lee quickens his pace, throwing his head back in ecstasy. He quickly removes himself from you, only to yank you off the desk and spin you around. Once you're facing the desk, he bends you over and roughly lifts your pencil skirt to expose your round ass. He repositions himself at your pussy and slams his way in. The room is an echo chamber of the two of you expressing your pleasure through loud, sensual moans.

"Lee!" You gasp, arching your back to better present yourself to him. He fucks rhythmically as you're quickly pushed closer and closer to your orgasm.

"Come on, darlin'," he whispers, chasing his own high. After a few more minutes, a vulnerable groan escapes Lee's lips, and the two of you climax at nearly the same time. He finishes inside you as you flood his desk and pants. The two of you hold still for a moment before he slowly slips out of your sensitive entrance and allows the rest of the mixture of cum to pour out of you.

"Lee... That was-"

"You're coming home with me tonight, Y/N." Lee smiles warmly, almost as if he's waiting for you to accept or decline. You're still fuzzy-brained and dripping with the evidence of his violations.

"Oh, yeah. I'd, um, love to," you accept shyly, confused and aroused by this new genre of dominance from him. Lee stands next to you where you lie face down on his desk, knees buckled beneath you. He gently strokes your hair as he speaks.

"I don't wanna go scaring you off or anything, but" he pulls your hair away from your face. "We don't have to call this anything-"

"I wanna call it something," you say, quickly. He grins.

"I don't care what you wanna call it. I'm calling you mine."

End.

•••••

Taglist: @therest-stillunwritten // @its-in-the-woods // @justme12200 // @sixx-writes // @littlenosoul // @itsyellow // @blackwoodtree // @hiddlebatchedloki // @ivyinthesun // @alastorsw1f3 // @sexy-monster-fucker // @writtenbyhollywood //

#lee russell fan fiction #lee russel fanfiction #lee russell smut #lee russell x reader #lee russell vice principals #lee russell #vice principals smut #vice principals hbo max #vice principals max #vice principals fanfiction #vice principals #neal gamby #walton goggins #danny mcbride #hellfirecvnt #smut

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creativestreamstd25 · 10 months

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leiascully · 26 days

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Fic: POANG (M, MSR)

4400 words; rated M for a lot of real and imaginary sex; the solve high hits Scully right in the libido and a trip to IKEA doesn't help. happy birthday, @laurencem (ao3)

There’s a novelty to working a case in a city. They’re usually in smaller towns, out on the edges of things where the fields blur into the woods and the monsters wear animal skins. Today’s monster is human, or something that resembles one. Scully doubts sometimes that it’s possible to be so brutal and retain humanity.

They’d been called in on this one on the suspicion of witchcraft. There had been a series of killings: bundles of herbs left at the scene, dead bees scattered about, cedar smoke lingering in the corners of the rooms, corpses ritually disfigured. The perpetrator turned out to be more ecofascist than druid. No caltrops for him, and no nice trip to the woods for her and Mulder. This killer has been cultivating poison plants, including the kind of mushrooms that reduced a person’s liver to a liquid. He raved as they put him in the car, something about the city being a hive and its denizens mere drones. Scully tuned it out.

Case closed by noon and they’re back at the hotel. It’s not a particularly nice one: no restaurant, no pool, no premium channels. They’re close to the airport, far from most of the amenities. The closest landmark is an IKEA looming blue and yellow by the highway. Scully regrets making them drop off the rental car early, but Skinner’s been making noises about expenses again. Frugality and a high solve rate are the better part of valor. There’s a free shuttle to the airport, but their flight isn’t until tomorrow morning.

“Where do you go to eat around here?” Mulder asks the college-age kid at the desk.

The kid shrugs. “IKEA.”

“To eat?” Mulder sounds skeptical. It’s music to Scully’s ears. She settles her hip against the wall and watches him.

“I mean it’s not where I would take a date, but they’ve got food,” the kid says, glancing between them.

Mulder turns to Scully. He lifts an eyebrow.

“IKEA it is,” she says.

It’s a short walk, at least. Scully’s used to the touristy part of DC, which this is decisively not. She’s used to walking next to Mulder in a suit and heels instead of jeans and flats. It feels different. She never feels small, walking next to Mulder. He makes space for her, even when they’re out on their own time, like this. She wonders if that makes it look like they're on a date, when they’re out of uniform.

She wonders, just a little, if they’re on a date.

The automatic door of the IKEA opens invitingly, a wide mouth to swallow them up. Mulder ushers her in, an ironic little twist to his lips that tells her he knows what she’s thinking. The maw of capitalism. An ecosystem where the consumer is the consumed. Clearcut forests shimmering with ancient insects.

Also, meatballs.

The end-of-case adrenaline is starting to hit her. All the emotion she locked down in the moment comes back, rerouted from fear to something more feral. She’s restless. She is, truth be told, a little horny. Some confluence of her cycle and the solve high has her wishing she’d stayed in the hotel room. The bathtub looked clean enough. She could have enjoyed herself. Instead she’s letting Mulder lead her through a labyrinth of simulated lives and enticingly arranged furniture. He stops to mosey into one of the staged spaces and beckons her over.

“Look at this, Scully.” He spreads his arms. He can almost touch both walls of the fake apartment. The grey t-shirt he’s wearing stretches in such an enticing way over his chest and shoulders. She gets a whiff of his deodorant and it makes her toes tingle. There’s something about the scent of artificial woods layered over just a hint of sweat that makes the feral part of her flex its claws. She’s always susceptible to the scent of Mulder, but this is something else. She could duck under his arm and sink her teeth into the bare skin of his bicep.

Some part of her is mortified to think of him in this way. Most days, that part gets the upper hand. Today, it’s been outvoted and overpowered. Want prowls back and forth in her belly. She steps closer.

“Can you imagine living here?” he asks. “Actually, you probably could. It’s about the size of a ship’s cabin.”

“Compact,” she says.

His eyes crinkle as he smiles at her. “Just like you.”

I’d compact you, she wants to say, even though it makes no sense. She wonders if her pupils are dilated as she gazes up at him. She wants to push him up against the wall, but there’s a cabinet in the way. He’d hit his head, and he’s had enough cranial trauma. She’s his doctor. She knows better.

He’s still smiling at her and for a moment, her wild desire recoils, rebuffed by doubt. How would he react if she lunged for him? Does he even think of her that way? There have been hints over the years, but Mulder’s mouth writes checks the rest of him isn’t willing to cash. In his mind, are they just on a nice little outing, two work colleagues grabbing dinner? Was he planning on going back to his hotel room to watch whatever film features a leggy brunette wearing the fewest clothes?

“Kidding,” he says, and she realizes she’s staring at him. “Scully. I’m kidding.”

“Right.” She takes a step back as he lets his arms fall to his sides.

“Are you all right?” He ducks his head. “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” she says automatically.

“I guess it’s been an exciting day.” He meanders out of the fake apartment onto the floor of the store. They seem to be in the seating section. Scully doesn’t need a sofa, and she doesn’t need to look at sofas and imagine on them herself cuddled into Mulder’s side. None of these options are as sexy as his leather couch anyway. Oh god, when did she start thinking his couch was sexy?

Mulder stops by a chair with a light wood frame. “POANG,” he reads off the tag. It’s got white cushions and a sort of modern look. “Oh hey, it’s a rocking chair.” He tips it with one finger and it obligingly rocks. “Maybe you need one of these for your living room.”

Scully is possessed by a vivid image of the chair as it might look in her living room. Mulder is sitting in it, jeans yanked open and shirt rucked up, and she’s straddling his lap and riding him until the runners squeak under them. The motion of the chair accentuates the motion of her hips and her tits swing until he captures them in his big warm hands and and and…

“Maybe,” she says. “But Mulder, we have an IKEA closer to home.”

