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angryinternetduck · 4 years

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Meet Me In the Hallway

1.8k words. harry styles x ofc This is the sequel to Only Angel :)

Harry leaned against the wall outside Arabella’s flat, chest heaving, and looked at the ceiling, willing the tears away. Despite himself, despite the fight and her problems and everything, he found himself already missing her.

He didn’t want to fight. Even as the words were leaving his mouth, as he called her out for missing their date and for cheating on him, he was regretting it. He knew she wasn’t the relationship type. He’d known it since the start.

But he just couldn’t bring himself to break it off, because he liked her. He really liked her. And despite all her faults, despite how much she hurt him, there was always that little voice in the back of his head telling him that they’d work it out. It was the same voice that was telling him it’d get better - that eventually, she’d realize that she couldn’t go without him. That eventually, she’d stop hurting him, and he’d get better. That they’d get better.

It was getting a bit ridiculous, Harry thought as he finally pulled himself away from the wall and towards his car. She’d hurt him, and break his heart, over and over and over again, but in the end, she was the one that healed him.

She was the pain, and she was the morphine, and Harry was an addict.

Harry sighed, hearing the little voice speak again.

Maybe it’ll work out, it said. Maybe it’ll get better.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

***

Harry’s flat was nice. It was pretty big. Only problem was, the TV was on the same wall as the door, which meant the sofa faced the door, which made it increasingly more difficult for Harry to focus on what was happening on the telly rather than staring at the door.

He was mad at her. She’d broken his heart.

But he was still hoping she’d come around.

He was still hoping for that knock, for that apology.

It seemed like centuries before it came.

***

Harry was staring at the ceiling when he heard her. He was lying on the floor, on his back, staring at the ceiling, when he heard her signature knock. Well, it wasn’t really hers, but Harry was hoping, so at that moment, she was the only person in the world who could be behind that door.

Knock, knock - pause - knock.

Harry jumped up, practically knocking his head on one of the little tables around him, and then froze, his hand hovering above the door knob. He took a breath, straightening his shirt and squaring his shoulders, and then opened the door with the hope that she wouldn’t be able to tell how desperate he was.

She was wearing jeans, and a sweatshirt that Harry was slightly suspicious was his, and sneakers, and she was trying for a smile. “Hi,” she said quietly. “Hi,” Harry replied, and she cleared her throat. “Um - I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Harry didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, “and I -” She took a deep breath, and then went on, “I promise to try harder,” she said. “I’ve never done… I’ve never really done” - she gestured between them - “this before. And I need to… I’ve gotta get better, I know, but I’ll - I’ll try. I swear.”

A beat of silence.

“Okay,” Harry said.

He didn’t elaborate, and she frowned. “That’s… it?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah.”

She gave a wry laugh, and ran a hand over her face. “Okay then. Um… Do you wanna go out for dinner?” she asked. Harry’s brows jumped. “Thought you said -” She shook her head, cutting him off, and told him, “I know, but - this is trying. I’ve gotta… I’ve gotta get better, right? So… practice. Dinner.”

Harry grinned, kissing her before he could stop himself, and said, “Dinner.”

She laughed, kissing him back, and nodded. “Dinner,” she said.

***

Harry smiled as Arabella swung their hands up and down, humming some song he couldn’t quite place as they walked down the hallway of her flat complex. They paused in front of her door, and she leaned forward to kiss him.

Harry grinned, leaning into it as she pressed him up against the wall. “Had a lot of fun tonight, Bell,” he murmured against her lips, and she smiled a bit. “Me, too,” she whispered, trailing kisses down his neck.

“Should do it again,” Harry said, and she nodded. “Mhm,” she hummed, but Harry could tell she didn’t mean it. “Thank you,” he murmured as she pressed kisses against his jawline, “for coming.”

“Course,” she said.

“Really,” Harry insisted, gently pushing her off so he could meet her eyes. “I really appreciate it.” She smiled, biting her lip, and shrugged, fiddling with his tie. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a beat of silence, and she finally looked up. “What?” she asked. “Why’re you looking at me like that, huh?” Harry bit his lip. “I really like you, Bell,” he murmured, and she grinned. “Certainly hope so,” she laughed.

“No, really,” Harry said, and her smile faded.

“Like you too, Styles,” she told him, leaning forward to kiss him again.

“I - I think -” Harry took a breath. “I think I love you, Arabella,” he whispered.

She froze, going still in his arms. “I had fun tonight,” she said stiffly. “Thank you.”

And then she turned around, and walked into her flat, and closed the door.

***

Harry wanted to slap himself.

How could he be so stupid?

She’d told him this was new, she told him she wasn’t used to this, and he went and declared his love for her the first opportunity he got. Ridiculous. He should have waited. Or he shouldn’t have said it at all...

He didn’t want to go home. He knew his flat would mock him, telling him how lonely he was, how stupid he was, how he should have been with Arabella, how stupid he was. He just wanted to go back in time.

But he couldn’t, so he walked out of her building and onto the street. It was pretty late, and the bright lights of the city skyline were so cheerful that Harry decided to find them. They couldn’t be that far away, right?

Wrong.

***

Harry was vaguely aware that his feet were beginning to hurt.

He had no idea what time it was, but judging by the sun peeking up from the horizon and the identical buildings around him, it was very, very early, and he was very, very lost. It was a bit cold, too, and when he wondered if there was a sweatshirt in his car, he was absently reminded that he’d have to get that car eventually.

Didn’t matter.

He had his phone, which meant he could call an Uber or something.

So he did.

He was fairly certain the driver recognized him, by the way he kept glancing in the rear view mirror, but he was asleep too quickly for the guy to say anything. He slept clear through the ride, and the driver had to wake him up.

Harry tipped him generously and got out of the car, staring up at his flat complex with the tiniest amount of dread. He walked into the building, and up the stairs, and opened his door, and learned that his theory was one hundred percent correct.

The walls whispered insults at him as he toed off his shoes, and the fan hummed verbal abuse as he collapsed onto his bed, which asked him in a creak why he was alone and not with his girlfriend. His pillows smelled of regret, the covers of misery, his sweatshirt of heartbreak.

But there wasn’t exactly anything he could do about it, was there?

He found himself sinking into his thoughts after a few seconds of lying face planted on his bed, so he pulled himself up to the freezer for a pint of ice cream before plopping onto the couch for the wonderful challenge of keeping his eyes off of the door and on the telly.

Eventually, he fell asleep, ice cream melting in the tub on his lap and TV playing on in the background. He dreamed of Arabella, of his morphine. He wanted more. He wanted the pain to go away, wanted more morphine, wanted Arabella.

***

Arabella liked lilies.

She mentioned it at that dinner date, when there were a few fake ones at the table, and said she loved the purple ones especially. Harry had asked her why, and she’d said because lilies are pretty and purple represents royalty, and she was a queen.

So Harry got her a few lilies, and, sort of in a haze, went to her flat, and knocked.

One, two, three, and the door opened.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said immediately, and she gave him a half smile. “Me, too,” she said. There was a beat of silence, and Harry bit his lip, holding out the flowers. “For your highness,” he said quietly, trying for a joke.

It worked, and she smiled just a bit more and stepped back to let him in.

“I might have a vase,” she said.

Harry nodded, lingering by the doorway as she walked into the kitchen before reappearing with a glass vase filled halfway with water. She took the flowers from him, letting the silence hang between them, and set them in the vase, and put it on the table.

She stood next to him, her arms crossed against her chest, as they pretended to admire how the flowers looked on the wooden table. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” Harry finally said, breaking the silence.

She didn’t reply.

“I know this is new, and I don’t expect -” He paused. “I know it’s a lot,” he said, “so I don’t expect anything.” He took a breath, carefully taking her hand in his, and she let him, and so he went on, “I really like you, Bell, and I know that’s a lot. So you don’t have to say anything, or - or do anything, really. Just…” He gave a bit of a smile and lifted her hand, kissing her knuckle gently. “Just let me adore you.”

A beat of silence, and then she grinned and pressed a kiss to his lips. “If you insist.” Harry felt relief pour through his system as their lips met, felt her morphine rush through his body, and he never wanted to leave.

But in the back of his mind, there was a little voice.

It was different.

This one asked, will you ever talk about it?

And Harry kissed Arabella harder.

No.

Because really, he’d already gone without her.

He’d been alone. He felt what it was like to be without her.

And he couldn’t do it.

He might have to walk through fire for her, but that was okay.

He needed her.

Her, and only her.

Nothing else would do.

**********

hope you liked it!!!!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be much appreciated 💜 thanks for reading!

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#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #only angel #meet me in the hallway #stream harry styles #hs1 #harry styles story #liles #sequel #idk lol #hope you like it :)#fics

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marvelmando · 5 years

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tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - seven

notes: updating rather quickly because i felt bad about the cliffhanger :) i really enjoy y’all’s feedback, so hit me up!!

contains: discussions of mental illness, angst

pairing: peter parker + fem! o.c.

word count: 3.1k

previous chapter next chapter tempest masterlist

SEVERAL HOURS OF WAITING ON THE ROOF HAD PASSED BEFORE LOGAN SHOWED UP. Marin had stopped crying at some point, eventually began to breathe evenly despite the sharp pain pounding in her ribs every time she inhaled. Her wrist started to throb again and the skin was blooming with dark purple and blue bruises, growing yellow from the swelling.

Getting on the jet and walking back into the Institute was a haze; the last thing she remembered was climbing into her old bed and sinking her face into her pillow. She cried herself to sleep.

She barely got three hours of nightmare-plagued sleep before a pounding at her door woke her up. Without waiting for a response, her door flew open. Lucy was there, storming into her room, eyes quite literally on fire.

"Where the hell were you, Marin Frost?!" Lucy bellowed, flames erupting on her skin.

Despite the growing temperature of the room, Marin felt numb. She shrugged, laying her head back down and pulling her knees into her chest, burrowing into her comforter.

"Answer me!" Lucy continued shouting, to no avail. Eventually, she gave up and stomped right back out of Marin's room in a blaze of heated fury.

Only a minute or two had passed before someone knocked on her door again, except this time, it was gentler. Marin didn't bother looking up to know that it was James, Lucy's boyfriend.

"Marin," James said kindly, but Marin only screwed her eyes shut. James sighed. "Marin, we don't know exactly what happened that morning, but we understand why you left. Even if we aren't really showing it." He paused, presumably giving her the opportunity to speak. She didn't. "When you're ready to talk, you know where to find us."

