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alphabetboyluvr · 3 months

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the curious lifespan of migrating monarchs - jjk

THE CURIOUS LIFESPAN OF MIGRATING MONARCHS (& other aurelian affairs)

pairing: streamer!jk x international student!female oc (s2l)

warnings: strangers to lovers, clubbing, foul language, alcohol, vaping lol, jungkook is kinda famous, the oc is oblivious, the oc is also a foreign student who has very recently arrived in Korea!! (pls note - while i've been in korean uni dorms, i've never been in yonsei dorms specifically so don't shout at me if it isn't supeeeerr accurate), jaykay is speaking in eng for like 90% of this!!, i've also never watched a gaming streamer and had to do so for research lmao so there's a lot of guesswork going awwwn <3, the oc has tattoos, they bond over this, cute nicknames (tokki and nabi <3), one bed trope?? kinda, jaykay lives w/ yoongi and tae (they are streamers too (and dj?? (tae is a bit unhinged))), jungkook wears calvins!, a singular appearance of yoongi in his boxers!!, tipsy hookup, fingering, protected sex (woo!), desk sex, oral (m receiving), girliepop swallows <3, brief mentions of jungkook's starry eyes, lots of kisses, bunny ears, (1) mention of cross-fit

wordcount: 13011

note from holly: this was a commission done for the lovely Michelle over on my kofi page!! i don't open commissions often, but when I do I'm very lucky that the requests are so much fun. this actually ended up being way longer than it was supposed to be lol and is also available on wattpad!! also fun facts for you - I imagine the boys apartment (and jks room!) to be same as jk + jimins place in BD, just a little bigger lmao

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

CLUB SUNDOWN WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 02:24

Time ceases to exist after the sun goes down in Seoul. It could be two, or it could be five. The only thing that really clues you in on the actual time is the DJ schedule that lights up behind the decks: 02:00-03:00, Blu-Tae.

It's some guy you've never heard of. Looks no older than you. Probably a student, just like the rest of the crowd.

His hair is as blue as his namesake, which does make you smile, and his choices aren't bad either (even if somewhat questionable). You've never heard a jazz remix of Darude's Sandstorm before, and you doubt you ever will again.

Club Sundown is just as rogue as the rest of the city after the sun goes down. Hidden in the basement—like all the best places in Seoul are—the small room is packed to the absolute brim.

Who cares for views and sunsets offered by rooftop bars when you could lose yourself in the debauchery of an eternal midnight, instead?

Drinks are spilt on strangers, and dances have lost the grandeur of old-fashioned waltzes. It's not like you could dance properly, even if you wanted to. There's just simply no space.

Like Alice, you're down the rabbit hole—and oh, how you prefer it to being in the real world. In the shadows, you can be anyone you like.

If you were sober, you'd know this is also the case for daily life. You're in a new country with no ties to your former self. Who you are is who you choose to be.

But the shadows aren't all that dark. The red lights of the club bleed into the cracks, painting everyone in the same subtle hue of danger.

They shine a little light on the identifiers of you; the thin black lines of your patchwork tattoos. Trailing up your arm, they're memories of your past selves, and an indicator of who you hope to become.

"Down this," you say to your dormmate, Rae, handing back over the drink you've just ordered from the bar. "Cloakroom, then dance."

Still carrying your winter coats, you'd wanted to check the place out before committing to it. Entry is free, but the cloakroom is the same price as a drink. It would only be worth putting your coats away if you knew you wanted to stay—and given the fact the DJ was playing O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei as you entered, you know it's a no-brainer. While his stage name might make you roll your eyes a little, Blu-Tae certainly does cater to your tastes. When you're drunk, and music vibrates through you, it's empyrean. No place you'd rather be.

"Oh, Jesus," Rae gags as she sips the drink you've just handed her. Despite her disgust, she's laughing. Head to toe in black, dark hair loose around her shoulders, she's been your ride-or-die since you arrived in Seoul. Both international students in the same dorm, there's no one you'd rather get up to no good with. "Vodka?!"

You beam at her like you're from the heavens above, wrongfully relegated to the depths of sin. Pretend like you love vodka. It's totally not like you panicked when you saw the menu was all in Korean.

Vodka-coke is a universally understood delicacy—the easiest thing for you to order without making a tit of yourself or butchering the pronunciation. When the bartender ignored your botched attempt at ordering in Korean and answered in fluent English, you'd wanted to melt into the floor. So embarrassing.

You're here, like most foreign students, for a language course. Semester is yet to start, and as much as you've studied and practised hard, it's always different when putting it into practice.

"I'm sorry," you laugh. "It's fine—you can order next time!"

But Rae has the exact same predicament as you. If anything, your language skills are better than hers, so you really have no hope. It's vodka-cokes for the evening, or maybe highballs. Once your tipsy brain manages to compute hangul cocktail names, you'll be golden, but that won't be for another few weeks, yet.

You'll look back at this time of your life fondly, realising how simple it all was, even if it feels incredibly overwhelming right now.

Funnily enough, hope is exactly what you have: for the semester ahead, for this new life you're forging, for the opportunities that may come your way.

In fact, by the time you're on your third vodka coke, you've managed to convince yourself you actually like it. You also can't taste it, thanks to the bartender freepouring a 60-40 ratio of vodka to coke in the first drink. Your tastebuds were wiped out pretty much instantly.

Coats in the cloakroom, you're glad to be wearing thin layers. The room is stuffy; your skin sweaty. While meeting new friends had been the goal, you keep to yourself. Dance like nobody is watching. Hold Rae's hands to stay close and ward off weirdos. Quickly realise that clubs back home are slightly different. Pay it no mind. Ignore the intrusions of hands on waists, because men, disappointingly, are no different.

Or at least most of them aren't.

But most of them don't look like the man in the corner booth, laughing with his friends.

Though he is tall, he's eclipsed by his demeanour. Shoulders broad, he's in a dark T-shirt and pair of jeans. Nothing special. Nothing that warrants such a perplexed stare from you - but he's familiar. You can't place him, but he's got the kind of face you swear you've seen before.

Rae doesn't notice the change in your poise, nor how you're desperately trying to work out where you know him from. Perhaps you've seen him around your university? It's only been a couple of weeks, but people are steadily moving in. Maybe he works at the convenience store you constantly find yourself in? Or mans the front desk of the noraebang you and Rae visit pretty much every other evening?

Impossible, you think. If you'd seen him before, you wouldn't have forgotten him, or the way he constantly toys with his lip rings. Plural. There are signs up around the place stating bar rules. NO SMOKING is rule number three. You've seen his friends pass him over a vape a handful of times. Anyone else, and you'd think it was cringe. Embarrassing.

But in the midst of his laughter settling, and a fresh toke being inhaled, his eyes flicker towards yours.

Perhaps it's just because you're drunk, but you don't avert your gaze. Show no shame. The smile on his lips sinks into a smirk as he exhales. An acknowledgement. A 'hello, trouble'.

Again, any other man, you'd find the vape smoke repugnant. Nasty. Now? Watching the way he flicks his tongue against his lip rings?

You wanna know how it tastes.

Black ink weaves an intricate outline of who he is up his arms. Where he's been. Who he's been. A map, if you will, of his soul.

Much like your own tattoos, he's got thick black lines, and little else. Simple, you assume. A man of convenience. Efficiency.

You wonder if he does everything in life with the precision to match his tattoos, and as your lips wrap around the straw of your vodka-coke, you decide you'd quite like to find out.

Interrupted by Rae pulling you deeper into the crowd, your night is spent in and out of shadows. Attempt subtlety. Try not to make your occasional glances to the corner booth noticeable, just checking if his eyes are still on you. More often than not, they aren't—but sometimes they are, and that's enough to fuel your little flirt.

It's not until the sign behind the DJ booth changes from 03:00-04:00, GLOSS into some other guy that you notice your staring contest opponent has slipped into the shadows himself. The booth is void of both him and his friends. Gone.

"GLOSS has a set at another club," Rae all but yells in your ear, and even then, you barely hear her. "All the hotties left when he did. Let's go."

"Where to?!" You laugh, empty cup in hand. Admittedly, the new guy who's stepped into the DJ booth is just not doing it for you. Blu-Tae was just the right amount of unhinged with classics, whereas GLOSS was definitely cooler, but still fun. Had the club yelling curse words over trap remixes just for the fun of it. This new guy, whose name you don't care to remember, takes himself too seriously, you think.

"It's, like, two blocks down," she yells back, tugging on your wrist to drag you to the stairwell that leads you back up to the streets of Seoul. The hustle and bustle of people trying to go in different directions in the tight place forces you apart, but you figure you'll catch up with her, or that she'll be waiting at the top.

You don't know the roads well enough yet to make it to whichever club it's at alone, and quickly realise when you nearly tumble into the side of a waiting taxi that you're far drunker than expected. Knew the bartender was freepouring, but didn't realise just how free those pours really were.

"Woah, easy trouble," a deep voice sounds from behind you as you're steadied to a more stable position.

"I'm good, I'm good!" You insist, shaking off the hands of your 'saviour'. Have no interest in being a damsel in distress, or some sober guy trying to take advantage of you.

Looking down to check your laces are tied properly, you check over your shoulder to make sure the guy isn't creepily waiting for a thank you that he can turn into an intrusive game of 21 questions—'are you open-minded?' or 'do you live alone?'—but when you glance in his direction, you regret it. Notice the tattoos immediately. Recognise the eyes. Want to die.

"Oh."

"Oh," he says back with a smile, imitating you. Suddenly, the confidence you'd had earlier when looking at him from afar dissolves into nothingness, just like the alcohol in your bloodstream. You feel rather sober, but your body would definitely disagree. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, suddenly a little stuck for words, desperately trying to play things cool. "Are you okay?"

The pouting of his lips as his tongue runs along the inside of his cheek only serves to make you internally cringe. Men who look like him have no business being on streets like this. Should be in a museum. Strung up on the walls with the other masterpieces. Admired by everyone who looks his way.

In a way you don't yet realise, he is.

Though he's not in galleries, he's often burning into people's laptop screens. Is the background of a fair few thousand lock screens. Indeed, he is admired by everyone who looks his way, just not in the traditional sense.

"I'm not the one who just fell into a car," he reminds you, as if you could forget your embarrassment so quickly.

"Was just seeing if you'd catch me," you bullshit, the confidence you usually have returning tenfold. Was just a momentary blip. He's just a man, after all.

"Oh?" He chirps, decidedly curious. "So you fell for me?"

"Stumbled."

"Semantics."

His fluency, and the fact he just said 'semantics' so casually in conversation, clues you in on the fact he might be a language student, too.

Could be useful study partners for each other, you think, then mentally berate yourself for already masterminding ways to see him again.

"So, where you going?" He asks, not caring to downplay his curiosity. The bartenders were free-pouring his drinks just as severely as they poured yours. The only difference is that his were on the house—'cause you were right. He does have a recognisable face. "Should probably go with you. Make sure you don't fall into the road."

"Stumble," you insist, a little pleased with the boldness of his suggestion, but not wanting to blindly agree. "My friend," you say glancing around, only to find yourself completely alone. "She wanted to go catch the next GLOSS set. So, I guess that's where we're going."

"Just down the road," he says, knowing the schedule like the back of his hand. Bounces from club to club supporting his friends, just like they would for him. If he wanted, he could get a slot up there, too. He doesn't care for it. "I'll walk with you, if you want? My friends are heading there anyway."

It's not a bad offer.

In fact, it's probably the best offer you'll get all night.

"C'mon," he nods his head to the side, encouraging you to follow him. Checks his phone for the time. "Starts in five."

If there's one thing you've indulged in since moving to Seoul, it's how safe you always feel. Security cameras are on every corner, and you've walked home countless times without any issues, even late into the night. While the place isn't perfect, it's far safer than your home country.

Still, you're not a complete idiot.

"It's not wise to follow strange men down dark alleys," you tell him.

He holds out his hand. Waits for you to shake it. Cocks a brow when you hesitate, so introduces himself.

"Jungkook. Nice to meet you. Now, can we please hurry up? I promised I'd be there."

Narrowing your eyes, you don't shake his hand. Arms folded over your chest, there is ice to your exterior, and given how warm his eyes are, you doubt it'll last for very long. May as well keep up this hard-to-get act while you still can.

Walking on past him, you call back, "Alright then. Lead the way."

In the domed mirror meant for reversing cars at the end of a tight alley, you see him laugh. "Wrong way, idiot."

Pausing, you scrunch your face up. Don't turn to face him for at least a second or so—but when you do, you're surprised to see him walking towards you. Hooking his arm around your waist, he carries on walking in the 'wrong' direction, taking you with him.

"Was just fucking with you," he grins. Nods towards a sign by another basement entrance, listing both Blu-Tae and GLOSS.

By the door, Rae is looking around like a mother duck who's just lost some of her ducklings when crossing the road. Breathes a sigh of relief when she spots you.

"C'mon," she grins, then realises who you're with. Says nothing of it, 'cause she doesn't want to be weird, but she recognises him, too. Decides she's just had a little too much to drink. There's no way it's him. Holds out her hand for you.

Reaching out for her, you're let go from Jungkook's grip, ready to get lost in the lights once more.

HAEJANG24 WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 05:53

Seoul is a city for the nocturnal. The restaurants and bars are open until the last men are standing. Given how much you've had to drink, you're surprised you still are.

Rae had dipped an hour or so ago. Had hit it off with Mr Blu-Tae himself. Seduced him with the suggestion that their couple name would be Blu-Rae. He'd said they should go to a DVD-bang. Would be fitting. See what Blu-rays were on file.

Naturally, you'd looked on with mild disgust and also admiration for how quickly she'd worked her magic. Everyone knows what goes down in DVD-bangs. Small private rooms, often with projector screens and the world's least comfortable futons, they're somewhere you hope to never end up—but also can't wait to hear all the details the next morning when Rae comes to your room for a debrief.

You'd been left under the surveillance of Jungkook.

"Look after her," Rae had instructed, then narrowed her eyes. "Or I'll destroy your reputation with a single twitter thread, Tokki."

It's a threat he's taken seriously. Knows how the internet works, and even though he's never done anything worthy of a cancellation, he also doesn't intend on starting now. The fact you seem to have no idea who he is during the daylight hours intrigues him. It's a rarity on streets like these.

Even when a few people asked for pictures with him on your walk to the hangover soup place, you didn't clock it as weird. Figured they were friends passing by, wanting to document their chance run-in. Just another memory of the night. The way Jungkook had greeted them was full of warmth, and kindness. Why wouldn't you assume they were mates?

You were also still incredibly drunk at the time, so didn't think to question it. Was keen for food, and Jungkook had insisted on hangover soup, and so that's where you are. Dishes nearly empty, far more of it eaten by him than you, you're laughing about nothing and everything all at once.

"Right," Jungkook declares, deciding he cannot hold in a question that's been tickling at his brain for the entire meal. "What the fuck is that?"

Coat left in the cloakroom, long forgotten about, your tattoos are on full display for him, just like his are for you. Up your arm they trail; a patchwork of teeny tiny identifiers. Latin phrases around skulls, birth flowers of the people you hold close, butterflies and stars. There's an ode to your favourite musician and your favourite Shakespeare quote, too. The fabric of you etched into your skin. There's no reinventing yourself, even half the world away from home.

You know precisely which tattoo Jungkook is asking about. You've asked yourself the same question a few times.

"Fuck off," you laugh.

While most of your tattoos are gorgeous, there's one that was done by a rogue artist on a girlie holiday a few years ago. What was supposed to be a seashell now looks like... well, nothing really. It's just a blob, thanks to the artist being absolutely terrible. The only solace you find in it is that your two best friends have an equally awful permanent reminder of that holiday on their bodies, too.

"It doesn't look how it's supposed to," you explain with a little pout. "I got royally screwed over."

He cocks a brow. You still haven't told him what it is. He isn't gonna ask you twice.

With a grumble, you feebly admit, "A shell."

And then he's laughing. Really laughing. Laughing so hard you think he might piss himself—which you'd actually prefer, because then he could be the embarrassed one, instead.

"I'm calling you Shelly from now on," he says with a broad smile. Has had his fair share of tattoo blunders, and knows you must've developed an affection towards how shitty it is. Would have gotten it covered up, otherwise. "That's incredible."

"You're calling me so such thing," you assure him, but you also can't help but laugh.

"I am," he tells you, then really solidifies it. "Shelly."

"Fuck off," you whine, doubling down. Scanning his arms, you try and pick out anything you can use against him, too. "If I'm Shelly, then you're Mike."

"Mike?!" He protests.

"Yeah," you insist, pointing towards the microphone on his forearm. "Mike."

"You are not calling me Mike. Do I look like a Mike?!"

"Do I look like a Shelly?!"

You've got a point. It's not the name he would have first associated with you - but it is cute, he thinks. Cute how mortified you seem. Cute how you can't help but smile.

After a little bit of back and forth, it's decided that neither of you look like your namesakes.

"Y'know, we kinda have matching tattoos," he says, holding out his arm for you to study. "Or at least, the placements."

And sure enough, below his elbow lives the outline of a bunny sitting on a crescent moon. Holding your own arm out next to his, below your elbow is a butterfly. Above it, is a teeny tiny moon.

Like Jungkook's moon, it's a crescent. Was supposed to symbolise new beginnings. You wonder what his means, but don't ask. Instead, you marvel at the coincidence of it all.

He presses his index finger against the butterfly on the inside of your forearm. The echoing chatter of the restaurant fades softly into nothingness as he says, "Nabi."

You nod. Even if you have spoken with him in English this entire time, it's nice to hear him speak in his mother tongue, no matter how minimal - so you reciprocate. Press your index finger against his bunny. Smile. Say, "Tokki."

It further confirms to Jungkook that you have no idea who he is. Has been a while since he's met a girl in a circumstance like this where that's the case. Likes the anonymity of it all. Is hiding his identity from you, and yet hasn't felt such vulnerability for years.

"Daltokki, right?" You continue, not wanting the silence to linger for too long. "The rabbit in the moon?"

You're not wrong, but you're also not entirely right.

"Yeah," he smiles regardless. "That's it."

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 07:12

"Shhh," Jungkook quietly laughs.

His hand is over your mouth and the other is on your hip as he guides you into his apartment. With your back to his chest, you've both been giggling for the entire ride to his place.

He had insisted that he should walk you home, and was surprised by the offense you seemed to have taken by this. You then told him that he absolutely could not seduce you, and that it was very gender-role-conforming for him to think that you were incapable of getting home by yourself.

"Maybe I should be the one to make sure you get home safely," you had said with a false sense of concern, which had made him laugh quite considerably.

In all reality, you didn't mind him offering to get you home. You just hadn't tidied your room. Didn't really expect to be taking a boy back to your place, much less one that looks like him.

Together, you'd caught the early morning bus over to Itaewon instead of a taxi, 'cause you're still on a student budget and Jungkook wasn't quite ready to blow his cover just yet.

You've been teasing him—questioning his status as a potential International Super Spy—ever since he took your hand and guided you into one of the flashiest apartment complexes you've ever been in. There was security. Doormen. A passcode for the elevator—not to mention that he was heading up to the seventh floor once you were in it. Might not sound like much, but when there are only seven floors to the entire building, it makes it the penthouse by default.

"It's not a penthouse," he'd insisted. "Plus, I live with friends. Only pay a third of the rent."

But a third of his rent is more money than you'll probably see in three months of post-grad work. You're drunk, but you're not stupid. You also know that the rental market here differs significantly from your home country. Monthly rent is cheap, but the deposits are extortionate. Sure, he'll get it back when he leaves, but to have the initial money needed for a place like this? He's not a regular student, if one at all, that much is sure.

"Not sure who's home," Jungkook whispers as you both kick your shoes off in the entryway. Given the looks of the other shoes, it's clear that this is a guys-only living situation. You're proven right when he continues, "Betcha Tae's still in that damn DVD-bang, but Yoongi might be back."

"Yoongi?" You question.

"GLOSS," Jungkook says, remembering how oblivious you are to who he is. Reaching down to grab your shoes, he isn't gonna leave them by the door. Will take them to his room. Doesn't want the boys asking questions, if they are in. Knows they'll just use it as an excuse to publicly roast him whenever they're next online together.

Given that a stream is scheduled for Sunday night, he doesn't want to tempt fate.

Their current choice of wind-up, which the viewers have been eating up, is the joke that Jungkook is a virgin. He's not, but he never knows how to defend himself without sounding like a tool, so always gets a little awkward. A lot of their viewers love it. Join in on the joke. Some take it seriously. He doesn't care.

Next month, Taehyung will do something dumb, and he'll become the favourite joke for a while. Maybe Yoongi. But for now, it's Jungkook.

None of them take it to heart. They're just a group of friends who share their gaming hangouts online, and accidentally made it to the top of the ranks.

They aren't particularly good at gaming, but that's part of the charm. Crescent Collective is how they're known: Blu-Tae, GLOSS and Tokki.

After a bet went wrong, and they all lost, they ended up with moon tattoos and their respective 'symbols'. Jungkook's is a rabbit, Tae's is a blu-ray DVD disk (because he really is committed to the bit), and Yoongi's is stars to symbolise the shine of fresh gloss. Jungkook's makes the most sense. Yoongi's is pretty decent. Taehyung's is just... Well, it's very him.

Sliding open the door into the main living area, Jungkook has to cover your mouth again when you gasp at the sheer size of the place.

"I thought butterflies were supposed to be silent?" He teases. "Quiet for me, Nabi."

His place is bigger than your family home, you think. Hushing you again, he's laughing—and then he's cursing at the sight of a half-naked Yoongi by the kitchen counter.