He drops onto one of the sofas and stretches out. He’s obnoxiously long. His shirt rides up, revealing a wedge of golden skin. “You’d probably rather have something vintage anyway. You’ve got champagne tastes, Scully. You like your creature comforts.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” She crosses her arms.

“No.” His lip twitches in amusement. “Although I have to say, if I had your bed, I’d never get out of it.”

Please, she thinks, fervent as a prayer. “Is that why it took you so long to stop sleeping on the couch? Your inherent slothfulness?”

“What can I say.” He brushes his hand over his stomach, smoothing his shirt down. She bites her lip and looks away. “I’m a man of many vices.” His voice is low, almost a purr.

It’s exactly this kind of fucking behavior that feeds the poor confused wild thing inside her. Does he know that? She knows him better than anyone else in her life and she has never been able to decide if it’s real, not even the time they almost kissed. Her need for him gobbles up every scrap of plausibly deniable flirtation, simultaneously satiated and starving.

She looks away from him. The next section is more innocuous - lots of cute little baskets and boxes. “I thought you were hungry.” She can’t imagine a magazine holder stoking her libido.

“Right,” he says, rolling off the couch. “Date night.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Who knows how long it’ll take us to get to the restaurant?” He shades his eyes with his hand, as if he’s peering over some dim horizon. “This place is engineered for maximum distraction. Think of all the lives we could live between here and there, Scully.”

She manages to haul him through the living room storage without too many detours, although she does have a wistful moment over another one of the staged living spaces, imagining the two of them sharing an apartment. She shoves the thought away. They spend so much time together she should be sick of him. She should fantasize about freedom, or solitude, or meeting a handsome stranger in a tiki bar on a tropical beach. But even when she loathes Mulder, she longs for him. Even the way he examines a Billy bookshelf gives her a rush of fond familiarity at the way he devotes his whole attention to it.

“Should we get you a desk?” he teases as they enter the next section.

Only if you’ll fuck me on it, she doesn’t say. Instead, she rolls her eyes and marches toward the shortcut, knowing he’s drifting in her wake. They skip the kitchen section, which is good; she doesn’t have to imagine herself with her hands braced on a countertop as Mulder presses against her from behind, one hand palming her tits and three fingers of the other inside her. They proceed through dining. In her head, she’s definitely not bent over this table as he takes her from behind, or sitting on that one as he has her for dinner, his lips moving eagerly over her thighs.

There’s something wrong with her. The heat deep in her belly keeps building. It’s Mulder’s damn grace and the way he smells and the fit of his jeans and the way the t-shirt strains when his arm flexes. It’s been too goddamn long since she had sex - years, and that was the once, and years before that - and something has awoken inside her, stirred out of sleep by the moon or the tides or who knows what the fuck. She’d go out on a limb for ancient prophecy at this point. That’s how primal her desire feels. It’s wild inside her, barely contained. And it’s so fucking stupid to feel all of this in the middle of an IKEA - a sanitized, flatpack world of sexless confused caricatures and beds that look too flimsy to fuck in.

Beds. So many beds. Acres of beds. And they do look flimsy, but she imagines fucking in them anyway. That one has a slatted headboard she could attach restraints too. That one has storage drawers for her collection of sex toys and Mulder’s collection of dirty magazines. She’d fuck him in a trundle bed at this point. Hell, she’d fuck him on the floor and let security drag them out and shove them into the cop car still coupled together, because there’s no way she’d let him go.

She somehow makes it through beds.

“You must be hungry,” he says at her shoulder. “Or else you took up competitive speedwalking.”

“That continental breakfast was a long time ago,” she says without looking back. She doesn’t need to look. She can sense him: his heat, his bulk. She could reach out for him and know exactly what she’d touch. That’s the problem with her fantasies. She knows him too intimately.

The wardrobe section doesn’t trouble her much, aside from a brief vision of dragging him into a small dark space and having her way with him. She doesn’t even flinch when they get to the children’s section, or at least not outwardly. Her eyes are on the prize and for once, it’s not Mulder’s ass. It’s the IKEA bistro at long last.

They dine. Mulder has meatballs. Scully has the salmon. The meatballs look suspiciously pale to her, but Mulder assures her they’re delicious. He holds out his fork for her, won’t take no for an answer. She relents and he feeds her a fragment of meatball dipped in the sharp sweetness of lingonberry jam. It’s better than she expected. She eats her salmon and wonders at her impulse toward the ascetic. Mulder is supposed to be the one who’s chosen a lonely, constrained life, but she’s the one denying herself mashed potatoes and a potential heaping helping of Mulder. If his flirting means anything, and that’s the if of her life at this point.

She sighs and puts her fork down on her plate. Mulder eats the last bite of her salmon, but only when it becomes clear she isn’t going to eat it. He smiles at her and her heart and her loins both throb. Fuck, she loves him so much.

They escape the IKEA without any further purchases. Fortunately, most of the rest of the store is small goods and packaged furniture, so the only thing to tempt her is the occasional surface that looks firm enough to support them both.

“Call me when you want dinner,” Mulder says when they get back to the hotel. She locks herself into her room and scans her notes on the case. She waits five minutes, fifteen, an hour. There’s no knock on her door. She starts to run a bath. Her whole body feels congested. She knows it’s not possible to die from metaphorical blue balls, unless it is and she’s about to be in the X-Files again. She wants him so much she feels like a teenager again. If they’d grown up together, he would have been her first kiss. She knows that. Four years would have made a difference until it didn’t. She would have waited for him to finally, finally see her.

She’s waiting for that now.

There’s a full length mirror near her door and she stands in front of it. There’s nothing wrong with her, surely. She’s not as buxom as some, not as curvy as others, but he’s dragged his eyes up and down her body a hundred thousand times. She’d know what that meant from anyone else. With Mulder, who knows? It could be sacred geometry. He could be comparing her to the women in the tapes he stashes under his tv. Maybe she’s just in his line of sight and he’s thinking about something else, sinusoidal curves or what inhabits the bleak depths of space, and it only looks like interest.

She squeezes her breasts, thumbs her nipples. Her own hands aren’t what she wants, but they’re familiar. She slides her palms over her body as the water thunders into the bathtub. If she closes her eyes as she tugs off her t-shirt and unbuttons her jeans, she can imagine it’s him. Fire follows her fingertips as she draws a topographical map of her body with his phantom hands. She’s down to her bra and panties when someone raps on the door.

“Just a minute,” she calls, and turns off the water. She peers through the peephole, wrapping a towel around herself. It’s Mulder. Of fucking course, it’s Mulder, interrupting her at exactly the moment she would want him to, so that he can tell her about fairy rings or the exciting properties of silicon instead of fucking her through the hotel bed.

She lets him in, rolling her eyes at herself.

“I went back to the IKEA,” he says. “In the vein of the heroes of old. I conquered the extremely domestic wilds of the main floor and I may have ordered you a POANG chair to be delivered. Also, I brought cake.” He puts two plastic boxes on her dresser. “But I didn’t know if you’d want chocolate or strawberry.”

“Why?”

“Why? We solved the case, Scully. I think a little celebration is in order. Or why the chair? I thought it would look good in your living room. I don’t have the space for one.” He looks her up and down all too briefly. What a gentleman. “Are you busy? I can come back later.”

“I’m not busy,” she says, just to see if he’ll accept it. For two people so passionately devoted to the truth, they lie to each other all the time. Maybe it’s plausible that she frequently sits around her room en déshabillé and he’s just missed it every time.

“Chocolate or strawberry?” He produces two forks. “Although I guess we can share.”

“Mulder, does it look like I want cake right now?”

He does the slow pan up and down her body this time. Heat rushes up her body, a sudden blaze that stokes the furnace in her belly to a roaring flame. She can feel the flush in her cheeks and down her chest.