Marin was glad for James' respect, enough for him not to take a look into Marin's mind and find out for himself. She didn't move as she heard his footsteps recede, or when the door clicked shut behind him. She counted to ten before throwing the covers off of her.

She walked numbly into her bathroom, grabbed the plastic cup she kept on the sink and filled it with water from the tap. She guzzled down three cups before the ringing in her head finally stopped. She raised her eyes to the mirror above the sink.

The first thing she noticed was the large bruise on her cheek, slowly fading as the water she drank stitched together the broken blood vessels. Her eyes were tired, the dark brown of her irises dull and lifeless, and the delicately thin skin under them purplish-black with fatigue and stress. Her cheeks were hollowed, jaw pronounced by sunken jowls. She looked like shit. But at least her wrist didn't hurt anymore.

"Marin, please see me in my office." Professor Xavier's voice echoed between her ears, inducing a long-awaiting migraine and reactivating the tinnitus ringing. Chugging another cup of water for courage, Marin left her room, not bothering to put on a pair of shoes or socks.

It was early enough in the morning that the halls were nearly void of students, but the ones that did pass her gave her looks.

Marin felt a strong wave of déjà-vu as she pushed open the wooden door that separated Charles' office from the main hall.

Marin noticed Charles sitting in his hovering wheelchair by the window this time, eyes glazed and staring out at the bright green front lawn. Marin took the seat farthest from him, remembering the last time she visited his office.

"Did you know that I cannot read your mind?" Charles suddenly said, unprompted. Marin's eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Then why can you speak to me in my mind?"

Charles narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps I should clarify that—it is not that I can't access your mind, I just simply can't access your memories."

Marin's eyes followed him as he moved behind her and to her other side, stopping his wheelchair barely a foot away from her chair.

"Which is why I had no other choice but to believe that you were the cause of your parents' deaths."

Marin tensed, waiting for him to lash out, or something equally as terrifying. But he never did. "I must tell you something, Miss Frost—a confession that has haunted me since I first made the decision to erase any recollection of you having other powers besides your hydrokinesis."

Marin blinked at him. "You what?"

Charles cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should start from the beginning, yes?" Marin just stared at him, and he took her reaction as an ‘okay’.

"Your grandmother was a mutant, Marin." What a hell of a way to break the ice, Professor. "She harnessed the ability to manipulate energy, from what research I could gather. However, she hadn't discovered her powers until long after she gave birth to her son, Jamie—your father—out of wedlock. Your grandfather wasn't an option for your grandmother, and, unable to raise a child on her own, she surrendered him to an orphanage—unaware of her own powers, or the genetics she'd passed along.

"Your father, we believe, was a telepath, much like James and I. But growing up virtually an orphan, with very little education or experience, he didn't recognize his symptoms as a result of his mutant genetics. When he was found talking to himself, around age eleven, he was kicked out of the orphanage out of fear that your father suffered from schizophrenia. He lived on the streets until he was nineteen, where he met your mother and fell in love.

"I'm assuming that once you were born, your father was already very paranoid, and tried to place a mental block on you, despite not knowing what he was doing. The inexperience and lack of control over his powers led to a somewhat permeable blockade, and thus the reason why I can still access your mind. I cannot read your mind, but I can project thoughts to you.

"I'm ashamed to admit that I knew this from the beginning, Miss Frost. I can only assume that as you grow older, your father's influence diminishes with the time that passes; and as of the past couple of months, if projected strongly enough, I'm able to access your dreams." At her suspicious glare, he chuckled. "Don't worry, I still can't read your thoughts just yet."

"That sounds fake but okay." She muttered under her breath. Charles flashed a hint of a smile, but otherwise said nothing of it.

"You have to understand, Marin, that I cannot determine for myself what happened the night your powers emerged." Charles began to look guilty, which surprised Marin slightly. "There is another matter, however, that I think needs to be addressed."

Marin looked expectantly at him.

"When you first arrived at the Institute, your powers were extremely unstable. They were like nothing we'd ever seen before, even by mutants that could manipulate energy, like Mary, or your grandmother." His face grew dark. "We assumed that you were experiencing symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after witnessing your parents' deaths, which was heightening your abilities.

"I should have learned my lesson after Jean, but even she agreed that the best thing to do was erase your memories of your other powers. They were far too dangerous, to yourself and the other students. And seeing them reemerge in the last five months has made me reexamine the ethicality of continuing to keep these powers from you."

Marin stared ahead into blank space. Somehow, she wasn't surprised—as if Charles telling her this was nothing new to her, it only opened her mind to memories long forgotten. But she'd have time to evaluate them later because Charles was still talking.

"So you're not going to make me forget again?" She looked to him, and he frowned.

"No. No, we're going to do what we should've done eight years ago. We're going to train you to control them." He nodded and swiveled his wheelchair to face her again. She didn't know when he'd turned away. "I know now that you aren't responsible for your parents' deaths, Marin. Your powers were not a cause of them, only a byproduct of whatever you witnessed."

Marin averted her gaze down to her hands, which had migrated into her lap.

"Why does everyone else think that I did?" She asked, her voice quiet and broken.

Charles sighed sorrowfully. "Naturally, I'd had to inform the other adults that run the Institute what circumstances you were found in. In my folly, I revealed to them what my conclusions were, and they, too, believed them, none-the-wiser. From there, it may have been overheard by some of the older students, and then spread from there. It also did not help that your decline in control over your powers was well-known amongst the students, and it wouldn't have been difficult to presume that the lies being spread were true."

Processing the heavy load of information being dumped on her, Marin didn't speak for a full thirty seconds. "Why didn't you just tell them you weren't sure? That you couldn't read my mind?" She eventually asked.

The Professor exhaled. "I believed that if it got out, there was someone whose mind I couldn't penetrate, it would've made you a target. Or, with your chaotic powers, it would have made you a potential weapon. At least, it was what I told myself, to save my reputation from scrutiny. Now, I know that it was entirely for selfish reasons, and I am truly sorry for that, as well, Marin." Charles looked sincere. For all the years that Marin had known the man, admitting his own faults was an extremely rare occurrence, and if he was admitting this now, she had little doubt that he was lying. It didn't make the truth any less painful, though. But Marin was tired of all of the negativity, and despite her better judgment, she found herself forgiving him.

"So what now?" Marin crossed her arms over her chest. "Everyone still thinks I killed my parents. Everyone still treats me as though I need to be avoided at all costs." She shook her head. "And after enduring that shit for nine years, I'm frankly fucking sick of it."

If the Professor was affected by her profanity, he didn't show it. (After all, he'd been around Logan's filthily explicit language for decades, now, and was unlikely to be fazed by anything Marin could come up with.)

"Then I believe an announcement is in order."

+++

Marin shuffled to her room that night, emotionally exhausted from the events of the day. Everyone seemed to believe Professor Xavier's claims that she was innocent, and some even approached her afterward to apologize for their less-than-friendly behaviors. Marin was grateful but ultimately disappointed to find that she didn't care as much for their forgiveness as she'd expected. All she could say was that her name was cleared among the mutants. But she found that it wasn't their forgiveness she wanted so desperately.

Right after his speech, Charles called her back into his office, where he began the process of returning the memories he'd kept covered. She spent hours sweating and writhing in his chair as he unveiled one memory right after the other, and by nine that evening, Marin's mind was her own again.

Walking into her bedroom felt different after. It seemed so much smaller, somehow, even though she'd only been out for half of a day. She filled a cup of water, silently mourning her reusable bottle left behind in her duffel bag, still at Peter's apartment. I wonder if he threw it out, she distantly thought. Marin didn't know what she hated more—having to leave before she could explain herself and leaving him to fear her like everyone else had, or knowing that keeping it a secret from him and Tony Stark was the worst thing she could have done, and condemning herself for doing it anyway.

While ruminating, her door opened. It was Lucy again, but this time, she looked calm, and even a bit regretful. "Can I come in?" She timidly asked in the doorway. Marin nodded, and Lucy stepped in, closing the door behind her.

Marin shifted on her bed so her back was supported by the wall, and curled her feet underneath her. Lucy hesitantly sat on the side of the bed, a couple of feet down. She didn't speak for a while, and Marin knew she was thinking of what to say, so she waited for her patiently.

"I'm sorry," Lucy eventually said, looking Marin straight in the eyes as she turned to sit crisscrossed directly facing her. "I'm sorry that everyone believed that shitty rumor—including me. I'm sorry for being a terrible friend, or not a friend at all when you clearly needed someone on your side." What Marin liked about Lucy was that she didn't turn on the theatrics, she didn't blubber and beg for Marin's forgiveness like some others had. But she was rubbing at her wrists, a nervous habit Marin recognized, surprised though because it was a very rare sight. "What I'm trying to say, is that I was wrong about you. In more ways than just your past."

Marin raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

Lucy exhaled through her nose. "I thought you were a reckless, walking dumpster fire, to be honest. With how you constantly acted out—whether it was by disobeying orders to go play hero or refusing to take group training seriously. You're terrible at working in a team, you always used your powers way too often and for the stupidest things, too, and you skipped school so you could go study by yourself. You stole food and hogged the computers, you hated sharing, and you—"

"Okay, I get it." Marin cut her off, growing annoyed.

"I was getting there." Lucy snapped at her impatience. "Marin, I thought you were the worst kind of mutant. Like another Logan or young Cyclops—because we've all heard those stories from Jean—but you're not. You're selfless and principled, and sure, your social skills leave a lot to the imagination, but you're good." Lucy's lips curled into a small, gentle smile. She shook her head, amusedly. "You're not a good mutant, Marin Frost, but you're a hell of a great superhero."

Marin was stunned into silence. Of all the people in Marin's life, Lucy Webb was the last person she expected to say something so nice and genuine. Marin couldn't find the words to respond, but it was fine since apparently Lucy wasn't finished.

"I mean—you're still kind of a shitty superhero, but you've got potential. You definitely need to work on your people skills, and—oof—"

Marin threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around Lucy. Though she still rankled to think about the times when Lucy had reprimanded her, hearing such praise now was more than enough for Marin to forgive her. Lucy laughed, hugging her back. They pulled apart after a few seconds.

"And, for the record, I'm sorry for what I said that day." Lucy mentioned sheepishly and didn't need to elaborate for Marin to know what she was referring to. "It was unfair of me and totally uncool—not to mention very unprofessional to say in front of such a young audience."

Marin smiled at the mention of Mary. She made a mental reminder to say hi to the young girl when she got the chance.

"Apology accepted."

"Good." Lucy nodded once, and stared at her for a moment, thinking. "Now... wanna tell me where you've been the past two weeks?"