In his boxers, with half a clementine slice hanging from his lips, he's just as shocked to see Jungkook with you. Gets over it pretty quickly.

"Don't mind me," he says, chewing down on the fruit with a smirk. Looks towards you. "Apologies for the lack of clothes."

With your shoes hooked on his fingers, Jungkook's other large hand is still over your mouth. You're not sure you can form any words as it is, but you do notice the crescent moon and stars on Yoongi's ribs.

"Not a word to Tae," is all Jungkook says. Knows that he'll be in for a world of teasing tomorrow if he gets wind of it. "I mean it."

Holding his hands up, Yoongi's still smirking, but he is backing away into a room just off the kitchen. "My lips are sealed."

Watching as he closes the door, you wonder how much truth is in his words. Jungkook knows it's absolute bullshit. Chooses not to dwell on it. Loosens his grip on you and heads towards his own room. Turns back to check you're following him, and can't help but smile when he knows that you are.

Tossing your shoes just inside the door, Jungkook is quick to pick up a pair of jeans he'd left on the floor, before chucking them over his desk chair. He tweaks his bedding. Straightens it out. Looks a little shy as he turns to face you.

"Made it home safe," he says quietly, as you close the door behind you.

You nod. Keep a little distance. Say, "It's dangerous to sleep after drinking. Make sure you build a tower of pillows in the middle of your bed so you don't roll onto your back."

Both of you are far more sober than you were earlier. There's no need to worry about anything like that.

And yet he nods, now. Says, "You're probably right. You can always stay, though. Just to check I don't die in my sleep, or whatever."

"It'd be the responsible thing to do," you nod, wondering if he can tell just how fast your heart is beating. "But I don't have any pyjamas."

Jungkook swallows. The way he looks at you now is entirely different to how he'd looked at you in the club. Back then, he'd been bold. Flirtatious.

Now, he seems vulnerable. Needy.

"I sleep in my underwear," he tells you, unsure if you'll actually be sleeping. While he likes the idea of fucking you, part of him doesn't want to. Fears it'll ruin the magic of the unknown. The way he throbs at the mere thought of it would suggest that his hopes outweigh his fears. "I don't mind, if you don't."

The clothes Jungkook's wearing are baggy. You've seen nothing of his figure.

Reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs on the fabric of his T-shirt. Pulls it over his head and discards it in one swift movement. The sound of it crumpling on the floor is abrasive in how it makes you feel. Raw. Unrefined. You suppose it's just a natural consequence of seeing the toned muscles of his chest. How his waist defies what you thought was possible for masculine builds, and how broad his chest is. The indent of his collarbones, and the lines of his pelvis that draw your eyes downwards.

A pair of Calvins peek just above the waistband of his jeans, and a silver chain rests around his neck. Light from the city filters in, and LED lights around his impressive computer set-up paint him in a hue of violet.

"No," you manage to reply, which is a miracle, you think. "I don't mind."

And then you reciprocate. Reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Seeing him swallow back his nerves, or maybe his desires, makes you feel far bolder than you should.

"It's really uncomfortable to sleep in jeans," you tell him.

He nods. Agrees. Threads the button of his trousers through its loop. Doesn't take them off yet. Waits for you to do the same. Keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours. Doesn't let his gaze wander, no matter how much he has to fight all his instincts not to fully take you in. Is still pretending like he doesn't want you in the most indecent of ways.

The room you're in right now is known worldwide.

People set it as their zoom backgrounds. It's on Pinterest. There are YouTube videos attempting to recreate the set-up. If he were to power up his computer—which, in all fairness, is only on standby—and go live, there'd be a thousand viewers within minutes. Doesn't matter what he plays, or who he's with. He doesn't give it much thought anymore. Is just life.

Sometimes, he regrets not being a faceless streamer, but he also knows that it's part of the appeal. Connection, and the fantasy that comes with this almost dystopian, parasocial idea of it.

After all, the meeting of his eyes with yours across a busy club led you to this point. Human connection in the simplest of ways, that he thinks could culminate in the most complex of ways, too.

"Okay," he says. "So take them off."

"You want me to?" You ask just to tease a little bit, and when a smile flickers onto his seemingly nervous lips, you're glad you did.

"You think we'd be here right now if I didn't?" He says with a tweak of his brows.

"You've got a point."

With that, you push your jeans down and reveal the matching set of black underwear you're in. It's nothing special. In fact, it's not really a set, but it's close enough that it'd fool anyone who didn't know.

Jungkook, in this moment, is indeed a beautiful fool.

There's a lopsided grin on his face as he lets his eyes rake down your body. Is shameless as he indulges in you. Nods, as he bites down on his bottom lip.

"It's cold," you tell him, urging him along a little bit.

"Shit," he says without much thought. "Sorry. Was just... Yeah. Shit."

It's both endearing and wholly confusing how Jungkook flips from confident to cute. A man of duality. It makes you giggle, and then you're the one biting down on your bottom lip. Are both a little bashful. A little shy.

"I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep," you remind him before it goes any further.

Looking at him now, knowing you want him in the worst of ways, it's testing all of your willpower not to just cut to the chase.

Thing is, you liked his company tonight. Want it again. Want to give him a reason to seek you out once more. Want him thinking about you in clubs, and looking for you in crowded bars. Pining. Yearning. Needy.

"It's already gone seven," he tells you, walking towards his bed. Knocks his head to the side. Silently tells you to follow suit. "Will probably only get a couple hours in."

"Better than nothing. Plus, you're actually really irritating," you bullshit as you get into bed with him. Are adamant you won't fuck him, but you do let him pull you in closer.

"Oh, yeah?" He grins.

"Mhmm," you nod, pretending as if you aren't looking at his lips. "You'll be less annoying when you're asleep."

"I'm never gonna sleep again," he assures you. "Will annoy you forever."

"I know where the front door is," you say as you stroke a few of his loose, wavy hairs back behind his ears. They fall freely almost right away, but it just gives you another excuse to play with it "I can just leave. I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep. Pointless if you're awake."

"So I have to be asleep for you to stay?"

"Mhmm," you hum.

He immediately loosens his grip on you and flops into an overdramatic sleeping position. Fake snores. Gets you giggling. Can't hide his smile, either. Laughs through the god-awful noises he's making.

But it is late, and you're both tired. As much as he'd like to stay awake with you, the pull of sleep is just too tempting now that you're beneath his sheets. It's not like he doesn't wanna fuck you. His semi is very much present, but neither of you mention it.

"Y'know what's sad about butterflies?" Jungkook mumbles after the laughter dies down. He carefully begins to trace the lines of your tattoo, eyes entirely focused on the tip of his finger.

You purr a response before you fully vocalise one. "Tell me."

He glances up at you only very momentarily. Looks back down. Is quiet when he says, "How quickly they die. Spend over half their lifespan growing into these beautiful creatures, and then they have, what—A week? Two? Three, tops—and then they're gone. It's like the cherry blossoms in spring. Beautiful, and then—" He clicks his fingers. "—gone."

Stroking back some loose strands of his hair, you wonder if he's thinking about you. About this chance encounter. Beautiful, then gone.

"Just means you have to appreciate them while they're still around," you say softly. "Cherish them, because you know you only have them for a moment."

His gaze lifts to meet yours. The reflection of his LED lights makes it seem like butterflies are floating around in his deep, dark eyes, too.

There are stories he could tell you of ancient folklore; about human souls taking the form of butterflies. Of justice, and peace, and spirits. Of back in time, when tigers still smoked. He could tell you of his favourite butterflies. Of the black butterflies that are as large as his hands in the summer. Of the huge display in a museum downtown that would transfix him as a child.

Instead, he gently presses his lips against the lines of your butterfly tattoo.

The rate at which your heart is beating multiplies. Like a swarm of butterflies chasing through your veins, you've no control over the way you're feeling. He's brought your artwork to life; set the souls inside of your butterfly free, only for it to be apparent that the souls belonged to the both of you, anyway.

You know that this is one of those moments; a butterfly passing on by through your lives. Here, and then gone. Beautiful, but fleeting.

There's a shyness to Jungkook now, as he rolls onto his back. A reluctance to get things wrong. He doesn't look at you, just nibbles on his bottom lip and pretends as if the empty white ceiling ahead of him is the most interesting thing he's seen all night.

It's not.

You are.

You, and those eyes that make him feel like the butterfly on your arm is tickling at his tummy. He finds himself jealous when he faces you again and begins tracing the thin lines of your butterfly once more. Wants to embed himself into you like the ink that's carved out a home in your skin.

"Sorry," he mumbles, seemingly regretful of the tender kiss he'd pressed against your arm just a short moment ago. "Don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," you reply without much thought. Like him, you're letting the way you feel dictate the words you say. Care not for playing coy. "I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jungkook wants to stop his mouth from letting his desires escape. The issue is, he drank a little too much tonight and his lips are a little too loose. Too bad. Can't help himself from asking, "Can I do it again?"

You're just as bad.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Please."

The way his lashes splay against his cheeks as he presses another kiss to your arm is nothing short of celestial. Like that damn moon on his arm, he's got a beauty about him that's hard to capture in words. Ethereal feels too fantastical, but gorgeous feels too dense. He resides in a realm somewhere between the two. Somewhere you'd like to stay forever.

Forever, sadly, only lasts a few hours. You've brunch plans with new friends you can't bail on yet for fear of running a friendship before it's even begun.

You see yourself out. Jungkook's still asleep. Not quite 10AM, you've a dozen missed calls from Rae, and a cold can of coke waiting for you in your fridge. Funnily enough, though, you don't really feel hungover. Must have gotten it all out of your system the night before.

It's only fitting, when you think about Jungkook on the subway home, and how soberingly drunk the idea of him makes you feel.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:39

Brunch had, predictably, been a yawn-fest.

The people were perfectly nice, but you spent the entire time thinking about Jungkook; how you'd left him in a pretty slumber, the LEDs behind his computer still glowing, with not even so much as a note to say thank you.

It's not like he had any paper on his desk, and you weren't about to start rummaging around his room. You also didn't want to wake him. Part of it was because you knew you'd be saying goodbye, and the concept of that was one that you didn't like all that much.

And so your subway ride back to your dorm had been spent searching his name. He didn't take long to find.

From the club's Instagram, you found GLOSS and quickly discovered that there was far more to both him and Blu-Tae than just being DJs. Their follower counts were wild. Numbers you know you'll never see on your own account. Verification check marks accented their display names.

Who are you? You'd thought to yourself, incredibly perplexed by it all.

Jungkook was littered all over their pages, and yet it still took a while for you to click through to his account. You're not sure why, but think that perhaps the unknown was a nice place to reside within. Safer.

CR3SC3NT_T0KK1 was his username—and curiously, Tokki was also his display name. Brows furrowed, you'd almost dropped your phone when you saw his follower count. It eclipsed both of his friends.

Filled with gaming set-ups, merch drops, and general life dumps, it was pretty clear that whoever Jungkook had made himself out to be the night before was not who he was in real life.

Equal parts offended and intrigued, you were only more confused when you saw that Rae was already following him—but not following Taehyung.

"What?" she'd beamed when you'd asked her about it after you'd arrived home from brunch, a scoop of hangover ice cream being waved around in the air with her flamboyant gestures. "He's, like, one of the biggest streamers in the country—and if I want to keep Tae obsessed with me, we need as many connections as possible. Jungkook's a frog to me, baby, not a prince. Don't you worry your little cotton socks. I'm not after him."

"I wouldn't care if you were," you'd blatantly lied in response, and then you'd giggled together at how ridiculous you were both being over boys you didn't really know.

Hovering over the bright purple 'JOIN STREAM' button later that evening, part of you holds back. Think it'd be weird. Strange. That he'd somehow know it was you.

Dipping your mouse, you tick the checkbox to join as an anonymous viewer. Take a breath. Think fuck it. Watch with bated breath as the loading wheel turns—and then he's there.

Jeon Jungkook has the kind of beauty that transcends shitty quality streams. Smiling as he jokes with one of his friends through a headset with a pair of black bunny ears affixed to the top of them, you hear a voice you almost recognise. Notice the friend he's streaming with in the top corner. Realise you do know him, too.

Hair as blue as the trees are green, Tae has just as much boyish charm as Jungkook, but also an incredibly large hickey that seems to match the ones on Rae's neck.

"Nah, can we get an L in the chat for Kook," he's teasing. Sure enough, the chat begins to explode with the letter, and Jungkook looks so pretty when he protests.

"It's not an L!"

"It is!" Tae insists. "Should have seen him, guys. Was following this girl around like a lovesick puppy—"

"No, I wasn't!"

"And she didn't even give him her number. Not even her name!"

"That's not true!" Jungkook whines. He switches between Korean and English with ease, sometimes just single words, other times whole sentences. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Not telling you."

"Cause you don't have one!"

"No, because you'll all make my life a living hell," Jungkook laughs—and then notices a bright blue comment lighting up in the chat. His eyes widen. "Fuck."

GLOSS: Was calling her Nabi when he got home last night Almost shit his pants when he saw me

"Yoongi, I'm gonna shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Jungkook growls—only for the chat to start spamming butterfly emojis. Closing his eyes, he leans back in his chair, the still paused video game long forgotten about, now. Thousands of people are in their chat, and even more are watching the stream.

"Guys, get it trending," Taehyung goads. "Tweet, I dunno, bunny and butterfly emojis."

"Don't do that!"

"Hashtag find Jungkook's butterfly."

"Do NOT do that!"

"I'm like a modern-day cupid," Taehyung beams.

"I'm shaving your eyebrows, too."

Closing the stream, you sit for a moment, mouth ajar, unable to process what on earth you've just witnessed. Part of you feels as if it must have an incredibly vivid daydream; a projection of your heart's desire.

And you know you shouldn't, but when you get home from running errands the following day, you join the stream again. Blush when you notice the chat is still teasing Jungkook.

"I'm gonna block you all," he threatens them with a grin, which only encourages them to send even more butterfly emojis.

The next day is no different, nor the day after that.

He is, though. Has been letting it all play on his mind. Doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to streaming.

"What if she didn't even like me, guys," he whines to the chat. "And sees this and is like... mortified. I think I'd punch myself in the face if she ever saw any of this."

You toy with the idea of sending a comment into the chat. Something that only he'd realise was you. Thing is, you feel bad for intruding. As if you shouldn't be prying. As if you're eavesdropping on him chatting with friends, and not on the stream he's broadcasting live around the world.

Typing out a message, you deliberate your choice.

Punch urself in the face pls, tokki x the message reads.

Simple. Effective. To the point.

But everyone calls him that, you stupidly realise, now.

And so you change the name to 'Mike'.

Before you can even really realise what you've done, you've pressed send.

The message flitters into the chat feed. He's about to resume his game. Doesn't notice it at first.

Gives the chat one final glance, and then his eyes widen. He sits up taller. Straighter. "Mike?"

You close the lid of your laptop immediately.

"Fuck."

THE STREETS WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE FRIDAY 23:51

"Tae is on in five," Rae squeals, dragging you down the road at lightning speed.

You'd spent far too long at dinner, and also had far too much to drink with your food, so have been forced to make an undignified sprint to the club in an attempt to make it in before the place reaches capacity.

There's already a queue. You can see it from a mile away.

Realistically, Rae could have gotten Taehyung to add her to the guest list. He'd offered. She didn't wanna look needy, so had played it coy about her plans for the evening.

After a single beer and soju, she'd decided that the idea of him hooking up with anyone but her simply wouldn't do.

"Shit," she sighs in defeat, looking at the queue. The direction you've come from means that you reach the entrance before you reach the queue, but even then, you can tell it goes around the block. "Are there no other clubs these people can go to?!"

There are—but this club is rammed tonight for the same reason Club Sundown was rammed the week before. People want to see the Crescent Collective.

You didn't realise it at the time, but you'd bypassed the queue of the second club last weekend because Jungkook had been with you.

And as if by a stroke of luck, or perhaps a twist of fate, the same tattooed hand that had held you as you slept last weekend is now putting out a cigarette just a few steps away.

Eyes landing on yours, he looks away again, almost immediately. Feels embarrassed. Stupid. For the way you left him, and also for the way he knows you must know who he is, now.

Behind a red rope, he's away from the general crowd. It's sort of obnoxious, you think—but also know Jungkook is anything but.

"They're with me," Jungkook says to the bouncer, not really looking at you, but nodding in your general direction. Is deliberately keeping a little distance. Instead, he says to Rae, "Tae wouldn't want you waiting in line."

Nodding, the security guard makes way for you, stamping the backs of your hands with UV-activated ink as you walk past.

"Thank you!" Rae beams.

"No worries," Jungkook smiles right back. "He's about to start. Was just getting air. You're lucky you arrived when you did."

"Angel," she praises. "I'll get you a drink while we're in there."

You know her well enough now to know that she absolutely will not, but you don't say anything. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest as you walk, suddenly feeling all awkward in Jungkook's presence.

"Nabi," he curtly greets you as you head down the stairs.

"Tokki," you greet him back just as formally. Consider calling him 'Mike' instead, but you chicken out.

Face scrunching up, Jungkook tries his best not to cringe at himself. Doesn't know if you're addressing him by his tattoo moniker, or just calling him Tokki because you know it's his identifier online.

"How have you been?" He asks, not wanting to let it simmer.

"Alright," you say, aware of how awkward this all feels, as you descend the stairs and into the club. The music is getting louder, and soon you won't be able to hear him talk unless you're in each other's ears. "And you?"

"Alright."

Just as quickly as he appeared, Jungkook is lost to the crowd.

He doesn't care to stick around if he's just going to be hung out to dry by you again. He tells himself that he only made sure you got in to keep Rae happy for Taehyung's sake—yet as he rejoins his friends in their booth, he finds himself desperately seeking you out again.

It takes him a while, but he eventually spots you by the bar in conversation with Rae. He can't make out what you're saying, but notices how your eyes are flickering around the room. Seems as if you're hunting for something.

Deep down, even if he pretends like he doesn't, he hopes it's for him.

Pulled away from your search by the bartender passing over drinks to the pair of you, Jungkook feels bad. Knows the drinks are pricey in this place. Also knows, from the conversations you've already had, that you're on a tight budget. Had said that once the semester starts, you'll stop going to parties. Are seemingly unaware of the fact the parties never stop in this city. You'll learn.

When your eyes finally land on his a little while later, you're surprised by his intense gaze—intrigued by his lack of shame for being caught out. He doesn't look away or appear embarrassed. If anything, it's quite the opposite.

Girls are vying for his attention all around him, yet you receive all of it. Half the room away, hundreds of people create a sea between you both. Jungkook thinks he'd swim through it, no matter how choppy the water, if it meant he could have you right now.

You're the one who left, though.

It's up to you to come back.

Part of you doesn't want to, but then you see another girl making advances, and Rae's horror over other girls trying it on with Taehyung seems to have rubbed off on you. The idea of it makes your skin crawl. You're drunk, and a little reactive, but Jungkook likes playing with fire.

As you work your way through the crowd towards him, he tries his best not to grin. Finds himself vindicated in his desire to be close to you, 'cause it seems like you want it, too.

Sliding in between Jungkook and the girl, you turn and apologise.

"Just need to borrow him for a second," you smile, clutching at his shirt and pulling him away from the booth before she even has a chance to protest.

With an ever-so-satisfied smirk, Jungkook shrugs towards the other girl, and lets you drag him wherever you want. He's putty in your hands, a little tipsy and desperately in need of attention from you.

For the past week, he's played scenario over scenario over scenario in his head about this moment, and now that it's happening, he's glad he let you seek him out. Is so pleased that you actively want him just as much as he wants you.

In the middle of the crowd, you're hidden from prying eyes. It's too dark to notice any discerning features of the people around you, yet somehow, Jungkook seems like a vibrant golden light to you. Impossible to miss. Unable to ignore.

You wanna talk. Ask him about who the fuck he is. Explain that you didn't mean to leave so heartlessly.

Taehyung's set is so overwhelmingly loud, though. Can barely even hear yourself think.

As soon as he'd spotted Rae in the crowd, Taehyung had sent the bar coordinator to go and get her. She's sitting pretty up in the DJ booth, incredibly pleased with herself. Notices you and Jungkook almost immediately. Knows it'll be on Twitter in the next few hours, especially if that damn butterfly tattoo of yours is noticed.

Bunnies and butterflies have been trending for days.

Jungkook speaks, but you can't hear him.

"Huh?" You ask, getting on your tippy toes, but it's fruitless. Even as his hand drops to your waist to steady you and keep you in place, you can barely make out his words. "I can't hear you!"

He can't hear jack shit, either. Frowns. Looks around. Spots Yoongi by the booth and gestures towards the side of the room. When Yoongi nods back, it's Jungkook who drags you through the crowd, now. Just beyond the DJ booth is a little black door that Yoongi meets you by. Taps in the code. Nods in your direction.

"A pleasure," he says with a knowing smirk. Miraculously, you can hear him, but ultimately, it's because you're not in the direct line of the speakers now.

You don't get a chance to respond before Jungkook gets you into what can only described as a dark hole as quickly as he can. Romance, you think to yourself, but you also are very aware of the fact Jungkook doesn't let go of your hand, even when he's searching for the light switch. It takes him a second, but he manages to recall the approximate location quickly enough.

Dingy yellow light floods into the room. Small and boxy, it's a 3-in-1 storage room, bathroom, and dressing room for 'talent'. It's why Yoongi had the code, but you can't imagine anyone with any shred of self-respect actually using this place. The walls are the same grey tiles as the floor, and the light bulb hangs from a wire without a shade. The tap on the sink drips, and you're pretty sure there's a leak in the far corner by the mirror.

None of that matters, though. All you can focus on is the man in front of you. Though not soundproof, the room does offer a far more muted version of Taehyung's set. More importantly, it provides you with privacy.

