#this probably needed more editing but I have a Spanish final tonight and I really wanted to get it up before the episode airs

[simonnsaunders]

Simon & Jeremy go to a party with the troupe that consists of cute drunken flirting that they don't even remember the next day when everyone is making fun of them for it & saying they ship them.

WOW this ended up being a lot longer/more serious than I intended. It was still really fun to write, though, so thanks for the request! (5k+) [AO3]

Simon Saunders did not expect this particular Monday to be any different from all the other Mondays he’s suffered through this year.  He assumed he would go to class and then to rehearsal exactly like normal.  He should have known that wasn’t going to be the case.

    It all started when his alarm didn’t go off.  Sadly, he woke up to the sound of his mother banging on his door.

    “Simon!” she shouted.  “Honey, school starts in twenty minutes!”

    He had to rush through his normal routine, causing his hair to go in all kinds of directions (and none of them being the correct one).  Instead of carefully selecting an outfit, he threw on the first button-down he could find.  It was covered in wrinkles.  Simon was disgusted.

    He usually wasn’t one to speed, and if anyone asked he would surely deny it, but he definitely stepped on the gas pedal a little harder than normal to get to Lilette’s on time.  It didn’t matter.  He was still ten minutes late.

    When his best friend climbed in the car, she did a double take.  “What happened to you?” she asked.

    Simon panicked and quickly checked his reflection in the rearview mirror.  He furiously tried to smooth his hair down before grumbling, “I woke up late.  It has not been a fun morning.”

    Lilette laughed and shut the door behind her.  “I can see that.  Just drive, dummy.”

    So he did.  He drove carefully (but speedily) to school.  He could see out of the corner of his eye that Lilette was trying to repress laughter the whole time.  It drove him crazy not knowing what she found so funny, but he was too tired and too frustrated to ask.

    However, by the time he pulled into the parking lot and Lilette was still chuckling to herself, he’d had enough.  “What is so funny?” he asked, stopping the car and turning to face the girl in the passenger seat.

    She just put a hand over her mouth and shook her head.  “Sorry,” she said through her fingers.

    Simon crossed his arms.  “I’m not letting you out of this car until you tell me what’s so funny.”

    “Should’ve thought of that before you unlocked it, then.”

    She opened the door and hopped out, slinging her backpack happily over one shoulder.  “See you at rehearsal, Prince Charming!”  She winked at him and walked away.

    Simon narrowed his eyes.  Why did that sound familiar?

Simon’s mind was starting to get fuzzy.  Boy, if his parents could see him now…Robert Saunders would not be pleased.

    Jolene passed him another cup, and he gave her a look, trying to maintain some self-control.

    “Come on, Saunders!” she shouted at him, grabbing his shirt and drunkenly pulling herself towards his ear.  “Don’t be the lame church boy everyone says you are!”

    From what Simon could understand, not drinking would be a bad thing.  So he raised the plastic cup to his lips and took several gulps.  Everyone else began to chant “Chug! Chug! Chug!”, and when he had finished the whole thing and raised his arms in celebration, they all cheered loudly.

    “Jeremy, are you sure your parents aren’t going to find out about this?” asked Lexi.  She had been the one spending the whole night worrying that they were going to get caught.

    Jeremy, who had been pretty far gone for a while, just laughed.  “They’re out for the whole weekend, okay?  Chill out a little.  This house is all ours.”

    He stood up and swayed a little bit.  Michael, who was sitting closest to him, giggled and held his legs in support.  Once he had steadied himself, he held his arms out and everyone fell silent.

    “Who wants to play a game?” he asked, a stupid grin on his face.  His question was met with a roar of cheering from the troupe.

    “Ooh, pick me!” said Lilette, shooting her hand up in the air.  “Let’s play truth or dare!”

    Everyone else cheered in agreement.

    Jeremy grinned even harder.  “Alllllright!” he called.  “Get in a circle!”

    He then promptly stumbled over to where Simon was sitting and collapsed next to him.  The taller boy was evidently just trying to sit down, but he was drunk to the point where his descent to the ground was much less than graceful.  He fell into Simon’s side, and Simon wasn’t thinking clearly enough to push him away like he normally would have.  Instead, he grabbed the other boy by the shoulders and straightened him up.  “You’re a mess,” Simon told him.