Marin sighed. With how much she'd yet to unpack herself, she figured that she could use an extra mind. "So, I went back to Queens, right? And the superhero I met from the night in April, Spider-Man, had this really fancy new suit..."

+++

"Well, shit." Lucy said about an hour later. She propped her head up with her hand as she laid on her stomach next to Marin on the bed. "And you really went to D.C.?"

Marin rolled her eyes. "Is that really all you're getting out of all that?"

Lucy waved her hand flippantly. "Nah, I'm just thinking out loud."

"Well, what do I do?" Marin groaned, thumping the back of her head against the wall. "Those weapons dealers are still out there, probably making more alien weapons."

"Well, you said the FBI showed up at the ferry, right?" Lucy wondered. "So don't you think that, knowing they've got the feds on their tail, they plan on laying low for a while?"

Marin pondered the idea. "No... after all, they didn't stop when Spider-Man caught onto them. If anything, they were just bolder than before."

"Yeah, but... no offense to your spider-boyfriend, but he's not exactly as intimidating at the FBI." Lucy pointed out. Marin remembered his conversation with Aaron Davis with a pang in her chest.

"Why does everyone think we're dating? He's not my boyfriend." Marin shook her head. "But I guess that's somewhat true, though it doesn't change the fact that I've got a really bad feeling about it."

Lucy nodded, studying the look on Marin's face. "But you want him to be?"

Marin looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"You like him, don't you?" Lucy grinned knowingly. "You like Spider-Man!"

Marin scoffed. "Please. I've known him for all of two weeks." Her face dropped. "And besides, he thinks I killed my parents. There's no way that he'd want to be anywhere near me right now."

"Oh Mare," Lucy sighed sympathetically, and the nickname sent a new wave of pain into her heart.

"It's tomorrow, you know." She deflected. The space behind her eyes burned with the desire to cry. "The day they died." She sniffed wetly, hugging her knees to her chest. "It's been nine years. Nine years, Lucy. And it still feels like it was yesterday. I can still see my father—"

Lucy sat up, and crawled next to Marin, rubbing her back soothingly as the words got stuck in her throat. "I know, Marin." She shushed. When Marin had calmed down enough, Lucy told her, "My mom died when I was nine, you know."

Marin looked at her in shock. "Really?"

Lucy nodded, giving her an empathetic look. "Yeah. She was sick for a while, but it got really bad, towards the end." Lucy looked off into empty space. "She had a stroke when I was at school. I never said goodbye. When my dad came to get me and told me the news, that's when my powers erupted." She shook her head solemnly. "I was just lucky that no one was killed. My dad got the worst of it—he's blind in one eye because of me."

"Not because of you," Marin assured her. "Because of your powers. You aren't your powers, and you didn't do that to your dad. I promise."

Lucy smiled gratefully and sniffed a bit. She laughed. "God, being a mutant is real shit, isn't it?"

"Probably," Marin grinned. "But I think it's worth it sometimes."

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jungkookienoona · 5 years

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Would You Like A Taste? (M)

|Part 1|Part 2|

|Masterlist| Support Me on Ko-fi

Summary:

Jungkook has to face the consequences of his actions.

Genre: Smut, Vampire AU, Supernatural, elements of erotic horror

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual Situations, Blood, slight cannibalism (it’s like a 3 sentence paragraph), Jungkook’s personality flip-flops between precious bunny and sadist.

Would You Like A Taste has taken 2 years and has been in development since before Can I Have A Taste was rewritten please show it and me some love. I love getting asks or reading tags in reblogs. And remember, my writing can’t improve without feedback.

Word Count: 6769

Jungkook snapped out of his haze when his lips met yours. What had he done? He had only given into his lust for a moment, he didn’t think it would lead into a bloodlust. He fell to his knees with you in his arms. He never wanted to hurt you. His main priority was keeping you safe. But you just had to change your regular Friday routine.

He remembered following your scent to the club; you had looked so beautiful and he couldn’t help the old feelings that crept up. How he had crushed hard on you, how he had been planning on asking you on a date. How he never got that opportunity because he got talked into going to some stupid party, where he found himself getting cornered by some chick and waking up in a ditch about a week later.

“No… No no no no! Shit!”

One of his hands stroked the hair out of your face while the other held you firm to him, your breathing growing shallower by the second. How could he fix this? Could he save you at all? His heart sank at the only option that presented itself. No. He couldn’t do that to you. But time was running out.

“Please don’t hate me Noona.” He whispered before biting down on his own wrist.

A member of staff at the club discovered your lifeless body in the alley. She shrieked drawing the attention of others in the vicinity. It wasn’t long before the police turned up.

After a few days of investigation, it was deduced that your death was due to the over-consumption of alcohol. Your family to arrange your funeral, quickly wanting you to be at peace as soon as possible. They made sure you were buried in your hometown near the graves of your ancestors. The funeral was a family event so strange looks were given to the young man dressed in a black suit who stood near the back. He watched as the members of your family went up to your open casket saying their last tearful goodbyes; waiting patiently for them all to have their turn so that he would be the last to approach. When his time finally came, he was slow to move. Guilt washed over him. He was the reason you were in there, why your family would never see you again. Upon seeing your pallored face he couldn’t hold back the need to touch you, a hand coming to rest on your cheek. You were cold.

“This was never meant to happen... It’s all my fault... I’m so sorry Noona. I’m sorry” His voice was barely louder than the deafening silence as tears ran unbidden down his cheeks, falling to his knees.

Your family watched him break down into sobs; the young man dressed in black that no one knew yet vaguely recognised.

A month passed and there was still no sign of life from you. Jungkook had been sat by your grave every night with a shovel, waiting to dig you up. But as more time passed the more he grew to doubt himself. He hadn’t been quick enough. He had drained you of too much blood. Those thoughts circled his mind for hours on end as he sat there waiting. He even wore the same black suit that he had worn to your funeral. He watched as the colours of the sky changed from navy to black and then eventually to the peach of dawn. His head hung low, accepting the fact that he had killed you, that you would not be waking up and he would not be able to beg for your forgiveness. The sun began to crest on the horizon and Jungkook picked himself off the ground. He was reaching for his shovel when he heard it. When he heard you.

You woke with a gasp, surrounded by darkness. The fuck was going on? Where were you? Last thing you remembered was getting fucked in an alley outside the club and blood red eyes. Your breathing grew rapid as you realised you couldn’t see a thing and as you wriggled in your panicked state you found you were shut in a confined space. You were so focused on yourself you didn’t hear the sound of metal scraping against dirt at an inhuman speed. But what you did notice was the sudden light that shone into, what you now realised to be, your coffin as Jungkook wrenched the lid open. His smile was almost as radiant and bright as the dawn light that haloed him.

“Noona!” He shouted in glee.

“Asshole!” You shouted back with venom.

Jungkook’s smile dropped which brought you some satisfaction. His face became serious as he placed a hand over your eyes.

“Go back to sleep Noona. Don’t worry I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

Almost as if he had cast a spell over you, you fell back into darkness.

As soon as you had called him ‘asshole’ Jungkook knew you would struggle against him. It would be much easier to carry an unconscious you than a kicking and scratching you. So, he did the first thing that came to mind. He used his creator bond to knock you out.

The second time you woke up, you were on a plush sofa in a large living room. You sat up, taking in your surroundings. The sofa you were on was pink and Victorian-esque while the walls were teal and were decorated with what appeared to be family photos. Your curiosity got the better of you. You got off the sofa, walking up to the pictures. The first one that caught your eye was a group picture. Jungkook was in the centre, awkwardly smiling with six older looking boys surrounding him. Two of them had a hand on his shoulders, a guy with purple hair and a brunette. That wasn’t the only group picture of them either, nearly every picture on the wall was one. Except for six of them. In the six remaining pictures, each boy other than Jungkook was paired up with what appeared to be their significant other. You almost felt bad for him. Until you remembered what he had done to you. Anger flowed fresh through your veins once more.

“Yah! Jungkook-ah! Where are you?” You took another look around, “What the fuck is this place?!”

You heard footsteps approaching after. From the sounds of it they were coming from above you then down a staircase and when they stopped a sheepish Jungkook poked his head through the door. He had finally changed his clothes for the first time in a month. Not that you would’ve known. He was now wearing a form fitting white top that had a few holes here and there with three-quarter-length sleeves, and a pair of leather trousers that clung to his muscular legs like they were painted on. It appeared he had decided to forgo wearing shoes.

“You’re awake again.”

“No shit Sherlock; now tell me where I am.”

“We’re in my family’s home.”

“Family?” Confusion was evident in your tone.

“Pop culture would call us a ‘coven’ but thanks to Twilight, we hate that word.”

Well... that explained nothing to you. You saw him take a step towards and instinctively took a step back. His features looked pained at your action.

“Please... Noona... don’t be afraid of me.”

Don’t be afraid of him? After what he had done to you? Did he really think he could get away with it?

“YOU KILLED ME!”

You noticed a newspaper, the front page had a picture of you smiling and the title read ‘Girl found dead in alley by female bartender’. A bit of a long-winded title that gave away the entire story of the article and it seemed a bit strange that there happened to be a newspaper with what happened to you on its front cover in the room; but it helped you to know what had happened.

“You left me in an alley to be found by a bartender?! The poor girl is probably traumatised!” Your voice portrayed how scandalised you felt at having been left there like that.

“I left you there for you own good! At least you got found.”

“I DIED! You should’ve taken me to a hospital!”

“It was too late, Noona. I didn’t have time. I had no choice but to turn yo-”

“Don’t try and reason your way out of this-”

“Y/N, please listen to me-”

“If you say that you did this for my own good, I swear I will-”

“I KILLED YOU. I was selfish. I drained you of your blood and this was the only way…” His fists were clenched as his voice strained with emotion at first before quieting down to a barely heard whisper, tears in his eyes threatening to spill over. “I lost control. I wanted you so bad and you felt so good… It brought up a hunger for you I didn’t know I had.”

You diverted your gaze, taking another step back when he reached for you.

“Kookie…”

His eyes widened, the nickname striking a cord, “Kookie?”

You shuffled from foot to foot.

“Jungkook…”

He stepped closer and you stepped back; your back coming into contact with a wooden side table causing a vase of flowers to wobble and fall. He caught it, placing it back on the surface but not retracting his hand from beside you. You were pinned in.

“Noona, please. You have to understand.”

“How could I possibly understand?! You disappeared! Do you know how many nights I stayed up crying when you vanished? Then you suddenly reappeared years later looking almost unrecognisable! You killed me on something less than a whim!”