It's been a week since you last saw him, face to face.

Though you have, admittedly, seen him what feels like a million times on low-quality streams from his bedroom.

Realistically, it's been about three times, but you think about it almost constantly.

"You left," is all he says, a little pout on his lips.

It's cute, you think, that he is so outwardly offended by such an act. You would have thought that a man of his position would have a habit of leaving, himself. Then again, you didn't know of his status when you left him in bed that morning.

"And you didn't die," you reply with a teasing smile, trying not to make it sound so severe. "You were fine without me."

"I'm not joking," he says, even if he can't help but smile at the recollection of how stupid the conversation before bed had been. "You left. It was rude."

"I had brunch plans," you tell him, reaching your hands out for his. He wants to resist. Fails. Lets you pull him closer. Incredibly close, in fact. So close that you begin to notice all sorts of things. His freckles. A small scar on his cheek. A tiny fleck of glitter on his skin, no doubt from one of the girls who had been desperate for his attention earlier. "You'd only had a few hours sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Could have left a note," he says, still pouty but far quieter. You can smell the Jack on his breath. Have always hated the taste, but think you could grow to like it. "Your number. Something, at least."

"I could've," you admit, edging even closer. Closing the gap. Nudging your nose against his. But then you smile. Pull back. Tease, "And you could have warned me that I'd become a trending topic on Twitter."

Just like that, Jungkook's pout snaps into the prettiest smile. His face scrunches up, lines creasing on his nose. Beneath his closed eyes reside the sweetest little puffs. He's got the kind of face that is impossible not to like.

"Ah," he cringes.

"Yeah," you laugh at the stupidity of it all. What did he expect? That you wouldn't find out? "Ah."

"In my defence," he holds his hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "You called me Tokki. How was I to know you didn't know?"

"Oh, give over," you laugh, as he reaches for your hands once again. Pulls you closer. "You know I didn't know."

Truthfully, he does know this, but it was nice to be unknown for a little while. Nice to not second guess your intentions. Even now, knowing that you know, he feels like none of it matters.

"Look," he begins, toying with the hem of your cropped shirt. Lets his fingertips graze your bare skin. Tries his best not to think about what you look like half-naked. Fails. "I only came out tonight 'cause I hoped I'd see you. I don't care about staying out till ass-o'clock, again."

"Think I've only just caught up on sleep," you hum, angling your chin up and giving him the perfect opportunity to make a move that goes beyond flirtatious touches.

"Exactly," he smiles, letting his hand squeeze the side of your waist. Pulls you closer. "And I've not drunk half as much tonight, but I think I could do with you making sure I don't die, again."

"Yeah?"

Nodding as he nudges his nose against yours, Jungkook is all smiles. Lets his lips line up against your pout.

"Yeah," he mumbles—then lets the word get lost in your lips.

Sinking into what it feels like to kiss you, Jungkook can't help but feel satisfaction. Has finally caught the damn butterfly he's been after all week.

He's played a lot of games. Won a lot of battles.

And yet victory has never tasted so sweet.

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 02:07

You retrace your steps. Get a taxi to his place, 'cause there's no point pretending like he can't afford it. Not anymore.

You're not giggling like you were the first time you were in his elevator, but it's kind of impossible to do so when your back is to the wall and Jungkook's tongue is in your mouth.

Your hands roam his body—waist, ass. If you can squeeze it, you will. Just makes him deepen the kisses. If his large hands weren't cupping your jaw, keeping you close, they'd be doing the exact same thing as yours.

The ding of the elevator pulls you apart just for a second, and then you're the one pulling him down to the corridor to his place.

He doesn't open the door. Just kisses you again.

Finally understands what it means to get butterflies, 'cause he's got you, now, and he never wants to lose it.

Hooking his hands beneath your ass, he hoists you up. Gets your legs wrapped around him. Could go in, but where's the fun in that? There's a slight danger of getting caught. He knows the hallway security cameras will definitely pick this up. The threat that it could get leaked online, and the simple fact that he couldn't give a shit if it does, is kind of hot.

"I'm not fucking you out here," you tell him through a hushed giggle, when he rests his forehead against yours.

"Woah," he jokes. "Who said anything about fucking?"

"I can literally feel your boner, Jungkook."

"Touché."

He doesn't even attempt to downplay it. He puts you down. Gets you through the threshold of his apartment. Shoes off by the door, there's no need to be quiet. Yoongi and Taehyung are still out, and will be for hours. He could take his time if he really wanted.

But what he wants is you. Doesn't waste time. Gets you in his room. Kinda feels like you never left. Jungkook still wishes you hadn't, but doesn't mind the idea of you making it up to him now.

"So," you hum, trailing your fingertips across his desk. "This is where the magic happens?"

He smiles a little bashfully, head dropping for a moment before his eyes are on yours again. "Yeah. You could say that."

Now that you're back in his space, it's a little embarrassing just how many clues there were. A headset rests on the desk—black, robust, with his signature bunny ears secured on top—and a mic is hooked up by the monitor. The webcam doesn't look special, but the keyboard subtly glows in his darkened room. Violet, like the LEDs behind his screen.

A laptop covered in vinyl stickers is closed next to the set-up. He uses it when he's not streaming on his desktop. At least three of the stickers are of the Crescent Collective's logo.

Turning to fully face him, you rest your palms behind yourself and perch on the edge of the desk.

He gets a little kick out of seeing you so flippantly disregard the domain in which he dominates. Gives him a point to prove. Gets him closing the space between you, hands on your waist, dipping to your ass to leverage further back on his desk. Knows it's sturdy, 'cause he built it himself, but has never tested out quite how strong it really is. Thinks now's as good a time as any to find out.

Your legs wrap around his body with no thought, just the innate understanding that you want him in a way you're sure thousands of people have only dreamt of: in his room, on his desk, that damn 'Go Live' button just a few short clicks away.

Reaching beside you, there's a smirk on your lips as you retrieve his headset. Put it on him. Say, "The ears are cute, Tokki."

He rolls his eyes. Is fighting a smile, and currently losing. He's seen some lewd shit during his time on the internet and is well aware of the fanart that includes the ears and little else. Always found it kinda funny, before.

Now? He's so hard it almost hurts, and he thinks he could grow to like it.

As your arms drape over his shoulders, he takes them off. Puts them on you, instead. Adjusts the sizing. Gets them just right for you. Is attentive, like that. Pulls his head back a little, and then realises what a problem you're gonna be for him.

It's not so much the addition of animal ears that's getting him insatiable, but seeing you adorned with a crown that is so inherently his that does it.

Jungkook's no saint. He's had his fair share of one-nighters. A couple hours of fun never to be spoken of again. Since the group of them signed to their management agency, they've been repeatedly told how important it is to get NDA's signed. Something about it always feels so icky to Jungkook. Cruel, almost. Has only had a couple hook-ups since then, both with flings he's known for a good couple of years, with no fear of them spilling the beans on how prettily he whines when he cums.

You're the first new girl in a long time. He knows he should really pause things before you cut to the chase—but then your hand is trailing down his thick forearm, delicately stroking his rabbit moon with a curious smile. Decides he doesn't care.

"The ears are cute," he replies. Teasingly adds, "Nabi."

The position of your arms over his shoulders ensures the tattoos he'd traced the week before are fully displayed for him. As his eyes drop to your butterfly, you're curiously smitten by the way his lips move to press a kiss against it again.

"Suit me?"

"Mhmm," he hums, eyes flickering back up to yours. "Should also get you a pair of butterfly wings, or something."

"I'd make you wear them," you tell him with a cheeky glint in your eye. "Turn you into a butterfly, yourself. Your girlies in the chat would love that."

Jungkook knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd let you. Not for the girlies in the chat, but for you.

Ghosting his lips against yours, he's waiting for you to press down. Is letting you take the lead.

Your kisses are sweet. Tepid. Reserved.

You're feeling; his hands on your waist, the pressure of his lip rings, the presence of his nose.

And then he's feeling; your bare skin as his large hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, the way your legs wrap around him, the vibration of a small groan against his lips.

The skirt you're in is bunched around your hips, and the positioning is just right for you to feel how hard he is against your underwear. It's a little undignified, you'll admit, but you're impatient, so you take control. Reposition his hand between your legs. Encourage him to take things further.

"Yeah?" He checks.

Nodding into a needy kiss, you mumble, "Please."

It might've been a while, but Jungkook's muscle memory is enviable. He's the best player on the team for that very reason.

As he hooks your underwear to the side, he's pleased to be greeted with indications of your arousal. Smirks into the kisses he's giving you, as his fingertips graze against your clit. Trails his lips to your neck. Wants to hear the way you gasp as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you.

"Fuck," you sigh at the welcome intrusion. Nod, as he curls his finger almost immediately. He's got a lot to thank those damn video games for, that's for sure.

Softly moaning, just how he hoped you would, there's an arch to your back as he picks up a pace. The need to perform, almost.

Head tipping back as Jungkook fucks another finger into you, you're unable to think too cognitively. Can only think about the way he feels. The smell of his hair as he presses kisses against your neck, and how prominent his collarbones are as your nails trail up his toned torso.

"Feels so good," you tell him. Move the hand of yours that's been resting on his shoulder to his hair. Tug on it a little. Elicit the prettiest of whines from him.

There's something to be said for making a man—especially one of such strength, stature, status—so weak. Gets you all giggly. Jungkook can feel the satisfaction ripple through your entire body, and it just makes him groan against your neck even more.

"You're so wet," he praises, pulling back to study your face as he plays with you. Lets his thumb stroke up against your clit ever so gently. Revels in the way you get a little shaky. Twitchy. With those damn bunny ears, you really are like a little rabbit. Jungkook finally understands why the fan artists choose to draw him in such a way. It is hot. "You're making me so fuckin' hard."

And then you're giggling again.

"Is it a joke to you, huh?" He smirks. Looks down at your pussy, all swollen and sopping wet for him, in the hazy violet light of his room. Knows that his throbbing cock is gonna stuff you so fuckin' full that laughing won't be an option. Is desperate for it. "How badly I want you is just a big joke to you, huh, bunny?"

The way he groups you in with his moniker is too damn hot.

"Dunno," you rasp, desperately trying to hold off the orgasm that's building inside you. "Fuck me and find out."

Reaching for the button of his trousers, you're quick as you wrestle his jeans down over his ass. Don't bother pushing them down entirely. Just enough to get his boxers exposed, and in turn, his thick cock. Hard and engorged, his desperation for you is evident. A small patch of precum seeps through the fabric of his boxers. He curses as your thumb strokes against it.

"Condom?" You ask, knowing you've got none on you.

"Hold that thought," he says, regretfully pulling away from you.

Watching on as he pushes down his jeans, and strips himself of his shirt, you're at a loss for words. You've seen him like this before, but it's so much hotter knowing that he's gonna be fucking himself into you as soon as he possibly can.

Jungkook could very easily lead you to his bed. Get you comfy. Reach to his bedside cabinet for a condom. Fuck you how he likes—doggy-style, minimal face-to-face contact—and be done with it all very quickly.

Instead, he says, "Stay here."

Doing as you're told, you watch on as he walks to the cabinet, and retrieves a condom. Admire his back, and his broad shoulders. The valley of his spine, and the hard work he's put into crafting his physique. Smirk to yourself as he dips into his boxers. Strokes himself. Once, twice. Tears the packet open with his teeth, just like you were always taught not to do, and rolls the latex down his thick shaft.

"What?" he smirks as he walks back, realising your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

You say nothing. Smile. Hold your hands out for Jungkook to take, just so you can pull him back even quicker.

Lips pressing into yours as he closes the gap, Jungkook is all smiles. Rubs the head of his cock against your pussy, gathering up your arousal all over his tip. Lines himself up with your entrance. Waits for you to give him the go-ahead.

Hand on his ass, you pull him closer. Edge the crown of his cock into you. Whimper. Beg. "Please."

Sinking into you with a laboured grunt, he's surprised with how much tighter you are around his cock than you were with his fingers. Wet and warm, there's an undeniable pleasure that sparks through his body as he gets familiar with the way you feel.

Slowly, his hips begin to pick up a pace. As his tongue strokes into your mouth, there's no dignity to the way he's taking you. The increased pace means heightened moans, and it's not just you—it's him, too.

"Shit, yeah," he grits. "So fuckin' tight, aren't you?"

Whining, you nod into his kisses. Are at his entire disposal as he grips your waist, proving exactly why Tokki is the perfect nickname for him.

As much as he likes the ears, he's a little worried that he might fuck you so hard they fall off. Doesn't wanna break them, and definitely doesn't wanna think about the story the boys would make up when they go live tomorrow to tease him—but also really wants to fuck you harder.

Which is funny, cause the way he tugs them off with such desperation and tosses them down, you'd be forgiven for thinking he couldn't care less about breaking them. Doesn't give you a chance to say anything, 'cause his big hands are cradling your face, bringing you in for desperate kisses once more.

There's a lewdness to the sounds you make together, but Jungkook knows that if he was an entirely different kind of streamer, you'd make bank together. Wonders about the way it would look on camera. Worries. Pauses.

"You good?" You check a little breathlessly as he reaches behind you, just to tug the wire to his webcam from the plus.

"Yeah," he nods, still fiddling around behind you. Smiles in the hedonistic haze as your lips find a new home on his neck. Strokes your hair gently, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quietly says, "Just making sure there's no way in hell I accidentally start streaming."

You hum, all purry and pliant. "People would pay good money to see it."

While he agrees, and has had the same thought process, he doesn't care. "You saying I should be charging you for this?"

"Oh, no," you say all very sweetly. "You should be paying me."

"I'll pay you with orgasms," he promises, knowing that it's a rare currency for one-night strands.

You smirk. Pat the top of his head. "Sure you will."

If there's one thing Jungkook loves, it's a challenge.

Pulling back, he turns you around. Gets you bent over his desk with zero opposition from you. Rubs himself against your soaked cunt, then asks, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smirk, and then settle into a sigh as he pushes into you. The feeling of fullness from Jungkook is one that's hard to compare. So thick, and fat, and heavy, his cock really is just as impressive as he is.

With one hand hooked at the crease of your thigh, the other holds the top of your shoulder. Gets you pushed down onto his cock as far as you possibly can be. There's a slight reflection in his streaming plaque beside the monitor, and you're pleased to see just how intensely focused he is on you, brows furrowed, pretty pink lips resting ajar. The silver of his lip rings and chain catch in the light, and you find you can't look at him for too long. He's too hot.

But then he's reaching down for your clit as he fucks into you. Has your legs shaking. The waves of a familiar sensation begin to lap against the shores of your pleasure.

"Fuck," you whine. "Feels good. Keep it like that."

Jungkook knows better than to ignore your requests. Does as he's told, the pressure of his fingers on your clit only deepening. Rubbing calculated circles against you, he knows just how to work you up. Gets you whining. Mewling. Moaning.

"Gonna cum, aren't you?" he smirks, as his own high builds.

"Fuck—"

"C'mon," he husks, feeling your walls tighten around him. He doesn't stop his relentless chase. Will win your orgasms fair and square. Continues pounding into you. Pace fast, strokes deep, he's everything you could ever want and more—and then he's slowing. Keeping you plugged, nice and deep, but focusing on the way he's toying with your clit. "You know you wanna cream for me. All over my cock, pretty Nabi. C'mon—"

"I'm close," you all but whimper. "So—fuck. So close."

"Yeah, you are," he tells you—and then your legs are shaking, pussy tightly clamping around his cock, one hand tense against his desk while the other grabs at his wrist. Uncontrollable, is the way you whine for him. It's so needy—so desperate and pathetic—that it's almost a sob. Jungkook doesn't ease up. In fact, his hips gain a little pace again as your orgasm shatters around you both. He's breathless, but manages to choke out, "Flithy fuckin' cunt. Feels so fuckin' good. Fuck."

The frail limpness of your body as the orgasm smokes away is cute. Jungkook loves it. You're so weak for him. He fucks into you still, chasing his own high, and your whines only get louder. It's overwhelming, but you never want to lose the feeling.

It doesn't take much. Just a minute or so of your tight cunt, and Jungkook is pulling out. Even though he doesn't ask you to, you get to your knees as he tears the condom off.

"In my mouth," you beg, and who is he to reject such an offer?

Jerking himself to completion, Jungkook is all pretty and pathetic when he cums, too. Looks at you with eyes so starry you'd been forgiven for thinking he was a descendant of the constellations.

He milks the final few spurts of himself onto your wet tongue, and curses when you press dainty kisses to his tip. Stroking your tongue against him, you don't want to waste a drop. Look up at him and find that his eyes are resting shut from the pleasure of it all.

Silence surrounds you both, just your beating hearts and laboured breaths filling to the room. He helps you up. Holds you tight. Hugs you for a little while, then presses a kiss to the side of your head. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," you giggle - and then he's smiling, too. Feels vindicated by his irrational thoughts about you over the last few days. He pays no mind to the fact you're still technically dressed, and he's basically naked.

As he sorts himself out, you perch back up on his desk and languidly swing your legs. Enjoy the thought of memories plaguing him whenever he tried to play his little games over the next few days.

"You wanna grab a shower?" he offers. "Food, too? Dunno about you, but I'm fuckin' starving."

"Same," you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. "I'll go wash up, you sort food? Are places still open for delivery?"

Checking his phone for the time, Jungkook is surprised that it's closer to midnight than it is to his morning alarm. Only a handful of places will offer delivery at this time, but that's enough.

"Works for me," he says with a yawn, then opens what you had assumed was the closet door. Reveals an en-suite and knocks his head to the side. "Get your shower. Gimmie a shout if you need anything."

Tiles large and grey, it's the perfect counterpart to his bedroom. A little dark, but it's only because Jungkook hates using the big light. Always flicks the small light switches instead. There's a window overlooking the city, and even though you're only seven floors up, the hills of Yongsan-gu mean that he's got a view you could only dream of.

You're about to start the shower up when he calls through. "Is pizza good?"

"Pizza's good," you call back with a smile. Look yourself in the mirror and wonder how the fuck you ended up in the bathroom of arguably the most famous person you've ever met. Decide it's better not to question it.

The shower begins to cascade down, even if your sins are washed way, you know you won't be able to forget the feeling of Jungkook so easily.

Truth be told, you won't even try.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:13

"L in the chat," booms the voice of Taehyung through your laptop speakers. His trademark grin rests on his face as he teases Jungkook.

You've only just opened the stream. Instantly, you focus on the prettily lopsided smirk of Jungkook's lips. You've learned it's an almost permanent fixture on his boyish face. Shaking his head, he's adjusting his headset. Making it a little looser so that it'll fit him properly.

No one is questioning it.

What they are questioning, is where the fuck that pretty purple bruise on his neck has come from.

"Cross-fit," Jungkook just shrugs, knowing that it's the colloquial term for suspicious bruises after some idol used the same excuse. Blatant horseshit. Jungkook doesn't care.

"I've never done cross-fit, but I know you're bullshitting," Taehyung snorts.

The chat seems to agree with him.

"Thought I was a virgin?" Jungkook states a little cheekily, making reference to Taehyung's usual banter. "How else would I get one?"

Taehyung knows better than the retort. Knows that Jungkook could very easily slip something about Rae into the conversation.

Virgin? You type through a message on a private discord chat with Jungkook. He'd set it up the day before. Has already sent you, like, a thousand messages. Is what can only be described as obsessed—but it's mutual. Could have fooled me.

As his eyes glance down to his laptop screen, he fails to hide his smile. Had opened your chat on there, cause he didn't wanna accidentally broadcast the messages onto his stream. Despite this, he doesn't care that there are nearly 10,000 people in his stream merely minutes into it. Is far more interested in his chat thread with you. Replies immediately.

Stop distracting meI'm working</3

Giggling as the message pings through to you, there's a giddy quality to the way Jungkook makes you feel.

He'd spent the day in bed with you after your night together. Had wanted you to stay when he started streaming that evening. Said he'd only be an hour or so, and was incredibly pouty when you did leave.

It had just been him on last night's stream—headset off 'cause he didn't wanna adjust it back yet, hoodie on to hide his neck. The other boys were nursing hangovers, so he could do what he liked.

What he did do had you incredibly curious. Was just chatting. Talking to the comment section. Sleepily reeling off facts he'd recently learned about butterflies. Debating over their lifespan.

You're not naive to the fact that Jungkook does this streaming stuff as a profession, and are aware that the more people talking about his stream on other platforms, the more viewers he'll get.

Made sense for him to add fuel to the butterfly-related fire by talking about them.

Had sent you a message earlier that evening to ask what kind of butterfly you had on your skin.

A Monarch, you'd told him.

"See, the thing is," Jungkook had rambled to his viewers a little later on. "Most butterflies have super short lifespans—Monarch's included."

Eyes all starry, lights in his bedroom purple as per usual, he'd looked cosy. You wished you'd have stayed.

"But there's a specific kind. Migrating Monarchs. They're the last of their generation—the final butterflies of the year," he marvelled at the magic of it all.

His facts were a little hazy, but he knew enough. Had been down a you-shaped rabbit hole all afternoon.

"And they migrate, right? Move away from home—somewhere warmer—and then it just extends their lifespan. 180 days. Not 30. That's six months. Six months. It's a long time. It's not fleeting. Not in the slightest."

It's also, curiously, exactly how long you're scheduled to stay in Korea for.

"I dunno," Jungkook had just sighed, a little forlorn, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his thumb against the hard plastic ears of his headset, then focused on the camera again. Wondered if you were watching.

He simply shrugged. Said, "Counts for something, though, right?"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #streamer!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader

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ladykailitha · 5 months

Text

The Fallen

I blame @vecnuthy for this entirely. Seeing all their Sleep Token posts has completely intersected with Steddie and you get this.