“I admit, you don’t seemed dressed to dine,” he says at last.

She opens her hand, a gesture that invites him to follow his thoughts to their logical conclusion and leave.

“The cake was a ruse,” he says abruptly, ignoring her hint. “I wanted to check on you. You seemed a little off earlier.”

“Off?” She sits on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, maybe frustrated or angry.” He drags the standard-issue chair over, sits with his knees almost brushing hers. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. It was a weird case.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” she says.

He stares at her. There’s a long, long moment, during which she thinks about kissing him. She can’t stop looking at his mouth. As if he senses her gaze, he licks his lips. “Okay.”

“Okay what?” she asks, still half-mesmerized.

He taps her knee with one finger. “You said you were fine. Okay. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” He gets up.

“What?” she says, flummoxed by his sudden pivot. “Mulder, the cake.”

“You can have it,” he says. He tosses the forks on the dresser by the cake. “Eat it in good health. I’ll be back later.”

“Where are you going?” she asks.

He paces back and forth. “I don’t know. It kind of feels like you don’t want me here.”

She opens and closes her mouth. “First of all, I’m in a state of undress.”

“I don’t care about that, Scully.”

“You don’t care?” She stands up. “What if I care?”

He makes a dismissive gesture. “I’ve seen you undressed, you’ve seen me undressed, it doesn’t have to be weird.”

“It doesn’t.” Her voice is flat with disbelief. “It doesn’t have to be weird.”

He shrugs. “Not unless you want it to be weird.”

“Fine.” She’s fed the fuck up. It’s been a long, weird, fairly excruciating day. She drops the towel.

This time Mulder really looks at her. She can feel the way his eyes drag over her skin, stopping to caress each rounded nipple, dipping toward the elastic of her panties.

“Not weird at all,” he says, but his voice is hoarse. He shifts, which makes the bulge of his erection more noticeable. Fuck it, Scully thinks. You don’t get to the moon if you never fire the rockets. She feels drunk. Mulder’s full attention has always been 100 proof.

“I wanted to fuck you in the POANG chair,” she says conversationally.

“Yeah.” He shifts again. “I wanted that too. Maybe that’s why I bought you one.”

“The way it rocks,” she says, and shivers a little, which makes him shiver too.

“I wanted to play house in those little apartments,” he tells her. “You and me, falling asleep watching tv, but in the same place for once. You and me, sharing a bed.”

“Yeah,” she says.

“Is that why you seemed mad?”

She nods. “Also I was hungry.”

“Where else did you want to fuck me?” he asks, stepping closer. His eyes have gone dark green. His pupils are wide.

“Everywhere,” she tells him.

“Wanna start with this bed and see how far we get?” His hands settle on her hips, so lightly, as if he’s afraid she’ll pull away. Instead, she drags his head down, breathes against his lips for a moment, and then kisses him.

The universe implodes. That’s what it feels like, anyway. But even if it were the end of all things, she couldn’t stop herself. He smells like pine and musk and his neck tastes like salt and she’s kissing him everywhere, everywhere. He lifts her and she wraps her legs around his waist and he has one arm around her waist and one hand under her ass and his fingers are stroking the outside of her thigh and she thinks if he’s not inside her in the next minute, she’ll just die.

He laughs and she realizes she said that out loud.

“I think so too,” he says. But he’s still dressed, he’s still wearing all his goddamn clothes, and she tugs at his shirt until he takes the hint and drags it over his head. She lets go and works on the button of his jeans. His jeans and his boxers come off together when they shove at them, and then he’s less dressed than she is. He kicks off his shoes and the tangle of denim and silk and she undoes her bra because she trusts his competence, but also she doesn’t. Need has made them so, so foolish.

“I want to,” he says, and swallows the rest of his sentence, but he hooks his thumbs into her panties and she lies back and lifts her hips. He skims the fabric down her legs. There’s hunger in his eyes. She lets him look, dropping her knees wide. He swallows hard and crawls up the bed to lie next to her.

“I wanted this to last,” he tells her.

“Me too,” she says. “I thought it would be different.” The light in his eyes dims slightly. He starts to turn his face away and she presses her palm to his cheek and turns it back. “Mulder, no. I wouldn’t change anything about this.”

“You sure?”

For answer, she kisses him, throwing her leg over his hip. Maybe it’s not what she expected. But she’s had years of self-denial, and she’s finished with that. There will be opportunities later for endless foreplay (as if every interaction since their handshake in the basement hasn’t been foreplay) and romance and slow indulgence, but she doesn’t have the patience for that. She’s already reaching for him, already wrapping her hand around his hand around his cock so they work together to guide him in. It’s such a relief that she almost cries, even though she aches as she stretches to accommodate him. And then he’s moving in her and it’s the rhythm of the universe, the pulse of existence. They’re not being safe and she doesn’t fucking care. He’s inside her, he’s touching her, he’s kissing her, and she’s wrapped around him like she can fuse their bodies together.

Every texture of him is a revelation: the hot satiny skin of his cock, the sleekness of his belly, the light fur on his chest. She knows them all and yet. And yet. It’s so different now. She feels the slickness of his lips and the rough friction of his tongue in her mouth and on her skin. It’s everything. Finally, she’s filled up, satisfied, satiated, maybe for the first time in her life. She wants more, oh God, she wants more of him. She wants to live under his ribs like that conjoined twin. She wants her bones jumbled with his. She wants him to fill her every way he can think of. She wants to buy a whole new range of sex toys and treat him just right. But for now, this is enough.

“More,” she says, and he pushes her onto her back without sliding out of her. She spreads her legs wider. He pins her, lacing his fingers into hers and stretching their arms over her head. His hips jolt as he shoves into her, harder and deeper, and she arches up to meet him. Every cell of her body feels like it’s filled with sparks of pleasure; she could map her nerves for him if she still had the power of speech. But he understands her incoherent cries. He always understands her.

She’s whimpering under him, helpless in the throes of her pleasure. The tingling starts in her extremities and washes through her, a tide rising higher and higher. She can feel his muscles tensing. His stomach is trembling. He’s holding back, wanting her to come first. One day, she thinks, she’ll indulge him, urge him to think of himself, but not tonight. She squeezes around him, taunting him. He groans and looks at her. She smirks at him and he growls in his throat. Now it’s a challenge: he has to make her come first, not just wish for it. He doesn’t let go of her, but drags their joined hands down her body. He rubs their fingers against her clit, tight circles that have her gasping. And then she’s coming, her body bucking under his, and he makes her ride it out before he’ll let go.

“Please,” she says, and he thrusts into her shivering body and she wraps her legs around him and holds him so tight as he buries his face in her shoulder and yells. He tries to roll off her right away but she won’t let go. She wants his weight, all of it, and after a moment he surrenders and lets her take it.

“We’re definitely going to fuck in that chair,” she whispers in his ear after a while.

He laughs into the curve of her neck. “We’re definitely going to fuck a lot of places.”

She kisses his ear and he turns his face so that his lips meet hers. “Making up for lost time.”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes sparkling. “We haven’t lost anything,” he says. “We’ll make our own time.”

For some reason, her eyes prickle with tears. She kisses him again, threads her hands through his hair. She believes him. Maybe they have a future full of flatpack furniture and charming antiques and lazy mornings in bed. Maybe they can celebrate all their cases like this.

“Let them eat cake,” she says, and he laughs again and holds her close.

#leiascully fic #my fic #msr fic #xfiles fic #the x-files fic

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yaskie · 5 months

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This video is also uploaded on TIKTOK Ko-fi Website: Click Here

A continuous battle and I am scared(URGENT) - you can click on the image to direct you to the Ko-Fi Site.