You pushed his chest, Jungkook stumbled backwards at the force.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Noona…”

He reached for you again and you stumbled to the side, knees giving out. He was there, catching you before you fell with his arms around your waist as you both sunk to the floor. Your head was tucked against his chest and at first, he thought you had passed out until he heard a sniffle. He brushed a hand over your forehead, pushing back your fringe.

“You cried when I was gone? I thought you wouldn’t have cared.”

“Of course I cared. You were the sweet dongsaeng that kept sneaking snacks and vitamins into my bag when you thought I wasn’t looking while I was studying in the library.”

He was silent for a moment, hand carding through your hair,

“I was planning to ask you out before I was turned. But I went to a party, I was turned under similar circumstances to you… just without the sex.” He let out a soft chuckle at the last part.

You snorted, “Definitely wasn’t expecting to be shoved up against a wall and fucked by a vampire who just so happened to be my middle school crush.”

You felt his hand still, “I-I was your crush?”

Your cheeks grew warmer.

“Uh… surprise?”

He laughed to himself, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “I should’ve asked you out sooner. I’m so stupid.”

There was a pause in the conversation as you took a moment to think about how you would word what you wanted to say next.

“How long was I dead for?”

“A month. I almost lost hope. But at least you had a funeral; which I attended by the way, accidentally made quite the scene too. When I was turned I woke up in a ditch on a country road. I was lucky to have been found wandering lost and confused by Namjoon before I could attack someone.”

You finally looked up at him, your gaze meeting his as you realised that even though he was the one that killed you, he had at least shown some remorse and tried to give you a better start in your unlife than he had had. Even if that did mean leaving your body in an alley.

“The person that turned you… did you ever see them again?”

A grimace appeared on his lips as his eyes hazed over in memory, “I killed her about 2 months after I woke up, with the rest of my new family’s help. We had to wait for the creator bond to wear off before I could confront her but the other members kept tabs on where she was. Turns out she was considered a criminal in the vampire world.” He saw your puzzled look. “There’s a limit on how many we are allowed to turn, to keep our numbers in check. But she went way over the limit, basically turning anyone she bit. So my revenge was not looked down upon, I was getting rid of a pest.”

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of Jungkook being able to murder in cold blood. At least your death was more or less an accident on his part. But his creator’s death was premeditated. That wasn’t the Kookie you knew. Almost as if he could sense the fear that was making itself known to you again he pulled you closer to him in an attempted to comfort you.

“I was angry, Noona, much like you were- are. I had my life snatched away from me. My future was gone. I couldn’t see my family, friends or you again. I think that’s the thing that angered me most actually. That she had stolen my opportunity to ask you on a date. Even if it turns out you would’ve rejected me, I had wanted that opportunity to see if my feelings were returned.”

He had shifted you a bit while he was talking so that he could nuzzled into your neck and take in your scent, almost like he was trying to use it to soothe himself as shadows of his hatred towards his creator returned.

“You mentioned a ‘creator bond’. What is it that exactly?”

He hesitated for a second then leaned back to look at you again.

“It’s a type of… control that allows creators to control their creations for a month after they wake. It’s how I got you to fall back to sleep.”

Your eyes widened in alarm knowing that he could take away your free will at any moment, that he had already done so once. He felt you tense.

“I promise to use it as a last resort. Like if you present yourself as a danger.”

“How can I trust you not to abuse that power?”

“Because I never wanted this for you… I love you, always have. It’s never faded. But after what I’ve done to you I don’t blame you for distrusting me… If it will make you feel more comfortable I could ask one of the members’ mates to look after you for the first month? They live next door.”

You found yourself confused again. So much so it over rid your fear. Mates? These ‘mates’ living next door?

“What are mates?”

He smiled fondly at you, you felt his grip on you tighten slightly.

“‘Mates’ is short for soulmate. You know, people we’re destined to be with. Most mates are turned by the other. Though that wasn’t the case for Jin-hyung. He said that he met his mate a couple centuries ago because she was following him. He confronted her and, apparently, she had told him she couldn’t help herself, he was just too handsome.”

You laughed. You didn’t know who this Jin was but you laughed. Because from Jungkook’s tone of voice, he didn’t believe Jin’s story. You were somewhat surprised at how short lived your anger towards him was, being replaced by curiosity instead as he explained aspects of the life you would now be living.

“If you’re destined to be with them, why do you live separately?”

“Yoongi-hyung told me it was ‘to stop an eternity together from getting boring’. And though we’re one big family, we all like to have our alone time at points. You can’t exactly have that when sharing a room.”

“You said I could live with them if I wanted to. Implying that it would be fine if I decide I want to stay here with you. Why is it fine that I stay?”

He chuckled, finding your inquisitiveness cute.

“Because you’re unmated. And you’re the newbie. It just coincidence that all the females decided to live together. We would be totally okay with co-ed housing.”

“Oh… how does someone get a mate?”

One of his arms let go of you, his free hand coming up to awkwardly scratch that back of his neck, red dusting his cheeks. You realised that he was giving you what could be considered Vampire Sex Ed.

“Well first, you have to be a vampire. Then, uh, then… then you need to um… do the do…” You giggled at his awkwardness, this was the Kookie you knew. “When doing the do… uh I mean… when you’re nearing your finish… you and your partner need to b-b-bite each other and take in some of their blood. It creates a mating bond that leaves a permanent mark on the area you were bitten.”

As Jungkook described how vampires become mates you couldn’t help but think back to how you died. He had bitten you as he came. Something in your head clicked as the two pieces of information came together.

“K-K-Kookie… I think you tried to mate with me-”

“What?!”

You saw emotions flicker across his face. First confusion, then understanding, then embarrassment.

“Oh god.” His forehead came to rest on your shoulder as he came to realise that you were probably correct. The actions of that night matching up to the actions he had just described. “Lord kill me now.”

“Where would the fun be in that? I think you should continue living so you can look at me and forever be reminded that you tried to mate a non-vampire. Live with the shame.”

“Noona~!” He howled in humiliation, his face moving from your shoulder to your neck as if doing so could help him vanish into thin air. You had to stop yourself from shivering at the feel of his breath on your skin.

“Did your hyungs not educate you well enough?”

At that he lifted his head to look at you again, looking almost scandalised that you would try and place some of the blame on his hyungs. Then a playful glare made its way onto his features.

“They did. But I think I just love you so much I temporarily lost all rationality. You looked fucking hot that night Noona. Like damn.”

A thought came to mind.

“Jungkook, you ripped off my panties that night. Please tell me I was found wearing underwear.”

“Does it look like I carry a spare pair of panties in my pocket?”

“You could have given me your own.”

“I was commando, Noona, you know that! You saw!”

“I’m sorry if my memory is a bit foggy I was DEAD for a MONTH!”

At that reminder, his face fell a little, he gaze turning away from you as he scratched the back of his neck again.

“I went back to yours and grabbed a pair before rushing back to you. So, yes, you were found wearing underwear.” A small smile graced his lips at the thought of having done something right.

You couldn’t help but stare at him as he smiled, you brain noticing how much he had changed, physically. When you had last saw him, human him, he was a sweet 14-year-old with puppy fat, wide eyes and an emo style hair do. He had very much reminded you of a cute bunny. It was part of the reason you had had a crush on him. But now the Kookie that held you in his arms was chiselled, with a jawline as sharp as a knife. His eyes were still wide and doe-like but they held a maturity to them that hadn’t been there when he was younger. He had even had a growth spurt because you could remember him being shorter than you; now he towered over you. He was no longer a small fluffy bunny but a grown predator. It made him attractive in a different way. This observation caused a new question to bubble to your lips.

“I thought vampires didn’t age. Why don’t you look the same as you did back then?”

“A lot of my physical changes happened as a direct result of being turned. It kind of put my puberty into overdrive. When I looked at myself for the first time after being turned, I had completely missed out on maturing naturally and the person staring back at me was a full-grown adult. The clothes I had worn when I was turned were very… snug.”

Your eyes widened in shock. If he had changed after being turned, had you? Your hands flew to your face mapping out the surface of it to see if you could feel any changes. All you noticed was that your lingering acne problem had disappeared.

“Don’t worry, you still look like my beautiful Noona.”

You blushed.

“You still haven’t told me if you want to spend your first month here or in the mates’ house.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I want what makes you feel most comfortable.”

You took a second to think about it before looking at him and smiling.

“I think what would make me most comfortable would be staying with familiar face.”

The smile he gave you could’ve rivalled the sun in its brightness. You felt his hand twist in the material at the base of your spine and instinctively arched into the touch. Your chest grazed his and were suddenly aware of how close you were. His eyes, slightly narrowed as he too was wrapped up in the tension, glistened in the light streaming through the parted curtains behind you. You held your breath. If you were to lean in… His head dipped, lips meeting yours tenderly, so different to the rushed hungry kisses of the night you died. You almost felt like that Jungkook and the Jungkook that held you in his arms were two different people. One was dangerous and all-consuming the other gentle and loving. He broke the kiss, pulling away to look at you with half-lidded eyes.

“I’ve missed the feel of your lips,” He breathed, eyes falling shut as he rested his forehead against yours, “I don’t expect you to forgive me easily, I know that you must resent me for what I’ve done. Nor do I expect you to love me like I do you. Knowing that you once reciprocated my feelings when I was human is enough for now.”

You felt the need to reach out to him, to comfort him. But one last thing lingered in your thoughts.

“You… On that night, you said you had been wanting me for a while, yet today you say that you never wanted to hurt me. Which one is the truth?”

“Both.”

You frowned, anger bubbling in you again but he continued speaking, not giving you the opportunity to voice it.

“After I killed my creator you were all I could think about. Were you safe? Were you healthy? Had you been accepted into that specialist highschool I had overheard you talking about every now and then in middle school? I had spent nearly every night years patrolling the area you lived in to make sure it was vampire free. There were a few incidents but they were dealt with quickly.”

He shifted the both of you so he was led on the floor with your head resting on his chest as you led beside him. One of his arms rested behind his own head while his free hand stroked your hair, the sensation soothing you causing you to relax into him.

“At the same time, I craved you. I wanted nothing more than to hold you in my arms, to hear you moan my name, to taste the salt of your skin on my tongue. I wanted to watch you wither in pleasure that only I could give. And until that night I had been successful in holding back those desires.”

You felt a faint trickle of desire spread through you at his words but couldn’t stop yourself from trying to embarrass him.

“And you ended up trying to mate me but killed me instead.”

“Obviously I didn’t realise what I was trying to do at the time.”