***

Modern AU: Corroded Coffin makes it big. Like Metallica levels huge. Like every up and coming metal band is clamoring to open for them levels of fame. When this metal band, The Fallen comes on the scene and are dismissed as glam rock wannabes.

They are very theatrical. They are dressed in long coats with hoods and face masks. The guitarist, bassist, and drummer all have full Venetian masks of different colors. The bassist has one that looks like a starry night (but not Starry Night if you know what I mean). The Guitarist has a red devil’s mask, horns and all. The drummer is in a black death mask. The eyes of the mask are closed and it looks eerie as fuck. The most dramatic of the masks belong to the lead singer. He wears an opaque white lace mask with the mouth and chin cut out so he can sing.

Their outfits match their masks.

The lead singer, Abbadon, the fallen angel is in all in white with a splash of color on the lining of his coat. Sometimes it’s pink or baby blue, sometimes it one of the colors of bandmates, black or red or starry midnight blue. He wears high heeled boats and not always of the combat variety. Once he wore stilettos with a baby blue stripe up the side. It’s the outfit that gets made into dolls and merch the most. Most of the time he’s shirtless, but has been known to switch it up with lace or sheer tops.

The guitarist plays up the devil persona to a tee and calls himself Asmodeus, the demon of lust. Red leather and fetish gear. Thick red combat boots. His guitar is even blood red.

The bassist is called Astraeus, the titan of the night. While in certain light his clothes look black, but they are in fact a dark blue with bright stars, swirling galaxies, and glowing nebulae. His bass is of the night sky as well.

And finally the drummer, Azrael. Angel of death. Always in black. His drum kit is black with black metal fittings. Even his drumsticks are black.

Like I said, at first dismissed as wannabes but they are killing it. It’s clear that not only are they talented, their flare for the dramatic adds to their mystique. Soon they are the new rising stars of metal.

Dustin is their biggest fan. He loves them. Eddie is offended at the highest level. How dare this little butthead like The Fallen. Dustin rolls his eyes.

“Dude, Corroded Coffin is still number one in my book,” he tells Eddie. “But you can’t deny that Abbadon is a beast on vocals.”

Eddie is forced to concede the point. Abbadon knows how to really get the through to the emotion of a song.

So when Dustin gets front row tickets to The Fallen’s concert in Indy, Eddie reluctantly joins the little twerp.

And the concert starts. First the drummer gets lowered into his seat on giant raven wings.

“Azrael!” the announcer calls out.

And the crowd goes wild.

The man slips out of the harness and wings ascend. Eddie cocks his head, yeah all right that’s kinda cool.

Azrael hits his drums and the bassist gets lowered on to the stage. All shimmering blues and purples, like actual stars, lands deftly on the stage and Azrael hits the high hat.

“Astraeus!”

The crowd is frantic now. Screaming and jumping up and down.

As soon as the wings are unstrapped and lifted away Astraeus riffs on his bass and the crowd eats it up.

Eddie likes this one. It’s unique.

Then Azrael starts up again as another man is lowered and it takes everything in Eddie’s power not to roll his eyes at this one. Red leather gear, horned mask, and fucking bat wings.

He stomps on the stage and really wails on his guitar. Eddie looks over to see that Dustin is absolutely eating it with the rest of them so he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

“Asmodeus!”

Dustin is vibrating so hard that Eddie’s fears he might literally crawl out of his skin with excitement.

And then the entire stadium goes silent. Like stock still. Eddie is looking around him confused.

He looks back at the stage and there descends the absolute most devastatingly handsome man Eddie has ever seen and he hasn’t seen his face.

His arms are out stretched and his head is bowed. Once he lands air cannons shoot out white feathers out at the crowd and the wings ascend without this man.

“Abbadon!” the announcer screams for the final time.

“Indy!” he shouts into his mouthpiece.

And the crowd screams could deafen the most resilient of metal goer.

Abbadon starts singing and the crowd is losing their god damn minds. And yeah, yeah. Eddie is one of them.

They’ve got a stage presence that can’t be manufactured.

And then about half way through the concert he sees it. Abbadon turns his head just right and holy fuck, Eddie is losing his mind for a different reason. He manages to take a picture with his phone before Abbadon turns.

After the concert Eddie grills Dustin about the band all the way home. But the only thing the kid knows is how awesome the band is.

He gets to the hotel and starts watching every interview with The Fallen ever. And he pulls up one from about a year or so back where Abbadon is talking about the masks.

Abbadon pulls out a black mask and holds it up to the light. “See? You can tell that the eyes have mesh covering over them. They work the way two way mirrors do. Azrael can see out of them just fine, but you can’t see in.”

There are a lot of impressed nods, Eddie is definitely one of them. That’s certainly a neat trick.

“So what’s the reason for the masks at all?” the interviewer asks.

Abbadon looks at the members of his band and they all nod. He licks his lips.

“Because if we had been ourselves when we started on the scene,” he said, “we would have be called posers and we wouldn’t have even gotten this far.”

Eddie paused the video and took a deep breath.

Fuck.

Just then Jeff wanders into the hotel room and looks at the TV.

“Is that The Fallen?”

Eddie hums. “Yup.”

Jeff grabs a drink from the mini-fridge and makes his way over. “Oh hey is that poser interview?”

Eddie hums again.

“He can’t really be serious about that,” Jeff says with a huff. “No one in the metal scene would call anyone posers, not if they truly loved the music.”

“We would have,” Eddie says with a finality that brings Jeff up short.

“The fuck we would have, man,” Jeff snaps. “There’s no way.”

“We would have it was Steve Harrington’s band.”

Jeff’s eyes go wide. “There is no way that’s Steve Harrington.”

Eddie pulls out his phone and zooms in on Abbadon’s neck. He hands his phone to Jeff.

“Okay so the dude has moles on his neck,” he says handing the phone back, “lots of people have them.”

Eddie goes through his phone and pulls up a picture of Steve. He’s not in the exact same pose but it’s close enough. He hands the phone to Jeff again.

Jeff squints and then zooms in.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Eddie drapes his hand over his mouth and purses his lips.

“Steve Harrington in a metal band,” Jeff says in awe. “All be damned.”

“When The Fallen came on the scene,” Eddie says dropping his hand so his talk, “we were outselling Metallica in records and ticket sales. If the rest of the band are preps like Steve we would have mocked them relentlessly.”

Jeff sits down hard on the sofa next to Eddie. “Shit.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands.

“We got to tell someone, man,” Jeff says. “This is huge!”

Eddie in his haste to look at Jeff accidentally hits the remote.

“Do you think you’ll ever do a reveal?” the interviewer asks.

Asmodeus leans over to speak in the microphone. “Ask us again in ten years if we’re still selling out crowds.”

Eddie fumbles it again, but manages to turn off the TV.

Jeff and he looks at each other.

“We can’t say shit, man,” Eddie hisses. “It would be like outing someone as gay or trans before they want to.”

Jeff slumps in his seat. “Fuck. Yeah. You’re right. Shit.”

They’re silent for a moment.

Eddie cocks his head to the side. “What I don’t get is how the kids don’t know.”

Jeff opens his mouth and then closes it. He shakes his head slowly. “Sorry but if I was Steve I wouldn’t tell them shit either.”

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Look,” Jeff says turning to face him, “they’re great kids. Brilliant D&D players, nerds, geeks, and dorks the lot of them. But I would not trust them with a secret that big.”

Eddie thought about all the time that they accidentally blurted out something that didn’t make sense out of context, but once you knew, holy shit was it a miracle these kids didn’t get into more trouble.

“Yeah okay.”

After a moment of silence Eddie looks over and frowns at Jeff. “What are you doing my hotel room anyway?”

Jeff holds up his beer. “Your beer was cold, I forgot to put mine in the fridge when we got in.”

“Asshole,” Eddie grouses, bumping Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff kisses his cheek. “You love me though.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Steve is in his dressing room after their last concert of the tour for their second album scrubbing the hell out of his face because that mask is prone to giving him the worst breakouts, when he notices the blue roses.

He gets a lot of flowers but never blue roses. He rinses off his face and walks over to the them.

There’s a note and he thinks he recognizes the handwriting. It’s short and sweet and absolutely terrifying.

“I know your secret, sweetheart. But don’t worry, I’ll never tell.”

It’s not signed, but the ‘sweetheart’ gives it away.

He messages Robin.

“Get Eddie Munson in here right now!”

She protests that she doesn’t know where he is. But Steve knows he has to still be in the building and sure enough she finds Eddie waiting in the wings, looking smug as hell.

Her eyes go wide and cursing up a storm drags him into the dressing room.

She presses her back to the door.

“Who told?” she squeaks.

Eddie laughs. “No one, I swear.”

“Then how did you know?” Steve asks.

He hands Steve his phone with the picture he took at the concert. Robin wanders over to peak over Steve’s shoulder.

“So it’s a picture of his neck,” she murmurs.

But suddenly Steve gets it. “It’s my moles!”

Eddie nods, pressing his lips together so he doesn’t giggle.

“Shit!” Robin hisses. “Do you think anyone else figured it out?”

“I doubt it,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I’m just obsessive that way.”

“About moles?” Robin says with a frown.

“With Steve.”

Robin blinks. “Right I’m out of here.”

She closes the door behind her and they are left alone.

The night ends with Eddie in Steve’s bed asking him for The Fallen to join Corroded Coffin on their next tour next year and there is no way Steve could say no to that. His bandmates would kill him.

They go on tour and the hardest part is dodging rumors that Eddie is two timing Steve with Abbadon because when The Fallen and Corroded Coffin perform together they make out on stage.

Then for The Fallen’s ten anniversary they do a reveal and Dustin is livid.

Robin and Steve had been telling him for years that they were just low level PAs and not a famous rockstar and his equally mysterious manager.

They’re forgiven when Steve tells him that half the songs on the first album are about him and the rest of the kids.

***

This is just a rough draft. I might expand on it in full later.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar steve harrington

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willownwisp · 3 months

Text

ree's leon valentine's day advent <3

hi everyone. <3 as the leon kennedy fluff truther, i'm making an advent for valentine's day because pookie deserves so much love! everyday, i'll be posting a fic ranging from nsfw/sfw fluff for babu leon, i'll be putting out the scenarios and snippets below if y'all are interested. author's note: i've been meaning to put this out like a week ago when i finally figured out the problem w my account as to why tumblr wasn't letting me reply to comments :( but sadly, college got me so head empty. anyway, i've already got 2 days worth of fics already finished so i hope y'all can give me a read. <3

FEBRUARY 8 𖹭 nice legs, daisy dukes. (vendetta!leon x fem!reader) Leon feels like a creep, fuck that. He definitely looks like a creep. Thirty-six year old in all of his 5'11 glory standing outside his girlfriend's college leant against his Ducati like a dick, carrying a box of those, instagrammable pastries you always like to look at. It doesn't hurt to be sweet. Not when you walk — run, at the sight of him in your preppy mini dress, highlighting those long, long legs. Nothing is sweeter, especially when it's wrapped around him.

FEBRUARY 9 𖹭 starry skies, blue eyes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Stars dot stygian skies, the night is young, the moon is high. Leon's heart soars with your every laughter. The way your eyes close and your nose scrunches. God he was so in love with you, he could forgive the fact that the tent should have been up hours ago before night. You swear you remember your knots from your wide-eyed Girl Scout days, and he swears these silly moments with you are what makes life bearable.

FEBRUARY 10 𖹭 cold woes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Leon S. Kennedy. The apple of his instructors' eyes (and yours), he's a top graduate in the Police Academy for fuck's sake. He's decimated hordes of zombies in his first day as a rookie cop. Endured military training in the middle of nowhere, he's saved the President's daughter. He doesn't get sick. Only that he does catch a cold at the expense of prioritizing you, his clumsy girlfriend, who forgot to wear a jacket on a camping trip, offering his warm clothes to you. He doesn't regret it, he likes taking care of you, but there's something adorable about your sheepish apologies as you wait on him. He could get used to being babied. FEBRUARY 11 𖹭 love on me. (di!leon x fem!reader) As much as Leon loves the sun, the beaches, the tropics. Oh what he would give to become a beach bum in his next life instead of being smacked by bioweapons day in, night out, and being a good bitch to good ol' U.S of A. Unfortunately, after the events of Alcatraz, maybe he's had enough of the sea for now. He gives himself a pat on the back, takes out a chunk of his savings to go to Japan because you've been eyeing it. You said you were interested in the food, culture, and sights. So why in the world were you dragging him to a love hotel? FEBRUARY 12 𖹭 fill up your cup. (re6!leon x fem!reader) He feels himself spiraling recently, turning to the bottle because a glass is never troubled by his woes. He breaks them of course, can't help it, seems like his life is doomed to him breaking in the end. Fragments of glass scatters on the floor, vodka spills on the floor splashes it around like his grief because his body can only take so much. You arrive as he tries to pick them up, attempts to pick himself up. You whisper assurance, he doesn't deserve it. The way you look at him ardently, the gentleness that is your existence. You empty out his pain, and fill it with love. FEBRUARY 13 𖹭 the thrill, the love. (damnation!leon x fem!reader) He wills his old Yamaha to go faster. Your dainty arms clinging to him, the softness of your touch as his speed breaks the sound barrier. What started as mere curiosity turns into rituals. Secrets that only the both of you know. He knocks on your door at midnight, drives you around town. He scolds you every time your arm breaks free, throwing them to the wind. You don't care, you love the thrill, you love him. Leon admits that there is something alluring to the thrill of the chase. Perhaps that's why he's spent his years chasing Ada, but with you it was different. FEBRUARY 14 𖹭 kiss it better. (di!leon x fem!reader) Leon is a man full of stories, his pain, his peace, his fears, his needs. There is more to him than just being a formidable weapon against bioterrorism. He never was a weapon, just a flesh and blood human, and in his mortality there are scars. Deep within him, and littered in his skin. You kiss the faded slash on his hand, he tells you how he'd got it from when Ashley Graham had tried to stab him under the influence of the plaga. You kiss it again, and what he doesn't tell you is the wave of warmth that washes his entire being, it tugs on his very soul. You kiss the scars because it's there, because it's him, and in his reverie, he thinks you truly are his person.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon x you #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

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finelinevogue · 1 year

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Finelinevogue Masterlist ‘23

get lost in a world where harry styles is the main character in your life.

navigation

Harry Styles:

Fics

Fluff

the midnight game show -

you and harry partake in the midnight gameshow with michael mcintyre

birthday boy -

harry’s birthday party ends up with cake frosting in his hair and your eyes

tears of love -

a whole bunch of tears and a whole bunch of love for the album of the year grammy winner

in this world, it’s just us -

you and harry attend the Brits, drink a little and love each other a lot

valentines day gift -

you purchase a gift for harry like never before

take a break -

you and harry arrive at your nyc hotel for a little getaway

he’s just harry -

a couple of fan interactions with harry on the streets of london

when in rome -

just a few random clips from a holiday to rome

i love you more than dino nuggets -

the night before the final show

love in photos -

a sum up of love on tour in a few instagram posts

ring shopping -

a tiny blurb about engagement ring shopping

spread the love -

harry’s fans LOVE you

firsts -

it’s your first date out with harry

a montage of love -

a fan has put together a small video of some of your best moments together

the eras -

harry is the best boyfriend ever and not just because he has taylor swifts number

Angst

first kiss of the year -

a new year’s eve kiss, with a few tears and tipsy friends

jealous wife -

you can’t help feel jealous when people stare at harry for looking so good

you are the love of my life -

you go to harry’s listening party and are reminded how he is the love of your life

family will get you through -

you go through a life changing operation but you have a strong family to get you through it

parisian love -

you are a little self conscious of your feelings in the city of love

paparazzi nerves -

you get nervous around the paps

lost n found -

you are lost in italy the night before your wedding

life goes on -

just a tiny blurb of post tour engagement talk

love her stupid -

you are jealous of harry’s new bandmate, when you really don’t need to be

kisses on tour -

harry always chooses a fan to kiss at the end of his concert shows and you attend his next tour date

labitule -

you have an obsession with harry’s hoodie collection

starry eyes -

harry’s the captain of the ice-hockey team and there’s a house party to celebrate their win

interesting enough? -

you spy an attractive man at the bar, but you’re too shy to say hello

the best thing -

you hate harry after that one night together, but when you need someone the most he will always be there

Series

love island universe

harry’s house

UNIverse

love on tour blurbs

christmas fic

Other

instagram concepts

fic rec 2023

fic rec masterlist

masterlist ‘21

masterlist ‘22

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #fic rec harry styles #masterlist harry styles #masterlist finelinevogue #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 2 years

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Masterlist

** - Smut & ^ - Angst

Pieces with these emojis have content with these holidays/events: 🎄- Christmas, 🦃- Thanksgiving, 🎃 - Halloween, 🪩 - New Years, 🫶- touring/ LOT/concerts

All smut will have a "mature" community label from here on out to avoid any issues in the future. You will need to adjust your account settings to view those posts! (11/19/22)

Preacher’s Daughter ** , Part II ** 🎄- Y/N is the preacher’s daughter and Harry isn’t exactly an angel.

Be My Mistake ** ^, Part II ^ - Y/N is the other woman & Harry lets her take all the blame.

The MET ** - Harry wants Y/N to know just how much she means to him.

CEO Harry ^** - Harry hires Y/N and as it turns out, she's everything he's ever wanted.

Guardian Angel**^ - Y/N is Harry’s guardian angel.

Roomies^** - When Harry’s living arrangement falls through Y/N lets him live with her...she’s kinda growing tired of him. But the more they get to know each other the more she wants him to stay around.

Golden Trunks** - “So in response to what you whispered in my ear, I’ll be upfront. Sometimes, I fantasize about you too.” Inspired by Golden Trunks by Arctic Monkeys

The Calm Story - Harry’s colab with Calm elicits an unexpected reaction from his friend, Y/N.

A Keeper** - Y/N and Harry are seeing each other for the first time since the pandemic and he has a full-grown mustache.

Falling ^ - Harry falls in love with someone else and leaves Y/N.

No Coincidence** - Y/N & Harry happen to vacation in Italy at the same time and it seems that one way or another, their paths were meant to cross.

Eros!Harry - A cute and fluffy oneshot about Eros (cupid) falling in love with a human girl. BLURB** for Harryween 2020

Strawberry Fields Forever** - In which Harry’s had a BAD day and ends up where he feels the happiest, which is at his best friend’s house (Non-famous AU).

Sometime Around Midnight^ , Part II ^**- Harry & Y/N have been broken up and run into each other at a bar. Y/N seems to be over it, but truthfully, Harry is more in love with her now.

A Perfect Christmas 🎄- Harry and Y/N are coworkers and he can’t go home for the holidays. Y/N’s family believes she is dating someone, so she hesitantly invites Harry to spend the next few days with her family. + A Perfect Start** 🪩

Overheard** - Y/N & Harry are friends and there’s always been some tension.+ Happy Birthday** - Y/N wants to wish Harry a happy birthday

Come So Far^ - Y/N and Harry try to piece their lives together after he cheats on her.

Flash Warning**- Y/N sees a trend on TikTok and needs to try it on Harry.

Knowing Me, Knowing You^ - Where Y/N realizes that she needs to make a tough decision.

Don’t Forget ^** - Y/N is dealing with the stresses of life all while trying to navigate past her break up with Harry. However, after a drunken night out she finds herself in front of Harry’s home.

Twin Souls^ - (TW: some physical abuse) A period piece. Harry has just sailed back to England from America and Y/N has just returned from university, both just in time for the debutante season. Where this time around, they were expected to find their lifelong partner. Part 2^** (TW: some physical abuse)

The Electric Ballroom** - Seeing Harry rapping with Stormzy does things to Y/N. 🫶

Someone Else^ - Y/N moves on and Harry isn’t taking it all that well.

Baby Fever** - The one where Harry has baby fever and he can’t wait to start a family with Y/N.

Starry-eyed ** - Harry & Y/N are friends with benefits and he’s been thinking about going down on her all day.

Boyfriends** - Harry & Y/N grew up together and he's always had to watch her love and get hurt from the sidelines.

The Nearness of You - A short fluffy pice that was an anon request inspired by the DWD trailer back in May.

Keep Driving , Part II^** + this blurb^ - Harry & Y/N meet on the celebrity dating app Raya in the middle of the pandemic and start getting to know each other better.

Wasted Time^ - Harry has a girlfriend after telling Y/N he's not ready for a relationship.

Night XV - After 15 consecutive shows at MSG Harry's girlfriend tells him how proud of him she is. 🫶

Friends Share** , Part 2 ^** - Harry & Y/N have been practically perfect roommates for several years but the appearance of a hot new neighbor creates an unexpected shift in their relationship.

Just A Taste** - A Harryween one shot about an unlucky man and an unfortunate curse. 🎃

Halftime** - Y/N is very horny for her Harry, but Harry is really wrapped up in the Brazil vs. South Korea match. 🫶

My Superstar, fuss-pot - Harry get's a little cold after deciding to sing in the rain and Y/N is taking care of him and his medicine makes him drowsy and he just starts confessing too many lovey-dovey things. 🫶

The First Time** - A soft and sweet one where Y/N asks Harry to be her first (requested)

Birthday Kiss - Y/N and Harry are friends who finally get to see each other at one of his birthday shows and as much as they like each other, they're both terrified of making the first move. 🫶

No Kids** - After their second baby comes Harry & Y/N have been so busy that they've had a 6 month dry spell and Harry's looking to fix that. ASAP.

The Divine Feminine** - Amidst his sadness after his wife leaves the Underworld, Hades (Harry) encounters a human woman who brings him to his knees.