Dear Friends, Right now I feel despair, and hopelessness. And I feel so tired. I deeply apologize for tagging you all again, please don't get mad. I just really needed help.😢😢 I just got my life back, and recently recovered from my debts from my previous battle in between 2021 and mid 2023. I really felt so ashamed in writing this, because I am avoiding as much as I can to ask help financially again.

You were there for me during my darkest hours, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. But now, I find myself in a situation more dire than ever before, and I am trembling with fear as I implore you to lend me your aid once again.

The video you see attached to this post is a painful reminder of the recent loss I've endured. Uncle Dindo joined our creator last March 24, 2024, after battling Stage 4 Lung Cancer for a month. His passing has left a void in our souls, and also drowned us in debts too. I am helping with expenses as much as I can, that it also drowned me. My Father died of the same illness as well. I made a post more than a month ago with the Title: FIGHTING AGAINST CANCER sadly we still have zero donation and sales from our Emotes and Digital Stickers sale.

I do not know how to approach all of you again, but I am so scared right now. The reason I made this new post is I've been doing my best to make ends meet, trying to loan to a bank to be able for me to start my Treatment again(but mostly got rejected). I am already back to work eversince the fourth quarter of 2023, but the income is not enough as I earn only $12-$15/day with 12 hours plus of work. I am really really scared right now as I am writing this. First, I need to settle my rent within 12-24 hours which cost $500(water & electricity is unstable). My landlord is threatening me that he will lock the house, kicking me out and leaving my pets behind. My cats and my dog are my life. Update(05/02/2024): I asked helped from a local council here to help me talk to my landlord. We have an agreement and I am given enough time until Saturday of this week - May 4, 2024. To settle the rent and for me and my pets to leave the apartment, we found a new one but we need a 2 month deposit. And payment for a rental truck. I need to pay my landlord too - so, I can be able to transfer to another home, and he will let me leave peacefully. Which will have another cost, as I need to rent a small truck because I have my pets with me. I have written this on my previous blogs before that I have been sexually harassed(this SCARES me so much too), and stalked by a former friend. He was jailed, but he is back again(already reported it to police). But for safety transferring home is needed. My trauma is still not yet recovered. We still need to prioritize as well my Aunt's treatment, as her health is rapidly deteriorating too(Stage 3 breast Cancer is advancing, her right breast has already been removed). And I need to start mine again, it spread in other parts of my body(I am holding on). I'm really scared right now. If you can spare anything—money, support, anything at all—it would mean the world to me. I hate asking, but I don't know what else to do. Any amount is appreciated, or you can purchase from my Small Shop as well. Thank you so much. Please take Care. Love, Jasky P.S. Sorry if my writing sounds scattered. I don't have proper sleep at the moment.

Sorry for tagging again, please do not get mad at me. I really help so badly. Reposting, or if you have any at least $5 or buy stickers it will really mean a lot to us, to me.

@boost-the-signal @measurelessdreamer @c1a1r3r3df1e1d @samblerambles @nearlybitches

#gofundme #donate if you can #send help #help needed #fundraising #mutual aid #cancer patients #important #prayers #share #tiktok

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nayziiz · 7 months

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Team Dynamics | LN4

Summary: To celebrate the launch of their 2024 car for the upcoming F1 season, McLaren hosts a masquerade gala event that sees two souls connect and lead to a whirlwind romance. Unfortunately, the pair realise soon after that they are to work together quite closely after they agreed it would only be a one-night thing.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, one night stand, unprotected sex

Pairing: Gemma (I don't like writing with Y/N or reader) x Lando Norris

Series Masterlist

PART 7

As the week leading up to the Canadian Grand Prix unfolds, Gemma and Lily make plans for another karting session. The girls, eager to share their enthusiasm for karting, decide to extend the invitation to Lando and Oscar, transforming the girls’ day into a full-blown group activity.

Gemma and Lily, having bonded over their shared love for racing, have previously enjoyed karting together several other times. Lily, under Gemma's guidance, has become more comfortable manoeuvring the kart around the track. Now, they envision a fun day on the karting circuit with Lando and Oscar to spice their adventure up. The group activity becomes a refreshing break from the intensity of the Grand Prix weekend, allowing them to indulge in their shared love for speed and competition in a more relaxed setting.

“So, who’s going to be the fastest?” Lando grins, his hands gripping the steering wheel of their rental SUV with an eagerness that mirrors the impending thrill of the race.

“I have my money on Gems.” Lily chimes in, her playful confidence adding to the pre-race banter. Oscar, seated next to Lando, nods in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips

“Honestly, same.” Oscar declares, fueling the friendly rivalry.

“Wow, I’ve never felt so loved before.” Gemma teases, a mock expression of surprise on her face as she glances at Lando.jokes once she sees Lando’s fake displeasure in the rearview mirror.

“Now you just have to prove it.” Lando challenges, his eyes locked on Gemma's, a wink accentuating the playful dare.

As the group approaches the karting track, the atmosphere becomes charged with an undeniable tension between Lando and Gemma. Despite being surrounded by friends, the magnetic connection they share persists, creating an undercurrent of unspoken understanding that lingers in the air. Whether engaged in casual chatter or dancing to the beats of the music, their interactions inevitably gravitate towards each other, the invisible pull between them palpable to those who observe.

Upon arriving at the karting facility, Lando expertly parks the vehicle, the engine's purr momentarily drowning out the electric energy between him and Gemma. The group excitedly exits the car and makes their way to the relatively quiet track. Amidst the anticipation, the tension between Lando and Gemma is heightened as they change into their sleek racing gear.

Gathering at the karting centre, Lando's attention is immediately drawn to Gemma's new karting race suit. Charcoal grey with vibrant hints of fluorescent yellow and orange around the edges, it not only reflects a sense of style but also hints at a competitive spirit ready to be unleashed on the track. The way the suit contours to Gemma's figure adds an unexpected layer to the charged atmosphere.

The stage is set for a thrilling day on the karting circuit. The roar of engines, the smell of burning rubber, and the sight of winding tracks create an ambiance of pure adrenaline.

“New suit?” Lando queries, unable to contain his curiosity.

“Yeah, I thought it was time to get a new one.” Gemma replies, her eyes briefly studying his reaction.

“I like it.” Lando declares, appreciating the sleek design and the confident aura it exudes.

“Of course you would, it's your yellow.” She informs him with a grin.

As Gemma scurries away to join Oscar and Lily, the sound of her laughter echoes in the air, a playful melody that adds to the lively atmosphere of the karting facility. Lando watches her go, a bemused expression on his face. The banter between them is a familiar dance, one that Gemma navigates with effortless charm.

Left standing alone, Lando chuckles to himself, a fond smile playing on his lips. He throws his head back in playful defeat, a theatrical gesture that conveys both amusement and a genuine appreciation for Gemma's ability to engage him in their banter. It's a game they play, a dynamic that has become second nature.

The subtle acknowledgment that Gemma holds a certain sway over him lingers in the air. It's more than just friendly banter; there's a nuance to their interactions that goes beyond words. As Lando watches Gemma join their friends, there's a flicker of something in his eyes – an unspoken understanding that their connection is unique, a dynamic that adds an extra layer of intrigue to their friendship.

Undeterred by the playful banter, Lando decides to follow Gemma towards the four karts awaiting them for their karting adventure. His strides are purposeful, a mix of determination and a subtle acknowledgment of the connection that seems to persist between them. As he reaches her kart, the atmosphere is charged with a unique energy, a blend of anticipation and unspoken understanding.

Taking on a supportive role, Lando assists Gemma as she settles into her kart, his hands deftly helping her secure the straps of her helmet. Gemma, in turn, reciprocates the gesture, a silent exchange that goes beyond the mechanics of gearing up for the race. The shared moments of assistance create a tangible sense of connection, a bond that extends both on and off the track.