“Does that mean you would try to mate me again?”

“Would you be adverse to it?”

“Depends, will I die?”

“For fuck sake Noona, I just explained it all to you.” He playfully slapped your arm as a show of mock agitation, you looked up at him confused.

“Yeah, I didn’t feel that.”

“Really? I put at least some effort into that,” You nodded causing him to grin like a cheshire cat, “I made a sturdy one. I don’t have to worry about breaking you now.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Answer my question and I’ll let you know what I meant.”

You looked away from him, a light blush on your cheeks as you thought about what he had asked moments earlier. Would you be against it? He had killed you and you were still pissed about it to an extent. But at the same time you died because he was just following instinct, he didn’t mean to kill you. And if mates were people destined to be together, was it fate that Jungkook didn’t know what the fuck he was doing? That he had unknowingly tried to mate a human.

“I’m not exactly against it. Doesn’t mean I forgive you… just… the sex was good.”

“Would you like another taste?” He said, quirking an eyebrow.

You sat up, “Another taste of what?”

“Me.”

“I don’t think I have tasted you, Kook.”

“Well, I’m not wearing underwe-”

“Are you asking me to-”

“Yes.”

“You really are a master of seduction.”

Jungkook waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Don’t worry I shall teach you my ways”

“You ain’t teaching me shit”

“But Noona~!”

You straddled his lap causing him to look shook. You wiggled a bit to get comfortable accidentally creating friction over his crotch. Jungkook went from being shook to closing his eyes and moaning at your actions, hands coming up to your hips to stop you from moving so much.

“Noona, I need your answer, will you accept me as your mate? Because if you don’t want to or not ready then you need to get off me right now.”

You smirked, a plan forming in your mind, “And what would happen if I don’t move?”

“If you don’t then I’ll have you under me begging for me to mark you as mine. I’ll fuck you until your voice turns hoarse from screaming my name and my name alone. I won’t stop until you know how much I want you for myself. How much I need to have you. I’ve already gone so many years without you, I’m not willing to go a day more if I can.”

Your breathing stopped at the slight growl to his voice combined with his words. That little trickle of desire had suddenly become raging, you never knew such possessiveness could make you wet. He hadn’t even touched you. You placed your hands on his chest as your hips involuntarily ground against his growing hardness, a whimper escaping from you. You hadn’t realised your eyes had closed until a feral sound from Jungkook caused them to snap open. He grabbed the front of your dress, using it as leverage to pull you down into a heated kiss. You let out a little yelp as he flipped your positions then lightly bit your bottom lip. He trailed kisses from your lips to your neck, which he nipped and sucked at, creating small purplish marks that bloomed.

A small part of you realised that this was the Jungkook from that night. Yet you weren’t afraid. You were as welcoming of him now as you were back then. Your fingers clutched at his hair, breathing uneven. You felt his hands slip behind your back, locating the zipper of your dress and pulling it down. He sat back up and you noticed his eyes. They had gone from dark chocolate to coal black in his lust. Were your eyes the same?

“Dress. Off.” Came his gravelly voice and you were quick to comply, pulling the material up and over your head in seconds, tossing away.

He smirked at the sight of you, clearly enjoying seeing you in your underwear. A part of you wondered who had dressed you for your funeral because, honestly, when did a dead person need undies?

“Deep red suits you Noona but sadly that’s gonna need to come off too.”

You pouted, “It won’t be fair if I’m the only one naked.”

“Noona if I got undressed now this would end all too quickly. I want to savour this.” He took his top off anyway. “There. Does that make you happier?”

You hesitated, raising a hand to rest on his shoulder. It was the first time you had seen him shirtless and you marvelled at his muscular physique. Your hand moved to his bicep, giving it a light squeeze and feeling the hard flesh. Your other hand went to his pecs and travelled downwards to his abdominal muscles, feeling his breathing stutter as your fingers traced over a sensitive area just above the waistband of his leather pants.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You hummed and nodded, “I didn’t get to see you last time.”

“I didn’t really see you either. You were still wearing a dress back then.”

He grasped your waist and pulled you closer to him. His hands once again snaking up your back to undo your bra. When it came loose he tugged the material down your arms, carelessly tossing it behind him. His hand went to your shoulder, apply enough pressure for you to understand that he wanted you to lie back down. As you led back down a part of you wondered if vampires could get carpet burn.

You watched as he crawled up your body, his muscles tightened and relaxed as he moved, reminding you of a cheetah stalking its prey. He stopped once he was hovering over your form, his lips ghosting against yours as he rested his weight on his elbows either side of your head. You propped yourself up in order to capture his lips with your own, fed up with the distance that kept appearing between the two of you. One of your hands came up to grip the back of his hair so that the kiss wouldn’t break as you led back down, taking him with you. The kiss quickly growing in intensity; the naked flesh of your torsos coming into contact sending sparks of electricity through the both of you. Your other hand joined its partner in Jungkook’s hair, moaning into the kiss. Jungkook hips bucked against you at the sound, drawing another from you.

He was the one to break the kiss, eagerly kissing his way down to the tops of your heaving chest. You felt him gently run his teeth, no, his fangs over the tender flesh a moment before biting into it. There was a sharp pain at first that had your breath catching in your throat then coming out as a husky moan of pleasure. He moved away slightly, licking his lips, a cheeky grin appearing on his face.

“You’ll find that most vampires are sadomasochists. We naturally enjoy giving and receiving pain. Though if I remember correctly, you enjoyed being bitten as a human… until you realised you were dying.”

He went back to the bitemark, softly lapping at it to soothe the red area and a small moan slipped through your lips again. He chuckled, trailing his lips to your nipple and giving it a few quick teasing licks before taking the small bud into his mouth and sucking. This definitely felt way better than the quick fuck in the alleyway you had with him and he wasn’t even inside you yet. You knew he said he wanted to savour it but it was beginning to be too much, you wanted his teasing to stop. He pulled away from your nipple with a barely audible pop.

“I said I would make you beg for me Noona. I intended to do just that.”

He moved to your other breast to give it a similar treatment to the first making you keen and arch into his attentions, your hands’ grip tightening in his locks. But then he was moving again. His lips mapping your dips and curves while he travelled further down your body, every now and then biting you just hard enough to break the skin so he could lap up any of the delicious crimson that surfaced. Every piercing nip caused a burning pleasure to originate from the bleeding area.

“Does... my blood... really taste that good?” You managed to pant out. He wasn’t going to make you beg easily.

He hummed as he kissed the area he had just bitten, pulling back slightly to watch the bite mark heal and vanish, “Better than anything I’ve had before.”

A shiver ran down your spine as those red eyes from that night stared up at you. But it wasn’t fear.

“Do your eye always turn red when you taste blood?”

He smirked, “Yeah. Yours will do the same when you drink blood. In fact… I think you should know how it feels…”

He raised himself off you and shuffled forward, bringing a wrist to your lips.

“I’ll ask you what I did before. Would you like a taste?”

You hesitated. This was all new to you and quite honestly you felt as if you were thrown into the deep end. But you couldn’t deny, you felt a strong pull to bite down on the limb at your lips. So why fight against something so willingly offered? For the sake of maintaining humanity? You weren’t human anymore and it's not like humans are free from committing ‘monstrous’ acts. Something in your gut told you to follow Jungkook’s orders.

Casting aside what reluctance you had, you allowed yourself to follow your new baser instincts. Lips parting to dig your fangs into the offered flesh. You marvelled at how easily it gave way. How the splash of life’s nectar that hit your tongue made you need more of it. Each gulp had you chasing a building high. Moans slipped out between every mouthful swallowed. In the back of your mind you registered Jungkook hitching your legs around his waist and his owns sounds of pleasure as he rutted against you. The whole act was carnal and vulgar and new. Your hips thrust upwards to meet him, making your high build quicker until, with a muffled scream, you came.

Jungkook ripped his arm from your mouth, not caring about the chunk of flesh it left behind, it would heal. He watched as you prepared to spit it out but he covered your lips with his hand.

“Swallow it, don’t want it going to waste now do we?”

Wasn’t that cannibalism? Surely Jungkook must’ve been joking. But his gaze was hard, no sign of amusement held in them. He was serious. With a shaky exhale through your nose, you chewed the meat, thrill seeping into your bones as the blood hidden inside was released, allowing you to swallow without a second though.

“Such a good Noona. Following my orders so nicely.” Jungkook cooed, caressing your cheek, “And as much as I would love to hear you beg, I’ve lost at my own game. I can’t wait any longer.”

He leant back, unravelling your legs from around him to slide your panties down your legs.

“It would be such a waste to ruin these. So I’ll just have to ruin you instead.”

“Yes Master.”

There was a beat of silence and then it dawned on you, what you had just said. Your face darkened in embarrassment, hands flying up to hide it. To hide you from your shame. Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head before focusing on your womanhood.

“My Noona has such a pretty cunt, I still remember how you tasted that night.”

You squealed when you felt his tongue lap at you slick.

“Your cum is so sweet, I would choose this over blood any day.”

You peeked from between your fingers, “D-d-don’t say things like that K-Kookie-” You cut yourself of with a cry when he sucked on you clit, two fingers working their way inside you.

“What happened to ‘Master’? I quite liked that word coming from those lovely lips of yours.”

You whined, turning your face away from the erotic view in front of you. Too embarrassed to look at him. “It-It was an a-HA-ccident.”

Jungkook paused, “Oh really? So you won’t say it again.”

You shook your head.

“Okay then, I guess I’ll stop.”

You snapped back to look at him, “Please don’t.”

He smirked up at you, “Then say it again. Call me ‘Master’.”

“P-please d-don’t stop M…. Master.”

Without wasting another second Jungkook had his tongue back on you, playing with your clit, his fingers curling you rub against your sweet spot. Hands tangled into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as your hips bucked up, grinding against the wet muscle that dragged out whines and pleas for more. But all too soon he was drawing away from you despite the tugs on his hair.

“As much as I’d love for you to cum on my tongue, I’d much rather you came on my cock.”

He made quick work of the fastenings of his pants and even quicker in removing them. You wiggled in anticipation of what was to come, unable to keep still in your excitement. Aligned with your centre, he pushed into you with one smooth thrust, the two of you groaning in unison.

“Fuck, so tight. So hot. Just for me.”

His head fell to nestle into you neck, his body weight supported by his forearms, the sounds of his pleasure floating directly into your ear, sending shivers of desire down your spine. You legs came to wrap around his waist yet again, anchoring him to you as you encouraged him to go deeper with breathy pleas. Your hands tried to find purchase in his back, leaving red rivulets in their wake as they dug into muscle. Nips at the delicate skin of your neck sent jolts down to your core leading you to the euphoria to come.