    Jeremy’s grin got even wider, which Simon didn’t think was possible.  “You love it,” he replied, leaning in close so that his arm was touching Simon’s.  Simon felt his stomach flip over at the touch.  There was definitely a voice in his brain telling him to push Jeremy away, but the alcohol tuned it out, and he was grateful for that.  Being constantly defensive got pretty exhausting after a while.

    “I wanna go first!” Jolene called.  She stood up, closed her eyes, and started spinning around with her finger pointed out.  When she stopped, she was pointing at Maashous, who had been hiding in the corner.

    She opened her eyes and they widened when she saw who she had landed on.  “Maashous!” she cried, stumbling over to where he was sitting and grabbing his arm.  “Truth or dare?”

    “Uh…dare?”  Maashous hadn’t actually drank that much, and compared to the rest of them, his head was still securely on his shoulders.  He shrugged himself out of Jolene’s grasp.

    Jolene put her hands on her hips, clearly thinking as hard as her incapacitated brain would allow.  Finally, her face lit up and she started rubbing her hands together.  “I dare you to let me straighten your hair!”

    He looked genuinely surprised.  “What? I - come on, Jolene, where are you going to find a hair straightener?”    A look of disappointment struck her face for a moment until Simon heard Jeremy gasp next to him and say “Wait!  My mom has one!”

    Jolene grinned again and disappeared down the hallway.  Sure enough, two minutes later, she reentered the room brandishing a hair straightener.

    After a lot of fussing from all the girls and several yelps of “Get away from my head!” from Maashous, the lights boy had been given his makeover.  It wasn’t the cleanest hair job Simon had ever seen, but it certainly was entertaining to see Maashous’ normally bushy hair lie so flat.  Still, Simon made a mental note never to let drunk Jolene come anywhere near his head with a burning object.

    When everyone had calmed down again, Maashous frustratedly wiped his now much longer hair out of his face and scanned the room.  “Jeremy,” he said, “truth or dare?”

    Simon felt the boy tense up next to him and realized that their arms were still touching.  He didn’t move away, though.  It felt kind of nice.

    “Truth,” said Jeremy.

    “Boring!” called Lilette, laughing.  Jeremy just rolled his eyes at her.

    “Ok,” said Maashous, “who’s the most attractive person in the troupe?”

    There was a collective “ooooh” from everybody in the circle.  Every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on Jeremy.  Simon expected him to at least think about his answer first, but he replied instantly.

    “Oh, that’s easy,” he said, slurring over his words.  He slung an arm around Simon’s shoulders.  “Simon, hands down.”

    Simon felt his face burn red.  He tried to shrug Jeremy’s arm off of him, but it was no use.  The boy had a tight grip.

    “How so?” said Lilette teasingly.  Simon glared at her, but she just winked at him.  She was eating this stuff up.

    Jeremy just sighed and turned to look at Simon.  His clear blue eyes were a little glazed over, but they were still fixed intently on Simon’s.  “You’re just so…dreamy,” he said, speaking directly to Simon.  “You’ve got these gorgeous dark eyes and…and this soft hair…” (he tousled Simon’s hair with his free hand, and Simon felt his face go a shade darker) “…you’re like a real-life Disney Prince.  A real Prince Charming.”

    Simon watched several pairs of eyebrows go up.  Several of his friends were very obviously trying not to lose it.  It was clear that Jeremy was past the state of having any filter, and it sounded like his words were coming from nowhere.  But Simon knew better.

    “Tell us how you really feel, man,” Robbie said sarcastically.  Everyone else laughed.

    “You guys are so cuuute,” Gwen teased.

    Simon was one hundred percent sure his face had never been this red before.  “We’re not - this isn’t - ”  His words were silenced when Jeremy just sighed again and leaned his head on Simon’s shoulder.  Poor Simon didn’t have the heart to shrug him off.  Instead he held out his plastic cup in the air, and Clark, who was sitting closest, happily poured him some more beer.  He raised it to his mouth, thinking that he was going to need a lot to make it through this night.

The bell rang just as Simon made it into the biology classroom.  Mr. Kranepool raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything.  Simon said a quick prayer of thanks that he had made it on time (his perfect attendance record was not about to start suffering now) and hastily sat down.     

He was so focused on how late he was that he didn’t even think to acknowledge the boy sitting next to him.  In fact, he had completely forgotten he was there until he cleared his throat rather unnecessarily.  Simon turned to see Jeremy looking right at him.  He felt his stomach swoop just a little at the eye contact; sometimes he felt like Jeremy’s eyes belonged to a different world.