As Lando kneels beside Gemma's kart, their eyes meet for a fleeting moment, an unspoken acknowledgement passing between them. The click of the helmet strap resonates in the air, a sound that becomes a metaphor for the unspoken dynamics weaving through their friendship. The simple act of assisting each other becomes a subtle dance, a prelude to the exhilarating karting experience that awaits them.

“How does it feel?” Gemma vaguely asks Lando.

“What?” He responds, still kneeling beside her.

“Knowing you’re about to eat my dust.” Gemma chirps and Lando pauses before he responds. “What? No quirky response from you? Have I actually won in life?”

“If I beat you, we get to go out to dinner, just the two of us.” Lando quickly fires back.

“And, what if I beat you?” Gemma counters.

“Then you get to play with my feelings a little longer.” Lando mumbles.

Lando's unexpected admission hangs in the air as he walks away, leaving Gemma momentarily speechless beside her kart. The playful banter, which had been a constant companion throughout the day, has now taken an unexpected turn, revealing a layer of emotions that adds complexity to their friendship. Gemma is left to contemplate the weight of Lando's words, a swirl of thoughts and emotions echoing in her mind.

As the lights go out, signalling the start of the race, Gemma is momentarily caught off guard, allowing Oscar to swiftly overtake her around the first corner. Her focus momentarily shattered by Lando's unexpected revelation, she grins at Oscar's triumphant manoeuvre, appreciating the playful competitiveness of the day.

Gemma snaps out of her momentary lapse, and a newfound determination sets in. She accelerates down the straights with full force, swiftly overtaking Oscar within a few minutes. Lando, still maintaining his lead, becomes her next target as she manoeuvres through the twists and turns of the track with precision.

As the race progresses, the adrenaline builds, a group of spectators watch in awe as Gemma closes the gap between her and Lando. Approaching the final laps, Gemma, fueled by the competitive spirit that now surges within her, decides to make her move. The air is charged with excitement as she attempts to overtake Lando, and they go wheel to wheel in a thrilling battle for the lead. The two drivers skillfully navigate the track, pushing their karts to the limit in a display of skill and determination.

In a nail-biting finish, Lando manages to secure victory by a few milliseconds. The competitive spirit between Gemma and Lando has reached its peak, creating a memorable and exhilarating karting experience for the entire group. The cheers and laughter of the spectators fill the air as they celebrate the hard-fought race.

“Good effort, Mayfield.” Lando comments once they're out of the karts and have their helmets off. His voice carries a tone of satisfaction, clearly pleased with his victory on the track.

“Good choice.” Lando, maintaining his confident demeanour, smirks in acknowledgment.

“Maybe I just felt like a good dinner.” Gemma, undeterred by the narrow defeat, retorts with a playful grin

The banter continues, adding a light and playful touch to the post-race atmosphere. The shared thrill of the karting competition has created a moment of camaraderie, setting the stage for a celebratory dinner that promises to be both competitive and enjoyable for Gemma and Lando.

As Gemma and Lando settle into a quiet Japanese restaurant for their dinner, the atmosphere is a blend of relaxation and anticipation. The soft glow of ambient lights casts a warm ambiance over their table, creating a serene backdrop for their conversation. Lando, seated across from Gemma, casually peruses the menu, seemingly at ease. However, Gemma's thoughts linger on the unexpected comment he made earlier about her playing with his feelings.

The menu, filled with an array of tempting Japanese delicacies, serves as a momentary distraction. Gemma glances at it, contemplating her choices, but her mind is preoccupied with the enigmatic dynamics that have unfolded throughout the day. The playful banter on the racetrack, the admission about feelings – it all adds a layer of complexity to their friendship that she hadn't fully anticipated.

Lando looks up from the menu, catching Gemma's gaze. There's a subtle acknowledgment between them, an unspoken understanding of the uncharted territory their banter has treaded. Gemma can sense that beneath his calm exterior, there might be more to the comment than meets the eye.

Their orders placed, the restaurant's tranquil atmosphere envelops them. The aroma of freshly prepared Japanese cuisine wafts through the air, adding to the sensory experience. As the first dishes arrive, Gemma takes a moment to break the silence.

“Lando.” She begins, her voice a mixture of curiosity and sincerity. “About what you said earlier—”

“Yeah?” Lando interrupts her as he glances up from his plate, meeting her gaze. His expression is a mix of openness and a hint of vulnerability.

“What did you mean by 'playing with your feelings'?” Gemma continues, choosing her words carefully.

Lando pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. The restaurant, though filled with a gentle murmur of conversations, seems to hush as they navigate the unspoken territory between them.

“That was just a stupid joke.” Lando speaks softly, his eyes meeting Gemma's with a sincerity that softens the weight of his earlier words.

“It’s not my intention, Lan.” Gemma adds, her gaze reflecting genuine concern. Lando, sensing the need for reassurance, reaches across the table. His hand gently envelops hers, offering a reassuring squeeze.

“No, no. I was just teasing you earlier.” He assures her, his eyes conveying a mixture of warmth and lightheartedness. The tension that lingered between them begins to dissolve as their hands find a comforting connection.

His gentle grasp offers comfort, and though Gemma doesn't immediately respond, she allows him to hold her hand as they both return their attention to their meals. The subtle connection, expressed through the warmth of their intertwined fingers, adds a layer of comfort to the atmosphere of the restaurant.

Lando, ever attentive, releases Gemma's hand only when he needs to pour her a glass of wine. The exchange, though brief, carries an undercurrent of sincerity and unspoken emotions.

“You were pretty feisty out there today.” Lando comments, a playful glint in his eyes as he revisits their karting adventure.

“One more lap and I would have beat you.” Gemma retorts, her competitive spirit still shining through.

“Good thing there was only ten laps.” Lando chuckles, his confident demeanour intact. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t an absolute turn on.”

“I’m flattered that you feel threatened by a little old me.” Gemma taunts him, deliberately sidestepping his last statement.

As they conclude their meal, the atmosphere between Gemma and Lando is one of genuine connection and ease. The unspoken complexities that lingered earlier in the day seem to dissipate with the warmth of shared laughter and the satisfaction of a delicious dinner.

On their walk back to the hotel, the cool night air provides a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the restaurant. Lando, ever attuned to Gemma's presence, wraps his arm around her shoulders. Gemma leans against him, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort and bond that has grown between them. As they walk back to the hotel, the conversation takes a more personal turn. Lando glances down at Gemma, his curiosity piqued.

“You never told me why your last relationship didn’t work out.” Lando mentions with a hint of sincerity in his voice.

“Ah, Lucas.” Gemma breathes, a brief pause before she continues. “He wanted to focus on himself. Said he wanted to achieve his dreams, whatever they were. He was just an apprentice accountant.”

“And, you were together for three years?” Lando continues to ask.

“Correct.” Gemma nods.

“And, was marriage ever a topic of discussion?” Lando wonders.

“His mom brought up getting engaged at a family dinner and a week later we broke up.” Gemma explains.

“Sounds like he has commitment issues.” Lando replies.

“You’re telling me.” Gemma chuckles.

“Do you ever think about him and what could have been?” Lando enquiries.

“Not really. Honestly, not since that night with you.” Gemma replies, causing Lando to combust with laughter from the thoughts racing through his mind. “Come on, tell me what you just thought.”

“I don’t want to disrespect you.” Lando chuckles.

“Lando, just tell me.” Gemma urges him, nudging him ever so slightly in the ribs.

“I fucked that man right out of you.” Lando whispers and the heat instantly rushes to her cheeks.

“Sure did.” She confirms causing his breath to hitch.

“Do you ever think about me?” He asks her once he catches his breath.

