#if i get below a 90 on any one of my finals i’m burning down the GU lit building. who’s with me

[gothamitis]

?????? tried to make an appt with my psychiatrist to discuss. yknow. the ritalin thing. and apparently she lost her license for straight up murdering someone. and no one fucking TOLD ME so now i don’t have anyone to adjust my meds

genuinely if one more thing goes wrong this week i’m gonna start committing crimes myself, i’m thisssss close to losing it

[powdermelonkeg]

Hyrule Brochure: A Potential for BotW’s Future

Hyrule’s map in BotW is pretty sparse as far as cities go. Yes, it’s got more than any other Zelda game, but it also has like, 90% of its map being pure dead space.

So I decided to play around and make what I imagine Hyrule would look like, as far as cities go, if it were allowed to properly rebuild and not get totally wrecked by Ganon again.

Credit to Eragon2589 on DeviantArt for the free-to-use map icons. I love these little buttons so much.

So, these are the canon towns we get in BotW; Hateno, Lurelin, Tarrey, Zora’s Domain, Goron City, Korok Forest, Rito Village, Yiga Hideout, and Gerudo Town. I’m counting Yiga Hideout as a town because if the Yiga were a little nicer, it WOULD be marked one.

Adding the various stables on makes the place look MUCH less empty, but still; what can we do with this?

Well, I’ve spent the last several days locating all the significant ruins and landmarks, with one or two extra things thrown in, that I think would make this place much more populated.

Maps are free to use if you want them, btw. Have fun!

As a general rule of thumb, I want to make the towers and stables their own cities. The towers are a good landmark and beacon of safety, and the stables have all the building blocks to start building up a village.

If I’m particularly inspired, I’ll give some background on what the town is/does!

Starting off with the Rito! Their village has grown into a town, and the stable at its foothill is its own village now. I called it “fledgeling” because that’s where the Rito and Hylians would intermingle most, so the Rito aren’t exactly flying around here.

Beacon City is built around Tabantha Tower; the Rito have turned it into a sort of lighthouse, reflecting light off into the distance to help guide nighttime fliers home. Because of this, it’s a very popular stop for mail carriers, and where they go, development and cultural mixing follows.

Kaysa Town is built around Great Fairy Kaysa’s fountain; it’s a popular tourist attraction, and she gets plenty of offerings, so win-win!

For the Gorons, we’ve only got two more cities: Silversmith Village and Din’s Spire. Silversmith is built around the culture in the southern mines, and it has down-the-road access to the Goron Hot Springs. Din’s Spire is less of a town and more of a landmark, due to the sheer cliffs all around it, but the huge (and notably not in the burning death zone) hot spring lake makes it a popular rest stop for people on their way through.

I decided not to rebuild the northern mines; they’re pretty busted up and lava soaked, so my assumption is that they were abandoned either due to hazards or due to the ore being stripped out.

Korok Forest wouldn’t change much, besides the Royal Family declaring it a protected area. The Koroks don’t seem to have much interest in expansion, and they, as far as I know, don’t live in houses.

Gerudo Territory is MUCH more expansive than the others so far, and with good reason.

Gerudo Town itself is now Gerudo City, and the Kara Kara Bazaar has grown into a town. Canyon Stable has developed a village (mostly full of Gerudo husbands so they don’t have to travel a million miles just to see their families).

The Gerudo have control of one of the towers in their region, and the town built around it is Overlook Town. It mostly serves as a training grounds for young Gerudo warriors.

The City of the Seven developed when the Seven Heroine statues were recovered and restored; the town around them was built to honor them, and then it got a LOT of foot traffic from those wanting to see the legendary statues.

Tera Town rose up much in the same way Kaysa Town did up in Rito territory, centered around the Great Fairy Fountain.

Mesa Village and West Gerudo Town are both smaller Gerudo settlements; West Gerudo sprung up out of access to snowmelt from the Gerudo Highlands, and Mesa Village, because of its relative safety from Molduga and access to oasis water.

Finally, Gerudo Valley, in reference to Ocarina of Time. This town is a Gerudo-only zone, and is more a fortress than a town. It exists both to keep an eye on the Yiga and to gain control of the mountain pass, making people go through Canyon Village to get to Gerudo instead of avoiding Gerudo customs.

Speaking of the Yiga, they’ve taken two new spots for themselves; Gerudo Tower, which they’ve renamed Kohga Tower in honor of their late Master, and Banana Labyrinth, which serves as their highest security area. Imagine if you’d had to go through the LABYRINTH to get the Thunder Helm back.

Up next we’ve got the Zora. Truthfully, their territory spans as long as Zora river and WELL into the ocean, but these are the only cities that, technically, a Hylian with adequate gear can enter.

Mipha’s Landing is an above-water city built expressly for doing trade. It got its name from the late Mipha; since the tower reaches up into the sky, it was hoped that someday, her spirit would sit atop it for a rest and see all that her people had been able to do thanks to her sacrifice.

Lakebed Village is in Lake Hylia, and it’s actually a slowly-repopulating Lakebed Temple, from Twilight Princess. Meanwhile, Great Bay City is a port town above water and an aquatic metropolis below, full of music and dance and exotic wares.

And finally, Hylians.

Hoo boy.

I’ve split this up region by region but

THIS is how many living spots they’ve got.

Silver stars indicate military towns. Red stars indicate military outposts.

I USE THE TERM MILITARY VERY LOOSELY HERE. Hyrule, since it doesn’t interact with its neighbors, only has the Yiga and the various monsters to fight against. Anything labeled “military” means that it’s staffed by royal employ, meaning knights and Sheikah and the like.

Let’s start with Akkala. The northeast labyrinth has been converted into an emergency bunker, in case Calamity strikes and people need a safe place to hide. Not only is it difficult to break into, it also has a completely empty lower level that’s PERFECT for long-term seige.

City Tempest got its name for being near-constantly wracked by storms. Despite this, though, it remains a popular vacation spot for people who don’t mind a little rain; the Skull Lake and the giant flowers are worth it.

Valley Town rose up out of both East Akkala Stable and Robbie’s workshop. It doesn’t get too much foot traffic, but it doesn’t really need to.

Midna Village, I built where the ruins of Shadow Hamlet are. I figured it was a fitting name, and the area is almost constantly covered in the shadow of Death Mountain.

Four Brothers’ Base is a knight outpost that’s up extremely high, spanning huge bridges between the four Tingle isles.

Then Parapa Palace, in reference to Zelda II: Adventure of Link, was built in place of the Akkala Citadel and functions as a mini Hyrule Castle + Castle Town. In real life, monarchs would have several palaces to go between, kind of like how well-off people nowadays would have a summer home. So, I followed that trend! This is Zel’s summer palace.

And you guys know what Tarrey Town is. Although interestingly, as it expands, it goes vertical into the stone column it was built on.

Onto Central Hyrule.

Camp Rauru is training camp and lodging for new knights. Rebonae Village and Kasuto City were made out of the Wetland and Riverside stables respectively, though Kasuto (also an Adventure of Link reference) gets substantially more foot traffic due to being on the way from Castle Town to Dueling Peaks.

Outset Town got its name, lore-wise, from the fact that it’s the first bit of land Link from BotW visited after leaving the Great Plateau, and meta-wise, because it’s the starting point for Wind Waker Link.

Aquame City surrounds the Coliseum, which is how it grew to be so popular. The grand stage holds sparring matches and various other shows regularly, and it’s a pleasant boat trip from Castle Town to get there.

Saria Town was built out of the old exchange ruins, and it’s in walking distance of the ruined Sage Temple—which, at this point in time, would have been rebuilt—and its existence is both an AoL reference and an OoT one (but mostly AoL, I’ve kind of fallen in love with its map).

New Mabe is where you can find the new Lon Lon Ranch! The ruins there are actually called the Mabe Town Ruins in game, and they’re right by the Ranch Ruins!

Eldin’s pretty sparse as far as Hylian towns go. It’s got Gut Check Camp, where Sheikah train for endurance and elemental resistance, and Windfall Town, a place that sees a LOT of gemstones pass through, freshly mined. That includes rupee ore, mind you!

Faron Province is a little more spaced out, due to the nature of the region. Lurelin’s grown since BotW, becoming a trading bay; meanwhile Cora Lake’s Sheikah Tower has expanded into Parache Town, and the Highland Stable has become Malanya Village. Both of those locations are VERY fond of horses, and they’re a bit competitive, especially during archery season.

Ordona Hamlet is a tiny village tucked away into the middle of Faron. It came about due to the Lakeside Stable, and it’s named that because I am STILL salty that the Zeldevs didn’t put an Ordon Village reference in the game.

Eventide Outpost is more of a testing ground for boats than anything particularly significant, population-wise. The even tides that gave the isle its name make it an ideal location to work out the kinks in new watercraft (and occasionally, the lieutenant in charge of that base demonstrates how to launch a raft into the sky with octo balloons).

Hebra’s the most militarized area of Hyrule, and ideally, it functions as a reserve of men and tech in case Calamity rises again. If there’s anything that BotW’s era learned, it’s to never underprepare for Gann’s return.

Fort Lomei is a converted base, just like the Banana Labyrinth is to the Yiga. This one, though, is patrolled diligently by knights who use daily-changing codes, and it’s impossible to navigate without the locals’ help.

Fort Pikida is situated in that weird stone cavern-y area, and it’s a supply stach and Hebran monster patrol site. It’s the soldiers there’s job to make sure that the Lynels that like to roam the region don’t get too close to residential areas.

Hia Miu Outpost is a training spot for knights sent to the Hebra region; any new soldier to the area has to prove they can handle themselves by going into the Hia Miu shrine and taking on the Major Test of Strength Trial. (Fun fact, did you know that the X-test-of-strength trials reset themselves every blood moon?)

Snowpeak Fortress exists both because it makes a fantastic secondary base for the Hyrulean royals to plan, and because i am once again salty about the lack of Twilight Princess in this game.

Sturnida Resort is built around hot springs! It’s a nice spot for people living around Rito Town and Fledgling Village to take a vacation without having to trek all the way across the country to do it.

Snowfield City came from Snowfield Stable, and it’s the Windfall of Hebra; it sees a LOT of people coming in and out of the region, and the view of the northern lights you can get from there? You’d be hard-pressed to find a Hylian that didn’t have it on their bucket list.

New Tabantha was built on the ruined spot of the original Tabantha Village; you can visit there in-game! It’s a quiet town that raises highland sheep for a living, and its team won the Hebran Triathlon three whole years in a row.

Then, the Tanagar Restricted Zone. If you’ve ever been there, you know EXACTLY why it’s restricted.

Most of the Guardians inside have been dealt with, but the ruined temple remains a hazard testing ground for new tech. It’s off limits to everyone but those with the HIGHEST clearance; I’m talking a direct letter from Zelda herself.

The Thyphlo Secret Camp is exactly what it says on the tin. It’s a place for Hyrulean lieutenants to meet for top-secret missions, and it’s one of those places that you need to be SERIOUSLY high rank to even KNOW about.

Over on the edge of Lanayru, we’ve got New Goponga, built where the old Goponga ruins are, and the Crenel Garrison. The Garrison was built to take care of the Lizalfos problems in the waterways, keeping it safe for Hylians and Zora travelers alike. Goponga, on the other hand, is what Lurelin was in game; nice, friendly, and centered around fishery.

In Necluda, we’ve got New Deya where old Deya was ruined (I think BotW Link was born in old Deya!), Watchtower Village built around the lakeside of the Dueling Peaks tower, and then Dueling Peaks City, a HUGE trade hub that was once the Dueling Peaks stable.

Kakariko Village is now a Town, Hateno has grown into a full blown trade harbor, and a tiny village has started to form around the Hateno Tower, making Firly Overlook.

But what I most love is the City of Hylanay.

Back in the game, it was the ruins of the Lanayru Promenade. So I had the promenade rebuilt, then people moved in around it, and now, Hylanay’s basically Hyrulean Venice! I want to visit it.

On the Great Plateau, we’ve got Aboda Town, named after Spirit Tracks’ Aboda Village in reference to the starting point in each game. This Town has access to the original Temple of Time, but because of the nature of the isolated plateau, it doesn’t see a lot of new faces often.

Over around Thundra, we’ve got Tanagar Village overlooking the canyon, built out of the old Tabantha Stable. The village actually builds downwards into the canyon; people have windows carved right out of the cliff face!

Thundra Village is built into the rocky slopes surrounding Thundra Plateau and the Ridgeland Tower. Their houses are built in the shelter of the giant mushroom things that grow so well in the area, and they’re famous for their signature dish of escargot.

The Serenne Exchange is up north, encompassing both the old Serenne Stable and the Maritta exchange ruins. You can buy practically ANYTHING there; if ever there was a supermarket in Hyrule, it would be right there.

The Royal Lab was rebuilt out of its ruins post Calamity, and it’s directed by Purah, who still hasn’t cured her immortality yet. It’s not uncommon to hear explosions as you pass by that place.

And then Camp Rutile is a small observational outpost, meant to keep track of the activity on Satori Mountain. Supposedly, the mountain’s health reflects the state of the rest of the kingdom, so the researchers assigned there are tasked with monitoring it EXTREMELY closely.

And Hyrule Castle. It’s Hyrule Castle.

Now completely bolted into the ground! :D

If we put all these locations together, we get a very nice, very well populated Hyrule, with LOTS to see. This is how I would design the future of BotW’s Hyrule.

Thanks for reading!

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#90

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? So you are the fag I have been hearing about? You the one who is walking around MY truck lot looking to suck some trucker dick, and interfere with my girls earning me a living? That’s not allowed here. I’m not talking about being a fag isn’t allowed, or even servicing the hard working men that pass through. No, the fact that you didn’t get my permission to do that here. This is Dick’s Truck Stop. Well, I’m Dick, I am a dick, and I have a faggot busting dick....

"This is my business here. I have a number of whores who work the lot. They do not need competition from a fag who will give away blowjobs. So fag… I think that’s what I’m going to call you now. Your name is Fag. So Fag, you interfered with my business and that’s a big no no. You will need to make up for that. Eddie and Carl, the two guys who tied you up naked there, have taken your shit, including your car, far away from here. You won’t get any of your shit back until I say you have paid off your debt, with interest. You now belong to me to do with as I want. I may have female whores who work for me, but they don’t get my fat nine incher leaking. No, that would be treating the little fags like yourself like shit. It was genius to call this place Dick’s. All you fags come out of the woodwork.

"It’s easy for Eddie and Carl to find my type and lock him down naked here for me. And Fag, here you are. Let me set some ground rules. You have two holes that I will be using as I see fit. Your cunt will get daily fuckings, not only by me but by Eddie and Carl and some drivers who will pay to abuse a fag. Your mouth will be raped. I love to skull fuck. You are also going to be my toilet. Yes, that is exactly what it sounds. I also will use it as my ashtray. You will never see me without a cigar, and the ashes need to go somewhere. Speaking of my cigar, your hair below your chin will be removed. I like to singe it off using my cigar. Sometimes a fidgeting fag’s pecker or cunt gets burned. That’s not my problem.

"And don’t be surprised if I put my ‘gar out on you somewhere. I like branding my fags. I do plan on locking up your pathetic pecker in a cage so it will be impossible for you to get hard, let alone cum. And finally don’t even try to run. Don’t try to ask to be let free. Don’t try to get a driver to get you out of here. Don’t try to call the police. You would be surprised of the network of people who are loyal to me. I am the one dick around here that no one fucks with. Now Fag, I’m going to try out my new cunt. This room is soundproof, so your screams will fall on deaf ears.”

This story along with Story #190 is followed up in Story #239.

[sylvie-writes]

Evans Family Christmas

pairing: chris evans x reader ft. Dodger hehe

requests: I need all the ugly Christmas sweaters, hot cocoa, Christmas cookies, everything in my life with the avengers or with Chris and his family 🥺 -anon

2. Just imagine that you and Chris are spending your first Christmas together and you’re decorating cookies and singing Christmas songs together and dancing around the living room with the fireplace going and of course hanging a stocking for Dodger. @aubreeskailynn​

warnings: just chris being the dirty minded man that he is

word count: 2,079

author’s note: pardon any mistakes! this is also for @fangirlovestuff​‘s birthday challenge! I’m so sorry for the long wait :(

challenge prompt: 25. that couple where one cooks and the other can’t cook for shit

PART OF MY CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION (check the tag for the masterlist)

gif below was found on giphy

From your spot in the kitchen, you could hear the deep chuckle of the man you have loved for the past two years. He was currently on the phone with his mother who you assumed was inviting you both to the annual Evans’ family Christmas get together.

Chris rushed into the kitchen a giddy smile on his adorable face and fists excitedly curled into his chest like a small child. You didn’t even need to hear the words spill from his mouth to confirm your suspicions that the two of you were, in fact, going to the party.

One who cared for Chris as much as you did, could easily tell that the bright grin on his lips was the genuine one he sported when around his family. A career such as his, made time with family limited and you were always more than happy to go along to any event with Chris’s family. Even if that meant you’d see them once a year or twice a week.

The Evans family truly lived it up on the holidays, something definitely instilled in your boyfriend who acted like a frat boy at parties. (You have many videos of him being the happy drunk that he is, to say so.)

With this being your first Evans Christmas, Chris literally went all out once his mother called him that week before. You were unaware of this until an ugly Christmas sweater was laying out on your side of the bed just the day before Christmas. As you had been working all day, Chris had run out to accomplish some errands but you had no clue it actually meant this. With a small giggle, you decided to amuse yourself and try on the sweater. The sweater itself looked like it had been pulled straight out of any cheesy 90’s holiday movie you could imagine. Decked in lights attached to a battery pack and lots of gaudy tinsel, the sweater was the literal embodiment of any office Christmas party attire. Even the Grinch would have turned his head at all of the very questionable, yet somehow eye catching, components of the knit top.

You decided to venture down the stairs in the sweater to surprise Chris, but oh how the tables had turned. Instead of surprising the man, he shocked you first and not for a good reason. Jaw half dropped, you slowly walked into the mess of a kitchen. Various cookie making ingredients spilled among the counter and you found the culprit’s back turned your way. His entire black sweater was covered in flour and somehow even the back of it. At the mess you let out a tiny, but very audible, shriek causing the man to cautiously turn.

A nervous smile graced his lips and he held up two mugs of hot cocoa.

“Heh heh. Your sweater looks nice, honey...” There was no sign of amusement on your face, and you just horridly stared at the colossal snow storm of flour in the kitchen. “...hot cocoa?”

You just slowly turned your head in his direction and if an eye can invisibly twitch, then yours was doing so. An insane chuckle left your mouth and you just walked closer, snatching the mug from him. The last thing you wanted to do was clean this damn kitchen, especially after a long day at work. You loved Chris, but that man never followed through with things. Of course it wasn't intentional, but if you did wait for him to do said things, they’d never get done in a timely manner.

A timer sounded from the oven breaking your small staring contest with the man who nervously gulped from time to time as you were yet to say a word since entering the kitchen.

“Sounds like your cookies are done, lover boy.” You turned on your heel heading to the living room, but not without looking over your shoulder to utter a quip.

“Wouldn’t want to burn those things. Especially after the mess you’re going to have to clean all by yourself.”

Chris knew you were teasing, as confirmed by the discreet wink, and he just shrugged his shoulders, laughing. He had already planned on cleaning the kitchen, but this time he actually meant it.

An hour later, Chris joined you on the couch, a plate of decorated cookies in hand. He threw an arm around your shoulder and kissed your forehead. You decided to take a cookie and hummed in approval when the sugar dissipated on your tongue.

“My, my, Chris Evans. If you weren’t an actor, I’d say you could become a baker!”

In thanks, he once again kissed you, but this time on the forehead, making you crinkle your nose a bit. A few seconds of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I see you found the sweater. Do ya like it?”

You looked up at him with a dazzling smile and pecked his lips.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Against the plush lips of the man you murmured, “I hate to ruin the moment, but is the kitchen clean?”

Chris pulled back with a deep chuckle that seemingly lasted for minutes. He tried to speak between the choppy laughter, but failed and instead gave you a simple nod of his head. Leaving the man to his giggles, you quickly snuck off and then rushed back into the room in no time as Chris was finally ceasing his howling.

Arms secretly folded behind your back and a large, corny grin on your face, Chris’s eyebrows raised in suspicion. He cautiously reached out to pull you closer to him, pretty much to the point where you dropped to sit on his lap.

Once seated, you brought your arms around to your own lap and opened the glittery Christmas gift bag. Just as you were about to pull the final piece of tissue paper from the sack, you called Dodger who loyally came running in from the next room. At the point Chris was so utterly confused that he wasn't even aware Dodger had joined you both. Although, the man did wear a smirk that was borderline concerning.

The pup then curled up next to you on the couch after venturing in. Finally, you started to rummage through the gift bag, revealing its contents that had suspense looming in the air for a good while. Honestly, as you pulled out a beautifully embroidered stocking, which was for Dodger, Chris released a shaky breath that he had been unknowingly holding in.

You turned to see his reaction and instead started laughing at his tremendously cherry red cheeks. His smirk had also dropped and he now partly resembled a sad puppy. Even though he looked downcast, you could spy a sea of playfulness in his eyes.

“Oh my gosh, babe! Why are you so red?” It was now your turn to try and talk in between laughs.  

Chris shook his head in a manner of disappointment, dramatically sucking in air and widening his eyes as one would do when traumatized.

“Let’s just say I had assumed there would be stockings in that bag, but...not that kind.” His ears were all red now and the two of you were cackling loudly, causing Dodger to leave the room.

“You dirty man! I swear for a few seconds I thought I was looking at Clifford the Dog!” you continued to tease him for a good five minutes and Chris just accepted it until a feel-good, Christmas classic came on the radio and he scooped you up.

For a quick second you squealed in shock, but then the man set you down on the floor in the middle of the living room. He held out a hand and you accepted it.

Of all the songs that could have graced the radio, it had to be Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You. Thank the heavens the blinds on the windows to the house were shut or the whole neighborhood would have seen you and Chris dancing like fools. The two of you energetically bounced around the living room. Your hair was flailing around as Chris’s arms madly waved up and down. Off key singing resounded from the you both and poor Dodger became the unsuspecting victim to the horrid sounds. Regardless that he was all the way in another room.

From then on, you and Chris spent the rest of Christmas Eve alternating between decorating cookies and doing some Christmas themed karaoke. The night ultimately ended when the both of you crashed from your sugar highs on the couch, not even waking until Dodger came and nudged you in the face, annoyed.

----

Christmas morning came quick and unfortunately that meant both you and Chris had to be up bright and early for the party at his parents house. It had been a good couple of months since you’d seen them all last.

After a couple of groans and tossing around, you managed to find the legs to leave the bed as Chris did the same. The two of you went your separate ways and did the necessary tasks before you later met at the front door. You and Chris both had your ugly sweaters on, even Dodger had one on as he was coming along too. In your hand, you held a bin of the cookies from the night before and in the other you held dodger’s leash as he practically pulled you out the door. Chris, who was chuckling at the dog’s excitement, trailed behind with the many gifts for his family members.

The Evans clan greeted you both with open arms, quite literally, as you were engulfed by all of his siblings at once. Poor Dodger was thrown into the mix and got a bit squished, but he enjoyed the embrace nonetheless.

As soon as you and Chris stepped foot into the house and the door shut behind you, Chris’s sisters ushered you into the kitchen where you just looked back to your boyfriend who gave you a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. Little did you know that you were about to learn the most sacred thing about the family, which is their gingerbread recipe. For a good couple of hours, you chatted with the ladies and helped tediously decorate gingerbread while Chris and the guys were in the other room. Occasionally he’d pass by and steal some cookies to which you’d smack him. The man would quickly retract his hand and like a child in a cookie jar, he’d dash away, but not before placing a kiss to the crown of your head.

Once dinner was served, everyone sat around the table, quieted down, stomachs full and feeling a food coma from the endless amount of servings. You and Chris managed to fight the urge to rest and instead collected dishes to wash. Just as you started scrubbing the dirtied plate Chris had handed you, he nudged your hip with his own. In confusion you turned to the man who motioned for you to look up.

Resting above your heads was a tiny piece of mistletoe, delicately hanging by a little silk ribbon. You lowered your gaze back to the man who had turned and now placed his hands on your hips. Pulling you flush against his chest, Chris kissed you deeply, prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck. Suddenly, you heard some cheering and could feel a protruding smile on Chris’s lips. Looking towards the direction of the sound, you saw the shutters on the kitchen pass through open, allowing everyone in the dining room to peek in.

“I was just about to give you guys some more dishes, but I should’ve known you both were up to no good. Thankfully your niece and nephews are in the other room!” Scott then set down the dishes and dramatically shut the mini doors making both you and Chris laugh.

“I’m hoping you won’t remember your first Evans’ Christmas for this.” Chris still had his arms wrapped around your waist and smiled down on you with a glimmer of hope.

Letting out a breathy laugh, you replied, “You and I both know I will, but hopefully there will be plenty more of these to come.” With that, you trailed your fingers up to his hair and gently tussled the locks, earning yourself a soft kiss on the temple from the satisfied man.

taglist: @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline​ @siriuslyslyslytherin @sushiinmidnight​ @patzammit​ @iwik3it​

[allsassnoclass]

okay so re: smutless long fics, I’ve tried to compile a list of fics as close to 50k words as possible since that’s the wordcount the anon cited and tbh my friends there really are not that many that I personally have read but I did my best.  All fics under the cut are over 30k and have either been verified good by me or my trusted friends

delete this transmission by @anxietycalling: 67k mashton sci-fi. I reread this one recently and it’s just as amazing the second time around I very highly recommend it

“Yeah,” he says, catching sight of his reflection in the dimly reflective surface and running fingers through his hair to fluff it up. And instead of getting on the mag-train home like he wants to, he catches the northbound train to the greenlawn with Calum. “You know, I think I might not go through with it,” he tells his best friend, meaning his activation. They sit together across from the back doors of the car and watch the adverts for an upcoming showing of ‘Titanic’ at the interactive theater. While Calum sits beside him silently he gnaws on a thumbnail and wonders whether it’s too late to get his money back.

“You can’t go back on it now,” Calum tells him.

And it’s true: His payment has already been processed, the credits removed from his profile. The invoice showed up in his e-net overnight and he’d added it to his encrypted folder. “It’s just - weird,” he says, weighing each of the words on his tongue before he speaks. “To be in charge of another person like that. I don’t want that responsibility.”

I’m a Falling Star by @pixiegrl: 55k lashton fantasy, very cute and sweet

A philosopher once asked, “Are we human because we gaze at the stars or do we gaze at them because we are human?” Pointless really. “Do the stars gaze back?” Now that’s a question.

Or: Ashton’s a shop boy setting out on a adventure to find a star to help grant a wish. Luke’s a star crashed to Earth looking for some help to get back home. They’re both in for more adventure than they bargained for.

I Wanna Sleep Next to You... by milecgv: 54k malum college au.  I read it over a year ago but I’m pretty sure I enjoyed it then

"Cuddle buddies, how can I help you?"

Pausing, Calum thought, he could just hang up. Get over the moment of weakness and face the rest of the night alone. He could do it. But the idea of spending one more second alone, brought a fresh pang of hurt to his heart and really, he couldn't bear it. Before his thought process could spiral out of control, the calm voice repeated itself.

"Um, yeah. I-, I need someone to-" He cut himself off because really, how was he going to phrase this?

Chuckling softly, the man on the other line interjected. "Sir, do you need someone to cuddle you?"