“Keep clenching around me like that and I’ll come too soon Noona.”

You whimpered, your high not building quick enough for you, something was missing. You wanted to cum so badly. Jungkook lifted one your legs to his shoulder, the change in angle causing his pelvis to rub against your neglected clit. You withered beneath him, his name broken on your lips, a sight he had always wanted to see and Jungkook would be damned if he didn’t commit it to memory. Catching a nipple in his mouth, he lightly bit at the nub, little droplets welling to the surface as you gave an erotic keen making his cock twitch inside you.

“I wanna cum, please make me cum.” You sobbed, fingers digging into his back, warm wet blood slicking their tips as you accidentally broke the skin.

Jungkook growled, sweat slicked hair strands sticking to his forehead as intense crimson eyes stared into your dazed ones, “Please what?”

“Please make me cum Master, I can’t take anymore.”

“Good Noona.”

A slap to your sensitive clit was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge into rapture, your back arching as your fangs embedded into Jungkook’s throat which he willingly bore to you. So caught up in you pleasure, you didn’t hear Jungkook’s cry of release, the sound of the door opening or the feeling of your own neck being bitten.

When your senses came back to you, the first thing you noticed was that Jungkook was growling, his arms wrapped possessively around you. And as you went to pull away, he refused to do the same, effectively blocking you from being able to turn your head. It seemed rather odd to you. Well odd until-

“Dammit brat this is why we have the basement!”

#networkbangtan #armiesnet #bangtanarmynet #jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #boop #BTS jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #bangtan #bangtan scenario #bangtan smut

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mintyvan · 7 years

Text

#1 all because of the El Croquis

So this is my first fic, and I’ve never written Van before so if I could get some feedback on how I did with his dialogue/movements/general aura I’d love that. I wrote in second-person POV for the present-time stuff and I wrote in first-person POV for the flashback stuff. I hope it’s not confusing! Also, I feel like this could make a great sequel. Just let me know if you have any feedback. Thank you all so much for reading! Enjoy!

This one’s about a reader who studies architecture and is looking for an architecture journal called El Croquis in the library, but comes across something much better in the end.

-------------------

In a sleep-deprived haze, you sit back in your chair under the warm, dim fairy lights above you. With weary hands you open the first drawer of your old worn desk, grabbing your black leather journal. Wobbling slightly as you twist around your piano keyboard adjacent to the desk, you pick up your wine glass off the concrete floor and turn to the journal laying in front of you. From the ceramic cup you spun yourself on the pottery wheel in school, you find your best fountain pen. Staring at the paper, you have no words --- you need to record what happened tonight before sleep whisks you away and you forget everything. You begin:

Today I found another piece of myself.

You swirl the last bit of red wine that’s left in your glass, and finish it off. You remember that show on Netflix, Sense8, and marvel at how that’s not far off from how truly connected people can become in reality, and how sometimes the universe brings people into your life that can fit so perfectly in every way possible.

You pick up your pen and start to write again.

Browsing through the architecture library with a close knit group of people from my studio, following our professor through the narrow shelves, and her showing us book after book of the most beautiful work imaginable, I felt at home. All of us stood huddled around her in the tiny, three foot gaps between shelves; an incredibly intimate scenario for a university library. Nooks and crannies for reading and perusing, peeking at each other through the spaces where books weren’t.

At the end of the library perusal, our professor said goodbye to us and left through the glass doors around the corner of the long hallway. I looked down at my watch and realized I had the rest of the day to work on whatever I wanted, and maybe go out for a few drinks tonight with some friends if the forecasted rain didn’t hit until later. I was lucky that my last class ended at 11:00a.m. on Fridays; just before the cafe rush at the front of the school of design’s library got too hectic.

As I walked down the same long hallway my professor and fellow students had exited from just moments earlier to grab a cuppa, something peculiar caught my eye. A sign for the most recent El Croquis journal boasted that our school had obtained a copy and bound it already -- I looked up the call numbers for the book and I rushed to the back section of the library to try to find it.

Squinting at the paper numbers taped to the shelves, I couldn’t find it. I slowly walked up and down each aisle of the library, and then back to the sign. “Coming to Section D on April 16,” it read. April 16 was today. Just then, I had a thought - what if it was still in the back room? I hated going back there because of the dingy lights and the damp, gravelly smell of cement blocks. I decided to brave it to find the newest edition of one of the world’s best architecture journals and have a look at it.

After asking permission from the library techs to go into the room, I went down the stairs to the basement. I opened the creaky door to the back room, which was quite spacious; it was situated underneath the campus lawn space, which was about the size of a football field. The books and shelves that had become too worn to show off in the front part of the library were cast off into this room; the back corner is also where the books were bound by the student library techs. I walked the main corridor between the shelves to the back end of the room where I was sure I’d find the book.

Instead, I found six guys huddled in between makeshift room dividers made of bookshelves arranged in a mildly square shape, passing a joint around, sitting on top of stacks of books, and cackling unintelligibly in thick British accents. The smoke was surely going to infiltrate the books’ pages and never leave.

I had approached quietly up until I stepped on some crumpled paper that had most likely been flung from this microcosm the boys had created.

“Oi!” the one with the short, dark hair yelled as he heard the crunch of the paper under my shoe, “lads we’ve been found!” and all but one of the guys jumped and bolted past me with wild expressions, gripping their bag of joints tightly, laughing down the main corridor toward exit, sending my hair and nearby papers into a flurry. The racing footsteps echoed down the hallway.

I peered down at the man who was still there in the makeshift room. He was asleep on the floor, head laying on one stack of books and his arm propped on another smaller stack next to it. He looked dead peaceful. His eyelashes were impossibly long, and rested there near the tops of his cheekbones, which were quite chiseled. His jaw was a little crooked, and his lips were plump and the corner of his mouth was resting on the top of one of the books in the stack. My eyes traveled down the rest of him, realizing his gold necklace tucked into his black shirt under the leather jacket, and how his arms looked toned from here… and that’s when I noticed it. The new El Croquis. On top of the stack under his arm.

I moved over to him and slowly dropped down to my knees so that I could get a better angle on the situation. I thought, Should I wake up the guy? He’s not really supposed to be in here anyway, and I really want to get my hands on that book.

I decided to shimmy the book out from under his arm and try not to wake him; I’m not one for conversations with strangers, especially considering how weird the conversation for this situation would be. I slowly reached to pull the El Croquis from under his elbow and twisted it around so it wouldn’t hit his limp fingers. A corner of it caught on his leather jacket and my breath hitched - pleasedontwakeuppleasedontwakeuppleasedontwakeup - I thought with each beat of my heart as my pulse sped up. He stayed asleep. I lowered my purse to the floor, allowing my movements become a little daintier, and I opened the book’s cover a bit so the jacket sleeve would slip away from the corner. I gathered myself for a second, kneeling on the ground with the El Croquis tucked into my chest, and internally cursed myself for going through this much trouble for an architecture journal. I stood up, and padded away from him as quietly as possible.

I got to the newer portion of the library and checked the book out at the counter. I put it in my purse and set on my way to get a cup of hot tea from the Starbucks on the other side of campus because during my El Croquis escapade, the library cafe had closed for the employee’s lunch hour. I looked outside, and surely enough with the day I had already experienced, it was raining harder than it had in a long time just to add onto the trouble I went through. I decided to use the back exit of the library since I had nothing but the denim shirt I was wearing over my black short sleeve shirt to shield me from the rain.

A rich, cold rain was beating down on everything, and much earlier than the meteorologists had expected. Jumping out into mayhem from the stale purple hallway, I walked half a mile to my apartment. The drains were gurgling and sipping on the water as it ran down the street. The shirt I was holding over my head gradually got heavier and heavier with water, and moisture was seeping in my hair and in my boots but the reflection on the street and the buildings twinkling behind the droplets and the wet pitter patters on my hands filled me with a kind of nostalgia. It was like a scene from a movie.

When I stepped across the threshold of my apartment in sodden shoes and threw my keys down on the table next to the door, I peeled off my clothes and took a searing hot shower. When I got out, I wrapped myself in a towel, sat on my bed and pulled out my phone. I had a text from Jen asking what my plans were for tonight, another text from Chris asking the same question, a text from Brooke telling me which bars to hit up tonight, and three missed calls from a weird number.

I answered everyone’s texts, and contemplated calling the weird number back. I left my phone on the dresser and made myself a snack in the kitchen. I was taking the contents of my backpack and putting them in their respective places; pencils and pens in the cup, books in the bin under the desk, the El Croquis in plain sight on the nightstand, ready for night reading. I heard a faint ringing and went to get my phone again. It was the weird number from earlier.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hellooo, is this y/n?” The caller’s accent was British, like the guys from the library earlier. Oh, geez, I thought to myself.

“....Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”

“So uh, you left your wallet here in the library, and, well, I found it and got ya number off the studio access card.”

Great. So much for a sly reconnaissance mission for the El Croquis. The cute sleeping guy now had my wallet AND he knows my name AND he’d seen my shitty ID photo.

“You there, love?”

“Yeah, sorry. Um, where can I pick it up from you? Thanks for not leaving it there.”

“Well, I’m hangin’ with my friend Larry - his mate’s an exchange student here from where we’re from and he’s got a house ‘round here. I can text ya the address. He’s ‘avin a party tonight anyway so we’ll be here all night. Oh, and you’re welcome.”

There was some muffled talk about “gig” and “tonight” and “lids” in the background as he spoke.

“Right, so I’ll text you the address. I’ll see you later then, yeah?” he said into the phone.

“Yeah. Also, one last thing - what’s your name?”

“Van.”

“Alright Van, thanks, didn’t want to keep thinking some spam caller was trying to reach me again.”

***

Shortly after Van had called and sent me the address, I texted Jen, Chris, and Brooke and told them I was going to a party in the neighborhood tonight. They replied that Brooke had found some fantastic club on the other side of the city and they were all going to try it out. I told them I had to go to this one party to get my wallet, but they responded they were already on their way to the other choice. Sigh. I was riding solo. I ate a quick dinner, put on some minimal makeup, and wore my signature “architect” look: black jeans, black top, black chelsea boots, and some geometric jewelry. I went for some boxy cube earrings.

I walked to the house since it was only about a 10 minute walk from my place. Someone was exiting as I was entering the house, so I made my way in and looked around for Van. I spotted him in the corner of the kitchen chatting to one of the guys who had been smoking in the library earlier, who had big bouncy curls and thick-rimmed glasses. As I approached, the curly one said, “Come to bust us again?” in a cheeky tone and I rolled my eyes.