“More than I should.” She replies as she looks up at him. “I’m not trying to play with your feelings, Lan, but I just can’t give you what you want right now.”

“You’re in my life, that’s all I need right now.” He assures her. “And, I don’t mind admiring you from afar. Gives me the perfect view of your ass.”

“You’re also welcome to grab it from time to time.” She informs him.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that. That’s hot.” Lando tells her.

Gemma's smile lingers, radiant in the gentle glow of the streetlights as they continue their walk towards the hotel. There's a comfort in Lando's presence, an unspoken assurance that wraps around her like a warm embrace. His arm remains casually draped over her shoulders, a simple gesture that speaks volumes about the genuine connection they share.

In Lando's company, Gemma finds a refuge where she can be her true, silly self. His easygoing nature and the effortless banter they exchange create a space where laughter flows freely, unburdened by the complexities of the outside world. He is more than a friend; he is a confidant, a person with whom she can be unapologetically herself.

However, beneath the surface of their banter, Gemma grapples with a hesitancy that tugs at her heart. She's aware of the depth of Lando's feelings for her, the unspoken declarations that echo in his gaze and linger in the pauses between their conversations. The connection they share is undeniable, and she can't ignore the genuine care he showers upon her.

Yet, despite having fallen fast for him, Gemma hesitates to express her own feelings. The uncharted territory of romantic entanglements feels both thrilling and intimidating. The vulnerability that comes with laying bare her emotions is a precipice she has yet to navigate. The fear of changing the dynamic between them, of risking the friendship they've cultivated, holds her back from taking that leap.

As they stroll along the quiet streets, Gemma's internal dialogue echoes the rhythmic pattern of their steps. She glances up at Lando, appreciating the way his presence provides a sense of security and ease. The unspoken words linger on the tip of her tongue, a confession waiting to find its voice.

As they reach the entrance of the hotel, Lando holds the door open for Gemma with a courteous smile. The chivalrous gesture adds a touch of old-world charm to the moment, a reflection of the thoughtfulness that underscores their connection. Gemma acknowledges the gesture with a grateful smile, appreciating the small but significant moments of consideration that Lando consistently offers.

The lobby, bathed in soft, ambient lighting, exudes an elegant charm that sets the tone for the rest of the evening. Tasteful decorations enhance the atmosphere, creating a sense of warmth and sophistication. Gemma and Lando navigate the lobby with easy familiarity, the unspoken understanding between them adding a layer of intimacy to the surroundings.

As they approach the elevator, the anticipation of the night ahead becomes subtly palpable. The hushed conversations of other hotel guests and the muted sounds of elegant music create a backdrop for the unspoken tension between Gemma and Lando. Each step towards the elevator seems to carry the weight of unexpressed emotions, an undercurrent that adds both excitement and a touch of uncertainty to the atmosphere.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a plush interior that echoes the sophistication of the hotel. Gemma and Lando step inside, the confined space lending an intimate quality to the moment. The air between them is charged with a subtle energy, a blend of shared laughter, lingering glances, and the unspoken question of what the night holds.

“Well, this is my stop.” Gemma states, a hint of reluctance in her voice. Lando nods, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. The elevator slows to a halt, and Gemma steps towards the doors.

"It was a wonderful evening, Gems. I'm glad we could spend it together." He tells her, a genuine smile playing on his lips.

“Yes, it was. Thank you for the lovely company, Lan.” She agrees as she steps out of the elevator. The doors begin to close, but she turns to face him one last time, her eyes holding a promise of something more. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”Lando replies, his tone warm and sincere.

The elevator doors slide shut, separating them for the night. As Gemma walks down the corridor to her room, she can't help but replay the moments of the evening in her mind.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #mclaren #mclaren f1

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be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

"...Elvis has left for Graceland."

This is, uh, what I did with some *generally helpful information* about mirrors in Graceland (although tbh there's not even that many references to them here) and bde withdrawals. I lied - I thought my empty promises wip would be out first, but when inspiration hits and a shorter fic just pops out of your fingers - and the alternative is the dreaded editing, you end up with this instead! Enjoy my lovelies - this is also a little (ok a lot) for @thatbanditqueen - enjoy the references to red Graceland, the correct suit for the exact date, and even his exact upper of choice in spring summer ’74! Oh! and the dress pictured below is YSL from 1973 xx (and also @ellie-24, and @whositmcwhatsit for encouraging me! Surprise! We were discussing films and I was writing this!)

summary: you’re elvis’ girlfriend circa ’74, and have a lot of fun congratulating him after his recorded show in Memphis.

pairing: afab!reader x elvis (of the big daddy flavour)

warnings: 18+, thigh-riding, the ripping of an expensive rental dress, big daddy elvis in all his big daddy-ness, yet again - reader sucks his tits idk man I didn’t think was gonna be a kink for me but clearly it is, v. minor references to his drug abuse, p in v sex, uhhhh…. Oh mirrors! I know Graceland wasn’t as, uh, dirty as Hillcrest but I think he still had enough fun there, Elvis keeps his jumpsuit on. this is essentially unedited so pls ignore any typos - I'll give it a look over in the morning!

wc: 4.1k - We did it baby! Concise smut!!

March 20th 1974 - Mid-South Coliseum Memphis

“…Elvis has left for Graceland.”

You’re delayed in leaving - a problem with the valet, or the sound, or something that someone has to sort out - so despite the fact that Elvis himself has left you are stood, waiting, with a couple of the mafia boys for the other car to be brought around. Undoubtedly to be stuck in the hordes of fans and traffic on the way out. You hated being stood exposed like this, it made you feel like people’s wandering glances weren’t just sizing up the King’s new girlfriend, but laughing at you - at how you’re no more special than the rest of them. Stood in much the same way they all were. Left behind while he was whisked away to his palace.

The temperature had dropped since you’d arrived here earlier, and you wished you’d thought to bring a jacket but the weather was just starting to warm up and you’d been thrilled to be able to wear a little strappy number - a little part of you, or maybe a large part, wanting to show off a little for the home crowd. Silver and diamanté straps that held up the draping gently twisted fabric that flowed in a column, brushing your curves - it was, expensive and flashy in a subtle way - it was almost too much for the concert. But, as always, you’d been outshined by Elvis’ own crystals - the stark white of his sparkling jumpsuit brighter than any of the stage lights. You’d worn it mostly for him though, despite the fact that he’d barely glanced at you in it.

By the time you’re all loaded into the car, heading the barely ten miles towards Graceland, the novelty of passing down Elvis Presley Boulevard from an Elvis Presley concert to go and see Elvis Presley still hadn’t waned. You smile a little at yourself and you can feel Charlie laughing from the other side of the backseat of the car, “God makes me laugh every time I see that damn sign - as if he needed a bigger head!” You laugh with him, but you can hear the affection in his voice - as if you were being let in to a joke of the inner circle; the joke about his large head being simultaneously true but also at odds with his nerves mere hours ago. Despite your traffic fears you make quick progress and it’s mere minutes before you’re pulling up to the drive, parting the crowd and through the gates. You’re quick out of the car but you’re surprised not to see or hear him when you walk through the front door, until Billy, coming around the corner, sees you and points upstairs. You nod and thank him but, not seeing the point in rushing if he’d gone to bed, you head to the kitchen - fetching a drink and take your time finishing it. You start to slowly make your way up the main staircase, stopping to check yourself out in the large mirror on the wall, reapplying a little lipstick just in case he was awake.

When you walk in, he’s pacing at the bottom of his bed, still in the sweaty white jumpsuit, walking back and forth, he gestures past his padded doors, towards the landing and the huge mirrors he’d recently had installed on the ceiling to match those on the walls. “Saw you take your time, something more important than me baby?” You frown, shaking your head - you forget, when at Graceland, that his eyes are everywhere; even as much as in Hillcrest.