Shit, it was now or never. "Yeah. I-uh, I do." His voice came out so small, and he really hoped the man on the other side wouldn't pick up on how desperate he was.

~~~

Calum gets the opportunity to live out his dreams in New York City but it proves too much for him, and on a lonely night he ends up calling the professional cuddle service he swore he'd never call.

those are the only three completed fics over 50k that I personally can vouch for, but here are a few more longer ones I’ve read and I’ll link some over 50k that have gotten good reviews from my friends after those.

Destination: Perth by onlythevoid: 34k lashton 

The stranger swung into the seat next to him and sighed contentedly. Luke stole a glance from under his hat. It was a boy with light-brown messy hair, reminiscent of surfers Luke saw on the beach in Brisbane - he had a t-shirt on and black jeans, and fade-tint round-frame sunglasses propped on his straight nose.

The stranger caught Luke’s eyes.

“Hey?” The stranger asked. Shouldn’t have looked at him, Luke thought. Too late.

The stranger had set his sunglasses on his head and was peering below Luke’s cap. “Dude. You look terrible. Are you okay?”

Oh, so the stranger was one of those guys. Too friendly and ever-inquisitive. Yes, Luke looked like shit; he’d been crying for an hour at a time, every few hours, and all he’d had to eat in the past two days was some wet broccoli at the hospital and a bag of chips he’d bought that morning in Brisbane, and there were bruises all up and down his right arm from a car crash he wished he’d died in.

Luke didn’t say any of that. He prayed his voice would be steady and said, “Yes. Thanks.”

The messy-haired boy did not seem convinced. After a pause, he offered, “My name’s Ashton, by the way.”

hello, hello by @clumsyclifford: 30k lashton

For one long, blinking minute, Luke stares at Ashton and wonders if he’s hallucinating. Because that’s definitely Ashton. That’s Ashton Irwin, his former best friend from Sunny Days, the show they co-starred on as children.

But it’s also definitely Ashton Fletcher, professional film actor worth many millions, possibly hundreds of millions, of dollars, standing on his doorstep, wind ruffling his hair.

Now for the fics that I haven’t read but can confidently say are good through a rigorous peer review system (aka I have friends who read them/I have read and enjoyed other works by these people)

home is wherever you are tonight by @lifewasradical: 72k lashton. this one is on my tbr, I have only heard good things, and I’ve read other things by Amanda and trust her as a writer

Life has become so mundane in the past few years that there’s very little that sends a thrill up Luke’s spine anymore. It’s that idea that had him saying yes to the idea of moving out here for a few weeks anyways: the knowledge that this was a completely new place where no one knew his name. He could be anyone he wanted to be here, within reason. He wouldn’t be seeing any of these people again after May, so what’s the harm in becoming a new person for a bit? Someone not so bogged down by the shit in their head that they can’t get out of bed some mornings. Maybe this is a step in the direction of the person Luke wants to be in the future anyways.

Or, Luke inherits a beach house on a tiny costal island that needs some work. He didn't plan on falling in love with the guy at the hardware store.

world war series by prettyluke: 58k lashton historical au. Megs really likes this one and I trust her judgement

Even after months of seeing bodies ripped apart by bullets and bombs, Ashton still isn't prepared to be ripped apart by the fragile German soldier who has seen far more than any child should.

and

Luke shows up in Britain after 25 years right in time for World War Two to start, and Ashton has been waiting for someone to yank him from his melancholy since Christmas of 1914.

i’ll keep on fighting (just to make you believe) by @squishmichael: 33k muke I have heard good things about this one, have read other works by Taylor and trust them as a writer, and also I did skim this one when it first came out and it’s good I just need to sit down and fully read while paying attention

“Hi, Mike,” Luke says softly.

Michael might have cried from hearing his voice so clearly, not through a phone line, but instead his smile just gets bigger and bigger until his cheeks hurt.

“Hey, Luke,” he replies before throwing himself at Luke, arms looping around his neck and holding tight.

“Easy there, tiger,” Luke says with a chuckle, but he hugs Michael back.

It feels so different, all the shapes and sizes wrong, yet Michael has never felt so at home, melting right into the hug. Luke still fits so perfectly against him despite everything. Because it’s them, and they’re meant to be, and Michael never wants to let go.

*

In which Luke is finally coming home to Australia for the summer after two years, and everything should be perfect. Michael quickly realizes nothing is.

Under the High Low Lights I See You There by @pixiegrl: 33k lashton 90s bar au. I have heard a lot of good things and I have read and enjoyed Emily’s writing

Luke moves onto cleaning the glasses, sneaking glances over at him, admiring the open blue flannel he’s wearing with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his chest in the white tank top he’s wearing and the pull of it over his muscles, the acid wash denim pants straining over his thighs. He’s attractive and Luke knows he shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t be so obvious in his stares, but he can’t help it. The man was made to be admired.

Or: It’s the summer of 1996 in New York City when Luke meets Ashton at his bar. Things aren’t always as they seem.

He Did Ballet by @kaleidoscopeminds: 34k cake. people love this one and meg is a great writer

Like the way he danced, everything in Luke's life was perfectly placed, an allegro exercise all on beat, an enchainment with no mistakes. The last thing he needed was a distraction, something to pull his attention away and make him stumble, like losing your spot during a series of fouettés. He glances back towards the bar and sees Calum still looking in his direction. Luke catches his eye again by mistake for just a second too long and Calum smiles slowly and winks at him. Luke shivers slightly and already feels slightly unbalanced. Calum is definitely not a good idea.

Luke's life is perfectly on track. He is about to get everything he's ever wanted, to become a Principal dancer for the Royal Ballet. He's focused, determined and nothing will get in his way. Then he meets Calum, a smooth-tongued barman with dangerous eyes, and suddenly not everything's so simple.

The Sun Is Burning Down Los Angeles by @burstingsunrise: 40k cake. have heard good things and Molly is a good writer

Calum probably signed a form saying he wouldn’t fall in love with the lead singer of the band. And he really doesn’t want to. What a cliché. It’s just…people get famous for a reason. This guy got famous for all the reasons.

***

Calum moves to LA to work for 5SOS.

[staysaneathome]

That Day (Afternoon)

(I made another part of that Entity swap WIP, this time with 90% more Melanie King and 30% more Basira Hussain, enjoy) Jon initially had no inkling that this day was going to be substantially different from any other.

Admittedly, there were some differences from his usual day-to-day roamings, but none that hadn’t been true of other days. He was a whole year older, as the Watcher informed him three weeks after his twelfth birthday, but that was ages ago now and he really didn’t feel any different between twelve and eleven.

The Collection was back in town, but he’d managed to avoid them so far, sometimes by the skin of his teeth. Somehow he continued to escape The Man’s prying gaze and the searchers who roamed the streets, some cognizant, some…not. He wondered if the Watcher allowed him to roam free because his status as The Recorder meant it liked him more than the Man, somehow.

Martin hadn’t been at the park for the past fortnight or so, though he’s promised to visit again as soon as he could the last time he was there.  So he could be forgiven of thinking that this day would be no more significant than the last.

And then he spots an eight-year-old girl toddling after one of the searchers.

She’s tall in the way that suggests she’ll be small later in life, with sparkly hair bobbles and the kind of clothes that come from Marks & Spencer or John Lewis or the other too big, too clean stores where the shop people glare at Jon as he goes past.

She’s asking questions of the searcher (who used to be known as Diana, but has lost what made a lot of her her in the flux and flow of information that The Man commands her to find). Questions like, “what do you know about the ghosts I saw on my holiday” and “why is everything so annoying now” and “why are you holding my hand so tight, it hurts” and “are you sure my daddy won’t mind, because he said he was only going to be gone for five minutes” and “hey, are you even listeningto me, you said you’d listen to me?!”

She’s only little, and she hasn’t lived that long, hasn’t got as many stories in her yet. But she’s had an Encounter with one of the Fourteen, and that called the searcher to her like moths to a flame.  Now the searcher’s taking the little girl back to The Collection, where The Man will Ask her about it.  And that will be the End of her.

Jon should turn around and walk away.  It’s sad, but this has happened millions of times, to millions of other people other than this one girl Jon had the misfortune of seeing. He’s so very incredibly lucky he hasn’t been found and dragged back yet, it’d be stupid to give it all up now. He can’t compromise his own safety for someone he doesn’t even know. He needs to turn around and walk away, see if Martin’s waiting at the park for him.

He’s going to turn around. Right now. Right now. Right. Now. Now. Now.

Now!

Jon has never been the largest child. Even when living with his grandmother and getting three square meals a day plus snacks, he’s always remained small and birdlike and bony. He’s not like Martin, who looks like he’d be soft and huggable, or Tommy, who was solid and square when he pushed Jon and stole his books.

But somehow he manages to barrel into the searcher’s arm and rip the little girl up and away with all the strength in his small body.

Of course, that’s when the girl begins trying to claw his eyes out.

“LET ME GO!!” She screams, wriggling so hard Jon almost drops her as he’s trying to run back across the busy road, car horns blaring around them. “WHO ARE—WHAT ARE—PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW OR I'LL BITE YOUR NOSE OFF, I SWEAR, I SWEAR I WILL!!”

”Stop MOVING!” He yells back at her once he’s safely hit pavement. “The searcher’s going to catch us both otherwise! I’m saving your life!!”

“I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO, YOU STUPID UGLY HEAD!!” The little girl shrieks back.

Jon considers dropping her and booking it himself for a single moment.

But the searcher’s coming for them, and now she’s seen him too, her pace quickening as the knowledge of how much the Man wants his prized Recorder back resonating in her skull until it overrides even basic instincts of pain and survival.

So Jon grits his teeth as the little girl in his arms tears into his shoulder with her sharp little nails and hauls her with him down the street as fast as he can go.

The Watcher tells him the bus pulling up to the station in front of them has a camera that’s faulty on the second level. There are two family groups that are going from sniping at each other to outright exchanging verbal blows over who deserves to get on first, the parents going red in the face with spittle flying from their mouths and the children pulling faces and calling names as the overworked and underpaid bus driver tries to keep order.

It’s easy for Jon to duck through them and drag the girl up the bus stairs with him, as the conflict below devolves into an outright brawl that masks the eight-year-old’s protests.  The bus doors slam shut, and the bus pulls away amidst the yelling and fighting outside.

Jon sags down in the seat on the relatively empty second level. The only other person seems to be a teenager slumped down across the very back seats far away from them, eyes shut and white headphone wires trailing out from under their hijab.

He stares out of the window at the searcher, whose figure is quickly vanishing as the bus picks up speed and merges into the London traffic.

”Okay.” He exhales, loosening his grip on the little girl’s collar. “I think we’re safe.”

The little girl whirls around.  Her teeth snap shut an inch away from his nose.

Jon presses himself against the window. “What is wrong wi—hey! Stop it!!”

“No!” The girl yells back. “That lady was gonna tell me why everything is being so annoying, all the time now and how to make it stop, so I can be happy again, and you, you went and ruined it!!” She’s still flailing, still trying furiously to claw him open, but there’s a frustrated edge to her voice and tears brimming in her eyes.

”I did not!” Jon protests vehemently, trying to keep a grip on her so she doesn’t give him anymore scratches like the one trickling blood down his arm. “She didn’t want to help you! She just wanted to take you back and make you tell your story so the Collection could eat up your life!”

”Liar! How would you know?!” The girl accuses, one of her sparkly hair-bobbles coming undone.

”Because that’s what they tried to do to me.” Jon hisses. “But they didn’t eat all of me, just…just made me into something like them. A monster that eats stories.”

The girl actually pauses for a moment to digest this.

“Are you going to try to eat me, then?” She asks, warily, arms tensing again. “If you’re a monster like that lady.”

”Of course not!” Jon scoffs, then adds, “Eating someone yucky like you would make me sick.”

The little girl goes bug-eyed and she tears her arms out of his grip to cross them over her chest ”I would not! You take that back!”

”No.” Jon says gleefully, then immediately regrets it when the little girl kicks him in the shin. “Ow! Stop that!”

”You started it.” The girl replies moodily, shifting to sit down in the seat properly and swing her legs.

Jon finally turns away to inspect the damage he’s sustained, pulling his shirt away from his arm and hissing as it makes his shoulder burn with pain. The Watcher tells him he needs to disinfect the cuts and maybe have a few stitches if he wants it to not get worse, but he can’t exactly get those easily where he is right now.

”If you’re a monster, why do you bleed like a normal person?” The girl pipes up behind him. Her eyebrows are furrowed.

”Why do you care?” He mutters, shooting her a dirty look.

The girl puffs out her chest, which looks a little odd, given that she’s now sitting on her hands. “I’m gonna be a ghost hunter when I’m grown up. Like in that one movie, but I’ll be even cooler and have a magic sword instead of a weird gun, and I’ll beat up all the ghosts and monsters on my own, except the nice ones, because they’ll be my friends. I’m Melanie, by the way. What’s your name? Do monsters have names?”

”Yes.” Jon replies. He enjoys the silence for a moment.

Melanie’s cheeks puff out like a pufferfish as she glares at him. “Okaay, so what’s your name?”

”Jon.” Jon says curtly.

”That’s not a very good name for a monster.” Melanie informs him.

”I wasn’t always a monster.” Jon tells her sourly. “Just like you.” The little girl doesn’t ask him many more questions for a long time after that.

”What are you looking at?” Melanie says suddenly as the bus is slowing to its fourth stop since they got on.

Jon twists away from the window. “I’m just trying to see if the searcher’s followed us—”

”Not you.” Melanie replies impatiently. “You. What are you looking at?”

The back of Jon’s neck goes cold. He twists around slowly.

The teenager in the hijab isn’t slumped across the seats. She’s half-way to standing, and staring right at them. Her eyes are cold and intent.

They stay like that, frozen for a moment.

”Melanie, run!!” He screams.

Melanie throws herself towards the stairs as the teenager explodes into motion behind them. Jon can feel her fingers try to snag on the back of his shirt as he thunders down the stairs, only narrowly missing him as he half-falls the rest of the way down and pelts out the bus doors to the sound of the driver yelling indignantly.

One of Melanie’s sparkly bobbles has fallen out and her hair is drooping down as she turns to grab onto Jon’s hand while they run.

”Stop!” The teenager yells. “Hey!” She’s gaining on them.

Jon tries to Know where they can go to lose her, how they can escape, but the Watcher just gives him useless tidbits instead; that man with the skateboard there has undiagnosed intermittent explosive disorder, this lady jogging over up ahead served two tours as a nurse in her youth to pay for her medical degree, that young person with the pins on their bag here is coordinating a flash mob on his phone to protest—

“Go away already!” Melanie complains on a furious exhale, and kicks a discarded can in her path hard.

It rockets away from her, bounces off a rubbish bin, and somehow jams in between the wheels of the man’s skateboard. He yelps as he falls, but roars when the teenager chasing them runs directly into him without slowing down, rising to block her path. The lady jogging furrows her brow with alarm, and races forwards to put herself between what she sees as a hostile and a young civilian in need of her protection, inadvertently preventing the teenager from advancing in her attempts to diffuse the situation and keep the man from lashing out at her physically. The person on their phone looks up and sets their jaw, switching it to video record the conflict and grabbing the teenager back even further, acting as a shield and spit inflammatory accusations that do more to raise tempers and attract attention than to resolve anything.

Jon watches all this with rapt eyes, drinking it in until his hand is jerked hard and he almost falls over.

”C’mon!” Melanie yells, irritated and scared and guilty and angry, the mark of the Slaughter almost an audible note to her voice, her footsteps. “We need to get away from those creepy ladies, find somewhere to hide, where do we go?!”

To hide.  Jon tightens his grip on Melanie’s hand and changes their course slightly, heading towards a place he frequents regularly.

”Follow me,” He gasps, trying to ignore the stitch in his side. “I have a friend.”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

No “wine-ing”: a season of ice and fire

A lot of you dropped very kind messages about my well being and I’m happy to say that my recovery from Covid is firmly on track and I’m close to full strength again. My exhaustion and tiredness has thankfully been ebbing away. I’m back running my daily 5 km before I start my work day and cycling to get back to full fitness.

So I managed to escape Paris before the travel lockdown and curfew was imposed before April 26. I’m  a country girl at heart and I’ve always felt a little uncomfortable in big cities. I love Paris but I also get tired of it quite easily. So I headed to the chateau vineyard where I thought I could complete my recovery from my Covid illness and work remotely (the work never stops) without too many distractions. 

Unfortunately - or fortunately as I prefer to see it - I was mud deep in trying to rescue our wine harvest for 2021 as frost struck over a few nights that left us reeling, and left much of the country’s wine growing region devastated. No region of France was spared as French wine producers fought valiantly over several nights to stop the frost from letting the buds finally come out to sprout. Wine makers fought with everything they could think of, and in the end resorted to fire to keep the temperature warm enough for the vines to survive the cold snap. It was a spectacular sight all across the horizons of many French wine growing regions including ours.

I’m just thankful to be there at the right place and the right time to help out.

I enjoy coming down to our chateau vineyard as it’s a welcome contrast to the busy city life of Paris. I just couldn’t wait to get dressed up (or dress down?) in tatty old clothing, rolling up my sleeves, and getting my hands dirty with any physical chores to do around the vineyard. I always have this urge to make myself useful instead being stuck behind a desk, bored to death in Zoom call meetings. I was looking forward to running and cycling in the open country air to bust a gut or two.

Mostly though I was looking forward to enjoying home cooked country food, be in the fun company of my two Anglo-Norwegian cousins and their French families, and together we’d be preening over the first shoots of the forthcoming wine harvest for 2021.

It is always an emotional moment at this time of year when we see in the vineyards the glistening tears of the vines (‘les pleurs’) that tell us that the new vintage is underway. As the temperatures rise so does the sap in the vines and where the pruners have trimmed the end of the branch, we see this beautiful sight that reassures us  – telling us whatever happens, nature continues. The baby buds are beginning to come out timidly but soon the stark branches of the vines will be green again as these fragile leaves unfurl in the spring sunlight.

Back in 2020 many vintners (winemakers), not just in our region but across the whole of France, were unsure what 2021 would bring. Would 2021 be a challenging vintage or an easy one full of sunshine? With the growing season starting so early, the first hurdle - and one of the most crucial -  is the fear of late frost. It seems to be more and more of a problem in recent years, this late frost burying any new growth like a fast moving avalanche. For many vintners they have 2017 written into their hearts in painful tears when frost devastated any hope for a healthy harvest and for some even brought financial ruin.

For me - at the time - it was a rude introduction to the vicissitudes of the wine making business by two wine loving cousins co-owning and co-managing an old family owned French vineyard.  Family fortunes rise and fall according to the harvest. All the blood, tears, and sweat poured into running an efficient high yielding grape vineyard comes to naught when you realise that you are not the master, nature is.

The risk of frost has increased in recent years due to global warming, which does not just warm but makes the climate more erratic and temperatures more extreme. Good news for the moderately temperate climate for our wine making region where hotter drier summers have produced a string of good recent vintages (2015, 2016, 2018, 2020). But the negative side of this is that frosts have become more common right up until the end of the usual cycle – last year it was on 6th May.

Except this year, 2021, now looked like 2017 because of the devastation of continued frost on the vines. In talking to the French family of my cousin’s French wife, who have faithfully made wine for a few generations they ruefully pointed out past bad frosts. Apparently 1956 was legendary with a very cold winter frost some minus 20 °C following a warm period when the sap rose from the roots into the vine foot and branches. It killed the vines. The last disastrous late spring frost before 2017 was 1991. It seems to be striking significantly every two years now and a every year to a degree. Who would have expected the devastation again this year, 2021 some forty years on.

This year, particularly around April 7th and 8th, brought despair to vignerons right across France from Champagne to Cognac, Burgundy to Bordeaux as thousands of vineyards’ new growth was obliterated by frost (resulting in zero yield for harvest 2021). There may be some new growth and some secondary budding but this is a repeat of 2017 (if not worse) and few were able to harvest any grapes worth speaking of.

My cousins had been in contact with friends and other peers who are wine makers in other regions (friendships are built at trade shows overseas and other association events) and in totality the picture appeared bleaker than previous years. The scourge of frost had been catastrophic. Around half of the vines in Burgundy have been damaged, according to local producers. Some vineyard owning friends in the Inter Rhône region told us that the whole of the Rhône has been hit dramatically and that some plots are affected 100%.

According to the CNIV, the official French council for wine appellation, the frost has affected 80% of French vineyards. We already know that we will have a very low harvest in 2021. Nearly all French wine growers have just suffered a dark week in April.

It’s not just wine growers but fruit farmers too. It’s been like winter coming in spring. Below-freezing temperatures in the Drome and Ardèche regions of central southern France have led to fruit farmers losing up to 90 percent of their kiwi, apricot, apple, and peach harvest. Even in Bordeaux the severity of the frost damaged the growth on fruit trees such as apricots, peaches and nectarines, and field-crops such as rapeseed and sugar beet.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. How does one protect the vines from frost?

There have been a variety of ways vineyard owners have been dealing with the problem of frost. There’s no one size fits all and the solutions are often handicapped by the size of one’s vineyards, financial resources, and manpower.

Two solutions in fighting frost have been aeolian wind turbines and air fans. It takes the warmer air from higher up, and pushes it to the ground. These machines can raise temperatures by up to 2C. The problem is that some of these wind turbines and air fans are permanently set so they can only be set in one direction whilst others one can wheel around to move the air and stop frost settling. Both are very expensive solutions and the cost may outweigh the gain.

Air heaters are another solution. No less expensive though. One of our vineyard owning neighbours wanted to use paraffin fuelled heaters. But he said he would have needed 4,500 paraffin-fuelled heaters to cover all his 15 hectares at a cost of nearly €50,000 for the two worst nights, and even then growers it would protect only the vines for his finest wines.

Some of the vineyards also launched helicopters to fly above their vineyards, a method that can help to prevent frost by encouraging warm air to circulate. In effect they push the cold air around so that it does not sink down to the ground causing its damage.  I was all for this solution as I’m an ex-army helicopter combat pilot and so I felt my old training could be put to use in civilian helicopters. But we ruled this out once we did the maths. At  about 1600€-2000€ per hour one can only fly from 6am but this is the coldest time when the sun comes up. At best the helicopter’s range of effectiveness was a mere 10 hectares. So you don’t get more bang for your buck. But that didn’t stop some vineyards that we knew doing exactly that. These were corporate owned vineyards who tend to be well heeled and can afford to spare no expense.

There are less expensive solutions but are more costly in terms of manpower.

Some vineyards used water sprinklers, allowing a fine coating hitting sub-zero temperatures as the ice acts like a mini-igloo and protect it from outside colder temperatures.

Conversely, vineyard owners hit upon another relatively low cost solution of using candles. They usually last 12 hours and so in effect can be used for the two crucial nights of severe frost. We calculated that at 10€ a candle you would need 300 for one hectare alone. Of course the chief problem is that they need to be lit by hand and hope the wind was kind.

For the biodynamic wine producers they fell back on organic solutions. They sprayed their vines with a spray composed of pectins from apples which is supposed to lower the temperature around the vines. More common and perhaps more effective was spraying vines with Valerian  to give the vines some added fortification to survive themselves.

By far the most common response by vineyard owners to combat the frost was to burn fires by burning hay bales amongst the vines. The smoke causes a blanket which heats up the atmosphere. In the old days I was told they actually burned rubber tyres! For it to have any chance of being effective you have to be aware of wine direction and make sure the bales are in the right places. It also helps if your neighbours do the same.

Speaking for our chateau vineyard, we had to make tough decisions to see how our chateau vineyard could combat the frost and minimise the damage to the future harvest. Although I own a small financial investment stake in the vineyard I have always deferred to my two cousins who actually run the vineyard with their married partners on a day to day basis. It’s their life long passion and I’m happy to play a small part in getting my hands (literally) dirty in building something from the soil up and for purely selfish reasons, just love being so close to nature itself. The fact that the French family of one my cousin’s wife - they actually owned the land and were reputable wine makers for generations  - added invaluable weight to the wisdom of any decision making we had to do.

We sat around the kitchen table and talked through our options whilst nursing a glass of wine from a past vintage.  My cousins and their kids especially thought I was a weirdo - they’re probably right! It’s not that I enjoy it (the mud, sweat and lack of sleep etc) but it was the challenge that really got me energised. If it’s a forlorn battle against the odds that’s when I really come alive. So I was quite jolly and full of vim whilst those around me were bleary eyed and groaning for bed and a hot shower as we were out in the fields in the dead of night. We ran it like a military operation - thanks to me ha! - I put everyone on detail and even the small kids saluted and got to work on their task. We made sure we had hot soup and beers constantly on tap for our staff and workers to take a food break and take a breather. Not that they needed motivating. Every one of our staff and also volunteers worked bravely to limit the damage.

So in the end we fell upon a series of actions which indeed many of our immediate wine making neighbours also followed suit. We sprayed, we watered, we burned. We tried everything to save our vines from further damage from frost.

We concocted an organic solution that had thyme, oregano, and wild sariette to which we added valerian and meadowsweet and a dash of yarrow and horsetail as well as honey; all of which help the whole organic solution to work. In effect this helps the vine to prepare for ice, by changing the composition of the sap a little, by enriching it with sugar. The infusion is then sprayed onto the vines at least 24 hours before the first freeze is forecast. The solution only works if the temperatures stay just below freezing but no lower, at around -2C or -1C maximum. With this solution on the plants, we could increase temperatures by 1-2 degrees. If it drops even lower, to around -5C, as we had in 2019, it’s not enough. It might save some plants, but not all.

We soon followed with watering the vines using our irrigation system we had on hand. It was labouriously time consuming.

When it was clear that this wasn’t going to work out because of the severe temperature drop we fell on fire as the saving solution.

It was all hands on deck as we also roped in some volunteers to help us start small controlled fires amongst our vines. We burned straw bales and piles of wood in very large jerry cans to save what we could. The aim was to create a blanket of smoke so that when the sun came up it didn't burn the vines because of the humidity. One vineyard neighbour of ours actually used a flame thrower and lit more than 700 small fires but had to start all over again because the fires didn’t last one night.

This was our experience too. We had a lot of hectares to cover and so little man power and so we just worked around the clock until we were able to light fires and keep an eye on them should they go out. We ran between the selected vines to make sure the fires remained lit throughout the night starting around 2am to 6am. I don’t think any of us had more than a few hours sleep over a crucial 48 hour window. We took turns to cook for everyone and made sure everyone was well fed on home cooking as well as hot showers and adequately winter clothed. I’m used to being sweaty and getting by on little sleep from my army days but it’s a measure of how far I’ve succumbed to civilian life that even I found it a little hard going.

I’m not very good at lighting fires as I tend to over compensate on the fuel lighter and I feared that I would burn the whole vineyard down by trying to start a small controlled fire. I got singed here and there but nothing to complain about. Others were just marvellous in their work ethic and shared bonhomie as we tried to save our vineyard. One person on our staff did get singed with flames and in his case we rushed him to hospital with minor third degree burns. We all felt like roasted chestnuts standing between the small fires. But what a spectacular sight the landscape was with all these lighted fires. This wasn’t just our vineyard but all across the landscape of neighbouring vineyards. It looked as if the whole region was on fire. It was quite hypnotising to  look at. As to its effects, it’s harder to discern. I do know that even cities of Lyon and Bordeaux had a layer of smog that was visible to others from far away.

Looking back it was both exhausting and exhilarating to experience such a time. It’s the kind of rite of passage that either breaks you or makes you. For us it certainly brought us all together more tightly than before. With our neighbours too there was a collective sense of togetherness and rather than act selfishly or just worry about our own fortunes, neighbours lent a hand towards each other in terms of equipment, expertise, or voluntary labour.

Perhaps the more wealthy chateau vineyards’ expensive techniques were able to save their best vineyards but most who could afford creating smoke blankets from burning hay bales – they were no match for the frost with temperatures down to minus 5 in some areas. Hopefully insurance had been taken out, which involves a substantial expenditure each year. We are fortunate to have insurance and the damage done to our vineyard has been mitigated to some extent. But I do know for instance that many are not insured against the effects of frost because of the cost of the coverage and many French wine producers were already struggling financially.

It was reported that many chateau vineyards in lesser known areas (Castillon, Bourg, Blaye, Côtes de Franc, Graves, Satellites of St Emilion) who could not afford these payments and who played ‘Russian roulette’, this year lost for perhaps for the last time. For them it’s personally heart breaking. For French wine making it’s a cultural tragedy. It’s hard enough for small independent vineyards (often run by families or young couples with a dream) to survive - the economies of scale as well as being aggressively overshadowed by the high volume output and superior marketing power of wealthy corporate owned vineyards - but never really expected nature, or vicissitudes of global warming, to make it that much more harder to make wine.

Unlike Bordeaux, Burgundy, the Rhone valley, in the Champagne region, we heard that not many Champagne wine producers didn’t even bother fighting the frost because they thought it would have done little good. One of the reasons why so few people engaged in frost protection in Champagne is these wine makers have as their biggest buffer against frost is their Individual Reserve (RI). In case appellation requirements are not met in the vineyard, they can draw from it.

Indeed with sales still stagnating and small yield expectations, growers may have to dip in the RI because frost season is not over till after the Saintes Glaces, a period in the middle of May after which frost generally doesn't appear. But not every vineyard can do that.

To their credit, perhaps recognising the commercial and cultural role French wine has in daily life and international prestige, the French government had agreed to step in to help. President Emmanuel Macron tweeted a picture of a candle-lit vineyard and promised that help was on the way, “À vous, agriculteurs qui, partout en France, avez lutté sans relâche, nuit après nuit, pour protéger les fruits de votre travail, je veux vous dire notre soutien plein et entier dans ce combat. Tenez bon ! Nous sommes à vos côtés et le resterons.” (“To you, farmers who, throughout France, have fought tirelessly, night after night, to protect the fruits of your labour, I want to give you our full support in this fight. Hold on tight! We are by your side and will remain so." )

To that end President Macron has declared an "agricultural disaster" and Prime Minister Jean Castex has promised that the government will provide emergency relief to those who were affected. He has also removed the limit on the amount of financial compensation that can be provided. It said it would help the smaller independent vineyards and co-operatives  with tax breaks as well as pushing banks and insurance companies to help out. It’s unclear if any of this will come to pass or indeed what effect it might have in the short and long term. We shall see.

It’s been estimated that at least a third of French wine production worth nearly € 2 billion (£ 1.7 billion) in sales will be lost this year. It's another blow for France's wine industry whatever assistance is given. The French wine industry has already been dealing with the knock-on effects of the Covid pandemic, with decreases in restaurant orders due to the country's series of lockdowns. Independent producers have been hit hard by the cancellation of wine fairs due to Covid. Then there have been the effects of the tariffs that former President Donald Trump imposed as a result of assorted disputes between the administration and the European Union. In late 2019, Trump hit French wine with a retaliatory 25% import duty, a cost increase that the Economist says contributed to a 14% drop in French wine exports in 2020. Last month in March, the United States and the EU announced a four-month suspension of the tariffs.

But that doesn't necessarily help winegrowers right now - especially since a significant percentage of this year's crop may already be lost. Tradition has it that it is well into May before vine growers can sleep easy without worrying about the risk of further frost damage.

Even though we did our best to save our vines we couldn’t save all of them and even had decide which ones to forgo even trying because we lacked manpower and resources at such short notice. I heard someone amongst ourselves say losing the vines that one has cultivated so lovingly was like the loss of a family member. It may seem puerile, but that is close to what many feel. Perhaps only winegrowers can understand this sentiment, but they have found themselves out in the vines in the morning with tears in their eyes. I’m not one for sentiment and displays of emotion but even I was a little moved to see the heart break in tear filled eyes of some of the older generation who have for decades given their sweat and tears to tilling the soil. We did our best to console one another and remarkably in that crucible we experienced together we all became closer.

What is clear is the tradition of wine - beyond national politics and international trade disputes - is under long term threat from something much more existential. There is a saying amongst the older generation of wine makers in our fertile wine making region who say, ‘wine history is climate history’. Wine making is about the vines, the ‘terroir’ (a French way of saying the earth or the soil), but also the climate. Nature is very much the master and wine makers are but humble servants of the soil. For those who don’t believe in climate change or think it’s overly dramatised by scientists or worse, a hoax, then I would say wake up and smell the coffee. Climate change is real as any wine producer or arable farmer will tell you. Wine can make you do or say many things, but it won’t ever make you tell a wilful lie.