“Van, could I get my wallet please?” I asked him.

“Mmmm…. It seems there’s been a slight hiccup in your retrieval of the wallet.”

“What do you mean there’s a hiccup?” I asked.

“I can only reveal the wallet’s secret location if you stay and party with us lids until midnight.”

I stared back at him with an expression of disbelief for a moment, and then checked my watch. He just winked at me with a smirk on his face.

“That’s four hours away, Van,” I said through my teeth. I was starting to get a little pissed off.

“Did ya come here alone?”

“What?”

“Where’re your mates? Pretty girl like you has to have mates,” he said with a smile.

Ignoring his latter comment, you replied, “They went to another party across town.”

“So, love, looks like your schedule’s completely free! Here, come have a drink with me and meet everyone.”

Van hovered his hand over the small of my back and led me out to the patio outside where the makeshift bar was. He stopped me on one side of the bar and walked around to the other.

“Now then, what would you like?” He looked sort of cute, playing bartender.

“Vodka Sprite please. And make it a strong one.”

***

9:00p.m.

Van and I had just made the rounds through the entire house. He introduced me to literally everyone that had come in to party, and was cordial to everyone. He even made me snicker a few times with cheeky comments to others, even though I was supposed to be mad about him making me stay here until midnight. By now, I had consumed 2 ½ Vodka Sprites, mixed by Van himself, and Van had drank as much as I had plus what he had before I arrived. We were equally tipsy, and I was slowly forgetting that I was here for my wallet.

“Low” by Flo Rida had just come on over the speakers, a certain change from the previous chill music they had been playing here; it’s obvious whoever had the aux cord was ready to turn the party up. Van said, “Let’s dance!” and I clutched my red solo cup tighter. It was getting harder and harder to resist his charm. He wiggled his hips to the music, and it was obvious he wanted me to join him and the other people dancing in the living room. He hopped over to me, took my hand, and then used his other hand to take my solo cup and chug the rest of the contents while he walked backwards into the living room.

With no cup in my hands, Van had the opportunity to swing me around and around and around the room with his hands in mine. He wove in and out of people, sometimes having to raise our hands high to get over people who weren’t moving out of the way in time for us to plow through the room and outside where even more people gathered. We danced, tipsy and all-smiles, only focused on each other, for a long time.

****

10:00p.m.

Another hour had passed and Van and I had grown a lot closer. He couldn’t keep his hands off me - but in a respectful sort of way. He put his hand on my back to guide me to the next person he knew, and he had his arm around me when he was talking to people. He kept looking at me with those big, blue eyes framed by dark eyelashes, inviting me to participate in the conversation. Inviting me into his world.

We ran, hand in hand, back to the bar outside, and he started mixing everything he could together, throwing caution to the wind while I watched him with my chin resting on my hand. I was enjoying watching him. A little bit of vodka, a little bit of rum. Something blue; something gold with bubbles. This and that. He shook it with his hand over the rim of the cup, and then poured half of it into another cup, not afraid to accidentally pour some out all over the patio, and knock over a few bottles of liquor in the process. He held one out to me, and linked our right arms together over the bar. With our arms still linked, we drank from our own cups.

As soon as the liquid hit my tongue, I had to spit it out, and from the sound he made, Van did too. We both spit the nasty concoction into the grass, noses wrinkling and throats burning and lots of coughing. Van fell over me onto the grass and kept coughing and laughing at the same time.

A few minutes later, whatever he mixed hit the both of us and we were stumbling everywhere, having to mutter slurred apologies to the people we bumped into. One of those people I recognized; it was Kyle, one of my acquaintances from a lower-classmen studio.

“Heyyyyy Kyle!” I called out to him, even though he was about four feet from me.

“Hi Y/N! How’s it going? Great party, right?”

“I’ll say,” Van said, tripping into the room just as I had moments before.

“Oh! Y/N, you know Van?” Kyle said in a less drunk version of Van’s accent; he must be the exchange student his entire friend group knew.

“You know Van?” I slurred back at him. “I just met Van today. He stole my wallet.”

“Noooooo I didn’t!” Van playfully replied in a high pitched voice, swatting my hand in denial.

“So, Y/N, how’s that architecture project coming? You finished your exploded axons and section views yet? That’s been the real kicker for me. I’m still working on building my 3D model as well. So much work.” Kyle was trying to have a legitimate conversation with me, and I felt bad because Van was trying to distract me and I wasn’t in the right mind to be talking about coursework seriously.

“It’s fine… My project is based on simplicity and elegance, and experiential maps, so it’s coming along nicely. It’s all about emotional experiences you can convey in the spaces, that atmosphere, ya know?” I knew I was slurring every word I spoke to him. “I think the final review will be a cinch if I can pull off the rendered views,” I said as Van wrapped his arms around me from the side and started whispering things about art and big words in my ear. Kyle started realizing that we were getting cozy, and so it was then that he decided to break off from the conversation. “So some tosser mixed together a lot of our alcohol and wasted a lot of it, so if you two want another drink, you can have friend privileges and raid the stash of wine in my room. There’s a lot of it that I bought for just this kind of situation. Have at it!” He said with a wave of his hands. “Not that you need anymore,” he muttered.

Of course, Van and I immediately locked hands and ran through the kitchen, through the living room, down the hall and up the stairs to the bedrooms. Van threw open the door to the bathroom by accident and Van’s friend Bondy was heavily making out with a girl who had Bondy’s hat on backwards and was sitting on the bathroom counter. They didn’t even notice we had opened the door and kept on kissing furiously. Van shut it, and we both looked at each other for a moment before erupting into raucous laughter. We almost fell back down the stairs from laughing so hard and clinging onto each other roughly, and people started staring at us wondering what was going on.

The next door we opened was to a bedroom, and we began searching for the wine. We looked on the dressers, in the closets, and in the drawers, like it was a game. I got down on my hands and knees to look under the tiny bed, and Van did the same from the other side of the bed. We were laughing the entire time, and our hands met under the bed while searching for bottles. Van held tight to the hand he brushed up against. Under the tiny bed, he looked at me with those eyes that sparkled even in the dark, and we realized our faces were only a foot apart now. The atmosphere changed. The laughter stopped and we stared at each other, mouths falling open, eyes darting to and from each other’s lips as we realized what we really wanted to do.

“Just what the HELL are you two doing in here?” A guy, not Kyle, but still British, shouted as he walked into the room. Van and I hit our heads on the underside of the bedframe looming above us as he walked in, and we grimaced and grumbled in pain. The guy dragged Van out from underneath the bed by his feet, and Van yelped, “Larry, stop!” In a high pitched voice.

“Mate, we’ve gotta keep you in sight. Straighten up.” Larry turned to me and said, “And as for you, miss, don’t let him drink anything else.”

***

11:00p.m.

We had found the wine in Kyle’s bedroom and we stashed a bottle of champagne and a bottle of red wine behind the fireplace screen for later, whenever that would be. At Larry’s request, we had stopped drinking. He’d even given me his number just in case Van had decided otherwise and needed to be given a talking-to by Larry. And although we were now just tipsy instead of drunk, Van continued the touching. Brushing fingers up and down my arm, holding my hands even when we weren’t walking anywhere.

We both sat close, thighs touching, Van’s arm around me on the little couch someone had dragged from inside the living room to the backyard. Most everyone was inside the house now, waiting around for more alcohol to arrive since Van had mixed up most of the stuff they had before. He told me earlier he slipped Kyle some money to pay for what he mussed up.

Underneath the blue and green lights Kyle had strung up earlier that day, we sat in silence for a while and watched the people inside have conversations and go about their drunkened business.

Van spoke up first, his voice low. “You’ve got less than an hour to go.”

“Mmm?” I murmured, drawn from the quiet by his raspy voice.

“Your wallet.” He replied.

“Yeah? Haven’t checked the time in a while, what with being distracted and all.” I shot him a small smirk.

“Distracted?” Van played like he didn’t know what I meant.

“Oh, ya know, drunk dancing, bumping into Kyle, looking for the wine, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Speaking of Kyle - that was a nice talk you two had. That art stuff, I mean. Don’t know much about it, but I vibed with the idea that emotional experiences have effects on how people perceive things.” He continued as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and fumbled for a lighter. “Atmosphere means a lot to anyone who’s on the receiving end of a work, whatever that work may be.” He lit the cigarette. “And that simplicity and elegance, right, from seeing the true potential realized, that’s what people look for.” He blew a puff of smoke to the sky.

Van looked so beautiful in the soft blue-green light the overhead strands cast on his face. I took a finger and traced over the line of his nose, across his lips, and down to his chin. He watched me intently. I traced across his jawline, almost to his earlobe, and down his neck to the collar bone poking out of his shirt. I put my hand down and gave him a small smile.

“In every building I design I take the experiences I’ve had in my own life and I use what I feel to create the aura that people feel when they walk in. There’s only one first impression. It’s got to count.”

“Your first impression was an interesting one, love, how you proper slithered a book out from under my arm today in the library so casually. Real talent there,” Van chuckled.

My eyes almost popped out of my head. “You were awake? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“For the same reason you didn’t try to talk to me! Strange way to meet a person, yeah?” He smiled and took another puff from the cig.

I checked my watch. 11:50p.m.

Larry came over to us and sat down next to Van. “People’re gettin’ antzy, ay? Great party, great vibes. Love the lights.” Boy, Larry talked fast. He lit up a cigarette as well and motioned to the people inside, capturing Van in a banterous conversation about guitars and sets or something. A little left out, I stood up and walked into the house partly to get away from the smoke, and partly to give Van some alone time with Larry. Walking away from Van was physically difficult; his warmth had been so near to me all night that lack of it was uncomfortable. I realized just how chilly the April night had gotten.

I found the bottles of wine behind the fireplace screen and thought about popping the champagne. There wasn’t really a reason to, though. Maybe when I got my wallet back! I chuckled to myself. I meandered around the house, trying to find some other of Van’s friends like Bondy or Benji or Bob to speak to, but they were nowhere to be found.

I circled around back to the living room, about to go outside through the sliding glass doors to the backyard. Arms tightened around my waist just as I was about to pass the threshold, and a voice whispered in my ear, “I believe I have something of yours.” I twist around and there Van is with my wallet in his outstretched hand. I wiggled my hips a little as he handed it over. I smiled and hugged him. “Thank you so much for finally giving this back! Took me forever to get it.”