A Good Fit** - Harry is best friend's with Y/N's older brother and she comes over because her BF cheated on her he ends up helping her out in an unexpected way (or just an excuse to write smut).

Champion of the World **^ - Part 2 of this blurb. Or Harry is producing Y/N's album's band and they initially don't get along and what happens with them after he realizes he likes her.

LVRS Club** - Y/N is going through a rough patch in life and her friends drag her to a sex club to shock her out of her rut. Her night takes a very unexpected turn when Harry Styles approaches her.

Make It Better** - Harry is Y/N's professor and he really, really needs his best girl after the long and bad day he's had.

Wake n' Bake** - Y/N decides to give "wake n' bake" a try only to get all riled up. So she goes and finds her man to take care of it for her.

A Surprise^** - While Harry and Y/N are broken up she ends up dating a man who is not what she thought he was. His irrational behavior ends up bringing her and Harry back together. Things are going well until they receive a big surprise - Y/N is pregnant.

The Divorce - After several years of marriage and two children Y/N’s worried that Harry’s not been himself. Then, Y/N sees something she clearly wasn’t supposed to.

One Week - Harry & Y/N are exes who haven’t seen each other or spoken in years. Now, they both happen to go on a weeklong holiday for Nick’s birthday.

Fine Line - Harry and Y/N are best friends who are in love with each other. When they discover each other’s feelings will it be too late? 🦃🎄 🪩

Wolves - Harry is a werewolf and Y/N seems to be an inconvenience he can’t get rid of.

Threat of Joy - Harry has a big crush on the hair & makeup girl from the Don’t Worry Darling set. The only problem is that she has a boyfriend.

Roxy's Record Store - Harry and Y/N don’t get along despite their tight knit friend group. Amidst the fights and make-ups some lines get blurred and they just need to figure out what they want and where they stand. 🦃🎄🪩

Unavailable** , Part II^ , Part III** - Y/N has a very specific preference for unavailable/inappropriate people and Harry is her therapist who is supposed to help her work through this.

The Assistant - Y/N gets hired as Harry’s assistant and as much as they don’t want to be some romance novel trope, it’s kind of hard to not fall for each other when they just get along so well. 🦃🎄

With Discretion - Y/N discovers that her husband of 7 years, Caleb is cheating on her. One night out with her friends leads to an affair of her own but with Caleb's boss, Mr. Styles, and they promise to never do it again...but some promises are just meant to be broken.

A Twist of Fate - Harry and Y/N are exes who unexpectedly run into each other. And while they have both moved on, being with each other unearths the feelings they had buried for each other when they had to end their relationship. So they make a promise to do something about the next time they run into each other if they're both single.

A Chance - Y/N and Harry are coworkers with a less than friendly relationship, especially after a misunderstanding occurs at the office. However, a fateful run in at a bar exposes Y/N to a side of him that makes her realize that she's had him all wrong since the start. But will she give him a chance to keep surprising her?

Meet Me in the Hallway (complete)- Lucy and Harry are soulmates, but something seems to always be in the way. However, they’re both willing to wait for each other and they’re both willing to make it better.

Compromised (complete)- Harry is involved in a branch of the European mafia called the B.F. Clan. Y/N is an American spy who has been trying to dismantle them for years. Her objective now, get close to Harry and burn it all through him.

Young American (complete) - Y/N get’s offered the opportunity of a lifetime, an apprenticeship at English Graffiti, world renowned tattoo artist, Eddie Chan’s first American shop. However, an unnerving rivalry brews between her and one of Eddie’s old apprentices and best artists, Harry Styles. 🎃

(Ongoing) Wonderful World - Harry is a psychiatrist who starts to see a young girl named Celeste. As time goes on he starts to find himself developing feelings for Celeste's mother, Diana. Despite his many accomplishments, once they come into his life he realizes that his life is a bit empty. But there is no way he can pursue the woman he wants, it's unethical and it could put his entire career in jeopardy.

Blurbs from requests/asks - Categorized by topic.

Picture Prompt Blurbs

Challenge no.1

Challenge no.2

Fic Rec Masterlist

Please let me know if there are any incorrect or dead links! Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are appreciated 😊❤️

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satoluv · 3 months

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YOU ALWAYS HAD ME — synopsis: what would you do if your hot best friend agreed to fake date you to make your ex-boyfriend jealous? will it ruin your friendship or will it prevail into something more?

⤿ [ 11 ] timestamps do not matter.

One of your favourite things you did growing up to find solace outside of your rowdy home was sitting by the porch, drinking in the starry night above you. Usually, you had company; your Persian cat, Kiki who has found herself a new owner; Gojo Satoru.

“What’s going on that pretty little head of yours?” Your thoughts, are instantly broken by the low yet smoky voice of the man you were falling in love with. — your best friend, your fake boyfriend.

“Nothing”

“Lies. I’ve been searching everywhere for you but then your kind mother told me this is your favourite spot.” You felt the plank beneath you creak and found yourself a new company.

“You were looking for me?” Your voice came out barely a whisper.

Tucking away the strands of hair behind your ear, “Yeah?.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

So did the clock.

10 minutes till Midnight.

“Can we end this, Satoru?”

“What?”

"You heard me."

"So that’s on your mind? Is that why you invited me here? To break up with me in front of your family's porch? Or did Toji text you back? I-"

"Satoru, do you want to know what I dislike about you?"

"If it's me stealing your chocolates, I'm sorry. Please don't end this"

You cupped his face, the warmth from the contact of your hands and his face kept you alive. He looks so cute with his face being squashed. His bright blue eyes on you, pouting.

"Wrong. I don't like it when you cut me off and you’re so dramatic ‘toru! Toji hasn’t texted me since forever! But it doesn’t matter anyway because I love you."

His pout, was instantly replaced with a smile like a kid who got candy from his mother.

"Then will you shut me up by kissing m-"

You threw your body weight on him, snaking your arms around his neck, playing with the underside of his undercut. It's so hot. Supposedly a small fleeting kiss immediately turned into a passionate heated kiss, outside your family's porch.

You gasped in surprise at the sensation of his hands tucking underneath your shirt, pinching your skin.

The kiss that breaks apart, left you both catching for air.

Removing his hands that previously rested under your shirt, sliding in your palms, stroking your hands with his thumb.

"You're so cute. I like the taste of your lips on mine. And I love you too, YN. Always have been, ever since high school. We grew up together so technically, I watched you grow up heh. Watching you have your first boyfriend broke my heart, but if that was the price for me to pay seeing you so happy, I'd gladly break my heart a thousand times over. But a part of me wished it was me who made you smile. So when he broke your heart, it was as if the whole world just crashed on me. You, out of everyone deserve so much love."

Like as if that wasn't enough to tug your heartstrings,

"YN, can I be your boyfriend? I'll love you with everything that I have, I promise."

“Here’s a pen for you baby”

“What for?”

“Hmm? To tick off the the rest of your checklist sweetheart”

hiiii …. 🫣🫣🫣 imcoming fluff chapters enjoy it while it lasts. i love them sm omg. pls ignore the fact that it’s almost feb.. and im posting abt new years HAHAHA the nicknames!!!! i hope it’s not too rush omds..

💞 in the title means new years special hehe

taglist: @hexrts-anatomy @k4romis @soy-garbage @avatar-of-procrastination @lees-chaotic-brain @pastatata @maybe-a-bi-witch @vivi-loves-penguins @reagan707 @iluv-ace @dazaisfavgf @tiredflame132 @dreamxiing @inorixonline

feedbacks and reblogs appreciated! 💕💕 pls be kind to me

series m.list | main m.list

@ satoluv do not plagiarize, translate, or rewrite my writings without my permission !

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smau #jjk smau #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smau #gojo smau #satoru smau #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smau #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n smau #queued to prime time!#reblog please! tq bbies #lily writes! ೀ⋆｡˚

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staretes · 8 months

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finally, before you

synopsis: he's been dreaming about this moment for centuries, but what will happen when he's finally reunited with you? w/c: 0.8k tags: blade x reader, angst, reader was blade's lover when he was yingxing (a bit ooc for blade? idk please tell me if it is) a/n: i posted this by accident twice while it was still cooking in the oven argh. i mostly typed this in school while my teachers were teaching hehe but tbh i think my writing style got alot more loose here which idk if i like... i also dont know how i feel about the flow of this but ack enjoy

blade awakes, face gently cradled by blades of grass. when he looks up, the countless stars glittering in the midnight sky greeted him, just like how they greeted him on those nights when he went to watch the vast starry sky with you. "he didn't come to the luofu to find friends, much less love" he had firmly told himself, but the thought quickly lost itself in you, the stars, and the nights you spent with him. he’d thought he had lost those nights forever.

could it finally be? his heart quickens as he hurried to stand up. the boundless expanse of grasslands that could be found at the edges of the luofu stretched as far as he could see. blade’s scarlet eyes dart frantically across the field, before they landed, with a triumph, on a figure gazing at the stars. you. blade’s heart leaps at the sight and he hastens to reach you. he could wait no longer, he thinks, for every moment for the last seven hundred years, his heart burned in your absence. he had longed to see the sweet smile on your lips and feel your soft skin on his again. “(name),” he called softly, hoping to finally let his gaze rest upon your bright eyes under the stars once again. startled, you whip around to face him. you stand up, and your eyes search him, and he feels your gaze pierce throughout his body, looking him up and down. “yingxing…” you mumble , not sparing his eyes a single glance. blade opens his arms hesitantly, desperate to feel your embrace again. you jolt back, and your trailing gaze lands on his hands. his hands. his hands have slain too many, dripping with the blood of so many innocent lives. he whose hands are burdened with the weight of death and violence, how could he even think of touching you, tainting you with his sin? you turn on your heel and run, farther and farther away from him, and he's left standing alone in an empty sea of grass, watching your body disappearing in the distance, with only the stars twinkling at him mockingly.

blade awakes, drenched in cold sweat, chest heaving, gasping for air. it was just a another dream, he reassures himself amongst shallow breaths. just like the dream from the night before, and the night before that, and the many, many nights before. you’ll love him, forever, no matter what, he tells himself, and it’s this faith that relights the small fire in his heart to reunite with you on that fated day in that promised land.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

the moment had finally arrived.

the chains of life that burdened blade for so long snapped, and his body arched gracefully as his body fell to the ground with a soft thud. the raging fire of mara was put out as he fell deeper into the sweet embrace of death. the peaceful silence enveloped him as he seemed to float, float away, higher and higher, transcending towards the paradise that he had longed for for centuries.

…

blade awakes, face gently cradled by blades of grass. he looks up, and the countless stars greet him once more. on the xianzhou, where death is a distant concept, rumours swirl of the soft melodies heard when one finally finds peace in heaven. blade is sure that it's this tune that serenades him as he stands up slowly, looking around.

he doesn't have to look for long before your figure, sitting on the blanket you once shared with him, watching the stars twinkle before you. you're humming a tune, and he realises that this is the melody that's he's been hearing since he awoke. slowly, he walks towards you.

before he can call out your name, you turn around and meet his gaze. your eyes light up and a radiant smile forms on your lips. mara-ridden centuries of separation have warped and faded blade's memories, but he's still taken aback at how your beauty far exceeds the many versions of you in his dreams. his heart rate quickens as his parched eyes drink the sight before him. "yingxing!" you beam as you stand up. your voice was still as melodious as ever. the sound of his name forming from your lips was the most heavenly song blade has heard in a long time. it seems, you have been eagerly waiting for him too. you open your arms, awaiting his embrace. this is the moment he’s been dreaming of.

his dreams.

blade tries to move, but he finds that the many seeds of doubt planted in his stomach have emerged. imaginary vines shackles his limbs and he finds himself unable to move. he tries to talk, but the thorny weeds have suffocated his throat, leaving no voice to even whisper your name.

after everything he's done, he doesn't deserve to even face you.

so this time, he's the one that turns and flees, further and further away from you.

#[✦ - archives!]#almost tagged this in the fluff tag whoops #blade x reader #blade imagines #blade x you #blade x y/n #blade x gn reader #hsr imagines #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #blade angst

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reviewsdefinitionofsatisfaction · 18 days

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Taylor has been lying on Joe since You’re Losing Me (Important Thread)

I’ve been confident in this theory since Midnights, but didn’t know how to spread it. Taylor is now blatantly lying about Joe and rewriting history. SHE was the one who didn’t want to get married, and Joe broke up with her over it. She chose fame over marriage, and the evidence is all over her music.

Ever since I heard “Mine” I instinctively knew Taylor was afraid of marriage. It’s the classic child-of-divorce case. “You say we’ll never make my parents’ mistakes.” / “Brace myself for the goodbye ‘cause it’s all I’ve ever known.”

Her fear of marriage continues throughout her discography. Don’t let “Lover” and “Paper Rings” fool you—those were false promises to Joe at the start of their relationship. Listen to “champagne problems,” a song she and Joe co-wrote. What couple writes a song about breaking up because the girl is terrified of marriage 4 years into their relationship? Why, one where that’s happening, of course. “Your Midas touch on the Chevy door,” aka how she always references Joe turning things to gold. And don’t forget “Renegade,” a song where in the music video SHE is the one anxiously staring out the window being told to “open the blinds.” (“Is it really your anxiety that stops you from giving me everything or do you just not want to?”, the lyric referring to Joe asking for marriage) This was a song written by Taylor from Joe’s perspective at the time. “I tapped on your window on your darkest night” (referring to Rep era) / “Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night.” … “And then you squeeze my hand as I’m about to leave.” (Joe’s POV) / “It’s on your face, don’t walk away, I need to say…” Taylor was the one always blowing up on him and then apologizing, as illustrated in Afterglow, The Great War, and most obviously her post-breakup behavior. Joe was NOT the volatile one of the two (also supported by articles released by her team, stating Joe’s personality was “great for Taylor” because “he is very calm”).

Then, just look at Midnights. The Bejeweled music video (which Taylor wrote and directed) is the clearest thing. A video all about choosing pop-stardom over a ring from a prince? While she and her boyfriend are having marriage disagreements? Hmmm. Interesting. Seriously, just go watch the intro to that video and tell me Taylor was the one fighting to get married behind the scenes.

Midnights lyrics: “He wanted a bride, I was making my own name. Chasing that fame.” (a person who WANTS to get married would NOT be writing this song!!!) “All they keep asking me is if I’m gonna be your bride. The only kind of girl they see is a one night or a wife.” “No deal the 1950s shit they want from me. I just wanna stay in that lavender haze” “I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser.” “I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money. She thinks I left them in the will.” (accompanied by elaborate scene displaying family-related anxieties in music video)

This is someone who is terrified of marriage and being an adult. I believe she launched herself into a fame-hug to avoid confronting her issues with Joe at this late stage in their relationship. After he broke up with her, she realized how deep of a mistake she made during the Eras Tour. Hence, the big lie in “You’re Losing Me” (which was written THEN, in 2023, conveniently dropped during the Matty Healy controversy) and her daring him to “say something” about the lie. (False God lyric: “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this, staring out the window like I’m not your favorite town.” When they fight, he was always the one ignoring her craziness.) And soon after, her peculiar surprise song choices on June 23: “Paper Rings” (“I’d marry you with paper rings”) and “If This Was A Movie” (“If this was a movie, you’d be here by now”).

The initial breakup article by People (Tree Paine’s mouthpiece) even outlines this story. “According to multiple sources, Swift and Alwyn had been ‘talking about marriage as recently as a few months ago.’ But at the end of the day, the couple wasn’t ready for a future together. ‘Taylor didn’t see them working out in the long run,’ says the insider.” This was before she wrote YLM, trying to provoke him, and now she will be driving it further with this new album I’m certain she wrote during 2023, NOT 2 years ago like she and Jack are trying to push. Her having Jack drop YLM’s “2021 date,” and then liking that tweet implying Sweet Nothing was not about Joe (when it was clearly about Joe)… she’s rewriting the narrative. You can’t trust a word she says.

#you are losing me #taylor swift #anti taylor swift #anti matty healy #joe alwyn #matty healy #the tortured poets department #midnight album #reddit #midnights

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ladamedusoif · 3 months

Text

Gentleman Cowboy

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader

Word count: 3500

Summary: A solo getaway. A fateful glass of whiskey. And a very charming cowboy, ready to explore the big city.

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Alcohol references and consumption; non-canon compliant as is right and proper because that man deserved better; oral sex (F receiving); safe PiV sex; little bit of strong language; no physical descriptions of Reader other than her blue dress and red lipstick; fluff; Jack-typical pet names (sugar, sweetheart, darlin’).

A/N: A belated birthday fic for @agentjackdaniels, who deserves all the nice things - including a certain, irresistible, (retired) secret agent turned ranch owner.

Follow my writing blog, @ladameecrit, and turn on notifications to keep up with my writing.

Charisma.

The jury’s out on whether you’re born with it or can acquire it. For some people, it’s just there. Natural, easy, instantaneous. Doesn’t mean they’re more attractive, necessarily, or more successful. Just… charismatic.

Hard to explain, but you know it when you see it. And you’d seen it today, checking into the hotel for your solo birthday getaway. A staycation, of sorts - this is your home city, after all - but an escape nonetheless, a break from work, from stress, and a chance to mark another turn around the sun.

He was in the lobby while you were queuing to check in, sitting on one of the hotel’s chi-chi armchairs leafing through a city guidebook. By chance, you glanced in his direction at just the moment he raised his head.

He was all brown eyes, bright smile, dimple set in a tanned handsome face. More than that: he exuded charisma.

He nodded. You nodded back. By the time you’d checked in and secured your room key, he was gone.

***

He’s been to this city many times before, but always for work. Never any time for sightseeing or getting to know the place. In retirement, he made it his business to return to those old stomping grounds he wished he’d seen more of, joyfully embracing the life of a tourist for a few days before returning to the horse-breeding ranch he owned and ran back home in Kentucky.

The hotel bar is elegant and modern, wooden accents and brushed metal fittings perfectly in line with his own taste. He’s settled in a cosy corner alone, whiskey tumbler in hand, when he sees her again.

Her casual outfit from earlier has been replaced by a diaphanous, layered dress in midnight blue, printed with a pattern reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. He half-expects to see a companion, joining her for a post-prandial nightcap. But she’s on her own.

Just like him.

The bar is quiet. He can’t help but overhear her at the bar. “It’s my birthday,” she tells the bartender, grinning happily. “They said I could have a complimentary drink.”

The bartender smiles and nods. “Sure thing, ma’am. What would you like?”

Jack watches as she peruses the gleaming shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar, noting the adorable way she chews on her lower lip while she’s thinking.

“I’ll make it a whiskey. A Gentleman Jack, please.”

His ears perk up in spite of himself.

Thing is, Jack’s pretty good at reading other human beings. Part of the job, after all, and pretty hard to let something like that slide when you’re no longer an active agent in the field.

He knows, then, that it might be a bit much for him to launch a typical come-on attempt at the bar. You seem like the type to find that too heavy-handed, disconcerting - cheesy, even.

Not that Jack minds cheesy, as required.

He returns to his book and when he looks up again, you’re taking your Gentleman Jack over to a small table in the other part of the bar. He taps his glass to get your attention.

“Hope you don’t mind me overhearing, miss, but I just wanted to wish you a very happy birthday,” he says, Southern drawl as warm and as authentic as the Bourbon in his glass. He raises the tumbler to you, and you reciprocate.

”Enjoy that whiskey, now. Fine choice, if I may say.”

***

He’s definitely not flirting with you. Right? Right. Just a Southern gentleman of the kind that’s all “manners maketh man” and “yes ma’am” and opening doors for ladies. Probably illegal for him not to wish you a happy birthday.

Just a gorgeous man with the twinkliest, kindest eyes you’ve ever seen in your life, dressed in a beautifully-tailored western-style shirt and perfect dark denims, wishing you a happy birthday. Move along, nothing to see here.

You settle in with your birthday drink and your copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude, immersing yourself back in the world of the Buendia clan. Occasionally, you glance back in his direction, and sometimes, he’s looking over at you, too.

Coincidence.

As the alcohol hits you, you adopt a more cliched “mysterious woman” approach, as befits the slick of vintage-style dark red lipstick you’re wearing for the occasion. Let’s see what happens. No more looking over again, just you, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Gentleman Jack. A good time to be had by all - handsome guy or not.

He’s gone the next time you raise your head. Empty seat. Empty glass. And your heart sinks, against your better judgment.

“Fuck it. Another whiskey’s in order - for the room.”

You nod over to the bartender, ordering another of the same and asking for it to be put on your room bill.

He returns swiftly with another crystal tumbler of the amber liquid and what looks like a business card. “Ma’am, the gentleman that was just here asked if he could pay for your next drink. Seeing as it’s your birthday. He just had one condition - that we pass this on.”

He hands you the business card, and it’s embossed on one side with a name:

Jack Daniels, Esq.

Some promotional thing, you assume, connected to the whiskey in your glass. But there’s something written in a clear, determined print on the rear of the card.

A number - a room extension number - and a message.

Happy birthday, miss. If you want to say howdy, this is where you’ll find me - J.D.

You quirk an eyebrow. This seems…insane. Like a set-up waiting to be revealed. But you take the card and head to your room with the whiskey, half-expecting that the next time you look at the little business card it’ll be blank - the note gone, imagined, the product of your own febrile brain and the power of Gentleman Jack.

Still there. Still metaphorically winking at you, daring you to call.

***

One finger of whiskey down. Enough to give you the courage to dial that number.

If it’s him, and he’s not a creep, just say thank you. That’s all you want, right? And he wouldn’t possibly want anything else.

He picks up almost immediately. “Well, hello there. Glad that barkeep gave you the card, miss.” His voice is low and honeyed over the line.

You clench your thighs together involuntarily.