The French wife of my cousin, whose family the vineyard had been for several generations, told us that the wine harvest time used to span her grandfather’s birthday - September 28 - but now, the bustle of harvest is over and cleaned up in time for his birthday party - that’s two to three weeks earlier than when her grandfather used to make the wine. As she memorably put it, things are  “bien cramées” (really screwed up).

All of this means that wine producers will have to change their ways as the climate changes. All the measures taken to combat frost were in reality delaying tactics to fight a losing battle with the climate. The wine industry, not just in France but around the world, needs to evolve if it is to face up to increasing climate challenges. This might include planting more weather-resistant vines that flower later, and are therefore less vulnerable to late frosts and cold snaps.

Wine, in France, is built into the fabric of the culture. The many variety of grapes across the wine growing regions indigenously grow and adapt to the precise climate conditions of the region for centuries. Winemakers know the growth stages intimately: the look of the vines before they bud; the look of the vines as they mature over long seasons; and the fat, sugary, fragrant curve of the grapes when they’re ready to be made into wine.

That harvest point is crucial. Too long on the vine and the grapes have too much sugar in them, meaning the wine will be more alcoholic—not the subtle feel most winemakers in the region care for. Too long, and the acids that give wine some of its feel in the mouth may disintegrate. Not long enough, and they might not have developed the right balance of fragrant chemicals that give the wine its characteristic flavours.

Winemakers keep careful track of harvest dates, with some regions have records stretching back to the Middle Ages. In the 1800s, scientists and historians realised that those careful records could be used to keep track of how the climate in different parts of Europe has changed over time.

Grape harvest date records are the longest records of phenology in Europe. There are hundreds of years of records of what the summer temp was like, and we can use them like a thermometer.

Grape harvest dates reflect the temperature the grapes have felt over the course of the growing season, from about April until they’re picked. If the spring and summer are hot, the grapes mature faster and need to be picked sooner. If they're cool, the opposite is true.

Climate historians started to pull together ancient information from other sources, too. They matched up the patterns in the grape harvest data with records made from tree rings and the length of glaciers in the Alps. They used records like those to figure out that much of central Europe warmed up during the Medieval Warm Period, from around 900 to 1300. It had cooled down during the Little Ice Age, from about the 15th to the 19th centuries.

The historians saw that over the past few hundred years, temperatures wobbled around, skewing warm for short stretches and cooling down in others. But overall, climate rocked up and down around a fairly consistent average value - until recently.

Wine is first and foremost an agricultural product. The grapes used to make it are grown and harvested with intent to be fermented. This means that wine production is vulnerable to the effects of climate change from the tangible health of vines to the taste and quality of the finished bottling they create. So for this reason, all winemakers see themselves as being on the front line to see what happens with the weather, with the climate. The fluctuations we have today are more significant than any time before.

If you don’t believe any of this or think wine producers are exaggerating the dangers, then taste your wine the next time you open a bottle. The chances are it has a high alcohol content. This is no accident. Because of the changes in temperature world wide, the alcohol content of wines has bumped up from about 12% in the 1970s to about 14% today. Of course that number varies from region to region and is also due to the wine maker’s preference. But a large part of it is because grapes are maturing faster in the heat. The more sugar they accumulate, the more of it is converted to alcohol during the winemaking process.

Warming has also caused the boundaries of viable growing area to swell. Typically, successful vineyards have been found between 30 and 50 degrees latitude. But as global average temperatures continue to climb, the most ideal areas to plant are moving farther from the equator. Now, areas as far up as the island of Föhr and Stargarder Land in Mecklenburg, at the tip-top of Germany, are legally permitted to produce table wines. Belgium, whose vinous history has been overshadowed by its beer culture, quadrupled production between 2006 and 2018; it’s forecasted to become a champion, alongside Finland, Sweden and other boreal climes. Shockingly, even England has also successfully entered the modern fine wine scene.

With better wine from regions we know and new wine from previously uncharted areas, it may appear the wine world is becoming better off. In truth, however, this is a thin silver lining to ever-worsening viticultural challenges.

If the growing season becomes too hot, fruit will push through its life cycle too quickly and characteristics like tannins and anthocyanins, the compounds responsible for giving grape skins their colour, won’t develop properly. Muted acid and increased alcohol levels are also possible and often undesirable.

Variations between daytime and nighttime temperatures are in jeopardy as well. In warmer growing regions, that difference can be crucial to achieving freshness and encouraging certain flavour and aroma development.

Intense heat or too much direct sunlight can lead to dried fruit notes or create flabby and dull wines. Fruit that’s left too long on the vine can be damaged from sunburn or may simply shrivel. Vines may just shut down to protect themselves.

This is already happening in some places. Wine growers in northern Italy have already seen sunburnt crops with increasing frequency. The summer of 2019 in Southern Australia was the hottest since national records began in 1910, and it ushered in an 8% loss of white wine varieties, with Chardonnay dropping 12% to its lowest yield in the past five years. Growers in Priorat, Spain, reported devastating vine damage, scorched leaves and desiccated grapes when temperatures shot up to a record 107.6˚F.

Climate change is complicated, however, and, even though temperature is the most influential factor in overall growth and productivity of wine grapes, there’s more than rising mercury to think about.

Winter, and all of its prescriptions, is one of those other things. We typically talk about warming, yet, freezes during the winter or extreme frost in the spring don’t go away. They may become less frequent, but potentially more severe. A decrease in regular winter frosts may also encourage the spread of pests and insect-borne diseases that would normally die off during cold seasons.

Moisture is pivotal. Too much rain approaching or during harvest can lead to watery grapes and a weak vintage. Similar to mild winters, damp, soggy and humid conditions open the door to a variety of pests, fungi, mildew and disease pressures.

All of these intricacies and others work in conjunction with temperature to dictate what vines can successfully grow where and for how long—and all are increasingly unpredictable or totally upended in the face of climate change.

The people who grow, make and sell wine are tuned in to these nuances.

A greater number of producers are rethinking canopy management, vine trellising or pruning techniques, developing cover crops and extensive shading methods, increasing vineyard biodiversity and finding ways to reuse water.

Still, there are some challenges that cannot be overcome.

In the future, I expect growers to struggle with maintaining varieties in certain regions without major interventions. If they don’t make major changes, wine producers will see declining yields - already seen in Europe - and declining quality as the varieties become increasingly mismatched to the climate.

Producers have begun grafting new rootstocks and experimenting with different grapes. In South Africa, Vinpro, aided tests of drought-resistant varieties including Assyrtico and Marselan, for example. Australian producers have tried Italian grapes like Fiano, Vermentino and Nero d’Avola that thrive in warmer settings.

In Old World regions, where grapes and blends may be prescribed by law, the idea of swapping plantings is monumental.

Bordeaux is one such place, and, at a 2019 General Assembly meeting, it finally relented. The Union of Bordeaux AOC and Bordeaux Supérieur winemakers unanimously approved a list of seven “varieties of interest for adapting to climate change”: Arinarnoa, Castets, Marselan, Touriga Nacional, Alvarinho, Liliorila and Petit Manseng.

The approval of these new plantings signals just how committed the region is to preserving the future of fine wine.

Each of the various tactics being implemented worldwide take lots of time, tests and research. Some experienced wine producers think it would take about 21 years to change course because of how long it takes to plant vines, grow grapes, and then create and age a wine; finding sustainable farming practices for a plot takes trial and error.

Further, the methods being devised now may not be applicable down the road. Though there are several models in use to try and predict changes, they are attempting to track a nonlinear problem that’s dependent on a range of forthcoming scenarios.

Basically, the only thing we do know for certain is that it will get warmer, and that we may be able to anticipate that heat before it hits us.We have to be asking what we can do now to preserve the integrity of the grapes and vineyards we work with and look for where our opportunities are to continue making wine. The one line that works for everyone is to cut carbon emissions, that is the emergency action that needs to be taken. 

We’re all starting to see this and we’re all affected. We know we can’t turn it backwards, and we’re not even sure we can slow it down. But we have to try.

Think on all this the next time you take a sip of wine.

[spunkpunx]

Are Friends Electric? (Alex Turner)

Multi Part Series

Part 1: Dreamy Days

Sheffield 2002

"Is that a fookin' United shirt?"

"Yeah, so what? It's not mine, you know I support Owls."

"Am honestly disappointed in you, consortin' with the enemy an' that," Alex shook his head, refusing to look at the offending football shirt that I'd been forced into wearing.

"It was in lost property, an' you know what the PE teachers are like, they threatened to suspend me, Mam would kill me if they did," I replied, rubbing her legs in an attempt to warm them.

"Only 'cause you've been suspended before."

"Yeah well I don't want to do it again, she'd have me bloody guts for garters," I told him. He rolled his eyes. We were sat on an old bench around the back of the school, dressed in PE kits and smoking B&H cigarettes I had stolen off my mother. My football shorts were no match for the harsh January weather, but I was wearing a parka, hence why Alex had only just noticed the Sheffield United t-shirt. We couldn't leave school grounds yet, because in order to get out from behind we'd would have to go past the French classroom, and as the bell hadn't yet gone, there would still be Miss Kelly and a class of year 7s ready to catch us out.

"I'm fookin' freezing," Alex whined, putting out his fag on the wall and dropping it onto the floor. "At least you've got that bloody big coat."

I sighed and flicked my cigarette butt onto the floor, stomping it out with the toe of my trainer. "If we go over the wall you know you have to give me a leg up," I explained bluntly. He nodded along almost eagerly, likely desperate to get out the cold and home as soon as possible.

"I don't mind Jack, I just wanna leave."

"Right then," I replied, standing up, picking up my bag and putting a foot into a crack in the stone, grabbing the top edge where my fingers could just about catch grip on the rough stone. Alex came up behind me and put his hands on my shin, and using his hands to push against, I pulled herself up. Unfortunately, my foot slipped, and I began to fall back down, but my fall was stopped by the feeling of hands holding me up. Alex's hands, on my bum.

I felt my ears burning red, but not willing to have to try again, I pulled herself up using my arms and jumped down the other side. As soon as my feet touched the ground I climbed on top of the large wheelie bin that sat against the wall and grabbed Alex's arm as he clambered over as well. He was a lot taller than me now, he'd grown in a way only 15 year old boys do, all long limbs and clumsiness. I'd barely even noticed him shoot up. I helped him over and we jumped into the street below.

"Um... I'm sorry that I touched your..." Alex stuttered slightly, his cheeks going uncharacteristically red. I cut him off.

"Al, it's fine."

"I mean I-"

"It's fine," I repeated, more firmly. He shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets, beginning to walk down the alley toward the road. I followed him, jogging slightly to catch up with his long strides.

"Am gonna join a band you know," he told me as we turned the corner onto the street. I looked at him in surprise.

"A band? Who wiv?" I questioned, confused.

"Matt."

"Matt Helders or Matt Sheppard?"

"Matt Helders of course! Av'e never even spoke to Matt Sheppard why on earth would I be talking about 'im?"

"Well I dunno do I? I didn't even know Matt Helders played an instrument, he's not singing is he?" I queried, scuffing my shoes along the floor.

Alex shook his head slightly. "He plays drums, I'm the singer."

"But you play guitar?" I could sense my brain was really struggling to keep up.

"I can do both, like Bowie."

"Don't compare yourself t'Bowie unless you go to your gigs dressed in a catsuit an' heels an' bat away crowds of lads and lasses who want to sleep with ya."

"I'm not against the crowds of lasses, but I don't think I could commit to the rest," he laughed cheekily. I gave him a playful punch in the shoulder.

"You're full of shit, you are," I grinned, as he rubbed his arm over-dramatically. Cars whizzed past as we reached the main road. Cars that caused slight rushes of air as the pair of us continued to walk, that's how close they drove past the pavement.  "Mine or yours?" I asked him.

"Yours, yer mam won't be back from work yet."

"Fairs."

A silence lulled in the conversation as we continued to walk down the street, Alex was scuffing his trainers along the floor. It was annoying as fuck but I didn't say owt.

"Did you hear what Rory Pike did today at lunch?"

"No?"

"He got his cock out on the school field," Alex divulged me, a laugh spread across his face. I couldn't help but join in the joke.

"Rory Pike is a world class minger," I told him, and soon we were both in stitches, adding extra gross details to the story to the amusement of each other.

"Did Cook finally ask tha' girl out then?" I changed the subject, catching my breath back from my laughing fit.

"'Course not, he jibbed again, then Simmo asked her instead," Alex explained.

"Simmo? Did she say yes?"

"Why would she? She clearly fancies Jamie."

"He needs to get his act together and ask her."

Alex nodded, momentarily in thought. He then very suddenly turned around and gave me a playful shove.

"First one to yours!" he exclaimed, quickly speeding off around the corner.

"Bastard," I muttered, beginning to run after him. I sprinted to catch up, but the awkward coat prevented me from getting anywhere near the speed his long limbs could get him. He legged it off and I was forced to slow my pace back down to a walk. The boy was clearly going to win and I had the house key so he'd have to wait outside for me anyway. I decided to take me time knowing I'd probably bump into Alex around the corner when he came back to see where I was. He'd probably be a bit moody about it, telling me off for being a fun sponge, and I'd apologise insincerely and then he'd give me an awkward side hug and tell me he couldn't stay angry at me, there's no way I'd let him. Then we would probably walk back to mine and be done with the matter.

This wasn't the case. I got round the corner, then the one after that, and didn't see any sign of Alex. There was no way he would still be running, he was too lazy and he would look like an idiot, racing against no one. He was a dafty but not that much of one. I began to get confused after I rounded the third corner and there was still not a sign of him.

"Oi Jackie!" Alex exclaimed, grabbing my shoulders from behind. I yelped in surprise and he burst out laughing.

"Fook you Alex Turner," I scolded him. "How did ya even get behind me?" He said nothing, and just tapped his nose conspiratorially.

Sheffield 2003

He knew everything there was to know about Jackie. He knew her favourite colour (red),her middle name (Arabella), her handwriting and everything else in between. Alex had known this for ages, but it had never weighed on his mind as much as it had recently.

It was the way he'd seen her the other night. There was a small gaff at someone or another's and Alex had gone with the boys. Jackie had showed up a bit later, dressed very differently to how he normally saw her. She had a leopard print mini skirt on and a tight, cropped t-shirt, along with her trainers and Adidas jacket. Of course he noticed her, lighting one of her L&B blues and trying to smoke it subtly; she was the only one smoking.

He had gone over and said hello, and she'd grinned when she saw him, glad of some company, he expected. Some 90s rave hit was playing, and cheesy lights flashed across the room. Trying too hard, he thought. She picked a beer off the counter she was leaning on and gave it to him. A Corona, lukewarm but still alcohol.

"D'ya wanna come for a spliff?" she asked him, patting her pocket, and he said yes. Her top was very tight, although he tried not to look, but he saw her bra, visible through the fabric. They went outside onto some kind of shitty balcony. She got what looked to be a large gram of weed and some Rizlas out, making an L and then ripping open a cigarette to get the tobacco out, she carefully sprinkled in some of the spliff and rolled. Alex didn't say anything, he just watched as she deftly rolled the joint. She lit the end and took her time, sitting down on a breeze block. He found himself a seat on the step.

"So how's t'band going, Arctic Monkeys i'nt it?"

"There's a gig coming up, at The Grapes," Alex told her, proudly. In fact, he puffed up slightly with pride. Jackie had never really got involved with the band, she said it weren't her business, but Alex still felt remarkably pleased whenever she showed an interest, especially if they were doing well.

"D'ya want me to come?"

"'Course! I thought you already were."

"Yeah I just... weren't sure, that's all," Jackie responded, unusually quiet. She was acting off with him.

"Is summit up?" Alex asked. She shrugged, taking another drag on her spliff and then handing it to him. "Jack?" he prompted further.

"It's nothing Al, jus' summit stupid," she replied. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. He decided to leave it, pushing her wouldn't make her tell him, it would just annoy her. He took a toke of the joint and they sat in silence for a moment.

"Wanna find some White Lightning and get hammered?" she asked and Alex grinned.

"Are you sure? That stuffs pretty lethal."

"Well fook it all we're not going home tonight," she replied, laughing slightly. Alex nodded, smiling, then passed her the spliff back. It was a still and cold night. Jackie let the smoke seep out her mouth and inhaled it through her nose.

They finished the spliff and went back inside. Alex found the rest of his mates and together they all got steaming. Simmo was acting strangely all night. Then Jackie started acting strange too. She was all quiet and snappy.

"Why were you being such a mardy bum yesterday," he asked her the next day. They were lounging about on the sofa at his, nursing two horrible headaches. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Not now Alex, I'm too hungover for this," she answered, misery clear in her voice.

"Just tell me and I'll stop naggin'" he told her, shuffling a bit closer so she couldn't turn over and ignore him.

"Your mate Simmo," she replied simply.

"What'dya mean? Look, I know the joke was a bit insensitive but tha's just what 'e's like," Alex began to explain, for some reason unknown to him, in Simmo's defence.

"It's not tha' you bloody great nit, he kissed me."

Alex couldn't explain why that came like a twist in the gut, but it did nonetheless. It made him stumble for his words for a moment.

"Oh," was all he managed to get out. "Did you kiss him back?"

"Of course not, he's funny, but a bit gross," Jackie replied, pulling a face, and Alex laughed. A strange sense of relief was felt somewhere in his system, although nowhere near enough to dull the queasy thud of his hangover. "'Sides, Chris asked me out the other day."

"Who the fook is Chris?"

"Chris Maher, from the garage."

"Him? You've lost your mind Jackie, he works at fookin' MotorWorld."

"He's funny! And he knows loads about cars, plus he can drive," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

"Why does it matter 'e can drive?"

"So I can get places, obviously," she responded dryly.

"I've almost passed me test!"

"Al, you're not even close to passing, I spoke to yer Dad an' he says you drive like you're drunk. 'Sides, I wouldn't want to get on your nerves, always cadgin' a lift." she explained, to Alex's disappointment.

"I didn't expect your type to be a guy who walks around in trackies, how desperate are ya?" Alex jabbed, a little cruelly. Jackie shot him a scathing look.

"Alexander, what is up with you? You were fine last night, an' now you're acting like I'm makin' you suck bloody lemons," she reprimanded him. She was trying to draw him into an argument, he could tell. He wasn't about to start a fight.

"Oh, it duen't matter," he said offhandedly, hoping to diffuse the issue, which seemed to work.

"He's actually a really lovely guy," Jackie added after a long pause.

"Ay, I'm sure he is," Alex replied halfheartedly.

[honeymoonjin]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner

--

A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.

"Oh, fuck-!" You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it's no use. "Oh, fuck," you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.

What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.

The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it's later than you thought.

You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It's deserted.

Your roaming data works up here, although it's a little more patchy than you'd grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you'd be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn't too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.

"Even just for one night?" you barter nervously, biting on your nail as the older lady on the other end sighs.

"I'm sorry, dear, we're all booked out. You should've called in advance. Spring is a busy time of year."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I wasn't even meant to stay. I missed the bus back."

"Are you at the Boseong-gun bus terminal? I'm sure there are other busses coming in no time."

"I'm still at the tea fields," you admit, "it was a bus from out of town. Please, I'll walk down to the main street myself, I just don't want to stay outside all ni-"

"Wait- At the plantation? Have you tried Holly Lodge yet?"

You frown. "No. I didn't see that name come up when I searched online for accommodation."

A laugh rings out, though you sense it's not directed at you. "No, dear, Min wouldn't have put it online. But it's far closer to the fields, and I would venture a guess that it's the one place in Boseong that won't have been flooded with guests."

You feel yourself inflate with hope. "Do you have the phone number? Thank you so much!"

"I don't think the owner even has a phone. If he does, I certainly don't know the number. But- Where on the plantation are you right now? Can you get to the top?"

"I'm at the top," you answer reflexively, "but are you sure there's room there? I'd hate to show up unannounced."

The lady on the phone laughs again, slightly condescending. You get the vibe she's not the biggest fan of 'Min'. "He won't have any customers. It's just a small bed-and-breakfast, but he's so far away from the town centre, and he makes no effort to advertise. It's a wonder he's still open, to be quite frank. Anyways, if you're at the top, turn around away from the entrance."

You bite your lip uncertainly but do as she says. You haven’t looked back this way, but you see now that there’s a winding path down the other side, a skinny trail of flattened grass leading into the distance. “Do I go down the other side of the hill?”

“Away from the main fields, yes,” the motel owner replies in a slightly impatient voice. You imagine she can’t appreciate the late-night call for such a busy time of year. “Down at the bottom, there’s a patch of trees.”

Feeling your toes beginning to go numb in your shoes from the cool, damp fog rising, you begin to pick your way down. “I see them.”

“Just beyond them is Holly Lodge. It’s not far. Why he chose to open a bed-and-breakfast behind Boseong Fields is beyond me. I imagine he couldn’t afford anywhere else. I’m sorry dear, the place is probably poor quality, but I’m sure it’ll do for a night.”

Stumbling down the hill in the dark, picking up momentum as you go, you squint into the small thicket of trees in the valley. Perhaps it’s desperation making you see things, but you swear there’s the slightest glow coming from between them. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“It’s fine,” the older lady assures you, “and if you happen to stay longer, I’d be more than happy to reserve you a room for tomorrow night so that you don’t have to stay at that place any longer than necessary.”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. How bad was this place? “I appreciate the offer, but is it okay if I call you back in the morning? I might be able to get tomorrow’s bus back.”

“Alrighty, dear. Best of luck to you. Bye now.”

You pull your phone back and swear lowly when you see your battery life on its last legs. You have a charger in your backpack (along with some water and snacks, something you’re relieved you packed last-minute before coming) but it’s no use unless the Holly Lodge has a place to plug it in, and at this point, as you make it to the foot of the hill and start winding your way through the trees, you’re not expecting anything.

What you do know is that you were right; the light you saw peeking through the trees is growing steadily closer, warm and flickering. It’s unsteady underfoot, but you doggedly push ahead, the glow being the only thing lighting up the landscape. The sky is a deep black, slightly murky with cloud, and you very nearly crash into a few trunks on your way, but after a little over ten minutes, you break into a grassy clearing and sigh in relief.

In front of you lies a modest house, barely more than a cottage, attached to civilisation by a gravel road that pulls away at a 90-degree angle from where you came from, running adjacent to the side of the hill. At its foot, a little wooden sign with white paint reads, ‘HOLLY LODGE, visitors welcome.’ It seems that you’ve entered through the backyard - if that’s what you could even call it. The side of the house is covered in an expansive trellis, lined with vibrant pink azaleas. They’re lit up from below by a tiny campfire, casting a tall shadow on them of a person sitting-

Your eyes fly wide and a stranged sound comes out of your throat. There’s a man crouched over the fire, frozen, a wooden skewer still hovering over the flames that lick at it. He’s wrapped a tartan blanket around himself, bunched up under his chin, and the light of the flames cast an orange glow over his clear skin and brown hair, which hangs low over his brow in soft curls.

You blink. He doesn’t move. “Your meat’s burning,” you point out.

That shocks him back into action, and he whips it back out of the fire, but the damage is done. The entire underside of what looks like lamb is completely charred. “Fuck,” he growls bitterly, “thanks a lot.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Perhaps the lady on the phone was right, and this place really wasn’t ideal. “Excuse me, I just… Do you have any rooms available?”

His mouth dangles open, lips just plump enough for it to be a pout, and you wait as his catlike eyes look over you, glancing back through the trees where you came. “...you want to stay?” he asks finally, the sour edge gone from his voice.

You point at the sign out front awkwardly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

He stares for a few moments more, then jumps up off the ground suddenly, letting go of the blanket. It tumbles to the grass around him, revealing a matching set of white-and-grey striped pyjamas. He bounds over to you, hopping barefoot in the grass, and comes to a stop in front of you, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go to any of the other motels? You- you came from the fields instead of from the road.”

You bite your lip nervously. If he turns you away, you’re fucked. The moon is high in the sky, a waxy blot lighting up a patch of clouds, and you know that sky will be your roof tonight if he doesn’t let you in. “Yeah, I missed my bus back home and since it’s spring, there’s no space. Do you have a room?”

He twitches his nose and lifts a hand up, fiddling with his ear. “The power went out,” he admits, “so you can’t have a hot shower or anything.”

Your chest inflates with hope. “That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, waving your hands at him, “I just want a bed for the night, I’ll pay anything.”

He scrunches up his face at this. “I can’t charge you; it’s past midnight. You’re barely getting a proper night, and like I said, the facilities aren’t really working. Come on, let me show you to your room.”

He leaves the tiny bonfire burning away on its bed of rocks, and grabs a flashlight that was lying on the grass beside his blanket, before scurrying around to the front of the house, gesturing with a blanket-covered paw for you to follow.

You do with a quirk of your lips. This man, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, was stomping about like he was grumpy, yet he looked sweeter than anyone you had met so far. Was this really the same Min that the lady had spoken so lowly of on the phone?

You can’t see much detail inside when the two of you enter. He guides the torch straight down a hallway, not bothering to show you the bathroom or kitchen or anything except a small bedroom with a single bed and a bedside table.

“Here it is,” he states awkwardly, pressing his lips flat into a half-smile. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. If you get into pyjamas, I could handwash your clothes for you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh, wow, you don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t have any other clothes with me. I’ll just have to sleep in this.”

His eyes go round with concern. “That won’t be very comfortable.” He scratches behind his ear. “You could, uh, I mean, I could give you some comfier clothes to wear?” You can’t bring yourself to say anything, only staring at him dumbfounded. The man loses his composure and laughs awkwardly, shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Sorry, that’s crossing the line, I shouldn’t-”

“I would really appreciate that,” you cut in, “sorry, I just… That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

A shy smile tugs at his lips, and if the torch was facing him more, perhaps you could recognise his cheeks pinkening slightly. “Oh, I-” he falters and laughs breathily again, gathering himself. “No, I’m not- I-” he tamps down his grin by biting down on his bottom lip, fixing you with a flustered look of gratitude. “I’ll go grab something now. Just wait here. You can have the torch.”

He disappears into shadows, then returns immediately, passing over the blanket. “And this. Just a minute.”

And then Min is gone again. You listen in bemusement at the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, fading into nothingness, a few thuds of drawers opening and closing, and then him returning with a bundle of clothes. You school your expression when he gently reaches out to hand over the clothes.

“It’s just a t-shirt and some basketball shorts,” he apologises, “but they’re clean and they’re comfy. I assume you’ll be needing the torch when you get changed? I can shut the door behind you.”

You give him your most grateful smile. “If it’s not too much bother. Thank you so much.” Once he makes it to the door, he begins to swing it shut, but a thought strikes you. “Wait!” He pauses, head sticking out in the crack, the wooden door pushing his cheeks out. You force yourself not to smile at the cute image he provides, but instead clear your throat. “Oh, uh, what’s your name? Min, right?”

His eyebrows lift below his curls in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I called a lady on the phone when I was looking for a place to stay; the Boseong’s Best Motel? She said you were in the area.”

His gaze lowers to the floor, and his voice flattens. “Mrs. Na? What else did she say?”

You sense it’s a sore topic. “Just that… that you might have a free room.”

He smiles sadly, like he knows that’s not all, but nods. “Well, Min is my surname.” His face disappears further into the shadows. “My name’s Yoongi.”

--

You sleep well that night.

Better than you have in years, in fact, and with heavy curtains drawn across the one window in the room, the break of dawn doesn’t rouse you like it normally would. Instead, you drift in and out of consciousness all morning, happy to kick off the blankets as it warms up and stretch out.

It’s not until you hear a loud clatter that you’re snapped out of it, and you jump up, eyes flying open and wandering around the room.

The pyjama-clad man from last night, Yoongi, is hunched over the bedside table just beside you, eyes and mouth wide open as he watches you wake up and stretch. You raise your arms high over your head and let out a groan as your muscles ease.

“Goo’morning,” you murmur, hands dropping by your sides again. It’s not until he stays silent, swallowing hard, that you look down at yourself and swear, grasping at the sheets.

The basketball shorts he gave you were so old that the elastic was spent, and they wouldn’t stay on, so you had opted for the simple option of your underwear from earlier, and the baggy off-white t-shirt he gave you. However, that meant that your legs were fully exposed, and two points peaked the fabric on your chest.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, and ducks his head to pick up the cutlery he dropped on the floor. You clutch at the heavy cotton sheets, tucking them under your chin, and wait as he delicately places the cutlery on a fabric napkin that sits beside a plate of steaming eggs on toast, sunny side up, and a small mug of what smells like black tea. “I can get you a new set of cutlery if you want.”

“It’s okay.” You try and send him a grateful smile, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, cheeks bright red.

“I didn’t mean to look,” he confesses in a voice so hushed you almost miss it.

“It’s okay,” you repeat. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing much. I, uh, I’ll be outside if you need me.” When he leaves, it’s like he’s in a rush, shuffling his feet on the floorboards, knocking his leg on the foot of the bed and his shoulder on the doorjamb in his haste to leave.

After he stumbles out, your stomach growls, and you take that as a sign to enjoy the breakfast he’s so generously prepared you. After quickly opening the curtains and the window, you return to your bed. The eggs are perfectly salted, with a sprinkle of paprika, and you place the plate on your lap, munching away slowly as you look out the window.

The sun’s streaming in, and with the added light you can make out the details on the plate as you clear it. The edges aren’t perfectly round, and by the way the egg yolk pools in one corner, it’s not level either. On the brim, faded teal lettering spells out H O L L Y  L O G D E, with a little cartoon drawing of what looked like a dog’s face. You finish your final mouthful and replace the place with the cup of tea, noting the uneven thickness of the handle and the same careful painting on the side. Did he make these himself? With the state of the property, and it’s apparent lack of success, you can’t imagine he had the means for official branding.

You blow onto the surface of the liquid gently, and take a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature to warm you up inside, and while you’re not usually a fan of tea, this one seems to have a unique taste; not quite black tea, not quite green tea, with a sweet tang to it. It’s delicious, and it’s gone quicker than you would’ve liked.

When you emerge into the back garden, still wearing his shirt, but with your jeans back on, you spot him squatting over a brown planter box against the exterior wall. The trellis of climbing azaleas provides a gorgeous backdrop; the vibrant shades of pink petal and green leaf bask in the sun’s warm rays.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the time to quietly hover just behind the corner, out of sight. With golden heat on your face, lush grass under your feet and birds singing in the trees, you could almost convince yourself you’re in paradise. Min Yoongi, the one person in town who would give you a place to stay, certainly fits within that ideal. You had assumed he’d be in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, if the clothes he gave you were anything to go by, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him in a thin pastel purple sweater, poking out from a worn pair of overalls.

In the silence of the morning, you can hear what sounds like muttering, and you strain to listen in to his pouty voice as he squats over the planter box, brown curls ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“...probably thinks you’re rude,” you think you hear him say, “or a pervert. The one customer since opening and you scare her away. Silly Min Yoongi. What if she shuts us do-”

You duck back and cough noisily, before rounding the corner, pretending like you weren’t just eavesdropping. “Good morning,” you say to him again brightly, and the young man does a double-take at your attire. You probably should’ve put on a bra underneath the shirt.

“Good morning,” he responds reflexively, “are you, uh, heading off now? Did you enjoy breakfast?” His voice trails off cutely at the end, like he’s unsure he should even ask.

“It was great, you’re so generous. I’m curious, though, what’s the brand of that tea? It’s really good.”

Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his pink lips rounding into a surprised ‘o’. He swallows, and stands up, brushing some stray soil off on the front of his overalls. “You liked the tea?”

You nod hesitatingly. “Uh- yeah. I couldn’t recognise the flavour, though. Is it green tea?”

“Oolong,” he clarifies, mouth quirking in a disbelieving smile. “You really liked it?” You nod again, and his eyes sparkle, a shy smile lifting to reveal his gums. “I made it myself,” he reveals, “here! I’ll show you my tea plants!” The sudden burst of joy dissolves away, and he deflates. “Oh, but you probably need to head off, huh?”

A strange yearning stirs inside you. The feeling that you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face a little longer. “There are actually no busses on a Sunday, so I’m stuck here for another night anyway.” You immediately regret your word choice. He flinches when you say ‘stuck here’ and loses your gaze, frowning at the grass.