    “What’s got you in such a hurry?” Jeremy murmured as Kranepool started droning on.

    “I woke up late,” he muttered back for the second time that day.  He instinctively reached up and tried to flatten his hair as he thought about his previous conversation with Lilette.

    “Don’t,” said Jeremy.

    “What?”

    “Your hair.  It looks good messy.”

    Simon slowly lowered his hand.  “Oh. Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly.  He turned to face forward and focused whatever energy he had into paying attention to Kranepool.

    After twenty minutes of trying (and failing) to take good, coherent notes, Simon heaved a sigh of relief when their teacher closed out of the PowerPoint he was teaching from.  Kranepool fumbled with a stack of papers and starting passing out worksheets.  “Work on these with a partner, please,” he said.  “You have the rest of class.”

    Simon didn’t need to look up to know Jeremy was waiting for him, but he did anyways.  The other boy was holding out a worksheet to him with a question in his eyes.

    “Sure,” Simon sighed quietly.  “Let’s get this done.”

    He pushed his desk so that it was next to Jeremy’s and tried to ignore the fact that Jeremy Travers was very much in his personal space.

    Instead of discussing biology, Jeremy asked, “So, do you remember anything from Saturday night?”

    Simon startled.  The question caught him completely off-guard.  “Uh…we all hung out at your house?”  To be honest, Simon had been thinking about it for a while.  He knew there had been a troupe party, and he knew there had been a lot of alcohol involved, so it really wasn’t a huge shock that his memory was drawing a blank.  Still, he had been wracking his brain trying to come up with any stupid thing he might have done, and he had come up with nothing so far.  It deeply concerned him.

    Jeremy snorted.  “Yeah, but do you remember anything else?”

    Simon looked at him, trying to read his expression.  It was impossible.  “No?”

    “Oh.”

    “Why, what do you remember?” Simon asked.  His panic was increasing by the second.

    Jeremy shrugged and looked down at his paper.  “Not a lot.  But Michael and Maashous have been teasing me about you all morning and I guess I was just hoping you would remember why.”

    “About me?  That doesn’t make any sense.”

    Jeremy gave him a look that said ‘really?’, but Simon pretended not to notice.  His strategy of “pretend Jeremy didn’t clearly have feelings for him” had been working out alright so far.  Why stop now?

    Simon cleared his throat.  “Look, can we just get back to the worksheet?”

    Jeremy didn’t say anything.  He just kept looking at Simon, almost as if he was caught in some kind of trance.

    “Hello?  Please?”

    Jeremy coughed and looked down at his paper.  “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Simon didn’t know a simple game of Truth or Dare could get this intense.  It had started out innocently enough, but an hour or so and several drinks later, Jeremy was somehow laying in his lap and Simon had no idea how it had happened.  People were sharing secrets left and right, and Simon had lost track of who had kissed who.

    “Maybe we should stop,” said Lexi, once again being the voice of reason.  “It’s getting kind of late.”

    Robbie leaned over to check his phone.  “It’s only midnight,” he said.  “We have plenty of time.”

    “Yeah, if you’re used to doing this,” Lexi replied.  “I wanna go to bed.”    “Come on, let’s just do one more,” said Jolene.  “Simon, you haven’t gone yet, have you?”

    Simon saw the mischievous look in her eyes.  Jeremy’s head suddenly felt much heavier on his legs than it did before.  “Maybe Lexi’s right,” he said.  “We’ve been at this for a while.  Let’s just pop in a movie - ”

    “Truth or dare?”

    “I really don’t think - ”

    Jeremy reached up and started poking his face.  “Simon,” he whined.  “Truth or dare?”

    Simon groaned and pushed Jeremy’s hand out of the way.  But Jeremy, who had surprisingly fast reflexes for someone that drunk, took the opportunity and grabbed his hand.  He held Simon’s left hand with both of his and pressed it to his chest.  Simon blushed but didn’t move.  He felt like he was getting more drunk on Jeremy’s touch than the actual alcohol.

    “Fine!” he said.  “Dare.”

    “I dare you to kiss Jeremy.”  There was no hesitation.  

    Jeremy sat up, let go of Simon’s hand, and propped himself on his arm.  “That’s easy,” he said.  “We gotta do it for the play, anyways.  Right, Si?”