“You’re welcome, love.” He stood there, a little awkwardly. I didn’t really know what to say. Maybe we were done here. After all, most of the stuff we did involved us being drunk and not particularly normal. Maybe that’s just what Van did at parties.

“Well…. I’ve had such a lovely time tonight…. See you soon, then” I replied. I slowly started to turn around and walk toward the door, a little disappointed that the night was over.

“Y/N, wait! You’re gonna miss the best part!” Van called after me.

I turned back around to face him. “What do you mean? Isn’t the party over at midnight? Like, now?” His actions were confusing me.

He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t place. “The show?” He questioned.

“What show?”

“Catfish and the Bottlemen. Please stay and watch!”

I wanted to stay with him, but I didn’t really want to watch one of the crappy bands that usually played at the university parties here.

“Van, I’ve never really heard of them, and the name sounds a bit odd…. Maybe next time? It’s kind of late…” I was starting to feel funny. He was pressing about this. I looked back up at him, and he looked very disappointed. He turned and briskly walked outside, bolting into the crowd looking a little angry. Or determined?

I headed outside shortly after Van, and he pushed through the small crowd to get to the front of the stage, probably before the band started playing. I shook my head. I took a right and was walking across the yard along the side of the house until I heard someone speak up on the microphone right as I was about to exit the yard.

“Hi everyone, I’m Van from Catfish and the Bottlemen, and this song’s called Kathleen” he said, breathing heavily from the run up to the stage. I stopped in my tracks and slowly pivoted. There he was, on stage! With a guitar! With Bondy and Benji and Bob!

As Van sang the first lines, my mouth was still hanging wide open. I walked back to the small crowd that had gathered in Kyle’s backyard. Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed my arm from the outskirts of the crowd and helped me move toward the front. I twisted my head over my shoulder and realized Larry was the one pushing me up there. As soon as he stopped pushing me, I was right there in the front, and could register what was happening.

His voice was incredible. Raspy when it got louder, and so smooth and effortless at the same time because he sang what he knew with such raw emotion. He was probably waking up everyone in the neighborhood with those pipes, and he didn’t seem embarrassed at all, though he didn’t really need to be. He was the best I’d ever seen live.

***

1:00a.m.

The show had been amazing, nothing like I’d ever seen before. The blue lights beaming down on Van and the boys created an atmosphere so cool and beyond heavenly. Van had made eye contact with me so much during the show, and at one point it was so sensual that I felt a little self-conscious. The last riff of a song called Tyrants was played and Van hopped down off the stage right in front of me, dripping sweat with Larry trying to pat him with a towel. He shooed Larry off and put an arm around my waist, pulling me toward him and pushing our hips together. “How was that for a first impression?” He asked. He ran his tongue across his lips before he crashed them onto mine in a short, but hot, kiss. Everyone watched and some people even gasped.

“How bout summa that champagne?” He grinned, and brushed his nose up against mine; I just nodded, still in awe of the aura he created and the fact that he just kissed me in it.

Larry had already thought ahead to bring a bottle nearby; he gave it to Van, and it was popped right there. The foam ran into the grass, cork nowhere to be found, and he held it to my lips to drink.

***

?:??a.m.

Stumbling through the streets of Kyle’s neighborhood, Van and I laughed and bantered and slurred our way up against many a tree to kiss each other senseless. We had lost the other boys a while ago on their way to find some fried food. We ran through the alleys of the neighborhood, trying not to hit our then-stashed bottles of wine on anything. My feet were getting tired. Van tried to carry me through the dark city streets, but he was stumbling too and couldn’t get very far. He teetered over a little too far with me in his arms and I dropped the champagne bottle. It shattered piercingly loud on the street, green glass flecking everywhere into a million pieces. They reflected in the wet pools of water left by the downpour earlier. Our eyes met again, and I dropped onto my feet and shouted “Run!”

We bolted down the alleyway and turned the corner just as lights were coming on where we had been seconds before.

After a few minutes of running and huffing and puffing and a few more hot stolen kisses against dimly lit lamp posts, we had arrived at my apartment complex. I fumbled for my keys as Van kissed my neck from behind.

Once inside my apartment, I set everything down and took the bottle of red wine from Van’s hands - the last bottle left from the party - while he looked around my place curiously. I poured us two glasses of the thick red wine.

Van sat down in my desk chair and stared at the piano keyboard. “Do you play?”

“Why else would it be in my apartment?” I gave him a coy smile.

He scooted off the chair to sit on the floor while I took the chair. I started playing some of Pachelbel’s Canon in D, my favorite classical song. Van was enraptured with the way my fingers glided across the keys, hitting every note perfectly. Under the warm yellow lights of my desk, he smiled and set his head against my thigh as I played him many a composition. His eyes glistened, probably as mine did earlier when I watched him have a hand at his own craft.

We sat like that for a while as I played. Van peered up at me through long eyelashes, watching me concentrate on tunes I hadn’t attempted in a while. Chuckling when I hit a very wrong key.

When I had exhausted my repertoire, Van took to looking through my vinyls I set up on a table near the balcony of my tiny studio apartment. I sat at the table, sipping my red wine, listening to him murmur “good record” or “don’t know this one” and the like. I started sketching on some scrap paper. Drawing a mass of green and blue meeting a warm abstraction of yellow and orange. I overlayed some geometric shapes on top of the swirls of color.

Van plopped on top of my bed next to my desk, setting his wine glass on the nightstand. The wine was gone from his glass. I realized he had also thoughtfully corked the bottle and put it on the counter.

I moved to put my glass on the floor next to the piano keyboard, still a little wine left in it. I climbed on the bed next to Van; he sat up. Never breaking eye contact, I slid the same leather jacket I had tried so hard not to come into contact with earlier off his shoulders. He put his hands on either side of my face and kissed me delicately.

He pulled away from me and helped me lay onto the bed next to him. He pulled off his shoes and socks and placed them neatly at the foot of the bed, and then did the same for mine. He climbed back onto the bed, lying on his side, head propped up with one elbow. He reached out and ran one of my cube earrings through his fingers.

“You’re gorgeous, you know.” Once again, it was he who spoke up. I smiled and thanked him quietly. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I said. After a pause, I kept on: “I had a really great time tonight. You’re lovely. The more time I’ve spent with you the more I’ve realized I’ve never had someone get on with me so well. It just worked today.” Van’s subsequent lean-in for a long, passionate kiss was his answer to that.

When we broke the kiss for air, I sat up. “Hold on. I have to do something before I forget.” He stared at me as I got up, sleepily walked over to my desk, and sat down. I opened the first drawer of my old worn desk next to the piano we just played together, grabbing my black leather journal, not unlike Van’s jacket. I picked up the glass of wine from the floor and set it next to the journal. I grabbed a pen from this old ceramic cup I made forever ago, and began to write this epic. I drained the glass of wine.

And here we are.

You look up at Van, who’s been patiently waiting for you to finish writing. He didn’t ask questions. He probably does the same thing when he gets song ideas. He’s hunched over something on the other side of the bed, looking perfectly at ease. You get up from your desk, and peel off your jeans. Van takes this as a cue to return his attention to you, nevermind whatever he was doing before. He watches you as you return the cube earrings to your jewelry box and brush out your hair. His eyes ask permission that he can strip down to his own makeshift pajamas. You nod ever so slightly and walk into the bathroom. You take off your bra and put on a bigger, warm black t-shirt over your skin. You take off the little bit of makeup you had on, brush your teeth and look at yourself in the mirror, loving how mussed your hair looks from staying out so late. When you return to the main room, Van is already under the silky sheets and most of his clothes are strewn across the floor.

You climb under too, and love the feel of your skin on his. He wraps his arms around you and the both of you drift off into a fulfilling sleep.

****

The piercing light of the sun through the windows blinded you at an ungodly hour. A voice said, “go back to sleep, love,” and drew the curtains. The voice left to have a smoke on the tiny balcony.

****

You awaken to the side of the bed being much too cold for your liking. The night before is a blur; you remember some things… you remember a boy…. He was in a band… You may have slept with him. You stand up from the bed, body aching from a hangover. You sit at your desk and start to read the journal at the open page.

Memory refreshed, you stand to make yourself some breakfast. You’re a little surprised; Van left no note. You wonder if he was just in it for last night only. He didn’t seem like the type to do that, but at least you’re glad you didn’t do anything but kiss him.

Breakfast was delicious - eggs and avocado salt and peppered on toast, and a heaping bowl of fruit.

You sat back on the bed with a full stomach, contemplating everything. At last, you decided that if he wanted to leave and be done with it, then so be it. No chance in chasing someone who doesn’t want to be committed. You’re disappointed, but at least he didn’t bail later when you were more emotionally invested. Although he spent the night with you. Played a show and wanted you to stay. Looked through your records. And played piano with you. And ran through the alleyways wasted, kissing you dirty up against light posts like you’ve never been kissed before. Sigh.

You open the El Croquis book that was on the nightstand and start flipping through the beautiful photos of built projects, reveling in the precisions of the plans and the ways the sites were mapped. You came across some wild projects that would probably influence your later work. They had everything you wanted in a project, all that stuff you said to Van last night.

You sit there flipping through the glossy pages for more than an hour, reading dissertations and examining the plans. This was one of the best journals that El Croquis had ever released. You were saddened as you made it to the end of the journal; that same feeling you get when you want to finish a book as quickly as possible because it gets so good, but then you’re sad when there’s no story left.

You flip to the last page, and gasp.

Taped over the back inside binding is the sketch you made last night, of the green and blue and yellow with the shapes overlayed. New lines inside the shapes denoted pockets of rooms, and new thicker lines showed boundaries of places, and soon you realize the sketch had been made into a rudimentary version of Kyle’s house, and parts of his neighborhood you got lost in, and your apartment. Van had studied the El Croquis to produce a mapping of your journey together while you had written about the same journey; your roles had reversed. Scrawled above what you both had drawn, he wrote simply, “El Croquis forgot one.”

You closed the book, smile beaming, and you hopped off the bed, walked around it, and your foot hit something solid. You realized a little something was peeking out from under the bed skirt…. Van’s phone. How ironic.

Immediately, you dial Larry’s number.

“Hello? Y/N?” a confused Larry answers. You can hear Van speaking in the background.

“Hi Larry. Could you hand me over to Van real quick?” You say in a chipper voice.

“Yeah, sure. One second.”

The phone crackles as it’s being handed from person to person until it reaches Van.

“Heeello?”

“I believe I have something of yours.”

#vanfiction #van fic #first one woo!!!

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