“Course not babe, of course not!” He tuts, but you’d not been expected him to look so awake so you hadn’t thought you’d had to rush up to him; despite your desire to see him, and congratulate him on the show. So you have no words to your defence - you can’t exactly tell him you expected he’d be half out of it by now. You glance over at the gold foiled nightstand on his side - the orange bottle for his dexedrine open and on display. He follows your gaze, his own eyes hardening a little, tiny little lines forming on the edge of his still-linered lids. Neither of you mention his sudden burst of energy and where it came from. He turns back to you, hands on his hips. It draws your attention to his outfit. He’d not even changed from his stage jumpsuit - a rarity since he was almost always in his robe by the time he’d passed through his bedroom doors. It strangely matches well in the dark, red, interior of the room - red crystals of the fire suit almost the exact colour of the carpet. But it also, oddly, made him stand out even more - the crystals seeming like they were everywhere, like he was made to be stood in this room; reflecting across the mirrors, and emphasising the white of the jumpsuit - his skin jumping out. The zipper was low, as it had been all night and you rake your eyes over his exposed skin. He’d been exceptionally physical tonight, the showmanship spectacular and it was displayed in his chest and stomach shimmering with his still drying sweat. You feel yourself growing wet.

“Shut the door honey,” You do as you’re told, he’s gruff, almost as if he feels he should be apologetic but would never admit it, “Not had time lately have we, huh, baby?” You shake your head in response, uncertain what to say - you hadn’t, he’d been so busy worrying about these concerts, and then afterwards about the live recording - about the intricacies of the sound, of how the crowd noise will be isolated. It meant that as excited as you were to see him perform in Memphis, in his home - you were more excited to get past it to the month long break he was going to have. But you also knew how privileged you were to get any time with him at all, and you knew how quickly his moods changed lately. Unwilling to say anything that might make him reconsider his plans and head back downstairs, leave you alone, waiting and wanting while he entertained.

“Well. We’re here now.” He moves over to you, determinedly catching you in a kiss. You squirm a little, eyes closed, trying to will away the thought that you weren’t the only woman he’d kissed this evening, force away the images of him with the girls in the front row. There was fewer than normal, chaste pecks on the cheek - he didn’t want to mess up the recording after all. But still, you’d felt the envy growing in you, jealousy burning through your veins. He makes you forget this though, as he rubs his hands down your arms, warming where they’d already grown cold in the frigid air of his bedroom and his tongue slips deeper into you. You can taste the gatorade of the night, mixed with the sparkling water he’d probably downed along with his uppers - the faint tingle of the carbon dioxide still present. He kisses down your cheek to your throat, leaving traces of your freshly applied lipstick from your own lips before he turns you around, facing the headboard, and walks you towards the bed - your legs bump against the end. He tugs at the straps that cross on your back, impatient. You wince, trying to stop him;

“Elvis, baby, it’s a - a rental, gotta be careful, it’s one of a kind -“

“Fuckin’ fancy shit - get it off then, fuckin’ hate when you don’t just let me buy you -” Despite his harsh words he kisses across your shoulder in between his words. You cut him off,

“It’s not for sale El, so you couldn’t have even -“

“You tellin’ me what I can or can’t do now mama?” He toys with the strap, you think fast trying to stop what you’re sure is coming -

“El, seriously - I didn’t mean it like that I just - ah!” He pulls the chain clean off - square crystals spilling over the bed.

“Fuck - E!” He yanks the other one, this time accompanied by a little tearing noise as the seam rips from the back. Before you have time to protest any longer he’s pushing down the twisted top, your breasts popping out. He grabs your chin, pointing it towards the back of the bed - where the large mirror hangs - you can see yourself reflecting from the mirrors on the other walls too - the glances of different angles almost overwhelming.

“Look at yourself.” He maintains his grip on your chin while palming one of his simultaneously thick but still sleek hands across your boob. He twists a nipple as you gasp, pulling it out a little. He pushes you up with his other hand, forcing you to balance on your knees on the end the bed, his own thigh coming in between to force them further apart and support some of your weight as you sink down a little. He hikes the long length of the dress up, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to hold it up yourself although the maxi-skirt still drapes and covers your modesty. He lets go of your face, pulling you back against him harder with both hands, and his stomach, more pronounced than before, bumps against your back. You stare, mouth open, as you watch his large hands span across your waist. His head is bent over into the crook of your neck, sucking a bruise onto the dip of your collarbone, his sweaty, fluffy, hair tickling your chin. He moves his leg a little, bending his knee onto the bed too, forcing it further into your crotch, allowing you to grind down on him.

He pushes you down himself, hands on your hip bones and the soft flesh there, moving you in little circles feeling you rub against him. He suddenly, frantically, pushes the dress up further - exposing you entirely. You gasp, as he unveils your little secret of the night - not only had you not bothered with a bra - the dress being far too revealing for it, but the soft slippy fabric had clung to whatever underwear you had tried, ultimately leaving you to go commando for the night as well. He grunts against your skin, looking at you in the mirror over your shoulder,

“You been like that all night, honey?” He traces a finger over the undercurve of the swell of your tummy, tickling a little, as he rotates it in little circles - teasing you in its pattern that’s reminiscent of how he often touches you.

“Ye-es, they - they showed through,” He tucks your ass into him, his belt digging into you, and preoccupies himself with stroking a finger the length of your vulva, his thigh slightly getting in the way until you push yourself up a little more.

“Surprised you ain’t already ruined that dress, how wet you are - bet you were drippin’ all over the place. Watching me.” He presses a finger into you, just the very tip, gently, his other hand coming back up to your nipple - you clutch at his arms; “Weren’t you?”

“Probably, probably E - can’t help it around you, not when you’re performin’ looking so good -” He laughs, pulling his finger away, crooking it as he pulls it up - knocking one of his huge rings against your clit. He draws you back - his body moving with his laugh causing you to bounce you on his thigh. You let out a gasp that quickly turns to a moan,

“You think I look good darling?” You meet his eyes in the mirror, they’re bright and impish; a smug little smile on his face. Any other time you might have teased him - but not today. Not with your angle changing slightly when he pushes you forwards a little, his broad, large thigh pressing firmly into you again, you can feel your labia spreading against his jumpsuit, tight weave of the dancer’s gabardine rubbing against you. You bob your head quickly;

“Of course, of course E - you look, looked amazing; don’t want you to take it off.” He laughs, as if you’ve given him an idea - or perhaps confirmed something he thought before,

“Well, don’t be shy - prove it to me baby.” You gape at him, trying to twist around to do something - although you’re not sure what, to prove it to him, but he stills you with both hands holding you in place. Before he lifts you, manhandling you where he wants you as he pulls you off of him - moving to sit down on the fluffy circular chair in the corner, he keeps a hold of you as he goes, but allows you to turn, before yanking you back onto his lap. Resting your legs on either side of one of his thighs. You can feel the crystals on your inner thighs, rubbing against you and you’re sure you’re gonna have a weird form of beard-burn by the time you get up, but you don’t let it stop you and you rock back and forth on him. He takes a second to strip your dress completely off, leaving you completely nude where before your belly button had been afforded a little modesty but nowhere else and you brace yourself with hands on his shoulders to arch your back, pushing your tits out and grind down on him.

“That’s it baby, show me how much you love this ‘suit, want you to get me all wet darling, not letting you up till there’s a spot on me,” You can feel your heat rising just from his words, and the rough material under you provides just enough friction for you to feel yourself getting close.