”I, uh…I wanted to say thank you. For the drink.”

He chuckles. Oh, fuck. That voice.

”Wouldn’t be any kind of gentleman if I didn’t buy a lady a birthday drink. Specially when she’s drinking one that bears his name.”

You pause for a second. This is…weird. Pinch yourself, once, twice.

”So that’s your actual name? Jack Daniels?”

”The one and same, at your service.”

The whiskey has emboldened you. “Ah, but are you a gentleman, Jack?”

You swear you can hear him inhale sharply. “Well, well. Guess you’d have to get to know me to find out.”

”Birthday or no birthday, Mr Daniels, I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my hotel room.”

”Fine by me, sweet girl. How’s about I meet you in the lobby in five minutes? Might be cold but it’s a nice night for a walk. You know the city?”

”Lived here my whole life.”

He chuckles again. Oh, girl. You are in trouble.

”Now, ain’t that something. Perfect person to show a lonesome cowboy around. Grab your coat, sugar.”

***

He’s already waiting in the lobby when you walk out of the lift, wearing a black leather jacket with a corduroy-trimmed collar and a dark brown, felt broad-brimmed hat. Not quite a Stetson, but still perfect for a cowboy visiting the big city. His dark brown boots are impeccably polished, you notice.

”Well, hi there, birthday girl!” He grins, laughter lines around his eyes crinkling and emphasising the handsome contours of his face. “Guess we should introduce ourselves properly.” He extends his hand. “Jack Daniels.”

You introduce yourself and find yourself chuckling at the strange coincidence of his name. “Are you anything to the whiskey brand? I feel like I should know, just in case this is some insane promotional stunt.”

He laughs, a bright, genuine chuckle that makes your heart sing. “Sadly, I’m not the JD. But Whiskey was my…nickname. Once upon a time.”

”Makes sense,” you say, as he holds open the hotel door for you and you step out into the night. “Now, Jack Whiskey Daniels, where to?”

“I’ll leave that up to you, birthday girl. You’re the native and the expert. Happy to surrender myself to your capable hands. Only thing is…” He pauses, looking a little sheepish. “I’m hungry enough to eat a stable door. Mind if we pick up a little something on the way?”

You giggle, noticing the little flecks of grey among the dark hairs of his perfectly-trimmed moustache. “I’ve got just the thing, Jack. Come with me.”

***

”I cannot believe that delicious slice was two dollars. Two dollars! And they always say this city’s expensive.”

You swallow the last bite of your own pizza slice and laugh. “It is expensive, but the dollar slice still reigns supreme. Even if it’s two bucks these days.”

You wander companionably in the direction of the elevated garden walkway, your chosen destination for this stroll through your home city. “So this your first time here?”

Jack shakes his head. “Not quite. Been here a few times over the years, but…never got to see much. Always workin’, in and out of our headquarters. No time for just getting to know a place.”

You nod sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation, sometimes it’s harder to see the good in a city when you’re there all the time. So it’s nice for me to get to be a tourist tonight, too.” The two of you climb the stairs and emerge on the walkway, you pointing out key landmarks to Jack as you stroll along together.

”So are you on a break from work this time?”

He looks at you with a soft smile. “Retired. These days I spend my time on the ranch, down home in Kentucky.”

You clap your hands excitedly when he explains that it’s a horse-breeding ranch. “Oh, wow. I just love horses - truth be told, I think there’s a cowgirl streak in me somewhere. City girl or no city girl.”

He laughs that gorgeous, warm laugh, and you feel your heart skip a beat. “Always happy to welcome a city slicker cowgirl on a tour, sweet girl. You just say the word.”

***

As you walk, you realise just how attentively Jack is listening to you. He takes in every detail, every word that leaves your lips, whether it be about the city or about you.

With a pang you realise that it had been a very long time since someone really and truly seemed to listen. To see you.

Or maybe he’s just like that with everyone. You are equally rapt, revelling in the melodious rhythm and comforting timbre of his baritone as he tells you about his ranch, his favourite horses, his fascination with the city.

You’d always assumed that you might be too overwhelmed in the presence of a man so incredibly handsome and charming to do more than just gape at his beautiful form. With Jack, though, you’d never felt more at ease.

And, dare you say it - he seems pretty darn comfortable, too.

The wardens on the garden walkway announce that it’s about to close, and you find the nearest exit and return to street level. It’s almost imperceptible, but for an instant you swear you can feel his broad hand on your back as you cross the street, heading back to the hotel.

“Now I’ve got a confession to make, Jack.”

He turns and raises his eyebrows.

”I’m hungry again. You want another slice?”

His smile feels bright enough to power half the city. “A two-buck pizza slice with the prettiest girl in town? Count me in, sugar.”

***

Your whole life, you’d assumed it was safer to wait until they made the first move. Helped avoid any embarrassing moments where you’d read the vibe wrong. Easier, too, to assume you would want someone more than they wanted you.

The electrical charge that’s crackling between you and Jack Daniels as you stand side by side in the hotel lift is a little too powerful for the “wait and see” approach. You look at him again, in side profile this time.

Fuck. That is a beautiful man.

”Jack?”

He turns his head and smiles. Your hands find first his shoulders, then the light stubble on his jaw. He closes his eyes as you caress his face, dark lashes resting on his cheeks. You move closer, feeling his breath on your face, tilt your head, and lean in to find his lips in a slow, gentle kiss.

The lift pings as he pulls you tight to him, tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. His floor.

”I sure hope this ain’t too forward, sugar, but… would you like to come to my room?”

You’re already walking out of the lift, holding his hand as you pull him down the corridor that leads to the guest rooms.

“Thought you’d never ask, cowboy.”

***

No sooner have you got to the room than he’s pushing you against the wall, your hands hastily unbuttoning his shirt and jeans while his broad hands grope your tits through your favourite dress.

“Goddammit, sweetheart, these are damn gorgeous,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the outline of your hard nipples under the light fabric. “You are damn gorgeous.”

”So are you, cowboy,” you purr, slipping your hand gently inside his boxer briefs as he moves you away from the wall and over to the king-size bed. Even half-hard, you are impressed by the feel of his cock in your hand - thick, heavy, and velvet-soft around the head.

He lays you down on the bed and quickly peels off his shirt, revealing a broad, tanned body clad in a white undervest that clings lasciviously to the muscles of his chest and back as well as the softness of his tummy. It’s a tantalising sight: Jack, his dark, silver-streaked hair slightly mussed and falling forward over his brow, propped up above you on the bed. You trace your fingertips over the pattern of freckles that peeks over the neckline of his vest.

”Can I taste you, pretty girl?”

You nod, throwing your head back and whining with pleasure as he gets to his knees at the edge of the bed and lifts up the skirts of your dress. He hums and moans contentedly as he buries his nose and mouth against your aching pussy, still wearing your panties.

”God-fuckin’-dammit. You’re gonna taste so sweet.”

With a swift tug your panties are off and his head is between your legs, stubble tickling deliciously over the sensitive skin on your inner thighs as his moustache presses against your wet folds.

”Taste me, Jack, please.”

The first long, slow, lick of his tongue up your slit is enough to have you moaning.

“Fuck, sugar suits you. Sweet as fuckin’ sugar down here.”

Another long, slow lick, tongue flat against you, and then the tip finds your pussy, flicking over the hole and dipping in and out until you feel like he’s fucking you with it. His nose rubs against your swollen clit in time with the thrust of his tongue.

”You’re gonna make me come, Jack…keep doing that, that’s it.”

You focus on the sensation, the sounds that fill the hotel room: your gentle moans, Jack grunting against your pussy while his hand works his own cock, the lewd wetness of your soaking cunt as he brings you closer and closer to orgasm.

”C’mon, sweetheart, come for me - c’mon, good girl. Got you so nice and wet, darlin’, I know you’re close.”

He rests a hand on your tummy as your hips start to buck upwards, the orgasm building and building inside of you until, with a scream of his name, you come hard on his face.

”Think you enjoyed that, sweetheart.”

”Fuck, Jack, that was…fuck.” You sit up and he helps you out of your dress, eyes roaming over your body and settling on the curves of your tits inside the dark blue lace of your bra.

”Can I take this off, sugar?”

You nod, reaching for the hem of his undervest. “Sure, cowboy. But you have to be naked too.”

He is only too happy to oblige. Undervest discarded and boxers on the floor, Jack climbs onto the bed beside you and sits you up. He takes his time with your breasts, unhooking your bra and tossing it to one side before bringing his mouth to each nipple and lovingly kissing and sucking and caressing them in turn.

“What do you want, baby?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You both know what you want. He breaks away and you lie back on the bed, spreading your legs, moaning delightedly as you feel his gorgeous weight settling on top of you.

“Want you, Jack. Want you to fuck me until this whole city knows who’s having me.”

He flushes visibly and chuckles, standing up to retrieve his wash bag and returning with a packet of condoms in hand. “And there I was thinkin’ you were a shy little thing, sweet girl.”

You laugh. “I’m shy until you get to know me, Jack Daniels. Shy, until…”

He positions himself back between your thighs, carefully rolling the condom over his impressively thick cock.

“Until?”

You pause for a moment to look into his eyes. “Until I feel like I’m safe with someone.”

He melts a little, leaning down to kiss you softly and slowly.

”That’s a heck of a compliment, sugar. A nice thing, to know you feel so safe with me.”

You smile and look up at him from under your lashes. “I think it’s your charm, cowboy. Not bad for two people who were strangers until a few hours ago.”

He hums happily and kisses you again. ”Not bad at all. Can I have you, sweetheart?”

”Yes fuckin’ please, Jack.”

He takes you slowly, carefully, stretching you steadily until he’s fully sheathed inside you. He takes a moment, squeezing his eyes closed as he fights the urge to go straight to fucking you as hard as he wishes.

”Feel good, Jack?”

”Feels out of this world, baby. Perfect tight, wet pussy, perfect pretty girl.”

He pulls his hips back slowly before snapping back into position and you whine, wrapping your hands around his shoulders.

“That feel good for you, baby?”

You nod frantically. “The best. Fuck me, Jack. Want to feel you.”

He builds up the pace slowly, steadily, taking you deeper and deeper before moving to take you harder and faster. Instinctively you hitch up your legs, finding your calves wrapping around his lower back as he starts to fuck you at just the right angle.

He babbles as he fucks you, praising you, promising you things you remind yourself not to see as anything more than sex talk. How he’ll bring you home with him someday, come back up to see you here, make you all his, how he wants to be all yours.

With a swift shift of his hand he finds your clit again. You come harder, again, crying out his name as he fucks and talks you through it.

“Good, good girl, my good girl,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the place your bodies are joined as he watches you ride out your orgasm. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

His long fingers press hard into your hips and you can tell he’s about to come. For a brief, sudden, vivid instant you fantasise about throwing all caution to the wind and letting him finish inside you: filling you, claiming you for his, all his.

Jack comes hard, groaning and crying out your name. He rests on your shoulder for a moment, catching his breath, before pulling out and nuzzling in beside you. You turn to face him, fingers trailing through the dark, damp strands of wavy hair clinging to his brow.

”Good, darlin’?”

You kiss him. “Very, very, very good, Jack Daniels.”

He chuckles against your kiss. “And do you think I’m a gentleman now?”

You pull back and flit your eyes over his face, as if making an assessment.��

“Let’s see. Gentleman cowboy on the streets, gentlemanly demon in the sheets. Sounds perfect to me.”

***

You sleep soundly that night, nestled safely against Jack’s warm body. He wakes you with the gentlest of kisses to your forehead, and for a moment you can’t remember.

And then those coffee-brown eyes, that smile, and you know you’re right where you’re meant to be.

#gentleman cowboy fic #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #agent jack whiskey daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle #pedro pascal #pedrostories

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jasonsmirrorball · 6 months

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bread and butter (587)

you guys can blame lumi for feeding my brain rot. minors, ageless and blank blogs do not interact with this post.

your limbs feel like jelly in the aftermath, boneless and limp. you’re not entirely sure you aren’t sinking into the mattress, panting soft breaths into jason’s mouth that pitch embarrassingly when you inhale. he’s starry eyed above you, holding himself up with his arms and kissing you sweetly. it spins your head, how petal soft his touches become once you’ve come, deep, unforgiving thrusts that had you seeing stars turning to feather-light strokes up and down your side.

you’re almost shy under his gaze, remembering the noises he’d coaxed out of you tonight. he grins knowingly, and you slip your eyes closed to hide but it’s in vain. he’s all around you, and you can feel the burn of his stare through your closed lids.

“hi,” he coos, nosing at your jaw. kiss bitten lips brush against your pulse and you whimper, still sensitive when he shifts to pull out. you feel the loss keenly, but he doesn’t stray far, only curving an arm under you to turn you over and gather you against his chest. you’re pliant, easily manoeuvred, sighing into his chest, dotted with sweat. “you were so good for me, you know that?”

you can only manage a broken murmur, a heavy, drowsy exhale as you rest your head. he makes a noise and you feel it reverberate in his chest, against your cheek. “nuh-uh, baby, gotta drink some water for me.”

he’s unrelenting even against your wordless whines, stretching to retrieve the glass of water on the nightstand and pressing the lip to your mouth. you swallow, taking slow sips until it empties and he hums in satisfaction. his other hand hasn’t left your back, fingers pressing comforting circles into your tired muscles.

you think, when he sets the glass back where he’d picked it up from, that you’re going to be allowed to rest. but jason reaches for the t-shirt he’d discarded some hours earlier and slips it over your head. the cotton sticks to your sticky body, the smell of his musk still clinging to the fabric and reaching your nose. he picks you up easily, an arm under your bottom to support you against his chest and you’re carried through the apartment to the living area.

“how are you not tired?” you rasp hoarsely, feeling misery lingering on the fringes of your fuzzy mind. he kisses your forehead in response, and then your stomach drops when he settles you on the couch.

it’s well past midnight, according to the clock above the television set, but jason pries himself from your grasp with a kiss and disappears a few feet away to the kitchen. he flicks the light on and putters around the space, the sounds of cutlery clinking as he pulls the drawer open.

you watch him for a few moments, bemused, cheek propped up against a trembling hand, before you decide to close your eyes for a moment.

when you open them next, it’s to the sight of toasted bread, melted butter painting it golden, held under your nose. you look from the grilled cheese sandwiches to jason, who raises his eyebrows expectantly.

he ends up feeding you, sinking into the couch beside you. he steals a few bites of his own, the both of you eating quietly in the dark living room. and afterwards, when he’s wiped the crumbs away from your mouth and the yawns threaten to overtake you both, he carries you back to your bedroom.

you fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow.

need me a jason to make me a cheese toastie after the best sex of my life

#jasonsmirrorball #jay my heart

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delopsia · 9 months

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Two Little Rings | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 10,400 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader. Blood, bodily injury, scarring, food, Rhett gets hurt a lot, proposals, blow jobs, unprotected sex, Perry Abbott. Contains a special blink-and-you-miss-it introduction to a future reoccurring character, Archie ❤ Brief Summary: Bob keeps trying to ask you and Rhett to marry him, but he keeps picking the worst possible times to pop the question.

These rings might as well be boulders.

Heavy, weighing down his pocket with their big, "look at me!" attitudes and distinct, round shapes that Bob swears are leaving massive indents in his back pocket. Their unmistakable appearance begs someone, anyone, to look and realize what he's planning before he's even tried to pop the question.

Try being the keyword here.

They're too heavy to even sit in his palm. Wavering, about to drop them at any given moment. Sweat beading on his forehead. Heart hammering against his chest so hard he's surprised it hasn't broken out.

"Bobby!" Comes your voice from across this big, unfamiliar house, "Did you notice that there's a deck in the second bedroom?"

"No?" It's only one little word, and yet his lie feels as obvious as the sun in the sky. He'd noticed it when the realtor showed the blueprints, but he's not about to ruin your excitement.

Once again, he drops the little rings into his pocket, allowing them to resume taunting him with their barely there outlines. Walking to the bedroom should be easy, but these little hunks of metal are threatening to jump out and ask you and Rhett the question themselves. Even the sound of them would be unmistakable.

And the echo in this house is horrible.

Given it's entirely empty. Every house the three of you have toured so far has suffered with it. Every little sound jumps off the hardwood, ricochets off the too-white walls, and bounces down the hall. Even from here, he can hear the soft pitter-patter of your tennis shoes and the heavy clunk of Rhett's work boots.

And the clicks of the realtor's shiny black heels. Following loosely behind him. Grinning down at the phone in her hand because those damned rings have garnered her attention, and she can't miss the chance to catch a proposal on camera. What's worse, confronting her on it would ruin the whole damn surprise.

He wonders if his smile looks as forced as it feels.

She's got to put her phone away eventually...right?

"What did you find?" He's asking as he passes the threshold; doesn't know what to say, but it feels like something he should say.

Rhett jabs his index finger toward the open door on the other side of the room, "deck." That's all he says. Not another word needed. Those deep blue eyes glitter with what Bob can only place as hesitant excitement. This is the best house the three of you have viewed yet, but it's hard to get hopes up when the past house fell through.

And the house before that. And the house before that one. And the house before that house...

Heels click up behind him, overapplied, floral perfume meeting his nose. It's impossible to have a third eye on the back of his head, but he can feel the lens of the realtor's camera trained on his back. Burning a little hole through his t-shirt and into his skin.

"And you said how many offers were made on this house today?" Clearing his throat, Bob turns, and maybe, just maybe, she'll have to scamper back to the kitchen to review her notes before she can give him a clear answer.

"Four." Short. Sweet. Straight to the point. But at least now she's shyly pocketing her phone. Caught in the act and unsure of where to go from here. "The owners have until midnight to decide whether they'd like to accept or reject them."

Four?

Hell, maybe this isn't going to be your forever home, either.

In his peripheral, Bob can see you emerge from the deck, quietly shutting the door behind yourself. You've got that same starry look in your eyes that Rhett carries; this is it, this is the one.

But it seems four other parties have had the same thought. And Bob hasn't the slightest clue what their bid is or if the three of you are even capable of topping the offers.

"Can we have a moment to talk about the house by ourselves?" You ask, your shoulder brushing against Bob's as you come to stand next to him, intent on being close.

Mere moments ago, Bob was looking for a way to get her to leave, hoping to find a chance to pull those two little rings out of his pocket. But now, as he listens to her heels click down the hallway, he can't bring himself to reach for them. Four offers. There are four offers.

Maybe proposing here isn't such a good idea.

Knuckles gently knock against his forehead.

"Hello?" Rhett chirps, "Anyone home up there?"

Blinking, Bob picks his gaze up off the floor, can't quite recall when it dropped. "Huh?"

You and Rhett giggle, a soft noise that dances around Bob's ears in this gentle sort of fashion, probably the only reason he doesn't turn beet red on the spot.

"We asked about your opinions on the house," you repeat, the corners of your lips wavering, fighting off the laugh that's trying to bubble out of you. "Do you still want to make an offer on it?"

He's trying to think. The sunroom by the entryway is adorable, but the garage is a two-car rather than three. Oh, but then there's the loft outside of the upstairs master bedroom. The basement has carpet that needs to be pulled up, but there's an adorable little office down there...

"Yeah." It shoots out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Rhett's eyebrows raise. "Yeah?"

Why did he have to say that, of all things?

"Yeah," licking his lips as he fights for words, mouth dry as the damn Sahara, "I...I still like it."

He's just digging his own grave at this point.

Fortunately, discussing the house seems to be more important than mulling over his unusual choice of words. Favorite points and the things you'd want to change. Rhett's fine with the two-car garage because his work truck is too dirty to go in the garage, to begin with. But you aren't a fan of the countertops in the bathrooms, finding the material tacky, and Rhett isn't so sure about the carpet in the kitchen. The basement walls are painted moss green, a few doors need to be replaced, and there's a cracked window upstairs.

But it's still the best house you've viewed in weeks.

A deep part of Bob wishes that it was the opposite. That the house was horrible, the kind of thing that sends the three of you back home, ready to find the next one. At least the feeling of disappointment would be immediate, as compared to making an offer and thrusting yourselves into darkness, unknowing of whether disappointment or excitement awaits you in the future.

"We shoulda ate before we got here," Rhett mutters on the way back to the truck, unusually pale in the face, "'cause now 'm nervous."

Those rings couldn't be any heavier.

Proposal attempt number two doesn't come until Bob finds himself stumbling into Wabang, Wyoming. Fresh off a plane, resisting the urge to cover his ears as the announcer's voice booms through the speakers, rattling off words that he can't understand. It's a necessary evil, being in this very spot; right next to the bleachers exit, as close as you can get to where Rhett is stationed, near the chutes.

"Is it still loud?" You're half yelling as you tilt your head up to look at him.

And oh, he's so happy that he chose to sit in the row behind you because this is something else. Your eyes soft as you look at him from upside down, lips parted the slightest bit. All he can do is shake his head no. There's no way you'll hear him, not with his hands over your ears, reducing all of the noise to a dull mumble.

He's not going to be able to hear out of his right ear for the rest of the night, but it's worth it for this.

Little do you know that your future ring rests mere inches away from your head, tucked safely away in his pocket. Well, technically, it's tucked in a plastic bag inside of his pocket because it kept clanging around against Rhett's and almost got him caught. Who could have thought that rings would be so difficult to carry around?

And how the hell do some guys get away with carrying the whole damn box in their pocket? He can't even get away with hiding it in his jacket for the two hours it takes for the rodeo to end.

"Alright, Amelia County!" The announcer yells through the speakers, "Let's hear it for last year's rodeo champion, Rhett Abbott."

Even you can pick up on the familiar tune of your cowboy's name, head shaping back toward the chutes. If your ears weren't covered, Bob's sure they would be perked, tuned in to every little sound.