Before you can revoke your statement, he’s shrugging gloomily. “I, uh, I know this place isn’t as well run as the others. I’m really sorry, you know, about the electricity. I used the hot coals from the fire last night to make your breakfast, I hope it was warm enough. Like I said yesterday, it’s not fair to charge you for subpar service, so...”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all, honestly! It was just a bad choice of words.” He’s not convinced, kicking his foot against the ground and tugging at his earlobe uncertainly. “The whole missing-the-bus thing was a real nightmare, and I’m just glad I found you and Holly Lodge, because it’s been the only thing keeping me from going nuts.”

“Huh?”

Your heart breaks at his sullen face, the way his cheeks puff up slightly when he presses his lips together in a pout. “Really, Yoongi. I’m so grateful to you for even letting me stay here, let alone being as kind as you are. I’m happy to pay for the room, fuck, I’ll pay double. And if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate being able to stay another night.”

His gaze searches yours, and eventually a soft smile pulls across his lips. “Thank you…” His eyes fly wide open. “I’m so sorry, I never got your name! Oh wow, that’s poor of me, I’m sorry, I-”

“Yoongi,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine. My name’s Y/n. It’s my fault, I should’ve introduced myself, but I was pretty tired.”

He scratches behind his ear again. “Well, then. I think it makes us about even. Truce?”

You laugh softly. “Truce. And if you’re not too busy, I think I’d like to check out that tea plant of yours.”

He smothers a proud grin, opting for a simple nod, before he’s making his way around the back of the house, where there’s a bit of humid shade. “My grandma was the best at making tea,” he explains, “she knew all about harvesting times and growing conditions, and her secret trick was to add strawberries.”

“So that was that sweet aftertaste.”

He nods eagerly. “Exactly.” The soil here is damp under your bare feet, slightly springy, but Yoongi pays it no mind, waving a hand towards a large hedge that lines the back of his garden. You pause in your tracks. The edges of the leaves are browning, curling up in a way you’re certain isn’t healthy. “This is it?” You hope your voice doesn’t sound disappointed, but you are a little confused.

He pouts. “I know. It’s not very impressive, is it?” He gnaws at his bottom lip for a few moments, running his hand over the dry leaves. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. It’s never been like this before, but after my… Now that I’m here by myself, it’s just been getting worse and worse.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But the tea I had this morning-”

“-was the last cup of my grandma’s final batch, the one we made together. None of the tea I’ve tried to make is any good. I try cutting off the dead parts, but it still tastes funny.”

All this talk of ‘last’ and ‘final’ makes you worry about the wellbeing of his grandmother, but you don’t dare ask, having upset him enough this morning already. “It just looks like it’s not getting enough nutrients. You might need to buy something to improve the soil quality.”

He blinks at you. “You know how to grow tea?”

“No idea,” you admit, “but I do know how to grow a lot of other plants, and I’m sure I could learn.” An idea strikes you, and you flash him a smile. “How about this? In lieu of paying you for the room tonight, I can help you get the tea back to health again. With how good that cup was, it’s practically a public service.”

A tentative smile plays at his lips, but he’s still confused. “What do you mean? Surely you can’t save it by tomorrow?”

Now it’s your turn to fidget nervously, clutching your hands together. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home. I was planning on staying in Busan or Seoul for a while, but I think maybe I’d… maybe I’d rather stay here. Only if you don’t mind! And of course, I’ll pay for the room-”

A hopeful grin breaks out across his face, unabashed. “No charge! If you really think you could bring back the tea plants, that more than covers the room fee.” At your stupefied look, he clarifies, “this was my grandma’s pride and joy. It really means a lot to me. More than money. Thank you, Y/n.”

—

You discover many things about Min Yoongi on that first day.

That he has a dog, for instance, which he needs to pick up from the vet later that morning.

You also discover that Min Yoongi does not own a car.

“How much longer?” you venture, hoping your tone isn’t too whiny.

“Not long.”

You pout at his back, watching the dogged way he walks the uneven gravel path, slowly descending as it twists through the trees, around the back of the fields and towards the Main Street. “You said that last time.”

He turns his head back quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, and you try to ignore the way your chest leaps at it. “You were the one that wanted to come.”

“I wanna check out the town. If you want to save that tea plant, you’re gonna need some decent fertilizer. Is there a garden center here?”

With his legs slightly bent in those baggy overalls, and his arms swinging by his side with every step, he radiates enthusiasm, but your question causes him to pause. “I...assume so?”

You skip a little to catch up to him. “I mean, we could always just ask one of the other residents. Someone’s bound to know.”

His smile falters. “We could.”

You bite your lip, regretting the weird change in tone. In an attempt to bring his cheery disposition back, you bump his shoulder lightly with his. “So, you have a dog, huh? Your place isn’t exactly fenced. She must be well trained.”

“He,” Yoongi hastily corrects, though the corners of his mouth lift. “Holly’s an old boy, he’s not the type to wander away. He doesn’t even need a leash to take him back home, he’ll just walk along beside me.”

“What’s he at the vet for? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The gravel merges with smooth paver stones as you emerge onto the Main Street. You spot a sign with a cat and a dog silhouette. Yoongi straightens up and begins rushing along faster. “Check-up,” he explains absentmindedly. “He was my grandma’s dog, so you can imagine he’s got some years on him. Prevention is the best medicine and all that.”

The door to the veterinarian jingles overhead, and the young man at the counter glances up from the small grey kitten in his arms with a heart-shaped beam. “Oh! Hi, Yoonie-hyung! Here for Holly?”

Yoongi’s cheeks puff up at the nickname. “He’s all good to go? No issues?”

You eye up the little name badge pinned to his polo shirt. Hoseok. “Same old. The doctor will send the tests off like usual. Just a sec; I’ll go get him from out back.” The boy carefully sets down the kitten into a small plastic kennel on the desk with four others. You can’t help but smile as you watch the baby animals squeak and snuggle up to each other. After washing his hands with some hand sanitizer, the receptionist gets out from behind the desk and disappears through a side door.

You wait for a moment, then decide to fill the silence. “When did you open Holly Lo-”

You’re cut off by the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door. Yoongi glances back quickly, and his whole demeanor changes, shoulders hunching and head ducking down. You frown, and turn around to see an unfamiliar lady approaching.

She’s old enough to be a grandparent, flabby skin on a skinny arm trembling as she carries a cat kennel with a yowling tabby inside. “Oh, Hoseok!” she calls out in a ringing tone, glancing past the two of you. “Chestnut needs his check-up, where are you? Is the doctor free?”

You would raise your brows at her impatience when there are clearly other people in line, but instead you’re just concerned at Yoongi’s reaction. His elbows are up on the higher ledge of the desk, and he’s practically hiding his face behind his forearms.

Subtly, you step out a little bit from the desk, concealing him. Unfortunately, the lady notices the movement and fixes her sour stare on you.

“You aren’t from here,” she states. “And no houses have been sold, so you’re obviously not moving in. What’s a tourist doing in a vet?”

“Um.” You give her a confused stare, a little taken aback by how forward she is. “Pet check-up,” you finish lamely.

Hoping she would leave you alone from there is clearly naive. “Day trip? If you’re staying overnight, I can recommend a good place to park up. I own a hotel and it’s the best wa-”

“I’m good,” you interrupt, “I’ve got a place to stay. But it’s very kind of you to offer.”

She narrows her eyebrows, drawn-on and smudging slightly into her wan foundation. “Wait a minute. Something’s fishy. You were the one calling at an ungodly hour in the evening looking for accommodation, weren’t you?”

You glance at the door that the receptionist disappeared behind, willing him to return. “Yeah.”

“Mrs. Na told me she said you could-” She freezes and stands up straight. Her eyes slide behind you suspiciously. “Min.”

Though you don’t turn around - some instinct in you thinks you shouldn’t turn your back on her - you can imagine what the B&B owner must look like. His voice is so small. “Hi, Mrs. Soh.”

“Finally got a customer, huh?” The room feels to shrink with every word that drips with the seasoned condescension only an elderly person can give.

Yoongi shuffles forward a little on the plastic linoleum floor. “That’s right, Mrs. Soh. Next time you speak to Mrs. Na, please thank her for sending Y/n my way.”

The lady openly rolls her eyes at this, and you have to bite hard on the tip of your tongue to stop from lunging at her. “Mrs. Na wasn’t giving you a hand-out, boy. We aren’t about to help the business that took everything from us.”

Your eyes wide, you stare at the poster on canines and felines pinned to the far wall. “Should we ring the bell? I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

You regret bringing the attention back on you as Mrs. Soh scans your face with an entitled curl of her lip. “And you. I’m surprised you’re actually choosing to stay with Min. His place is a pigsty, isn’t it? Maybe you feel bad for him, girl, but let me tell you: the only good thing about that bed-and-breakfast is how it’s a perfect example of karma. His grandmother monopolises and terrorises the tea markets while she’s alive, and now that she’s kicked it her spawn can’t do anything right.”

You forget all about respecting elders and let out a shocked scoff. “What the fuck is your problem?”

As she splutters, Yoongi’s hand wraps lightly around your elbow, tugging you backwards, but you only spare a quick glance at his sullen face before turning back to the woman across from you.

“First of all, you’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay with any of you after the way I see you treat others. Secondly, how dare you insult someone like that, let alone a dead person? You must be the meanest person in this fucking town. At least, I hope so, because I certainly don’t want to meet anyone nastier than you.”

Like magic, the very moment she opens her mouth, the door bursts open, and out comes Hoseok, a curly tan dog at his feet.

“Holly!” Yoongi cheers with more than a hint of relief, and the dog darts forward, claws scrabbling on the floor as he spins in excited circles. After reuniting with his pet, Yoongi busies himself with the payment, while you try determinately to avoid Mrs. Soh’s gaze. You wouldn’t be surprised if by nightfall everyone in town knew you as the bitchy tourist, but you didn’t even care, too occupied with steaming in your own rage.

The moment Yoongi takes a receipt from Hoseok’s hands, you wrap yours around his and tug him away from the desk, huffing at the cheery jingle of the door that accompanies you upon leaving.

“Woah, Y/n, slow down, Holly can’t run!”

You force yourself to take a steadying breath and return to a normal pace, the older dog happily trotting along on Yoongi’s other side.

He lets the two of you walk in silence for a while, until the sounds of the Main Street fade away, and all that you can hear is the crunch of gravel underfoot, paired with the metallic tinkling of Holly’s collar. You’re still holding onto Yoongi’s hand, but you swear you feel him squeeze slightly every time you loosen to let go, so you let them swing between you.

The ambient noises calm you down enough to feel like talking again. “I didn’t mean to snap,” you apologise. “But I haven’t felt that angry in a long time. What’s her deal?”

Another squeeze, or is that his fingers trembling slightly. “Ah, you get used to it,” he jokes with a smile, though it fades when you throw him a sad look. “No, seriously, I try not to let it bother me anymore. I just… don’t go into town much anymore.”

You nod slowly, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip over the odd protruding rock or root. You don’t know if it’s wise to broach the topic, but it keeps seeming to come up. “...Your grandma’s tea was really popular, huh?”

He laughs lightly. When you flick him a confused look, he shrugs, jerking your hand with it. “I was wondering how long it would take you. The elephant in the room and all. My grandma lived here, at Holly Lodge, though it was just a house until I inherited it. She made tea, her own strain. It got popular among the locals and, soon enough, tourists were catching on too. They stopped going to the markets. Most of the ladies that own accommodation branch out into selling food and produce. Tea is a popular option, as you could probably guess. They lost their business to her.”

“That’s just life. And besides, that’s a problem they have with her. Why are they being so rude to you? You don’t even sell tea anymore.”

“Because they can? I don’t know. Listen, I’ve explained it, if you want to leave and avoid all this drama that’s fine but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He drops your hand, and a strange but unpleasant feeling cuts into you.

The slight incline back isn’t so bad, but his breathing is shallow and his gaze is trained on the ground. Your lips droop down in guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I probably made the situation worse for you by yelling at her. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He’s silent for a moment. The air darkens slightly, a wash of cloud moving over the sun. “Please don’t say that.” His fingers stretch out towards your hand, then fall back.

You don’t speak the rest of the way back.

--

You try not to stare. You try your best to occupy yourself with the dog at your feet, who gently paws at your hand if you halt your stroking of his thick curls. But as you sit on the floor and listen to the satisfied grunts of Holly, lying on his back in the sun, you can’t help but glance up every few seconds to the man in the kitchen.

It’s strangely domestic, the way he potters around the room, fully focussed on his task. Every measurement of flour, sugar, butter, is perfectly precise and done with care. It’s warm in the kitchen - he told you earlier it’s so the dough will rise when he rests it - and in the sun his skin seems to glow. He’s humming to himself as he kneads; a song you’ve never heard before but one you hope to hear many times again. Although he tied his hair up in a little bean sprout on the top of his head, a few stray wisps have broken free, and his pout deepens every time he has to blow them out of his eyes. The little white apron hooked around his neck and fastened at his slender waist is dusty with stray powder and smeared with runaway globs of dough.

You don’t want to break his concentration, but you feel strange sitting and silently watching him. “Jack of all trades, huh?”

He jumps and turns quickly to you, knocking over a thick paper bag of flour with his elbow, sending white grains flying into the air. His eyes fly wide open and he futilely cups his hands over where the flour is spilling out of the bag, which lays on its side on the bench. With hands full, he pushes it back up to standing, but everything in his hands is dumped onto the benchtop, including the perfectly kneaded round of dough. His shoulders droop.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you hastily apologise the moment your voice returns to you. Ignoring the dog that whines and paws at you, you stand up and rush over to him, grabbing a tea towel on a hook and dousing it in tap water to begin cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.”

“It- It’s okay,” he assures haltingly, still awkwardly waving his white-covered hands in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them. You move quickly, cleaning up the majority of the spill for him, the towel coated in a flour-water goop by the time you’re done. When you straighten up, the man in front of you crinkles his nose, like it’s itchy, and sighs, though at his situation rather than you. He wiggles his white-covered fingers. “Thank you,” he says, “trying to grab the flour probably wasn’t the best…”

He trails off as you grab his wrists gently, leading him to the sink where you turn on the tap and run his hands under the steady stream. He waits, obediently turns his palms up for you to squirt a pump of hand soap onto them, and lathers up as you return to the other side of the bench to clean up the rest of the spilt flour.

You hear the water stop, and moments later he’s at your side, picking up the puffy ball of dough with a care that most people would reserve for a small child. Cradling it to his chest so as not to drop it, he uses one hand to delicately brush away the pile of flour on the surface. “It’s alright,” he mumbles softly, and you’re unsure whether he’s speaking to you or the dough, “it’ll be fine. Maybe a little dry, but still good.”

You fold over the top of the bag of flour and let your hands sit heavy on it, still clutching at the paper. “Yoongi.” He swallows hard and looks up when you say his name, absentmindedly patting the dough. “You’re a really kind person, you know that?”

He blinks, setting the dough on a clear patch of the wetly glistening bench. “What do you mean? I’m doing what any host would do. Welcoming my guest.”

You bite your lip, unsatisfied with the response. “Clearly not any host would be kind. I know that after this morning. Besides; it’s more than that. You made me eggs this morning on hot coals-”

“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” he replies weakly, “and that’s just because the power’s out. I’m not sure when it’ll be fixed actually, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I…” You sigh, scanning his face. He really doesn’t get it, you realise. How special he is. “I’m so happy to be here, Yoongi. I’ve never met someone as kind as you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s clear this means a lot to you.”

He ducks his head, moving past you to open a drawer, fiddling around tubes of parchment paper and foil to pull out some plastic wrap. “Thank you, but it’s really nothing. I’m just happy for the company.”

As you lean against the bench and watch him gingerly knead the dough into a rough log shape, before rolling it up in the plastic wrap, you realise just how true that must be. A thought strikes you, shatters that solemn line of thought. “Wait… If the power’s out, how are you gonna bake the bread?”

“Oh!” He glances up, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well, I thought I’d make some and save it until I can get the repair guy out here. I have an icebox around the back of the house that I’m using as a temporary freezer. Then, when we get power again…” He lifts up the dough with an odd quirk to his lips, like he’s cracking a secret joke only the two of you know. “Celebratory bread.”

Uncontrollably, a beam breaks across your face. “Sure, Min Yoongi. Celebratory bread.”

--

The two of you share a bonfire that night. You suspect it’s the first time, at least for a while, that he’s had company. Human company, at least.

“Come on, boy, not too close,” he warns Holly, whose nose continues to dip out towards the flames even as his owner gently pats his rump. The light casts Yoongi’s face in a deep orange warmth; you didn’t pick up on it last night, but his eyes practically glitter with the reflection of it. His hair is no longer up in a hair tie so the thick mop of curls - only somewhat looser than Holly’s, though a rich brown instead of the caramel of the dog - hang low on his brow, lopsided and dishevelled from changing into pyjamas.

The two of you had stuck to yourselves, for the most part, that afternoon. You’d taken advantage of an old bicycle he had dug out of his tool shed to go back down to the main town, spending hours at a cafe, shamelessly torrenting their wifi to research more about tea plants and how to grow (or, more importantly, revive) them. After the waitresses got a little too antsy with your continued presence, and once you felt confident in your task, you got directions to a hardware store and bought some decent soil. An employee there - a respectable albeit slightly clumsy young man who seemed like the epitome of customer service - offered to deliver the heavy plastic sacks for you, and so you returned home satisfied with a day well-spent.

It was another rustic barbecue for dinner. After disappearing into his room to change into a matching pair of baby pink cotton pyjamas, the bed-and-breakfast owner quickly set up a fire on the bed of blackened rocks and charcoal in his backyard. With a practised ease he raised the flame into a blaze, and every time he leant forward to cook some more meat, you watched with a strange fixation as beads of sweat collected at his temples, sticking down strands of hair and warming his cheeks to a rosy glow.

“Do they fit a bit better?”

His sudden question reaches your ears with a delay, and by the time your eyes focus again, he’s watching you curiously. “Fit a bit…? Oh! The clothes. Yes, thank you so much.”

With the clothes you came in currently drying on a rack in your spare room, Yoongi had lent you another raggedy shirt and a pair of plain blue boxer shorts. With how little fabric there was, you suspected they were underwear rather than proper pants, but as long as they stayed up you were happy.

His eyes dart to the side and his lip quirks. “I feel a little overdressed,” he admits, “giving you old clothes while I have proper pyjamas.”

“No, you look cute,” you protest automatically, before sputtering in embarrassment. “I- I meant, it’s fine, I don’t mind you wearing…” You trail off, coughing awkwardly.

With his cheeks so red from the fire, the only way you can tell he’s flustered is the flash of his gums as he smiles, ducking his head. “Ah,” he deflects softly, “you’re just messing with me, I’m not cute.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you for a moment, quietly cutting off strips of beef onto two plates. When he speaks again, you almost miss it over the crackle of flame, and you get the feeling he never intends for you to hear. “Not as cute as you,” he murmurs, and your heart short circuits.

In an effort to pretend like you didn’t overhear, you reach for one of the plates, scooting closer on the grass in order to reach it. The two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warming effect of the beef settling in your stomachs. He clearly has more of an appetite than you, and keeps munching away long after you’ve pushed your plate away. The grass is warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and so you lie back on it, letting your gaze reach the heavens.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” you muse, “at first I thought it was silly to have accommodation so far from the rest of the town, but I get it now. I don’t ever want to leave.” You attempt to lilt your voice, as if it’s a joke, but it falls flat. You don’t think you’ve ever been so genuine about something in a long time, and that scares you. You’ve only been here a day.

You hear wet noises, and lift your head off the grass to look over at your companion, who’s hurriedly chewing on an over-full mouthful of meat, blowing out his cheeks. You grin at the sight, propping yourself up on your elbows as you wait, and he does his best to flick you a chastising glare as he finally swallows. “Well,” he makes out with an empty mouth, “you know Holly Lodge is always happy to have you as long as you wish to stay. If you really do want to stay.”

Having said his piece, he promptly fills his mouth again with a thick slab that probably should’ve been cut in half first. You grin at the way his eyes widen unconsciously as he chows down, reflecting the hypnotic orange flicker in front of him. “Yeah,” you say gently, “I really do.”

--

It’s odd how days become weeks without you noticing. The days get so hot and humid that an evening fire, which had begun to feel routine, is no longer possible. After tilling the soil around the tea plant and doing some serious work on it, the leaves fatten up and return to their former glory. Yoongi’s face softens every time he walks past you working in the garden. You don’t know which thing he’s more happy to see between you and the thriving shrubbery.

Time passes as if in a dream, the bed-and-breakfast feeling like a slice of paradise separate from reality. The electrician comes, an eager yet very methodical apprentice by his side, and with the return of the electricity comes the celebratory bread, enjoyed with a strawberry jam of Yoongi’s own making. You spend your days in the garden and your evenings with Yoongi, sharing solace in each other’s company as you watch old movies or play convoluted card games. For someone that’s normally always on the go, you feel yourself settling in to this world.

Yoongi’s curls slacken as his hair grows, becoming shaggy over time, and one late Friday night he sets up a wooden stool in the bathroom and asks you to trim it. One lopsided cut later, things like these become normal for the two of you. He acclimatizes quickly to your presence, and you feel yourself changing too, melding your lifestyle into his. Even though you purchase some well-fitting shorts (as well as more underwear and feminine supplies), on the third day a pile of shirts was left on your bed and you’d been wearing them ever since. Eventually they begin to feel less like his shirts you’re just borrowing and more like your own, and you’re not sure how to feel about the niggling bud of disappointment in your chest when each one of them comes back from the wash smelling like your perfume instead of the sweetly floral scent you had begun to associate with him.

The domesticity of your situation doesn’t hit you until a Wednesday afternoon, when the sun melts the air around you into a wobbly haze, and you finally make it back home from a trip into town to grab some emergency groceries. Yoongi got weekly deliveries for the most part, but he had tried (and failed) to make some homemade ice cream the day before and the two of you were in urgent need of some milk. With a relatively mild morning, you felt safe to go on foot rather than bike, but the heat set in quickly and your feet are burning by the time you slam open the front door and step into the cool of the house.

“Yoongi,” you call out automatically, “I’m home.” The word slips out so naturally, that you think it can’t have been the first time you’d referred to the small cottage as home.

A happy gasp echoes down the hallway. “Y/n,” Yoongi cheers from a distance, “we have butterflies and bees out here, come see!”

A contented smile spreads across your face at the sound of his voice, and you slip your shoes and socks off, going through the lounge and out the back door of the house. Your heart billows in your chest every time you see him, but the delighted beam on his face makes you feel lighter than air.

Too hot for even the lightest of sweaters, Yoongi has taken to various short-sleeved shirts and button-downs. Today he’s in cream fabric shorts and a peachy satin shirt, feet bare like yours as he stares up the side of the exterior wall in wonder. Though you hate to look away from him, the way the sun casts his normally dark curls into a bronze halo, you make your way out into the garden, grass cushioning your sore feet as you turn to see what’s brought out this wonder in him.

Amongst a background of vibrant pink azaleas, you can spot fluttering movement where several monarch butterflies bask in the warm rays. Throughout the garden, honeybees aimlessly zip around, a gentle buzzing in your ears. “They’re beautiful,” you muse, “I guess the hot weather brought them out.”

The man across from you stays silent. You ponder the wildlife one more time before returning your gaze to him. Gone is the awe-filled gleam in his eyes. They’re turned down at the edges now, staring lower than your face. “You’re sunburnt,” he remarks with a frown, before raising his eyebrows in a more urgent expression of worry. “Quick; get inside!”

You apparently don’t move fast enough. The young man shoots forward, fingers slipping between yours and tugging you by the hand. You let him drag you inside, back into the slightly dim and blessedly cool house. “It’s okay, Yoongi,” you protest half-heartedly, but he doesn’t pay you any mind, squeezing tightly on your hand as he winds his way down the short hallway and into his bedroom.

Letting go of you to press at your shoulders and urge you to sit on the edge of his bed, Yoongi disappears back out into the hallway, only to return moments later with a bottle of green-ish clear gel. You eye it suspiciously, but he remains serious. “Aloe vera,” he explains, “it’ll help with the pain.”

“It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you protest weakly, though even as you shrug, the drag of the fabric against the raw skin causes you to wince. Yoongi rushes forward, sitting on the bed beside you. You hiss when he gently pushes up the short sleeves of the baggy shirt, exposing the line where your usual skin tone becomes harshly reddened.

“This’ll help,” he repeats softly, and begins to rub the cool gel onto your skin. You sit in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye as the bridge of his nose crinkles in concentration. “You should really be more careful,” he scolds, though there’s no bite to his tone. “Please don’t ever leave the house without sunscreen on days like this.”

“Okay, mom,” you joke gently, though he doesn’t laugh. “Really, Yoongi, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make a fuss.”

His hands leave you. You look up after a moment, wondering why he’s gone so silent. His face is downtrodden, staring haplessly at the gel still smeared across his fingers. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he mutters.

Your heart breaks at the hurt in his tone, but quickly a laugh jumps out. He glances up at you reproachfully, but you just grin and point to his head. “There’s a petal in your hair, at the back,” you explain, “it must’ve been there since you were outside.”

“Oh.” He begins patting down the back of his head, but somehow he misses the bright pink petal entirely.

You reach forward, and he goes stock still as you tentatively card a few fingers through his hair, lifting the azalea out of his messy curls. “Here,” you announce, handing it over to him, “you should keep it.” He curls his fingers around it, staring at it with an unreadable expression. “It could be good luck.”

When you leave his room, after thanking him for the aloe vera (refreshingly cool on your tender skin, you have to admit it helped), he stays on the bed, eyes glued to the petal in his palm. He doesn’t come back out until dinnertime.

--

The first day Min Yoongi gets real customers is a few weeks later, late on a Saturday morning. The two young men are a strange echo of you two months ago; turned away from every other hostel and motel in the town center, they find themselves at the doorstep of Holly Lodge, desperate for a place to stay.

However this time instead of lack of vacancy, the problem for them was a lack of tolerance. With hands firmly intertwined, they proudly announce they’re ‘pre-honeymooning’; a concept you had never heard before but it seems to be an excuse to take a vacation more than anything.

While the two of them fuss over the cuteness of the little cottage, Yoongi pulls you aside. “I can turn them away if you need,” he offers. “I only have one spare room and you’re using it.”

You furrow your brow in shock. “What? Yoongi, I’m not even paying for that room! You need to put your business before me. Besides, I could always sleep on the couch.”

He’s not happy with your answer, flicking a worried gaze over to the couple, who have made themselves at home on the old couch, heads ducked together as they whisper back and forth. “I mean… I suppose,” he gives in, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “But you don’t need to sleep on the couch. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he seems antsy to get back to the visitors, so you let it drop. As Yoongi sits down in an armchair across from them, you slip into the kitchen to begin brewing some tea, the first from the revived tea plant.

“So, the two of you are happy to stay?” Yoongi questions shyly. As the three of them begin to discuss prices and facilities, you quietly observe them. You watch the couple, the way the younger, with hair dyed a vibrant blue, leans in to the side of the older, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The brunette, introduced to you earlier as Seokjin, mindlessly plays with the fringing on his fiance’s jacket, as the fiance, Taehyung, looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. It twists something deep inside you, to see them so...intimate, and soon enough you can’t bear to look at them, instead flicking your gaze over to Yoongi.

Yoongi. It is an odd feeling, seeing him return to his shy, easily-flustered self. In recent weeks he seemed to have grown comfortable with you, but this brings back memories of your first few days at Holly Lodge. As the kettle bubbles away, you watch Yoongi’s cheeks lift in a flattered smile as Seokjin points out a framed photograph on the wall, one Yoongi had mentioned some time ago he took. Back then, back when you stumbled in on his garden desperate for shelter, you were too hung up on your own misfortune to really notice him, but now it’s clear to you just how much this place means to him.

There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung waving a hand towards the garden. Instead of following the gesture, Yoongi’s eyes dart over and are met by yours. His eyebrows lift when he catches you staring, but he looks back at the couple, mouthing something you can’t hear over the whistle of the kettle.

You clear your throat, shaking away the weird lingering emotion in your chest, and quickly pour four cups of tea. Upon your return, you notice there’s nowhere for you to sit. The young couple are taking up the couch, and Yoongi occupies the only armchair. You pass out the three cups and hover for a moment. Do you even need to be here? You’re technically just another guest, and this conversation doesn’t really involve you. But then again, the spare room isn’t your room anymore, and you’d feel weird going into Yoongi’s bedroom without him.

Yoongi, sensing your hesitance, pats the arm of the chair and squishes himself into the opposite corner. You suppress a grin; an easier solution would’ve just been sitting on the floor, but it’s too late to say no to him now. You perch awkwardly on the cushioned arm, having to lean into Yoongi’s shoulder slightly to keep your balance.

He takes a sip from the steaming mug, and gasps softly, glancing up at you. “Boseong Breakfast?” he questions in wonder, and you give him a short nod. “This tastes just like... “ The space between his brows crinkles slightly, but he forces himself to brighten his expression again, turning back to the men on the couch. “Y/n grew the tea herself in our garden outside. I hope you like it!”

Your eyes prickle, and you bite down hard on your tongue, staring into the murky depths of the tea in your hands. Our garden.

Taehyung’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of you curiously, pausing for a moment. “You guys make a cute couple,” he states finally.

Your eyes fly wide open, automatically turning to Yoongi, expecting him to speak up and explain, but it seems Yoongi was waiting for you to be the one protesting too. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. “Uh, we’re not a couple,” you remark, addressing Taehyung directly. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi nods in affirmation. “I’m actually just a guest, I’m just helping out around the garden while I’m here.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow. Seokjin, still with an arm around his partner, swallows a sip of tea and drums his fingers against the homemade ceramic mug. “We’re looking to stay for a while; a few weeks, possibly a month. Would you be able to house us for that long? We understand if you’ve got prior bookings to fulfil.”

Yoongi leans in to you slightly, his elbow nudging your thigh. “I better check my calendar first,” he quips with a gummy grin. You let out a laugh at the joke, but the other two don’t join in, just staring at you and Yoongi in slight confusion like they’re trying to work something out.

You realise how it must look, you practically perching on Yoongi’s lap, and quickly stand up, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the coffee table instead. “Anyways,” you begin, “I usually do a load of washing every day, so if you want I’m happy to do it for you. Now that it’s ready, I have more tea than I know what to do with, so help yourself to that, too. If you need anything, just let Yoongi or me know.”

“Breakfast is at 9,” Yoongi helpfully supplies from the armchair. “I usually make lunch and dinner if you’re around. Thank you for choosing to stay at Holly Lodge. I hope you have an enjoyable time here.”

The two share a meaningful look, noses almost brushing at their proximity.  The elder breaks away to take another slow sip from his mug of tea. “I’m absolutely positive we will,” Seokjin replies with a beam.

--

It doesn’t feel right. His bed is comfortable, sure, but you’re all too aware of the man over the edge, curled up in blankets on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come up?” you offer unsurely. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s fine.” His voice comes to you slightly muted by distance. “Holly is keeping me company down here.”

You frown, unsatisfied. You roll over so that you’re facing him. “The sheets are super itchy, maybe I should’ve washed them first.”

He lets out a tired chuckle, resonating in his throat. “That’s just the sheets. They’re cheap.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, “the sheets on the other bed seemed fine.”

He shuffles a bit, sitting up. “The other sheets are Egyptian cotton, that’s why.”

You raise your eyes. “Why are you suffering in these then?”

He’s silent for a moment, mouth flat. “Sheets are expensive.”

Your heart breaks for him. Spending all his money into the perfect guest experience, when he hadn’t even had any guests until you showed up. “I’ll buy you fancy sheets for your birthday, then.”

He scoffs softly, fisting his hands in Holly’s tan curls absentmindedly. “My birthday isn’t until next year. March.”

You shrug. “And?”

He fixes you with a baleful expression. “You’ll be long gone by then.”

In the dim lighting of the evening, you can barely make out a gleam in his eyes. A sudden exhaustion takes over you, and you can’t bear to look at his dejected form anymore. You close your eyes, making yourself as comfortable as you can under the covers. The pillowcase smells like him. “Will I?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Yoongi?” you ask into the night, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Mhm?”

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you admit. “Can you come up here?”

A pause. “With you?”

You can’t analyse his emotion with the careful way he speaks. You crack your eyes open again, staring down at him, at the way he hunches over uncertainly, cradling the sleeping dog in his lap. “I’ll stay on my side, I promise.”

His nose twitches. He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “You’re on my side,” he remarks. Your eyes widen and you begin to shuffle back. “No, no! You can stay. You can have that side.”