    Simon’s stomach did a somersault at the sound of the nickname.  “Yeah, I guess,” he replied.  He was too intoxicated to even think about saying no.  

    All the girls started squealing and laughing and clapping their hands together like this was some kind of show.  People were whispering, but Simon was too focused on Jeremy to notice.  His brain couldn’t come up with a single comprehensible thought.  All he could see were Jeremy’s lips.

    Simon grabbed either side of his face, and pulled him in close.  He had no idea if it was Jeremy who initially kissed him or if Simon got there first, but it didn’t really matter.  Once their lips touched, Simon didn’t care about anything else anymore.  

    Jeremy wrapped his arms tightly around Simon’s neck and moved so that he was full-on sitting in Simon’s lap.  They kissed each other, and they kissed each other some more.  At some point, Jeremy’s tongue found its way into Simon’s mouth, and Simon let it.  If he had been drunk before, then there was surely no hope for him now.  He was glad his back was propped up against the couch behind him.  Otherwise he definitely would have toppled over.

    Someone might have been shouting something, but Simon didn’t hear it.  He couldn’t see; he couldn’t hear.  The only thing he could do was feel.  He felt Jeremy’s lips on his.  He felt the soft fabric of Jeremy’s shirt between his fingers.  He felt the electricty running through his body like it was on fire.  He felt his heart burst from the sensation of kissing this boy.

    Eventually Jeremy was forcefully pulled away from him, and Simon opened his eyes, disgruntled.  Lilette was standing over both of them, her hands on Jeremy’s arms.  “We’re going to watch a movie,” she said.  Was she laughing?  She might have been laughing.  The sound of her laughter made Simon laugh out loud too, even though nothing was funny.  “You two can either calm down or go make out somewhere else.”

    “Let’s do that,” said Jeremy, breaking free from Lilette’s grip and leaning in close to Simon’s ear.  “Come on, Si, let’s go upstairs.  I wanna kiss you again.”  His arms were still wrapped tightly around Simon’s neck.  Simon found it impossible to focus on anything with Jeremy’s intoxicating mouth that close to his face.

    Still, when he looked up at Lilette’s face, something seemed to shift into focus a little bit.  The sight of his best friend reminded him that some kind of world existed beyond Jeremy’s lips.  So he mustered up everything he had and shook his head.  “No, let’s watch the movie with them,” he said slowly.  His voice was coming out much deeper than usual, and it scared him a little bit.

    “But whyyyyy?” Jeremy whined.

    Simon wasn’t thinking clearly enough to realize that being this close to another boy went against everything he believed in.  All he knew was that he was starting to get tired, and he didn’t want to make his friends uncomfortable.  “Come on,” he said to Jeremy.  “It’ll be good.”

    Jeremy pouted for a little bit, but once someone turned out the lights and the TV started blaring music, he gave in.  He turned and positioned himself so that he was between Simon’s legs and leaned back to rest his head on Simon’s chest.  Simon felt giddy from the kiss, from the alcohol, and now from the feeling of Jeremy laying on him.  He snaked his arms around Jeremy’s waist and buried his face in the other boy’s soft hair.  He didn’t know what movie was playing.  Some kind of Disney film, perhaps.  It didn’t matter to him, because he had his own real-life fairytale in his arms.

“Mr. Mazzu, can we please rehearse the Word of Your Body Reprise today?” asked Michael, his  hand shooting into the air before Lou even had the chance to speak.

    Mr. Mazzu’s brow furrowed.  “I was actually thinking we could start with Mirror Blue Night and work our way backwards through the first act.  Robbie - ”

    “With all due respect, sir, I think the second act is the place to be today,” said Robbie, cutting Mr. Mazzu off.  Simon watched as Lilette stood right behind him and tried to stifle her laughter.

    “I think Simon and Jeremy will be fine if we start with the first act,” said Ms. Wolfe.

    “Oh, I think they really need to rehearse their scene now,” said Jolene.  “To let off some steam, perhaps - ”

    “That’s enough!” called Mr. Mazzu.  The entire troupe, minus Simon and Jeremy, were in stitches over the situation.  Simon could not tell for the life of him what was so funny.  He tried to catch Jeremy’s eye, but the other boy’s gaze was fixed on the ground, his face slowly turning pink.

    “What has gotten into all of you?” asked Tracey, putting her hands on her hips.