There he is. Hands braced on either side of the railing, carefully settling onto the back of a fifteen-hundred-pound animal bred for this very event. That stubborn cowboy hat sits proudly atop his head. No helmet. No mask. Just a soft felt hat.

One of these days, Bob's gonna get through that dumb, thick skull and convince Rhett that taking safety precautions doesn't take away your cool points. A funny-looking helmet is worth it if it protects you from a blow to the noggin.

Today is not that day.

Tomorrow probably isn't, either.

But the hat is the only way to see Rhett's sharp nod of his head. Ready to go.

Bob blinks, and then Rhett's bursting out of the chute. Right hand held high. Left clutching at the strap around the bull's chest. The animal spins to the right. Back legs still coming down as the front ones lift from the ground. Never on more than two hooves at once. Dirt kicking into the air. Sharply turns left. So abrupt that the bull himself stumbles.

The buzzer sounds.

Rhett comes loose.

Falling to the ground. His arms rising to protect his face. Boots scrambling for purchase on the soft arena soil. And then he's up. Stumbling backward. Away from the still bucking bull. Fighting to get the flank strap off. Twisting. Turning.

Its back right hoof connects with Rhett's knee.

No warning. No indication of danger. Not even a sound. And yet Bob swears he heard the snap of hoof hitting bone.

You're darting out from the bleachers in the blink of an eye. Blindly reaching behind yourself to grab ahold of Bob's wrist. Tugging him behind you with a surprising force. Shoes scuttling across the slippery stairs. Pushing through the crowd. Darting around anyone who gets in the way.

He doesn't need to ask where the two of you need to go. Injuries are common in this sport, and even more so for anyone with the name Rhett Abbott.

One would think that the frequency of Rhett's injuries would mean a stop to the sweat beading at anxious foreheads. No more frantic beatings of the heart and bated breath as you and Bob tumble around the corner in search of the singular ambulance stationed for the event. That clasped hands wouldn't tremble, and the silence would become bearable.

But it never gets easier.

Rhett's stumbling through the dirt, his arms slung around one of his buddies, helping him walk with just one foot. Spurs chiming with every step.

"Long time no see!" Archie—or at least who Bob thinks is Archie—yells as you and Bob make your way through the clearing, "c'n y'do me a favor 'n tell yer idiot he can't bloomin' walk?"

Yeah, that's Archie.

"'m fine," Rhett grits through his teeth, left foot scratching at the ground as he tries to put weight on it. Searching for purchase that Archie won't let him find. "Y'don't need to worry 'bout me."

"Too fuckin' late for that, pal," Archie's not a small man by any means, but even he's struggling to keep hold of Rhett as he squirms and tries to stand on his own two feet. Stubborn to the goddamn end.

There are so many words jammed in Bob's dry throat. Full sentences tangling and creating a knot that he can't swallow down. Silent as he darts forward and slips beneath Rhett's open, flailing arm.

"Bobby, I said I'm—"

"I don't care," Bob's words come out a little too sharp. Bursting past the dam.

"Just until the medic takes a look at it?" Your voice floats through the air with all the softness of a cloud, unsure and wavering. "Please?"

Stillness.

For a moment, Bob thinks Rhett is still going to put up a fight. But whatever fight was in him seems to have fizzled out because he gives up almost immediately. Head hanging low as he allows his weight to settle onto Bob and Archie's shoulders. Has the audacity to look like a kicked puppy, big blue eyes pleading for you to let him have his way.

But he can't hide the way that he minds his leg. Gingerly placing his weight onto it. Jaw tightening as a hot spark of pain sizzles up his nerves. But he doesn't make a damn sound. Too stubborn to voice his hurt.

"'ve got it from here," he grunts, mere yards away from the quietly parked team of medics, already waiting for him. Bob hates that he knows most of them by name. "I said—"

"Rhett," and maybe it's the wind that causes Bob's voice to break on the vowel. Too fragile for even the slightest breeze.

Again, Rhett's quiet. Doesn't say another word as he's brought to the bench next to the ambulance and helped to sit down. There's a tear in his jeans, exposing a glimpse of dark red flesh, already beginning to turn deep shades of blue and purple. Blood stains the side, cut but not horribly so.

Knuckles bump against Bob's shoulder. Tapping.

"Hey man," Archie's whispering, "C'n I talk t'ya for a sec?"

It's more of a command than a request because he's already beginning to tug Bob around the side of the ambulance. His right fist clenched tight around something, looking over his shoulder as if he's expecting someone to be watching.

"Did something—"

"Y'dropped a lil' somethin'," his hand opens. Reveals a tiny, crumbled plastic bag, something shiny tucked inside.

Your ring.

"Jesus," is the only thing he knows to say, plucking the tiny thing from Archie's palm. His other hand dives into his pocket. Breath caught in his throat until his fingertips brush against cool metal. "Thank you."

"If it helps ya," Archie's quiet as he leans closer to Bob's ear, "I used t' hide my wife's ring in my wallet."

And so maybe tonight isn't the night for proposals, either.

Neither is the next day. The medic says Rhett should be fine, but he's practically dragging that left foot as he tries to walk, and proposing is the last thing on Bobby's mind. Preoccupied with improved ice packs and carefully managed dosages of painkillers that never seem to even take the edge off.

"Why're you handin' me a bag of corn?" That sleepy voice grumbles, one eye open as he turns the bag back and forth in his hand.

"For your knee," and maybe Bob should have wrapped it in one of the hotel towels before he handed it off to Rhett. Can already hear him quietly muttering about how they're wasting perfectly good food. "It's...the coldest thing I could find."

Neither is the day after that because Rhett may be walking, but he's not looking any better at all. Mutters that he's fine as he toes out of his pajama pants, about to take on the momentous task of taking a shower. Didn't take one yesterday, and now he's in desperate need of one.

"Rhett..." you say, your voice still groggy with sleep, "I...something is very wrong here."

Rhett's head lifts, curls bouncing low on the nape of his sweaty neck. "What do you mean?"

Your face twists as you bend down to get a better look. Eyebrows furrowing at the very sight of that vicious mottling of black and blue. "Your knee is twice the size of the other one."

It'll take four hours to find out that his kneecap is fractured.

And it'll take eight long, long weeks of rest and therapy for it to heal. Easy for some. Horrible for a cowboy who doesn't know how to spend more than a weekend in the house, too used to working outside and having a laundry list of things to do. Even worse, when that cowboy can't stand using crutches because Royal's raised him to think that accepting help is a sign of weakness.

There's an afternoon when Bob stumbles into the hotel room, fresh off an afternoon jog, to find Rhett stuck on the floor. Fell while walking without his crutches and couldn't get himself back up.

"Why didn't you call me?" Bob finds himself blurting, doesn't remember what happened to the bags he was carrying. All he knows is he's rushing across thin, cheap carpet, fearing the worst.

Rhett's got his head leaned against the side of the chair, laid back like he's long since accepted his fate. How long has he been down here? "Wasn't that big a deal," those broad shoulders rise and fall. "It ain't like I fell down the stairs."

"And you're sure this has nothing to do with your whole 'cowboys don't need help' shtick?" Bobby would be lying if he said he wasn't contemplating making Rhett try to get up on his own just to prove a point. But he's already halfway under Rhett's arm, acting as a crutch, all but dragging him to his feet.

"Ahh, come on," there's that weak chuckle of his, the one that comes out when he knows he's fighting a losing battle, "I could've gotten up if I wanted to."

That does nothing to stop Bob from wondering about what kind of charges he would receive if he were to tap Royal with the bumper of his truck. Going at about fifty miles an hour, of course.

All the while, those little rings sit tucked into the corners of his wallet. Collecting dust in the back of his mind for weeks. He damn near forgets that they're in between his five and ten-dollar bills. Almost hands you his wallet one afternoon. Even accidentally pulls them out while he's fishing for some quarters to give Amy to use on the toy vending machine.

"Is that one for Uncle Rhett?" She chirps, voice sparkling with all the wonder in the world.

It's too late for him to hide it. She's already taking the quarters out of his palm, eyes big as saucers, unable to look away from the tiny, round piece of metal. "Would you believe me if I told you it isn't?"

Her gum snaps. "Nope."

Bob is the last person that Cecelia expected to teach Amy how to lie. Sworn to secrecy with an ice cream cone and a lava lamp.

He doesn't think about those rings for the next six months.

Between the chaos of getting moved into the new house and the sudden new adjustment of having you and Rhett living with him, it falls from his thoughts. Too busy driving to Wabang with a trailer to help Rhett bring his beloved horse with him. Spends a good week trying to help you overcome your sudden spike of homesickness.

And then there's the incident with the pipe bursting in the downstairs bathroom and a six-month deployment that couldn't come at a worse time. He stumbles in just in time for Thanksgiving, and it feels like he's still finishing his turkey dinner when Rhett starts meekly asking to buy a Christmas tree. Then comes the rush of gathering gifts and putting up decor, and in the blink of an eye, its New Year's, and now that decor needs to come back down. Then the vacation planning starts.

All of a sudden, it's been a year and a half, and he's in Wabang again. Sitting on the back porch, fresh out of a shower, every muscle in his body aching, overworked from unfamiliar work on an even more unfamiliar pasture. Two hundred pushups for Maverick was a piece of cake compared to this hell.

"You haven't asked yet," Amy's voice cuts through the nighttime air like a knife.

He jolts, head snapping to look over his shoulder. "I'm sorry?"

She's standing by the door, a little bit taller than he remembers. Is that a scowl he spies on her sunburnt face? "You never proposed."

"We've been busy—"

"You forgot." She deadpans, lips pressed into a tight line. That must run in the family because Bob's seen that exact expression in Rhett more times than he can count.

"I..." his eyelashes flutter, turning back to gaze off the porch into the empty darkness of Wyoming. "Something like that."

Her house shoes patter across the old wooden floor as she comes to stand next to him. For a moment, Bob's found himself wondering if she's still young enough to accept ice cream and a toy in exchange for her silence or if she's moved on to harder forms of bribery. "Are you still going to?"

"Whenever the time is right, I will," he hums. There's still a perfectly good vacation ahead of him, plenty of opportunity to find that picture-perfect moment to pop the question.

As quickly as she came, Amy's feet patter back toward the door. "Well, you'd better make it fast," the screen door squeals as she opens it, "Uncle Rhett was on his phone looking at rings during breakfast."

And then she's gone. Disappearing into the house once more. Leaving him to soak in his thoughts, staring up at the vast night sky. So big that it seems moments away from swallowing him and the house up into the void. Stars twinkling like a tube of glitter spilled onto a black velvet blanket. So spectacular that his phone camera can never do it justice.

The perfect kind of night. Even the ache in his neck cannot ruin such a thing.

His feet move on their own accord, carrying him into the house and up the stairs. Where did he leave his wallet last, anyway? He's pretty sure it was in the back pocket of his jeans yesterday, but he doesn't know if he remembered to take it back out or not.

The floor squeals beneath his bare feet as he saunters past the shower and into Rhett's old bedroom. With its old, cowboy-esque decor and a brand new queen-size bed that definitely wasn't there when he helped Rhett move out. With its too-new bed frame, the matte black metal not quite matching the old wood scattered throughout the rest of the room.

Oh. There you are.

Curled up on the bed, back to the door, your cell phone yet to turn off, recently used. But you don't lift your head to greet him like you typically do; if anything, you hardly seem to realize he's in the room.

What's wrong?

You don't react when he sits on the edge of the bed, eyes still closed. Completely and utterly still, even as he moves to lay behind you. His arms slipping around your waist, nose nuzzling into the back of your neck, unsure of if you're awake or blatantly ignoring him.

Your shoulders stiffen.

"'s just me, sweetie," Bob murmurs, pulling you closer to him until your back is flush with his chest. You're not pushing him away, so mayhaps it isn't him who's upset you. "Do you want to talk about it?"

And in the blink of an eye, those little rings are on the back burner because you're his priority, and proposals can wait for when you're feeling better. Weighing heavily in his pocket as he follows you and Rhett to Walmart in search of snacks and an air mattress that'll fit into the back of Rhett's old GMC. All to lay back and watch the stars.

Wabang is one of those lucky little towns with little to no light pollution, and it shows.

But he's already spent part of the night gazing up at those glittering, faraway balls of gas. As breathtaking as it all is, there's no better picture than what lies next to him. Rhett's long since fallen asleep, his head leaning against Bob's thigh, dark hair cast across his pretty face. And there you lay, curled into Rhett's side, eyelashes fluttering, mouth slack, completely and utterly relaxed. The prettiest tangle of sleepy limbs he's ever seen.

Bob's not sure he'll ever understand how he's got both of you in his life.

Slow as not to wake either of you, he reaches into his jean pocket, unintentionally bumping his knuckles into the side of Rhett's head in the process. The cowboy doesn't so much as stir. No surprise there.

Rhett could sleep through the end of the world.

There they are.

Two little rings tucked into the corners of his wallet. They've left dents in the bills stored there, and could probably use a good clean, considering how improperly he's stored them. Not necessarily forgotten, but a thought burning in the back of his head during his every waking hour.

He could ask right now. It's perfect out here.

But waking you is the last thing he wants to do, so, again, he tucks those rings into his wallet and lets them slip his mind once more.

The Grand Tetons are the next stop on your trip, or the Grand Talons, as Bob's been calling them. A simple pronunciation mistake that he'd made during the early stages of planning that has become something he intentionally plays upon. If only to see Rhett roll his eyes and to hear you giggle.

The cabin is smaller than it looked in the pictures, but the unusually wide bed makes up for all of that. Settled into the far corner of the forest, with a private porch and an up-close view of the Tetons.

In the back of Rhett's mind, he's found himself wondering about how he never considered the sheer size of these mountain ranges. They've been looming in the background for as far as he can remember, visible from miles and miles away. Witness to his every waking moment spent in Wabang.

They don't look so small when he's standing right in front of them.

"Hey cowboy," your voice rings across the trail, a little further down than he is, "you coming?"

"'m right behind ya," there's an ache in his left knee as he starts to move again, difficult to ignore as he takes step after agonizing step. Almost to the end of this trail. Almost there.

Just another fifteen minutes. He can do that.

His pocket buzzes. Phone alight with another text message from Perry.

U seriously cant spare a few fucking days 2 help us?

Texting one-handed has never been his forte. A barely there skill that's worsened by the stones that slip out from his unsure feet, treading over an unfamiliar, winding path. Fortunately, he's got a short response.

Nope.

Can't wait to hear the lecture from Ma whenever she calls next. It's hard telling exactly what she'll say, but he already knows that it will be something along the lines of, "But your brother has been through so much!"

Burning warmth blossoms in his knee, loose petals of stabbing pain drifting through his nerves.

"Shit," grinding to a halt. Pawing at the side of it. Too sensitive to squeeze but unsure of what else to do.

A big hand glides up his sweaty back, smoothing over his shoulders. "Is your knee buggin' you again?" Bobby asks, his voice quieter than the breeze that rustles through the trees.

The pain is only there for a moment. Fading away into a distant, nagging sensation of invisible pins and needles poking at his flesh. "Will you believe me if I say no?"

"No." Blunt. Straight to the point.

A 'maybe' would have been nice.

Your shoes appear in front of him, still remarkably clean compared to his. "Maybe we shouldn't take that hike tomorrow morning," your fingertips tickle as they reach to brush a strand of hair behind his ear.

"'m alright," his phone buzzes as he straights up, vibrating incessantly with a phone call that he doesn't plan to answer. Hesitant feet beginning to move once more. One. Two. Three baby steps. "Jus' a little slow, 's all."

The moment the call is sent to voicemail, his phone alights again. And again. And again. Stubbornly buzzing away in his pocket. Demanding to be heard. Call after call, continuing long after he's made it to the end of the trail.

"Is your phone going off?" You ask, looking over your shoulder.

"Spam call," and that's that on that.

But unlike his phone, his knee doesn't fall quiet within the hour. Nerves quietly screaming their grievances with every goddamn step. Bugging him all throughout his shower. Doesn't bother to stop stinging when he sits down and gets off of it.

He'd have a better experience walking barefoot over lava.

Fortunately, he's found himself a hell of a distraction. A half-naked Bobby wandering back and forth across the cabin bedroom. Fresh out of a shower, beads of water rolling across his pale, freckled back as he searches for a very specific blanket he bought the other day. Towel hanging low around his waist, loosening each time he bends down to root through his suitcase.

"We can hold off on the picnic if it's too much stress," you offer; your eyes may be closed, but it seems you can detect Bobby's every move. "It doesn't have to be tonight."

"No, no, no, I've got it," Bob blurts, squinting. So focused that he hasn't thought to put his glasses on. "I've been planning...tonight was supposed to be special..." Falling back into those old mutterings of his, scrambling to look beneath the bed for the umpteenth time.

Rhett's fighting the urge to reach over and yank that towel off.

All of a sudden, that wet mop of light brown hair pokes up from the edge of the bed. Blue eyes wide. "I may have left it in the truck."

Rhett's sitting up at that, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Already regretting his decision the moment he stands. "I'll go check." Purposefully leaving out the fact that he forgot to bring in the jars of homemade jam that you bought earlier.

Is jam hot car proof?

He's about to find out.

There's no point in tugging on his boots; tugging on his socks would take too damn long. Heading out onto the porch barefoot is the easiest option, calloused feet thumping heavily across the old wood, uncaring of where they land. So worn and used to going without shoes that even the gravel doesn't bug him. Those sharp edges of rock are nothing compared to the stabbing sensation in his knee.

In the corner of his eye, there's movement.

A familiar ranch truck speeding up the driveway. Tires kicking up dirt and rock in their wake.

"Shit." Pulling open the door to the backseat, he reaches in to grab the stray jars of jam perched on top of the picnic blanket Bob's been hunting for. Classic red and white plaid.

What in the world is this picnic so special for, anyway?

"Hey," of all the voices he could be hearing right now, why does it have to be Perry's? That truck door slams. Boots marching across the driveway. "Hey." A little louder now.

Ignore him, and he'll go away. Ignore him, and he'll go away. Ignore him, and he'll go away.

A heavy palm strikes the side of the truck. "Rhett."

"Are you—" tossing the glass jar back onto the seat, voice tight, "what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Perry's shoving him with both hands. Knocking him into the side of the open door. "You've been ignorin' me all fuckin' afternoon!"

Rhett can already feel the way his jaw clenches. Teeth grit together. "'m not givin' up my vacation t'help the fuckin' ranch, Perry."

"You can't sacrifice a little vacation?" And Rhett doesn't know how many times he's heard those exact words come out of Perry's mouth this week. Repeated over and over. Like he'll up and change his mind if he's badgered enough. "Come on, Rhett, we need help."

This is ridiculous.

"We already sacrificed a couple days," turning his attention back to the blanket. Tucking it beneath his arm. "Y'all had plenty of time t'get your shit in order."

"What's going on out here?" Bob's stumbled out onto the porch. Has had enough time to dress himself before coming out here. Even from several feet away, Rhett can see how his eyes widen. Lashes fluttering. "Perry?"

That should be the end of the argument.

But it's not.

It never is.

"Can't you see that I'm tryin' to have a fuckin' private conversation with my brother?" Perry's tone rises.

"Don't you start talkin' to him like that," words snapping off of Rhett's tongue. Knuckles white as he grasps this jar of jam a little too tightly.

Up go Perry's eyebrows. The whites of his eyes wide. Rhett can already see the metaphorical steam coming out of his ears. "I'll say whatever the hell I want, Rhett."

One of the jars slips from his grasp. Hits the gravel with an unceremonious clank. Shaking the raspberry-flavored contents, but the glass never breaks. Perry beats him to picking it up. Bending down and snatching it out of his grasp.

But he's not offering to hand it back.

Gravel shifts as Bob steps across it, soft blue eyes flickering between both Abbott brothers. Moving slowly. Like he's approaching two tigers. Poised and ready to strike.

"I don't...I don't mean for this to come off as rude," his empty palms rise, means no harm, "but maybe you should leave."

There Perry goes. Face turning crimson. Jaw clenched so tightly that it begins to shiver. "I sure hope you ain't tellin' me what to do, four eyes." And he's surging forward.

"Perry." Rhett's barking. Reaching out. Shoving him back by his shoulders. "Cut it—"

The world explodes with red.

Then black.

He's stumbling. A pressure screwing into the side of his head. Drilling straight into his skull. Somethings stinging at his eyes. Hot and thick. Coating his palms as he paws at his face. Can't see. Nothing but a wall of darkness that he can't claw past. His hands are fluttering. Scrambling to grab ahold of something. Anything.

Gravel sprays, audibly ricocheting off the side of the truck. Someone's swearing but he can't place the voice. Doesn't sound like Perry. But it doesn't sound like you either.

Something collides with his jaw.

Teeth crashing together. Metallic fluid filling his mouth. Thick. Warm. Ears ringing with the wail of a dull siren.

"Rhett!" That's not the same voice from before.

Hands appear on his face. Gripping his jaw. Forcing him still as something rough rubs against his eyes. Fuck, that stings. Tiny teeth bite into the left side of his head. Tearing at his skin. He's pulling back. Squirming away. But that hand on his jaw has an iron grip that he can't wriggle out of.

A car horn blares.

Light burns at his retinas as they burst open. Flickering weakly, unable to keep them open for longer than a second at a time. Opening and closing involuntarily. Red and wipe cloth dabs at his cheek. Soaking up a bright crimson liquid that he can't place.

"Rhett," you repeat, a little louder now. How long have you been in front of him? "Rhett!"

"What?" He'd say you're being too loud, but his own voice is too much for his ears to handle.