You scoot back over, continuing to face over the edge as he stands up, gently setting Holly down on the blankets, and comes around to hop in beside you. Though it’s summer, the cottage is always cool, and you shiver at the rush of air when he lifts the blankets. “Cold?” he questions in a murmur.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Here.” A weight falls over you, and you open your eyes to a dishevelled and tired Min Yoongi, folding the duvet in half so that it lays over you twofold. You go to protest, knowing he’ll be even colder than you now, but you can’t ruin the satisfied smile that plays at his lips as he pats it down, tucking the sides so that you’re snug.

Once he’s done, he disappears from your sight as he shuffles down under the bare sheets on the other side, humming happily. You let your eyes fall closed again, and breath in deeply. “Night, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

You snuggle your face further into the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”

--

“How did you two meet?” You glance up from the bed of herbs you’re tending to, squinting in the sun.

Taehyung, who’s taken to lounging in the sun outside as you work, sprawls his legs out on the warm grass. With his head tipped back to receive the rays, he sighs out happily. “Senior year,” he divulges, “we were both auditioning for Romeo in the school play, but Jin got the part instead of me. We were kinda rivals at that time, I guess. But one of my friends convinced me to audition for Juliet as revenge, and somehow I got in. We started spending more time together, and…” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”

“That’s cute.” A bird chirps in the trees, like it’s sounding out its agreement. You return to gently pressing seeds into the lush soil. “I wish I could have a meet-cute like that.”

He laughs, rich and warm. “Looks to me like you’re already in one.”

You avoid the temptation to look over to the cottage, where you know Yoongi is, inside making lunch with Seokjin (who turns out to be a brilliant cook). “No,” you deflect weakly. You can’t seem to find anything else to say, and so you clear the thought from your head entirely. “Anyway. When are you guys getting married?”

He huffs at the way you change the topic, but is only too happy to indulge. “Next year sometime. We’re in no rush. Love isn’t on a schedule, you know?”

You hate the way your mind slips to how you and Yoongi have been quietly enjoying each other’s company for the past two months or so. That’s not the same, you reason. Yoongi is just a kind person, that’s all. Anyone would grow fond of him. “I bet it’ll be a beautiful wedding,” you offer, “you two seem so in love. Besides, you’re both the hottest dudes I’ve seen in my life so I’m sure the wedding photos will be fantastic.”

He laughs boisterously, mouth widening and eyes crinkling, and it draws the attention of the two men in the kitchen, the taller of which gives a jaunty wave to his fiancé. Through the open window, you can see as Seokjin then turns around, makes a comment that causes Yoongi to flush, and claps him on the shoulder. Yoongi looks up towards the two of you, but his eyes narrow and he puts his back to you, returning to the food.

Your cheery disposition vanishes, and the air darkens as the sun dips below cloud. “I’m gonna head into town later, there’s a twilight market I want to check out. The two of you are welcome to come with.” 

Frowning at the sudden shade interrupting his tanning, Taehyung gets up, wiping the grass stands off his shorts. “Yeah, why not?”

—

“Honestly, you don’t have to, I don’t mind cooking!”

Yoongi’s protests go unheard. The engaged couple, who had earlier gone off on their own tangent at the street market, were determined to use some of the fresh produce they picked up to prepare a meal.

“Come on,” Seokjin pushes, “let us treat you! You’ve been so hospitable to us. Y/n said she worked in the garden as a thank you, so we can cook you a nice meal.”

The owner ducks his hand, delicately resting it in his hands, splayed fingers barely covering the happy grin. “You’re too sweet, really,” he gushes. “That would be really lovely.” Upon Seokjin’s insistence, the four of you had cracked open some soju, and it seemed the half-bottle Yoongi had consumed already was getting to him, cheeks shiny and pink. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of him getting all shy at the slightest display of kindness.

“What do you say, Y/n?” Taehyung questions. “Wanna come make him a meal?”

You pull your gaze away from Yoongi. “Huh? Oh, you’d be better off without me. I’m a terrible cook.”

Taehyung’s eyes glimmer in the glare of the low evening sun. “My Seokjinnie can teach you. Come on, it’s guests serving the host tonight.”

You agree reluctantly, and the two men grab one hand each, dragging you into the kitchen. You giggle at their enthusiasm, feeling a little past tipsy yourself. “What’s on the menu, head-chef?”

The brunette purses his lips in a wry smile and reaches into one of the bags, starting to empty out the various ingredients on the bench. “Don’t worry, young grasshopper, it’s very easy. We’ll make some fresh pasta sauce and have spaghetti bolognese.”

In the end, ‘very easy’ seems to be an overstatement. After finishing off another bottle of grapefruit soju you find yourself, clumsy with the warmth of the alcohol in your belly, furiously attempting to dice some onions on a chopping board.

As Taehyung manages the tomatoes reducing in a pan, Seokjin latches onto your flailing limbs, arms wrapping around you to gently clasp your wrists. “Careful, careful,” he chastises, “you’ll chop off a finger. Tuck your fingers under, and here, cut like this.”

You pout as he guides your hands, the knife cleanly slicing through the onion half you had previously been hacking at. “Okay, Mariah Carey. No, wait; what was that old lady chef’s name? Martha Stewart. Okay, Martha Stewart. Not everybody can be an incredible cook, you know?”

Taehyung chuckles under his breath at the other end of the kitchen. “We should not have given her alcohol,” he remarks to his fiance.

With a dawning realisation and a slightly running nose, you realise the cut onion is beginning to sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, letting Seokjin continue to chop on behalf of your hands, but that only forces the tears out. “Ouch,” you whine hopelessly, leaning your weight back onto Seokjin’s broad chest.

“Oh-!” Seokjin stops chopping, simply holding your wrists in the air as the knife dangles pathetically from your dominant hand. “Tae-bear, can you come help?”

You let out another whine as Seokjin slowly walks backwards, you half-following half-stumbling back. Once there’s enough room between you and the bench, Taehyung slips in. “Oh, darling,” he coos, “that onion was being mean to you, hm? Open your eyes.”

You do so, but keep them in a pained squint. All you can see between a blurred layer of tears is his blue hair, and the patch of colour swirls in your vision. “So mean to me,” you repeat dumbly as warm hands gently wipe under your eyes, clearing away the tears that run down your cheeks.

“Goodness, she’s definitely had too much, how many bottles did you give her?”

You feel Seokjin’s chest rumble against your back as he replies. “Like, two? It’s not even strong stuff.”

You hum happily. “You’re strong stuff,” you say, though you don’t even know who you’re talking to. The sting is finally fading from your eyes, and once Taehyung gently pats the last of the tears away, you let out a tired sigh, going even more limp against Seokjin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you complain, “don’t want bisghetti.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Okay, I think I’m gonna take you to your bedroom now, missy, you better have a lie-down.” The knife is pried from your fingers and strong arms lift you off of Seokjin, keeping you upright as you potter out of the kitchen with Taehyung.

Behind you, you hear Seokjin sigh. “Sorry, Yoongi,” he apologises, “we wouldn’t have given her so much if we knew she was a lightweight. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I can finish off the dinn-”

“Yoogi,” you cry, wriggling in Taehyung’s grasp. You hadn’t spoken to him since you started making dinner and that’s been far too long. Taehyung tries to shush you, but you twist around to face the dining table, where Yoongi sits. You go limp when you see him. Staring blankly into the middle distance, he has a strange look on his face, lips and brows frowning in disapproval or annoyance, but eyes soft with concern. Your nose tingles viciously and tears well in your eyes. “‘re you mad a’ me, Yogi bear?”

He looks up at you suddenly, face smoothing out as his eyes widen. “Of course I’m not, Y/n.” He trails off unconvingly at the end. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

You frown, somehow unsatisfied, but nod, letting your cumbersome feet carry you to his bedroom. He sleeps on the couch that night.

--

When you wake up, your memory is fuzzy but it’s clear by the way Yoongi treats you that you must’ve done something wrong.

You don’t understand it, but he seems cold to you, sulking. Over the space of a week, you spend so little time in his company that it feels like he must be actively avoiding you. To compensate the niggling sensation in your heart, you spend more time with the boys.

They cheer you up a lot, never questioning what’s got you so gloomy. Maybe they can already tell. But you waste away your days building up a modest garden in Yoongi’s backyard in the mornings when it’s cooler, and finding stuff to do with Taehyung and Seokjin in the afternoons.

Though you still share a room with Yoongi, the night after you got drunk he chose to sleep on the floor again, and you didn’t have the heart to ask him back up. You’ve been sleeping on his side for so long that his pillow no longer smells like him anymore. You don’t sleep well these days.

You find yourself waking naturally long before he does so that you can tiptoe out of his room and get ready alone. At night, you press your ear to the door and wait to hear his little snuffles and grunts of a deep sleep before you creep in. It seems odd to have any negative feelings towards him, but he just doesn’t seem the same as the man you had grown so used to sharing a house with.

Tonight, he woke up as you were sneaking inside his room, and so the two of you lie in dim silence, both all too aware of the other. Holly is curled up beside him, you can hear the gentle snoring, but Yoongi is completely quiet. You can’t even hear him breathe.

The total lack of sound in Yoongi’s room means that another noise is amplified. You wrinkle your brow at the odd, low pitched rumble, barely audible. You know it’s coming from outside the bedroom, though where exactly you couldn’t say.

Just as you’re about to pass it off as nothing, it sounds out again, louder this time. A moan.

Realisation dawns on you when you hear it again, drawn-out and dripping with pleasure. Taehyung and Seokjin are having sex in the next room over.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper into the dark. “Have they no shame?”

It’s loud enough this time that you can hear the words themselves.

“Ah, Jinnie-hyung.” You screw up your face and huff.

“...they did say ‘pre-honeymooning,’” Yoongi reasons reluctantly.

You sit up, bunching the blankets in your lap as you glare down at the bed and breakfast owner. “So you’re on-” you break off as the undeniable high pitch of a whimper echoes throughout the house. “So you’re on their side? They’re fucking in my bed!”

He frowns at you, though it’s far from intimidating with his ruffled brown curls and sunshine yellow pyjamas. “It’s not your bed, it’s the guest bed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’re fucking on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”

A fury you’ve never before seen lights up in his eyes. “My sheets!” The begrudging way he crosses his arms over his chest makes him look like a petulant child, and you snort out a laugh. “Hey,” he cries out in a stage whisper, barely louder than the pleasured moans that seem to be rising to a fevered pitch, “don’t laugh at me! Those sheets were expensive!”

You pause for a moment, trying to stay composed, but then you hear it through the thin walls.

“Fuck, cum in me, hyung!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, barely in time to muffle your desperate laughter.

Through tears, you see Yoongi try to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but soon enough he succumbs, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he laughs silently. The two of you endure a minute or so of loud cries of climax, before all goes still.

You lower your hand. You stare at each other for a moment, but after nothing happens, you sigh out in relief. Yoongi goes to plump up his pillow as you fuss with the duvet. “Thank god that’s over,” you proclaim, “now we can finally-”

“Does my Tae-bear still want more, hm? Greedy boy.”

Yoongi’s face drops. He stands up suddenly, thrusting out a hand in front of your face. As quiet whines and sighs reach your ears from the other room, you stare at it blankly. He waves it impatiently. “Come on,” he instructs, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

Though you’re uncertain what he means, you reach out and take his hand. It’s warm, and his fingers slip between yours naturally, clasping tightly. Before leading you carefully to the door, Yoongi grabs a blanket off the floor and hands it to you. He opens the door so gingerly that you can hear nothing more than the brush of the wood against the carpet.

The two of you tip-toe down the hallway. Directly outside the guest bedroom, you’re close enough to hear not only Taehyung’s desperate moans, but the pants of exertion from his fiance. Whatever Seokjin was doing to him in there, it was nothing short of athletic.

Holly, having been woken when Yoongi got up, pads down the hallway behind you happily. You wince at the jangle of his collar, but the two loud men don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t care enough to pause.

When the two of you reach the living room, Yoongi drops your hand to fiddle with the key to the back door. He slides it open and you step out in confusion, waiting for him and Holly to come through, Yoongi sliding it shut behind him, locking it and pocketing the key in a tiny breast pocket on his pyjama shirt.

Once the door shuts behind you, you no longer have to remain quiet. “What are we doing?” you question.

Holly follows faithfully as Yoongi makes his way down the backyard barefooted; determined not to be left behind and burning with curiosity, you jog to catch up. You leave the even footing of the grass and begin picking your way through the trees, going in a slight incline up the hill.

“We weren’t gonna get any sleep listening to them going at it like rabbits anyway,” he explains, “so I figured we could chill out here for a few hours and come back inside before it gets too cold. Hopefully they’ll have tired themselves out by then.”

You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine then,” you allow, “where are you- oh!” You’re cut off as Yoongi stumbles on a tree root, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt and twigs from his palms. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks are red with embarrassment, so instead of poking fun, you just move on. “Tomorrow I can go down to the convenience store and buy some earplugs. Unless you want to talk to them about lowering the volume of their nightly activities?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Get the brand that comes with three sizes, I’ve got small ear canals.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I’m sure you do, Min Yoongi.” You let the jingle of Holly’s collar fill the air for a few moments, and your companion seems happy enough with the comfortable silence. He seems to be picking out an intentional path, though there is no evidence of a well-tread route he’s taking. It’s not until Yoongi comes to a stop in a small clearing, about a third of the way up the hillside, that you open your mouth again. “What’s this?”

Yoongi sits down in front of you, patting the grass. He waits for you to sit until he begins to explain. You shake out the blanket, laying over your two laps as he speaks. “I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night all the time when I visited my grandma, pretending to be Indiana Jones or something. I found this glade one day and it became my nightly routine to come here at eleven or twelve pm and watch the stars.” He trails off in a wistful tone, craning his neck to look up.

Naturally, you follow his gaze. Blurred in the edges of your vision are the trees that surround you on the hill, but directly above is an open expanse of blackish navy, pricked with stars. The air is fresh, and you breathe it in deeply, feeling the cool air open your chest. You let your body tip back, lying down on the grass.

Yoongi’s voice comes from above, still sitting up. “One day I came back around two or three in the morning. Instead of being in bed, my grandma was waiting at the door for me. I thought she was mad - she wouldn’t speak to me all day - but that night when I went to leave she came out of her room and handed me a torch.” You can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi speaks, deeply entrenched in his own memories, voice hushed in nostalgic wonder. “Ever since that point, we did this together. She once told me that at night, the sun puts a big blanket over the earth to say it’s time to go to bed, but since it’s so old, it has holes in it. That’s what stars are. Ah, it sounds silly now, but at the time…” His voice changes, flattens. “I haven’t been here since she passed away. I couldn’t go alone.”

Your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You don’t know what else to say.

He sighs out heavily, the burden of loss. “Yeah.”

At some point over the next few hours, he lies down beside you, the two of you quietly contemplating the abyss above. Now that you’re looking at it different, it does look like a blanket. Thick blackness with pinpricks of light. You wonder what’s on the other side.

The air cools down. It’s still humid, but instead of warming you, it condenses on your neck in a cloying sweat, and beads on the grass. The tip of your nose is chilled pink, and you keep having to rubbing your hands together to warm them. You don’t want to interrupt this strange solemnity in the air, but once you begin to shiver slightly, you have no choice. “Can we head back now, Yoongi? I’m sure they’ve finished by now.”

“Hm? Yeah, okay.” He sits up and stretches with a groan, sticking out his arms and rolling his wrists. When he goes lax again, he sticks his fingers into the little pocket on his pyjama shirt. “Oh. Oh no.”

You frown, sitting up yourself. “What?”

“Must’ve fallen out when I tripped over,” he mumbles, “shit.”

“What?”

He tugs at his earlobe nervously. “I lost the key.”

“Y- what? So we’re locked out?”

“Well, just until tomorrow. When Taehyung and Seokjin get up, they can let us in. I’ll go down to the locksmith, get a new key made in no time.”

Now that you know you’re stuck here, the cold seems more insidious. You shiver again. “That doesn’t help us now, Yoongi! We’re stuck out here for the night because you wanted to go fucking stargazing.” His hurt look cuts through you like a knife, and you rush out the breath you’re holding, anger dissipating in a moment. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just… we’re gonna freeze out here, Yoongi.”

Guilt worries at his brow, and he tucks his knees up to his chest. “We can do our best to stay warm. The grass is still mostly dry, and there’s no wind or anything. If we huddle together under the blanket we can conserve body heat. It’s just one night.”

You stare at him for a moment, then nod begrudgingly. “Fine then,” you acquiesce. “We cuddle in order to survive tonight, and then never speak of it again.” With a flourish, you lie back down, tugging the blanket over you and turning your back to him.

Instead of a warm body, you’re met with silence. “Um,” Yoongi says finally, “I- Never mind.”

You twist your head around. “You what?”

He rubs at his cheek in embarrassment, though the dark pink blush firmly stays. “I like to be the little spoon.”

After a moment’s pause, you swivel around, holding the blanket up for him. “Come on then, little spoon,” you say softly, “get comfy.”

He offers you the smallest smile of gratitude, a flash of teeth peeking out, and turns, shuffling back until he’s pressed up against your chest. As you lower the blanket over the both of you, your arm naturally slips over his torso, curling over his tummy. The warmth of his body in your arms certainly is a respite from the cold, and clearly he agrees, because he lets out an unconscious grunt of happiness. You remember grinning into the darkness, ready to make a teasing remark, but sleep takes you before you can even open your mouth.

--

You had expected that night would bring Yoongi back to normal. That whatever strange mood had affected him in that week would be dissolved with the night you spent together under the stars. However, the next morning Taehyung and Seokjin convince you to stay at the lodge playing board games with them while Yoongi goes alone to the locksmith for a new key, and when he returns home to you curled up between the two of them, watching some dumb early-2000s rom-com on the TV, it seems his earlier grudge has returned with a vengeance.

There’s a strangely hostile tension in the air that afternoon, and when you and the boys finish up watching movies you pretend to accidentally fall asleep, just so you don’t have to go back to the room.

You begin to favor spending time with the other guests rather than Yoongi. It almost feels like you’re outstaying your welcome, but Taehyung and Seokjin seem enamoured with your company, and so day-in day-out you’re hanging out with them. After a couple weeks, you begin to view them as genuine friends. You get the impression that they hadn’t planned on staying as long as they are. Taehyung’s blue locks are beginning to grow out, hints of natural black peeking out at the roots. Seokjin has the (probably ill-founded) idea of buying bleach and dye at the supermarket, which is why you find yourself in a pair of gloves, lathering bright red hair dye on his scalp after dinner one night.

When Yoongi finished doing the dishes and saw Taehyung mixing the dye, he simply huffed and told him not to get any on the floor, then disappeared into his room. He was going to bed earlier and earlier, you noted, as well as getting up later in the mornings. You couldn’t remember the last time you held a conversation with him.

Now the three of you remaining in the kitchen sit cross legged on the floor, chatting away as the dye sets. Taehyung, with a plastic shower cap covering his hair, bangs his head back against the cabinets. “I wonder what colour I should have for the wedding,” he muses.

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle at the thought. “At the rate you’re dying it, it’ll be straw by the time you walk down that aisle.”

The younger grins, boxy. “You’ll still love me, even with scarecrow hair?”

“Of course,” Seokjin answers without hesitation. “Besides, it would grow back healthy in no time.”

“Would you love me even if I was bald?”

“Let’s not get hasty here,” he jibes, lifting his eyebrows in mock concern. “Don’t worry, Tae-bear. You’re the only man for me.”

The two laugh fondly, then fall into a silence. You know it’s a personal question, but you’ve known them for a while, so you ask anyway. “Have you guys always known? That you were attracted to men, I mean.”

Taehyung smiles, nodding languidly. “Well, both of us are bi so it’s not just men. But for me, yeah. I always knew, and then when I was in college I was a complete Casanova. Boys, girls, everyone in between. Life was a buffet.”

“Oh,” you exclaim curiously, “so you’ve been with men and women then?” He nods again. A thought strikes you. “That’s something I’ve always wondered, actually. Who are better to kiss; guys or girls?”

Taehyung scratches lazily at his scalp through the plastic cap. “Most guys are great kissers, but there’s nothing nicer than women’s lips. Luckily my Seokjinnie has the prettiest lips in the world.”

You look over as Seokjin, sitting across from Taehyung, purses his lips playfully, before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know,” he admits, “Taehyung is my one and only.”

The aforementioned pushes off the cabinet, leaning forward with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to try?”

Seokjin tilts his head in confusion. “Hm?”

“If I gave you permission and Y/n agreed to it, would you want to kiss her right now?”

“What?” You gape incredulously at Taehyung, but he’s dead serious. Looking back over, Seokjin is silent, nibbling at his lip. He’s considering it. A wave of heat rushes through you, akin to excitement. He’s one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen in your life, and you can’t deny that physical connection is something you’ve been missing in your past few months. “Are you sure, Taehyung?”

He sends you a salacious wink, turning back to Seokjin. “Think of it as a wedding gift,” he bargains, “I don’t want you to marry me feeling like you’re unfulfilled, or that you’re missing out. As long as I’m the one that gets to be beside you every night, I’m happy.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, then dart over to you. “Y/n…”

That’s invitation enough. You lick your lips, wetting them before crawling over to the older man. He pats his thighs, and you swing a leg over, steadying yourself on his lap. His hands are light on your hips.

“Just like it’s me, Seokjinnie,” Taehyung instructs. “Well, maybe a bit gentler than if it was me. You can kiss her, hyung.”

Though the statement was directed at Taehyung’s fiance, you take the initiative to duck your head down, eyes slipping closed the moment you feel his lips brush yours. He lets out an unsure sigh, muffled against you, and you feel his fingers curl, digging into your flesh slightly.

“That’s it,” Taehyung soothes. You hear the rustling of fabric, and you crack an eye open to see him sidling up beside Seokjin, watching the two of you. “How is she, hyung?”

You work your lips against Seokjin’s for a few more moments before pulling back. The man below you has flushed skin and dilated pupils. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Soft,” he makes out.

You run a finger over his lower lip, watching it bounce back. “For someone who’s never kissed more than one person before, you’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.”

He grins under your touch. “I bet Taehyungie is better.”

There must be something in the air. The hair dye fumes getting to you, perhaps. Or maybe you’re just deprived. Either way, you feel your inhibitions falling away, and an arousal-fueled confidence takes over. You send Taehyung a lustful look. “Only one way to find out.”

The tiniest nod reveals his consent. Seokjin keeps you steady on his lap by gripping your hips with strong hands, and you lean over, placing one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Taehyung’s, ducking your head to capture his lips with yours.

They’re somewhat thinner than Seokjin’s, and you find yourself missing those plump lips against you, but the younger man more than makes up for it with his prowess. His hands wind into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper. You let out a whimper into his mouth. Unlike Seokjin, whose kiss was pure and curious, this embrace is dripping with passion, and you find yourself drowning in it, mindlessly grinding your hips into the budding hardness below. Seokjin grunts, but you barely hear, lost in Taehyung’s grip, the tip of his tongue swiping teasingly against the flat of yours.

Suddenly, Seokjin goes stock-still and the hands wrapped around your hips go iron-tight. The sudden pressure breaks you out of your haze, and you pull away from Taehyung in confusion, the latter making a confused hum, eyes fluttering open.

You freeze as you hear a cabinet open and close behind you. Unable to look, you stare at the faces of the two men you’re currently sprawled on top of, as they lower their gazes in embarrassment at being caught out. You wait, listening to Yoongi hastily grabbing himself a glass of water, before he leaves quicker than he appeared.

Once the kitchen goes silent again, you slide off Seokjin’s lap, dejectedly staring at the floor. Shame burns in your chest, mixed with regret, and all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole. You swallow down the dryness in your throat. “C-can I sleep in your guys’ room tonight?” you ask with a small voice.

The two of them look ashamed, pitying. You hate it. You hate your lack of self-control. Seokjin nods silently, and the three of you make a solemn pilgrimage into the guest bedroom. Though the two of them fall into slumber soon enough, you lie awake on the floor in a bundle of pillows and blankets, imagining what his face must’ve looked like when he walked in on you messing around with two taken men. You don’t know which one would’ve been worse: seeing a look of anger, disgust, or disappointment on his face, or you never turning around at all.

--

When you wake up the next morning you’ve made up your mind. If you hadn’t already, you’ve definitely overstayed your welcome by this point. The boys don’t stir at all when you quietly tiptoe around their room, tugging on your jeans that you had kicked off the night before, too emotionally drained to bother with pyjamas. They look peaceful and content; there’s a lump in the middle of the bed where Taehyung has swung his leg over Seokjin’s hip, and his face is tucked into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. Their hands have found each other in the night, fingers lazily intertwined as they rest over the covers. Your eyes prickle at the sight.

In the kitchen, you eat alone. On the bench, the one that gets the most sun, is a tea towel with a pile of half-dried tea leaves. You wonder if Yoongi will continue making tea once you’re gone. Part of you wants to sneak out to the plant and take some of the leaves with you; that tea is the best you’ve ever had. But you force yourself to remember that you have no right to that plant. It was easy to see this as more than what it was, especially when Yoongi had been so generous and hospitable, but you’re a guest. At the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a traveler passing through. He’ll forget about you when new guests arrive. That’s how these things were meant to be, you reason. For fear of making too much noise, you forgo the ritualistic cup of Boseong Breakfast. Your stomach roils in yearning of a hot cup to soothe you, or perhaps that’s just the dread at knowing you’re about to leave.

Your stuff is still in Yoongi’s room. Shoes, backpack, wallet. You don’t fancy leaving here with nothing but a cellphone, so you turn the knob painstakingly slowly, leaving it open and using the light of your phone screen to find your way. Though you internally scream at yourself not to, you find yourself guiding the light onto his sleeping form, casting him in the weak cold glow.

He’s curled up in a tiny ball, barely occupying a third of the bed. Instead of on the floor, Holly is right beside him, stretched out languidly in the middle, head resting on the pillow right beside Yoongi’s face. His face reflects strangely, and you frown, risking a few steps closer.

Once you’re beside the edge of the bed, you lower the light to face the floor so you don’t wake him. He’s back on his side of the bed, the one you had temporarily occupied in a time that already felt so long ago to you, and every few seconds he lets out a small grunt or sniffle. Turned in towards the center of the bed, towards Holly, his hands are folded under his face, pressing his cheek up, revealing the dried tracks of tears that glimmer on the skin. You bite your lip harshly and force yourself to turn away and keep searching for your stuff.

But as you swivel around to check this end of the room, a sudden bright reflection hits you right in your eyes. You hiss loudly, squeezing them shut. Upon a second, more cautious glance, you see the culprit is a framed pane of glass sitting atop his nightstand. Careful not to suffer the glare again, you hold your phone up to inspect it.

It takes you a moment, but when you recognise that sliver of vibrant pink, your breath rushes out of you in an overwhelmed sigh. Pressed between two panes of glass so that it lies perfectly flat and preserved, the azalea petal you had picked out of his hair that distant spring day. He really kept it.

Tears threatening to well up, you quickly stand up straight again, caring less about making noise and more about finding your stuff and leaving quickly. You find your backpack in the bottom of his closet. Remembering at the last moment that you’re still in one of his baggy t-shirts rather than the one you came in - when had you started seeing them as your own clothes? - you tug it up over your head, quickly shimmying into the cold fabric of your shirt.

“What are you doing?”

You freeze at the familiar voice, croaky with sleep. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’s sitting up; you can see his form out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your head down, not wanting to look at him for fear of what expression would be plastered on his face. “Are you going somewhere?”

You tense your lips, nodding tightly. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need to be quiet, so you rush out his room, leaving the door ajar behind you. It’s lighter out in the living room, the first few inches of the sun as it creeps over the hills above, sending a thin streak of orange light across the carpet.

It takes a few moments, probably since he’s still groggy from just waking up, but Yoongi rushes frantically down the hallway, bursting into the living room. He halts, watching you going through your stuff to make sure it’s all there. “Where are you going?” He stands there, shoulders slumped in dejection as you just shake your head mutely. “Are you leaving me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to apologise for my behavior last night,” you say instead. “I wrote down your bank account earlier, the one you gave Seokjin and Taehyung. When I get back home I’ll reimburse you for however many nights I stayed here.”

“Home?”

“I can’t keep staying here like some freeloader,” you explain, “I’ll get out of your hair so that you can run your business.”

“You don’t have to go,” he protests, though his voice is small, barely reaching your ears.

You let out a frustrated groan when the zipper on your backpack jams, tugging roughly at it. “It’s for the best,” you insist, though you can’t tell who it is you’re trying to convince, “I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”

“What does that even mean?” he questions in a wobbly voice.

You huff, chucking the half-open backpack on the couch and facing Yoongi. “I can read the signs, Yoongi. For the past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and glaring whenever I’m around. I get it, okay? I’ll get out of your hair.”

“It’s not like that,” he defends. He pushes his curls back off his forehead, sighing out shakily. “I didn’t realise that’s how you were… It’s not you.”

You scoff bitterly, crossing your arms over your head. Both of you have given up being quiet for the sake of the other guests, and at this point you couldn’t care less if they woke up. “Oh, well then by all means, tell me what your problem is. I guess I’m too stupid to understand your fucking smoke signals.”

He furrows his brow in annoyance. “Are you serious? It’s not like you’re the poster child for mature communication.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi shrugs with a petulant frown. “Fuck, I save your tea plant, harvest and prepare the leaves, do the laundry, help with Holly, entertain the guests, and-”

The muscles in Yoongi’s jaw pop when he tenses it. “You are a fucking guest! I didn’t ask for you to act like a housewife! I didn’t ask for you to do the laundry, or plant the herb garden. I didn’t fucking ask for you to suck face with the other guests in my kitchen! So don’t act like such a goddamn saint.”

You hear a door open and shut in the distance, but nothing can distract you from the pent-up rage that’s rolling off you in waves. As the sun steadily rises, the house is lit up in it’s rays, and you curse the daylight for showing you Yoongi more clearly, the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears of frustration. “Why does it matter to you what I do with them? I wasn’t aware there were rules against guests kissing at Holly Lodge. But then again, you’ve never had guests before so I guess you never got around to writing any.”

His face crumples. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters. “I wanted guests to come. I always wanted guests to come.”

You curse yourself for getting so heated, knowing this is turning ugly, but you can’t help yourself. Picking up your backpack, you storm across to the front door, calling out over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi,” you snap, “you’ll get plenty of guests after I leave you a five-star review on Yelp. ‘Beautiful sights, expensive sheets, emotional turmoil. The best accommodation in Boseong.’ Have a nice life, Yoongi.”

Your hand is on the doorknob when his phone rings, a cheery ringtone of birds chirping. You don’t know what it is that makes you hesitate, but you hover at the front door long enough to hear him mumble, “oh, it’s the vets.”

Your hand falls. As much as Yoongi has hurt you, Min Holly is the sweetest old dog you’ve ever met, and curiosity keeps your feet planted.

“Hello? No, no, it’s okay, I was already awake… Ah, okay, thanks for the- He what?” With a growing feeling of dread, you swivel around in your spot, watching the emotions on Yoongi’s face play out like a movie; confusion, concern, fear. “Will he be okay?” He lets out a shuddering breath, looking around frantically. Looking for Holly. “And how quickly can I get him the operation?”

You let the backpack slide off your shoulder, gently hitting the carpet. His hand is over his nose and mouth, but you can see the wet glistening of his eyes and the way his shoulders shake. You know you’re probably the last person he wants to see, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him. Not now. Not when all you can think of is the pressed petal on his nightstand, framed like something precious. Not when you’re beginning to think that maybe you read his cold shoulder wrong after all.

“I… Can I call you back? I don’t think I can afford that, I need to contact someone who can. Okay. Yes, okay. Thank you for the call. Bye.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he barely manages to end the call before a broken sob is torn from his throat. “Oh, god.” His knees give out, and before you can process a response, you’re rushing forward, crouching on the floor in front of him.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” you say in a hush, feeling your nose prickle with the warning of tears. He heaves another sob, crying some words you can’t make out. “Yoongi, I- You said there was someone you can call, take a deep breath, you can give them a call and get it sorted, okay?”

He wipes his face with shaking hands and blinks up at you. There’s no sign of animosity or lingering anger; when he stares at you, all you can see is a raw vulnerability. “My brother,” he manages to say in a thick voice, “but I can’t do it, I can’t speak to him.” He lets out another wail, and you sense there’s something deeper there, but you don’t have time to question it.

“Okay, I’ll call then. Unlock your phone for me, Yoongi, I’ll call.” He does so, typing in the string of numbers, 46559, three times before he gets it right with how violently his fingers tremble. “What’s your brother’s name, Yoongi?”

In the corner of your eye, you see two half-asleep young men padding down the hallway. You wave them away behind Yoongi’s back, mouthing get Holly at them. After they disappear, you bring your attention back to the bed-and-breakfast owner, who’s tucked his knees under his chin, looking more childlike than ever in his white pyjamas with daisies on them. “Joonie,” he hiccups, “call Joonie.”