    No one answered.  Everyone tried to pull a straight face, to no avail.  

    Finally, Michael said, “We just think Simon and Jeremy are really good actors - ”  He stopped mid-sentence, letting out a loud laugh.

    “Come on, Mr. Mazzu, don’t you want to see some great acting?” asked Gwen, raising her eyebrows.  Everyone else lost it at the word ‘acting’.

    “You’re all great actors, now get in your place for Mirror Blue Night!” cried Mr. Mazzu, who was clearly losing it.

    Simon didn’t need to be told twice.  He got out of his seat and scrambled to the stage.  Everyone else, on the other hand, took their time.  When Lilette walked by him, he grabbed her arm to stop her.  “What is going on?” he hissed at her.

    She snorted.  “You mean you don’t remember Saturday?”

    “Lilette, what happened on Saturday?”

    She shook her head.  “Let’s just say your scene with Jeremy will have a lot of authenticity from now on.”

    “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

    She just giggled and walked away from him.  Simon groaned in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair.  He tried to remember anything from Saturday, but nothing was coming to him.  He remembered showing up at Jeremy’s house, he remembered dancing with Lilette for a little bit, and then he remembered waking up in a bed of some kind on Sunday morning and driving home.  Everything in between that was a complete blur.

    Simon watched Robbie climb onto the mini-stage and begin his song.  He thought and he thought and he thought, but try as he might, nothing helpful came to him.

It took Simon a full forty-five minutes to realize they were watching Tangled.  Who could blame him, though?  His brain didn’t have the capacity to think about anything other than the beautiful boy in his arms.  

    Some of the troupe had fallen asleep on the couches in Jeremy’s living room.  Others were singing along loudly to every song in the movie.  Simon still hadn’t moved his face from Jeremy’s hair.  He just sat there, getting high off the scent of Jeremy’s shampoo.

    When they got to the scene with the lanterns, Jeremy lifted his head a little to look at Simon.

    “Si?”

    “Hmm?” Simon murmured, moving his head back.

    “That’s you,” whispered Jeremy.  “The prince.  That’s you.  You’re my prince.”

    Simon grinned like an idiot.  “Jer, Flynn Rider isn’t even a prince.  Not until the very end.”

    “Is it the very end yet?”

    “No,” Simon laughed quietly.

    “Well, I don’t care,” said Jeremy, settling back against Simon’s chest.  “You’re still Prince Charming to me.”

    It was the cheesiest thing he had ever heard in his life, and Simon didn’t have the heart to tell him that Prince Charming wasn’t in this movie.  Not by a long shot.  Simon thought for a second, and then leaned down to whisper in Jeremy’s ear.  

    “Do you wanna go somewhere else now?”

    Jeremy didn’t need to think about it.  “Yes,” he whispered back.

    They both stood up as quietly as they could, which to be honest, wasn’t that quiet.  They were both still very, very drunk, and it took them several times of falling on top of each other before they were leaving the room.  Their limbs were all tangled together as they went up the staircase, giggling sotly.

    Finally, they made it to the top.  Jeremy grabbed Simon’s hand and lead him into the first room on the left.  “This is my room,” he said, turning on a small lamp so that Simon could see around.

    It wasn’t a huge bedroom, and Simon liked that.  It felt very cozy.  The walls were painted dark red and were littered with various video game posters.  There were dirty clothes scattered along the floor; the bed wasn’t made at all.

    “Jeremy, you’re a mess,” Simon giggled.

    “We can’t all be neat freaks like you, Saunders,” he replied.  He quickly smoothed out his comforter and sat down on his bed, patting the spot next to him.  Simon sat next to him without hesitation.  Their arms touched instantly, and this time, Simon didn’t even think about pulling away.

    They didn’t say anything for a moment.  Simon felt like they didn’t really need to.  He was happy just sitting in silence with Jeremy.  The alcohol was still coursing through his body and convincing him that sitting next to this boy was exactly what he needed to be doing in that moment.

    And then somehow Jeremy’s mouth was on his again.  Simon didn’t know how it happened, but he responded eagerly.  He let Jeremy’s tongue back in and placed his hands firmly on the other boy’s waist.  Once again, everything else slipped away.  He let Jeremy’s mouth work its magic.  Jeremy’s lips were on Simon’s lips, and then they were trailing down Simon’s neck, and Simon felt a shiver go down his spine and shake his entire body.