Behind your head, he thinks he can see Perry's truck disappearing down the driveway. Cascaded behind a plume of black smoke billowing out of the tailpipe. What's he in such a hurry for?

"What happened?" He breathes; Bob's several yards away, his gaze trained on those clouds of black. That same shade of red waterfalls from his pale, trembling arms. Dripping from his fingertips. Looks something like lightning flickering across the sky. "Why's he bleedin'?"

Your lips don't move. Not a word leaving your mouth.

"Bobby?" Raising his voice louder, pushing forward.

Your hands are on his shoulders, pushing back, saying something about needing to stay still, but he can't hear it. Doesn't recall falling, but he's crawling to his feet. Legs swaying. Red clouding his left eye. Stinging again. Won't go away, even as he tries to wipe it away. Pouring from a cut that he doesn't remember acquiring.

Bob twists, looking over his shoulder and—

"What happened?" Rhett tries again. Why's the right side of Bobby's jaw cut open? Where did that gash trailing down the side of his neck come from? But nobody's answering. You're silent. Bobby's not talking. Can't hear him. "What happened?" Saying it louder. Words shivering.

"Rhett," it's the only thing you can say. Why is that the only thing you can say?

"What?" Voice cracking. "Why won't—why won't y'say anythin'?"

Your mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Fighting for words. For an explanation of something that you don't truly know yourself. "I don't know."

Gravel crunches as Bob steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. Like he's walking across shards of glass that can cut through his boots at any time. His hands raise. Bloody palms curling around Rhett's equally bloody, sticky cheeks.

"Perry hit you in the head with the jar," he whispers after a moment. Because speaking too loud might break something.

But that doesn't follow. No. No, Rhett would remember if he was hit in the head with a jar. The jar wasn't even that big—

but his face is sticky.

"But...but..." There's a cloud that's settled in the forefront of his mind. Clogging up his thoughts. Separating words so far apart that he can't seem to string them into a sentence. "But...you?"

"I..." Bob's gaze falls off to the side. Fixating on something past Rhett's shoulder. "He got me with a shard of glass, is all."

But he's missing a triangular chunk of flesh along his jaw. Leading down through the gash in his neck, ending just above his collarbone. White shirt ripped and stained with red.

Can glass do that?

He can't seem to look away from it. Following even as you cart him and Bob off to the emergency room, won't take no for an answer.

"You both need stitches," you insist, Bob's truck keys jingling in your hand. Rhett's mouth opens. He knows how to give stitches. Has been doing them on himself for half his damn life. "And you're not giving homemade ones, cowboy."

He'd pout if his face didn't hurt so damn bad.

And so what if he does ultimately need a handful of stitches? Nurses fuss over him, dragging him into a separate room from Bobby because of some dumb protocol. Cleaning his face with a fluid that smells like cheap vodka and burns like a goddamn branding iron. He sits there for a damn century before they turn him loose.

By turning him loose, the nurse is only moving him to a different area, but he can hardly pay attention to her. Because Bobby is sitting in a lone chair, the side of his neck freshly closed up, looking down at something in his palm.

"Mr. Abbott," this poor nurse has been repeating herself for who knows how long, but this is the first time Rhett's heard her. "Please."

Bob's head snaps up, shoving something into his pocket. His lips curling at the sight of this half-stunned cowboy standing in the middle of the hallway like a fool. "Baby, please don't give her a hard time."

"But I—"

Soft hands are tugging on Rhett's bicep. Pulling him along. And he doesn't know where you came from, but you're here now. "Come on," your voice the lightest it's been all afternoon, "we'll come with you."

What was the shiny thing that Bobby was holding?

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Even if your every attempt is thwarted moment before you can put your plan into action.

Or...something like that.

The picnic blanket may be blood-stained, and the restaurant Bob was planning to order food from may be closed for the rest of the week, but that's okay. He's crafty. Plans are meant to be deviated from.

And so what if you're still in the shower, and Rhett's half asleep on the bed? Proposals don't take that long. Yeah. This'll work. If he can just find where he put his damn wallet...

"I want your dick in my mouth."

"I'm sorry?" Did he hear that right?

Rhett's eyes are still closed. Brown locks fanned out beneath his head, forming a loose halo. Face as peaceful as it has ever been, like he's perfectly asleep. "I said," those thin lips wrapping around his words, "I want your dick in my mouth."

And maybe Bob's not hearing things because Rhett's eyes flutter open, head tilting to look at him. Expectant. Looks something like a spoiled prince waiting to get what he wants.

"Funny." Shit, what was Bob looking for again? A towel? Socks? Yeah, where are his socks? They were just in his hand a minute ago. Where did he put—

they're on his feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Rhett sitting up. Hair falling into his face, concealing the scattering of thin cuts that surround his left temple. From here, they almost look like his only injury.

It would be easier if Rhett threw a verbal fit. Whining and fussing until he gets what he wants. Because at least that would be easy to understand, not quite as heart-stopping as the sight of him silently standing, slowly treading across the floor. Have his shoulders always looked so broad? Biceps straining against the thin, tight confines of his t-shirt.

Bob's T-shirt. Actually. Some dark-gray, beat-up thing from his early days in the Navy.

Tips of noses bump into each other. So close that it's hard to see the chunk of flesh missing from the corner of Rhett's left eye. Wound still so new that it's hard to tell if it will scar or not.

Lips brush. Timidly pressing into a fleeting peck. Like too much contact will break this unspoken silence. Rhett's mouth is bitten and chapped, but it's so, so soft. Molding against Bobby's like silk.

Knees hit the floor. Deep thunk bouncing off the walls.

"Rhett..." Bob's uttering beneath his breath. Fuck, it's hard to think, with Rhett rubbing his cheek up against his thigh, ocean blue gaze peering up through thick lashes. Downright shameless in how his big, burning palm rises to rub at the growing tent in Bob's jeans. "Did you...did you get into somethin' again?"

Rhett looks pretty damn lucid. Thumbing open his button and pulling down the zipper, smiling to himself all the while. Downright pleased with himself.

Something thunks in the shower. Sounds like you've accidentally knocked over a bottle of body wash again. How long have you been in there, anyway?

Thick fingers twist through the front of his boxers, wrapping around his half-hard length without ceremony. Pulling him out into the cool cabin air, lightly thumbing at his tip. Dry. Never has been the type to drip all that much.

But that's alright because that short, pink tongue of Rhett's is poking out. Eager to let Bob's plush head rest against it like a damn welcome mat. Burning hot breath fanning out against him.

Rhett's hand loosely strokes him. Can't do much more without some form of lubricant. "You're still soft," he complains as if anyone can possibly go from soft to hard within the blink of a damn eye.

"'Cause you sprung on me in under a minute, sugar," Bob's fingers run through those dark strands, diligently avoiding the three-inch-long wound hidden beneath. "Gonna have to give me a minute."

It goes in one ear and out the other.

And it's hard to keep talking because Rhett's opening his mouth, wrapping those thin lips around his tip. So pleased with himself that he hums, the sound vibrating all the way up Bob's spine. It hasn't been more than two weeks since he last felt Rhett sink down his cock, taking him in bit by bit, but his thighs quiver like it's the first time all over again.

"Don't..." his chest is already heaving. Seeking a breath he can't find. "Don't push yourself."

That pretty little mouth smiles. Rhett's watery eyes closing as he finds his favorite rhythm. Tongue stroking the underside, cheeks hollowed. So delighted to have his way that he doesn't complain when Bob collects his hair into a loose ponytail, gripping it tight. But having his mouth busy doesn't mean that he's not done.

Hands wander. One loosely stroking the few inches he can't get to yet, the other falling between his own legs. Pressing the heel of his palm into his groin. Hips kicking up into his own touch.

Bob might faint.

Head seconds away from spinning off of his shoulders. Vision blurring, even with his glasses perched high on his nose. "Fuck, just like that."

That gets Rhett sinking a little deeper. Silky, hot throat rubbing against that sensitive tip, no longer needs to use his hand to stroke the little bit that he can't suck into his mouth. Instead reaching past layers of clothing to massage his balls. Knows just how to fucking do it. Touch firm but giving. Shit, shit, shit.

"'m gonna cum." Too quick. Too quick. Too quick. "Rhett. Rhett, wait—"

Hinges squeal. Bathroom door opening.

There you are. Stepping out in nothing but a towel, reaching for the neatly folded clothes that you forgot to bring in with you. Skin still damp, little beads of water rolling down your arms. It's dark, but the bobbing of Rhett's head grabs your attention, sleepy eyes darting.

You're lips break into a smile. "I leave you two for fifteen minutes, and this is what you get into."

Rhett sucks hard and pulls off with a loud, wet 'pop.' Spit-slicked lips shining in the poor lighting. Silent as he peers over his shoulder.

A part of you wishes that you'd stayed quiet and enjoyed the show because there's something about watching Bob's head roll back and forth against the wall that has a heat pooling between your legs. Heat that you're too tired to be tending to.

Rhett looks like he's about to eat you alive.

"Don't you look at me like that," your voice rising, "Rhett...!"

You must fall asleep standing up because the next time you open your eyes, you're across the room. Chest against the mattress, cheek resting against your lazily folded arms. Bob's shaky palms smooth down your shoulders, angrily flushed cock resting against his thigh. Too heavy to stand on its own.

The slick head of Rhett's cock slides between your thighs, dripping head nudging into your sensitive clit. Slow thrusts that push against your entrance before drifting past. Don't know where Rhett found the lube or where your towel went, but you can't bring yourself to voice any complaints. Tongue too tired to lift itself.

But your hips are squirming on their own accord. Pushing back against him with all the energy you have left.

"Didn't" your thoughts are spinning in a whirlpool, reaching up to rake your nails up Bob's meaty thigh, "didn't you have...something planned?"

His cock twitches before you can even get to it. "I did...at some point."

Rhett chuckles. The first noise you've heard him make. "Oops." Still so preoccupied with the way his cock slips between your folds, each stroke teasing the idea of pushing into you but never following through. Pressure blooming, only to fade away.

Until you push back against him. Blunt head slipping inside without warning.

A gasp pierces the air.

Did you make that noise? Did Rhett? Or was it Bob?

Calloused hands wrap around your hips, holding you still as he gingerly fucks into you. Just the tip. Lazy ins and outs that sink a little further in each time. Pushing air from your lungs on every push. Rubbing just shy of your g-spot, neglected and untouched. So unlike his usual routine that you don't know what's coming next. Your thighs tremble, feeling him push a little further, earnest now.

"Come on, darlin'," there's that deep drawl you've been missing, "give me your pussy."

Bob's palm slides down your back, smoothing down to your ass. Don't realize you've been clenching until your muscles are relaxing, letting Rhett properly push into you. Inch by slow, careful inch, splitting you open. Your lips part, openly panting into the bed sheets. It's been so long since you felt his hips come flush against yours, heavy balls resting against you. Stretching you so wide that your pussy aches.

"There y'go," Rhett's fingertips swirl against your shivering thighs, "so good for me."

Your hand rises, wrapping loosely around Bob's forgotten cock. He jolts.

"Careful, careful," he rushes, "sensitive."

Behind you, Rhett's not moving. Holding himself there, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside of you. But God, you don't think you're ever gonna get used to this. Even if you do have the sweet sound of Bobby's labored breaths to distract you. Panting to the high heavens, all from the slow stroke of your fist along his length.

On their own, Rhett's hips writhe. Moving backward by an inch, pushing back in just as slowly. Once. Twice. Testing. "'s this okay?"

Your head nods. "Uhuh."

Hands tighten around your hips, holding you still as he draws out of you halfway. Doesn't let you squirm away when he abruptly pushes back in, balls smacking against your cunt. Dragging against the sensitive nerves along your walls, hitting them without effort. Bounces your hand around Bobby's dick.

"That's it," Rhett's grunting, repeating it. Doesn't let you meet him halfway. Forced to stay still and take what he has to give you. "Jerk 'em off while I ruin this pretty pussy of yours, baby."

You're trying to talk, babble whatever nonsense rests on your tongue, but you can't speak. Nothing but whimpers punched out of your throat, sounds dancing with the lewd wetness squelching between your thighs. Hand struggling to stroke Robby, grip fluttering, jerky. Too light to get him off, but it pulls a gasp out of him anyway.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, did Rhett just twitch in you?

Your cheek presses into the mattress, free hand clawing at the sheets. Rhett's finding his pace, bouncing you up against the bed with a heavy thrust that he puts his weight into. Dizzying sound of skin meeting skin, bouncing off the walls.

The hands on your hips are the only things keeping you standing, knees wobbly, knocking into each other. Rhett's fat cock head dragging against your walls. Right up against that little bundle of nerves, over and over and over. Gives you no chance to recover before he's massaging against it again.

"Jesus," Bobby's hand is swiping over your lips, wiping away a string of drool, "look at you."

Someone's doused you in gasoline and lit a match. Sweaty skin burning, back arching as you try to rise and meet each heavy thrust into your dripping pussy. Keening high in your throat, fluttering around Rhett's cock. Arm jerking without rhythm, stroking Bob as best as you can.

"Hold on, baby," His hand covers yours entirely, loosely guiding it up and down. Helping rather than batting you away completely. A shaky breath bursting past his lips.

Rhett's letting go of your hips, firm, sweaty chest settling against your back. Cheek resting against your shoulder as one of his palms brace his weight next to your head, thick bicep flexing.

Now you can hear him. Soft, pitchy noises falling out of his mouth, the sounds kissing your ears. Nowhere near as loud as the whine that soars out of Bobby's throat, his hips jerking up into your hand.

"No, no," Rhett coos into your ear, just loud enough for Bob to hear him. "Don't let him cum."

But he doesn't stop you. Instead reaching down between your legs, calloused fingertips pressing to your clit. Forgotten up until now. Throbbing, heat pooling as those fingers begin to swirl in tune with his thrusts.

Your hand falls off Bob's cock. Clutching at the sheets.

"Hang on, doll," Rhett gasps, like you have a choice in the matter.

Your legs spasming beneath you as he rams into that soft spot inside your pussy over and over and over. Rubbing over your clit. So much happening at once that you can't focus on a damn thing. Skin ablaze. Prickling. Embers of something more heating to life in your lower belly.

"'m gonna cum," he warns, "come on baby, come with me—fuck."

His hips stall. Slamming into yours. Cock twitching, heat filling you as his orgasm rolls through his sweaty body. Filling you up until you're certain that you can feel it beginning to leak out of you already. His fingers are still working your clit. Tremoring, feather-light one moment and pressing roughly the next. Spiraling and spiraling and spiraling.

"Sen—" he's whimpering into your ear, "sensitive."

Your eyes may be closed, but you can feel them go unfocused. Body going taut. Stone still as you clamp down around him, head spinning like a top. Muscles beginning to shiver. Babbling someone's name, but you don't know who's.

Just past your head, Rhett reaches over, wrapping his hand around Bob's flushed length. Stroking roughly like he's only got a few seconds to spare. Working up and down, a damn blur that your sleepy eyes can hardly keep up with.

All of a sudden, Bob's hips snap upward. Cumming with a silent cry. Ropes of white painting Rhett's slowing hand, some spiking up to hit Bob's own chest. Staining his t-shirt.

You think you might fall asleep right here and now.

"Christ," Bob shudders from head to toe, batting Rhett's teasing hand away from his spent length.

With nothing to occupy himself with, Rhett rests against your backside. Weight teetering against yours, threatening to send both of you crumbling to the floor at any moment. "'re we still..." his labored breath tickles your neck, "we still doin' somethin' t'night?"

And that is a resounding fucking, no.

You don't think you could move, even if you wanted to. Legs anchored to the ground by invisible weights, numb. Can hardly feel Rhett pulling his softening cock out of you, cum already beginning to run down the inside of your leg.

Gingerly, he guides you forward, urging you to settle up on the bed. Your back aching as you finally, finally change positions, head settling into Bob's warm, open lap. His jeans may be rough against your cheek, but his thigh is the perfect pillow.

"We need to clean up before we go gettin' comfortable," Bob says through a yawn, "and I need to find my wallet."

Rhett's clearly heard what Bob said, but he's curling up next you anyway. Sweaty forehead pressing against your shoulder. "You've been looking for your wallet a lot lately."

"Because my money is in it, dummy."

"Are you sure you don't want a blueberry jam biscuit?" You singsong, holding your half of the treat out for him to take.

"Absolutely fuckin' not." It looks good, but Rhett can smell the raspberry flavoring just by looking at it.

He's never going to fully scrub this damn scent out of his hair.

But Robert Floyd is a menace to society whose love for food cannot be deterred. Wiggling fingers reaching out. He doesn't speak, but you can hear his silent, "I'll eat it!" loud and clear.

Your arm strains as you reach to place the biscuit into Bob's eager palm. Crumbs falling onto the bed of the truck as he bites into it. So pleased that his eyes close.

"I don't care what you say," Bob's speaking with his mouthful; you haven't a doubt in your mind that he's doing his utmost best to drive your cowboy up the wall. "It still tastes as good as before."

"Try havin' it stuck in your hair," Rhett scowls. Dramatically tilting his hat to block Bobby out of his sight. Hiding away the mottling of thin pink scars that have begun to settle into his face. Some may fade with time, but you're not so sure about the chunk of flesh missing from the corner of his eye.

Your legs swing. Dangling off the edge of the truck bed, lifted even further by the trailer that Rhett's truck is parked on. Probably not the best place for a picnic. Certainly not what you had envisioned when Bob originally suggested it, but it works.

Rhett's hand darts out, stealing a singular strawberry from Bob's plate. "This place sure doesn't look the same when it's empty."

A part of you thinks to argue that the same can be said for any area, but you get what he means. The only time you've ever seen these festival grounds has been when they're packed with booths, tents, and people. Have been here so many times now, but even so, you don't think you can identify the spot where you met them. Where Rhett accidentally ran into you, and Bob hunted you down to return the wallet you'd lost.

"Maybe it'll look more familiar if we walk through it," you suggest, as if you're wearing the right shoes for such a thing. But they seem to think that's a great idea. Shoes hitting the ground without a word.

There's a soreness in your legs as you follow suit. Cramped from two days' worth of driving and being packed into Bob's truck. Even for a modern, comfortable vehicle, it's clearly not designed for trips longer than a few hours.

Next time, a rental car is being added to the trip budget.

Bob lags behind you all the way, his hands shoved into his pockets as he ambles along. Gazing off at the treeline, pale face glowing with the golden sunset. Up in his own head again, like he has been all afternoon. Exhausted from driving, you suppose.

There's a small paved area in the center of the field, and you don't recall exactly where, but you know that you sat down for a drink with Rhett around here. Left your wallet sitting on the bench, head filled with thoughts of a wild-eyed cowboy and nothing else.

"If I run into you again, will you get another drink with me?" Rhett chirps, bumping his shoulder against yours.

"Unfortunately, that was a one-time deal," the answer is yes, but you'd rather not be knocked over again. It's hard to forget the way your bones rattled when you hit the ground. Funny how that all worked out in the end.

Your memory of that day so vivid that you don't notice what Bob is doing. So distracted by recollections of Bob and Rhett laughing as they found their odd similarities that you don't see the way Robert Floyd is settling down onto one knee. Fishing through his pocket, producing two little rings. Glinting in the light, his hands shaking like leaves in the autumn breeze. His tongue heavy as he searches for the words he's been rehearsing for so, so long.

Like leaves, the rings fall.

Chiming as they bounce off the pavement, rolling away like it's what they've been waiting to do all of this time. One shoots off between Rhett's legs, bouncing off of his shoe. The other rolls even further, not stopping until gravity takes hold, falling onto its side.

You don't know what you're looking at.

Did a ring just roll up and set itself down in front of you?

Rhett bends down, picking up the ring resting between his feet. Rolls it between his fingers, shiny and new, looks the perfect size to fit around his finger. And as you reach to scoop up the one that's fallen before your feet, you catch glimpse of something.

Bob.

Down on one knee. Reddened face hidden behind one of his trembling hands, reluctantly looking back at the two of you. "I promise I...I had something I was gonna say first, but—but I uh..."

Next to you, Rhett sucks in a breath.

You can feel yourself doing much of the same. Twisting the little ring over your finger.

It fits like a glove.

"Will..." Bob's hand falls from his face, revealing an equally shivering jaw, "Will you marry me?"

Time just about stops. Breeze no longer rustling through the trees. Orange and red sun pausing, peeking over the horizon.

Is it you who utters a soft "yes," or is it a whispering of the wind?

But Rhett is silent, still rolling that ring between his thumb and forefinger. Doesn't react as Bob approaches, too fixated on what he holds, to look up and acknowledge what's going on around him. His eyes flicker up. Glittering gaze settling on you, then moving over to Bobby.

He smiles.

And that's enough.

"Yeah?" Bobby's laugh soars through the evening air, and the world begins to turn again. "You not gonna give me an answer, cowboy?"

Rhett can't speak. Struggling to get past a single syllable, as you reach out and nudge the ring down his finger. You've never seen him wear a ring before now. Yet, you can't remember what his hand looked like without one.

Foreheads knock together as Bob pulls you both in. Squeezing tight, uncaring of how awkwardly the three of you knock into one another. A pile of limbs and racing hearts that mesh together like puzzle pieces. A little tattered on the ends, some missing bigger pieces than others, but fitting together anyway.

Rhett's nudging his scarred cheek against yours, rubbing three days worth of unshaven scruff against your soft skin, "'s this why y'keep tryin' to take us on picnics?"

Bob groans. This loud, guttural noise that devolves into a breathless chuckle, "Oh, you have no idea."

#rhett abbott #bob floyd #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x reader #rhett abbott x reader #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #rhett abbott x you #outer range #outer range fic #tw: perry abbott #oneshot #x reader #tw: food #tw: injury

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