Though there’s no Joonie listed as a contact, you assume Namjoon is the same person, and so you call it, reaching out to tentatively rub Yoongi’s back as it rings.

The call clicks through after only a few seconds. The voice is deeper than you were expecting, and authoritative. “Yoongi-hyung?”

With wide eyes filled with tears, Yoongi’s head picks up and he stares at you balefully, listening to the call. You put it on speakerphone. “I’m calling on behalf of Yoongi,” you explain, “I’m a friend.”

“The first call in years and it’s not even him,” he mutters, “go figure. What’s up?”

You bite your lip awkwardly. “Uh, it’s Holly. I don’t really know the details, Yoongi only just got the call, but he’s very sick. He needs an operation, urgently, it seems like. Yoongi would call, but he’s really upset at the moment.” You lock eyes with Yoongi as you speak, unable to tear your gaze away from the deep well of pain in them.

“Shit,” his brother curses, “is he there now?”

Yoongi gives the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone to grab some tissues, I think,” you lie, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “But Yoongi can’t afford the treatment. I think he’s hoping you could pay for it.”

Namjoon pauses on the other end of the line for a moment. “Your voice sounds distant, so I’m assuming you’re on speakerphone. Hi, Yoongi-hyung.” You bite your lip, but the crying boy just clasps his hand over his mouth again, a fresh wave of tears. “But anyway, of course I’ll pay. There’s just one thing… If I do this, hyung, Holly is staying with me. He needs proper care and treatment, especially if he’s having surgery. The veterinarians are better in Seoul, anyway. I can make sure he’s getting the best help. Understand, Yoongi?”

Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling the cellphone a little closer. “Okay, Joonie. I understand.”

You hear some typing in the background coming from Namjoon’s end, but Yoongi’s attention is caught by the familiar jingling from down the hallway. As Holly enters in a speedy jog, Yoongi reaches out to the dog with grabby-hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when the dog jumps into his arms, immediately lying across Yoongi’s lap. The young man cradles his companion, tears wetting the fur on his head.

“I’ve shuffled around a few appointments,” the voice from the phone announces, and you jump at the sudden noise. “I’ll be there by this afternoon. Thanks for the call…”

“Y/n,” you supply.

“Thanks for the call, Y/n. And I’ll see you soon, Yoongi-hyung.”

--

Seokjin and Taehyung decide to make their goodbyes. They sense, rightly so, that it wouldn’t do them well to stay, and as it is they had lives to get back to. The house seems quieter with them gone, but you suppose had they been here that cheery energy would’ve disappeared.

Yoongi and you spend the day in silence, quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the turned-off television screen emptily, as Holly sleeps soundly, snoring away in Yoongi’s arms. It feels more like a funeral, this weird, drawn-out goodbye, and once Yoongi receives a text saying Namjoon has landed, he solemnly wanders around the house, collecting all of Holly’s food, dog bed (that you’d never seen him actually use) and all of his favorite toys.

For the first time, you hear the crunch of gravel as someone arrives in a car. Namjoon looks nothing like Yoongi in the bigger picture - taller, bulkier, straighter hair - but they have the same glimmer in their eyes, the same round faces. For all that Namjoon seems to be the more adult one of the two, it’s clear by the way he pulls Yoongi into a tight hug, his whole body curling into it, that Namjoon is the younger brother. As the two of them catch up over some tea, you keep your distance, sensing there were some things they needed to discuss that didn’t concern you.

You decide to take Holly on one last wander through the forest. Now that Yoongi seems to have calmed down, eyes dry, you figure you’ve done your part. Especially with Seokjin and Taehyung leaving, you find it harder and harder to ignore the pull of your life back home, your responsibilities. Your old friends and loved ones don’t text you much anymore, but when they do they ask when you’re coming back to the ‘real world’. University, a career, a house. Things that they seem to care about more than you do. Your stuff is already packed up. When you get back, you can call up the Boseong-gun terminal and see when the next bus home leaves. It’s for the best, you tell yourself.

Namjoon is gone quickly after you return. The house feels hopelessly empty without Holly. If you can feel it, you have no idea how much it must tear Yoongi up inside, and so you put on the television, hoping any noise will fill even the smallest amount of that void.

You make the two of you some ramen for dinner, but both bowls sit untouched. They’ve long gone cold before Yoongi suddenly sits up, muting the ads on the TV. You stare at him uncertainly.

“I… wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, “for staying with me. You didn’t have to, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He picks at some stray dog hairs that are embedded in the fabric of the couch. “I’m scared to be alone again.”

Your face falls. All thoughts of returning home are rendered void. You can’t leave him. “Of course I’ll stay,” you promise in a whisper.

He swallows, shuffling around so that he faces you on the couch. “You’ll stay,” he repeats in a chant. His gaze dips, then flickers back up to yours again. With brows furrowed like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses a tentative kiss across your lips.

You freeze. His hand rests on your knee, the lightest pressure, and he kisses you again, insistent this time like he’s begging for a response. Your heart breaks as you reach up and push his chest, separating him from you.

His eyes flutter open and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t understand…” He retracts his hands into his lap, leaving your knee cold with his absence.

“You’re not in the right frame of mind, Yoongi,” you explain, “you’ve had a long day, and- Yoongi…” He stands up abruptly, and you reach out to him, but he waves your hand away.

“Goodnight,” he says shortly, leaving the room.

You sigh out and tip your head back, banging it against the couch headrest. Why did it feel like no matter what you did, it hurt?

--

You stay. Just like you promised, you stay for him.

You don’t see him anymore, but you drop off three meals a day at his door, and in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, sometimes you hear him showering, or grabbing a snack. Sometimes you hear him leave the house, only to return hours later. It feels strangely intimate that you know exactly where he goes on those nights.

You find out through eavesdropping on Yoongi’s calls to Namjoon that Holly got the operation. Though you still don’t know what exactly happened, there’s talk of a cast, and physical therapy. You hope he’s doing okay.

Although you understand Yoongi is upset about his companion being taken from him, you expect eventually he’ll come around. You wait day-in, day-out for him to open the door and come back to reality. You struggle away in the kitchen learning to cook, hoping to entice him with wafts of spice. You start loudly making calls to friends and family, highly recommending Holly Lodge. You even knock on his door in excitement when a little hedgehog trundles into the backyard one day, thinking maybe his pure love of nature will draw him out, but nothing works.

And then, after the leaves begin to burnish in autumn shades, you know you’ve been here too long. You sit down outside his doorway, head leaning against the closed door. “Yoongi,” you call out.

He doesn’t answer. You don’t even know if it’s awake or not. The thought that he might not even be listening gives you a strange confidence.

“Yoongi,” you repeat, “I don’t know what to do anymore. You can’t stay in there forever. I know I said I would stay. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But this isn’t healthy, for either of us. Please, just come out and have a meal with me. Come for a walk; we could go stargazing tonight. Anything, Yoongi.”

Silence.

“It’s time for me to leave,” you reveal lowly. “There’s nothing else I can do to help you. I… The bus back home leaves tomorrow, but it leaves early, so I’m going to stay in town overnight. I’ve already called Mrs. Na. She’s got a room for me at the motel.” You sigh out at the continued lack of response. “I’m telling you this, Yoongi, because once I go you need to start doing things for yourself. I’ve thought long and hard about this because I’m-” you break off, blinking quickly to fight the tears that spring to your ears. “Because I’m scared that you’ll forget to eat, and get sick. I’m scared of leaving you alone like this, but I don’t know what else to do.” You sniffle, clearing your throat and standing. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”

--

It takes you longer than normal to follow the gravel road back into town. Mostly because of the way your eyes will fill with tears, and you’ll stumble on the uneven footing here and there. Or maybe it’s your body’s last cry of protest, not wanting to leave at all.

Either way, when you reach it, the motel is nice enough. Check-in isn’t until 3 in the afternoon, apparently, so you mope in the lobby for a few hours, curled up on the armchair. Mrs. Na peeks over her magazine every couple of minutes, but you refuse to look back until she’s waving you over with a manicured hand.

“Single room for one night?”

You nod in confirmation, already fishing around your backpack for your wallet to pay. Having paid for the groceries yourself over the past few weeks, your account is running concerningly low. “Thanks for-”

“Finally got tired of the love shack, huh?”

You blink at the interruption, freezing. “Excuse me?”

The bitter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as she frowns at you. “Don’t play coy, dear. You two little lovebirds have been the talk of the town. You stay here for months, and then out of nowhere, you don’t leave the lodge for weeks. I guess there must be trouble in paradise.”

You fight the urge to snap at her, knowing she’ll only kick you out. “It isn’t like that. There were some personal issues that needed sorting out, that’s all.”

She raises her eyebrows patronisingly, turning to reach for one of the keys hung up behind the desk. “The only personal issue I can see is how inappropriate it is for a young woman like yourself to be living with three young men.”

You bite your tongue. Just one night. Instead of replying, you simply hold out the last of your cash, a flat palm ready to accept the key in return.

She takes the cash delicately, making sure not to touch your hand itself at all, and then holds out the key. “I just want you to know that my motel does not tolerate any untoward behavior. You better not be trying to whore yourself out to my custom-”

You jump as a hand cuts into your line of vision and bats the hand away. Mrs. Na recoils in shock, still gripping the cash tightly, and widens her eyes at the newcomer.

Turning around in disbelief, you watch as Min Yoongi reaches over and tugs the notes forcefully from her hand. “I’ve had it,” he spits out.

“Yoongi,” you breathe in awe, but he ignores you.

Wearing a dusty pink sweater and grey skinny jeans, he somehow still manages to strike an intimidating image. His shoulder gently nudges you, pushing you behind him. “No, I’ve had it,” he repeats more forcefully. “You can insult me, you can insult my business, my house, even my family. But I will not stand here and let you insult the woman I love.”

Both you and Mrs. Na gape at him, and this sudden burst of confidence.

Yoongi slips his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glares at Mrs. Nah one last time. “And your tea always tasted like shit, that’s why you went out of business. Come on, Y/n, we’re going home.”

He doesn’t let your hand go the entire way back to the lodge. You don’t want him to, either, because your chest feels so light it seems like he’s the only thing anchoring you with this strange swirling inside you. He doesn’t speak, only rushing you back up the slight slope to the lodge, to home, and when you finally arrive you see the door swinging on its hinge in the breeze, wide open.

Yoongi doesn’t address it. It seems like he’s desperate, feverish, to get you inside. In an odd mirroring of your first night together, he leads you directly to the guest room, hand firmly clasping your own.

“Yoongi, what’s going on?”

He tips his chin forward suddenly, then shakes his head and falls back. “Talk first,” he mumbles to himself. Then, back at you: “Y/n. I know I’m not good with words, or silent yearning looks, or smoke signals. So I’m going to be really clear now, just in case you didn’t hear it back at the motel.”

You can’t help but crack a grin at the earnest statement, giggling quietly. Yoongi pouts at you, but returns your smile reluctantly. Your heart leaps. He hasn’t smiled since that night under the stars. “I did hear it,” you admit, “but I sure would love to hear it again.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he confesses, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I didn’t even realise it at first. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act. I felt like I couldn’t be around you for too long because my heart would ache. But then avoiding you just felt even worse. And when I saw you with the boys…”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you defend quickly, but Yoongi just furrows his brows.

“That’s not what I mean… It made me realize that I had no right to be angry or jealous, because I didn’t even have the courage to kiss you like they did. Even if it meant nothing for you or for them, I hated that I was too scared to do the same.”

You release all the air you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “That day Namjoon came. When you kissed me…”

Yoongi nods, slowly sitting down onto the edge of the bed, looking at your hands, still intertwined. “I wanted to tell you in words,” he admits. “I really was so scared you were gonna leave me, and I didn’t think I could take it. But I just couldn’t say it. So, I did the only thing I could think of.” He lets out a noisy breath, flicking you a sad smile. “But I guess I misread the situation. Even after I saw you with Taehyung and Seokjin I still thought maybe you liked me too. Sorry for making things weird.”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking at you anymore, so you sit down beside him, clasping your other hand over the two of yours. “You didn’t misread the situation. I didn’t want things to go further that night because I thought you might regret it in the morning. But you didn’t misread the situation. I… I’ve liked you for a long time. And I’ve never felt this way before, but I think it might be love.”

His eyes are on you, bright with hope and realisation. Having forgone a haircut for a little too long, droopy curls hang low over his brows, and he scrunches his nose unconsciously at the tickle. You look over his button nose, the roundness of his cheeks. His delicate pink lips slightly parted as he gives you his full attention.

A smile stretches across your face. “Actually, I’m sure. I love you, Min Yoongi. So much.”

His mouth turns up in pure happiness, flashing his gums for the first time in months. He searches your face for a moment, like he can’t quite believe it, then does something you’re not expecting.

He pulls you into a tight hug.

You immediately feel all tension leave your body at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, chin resting on your shoulder. You bury your face into his neck and sink into his embrace. You think for the both of you, it’s been a very long time since you’ve had one.

“I don’t deserve you,” he praises quietly.

You squeeze him tighter, breathing in his natural scent, slightly floral, like the smell of his garden in spring. “You deserve the world.”

Instead of letting go, after a few moments he turns his head slightly, so that his nose brushes against your neck. You shiver when you feel his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat. “Yoongi,” you murmur,  your body already responding to him, head tipping outwards to give him more room.

He works slowly, reverentially, sucking enough to make you tremble, but not so harshly to leave anything more than gentle pink marks. You sigh, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. You can feel his lips moving, like he’s whispering against your skin, making his way lower, but when his teeth scrape your collarbone lightly, you grow impatient.

You press your fingers insistently under his jaw and lift him, immediately capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s simultaneously exciting and reassuring, his lips molding against you as his back arches up, seeking every bit of contact he can get. You slide an arm around him, running it up and down his back soothingly. With the way his fingers curl desperately onto your shoulders, it seems like it’s been a while for him, just like it has for you. “Lie down,” you instruct softly, breaking from the kiss to help lower him to the bed.

You shuffle over for him to put his legs on the bed too, fully on his back, and then you straddle his hips, brushing his face fondly as you join your mouths together again. He seems all too happy to let you take control, eyes closed in bliss and jaw slack as you move lower, pressing countless small kisses down his cheek, jaw, and neck, until you’re propping yourself up on your forearms, laving at the skin. You can feel his pulse jumping under your tongue, and his throat bob every time he swallows. Sometimes, the skin vibrates gently, and you hear him letting out soft whimpers.

It’s not until his neck sports a spray of blossoming purple and dark pink that you sit up, a thought striking you. “Wait; why aren’t we in your bedroom?”

He blinks up at you, pupils blown wide, but eyes wider. “I wanted the Egyptian cotton sheets.”

You laugh breathily, clasping his face gently in your hands. “God, I love you.” His cheeks grow warm beneath your hands as his eyes soften in happiness. With his lips slightly pursed in your grasp, you bend down again and join your lips together.

He tastes sweet, and he has a patient yet passionate way of reciprocating the kiss, straining his face up to deepen it if he feels you pulling away too much. You could stay like this forever. As you feel his tongue shyly begin to slip out of his mouth, darting against your lip in tiny strokes, you feel a familiar sensation billow in your chest. The same feeling you had in those first few weeks, when everything felt magical and separate, like a little slice of heaven. Now, it’s far stronger, because at the center of your paradise is him.

You break off from his lips, nudging his head to the side with your nose and pressing a chaste kiss just below his ear. “Do you want to go further?” you question in a hushed whisper. “We can take this slow if you want.”

Looking up at you, he shakes his head hastily. “Please,” he sighs, “I want you.”

“Okay.” You sit up again, hovering over him. “Have you done this before?” He nods easily. “Let’s take this shirt off, then, hm?” He swallows when you play at the hem of his pink sweater, but nods after a moment.

Although it’s autumn, and he probably should’ve been layering up, it seems like he left the house in a hurry since he’s not wearing an undershirt. As you lift up the fabric inch by inch, more bare skin is revealed, unblemished other than a few moles. You trail your fingertips over them, feeling him shiver beneath you. The thought occurs to you that a time will come when you know the location of every one by heart, could map them out on the planes of his body with your eyes closed. Your heart aches at the thought, overwhelmed by it.

Having been in his room, sedentary for weeks, he’s developed a small paunch just above his waistband, filling out his hips a bit. He blushes, turning his head to the side shyly when you look over him.

“You’re beautiful, Yoongi,” you assure him wholeheartedly. “Absolutely perfect. Arms up for me?”

He obediently raises his limbs, wiggling out of the sweater. Once you toss it on the ground, you quickly remove and discard your own shirt, not wanting him to feel too self-conscious. His eyes light up at the sight of your bra, and you see his fingers twitch.

“Want me to take it off?” you question rhetorically, chucking lightly when he nods. Instead of doing as he wishes, you instead grab his hands and guide them around your back, leaning over so he can reach the clasp. “They’re hooks,” you explain, “so push the two sides towards each other, and then out.”

“I know how to take off a bra,” he mutters petulantly, though he fumbles with the hooks for a few moments, before finally getting them free and slipping the fabric off your body. You pull your arms out, and laugh when he flings it dramatically across the room, so that it smacks the wall and lands in a pitiful heap. “I hate those,” he mutters, half to himself. “They just get in the way.”

"I know something else that's getting in the way," you counter, and stand up off the bed, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. "Do you want yours off too?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Can we... Can we turn the light off, or something?"

"Of course, if it makes you feel more comfortable." You quickly pad over to the other side of the room, flicking the light switch by the door.

It's clear that some time has passed since the two of you returned home by the way the room is plunged into a dim evening gloom when you turn the light off. "Too dark," Yoongi mumbles unhappily, and crawls over the mattress to reach the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and pushing the head of the lamp down so that it's just enough to see by. His face looks softer in this glow, and more relaxed. He gets out of his jeans quietly and without fanfare, settling back onto the bed.

In nothing but your underwear, when you lie down beside him and pull him into a languid kiss, you can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples pressing against his chest. He shivers in the cool air, mouth slack as you take control of the kiss. You’re all too happy to take things slow, not wanting to rush him, and so you lose track of time, simply kissing him until Yoongi is the only thing filling your thoughts.

After a time, your kisses become more frantic; sucking, nibbling, licking until your lips are swollen and slick. You let your hands roam the planes of his body, flat palms running up his chest and slipping over the curve in his lower spine. You swing a leg over his hips and gently press your heel, urging him closer until there’s nothing but the two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart. 

You sigh into his mouth when you feel a thumb swipe over one of your pebbled nipples, sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to your core. 

“Is this okay?” he questions as he begins to gently roll it between his fingers. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his hand, your kisses growing sloppy. “Feels good?” You groan out your confirmation, clenching your thighs tighter as he keeps the same delicate pressure, tugging lightly at it to see how stiff it can get between the pads of his fingers. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, “so good.” You bask in the sensation for a while longer, before you can no longer maintain your mouth on his. You clasp your hand over the one of his that cups your breast, gently pulling it away. “I want you, Yoongi.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with anticipation as you lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, face just above his clothed crotch. “You don’t have to-” he protests weakly, but you cut him off, patting the top of his thigh reassuringly.

“I want to,” you counter. “You took care of me when I had nowhere to stay, you took care of me when I got sunburnt. You even took care of me with Mrs. Na. So let me take care of you, baby.” 

You slip the fabric of his underwear down over the swells of his ass, watching as his cock springs up and rests on his stomach. It seems silly to say, but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. Leaving his underwear half-on around his thighs, you take him gently in your hand, mouth watering. 

With a delicate pink head and a graceful curve, he’s smaller than you would’ve expected, but somehow this dainty cock fits him perfectly. It looks beautiful in your hand, and when you pump him, beads of precum pool in his slit, threatening to spill over. 

You take him in your mouth, flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip as you create some suction. He lets out a satisfied sigh, muscles tensing. After taking him deep in order to get him lubricated enough, you slip off him with a pop and begin jerking your wrist, working him to pull more moans from his swollen lips. 

“Feels so nice,” he praises, though he can’t stop from wiggling under your ministrations, the elastic around his thighs keeping him from moving much. 

When you suck him down again, you keep your eyes up, wanting to drink in his reactions. Eyes bunched shut in pleasure, he’s fully unaware of your gaze. 

He looks beautiful, even from this angle, and you’re struck by the fact that this will be the first time of many, that you’ll see him from below like this many times in the future, and that soon you’ll be able to decipher every twitch of his eyebrows and every gasped cry. 

Suddenly his eyes are opening, staring down at you in awe, and you feel your heart swell. You can’t take it anymore. You give him one last flick of your tongue, and crawl up his body to join your mouth to his, reveling in the way his two tastes mingle in your mouth. 

“I need you,” you chant against his lips, “are you still okay to take this all the way?” 

He nods quickly, but rubs behind his ear. “Could we get under the covers? I tend to, uh, fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards so I don’t want to freeze overnight.”

You laugh softly, sitting up to slip your panties off before you tuck yourself under the sheets. When you turn to wait for him, he’s frozen with his mouth hanging half-open. You give him a confused smile. “What?”

He blinks, shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts, and cracks a wonky grin. “I’m somehow the luckiest and most stupid man in the world.” 

“How do you figure that?”

He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way and scoots under the blankets to join you, propping his head up with his hand as he lies on his side. “I’m the luckiest because I’m in love with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she for some reason loves me back.” 

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “And why are you the stupidest?” 

“It took me this fucking long to do anything about it.”

You let out a loud laugh, reaching out for his hand to entwine your fingers again. The movement feels natural and the warmth of his palm in yours is already familiar and reassuring. “Let’s make up on lost time, then.” 

He grins, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, then gasps. “Wait,” he pouts, “I have to go grab a condom!” 

You push yourself up and reach over his body to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry,” you assure, “the lovebirds have us covered.” 

In the drawer are three boxes of condoms. You rest on top of Yoongi’s bare chest as you reach into the open one, fiddling around for a square packet in the almost-empty carton. 

Yoongi leans over and widens his eyes. “God, how many times did they fuck in here?” When he cranes his neck, he sees the two full boxes beside the one you took. “How many times were they planning to fuck in here?”

You giggle, sitting up again, but it’s cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look down to see Yoongi latched on to your nipple, looking up at you innocently through his brown curls. You groan again, feeling his tongue swipe against it and his teeth nibble on it teasingly.

He pulls off you with a wet pop, hand coming up to massage at it, soothing away the slight pain from the bite. “Sorry,” he mutters off-handedly, though it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

You grin and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him with his cock resting just in front of your bare pussy. He swears lowly and tips his head back onto the pillows. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, “I liked it. In fact, feel free to do that again anytime.” 

He blushes hotly, and as you bring your hand down to palm at his stiff cock, you marvel at the fact that he’s still so flustered around you. You wonder how long he’ll take to build his confidence, or if he’ll always be your sweet, shy boy in the bedroom. As you let go of his hand to rip open the packet and slide on the condom, you’re not sure which outcome you’d want more. He does look so beautiful splayed out in below you, neck blooming in colour from your markings. 

“Ready?” you check in one last time. Yoongi breathes out deeply and nods, but clutches his right hand out in front of you. You interlock your fingers with him once more and sit up on your knees, using your free hand to line him up. 

His whole body trembles when you sheath yourself on him in one swift movement. His eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. You can see his knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and your hand. “Y/n,” he breathes out in a tight voice, “go slow. Please.” 

You bite your lip at the feeling of him inside you, clenching your folds to increase the friction as you lift up off him slowly. Creating a slow but deep pace, you let the sounds of his delicate cries fill your ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as a whine or moan of pleasure. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise breathlessly. “My good boy.” 

His hips buck up and you hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into you deeper than before. “God,” he whines hopelessly. 

“I thought you said slow,” you tease, resting your interlocked hands on the bed and trailing the fingertips of your other hand over his chest lightly, feeling the way his dick twitches inside you when you pass over his nipple.

He makes a noise of disagreement, tossing his head side to side when you begin to slowly swirl your hips, grinding on him rather than riding him. “Wan’more,” he pleads. 

You grab his other hand, keeping them both pinned to the pillow on either side of his head as an anchoring point for you to keep yourself steady as you begin to pick up your pace. 

He writhes beneath you so beautifully, and that paired with the grind of his cock inside you brings you to the edge after only a few more minutes. Yoongi is clearly suffering the same lack of longevity by the way his moans are short and high pitched, thighs trembling in desperation. 

Rather than words, you indicate you’re close by bending down and joining your lips together again, wanting to be as connected with him as possible when you reach your edge. The moment he moans your name into your mouth, you feel a powerful orgasm spread through you, coming from within and igniting pleasure in all your nerves. Your toes curl and your pace stutters, but you force yourself to continue as long as you can, grinding on him when you don’t have the strength to bounce up and down. He comes with a cry, clutching your hands so close they hurt, mindlessly babbling confessions of love. 

True to form, he indeed becomes very sleepy very fast, and you have to take the condom off for him as the moment you get up off him, he lets out a tired mumble, nuzzling his face into any skin of yours close enough in his sleep. 

You laugh silently, fondly, and join him under the heated covers, wrapping an arm around his middle, just like that night under the stars. 

—

You wake up before him that next morning. 

Although it’s late autumn, the sun streams in lazily through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over his delicate body. He grunts unhappily when you separate yourself from him, and in his sleep he turns around, seeking your warmth. 

When you dress quietly, opting for his oversized sweater and some panties rather than your own clothes, you listen to the regular sound of his breathing, feeling it calm you. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s drooling out the corner of his mouth, but still, you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Min Yoongi. 

The soft pink of his sweater brings to mind a different shade, a vibrant one. The azalea petal that presumably still resides on his nightstand, the one he kept all those months ago. Did he really love you that whole time? 

You smile softly at the thought, and tip-toe out the guest room, towards the kitchen. With the only sound being the chirping of the birds outside, you grab the jar of Boseong Breakfast tea, and pull out two mugs. 

[enamoured-x]

If it’s okay with u I would like to request #57 and #90 from the Smut list, if I can, I was wondering if it can be around like the reader is at college and Rio stops by to bring her lunch??

Damn, I wish I had Rio to get me through my finals week. At least it’s over! Anyways, this was fun to write! (gif not mine)

Warnings: NSFW

Finals week. Those two cursed words that you dreaded at the end of every semester. Just like every other college student, you were running on coffee and just a few hours of sleep, most of your time spent cramming in as much information as you could retain. You were exhausted, jittery, nervous, and so damn stressed. 

You were currently occupying a corner in the upper floor of the library, away from everyone and anything that could potentially distract you. You had been at it for three hours now, your eyes were burning from constantly going over your textbook and highlighting key things to remember, which was basically every damn sentence. You had two more finals this week and then you’d be home free, ready for winter break. Well, free until next semester at least. Fuck, you were going to cry, again. 

You leaned your head against your fist, flipping through your notes. 

“You know it wouldn’t kill you to take a break.” You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the voice. You turned your head to see Rio leaning against one of the book shelves, a brown paper bag in his hand. 

“Rio? What are you doing here? How did you find me?” You set your highlighter down and faced him. You had told him you would be at the library again today but never specified where.

He shrugged and placed the bag on the table in front of you. 

“You mentioned you come up here because it’s quieter than the main floor.” Perhaps you did. You couldn’t remember much of anything besides your notes this past week. 

“So I brought you dinner.” He said, further explaining why he was here when you couldn’t help but glance back at your notes, reading what was written there. You were just trying to read the last couple of sentences when Rio closed both your notebook and your textbook. 

“Hey! Rio!” You grumbled and went to try and open them again but he pushed them to the other side of the table. 

“You’ve been at it for hours and I know for a fact that’s your third one today.” He nodded to the now empty venti coffee cup. It was true, it was your third. 

“I need to study.” You explained. He shook his head and plopped down into the seat next to you. Taking out the food from the paper bag. Pad thai, from your favorite place. 

“You need to eat, mamas. This ain’t healthy. I know you’re studying and I love that you’re so driven but you won’t be able to pass those tests or even remember those notes if you don’t keep up your energy.” You refrained from saying the coffee was giving you energy but you knew he meant actual substance. And the coffee was draining you now. You knew it was bad, not eating all day and running on caffeine, but half the time you didn’t even realize you were doing it. You sighed and grabbed Rio’s hand. He always knew what was good for you. He was always taking care of you. 

“I know, you’re right. I just get so distracted and then I forget to eat.” He brought your hand up to his lips and placed a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Which is why I’m here to remind you.” He pulled away to start taking things out of the bag. Handing you small containers. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took in the spicy sweet smell of the food and your stomach growled. You quickly started to eat. You sat there with Rio, eating dinner while talking about his day, his way of making sure your brain took a little break from your work. 

Once you were finished, Rio collected all the scraps and threw them in a nearby trash can. 

“Thank you, babe. I needed that.” You told him and you stood up. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he leaned down to place a kiss to your lips. You hummed into it as he easily took control and slid his tongue in your mouth. You pulled away when you felt the familiar throb in your core. Rio barely had to do anything to get you started.

“Okay, okay. Stop.” You pushed him away, groaning. But there was still a smile on your lips and he laughed as he kept going in for more even as you playfully kept dodging him. He finally took hold of your face and brought your lips to his again. You let him. You had missed him this past week, you spent most of your time here and even when you were at home, you were still studying. You melted into the kiss as your tongue met his again. Your brain turned foggy as his tongue gently played with yours, dragging out the kiss, slow and sweet. 

“Rio…” You groaned. 

“Something wrong, mamas?” He moved his lips down to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin just below your ear. You gasped and clutched on to his waist with one hand, the other resting on his neck. You didn’t know if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. 

“We’re in the library.” You reminded him but made no move to stop his ministrations on your neck. You knew you’d have to cover up once he was through with you but you didn’t seem to care. 

“Then we’ll have to be quiet.” You pulled away at that. 

“Rio, we can’t…” you flushed and looked around, “we can’t have sex in the library.” You were convinced no one was even on this floor anymore, you couldn’t hear anything and it was already really late. Half the time you were the last one on this floor. 

“No? You don’t want me to take you against these shelves right here? Hmm?” He licked a strip up your neck. You shuddered. 

“Someone might see us.” There was nothing stopping someone from walking up to this floor and along the aisles. You would be right out in the open, even between the filled bookshelves. You felt yourself get wetter at that fact. 

Rio and you were no strangers to having sex in some semi public places but in the library? Where anyone could walk by? Where you could get in serious trouble? Rio smirked at you, like he knew you were thinking about getting caught. Like he knew you were just as turned on as he was at the idea of it. 

“Makes it more fun.” You huffed out a laugh at his words but there was no humor in his voice. Just solid and unfiltered need. He slid his hands down your sides, grabbing onto your waist and pulling you closer into his chest. Your heart was beating like crazy against your chest, were you really going to do this? 

He then grabbed your ass in his hands, messaging then squeezing. You gasped and bit your lip, not wanting any other sounds to slip out. 

“Just wanna help you relax.” He whispered his words against your lips and then tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth. You gave in, pulling him in closer. 

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you.” You disconnected your lips from his to get your words out. That’s all he needed to push you toward the aisle and then against the shelf. Your adrenaline spiked at the thought of someone walking by.