After an eternity of staying like that, with Jeremy’s lips exploring Simon’s face and Simon’s hands exploring Jeremy’s upper body, Jeremy pulled away.  “Simon,” he murmured.

“No, come back,” Simon whined quietly, placing his hands on Jeremy’s neck and trying to pull him back in.  

“Simon,” Jeremy murmured again.  “Simon, please.”

Simon finally pulled back to look at him.  “What?”

“What are we doing?” Jeremy asked.  “I mean, like, really.  What is this?”

“It’s good,” replied Simon.

Jeremy shook his head.  “Are we going to remember any of this in the morning?  Are you going to care about me tomorrow?”

Simon frowned.  He couldn’t think straight enough to have any conversation, let alone one about feelings.  He tried to focus on what Jeremy was saying, but it was hard.  He just wanted to kiss him some more.

“Yeah,” said Simon slowly.  “Of course I’m gonna care about you.”  It was a stupid question, wasn’t it?  Why would he be kissing this boy so much if he didn’t care about him?

“Are you sure?  You never did before tonight.”

Jeremy sounded hurt.  He sounded sad, and Simon wanted to make him happy again.  He hated Jeremy’s voice sounding so sad.  He decided it was one of the worst sounds in the universe.

“Don’t be silly,” said Simon.  He hugged Jeremy close to him.  He felt Jeremy tense up and then relax, returning the hug.  They sat there, embracing each other.  The other boy felt so small in his arms.

“Ok,” Jeremy whispered back.

“I’m tired, Jer,” said Simon.  “Can we go to bed?”

Jeremy pulled away from him.  “Yeah,” he nodded.  “Let’s go to bed.”

He scooted back and laid down, holding an arm out for Simon.  Simon gladly climbed under the covers with him and fell into his open arm.  He wrapped his own arm around Jeremy’s waist and snuggled up in his shoulder.  A wave of exhaustion hit him all at once, and he felt his eyelids droop shut.

“Goodnight, Simon,” he heard Jeremy whisper.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled back.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened at that stupid party?” snapped Simon to Lilette as they walked out to the car together.

    “No,” she replied.  “Watching you struggle is much more fun.”

    “Lilette, did I - did I do…stuff?  With Jeremy?”

    She just laughed.  “I don’t know, Simon, what do you consider ‘stuff’?”  She put air quotes around the word.

    Simon angrily threw open his car door and chucked his backpack in the back seat.  “You know what I mean,” he muttered.

    “My lips are sealed,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat.

    Simon started his car and pulled out of the school parking lot.  “Fine,” he eventually said, realizing that no amount of begging would get Lilette to spill the beans.  “Whatever.  But will you at least tell me why Jeremy looked so depressed?”

    “Actually, I don’t know about that one,” Lilette replied.  She sounded genuine.

    Simon just sighed in frustration and rolled his window down.  He cranked up the music, let his arm hang out the window, and tried to ignore the image of Jeremy’s dejected face that just kept popping up in his brain.

    Even after he had dropped Lilette off and gone home, his mind was still spinning.  He wished he remembered what had happened.  He wished he knew why Jeremy was acting so strange.  He wished he knew why the troupe just kept laughing and laughing and laughing.

    Of course, he had his ideas.  Simon Saunders wasn’t stupid.  He realized that the possibility of getting carried away with Jeremy under the influence of alcohol was pretty likely.  It’s not like he could totally block out the butterflies he got in his stomach every time they looked at each other.  Still, maybe he was better off not remembering what happened.  Maybe he was better off just pretending like nothing ever went down.

Jeremy woke up to sunlight streaming in through his window.  The first thing he noticed was his raging headache.  Jesus Christ, he thought, how much did I drink last night?

    The second thing he noticed was the warm body pressed against his.  He turned his head, and to his utter shock, Simon Saunders was laying at his side, sound asleep.  Jeremy felt his heart ache a little.  He didn’t think it was possible for Simon to look any more beautiful than usual, but lying there, fast asleep, he truly resembled an angel.  His dark hair was tousled over his forehead, and Jeremy itched to run his fingers through it and detangle all the knots.

    Jeremy wished more than anything that he remembered what had happened the night before, but his pounding headache made it very clear that there were no hopes for that.  Still, something truly wild had to have taken place in order for Simon to be here, in Jeremy’s arms.  Jeremy had never fathomed that this day would come.