He pulls you closer to him, so that you’re rocking your body practically into his crotch, and the movement is pulling the jumpsuit off of his chest a little, the tiniest hint of a nipple peeking out. You lean forward, rocking against him and shifting your balance with your arms around his neck for stability. You can feel every part of the chest section of the jumpsuit rubbing against your skin, pinkening it with the feel of the stones but, as your own nipple catches between a group of them with a little prickle of pain, you can’t help but moan, it only adding to to your building pleasure. He lets out his own little grunt as you move your head to his neck - causing him to fall back against the chair further. You’re practically horizontal now, although his feet remain on the floor and it puts your cheek in contact with his chest. You nuzzle into him, unable to resist licking when he’s so close - so shiny, so tempting. He bucks his hips as you do as if you’ve unlocked a hidden sensitivity of his. It only spurs you on more, moving to suckle on his little pink nipple, one of your hands coming away from his neck to stroke his chest hair. You only realise you’d zoned everything but his chest out when you feel a hand in your hair, pulling your head back and you suddenly realise he’s been talking, babbling at you, the whole time but you’d had such a single-minded focus you’d not even noticed.

“Lord baby, you gots a hot little mouth, hot fucking little lips. God baby, your tongue, where’d you learn to do that, huh? Liable to make a man cream his pants like that, honey, and wouldn’t that be a waste?” He strokes your face and you smile, looking up at him, as he lets go of your hair and rubs his hands down your sides again. It’s only a moment later when he’s hauling you off of him, struggling to his feet. You stand there, flushed but growing colder in the frigid air with every moment that passes without being pressed against his burning body heat, your nipples pebbling. You watch as he surveys the room for a moment, his own arousal more than a little apparent in the stretchy fabric of the jumpsuit - before sighing,

“Simple’s the best. Right honey?”

“Sure, I’m - I’m sure that’s right El,” You agree, but not really knowing what you’re answering and he catches you by the arm pushing you backwards onto the bed, you gasp and scrabble backwards at his insistent pushing. A moment later you understand as he’s pulling the belt off, unzipping himself finally and, - oh, he’s not taking it off, he’s just unzipping the suit all the way, pulling his cock out. You groan, head falling back against the mountain of pillows. You’d never, never have mentioned how much you wanted this, to have his thick powerful body still encased in his jumpsuit as he fucks you. His magnetism, the sexual energy from the concert and his presence on the stage being impressed upon you with every brush of your naked body against the fabric - against the rhinestones.

He pulls himself back a little before slipping a finger into you, ring bumping against your folds, it sinks in easily - you’re already so ready, just from bouncing on his thigh, and to be honest you’d been wet enough from the moment Also Sprach Zarathustra had turned into See See Rider. He hums, pleased that you’re soaking for him, and he doesn’t wipe off his finger before pushing it into your mouth,

“That’s it baby, suck it off, taste yourself on me,” You obediently do as he says, sucking down - hollowing your cheeks, eyes wide. He pulls it out to balance himself on one hand, grasping his cock in the other, pumping it a couple times before lining himself up with your entrance.

“Better be ready for me honey - ‘cause I’m sure as hell ready to sink into your tight little cunt.” You gasp as he doesn’t even wait for a reply, pushing himself into you. He’s pressing into you from all angles as you slowly adjust to his length within you, his soft tummy - crystals pressing into you from above, his musky chest just below your eye-line and his arm bracketing you into him from the other side of your neck. He stills for a second, before leaping into motion, struggling slightly to move himself more upright, keeping himself in you and pulling you close against him with a hold on your hips. You’re on your back while he kneels up now, allowing him to lift your butt a little, and thrust a little deeper. You squirm on him, little moans and gasps being released - you’ve not yet been able to get past having had the bedroom next to your parents growing up. He grabs your hips now, rings pressing in tight, to move your body onto him as he pumps into you. He’s talking the whole time - the man’s unable to stay quiet any moment he’s awake -

“Oh god darling, never gonna be able to wear this suit ‘gain, Lord how’re you, so -” He thrusts in, hard, to punctuate his next sentence - “so - fucking - tight.” His breathing is already growing heavier, “How’re you so goddamn tight - like Lil’ Elvis is caught in a - ah - fucking vice. God, look at you.”

You look up at him, fresh sweat starting to form at his chest and brow, he’s not even looking at you though, and you wonder who that last comment had been aimed at as he’s staring at his own reflection in the mirror. You’re glad though, when he smiles - eyes bright when he does glance back at you; whatever he’d seen had clearly cheered him up and out of his self-conscious mood, enough to encourage a sudden burst of energy again. He drags you back, lifting his own hips enough to spear into you at just the right angle. As he hits that perfect spot inside of you repeatedly he moves his hand from where it was still clutching your hip to stroke down across your mound, it’s a slightly awkward angle but he manages to swipe his thumb perfectly across your clit - your leg jerking, and your back arching in response.

“Oh - Elvis, oh god, I’m so fucking close - babe you gotta, just keep -” He grunts above you, his thumb keeping pace, and his cock thrusting in at the same speed. It’s mere seconds,

“Fuck - baby, you’re squeezin’ ‘round me so fuckin’ ti-ght, that’s a good fucking girl, my good girl.” Before it’s enough to send you over the edge, clenching down on him and shuddering, your mouth agape and your eyes shuttering closed as the waves of your orgasm crash over you.

“Oh, oh - god, Elvis -” His pace changes, and it drags you back from floating, as he just goes for it at a rapid pace, fingernails clawing at your skin, before his hips are stuttering and he’s quickly pulling out as the first streaks of his ejaculate shoot across your pussy, he pulls himself up, pumping it across your tummy, and you moan at the sight - him looking goddamn regal - sparkling in the dim light as he shoots across you. He moves one of his hands to rub it over you, between your folds and over your stomach - into your belly button. Before he collapses on top of you, practically smothering you, in an effort to reach your mouth to kiss you - your legs are so tired and tense but you can just about lift them up to come around to grasp at him, barely noticing the now-familiar scratch of the rhinestones, locking your ankles over his back. You’re probably smearing cum all over the jumpsuit but you don’t care - too desperate to feel him close to you. You lock lips for a long moment, letting him take whatever he wants, underneath him like this it’s difficult to feel anything but utterly submissive and at his mercy. Your lips are bitten and raw by the time he pulls away and rolls off of you, and you can’t do anything but lie there, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You look over at him, and he’s in practically the exact same position, soft matted chest hair wet with sweat and his little rounded tummy poking out of the unzipped suit with his now soft cock resting outside too, but smiling up at the ceiling -

“Wish I still had my scarf - wouldn’t even have to get up to find something to wipe us down with,” You laugh with him, just barely getting the effort yourself to stand, on shaky legs, you’re sweaty and damp yourself and you can’t imagine how he feels - going straight into this after a two hour long concert, so you chivvy him up,

“C’mon then El, I’ll run us a bath - we can get all clean together,” He hums, sounding as if he’s close to his come down already,

“ ’S-ok little one, I can - just need a, a, wipe down.” You frown, you like his musk but no way in hell are you getting back into bed with him like this, but you’re not quite sure how to say it without starting an argument, when strangely, for once - Elvis seems to sense your reluctance, “Alright, alright, fine. But only if I get you all wet and warm in my lap,” he laughs to himself again, “well - warm and wet again - huh, darlin’,” You giggle with him, walking gingerly to put the bath on, and as you stand up he’s already stood behind you - crowding you against the dark bathroom wall, stroking your sides with his thick fingers, he tips your chin up to look you right in the eyes - “Thank you for that though little one, needed - needed to see how much you like me, see me again, been - I’ve been so distracted I ain’t had chance to even look at myself in weeks.” You smile,

“Of course Elvis, I’m all yours - anytime.” You pause, wondering if you should mention it, “Seriously though - we’re gonna have to get Bill or Ciro - someone’s gotta fix that dress,” He just laughs at you, shaking his head -

“Honey, I told you - I’ll just buy it.”

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