“Gotta be quick, corazón.” He whispered as you started to tug on his pants, his hands already unbuttoning your own pants. He tugged them down just enough to slide a finger inside you, you bit your lip and grabbed onto his shoulder as you bucked against his hand for friction. You pulled down his briefs and wrapped your hand around his now hard and leaking length. He moaned lowly and then swatted your hand away and pulled his fingers from your core. He quickly turned you around, you grabbed onto the shelf to steady yourself as he wasted no time sliding into you and bottoming out. You leaned your head against the shelf and tried to contain the moan that was threatening to come out. 

He dipped his chin into your neck and put his lips against your ear.

“Gonna fuck the stress away.” He said and then he was driving into you. Your nails scratched at the shelf as you tried to focus on not crying out with every roll of his hips. He grounded into you, keeping his thrusts as quiet as he could be. It was near impossible and the low slap of skin on skin was still present. You didn’t care as he kept hitting the spot that had you near dizzy. 

“Rio…” You whined under your breath. You let out a few whimpers at a few harder thrusts. 

“Feel so good for me. So wet, so fucking tight. Should make you take a break on my dick more often.” You moaned at his words but he didn’t stop. Instead he reached down past your stomach to rub his thumb over your clit. 

“Fuck, baby! I’m gonna come.” You were so close to the edge. So close to falling.

“Want you to come. Wanna make you feel good.” He grunted, his thrusts now sporadic. You knew he was at his end too. 

“Can’t make a mess…” You knew you weren’t exactly making sense. But you knew if Rio was close, he needed to choose where he was going to come because pulling out was not an option. Not that he never came inside you because it was most definitely a frequent occurrence, but you let him choose usually. 

“I’ll just have to come inside you then.” He said and then rubbed your clit faster. And that was it. You were falling, taking all the stress and worries down with you till all that was left was mind shattering pleasure. You pressed your hand to your lips, still whining but keeping the noise at the back of your throat. He thrusted into you a few more times before he stilled and growled, spilling inside you. You felt the tension slowly leave your body as you settled into your post orgasm high. He caught his breath as you did the same, then he finally pulled out. You quickly pulled up your panties and jeans, not wanting to have him dripping down your thigh and also not wanting to get caught after getting away with the main event. He pulled up his pants and buttoned them. 

“Feel better?” Rio cupped your face gently in his hands when he turned you around to face him again. You sighed and nodded. 

“So much better. Thank you.” You flushed at the fact that you just had sex with him in your campus library. 

“Let’s go home, mamas. Let me run you a bath, get you relaxed again.” That sounded like bliss, so you nodded and let him help you pack up your stuff. He took your hand in his and let him lead the way out. You bit your lip, you were sure every time you came to this little nook to study, all you were going to be thinking about was Rio taking you against the shelves. But damn, what a good distraction it would be. 

[entering--hyperspace]

So I made my bh oc a fake companion with his own companion alert and everything because my game design brain is Like That. Below I’ve included bios with likes/dislikes, some abilities, and an overview of his quest. Even some idle dialogue! Lol. Click images for better quality

Homeworld: Found on Tatooine

Family: unknown

Notes: usually accompanied by a bird of some sort.

For those born force-sensitive it might seem like their only options are to become a Sith, or a Jedi. Rohan, however, walks an entirely different path. After leaving the Jedi order at a young age Rohan was raised by a rag-tag crew of Bounty hunters who taught him how to best use his connection to the force to track down any target, making him one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy. When Rohan became bored with regular bounties, he set his sights on other force-sensitives, giving him a reputation as the bounty hunter with the most successful captures of both Jedi and Sith. This eventually caught the attention of the Hutt families who sponsored him in the latest great hunt, where he became it’s next champion

Likes: High stakes, professionalism, honor, mercenary work, neutrality, his bird

Dislikes: Unnecessary violence, picking sides, being taken advantage of, grudges

Primary weapon: Lightsabers

Secondary weapon: Stuka (Pet)

Gifts

Weapon: LIke

Military Gear: indifferent

Courting: indifferent

Luxury: indifferent

Technology: Like

Republic Memorabilia: indifferent

Imperial Memorabilia: indifferent

Cultural Artifact: Like

Trophy: Favorite

Underworld Good: Favorite

Abilities:

Notes: Rohan's "class" Mechanics takes inspiration from the Jedi knight, while borrowing abilities from the bounty hunter and Jedi classes to fit the character. To elaborate, Rohan uses the "Focus" system just as the Jedi knight does, and any other abilities taken from the Sith warrior and/or bounty hunter are either refitted to match this, or are simply tweaked as to not override the core mechanic.

Rohan's unique abilities;

Deafening Screech

Cooldown: 80s

Range: 25m

Stuka's screech taunts all enemies within a selected area, focusing their attention on Rohan for 15 seconds.

Blinding claw:

Cooldown:50s

range : 30m

Stuka rapidly attacks a selected target, leaving them stunned for 20 seconds, or until they are disrupted.

Hunter’s intuition

Stance change: Dual blades.

Prerequisite: Full Focus

In this Stance Rohan gains a 30% Increase in speed, a 20% Increase in accuracy, and a temporary bonus to weapon damage for 10 seconds

Force charge:

Cooldown: 14.5

Range:10-30m

Rohan jumps to a distant target slamming his staff into them, dealing 4380-4656 weapon damage, interrupting the target's current action and immobilizing the target for 3 seconds. Cannot be used against targets in cover. Strikes with both weapons if dual wielding.

Other:

Blade Barrage

Cooldown:18s

Range::4m

Performs a series of lightsaber attacks that deal 6766-7068 weapon damage. Strikes with both weapons if dual wielding.

Electro net:

Cooldown:90s

Range:30m

Fires an electro net that ensnares the target, reducing its movement speed by 50% and dealing energy damage over 9 seconds. While affected, a target that moves takes 20% more damage from electro net, and this effect can stack up to 10 times on enemy players or 5 times on any other target. Additionally, the electro net hinders the target, preventing the use of high mobility actions and escapes such as charges, vanishes, and speed boosts. Lasts 9 seconds.

Force sweep: Strikes the target and up to 8 enemies within 5 meters with the Force, dealing 1268-1395 kinetic damage. Also stuns weak and standard enemies for 1.5 seconds.

Queststep overview:

Lana beniko is the quest giver for this companion alert. Lana informs the commander of an expert tracker,b whose skills would be valuable to the Alliance-so long as he could be convinced to join. She has been unable to contact him for some time but knows he was last seen on Rishi should the Commander be willing to investigate.

The Commander travels to Rishi. After talking with Arankau at the Rishii village, the Commander is informed of both the location of the contact and his identity as the latest grand-champion of the Bounty hunter Great Hunt. Before leaving Arankau informs the Commander that they hired Rohan to find out which pirate gang had been ruining their camps, and would prefer he finish the job before attending to whatever business might be awaiting him in the Alliance.

After investigating each village, with the help (or lack thereof) of the Commander’s observational skills, alongside Rohan’s psychometry, they discover the culprits are fellow hunters hired by one of the local pirate gangs to burn down the villages in order to make room for more of the pirate's operations. The confrontation gives the player's a glimpse into how Rohan views his profession, and the enemies he has made because of it. After fighting the hunters, as well as the pirates themselves, the player is given the choice to either let the pirates and bounty hunters go-- so long as they leave the Rishii alone-- or kill them all

Either way, after returning to Arankau, Rohan has one final conversation with the Commander. After seeing the Commander’s skills, and talking with them about the Alliance as well as the benefits of joining them, Rohan agrees to their offer.

Note: This quest is very detective-like. The player is meant to take a close look at each village, gather context clues within the environment to discover what had occurred, and who might have been responsible. For example, scorch marks around the houses implies a fire. The amount of tracks suggests a group, and the heat signatures in the air suggest what kind of blasters might have been used. If the player successfully observes the surroundings (with the game knowing these choices when Rohan asks what they have found) they can gain both an achievement, and make the final confrontation easier by taking a direct route to the pirate camp, an option that would be closed to them should the player fail the observational checks. This detour is not long, just a few more enemies down a different path. Choices matter yadda yadda yadda.

Being called out:

“Another day, another hunt”

“I got your back”

“What’re we up to now?”

“M’um m’aloo”

“I’m itching to get back to the fight.”

Ambient Dialogue:

“Rule 1, No bounty is worth dying for.”

“Sometimes I wonder if the Jedi still think I’m dead, then again that was a lifetime ago.”

“You carry a lot of history with you, maybe we can swap stories sometime.”

“Where are we? Oh, right.”

“I swore we were just...never mind.”

“Stuka, drop it!”

“You can’t eat everything you see, Stuka.”

“Stuka seems to like you, she doesn’t like just anyone.”

“Hunt well, Commander.”

“Trust in yourself, nothing else.”

“Taa baa, Eyeta”

“As much fun as this whole alliance thing is, I do miss a good bounty.”

“If the hutts ever try to collect the bounty on my head...just ignore them.”

“Don’t wear yourself out, alright? There will always be time for another day..”

"I suppose I'm still on mandalore's bad side. Been a while since I've received any job offer from them. Oh well, you win some you lose some."

“If most hunters followed the code our profession would be more respected.”

“The Jedi have the light, and the sith wield the dark...my path is my own.”

Combat: DPS

“Utinni!”

“Finally! I was just starting to get bored!”

“You can’t hide from me!”

“Stuka, ashuna!”

“Time to collect!”

“Your journey ends here, not ours!”

[hrh-selene-r]

Celebrity/Character Crush Tag game!!

• tag; post below ten characters, musicians, or celebrities you are attracted to/love and have people assume your type.

Tagged by the Marvelous @ellelaconiwrites 😘 love ya hun!! And yes Michelle Yeoh is AMAZING. Be warned, this list comes in no particular order...so please don’t make me choose

1. Tom Hiddleston (he’s fun, cultured, smart, talented, has a great sense of humor and is good looking; not to mention that he has a boyish charm. If you think he’s a goody goody, you haven’t seen him nasty😏....plus he has a dog named Bobby 🐶)

2. Adam Driver (OF COURSE he’s on my list...I’m not an idiot.. What can I say, he’s a tall and handsome/cute drink of water, he’s also funny and goofy, but thoughtful, talented, hard working, and smart. Not to mention that he has a doggie named Moose 🐕. Of course I Stan! )

3. Cody Fern (While I’m not usually a fan of blonde men, Cody is hmm. This beautiful Aussi falls under my list of men that play with gender. There’s nothing sexier than a man that’s confident enough to play with gender. 🤤 AND!! He’s a great dresser and when he wears make up, ufff. He can be sweet, snarky and Daddy all in one. Plus he’s never boring and is talented, thoughtful.)

4. Adam Sackler & Phillip Altman (They’re both mischievous little boys trapped in men’s bodies. They’re both endearing and obnoxious, but very sweet and emotional. I also like that Adam likes to the role of a caregiver, he likes to feel needed and responsable for someone, and that makes him a good potential to be a father.)

5. Alexander Vlahos (Actor, writer, director, and cat lover. He does it all. Alex is super funny, goofy, smart, witty, handsome and beautiful. He looks good in drag or just hanging out. We have to Stan.)

6. Alexander Ludwig (He’s a gorgeous Canadian Maple, and I can’t help but make heart eyes at him.)

7. Clyde Logan (They grow them big at West Virginia! I just wanna lie on the couch with him and read a book or cook dinner. Like with Paterson -another military vet- Clyde makes you appreciate the simple life.)

8. Toby Regbo (Actor, activist and amateur drag queen. We Stan Stella Lagoon, but I like Toby more ;). He’s so intelligent and thoughtful, he reads a lot of philosophy books and also donates his time doing charity. Plus those eyes are entrancing and I just wanna have a laugh with him while staring at them all night.)

9. Dr. Mikhail Varshavski, D.O., AKA Dr. Mike. (He has to be on this list. He’s a Russian doctor, he’s handsome AF, funny, goofy and is a doggy daddy to Roxy and Bear. He also has a YouTube channel and honestly his best moments are when he’s not perfect.)

10. Jake Gyllenhaal (this is a long time coming. I don’t know if it’s his face, his eyes, his smile or his laugh, but 😍.)

Honorable mentions

Toby Grisoni (He’s a bit of a cynical asshole, but he’s a sexy AF cynical asshole. He needs someone to whip him into shape and show him a bit of humility)

Alexander Dreymon (I have no words for this beautiful German man.)

Paul Rudd (he’s been a crush of mine since the 90’s and I still adore him)

Chris Evans (That’s America’s ass ;)

Jared Leto (He’s a bit of a fuckboi but he’s an immortal one. Plus he’s fun and really smart. He contemplates things a lot and is a nature lover, he has fun with his appearance and is very creative. Plus he’s hung...I mean, there’s a reason they call it Satan...plus he’s into some sado masochist stuff. I’d try it.)

Darren Criss (I cant put my finger on it.)

Michael Langdon (He’s the son of Satan and he’s kinda sexy. He’s not always sure, and he had some help along the way, but when he finally came into his own...daaaamn.)

Nico Tortorella (I just a sucker for them. Nico is just 🤤 but they’re fun and has an adventurous soul. I am so team Josh in younger. To be clear they’re non binary.

Kylo Ren ( Complex character...need I say more. Kylo is a scholar of the force turned commander, turned Supreme Leader. He’s not evil, but also not all good -like any real person. I didn’t see enough of him to get a good grip of his personality, but that’s where we can fill the blanks -cause I can guarantee it’ll be better than whatever Disney would’ve come up with.)

Zuko (Bad guy turned good in the best way possible. Story/character wise: he’s what Kylo isn’t; a well redeemed antagonist. He fails, gets frustrated, tries to be funny but tends to be moody and humorless. But he has a soft cookie dough core underneath it all.)

James ‘Pale’ from Burn This (Jersey boy be Jersey. He’s tall, a hard worker an artist and has a motormouth. Yeah he’s obnoxious, is traumatized by his brothers death and has a cocaine habit, not to mention that he’s in a failed marriage and has issues expressing emotion, but god damn it if you can’t see the emotional vulnerability underneath.

Charlie Barber (I low key love his controlling energy. He’s probably a sub, if I’m honest. But he needs an assertive woman, the man is a controlling narcissist, so his partner can’t take his shit, has to bring him down a peg once in a while and support him, but also demand that he support them.

Sam Geggie: (Sam is a total creative power house as Gigi Goode. They’re funny and witty. I’ll be bad for them if they want. 😏. ❤️ In case you’re wondering Sam is gender fluid.)

L (So he’s basically a law breaking Sherlock Holmes. He’s actually a very engaging and intriguing character. And to be real, there’s an ego thing to being recognized by someone with his intelligence and influence.)

Bill Skarsgard (He’s beautiful.)

Sung Kang (He’s just gorgeous, and his attitude kills me.)

John Hamm (He’s masculine and traditionally handsome...plus he’s hung.)

Alexander Skarsgard (He can be my Viking any day)

Vegeta (yes I’m a dragonball fan. He is arguably the most complex character in the franchise. He is a present father and a supportive and loyal-to-fault husband. Sure he had some growing pains, but I Stan.)

Andreja Pejić (I had a crush before she came out as trans and I still have a crush on her)

Gustav Skarsgard (I cant even. There’s something there.)

Clark Gable (I don’t need to say anything, he’s just so suave and debonair.)

Kento Yamazaki (I mean c’mon. He’s cute)

Did I cheat? Maybe.. ;) Do I have a type? I don’t know, if you thinks so then leave a comment to let me know.

Tagging some friends!! @kowalskibro-adamdriverblog @ktellmeastory @adumbdryer @callmehopeless @direnightshade @commanderbensolo @tsarinastorm @jyn-z-solo @ohiobluetip @oh-adam @thomasscresswell @mind-p0llution @klauscarolove

[recurring-polynya]

Can we get some drabbles on Renji’s time with Squad 11 especially his interactions with Kenpachi and Yachiru? Obviously shenanigans with Ikkaku and Yumichika are welcome! Also, how did you think he was promoted to Squad 6 lieutenant? It’s safe to assume he applied (I can imagine his Squad 11 gang even helping him out with this) as that’s part of his “master Get-Back-Rukia plan” but moving from 6th seat to lieutenant is a leap and I imagine that Byakuya is super picky. Imagine his job interview!

I’ll do the meta part first.

#0. For starters, Renji spent 40 years reverse-engineering how to make Squad 6 Vice-Captain. He read every Teen Vogue profile on Byakuya, he clipped Byakuya’s unreadable etiquette column in the Bulletin, he studied Kuchiki military history, he hung out at Shirogane Ginjirou’s sunglasses shop and knew exactly when the guy planned to retire and got a bunch of spilled tea on Byakuya’s pet peeves, of which there are many. Byakuya is not exactly a complicated guy, it isn’t all that hard to figure out what the right answers to his interview questions are gonna be.

#1. I think there is an exam that qualifies you to be a vice-captain, and that Renji vastly over-prepared for it and got an extremely high score. Byakuya loves big numbers.

#2. There is a standard application for Vice-Captain that’s probably about 5 pages long. Renji’s application was 15 pages long. He included a personal essay and a long paean to how much he admired the principles of Squad 6. Byakuya loves Squad 6, and he loves a guy who is really enthusiastic about Squad 6.

#3. Renji is great in an interview. I headcanon that he and Rukia did a lot of con artistry back in Rukongai. Byakuya is a mark. Primarily, Renji gave him opportunities to pontificate, which Byakuya loves. Byakuya talked through 90% of Renji’s interview, and walked out feeling great.

#4. The only thing Renji had going against him was the reference section. Byakuya hates Zaraki and would go out of his way to avoid talking to him. Aizen was still salty that Renji left his squad, and tried to reverse psych Byakuya into not hiring him. (“Oh, I think he’d be an excellent second for you, Byakuya! He’s a bit impulsive, and I’m sure your influence would overcome some of that hotheadedness! His poor kidou skills shouldn’t be a problem, I’m sure you’ve got that covered yourself…”) Unfortunately for Aizen, Byakuya was already 80% on Team Renji and he realized Aizen was trying to play him, and Byakuya hates being played.

Job offer within 24 hours. Regrets came later.

I do a lot of shenanigans with Ikkaku and Yumichika, but not usually Kenpachi and Yachiru, so let’s try that for a change!

🗡️    💖   💪

“I have a Special Assignment for you, Abarai,” the Kenpachi grumbled.

Special Assignments could be anything, really. Running around dive bars in the upper Rukon, stapling up posters to advertise their next Recruitment Brawl. Delivering blotchy hand-written notes to Captain Unohana. Helping Zaraki set up elaborate obstacle courses that would then necessitate another Recruitment Brawl. The majority of Renji’s Special Assignments involved helping the captain get somewhere he needed to go. Zaraki was very good at getting lost, but Renji was exceptionally good at finding places. This worked out rather nicely, because there was almost always something interesting to fight in the places that Zaraki wanted to go, and the more Zaraki saw Renji fight, the more willing he was to bring him along.

“We goin’ somewhere, sir?” Renji asked hopefully.

Zaraki scratched his ass pensively. “Not today. C’mon in, I don’t wanna talk about it outside.” He let the way into what was occasionally jokingly referred to as his “office.” It was the place where Zaraki hung out and took naps during the day, in case anyone wanted to find him for fighting purposes. “Chisaka had to go to the Living World last week,” Zaraki explained, rummaging around in his kosode and pulling out a well-thumbed magazine. “She brought Yachiru back some manga she thought she would like.”

“That was nice,” Renji commented carefully. Giving gifts to Yachiru was nearly always an exercise in “no good deed goes unpunished.”

“Yeah, it went over real good,” Zaraki grumbled. “She liked it so much, she wants her hair done up like the kid in it.” He thrust the crumpled booklet at Renji. It was a girls’ manga, the kind with a lot of sparkles and girls in sailor suits. Zaraki poked a gnarled finger at a picture of a little girl with pink hair, twisted up into two little buns, with fluffy ponytails trailing down from them.

Renji rolled his eyes up towards his captain. “What the actual fuck, sir? Isn’t this more Ayasegawa’s department?” Zaraki didn’t like to be called ‘sir’ unless there was a profanity somewhere in the same sentence.

“Dammit, Abarai, I know you’ve let Ayasegawa do your hair. It takes him four fucking hours and he screams at you if you squirm. Yachiru can’t sit through that shit.”

Renji made an uncomfortable face. “Your hair always looks great, can’t you--”

“I tried! She doesn’t want me to use any gel, says it needs to be ‘fluffy’. How the hell are you supposed to do a hairstyle without gel, answer me that!”

“What makes you think I can do anything?” Renji finally whined.

“Look, I started at the top. Madarame ain’t got any hair, and Iba might as well not. You’re pretty fast, and you’re probably strong enough to hold her down, and at least you know how a ponytail holder works.” Zaraki sucked his teeth. “If you do it, I’ll fight you later.”

“Really?” Renji asked, his eyebrows shooting up. Zaraki didn’t usually feel that anyone below Ikkaku merited his time, and Renji jumped at every opportunity to convince him otherwise.

“Yeah, sure.” Zaraki flung open the door to the room where Yachiru sat, scowling, surrounded by an assortment of ribbons and barrettes. “I got help.”

“Wrong Way doesn’t know how to do hair!” Yachiru shouted.

Renji and Yachiru had an ongoing philosophical disagreement about the geography of the Seireitei. Yachiru had zero legs to stand on in this argument, but also, she was the one who came up with nicknames.

“He has a lot of hair,” Zaraki countered.

“That’s boy hair!” Yachiru returned. “It doesn’t count!”

“I… have done girl hair before,” Renji admitted, somewhat painedly. “Hair is hair!” He almost yelled “Gender is a construct!” because he had been reading some of the books Iba’s mom kept leaving in their room, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to explain what that meant. At this point, he just wanted to get this over with, preferably without getting kicked in the nose, which tended to happen a lot around Yachiru. “If you let me try, I’ll let you do my hair.”

Yachiru’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“You can’t cut it, but sure. Whatever.”

Zaraki was looking over at him with something that might have been respect. “Do you know what you’re doing, you crazy bastard?” he mumbled.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied.

🗡️    💖   💪

“They’re uneven, is all I’m saying,” Yumichika sniffed.

“I love them, he put extra ribbons on!” Yachiru howled, swinging her sheathed sword at Yumichika, who deftly ducked. The ribbons swung delightfully around the sides of her head.

“I’m honestly surprised there were any ribbons left,” Iba commented dryly.

“You can shut it, fucko!” Renji yelled. His hair was styled rather similarly to his vice-captain’s, except that his was in three (rather lumpy) buns, and his ponytails trailed more majestically. The curling iron had been a terrible idea overall, but the big, loopy curls at the ends of both Renji’s and Yachiru’s hair had definitely been worth all the burns.

Ikkaku rubbed his own bald pate. “I kinda like that look on him. 100 kan says it helps him fight better.”

“You’re on,” Iba agreed.

“What’s the hold up?!” Zaraki roared.

“Here I come!” Renji bellowed.

“Ganbatte, Wrong Way!” Yachiru cheered.

There was a loud crunch.

Ikkaku handed over the 100 kan. “It was worth a try.”

[missblissy]

Rebirth (Chapter Seven)

Alastor X Human!Reader ((Reincarnation!AU))

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

Everything about this city was beautiful. From street lanterns to the very distinctive architecture. New Orleans had this magical air to it that made everything seem romantic and otherworldly. You had never been here before so you got caught up in all the sightsees. You were still in the elegant red dress that matched Alastor’s crimson suit.

Your arm was looped with Alastor’s as the two of you walked down busy and noisy streets. Many people were out and about, bar hopping, drinking, dancing, singing and enjoying the night. Apparently, there was this bar that you just had to see, according to Alastor.

“It’s lovely in there, it’s much like a music lounge!” Alastor told you with a smile. You could see the genuine happiness on his face as he talked about this bar, “I use to go there all the time when I was alive,”

“How do you know it’s still there?” You asked him while raising a brow, “Didn’t you die like…” When did he die again? Uh oh, you forgot, “Um… You died a long time ago, right?”

Alastor flashed a quick toothy grin and gave you a side glance, “1933. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t keep tabs on the living world,” He then nudged you lightly, “I bet I know more about today’s news than even you do.”

You rolled your eyes, tempted to say something snide, “You sound like an old man. I watch the news, just… not every day. Or week,” You tried to defend yourself. Alastor’s low chuckle caused your cheeks to burn red, “Where the hell is this bar?” You shifted the conversation, “I’m ready for a drink,” And a big one at that.

“Almost there, my dear!” Alastor promised, “What’s your drink of choice?”

You looked at him and thought, “What was my favorite drink when I was a demon?”

A very dark look overtook Alastor’s features. You saw his teeth grow in size, his mouth twisted into an unnatural grin, “Blood,” He said wickedly. The dark look was gone, his teeth were back to normal and his smile was more relaxed, “Oh! You meant alcohol!” Alastor started to laugh at his own dumb joke, “Haha, you enjoyed gin, vodka, tequila. You had an uncanny taste for clear liquor and often refused the darker ones, like whiskey and rum.”

That was very different from now. You kind of hated alcohol and you’d only drink it if it was fruity and sweet enough to mask the gross burning liquor, “Mhm, not the same,” You shrugged, “I’m basic, give me a Mike’s Hard or a Twisted Tea. It’s can’t taste like shit.”

“All liquor tastes like shit,” Alastor hummed with a single chuckle. He wasn’t wrong there. Only a few minutes passed before he suddenly stopped in his tracks in front of an old rickety wooden door.

You were confused, what was here? It was just a dark pine door stuck between two buildings. There was no sign and no address. Nothing but a door. Alastor quickly swung it open, you saw that immediately behind the door was a dark stairwell leading below ground. You followed Alastor into the cellar with caution. There was a second door at the bottom of the stairs and Alastor thew that one open too. Music and smoke wafted from within. It smelled musty and thick of cigarettes.

How could you have not guessed? You walk into a dark underground bar and lounge. The lights shined low rays, making it easy to hide in the shadows. The floor was covered with a thin and dirty green carpet. The walls had wooden paneling that went about a third of the way while maroon wallpapers climbed to the ceiling. There had to be a few dozen people already in there. You took a look over at Alastor and saw stars in his eyes.

Little did you know that this was the bar where Alastor wasted away most of his life. It had barely changed. Sure there were new paintings and pictures, but so what? And yeah, there were dozens of TVs and speakers littering the walls now. Other than that, it was the same. Same gross green carpet with wine stains spotting all over the room, there were still green stain glass lights hanging from the ceiling, the bar looked exactly the same and there was a nice new pool table in the corner. Further back in the larger room was a small stage completely void of anything. Dozens of little tables scattered the room. This place was big enough to fit at least 80 to 90 people. It made Alastor incredibly happy to be here, even if it was some several decades later.

The two of you walked over to the bar without a word spoken between you. There were lush and comfy stools with soft green cushions for a seat. You gazed at the other people hanging around the bar. There was an older woman smoking a cigarette at the very end as she drank her margarita and played on her phone. A few seats away from you was a young man covered with tattoos and piercings.

Alastor quickly leaned on the bar with a smile. You stood beside him and you didn’t understand why you felt so nervous. It made you feel awkward to stare at him so much. You couldn’t help it though, his looks kept drawing you in. He looked rather dashing in the suit. He knew how to pick colors that complemented his features. He looked better without his glasses on too. You could see the dark and haunting color of his brown eyes. When he flickered his gaze towards you, you quickly averted your eyes and watched the bartender sluggishly walk along the bar.

He seemed tired and overly sleepy. The bartender shrugged as he asked, “What can I get for ya?”

You quickly looked at Alastor with a nervous expression. Luckily he was a man of action, “Two whiskeys, my good friend!” He tapped the bar twice with his hand and gave a large grin.

While the bartender got your drinks, you peered along the counter. That man with the tattoos was looking at you. Then at Alastor, then you again. The way he stared made you suspicious of him. You looked away from him as the bartender returned and slid two glasses towards you and Alastor.

“Give it a try, darling,” Alastor eyed you as he grabbed his own glass, “It’ll only bite a little bit,” Then he winked at you. It took you by complete surprise and you were quickly flustered. At the same time, he pulled a little black case from one of his pockets and unclipped the latch. As he flipped it open it revealed several dozen cigarettes tucked neatly in rows. Alastor swiped one quicky then snapped the case closed. You watched as the cigarette lit itself alive as if my by magic. Alastor wasn’t even looking at you anymore. This was the first time you saw his human face without some sort of smile. He had a soft and blank expression as he took a drag of the cigarette. Why did he make it look so…. attractive? He even did a french inhale, slowly passing smoking from his lips and inhaling it into his nose.

As much as you hated the burn of alcohol, you quickly grabbed your own drink and down a large gulp. Your heart was fluttering in your chest and you couldn’t stop it from beating harder and harder as every second passed. Once you placed the glass down you quickly rushed your words out, “I- uh!” You coughed and cleared your throat, “I need to you the restroom!” You actually needed a second to calm down, “I’ll be right back,” You flashed a little smile on your face as Alastor watched you with amusement.

“Take your time, dear,” He gave a sneaky and snide smirk, he was beginning to bring the cigarette back to his lips, but you quickly turned and walked off as calmly as you could.

Alastor watched your every step until you found the bathrooms and disappeared around a corner. He could finally let out the soft sigh and relax a little. Everything was going perfectly so far. All he had to do was keeping working his charm and soon you’d be his once again.

He took this time alone to reflect on the entire situation. Alastor flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette into an ashtray. With his free hand, he reached for his whiskey. As happy as he was to be here, it brought him a small sense of sorrow. It was beginning to become more and more clear that you were not the same person you once were.

It pained him because he was realizing that the person he was looking for was dead and gone forever. No matter how much he tried, he’d never have his beloved wife back. He couldn’t deny it however, he stilled felt a deep love for you even if you weren’t exactly the same. Little did you know, Alastor had come to terms with spending the rest of your natural mortal life with you, simply because he couldn’t bring himself to kill or even harm you in any way. He also felt the need to protect you from any harm as well. He wouldn’t allow you to killed in any way unless it was on your terms.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt this way. Maybe it had to do with the fact that your soul wasn’t tainted enough to go to hell, or maybe he loved your soul’s newfound purity. Maybe it had nothing to with anything, he couldn’t be sure. He had shut himself entirely off from his emotions the day you were reincarnated. It had been a long time since he explored the thoughts and let them run free in his mind. There was a strange uneasiness that overcame Alastor at the same time. He looked around and found the man looking at him, the one with the tattoos.

How interesting, Alastor watched this stranger begin to approach him. A little smile lingered on Alastor’s face. He wanted this man to go away and leave him alone, “Hello!” Alastor lifted his smile some more, “What brings you over here, my good fellow?”

The tattooed man was a little surprised at Alastor’s straight-forward approach, but other than that, he didn’t seem to fazed by it. Alastor could smell the pot and vodka rolling off of this stranger. It didn’t take a whole lot to see how intoxicated he was. There was even a drip from his nose and Alastor had no doubt that it was induced from a little knife bump of coke. But he smelled something much stronger, it was the soft and dull beat of blood rushing loosely through this drugged-up man. It was intoxication, it made Alastor’s eyes grow a little wider as he stared harder at the man.

“I wanted to know ‘bout that lady of yours!” The stranger slurred slightly, “She with you?”

“Ha!” Alastor enjoyed the stranger’s bluntness, “Something like that!” He bared his teeth with a smile, “I think there was someone more of your taste out on the corner there, old sport!”

The stranger laughed loosely and shook his head, “Aha, hmhm,” He sucked in a quick breath, “I was thinking you’re more my type. Or the both of ya.”

Alastor’s smile melted only slightly as it became more thin, firm and pressed. Why couldn’t he think of anything to say? He didn’t think this would make his as uncomfortable as it did. Panic leaked into his bloodstream for the first time in decades. How was this possible? He felt a bead of sweat form at his temple. Then a whisper crawled into his ear, saying, He’s only a human. Scare him away.

So he took a quick breath in and Alastor smiled calmly, “You don’t want to walk down this road,” He closed his eyes and smiled some more, “There’s nothing here for you!” His voice was bouncy and happy despite his true feelings hidden below his throat, “Nothing but a dead end!” Alastor smiled away.

But the man was either too drunk or stoned to hear the ominous threat in Alastor’s voice, or he just didn’t care. He leaned forward slightly, “You sure? I’ve got a ton of X and coke- Oh hey-”

You had just shown back up and you could feel the terrible tension in the air. The tattooed man was swaying on his feet and he had a sloppy half-grin on his face. Alastor, however, had dark eyes boring into the man and a smile on his eyes. His unblinking stare was menacing, “Hey,” You frowned. At the sound of your voice, Alastor turned his head quickly and he looked at you. He didn’t say anything though, “What’s.. uh… going on?” You looked between the two of them.

The stranger shrugged, “Just trying to see if ya’ll are interested in a little party-”

You quickly held up your hand, making him stop talking. This is why you hated bars and drinking, well… you mostly just hated drunks. Nothing was more dully and stupid than a drunk person, in your opinion. You frowned at the stranger, “I’m going to have to stop you right there, thanks but no thanks, we’re not interested.” You learned a long time ago that the only way to get them to go away is to tell them to fuck off, “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to enjoying my night.”

The man gave you a swore face, he shrugged again, “You’re loss,” The mood changed and he didn’t seem so happy anymore. He left with a flip of his long hair and muttering something under his breath.

You heard a sigh next to you, and you saw Alastor’s smile drop down to a mild grin. He seemed… upset? You weren’t very sure, “You okay?” You asked.

“I hate humans,” Alastor grumbled, “Primitive, primal, promiscuous. Utterly useless creatures,”

“What? Don’t like guys flirting with you?” You started to slowly chuckle at him. Was this what he was like when he was flustered or mad? It almost made you laugh. He just looked bitter with a dumb smile. Maybe it was because he was in his human form, but he didn’t look as intimidating or scary without all the evil demon teeth and claws.

“I’m not a fan of the outcome,” Alastor looked at you from a side glance. He waved a hand, “Fornication is utterly disgusting,”

Oh. You blinked, slowly understanding what he was trying to say, “So you’re like… Asexual?”

Now Alastor gave you a confused smile, “I wish I could go through mitosis,” He gave a weak laugh after that.

But you giggled behind your hand for a second. Oh, how the tables had turned, “No, Al,” You saw him perk up at the nickname, “It means yours not into fornication.” It looked like he started to understand, “You know, some people are homosexual? Hetero? You’re Asexual,” To help further your point, you dug out your phone and opened up the web browser. You did a quick google search then showed him.

He was wary, but he looked at your phone, quickly reading the words, “Hm,” He hummed, “Well would you look at that!” There was a smile on his face. He gestured for you to come and sit beside him again.

You climbed back into your bar seat once again and Alastor turned so he could face you. His cigarette was long burnt out and gone and he didn’t hesitate to pull another one out. He offered you one but you shook your head lightly, “So many things are different,” Alastor mumbled from behind the unfiltered end of the cigarette, “You used to smoke a pack a day,” He chuckled softly.

“Yeah?” He knew he had caught your interest. You perked up in your seat and even scooted a little closer, “What was I like? Like… aside from being a demon and your wife. Like personality and attitude?”

He couldn’t help the sweet smile from curling on his face, “You were very hardworking. People praised you for your incredible loyalty as well. But you were also uncontrollably emotional,” You faintly remembered the book saying something about that.

“What else?” You wanted to know so much more. You wanted to know everything you could know about your past self. It was an obsession you couldn’t ignore anymore.

“How about we focus on this version of you?” Alastor smiled a little more and gave a raise of his brow. You felt flattered that he wanted to know more about you. You remembered that you still had a glass of whiskey to drink.

As you grabbed the glass and took a sip, you asked after a brief moment, “What do you want to know?”

Alastor leaned forward and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. There was a light and spark in his eyes that made your hight jump a little, “Anything,” He said with a smile.

_________________________________________________________

“-I was so scared. He looks at me and says, ‘You lit?’ And I was…. I was totally baked out of my mind. It was the first time I… ya know? Aha- And my professor is looking at me and the whole class is! I almost started to cry but then he sharted to shake his hands and go ‘No, no, no! You eat that cookie! You stay lit!’ And he just goes on teaching!” There were about six or seven empty glasses next to you. A smile was on your face as you told some stupid story from your freshman year of college.

Alastor was listening intently with his own smile to match. He held your hand in his as they rested together on the bar, “Ya know I was always a fan of opium every now and again!”

For some reason that made you laugh a little, “I’d never do something like that,” It was safe to say you were tipsy. Maybe a little bit drunk. Just a little. Alastor, on the other hand, didn’t seem the slightest and he drank more than you, “Like you said. I’m just a goodie goodie.”

He chuckled and gave a grin, “I also said we could change that.”

“You said a lot of things,” You smirked. The last..? What time was it? Well, you had spent some time talking to Alastor. He asked about your life, your birthday. He found out you had no siblings and that your father was dying. He even wanted to know about what school you went to, what classes you liked. You didn’t expect him to be so curious. He cracked a joke every now and then and tease you for something silly.

It was nice to just… talk to him like this. It was almost like he was a real person who wanted to get to know you. A little voice in your said It’s almost like I’m on a date with a real guy who… likes me. You shook that voice away. And caught Alastor staring at you. You laughed nervously and said, “What?”

He just shook his head slowly then shrugged, “Nothing… You’re just very pretty. I like this version of you. Some things are the same, like your eyes and your smile. But others are different,”

“Like what?” Damn it! You couldn’t stop the little smile on your face.

“That’s not important,” He quickly dismissed your question, “It doesn’t matter whats different and what’s the same. I’m just happy to spend time with you again.” Why did that answer make your heart flutter?

His hand was still holding yours and you couldn’t deny that comfort you felt from his touch. It was familiar in a way that you just couldn’t describe. It was almost addicting in away. You could feel your soul reaching out and trying to touch Alastor.

What time was it again? You pulled out your phone and looked at the clock. You almost jumped out of your seat and lost your mind, “It’s three in the morning!? I have classes at eight am! Fuck!” You ran a hand through your hair then looked at Alastor, “This is your fault,”

He grinned, “Skip classes tomorrow, sleep in,” His voice called out and tempted you.

It sounded nice, but you knew better. You shook your head, “No, I need to go to bed, can you take me home?” You looked at him and waited for him to say something but he just grinned a sneaky little toothy smile, “Please?”

“Alright,” He finally said. He closed his eyes and with a smile, he snapped his fingers quickly. There was a static sound of white noise and suddenly you were outside your apartment door. Odd. Why didn’t he just teleport you guys inside? What if your door was locked?

Alastor quickly took your hand in his and brought your fingers up to his lips. He placed a kiss on them, holding your hand there as he gave you a look that gave you chills, “I had a lovely night with you, my dear. Until we meet again.” He placed another kiss on your knuckles. You wanted to say something but he quickly faded into a swarm of misty black shadows. He was gone before you knew it and you were alone with a might need for him to come back.

[taeken-my-heart]

Pig Pen

{I wrote this ages ago, probably two years ago, I can’t even remember anymore, haha. I privated it and now I’m putting it back on for those who wanted it since I can’t find the private post -.-)

Summary: An encounter with a pig pen couldn’t possibly lead to anything sexual...could it?

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: PWP. Don’t count on this being a regular thing, haha, this story just happened. 

Word Count: 3221

**

“Honestly, this is not at all what I was expecting.”

“I also was not expecting to land waist deep in the Vasco’s pig pen, so this is a fun surprise.” Yoongi replied sarcastically.

“This was your idea, Yoongs.” You griped, pulling yourself to the edge of the muddy pen and heaving to a stand at the fence with a loud huff.

“Um, excuse me, sneaking into the party that I distinctly remember not being invited to, was definitely your idea.” Yoongi hissed, climbing his way up beside you and frowning down at his mud covered clothing. “These are my brand new shoes!”

“Yes, but sneaking through the neighbors back yard to get there was your idea. How did you not plan for this sort of a thing?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that they had a pig pen in the backyard of their suburban, white picket fence house. This has got to be against some kind of code.”

“Talk louder, I definitely want Mr. Vasco to find me out here covered in mud and whatever the hell else was swimming around in there.” You scowled.

“Why are you the worst person ever?” Yoongi seethed.

“You say that so often and yet you keep hanging out with me. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Peering around the edge of the house, you booked it for the front gate, pushing your way through with mud slicked hands and into a, thankfully, deserted cul de sac that housed mostly old people and Yoongi’s family at the very corner.

The two of you had been sneaking through the back yards and across roofs and fences to get to the party being held at Jackson’s place, but now there was no way you were going to show up like this. You were most definitely covered in mud and pig crap.

“Come on,” Yoongi sighed, “let’s go to my place and we’ll get cleaned up."

**

After stepping into the garage of Yoongi’s house he ordered you to wait while he went to go get towels. You stood in the garage pouting so that when he came back he would know just how unhappy you were with him making you wait like a dog while he was allowed to go in. He returned a few minutes later in just his boxers with a towel in hand.

"I’m gonna go inside and wash off. You strip down here and put your stuff in the sink. We’ll put our clothes through the wash once we’re both clean. You know where the guest bathroom is.”

The hot water was a welcome relief as you washed the mud from your legs and arms, careful to keep your face and hair out of the spray. You’d been lucky to only land in waist deep so clean up was relatively easy. After toweling down and wrapping yourself up warm you walked back towards Yoongi’s room, pausing outside the door to knock before stepping inside.

“Don’t you knock?” Yoongi growled, pulling his boxers up and over his hips quickly and you sighed, rolling your eyes.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before. Besides, I did knock.”

“You haven’t seen me naked since we were 5; things don’t exactly look the same. Also, I don’t know how they do things on your planet, but here it’s common practice to wait until told to enter. In an effort to avoid awkward situations, much like this one."

"Is this considered awkward?” You asked, clucking your tongue in annoyance.

Yoongi glared at you before noticing you were still only wearing a towel and rubbing his eyes. “Where are your clothes, Y/N?”

“Well you see, Yoongles, when we fell into the pile of mud and pig slop I was unfortunately only wearing one set of clothing. Next time I’ll think ahead. Let me borrow something.”

Yoongi muttered something angrily before grabbing a baggy t-shirt and throwing it to you. You quickly dropped the towel, watching as Yoongi’s eyes bugged before pulling the shirt over your head and letting it drop to the middle of your thighs. “You act like you’ve never seen a naked woman before.” You chuckled at Yoongi’s pink tinted cheeks.

“I have! I’ve just never seen your naked body before.” He growled, pulling on a pair of grey sweats.

“Pretty rocking, right?” You gloated.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, cheeks burning. “Why do you always have to make things weird?”

“Why does finding my body attractive have to be weird?” You pouted, “You’re a guy, I’m a girl. It’s only natural.”

“You’re not a girl,” Yoongi insisted, “You’re my best friend. You’re automatically disqualified from the girl category.”

You scoffed, sitting on the edge of his bed and folding one leg over the other. “That’s stupid, I’m not any less of a woman just because you’re not man enough to acknowledge it. I’m a woman and have needs like everyone else.”

“What the hell is happening?” Yoongi frowned, looking at you in confusion.

"I’m just saying.“ You shrugged. "Also, that pre game may or may not be loosening my tongue a little.”

"Not once in your life has your tongue been anything less than loose so I don’t know what kind of bull you’re spewing right now.“ Yoongi scoffed and you mimicked him childishly before sprawling backwards on his bed.

Yoongi groaned, turning his face away from you and shoving his hands in the pockets of his baggy sweat pants. "Why are you laying like that? You’re not wearing any underwear so I can see everything. It’s like you're trying to tempt me or something!”

"Is it working?“ You smirked, lifting your head to look at him.

Yoongi glared at you, cheeks still a lovely hue of pink contrasting against his beautiful, lightly tanned skin. "You’re an ass, you know that?”

Despite his words he came and sat beside you, knocking your leg out of his way with his knuckles and stared at the bedroom door in question. “So, I suppose we’re not going to the party?”

You shook your head, pulling softly at the ends of your hair and chewing on your bottom lip. “I’m not wearing any pants or underwear, Yoongs,” you whispered, “I’m not exactly fit for a party.”

“I would say you’re wearing exactly what you should be wearing for a college kegger, actually.” He murmured, looking down at you, his t-shirt riding further up your legs as you huffed.

You looked at him in curiosity as his vision traveled slowly up your legs, over your torso, pausing at your breasts before landing carefully on your face. You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Finally noticing I’m a girl?”

“Whatever.” He scoffed, looking away from you and you watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, sitting up in surprise.

Yoongi looked at you, frown etched into his brow. “Why would I be nervous?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “you just seem strange.”

“Well, you are just sitting on my bed in nothing but my t-shirt. You’re probably getting your butt crust all over my duvet.”

“Ew, I do not have butt crust!” You complained, smacking his shoulder, “Way to ruin a moment.”

“A moment?” He asked, looking at you.

“Sure. Kind of feels like we’re having a moment…or something.”

“Or something.” He mumbled. You hadn’t noticed how close you’d drifted to him until you could suddenly feel his breath on your cheeks. You tried not to shiver. “What’s happening right now?”

“Blame it on the alcohol.” You murmured.

“There are some bridges people shouldn’t cross.” He whispered as your face hovered right in front of his.

“Since when did you follow rules?”

Yoongi smirked before you finally took ownership of his mouth. You were probably going to regret this in the morning. While you were sure there’d always been a mutual attraction, you’d always maintained a “just friends” mantra that had been working for the two of you.

All through childhood, middle school, and high school you’d been friends. The kind that your mother called weird because 90% of the time your friendship was just the two of you insulting one another. It was a strange dynamic but it worked. You were both equally sarcastic and where Yoongi was sometimes scathing you were sassy and it just flowed.

This was a part of your relationship you’d never broached. You’d always wondered if it would happen, after all, bickering is just another level of sexual tension so you knew it could be possible to make this decision, but you certainly didn’t see it happening like this. You were definitely going to regret this tomorrow, but what the hell.

The ebb and flow of his mouth on yours, pulling you further into him like a moth to a flame. This was dangerous territory but you couldn’t stop yourself. Couldn’t stop trembling fingers from finding their way to the ends of his hair, threading through his still damp locks and tugging slightly.

You exhaled sharply as you felt a tug of his hands around your waist, pulling you into his lap, the heat of your bodies joining and causing a moan from Yoongi’s mouth to fall against your tongue. You could feel the heat traveling from the seat of his pants and into your center.

Yoongi’s fingers traced patterns on your thighs as you kissed, breath turning shallow as you smoothed your hands down his chest, resting against the strings of his sweats. His fingers dug into the flesh of your upper thighs, just below your ass and you gasped, rolling your hips into his.

Yoongi groaned, pulling away from your mouth and you quickly suctioned your lips to his neck, “What has gotten into you?” He mumbled, pulling your pelvis flush against his. You could feel the outline of his dick through his pants and you rocked against him once more.

“I think I’m ovulating.” You murmured.

“Gross.” He scoffed and you rolled our eyes, tilting his face towards yours and sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, nipping it hard.

“It’s perfectly natural, Yoongi,” you replied as he hissed, “my body is programmed this way. And right now, it’s telling me to let you fill me up.”

“You can’t say things like that.” Yoongi rasped.

“Why not?” You asked, sucking a bruise into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He shuddered beneath you.

“Because I’ll end up busting a nut before I even get inside you.” You moaned at the thought, rolling your hips against his once more. “You know what?” Yoongi replied, his voice husky and deep, “forget this.”

Before you could ask what he meant he’d flipped you onto your back and crawled possessively over your body as he took control of your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and grinding his hips deep into your own. You moaned, the t-shirt he’d lent you was doing nothing to restrict the sensation of his groin rubbing against your clit and you ached for more.

The feeling of his hands against your waist made you shiver and you practically yelped as he ground himself deep into you. “Get this off.” He choked, pawing at the t-shirt now hiked to the center of your abdomen and you let him tug it up and over your head before throwing it off somewhere in the distance. “Your tits are amazing.” He murmured and before you could reply he was taking your left nipple into his mouth and sucking a moan from your lungs.

“Not fair,” your complained, “why am I the only one naked?”

“Just let me enjoy this for a second, will you? Here.” He tugged his shirt off and threw it on the floor before returning to your breast and sucking blooming hues of pink and purple.

You ran your nails across his back and he hissed, growling up at you. “I hate when girls do that.”

“What the hell kind of man are you?” You moaned as he turned his attention to the next breast, pinching the nipple before running his teeth across it.

“The kind that doesn’t like to look like he got mauled by a bear.”

“You’re so annoying.” You gasped as he gave an extra hard suck to your nipple before kissing his way down your stomach.

“Says the bear.” He murmured and you shivered, his breath hitting a part of your body you never once thought your pain in the ass best friend would ever have his face right beside. Then again, this whole evening was turning out to be something completely unexpected. You blamed all the extra alcohol you’d consumed but really, you were just horny as hell and he was hot. You were way passed the point of no return so you might as well just enjoy the ride.

“What are you doing?” You asked as he positioned his face at your entrance and he scowled up at you.

“Are you seriously asking that?”

“I just didn’t peg you as such a giving lover.” You shrugged.

“We’ll see who’s being pegged.” He replied nonchalantly.

“Oh geez, did you seriously just say that?” You blinked in embarrassment and he smirked before leaning forward and licking a broad strip up your center.

“Yoongi.” You breathed, pulse picking up and you thread your fingers through his hair as he began a steady pace, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking. You were sure he was going to make fun of the sounds you were making tomorrow morning but right now you couldn’t help it.

He set a punishing pace, to the point you thought you might cry from ecstasy when suddenly he was pulling back and you frowned down at him. “What the hell, Yoongi?”

“I can’t wait any longer.” He mumbled, hastily pushing his pants and boxers down his legs. “You got a condom?”

“What if I said I didn’t?” You asked, biting your bottom lip and Yoongi stilled, staring at you in agony.

“Please tell me you’re joking because I don’t have any.” He replied, gripping himself as he stood at the end of the bed.

“Just checking.” You smirked, leaning across the bed to grab for a condom in your earlier discarded purse.

“You’re such an ass,” Yoongi hissed, taking the condom from you and rolling it down his length. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

“Mmm, make me pay, baby.” You hummed.

He may have been a little on the gangly side, but watching his figure loom over you as he made his way up your body and kissed you deeply was incredibly exhilarating. His fingers thread through your hair, teasing your tongue with his own before pulling back and grabbing his length to guide to your entrance.

“Ready?” He asked breathily and you nodded, shivering as you felt the head slide along your entrance before he began pushing in slowly.

It had honestly been a while since you’d last had sex so the stretch burned a little. His breathing was heavy, chest making contact with your own as he continued to push slowly into you until your hips met and he stilled, looking up at you.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, “what’s happening right now?”

The two of you looked at each other and laughed. “I don’t know, but it feels good.” You said, wrapping your legs around his waist and he sunk deeper inside you with a groan.

“You feel incredible.” He panted, pulling slowly out of you before thrusting back inside and you gasped, grabbing a handful of his ass to help push him further.

“So do you.” You admitted. His hands left your hips to grip the bars of his bed frame above you and he began a steady pace; in and out, in and out, cock sliding along your walls and making you hiss. “Wow, you’re actually really good at this.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Yoongi frowned, thrusting in harder and you felt yourself slip up the bed, hands reaching out to hold yourself away from the bedframe.

“You’re just so small and angry, never imagined you being so aware of where the g-spot is, you know?”

“You’re honestly killing the mood right now. I can feel myself going flaccid.” He grumbled.

“Sorry, sorry.” You murmured. Yoongi resumed his pace, breathes quickening and you inhaled sharply as he prodded your favorite spot repeatedly. You had the feeling it was an accident, he didn’t seem all that aware of what he was hitting with the tip of his penis, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving with exertion.

“You should kiss me or something, it’s weird not saying anything.”

“You’re so needy.” He complained, blinking down at you but kissing you deeply anyway. “Are you close?” He panted.

“Kind of?” You moaned as he ground against your clit in a downward motion, “If you keep doing that it won’t be long.”

“Good, because I won’t last much longer.” He moaned, picking up his pace, making sure to repeat the grinding action that had you seeing stars. You could feel the edge closing in and you continued your encouragements, breathes of his name leaving your mouth in rapid succession and suddenly you were exploding, body shivering, hips bucking as your orgasm washed over you and you felt Yoongi pick up his pace only to feel him shudder as he released inside of you and flopped heavily across your body as his orgasm overcame him.

Your fingers and toes were still tingling when you began to feel uncomfortable with Yoongi’s weight still resting on top of you. “Can you get off? You’re kind of sweaty.”

“Speak for yourself.” He replied, raising on wobbly arms and slipping out of you with a small hiss. He stood quickly, making his way to the bathroom to clean up before returning to the bed and you ran to the bathroom to pee. There was no way you were gonna get a UTI just because you let your best friend stick his dick inside you on a whim. Today might have been bad decision day, but not that bad.

After finishing your business you walked back into the bedroom to find Yoongi laying on his bed checking the messages on his phone and you began to search for his shirt. “What are you doing?” He asked, just as you’d slipped his shirt back over your head.

“I thought you’d want me to go?” You supplied. Yoongi scoffed, sitting up and grabbing your hand, pulling you down onto the mattress beside him.

“I like to cuddle after sex.” He murmured, burying his nose in the back of your hair and grabbing your boob beneath his shirt. It wasn’t even sexual either, it was like he just wanted something to hold.

“Are we gonna talk about what just happened?” You questioned as his breathing began to even out.

“What’s to talk about?” He murmured softly, “we had sex, it was good; we should do it again sometime. Let’s just figure out details tomorrow. I’m honestly exhausted so unless you’re up for round 2, which you’ll have to wait for because I’ve got a refraction time of 40 minutes, then let’s just sleep and deal with the implications tomorrow.”

“Fine by me.” You said, pulling the blankets up to your chin and dozing off. You didn’t really want to talk about it right now, anyway.

[sunflowerfromthefog]

When Vaulting Goes Wrong(Frank Morrison x fem!reader)

It was like 10pm and I suddenly got hit with inspiration to write, so here I am at 1:20am posting this with minimal editing, and making new accounts to post my weird Dead by Daylight noncon stuff.  Also, this is mostly inspired by me always getting stuck on the windows in DbD and getting caught by the killer.

Warnings: Noncon/Noncon elements, daddy kink, stuck in the wall kink, smut, dirty talk.  Don’t read if you don’t like, k?

Once again you found yourself running through a thick fog beneath full moonlight.  If it weren’t for the psychopath in a mask chasing you you might have been able to enjoy the ambiance of the creepy place, but...you glanced behind you, noticing that your attacker was catching up.  The smile painted on his mask was a little too cliche 90’s killer for your taste, as was his often mocking statements.  He kinda of made you miss The Shape’s silence.

“Where you going baby?” he called, knife in the air and ready to slice through your skin at the first chance it got.  “I told you I--ah, ah!”

Finally, you thought.  While Legion, or Frank as he called himself, was able to catch up in quick bursts it didn’t last forever.  You dashed forward into a labyrinth of brick walls and narrow alleys, hoping you’d be able to lose sight of him long enough for him to get bored of you.  You crouched down, desperate for a moment to catch your breath as you listened for Frank’s steps.

Your heart pumped furiously, desperate to push more adrenaline through your veins and get you out of this terrifying situation.  Maybe it would be terrifying if you hadn’t been through it a few times already, and Frank had actually killed you before.

It was strange being in a trial with a killer that showed you mercy.  You would say you weren’t sure why he did it, but the time he did manage to catch you coming out of a locker reminded you he had other things he wanted to do with you.  You shivered at the memory, trying to force it away and focus on the now.  But the feeling of him pressed against you in the locker, surrounded by darkness and the only sounds between you were heavy breaths was too invading.  Thank God David had managed to find you and pull Frank off of you before things went too far...before you let them get too far.  That was what had scared you more than anything--the idea that had David not shown up you would have been oddly willing to give into Frank’s unruly charm.

“Hey baby,” a voice said.  You blinked, shook back to reality by the voice of the very man you were thinking about.  His mask grinned at you as he crouched beside you, head tilted with his knife dangling between his fingertips.  “Miss me?”

You swore loudly and leapt to your feet, half expecting the knife to plunge into your back as you turned.  You made if the two feet to the window, ready to jump over it and give yourself a bit of space between you and Frank when something caught your middle.  You were halfway through the window, your arms ready to toss you into a roll on the other side when thin spindly arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.  “What the fuck?”

You kicked at the air, pounding your hands against the black branches that kept you from your escape but it was to no avail.  You clawed at the bricks, trying to push yourself forward or pull yourself back.  It was nearly impossible as your toes just barely brushed against the grass below.

“That’s a new one,” Frank said behind you.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to look at him over your shoulder.  Sweat dripped into your eyes, making it difficult to make out exactly where he was looking.  When he gave your ass a quick slap you figured it out.  “Don’t touch me!”

“Why not?” he questioned.  Frank began to palm your ass over your dress, fingers digging in hard and spreading your cheeks however he liked.  Oh how you regretted being taken into the fog while wearing a dress.  Why couldn’t it have been during a workout?  A nice pair of sweats and a sweater would have been perfect for this hell, but no, you were stolen from a summer festival while wearing a sundress.

You kicked at him but he was stronger than he looked and easily forced himself between your knees.  His gloved hands grabbed your ankles, forcing them still as he laughed.  “Damn, I musta been a good boy in a previous life to get this.”  His hands began to slide up your legs.  The leather travelled over your calves, along your thighs, giving them a hard squeeze as well before flipping the skirt of your dress up to rest on your waist.  Frank went on, “Do you think you were a good girl?  Or were you a naughty girl?”

“Shut up!” you ordered.  “Since when does the entity stop us from going through the windows?  What the hell is going on?”

You’re met with silence from Frank, though his hands begin to feel along your behind once more.  You hate to admit it but his ministrations are starting to have an effect on you.  There’s a warmth in your core that you haven’t felt for some time, and your legs are beginning to tire from kicking so much.  No matter how you try to move it doesn’t deter Frank from his actions.

His thumbs hook beneath the band of your panties, sliding them up and down along your skin.  He began to get dangerously close to your entrance and you feared what might happen if he discovered you were starting to get a little wet.

“Stop!” you shouted.

“Nah,” he replied, “don’t think I will.”  Frank’s hands finally came off of you, only for you to hear the rustling of fabric.  “And to answer my question from earlier, I think you’ve been very naughty.  Always running away from me, jumping over windows and pallets and giving me a glimpse of these cute little daisies.”  He plucked at the band of your panties and pulled them high before letting go, allowing them to snap back against your skin.  You let out a small gasp at the light sting, your internal muscles clenching.

With ungloved hands, Frank slid your underwear down your legs to your knees.  He had to take a step back to get them off, and you took the opportunity to kick at him again.  Your left foot connected with his shin, earning you a grunt.  But his task was complete, and your panties now dangled from one ankle.  Again, Frank grabbed hold of your legs and kept them apart, allowing himself back between them.

“Don’t you dare touch me you dirty freak,” you said, fists pounding against the bricks.  While you knew there was nothing you could do, you weren’t about to give up.

Frank grumbled something under his breath then added, louder, “Very naughty indeed.”

There was a loud sound of something whipping through the air before it connected with your right cheek.  You let out a scream at the sudden sting on your skin.  Two more whacks and you realized what it was; he was hitting you with his gloves.  

“You need to learn to respect how nice I’m being,” Frank told you, giving you another hit.  His left hand gripped at your hip, keeping your wiggling ass as still as possible while giving you your punishment.  “I always let you escape and not once have you thanked me.  Now, I’m not one for manners but come on, babe, I think I deserve something in return, don’t you?”

“No!”  Your hands were flat against the bricks, nails starting to dig in as each hit he gave you made your skin burn hotter and hotter.  You wanted to close your legs, give yourself some relief to the pressure between them but all you did was squeeze your thighs around Frank’s.

He began to switch the cheeks he hit, going left and right in quick succession.  It wasn’t long until tears fell down your cheeks, and Frank’s excitement became evident.  You wailed, feeling his clothed erection rub against your lower lips.  “Stop, please stop!  Just kill me already!  I’m sorry!”

Oddly enough, he listened to your pleas.  You sniffled, breaths coming in quick gasps as you tried to make sense of your blurry surroundings.  You heard Frank drop his gloves to the ground, giving you a moment of hope.

He asked, “You’re fucking sorry, babygirl?  What for?  I wanna know.”  His right hand groped at your thigh, spreading your legs a little wider as he inched forward.  Gripping your hips with both hands, now, he ground himself against your entrance.  His jeans rubbed against your clit, giving just enough rough attention to send a jolt of electricity up your spine.  You gasped, unable to answer.  He repeated the movement, noticing your reaction.  “I’m waiting…”

Frank’s thumbs began to knead your behind, rubbing the harsh sting into a dull ache.  You covered your mouth with one hand, a moan nearly escaping at the sensation.  Frank chuckled.  “Are you sorry for always rejecting me?” he questioned.  “Sorry for slamming a pallet on my head last time we met?”  His grinding stopped, but he kept pressed against you.  His hands shifted to move up your ass, your waist, until they were snug beneath your dress and cupping your breasts.  “Or maybe you’re just real fucking sorry now that you know I’m gonna use your sweet little body any way I want and you got no way of escaping?”

Frank began to roll your nipples between his thumb and index fingers, forcing them to stand at attention.  When you let out a half sob half whine, he bent far over you, pulling you flush against his chest.  His mask was up, allowing his breath to slide across your earlobe as he whispered, “Maybe if you beg I’ll be nice.  Just like you were saying,” his tone turned mocking, “‘please, stop, please’!”  He bit at your neck, giving your nipples a pinch before releasing them and leaning back.

With one hand still covering your mouth you weren’t sure what to do.  He had all the power, and as the last one in the trial there was nobody about to come to your rescue.  Still, you knew this wasn’t going to end in your favour.  “Fuck you!”

You thought that would earn you another slap, but instead Frank laughed.  He patted your behind gently.  “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve been in this kinda situation.  And of all the girls I’ve been with you know what they hate the most?”

“Your monologuing?”

He pinched your left cheek, making you squeak.  “The pleasure.  Not to brag, but I know my way around the playground that is your body.  See, it’s fun hearing you scream and cry for me to stop, really gets me hard, but what’s even better is you screaming and crying for me to stop because you’re cumming so hard on my cock.”

The warmth of Frank’s thighs between your legs vanished, replaced with his hands pushing them open and tilting you forward.  Apparently that small movement was allowed by the entity’s rules.

When Frank’s tongue gave a swip across your slit you had to cover your mouth with both hands.  He gave two more long licks, testing out what part made you squirm in his grip before circling your clit slowly.  You kicked at the air, but were too easily trapped.

“See?” Frank said.  “All you girls say no, say you don’t want it but look how fucking wet you are!  You just gotta be shown your place is all.”

“I don’t want this!” you cried.  “Please, I don’t want this I don’t want--ah!”

Frank began to swirl his tongue around your clit, a hard pressure forming in your core.  He would chuckle at times, sending vibrations through you that felt better than you would ever admit to him or to yourself.  You wouldn’t admit that he was right, too.  The pleasure you were feeling made this all the worse.

“Nng, stop…”  Your breaths were coming in quick gasps as Frank slid his tongue inside you.  It swiped around a moment before pulling out and sliding along your inner lips.  

“Mmm,” Frank said, pulling his mouth off of you, “what a view.  Maybe I should steal that other guys camera just to get a memento of this.”

Before you could spit venom at him one of his fingers prodded your entrance.  It slid in easily, another finger rubbing along your sensitive nub.  He moved his finger in and out of you, seemingly pleased with the gasps and squeaks he was drawing from you.  He soon added a second finger and scissored them, making you moan.  The tightness in your core that you kept trying to resist built higher now, and the more Frank rubbed inside of you the harder it was to hold back.  You felt like it would snap at any moment, forcing you to beg, “Stop, please, don’t do this.  I just...not like this, please!”

You weren’t sure what else you could do other than beg.  But then Frank pulled his fingers out of you, and stood.  You tried to even your breathing, turning around to get a look at the man that was dominating you.  His mask was resting on top of his head and a little to the side, a wicked grin on his lips.  Through the moonlight you could just make out the tattoo on his neck and chest, but his was the way his eyes were hooded that you knew your begging had only pleased him more.  You looked forward, your neck hurt from straining.  Your entire body began to hurt, from the sting of your asscheeks to the dull ache in your stomach from being held on the window ledge for so long.

“All right then,” Frank said.  You heard him unzip his pants, a rustling, and then something hot prodding at your hole.  “Daddy’s turn.”

You let out another sob, covering your face with both hands.  Frank mocked, “Don’t worry baby, you’re gonna feel real good.  And you’re gonna feel it all.”

Frank began to push into you, your body so worked up it gave him little resistance.  You couldn’t stop your walls from clenching around him as he slowly moved his hips forward, every inch making you burn.  When his hips were flush against yours you could feel the tip of his head kissing your cervix, making you groan.  He didn’t give you much time to adjust as he pulled out and forced himself back in, hands on your hips with a bruising grip as if you could escape if you tried hard enough.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “even after working you up you’re still tight.  God damn baby, am I the first guy you’ve been with since coming here?  Or am I your first guy ever?”  He chuckled.  “Yeah, I bet I’m your first.  Fuck, that’s hot.  You like this?  Daddy making you feel good for your first time?”  He began to thrust harder, making your breasts bounce and skin scrape along the bricks with each push.

“No!” you shouted.  You weren’t sure which question of his you were answering but it was the only word you could form.  The only would you could think of.  It ran through your mind, forcing it’s way past your lips over and over and over.  No, no, no, no, no.

Frank’s pace began to pick up more, his movements getting sloppier.  “Oh, I’m getting there, I’m...getting…there!”

Your eyelids began to flutter along with the heat in your core.  The tickling pleasure the ran from your centre and across your body growing stronger with each of his thrusts.  Soon the only sounds you could make were squeaks and groans, half-formed words that didn’t make sense as they made it past your lips.

Frank leaned forward again, sliding a hand beneath your dress and grabbing your left breast.  He pinched at the nipple, forcing you to tighten around his cock.  “Oh yeah, you’re close to, baby, I can tell.  I can feel it. Come on, you wanna come together?  You wanna come on my fat cock?” “Nn-nn-no,” you mumbled.  But his other hand slid around your thigh until his fingers were on your sensitive button.  He rubbed at it with three fingers, furiously going up and down, back and forth, all the while thrusting as deeply into you as he could.  You weren’t sure how big he was, but the girth of him alone was making your body burn with a hated desire.

Frank began to suck at your neck, surely leaving large hickies in his wake.  Finally, when he bit down hard on your shoulder you were overcome, your walls gripping at his dick in a disorganized rhythm as you screamed nonsensical sounds to the darkness around you.  His hand over your breast held on tight, hurting you and adding to your cries.

“Haha,” Frank cried, “there it is!  That’s what I fucking wanted.  Now you can go back to all your friends, dripping with my cum, and tell them how good it was for you after I killed them.  Tell them all about how good I fucked you, baby, while covered in their blood!”

While your body felt oversensitive, you were able to register his words.  “No, wait, please...don’t....not inside, you can’t do it inside, just please, don’t--”

But your twitching walls and begging were plenty to push Frank over his own edge.  His dick twitched as he gave one final push into you, his hot seed filling you as a scream died in your throat, your mouth open.  Frank was still pressed against you, hips rolling against yours as he groaned against the back of your neck.

“I told you,” he whispered in your ear, “you’re gonna go back to your friends dripping with my cum.”  He took a deep breath before standing with a satisfied sigh.  He slipped out of you easily, and with it you felt his seed begin to drip down your thigh.  There was no fight left in you to kick at him, and you let yourself dangle on the window, unsure of what would happen now.  Would the entity release you?  Would Frank put you on the nearest hook?

The sound of a zipper caught your attention, and once Frank had straightened his clothes and put his mask back on he lifted the skirt of your dress higher again.  “Mmf, that is a damn good sight.  Gonna keep it in mind for the spank bank; don’t know when we’ll be in a trial together again.”  One finger caught the seed that had dripped down to nearly your knee, dragging it back up before pushing into you.  He then grabbed the panties that still dangled from your one ankle and looped them around your other, gingerly pulling them back into place.  “Don’t want that going anywhere, now do we?”