    And then he realized the panic that Simon would go into if he woke up like this.  Simon had issues whenever Jeremy so much as touched him, how was he going to feel about waking up in his bed?

    Jeremy knew he had to pretend like this never happened.  He felt a deep physical pain like never before as he carefully sat up and climbed over Simon to get out of bed.  He felt his heart shatter into pieces as he changed out of the shirt that smelled like Simon and into a clean one.  He felt an ache run through his bones as he took one last glance at the peaceful, sleeping boy before closing the door behind him and tiptoeing downstairs.

    Tears threatened to spill, but he forced himself not to cry.  He just quietly walked into the kitchen and started pulling out stuff to make breakfast for everyone.  It was the least he could do.  He was a courteous host, after all.

    But once he had put the bacon in the frying pan and the bread in the toaster, he couldn’t take it anymore.  He felt the tears roll down his cheeks, one after the other.  Stop it, he told himself.  This is stupid.  You can’t cry over a stupid boy.

    It just hurt so much.  Knowing that he and Simon had shared something special and never finding out what that was would kill him.  He knew he was never going to be with Simon like that again.  The boy was too proud, too naive to ever admit he had feelings for Jeremy.  Jeremy was just going to have to get used to pretending like nothing was wrong.

    He heard soft footsteps, and he quickly wiped his face off with the back of his hand.  He turned around, but when he saw who it was, he turned back again as fast as he could.

    “Hey,” said Simon quietly.  His voice was low and scratchy, and the very sound of it made Jeremy want to collapse.  

    “Do you…do you want breakfast?” Jeremy asked, still facing the oven.  He was afraid of what he would do if he looked Simon in the eye.

    He heard Simon shuffle his feet.  “Um, thanks, but I’m good.  I think I’m actually just going to head out.  I told my parents I was staying the night at Lilette’s, and church starts in an hour, so I should really - ”

    “Got it,” said Jeremy shortly.  “See you.”

    “Bye, Jeremy.”

    He heard Simon pause, like he was going to say something else, but he never did.  He just left the kitchen as quietly as he had entered it.

    Jeremy went back to fixing breakfast.  This never happened, he told himself.  That’s what he was going to say to get himself through this.  Simon Saunders was never in his house.  This never happened.

    “Jeremy!” he heard his friends call.  One by one, everyone slowly woke up and trudged into the kitchen.  He just plastered on a smile and served the very hungover troupe breakfast.

    This never happened.

    This never happened.

    But maybe one day it will.

[loversandantiheroes]

Hotel Hobbies - Part 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!Reader Author’s Note: This was not going to be a multi-chapter thing, but then people liked it and Whiskey wouldn’t shut the hell up so here we are, folks.  I no longer know where this is going so strap the fuck in I guess.  This is so long and I am so sorry. Edited for a cleanup 10/5/2020 Summary:  A co-worker gives the Reader a little nudge, which backfires just a bit when Whiskey runs unexpectedly late. Warnings: Public sex, exhibitionism, angry sex, mild choking/breath play, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, spitting, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (do as I say not as I fictionalize), creampies, come eating, vague allusions to Whiskey’s job and all the dangers contained therein, Whiskey is a service top and I do not take criticism, very brief mention of Whiskey’s past, exactly one (1) use of Spanish that I hope I didn’t fuck up too badly. Rating: Explicit / NSFW / 18+ / How much clearer can I make this? Word Count: 12k+ (oh GOD do not look at me I have no idea what happened) Previous: Prelude / Part 1 / Interlude Taglist: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @oloreaa @the-feckless-wonder @sarcasmisakindofmagic

The conference drags on into its fourth day in a parade of excessively bored people in suits and pencil skirts toting stale danishes and overpriced coffee; the only comforts provided to distract you from the mobius circle-jerk of tedious corporate bullshit. Most of the assembly hall does little more than nod blandly as yet another guest speaker goes through their presentation, the topic of which you forget at least six times throughout the course of it. Half of the attendees aren't even bothering to take notes anymore. The company could've filled the room with potted plants in cheap suits and gotten a better result.  At least the plants would provide a little oxygen to the atmosphere.

It certainly doesn't help your case that half of your brain is circling endlessly around Whiskey. You scribble down a set of shorthand bullet points in your notes and try to blink away the image of his arms straining against taut ropes.  You sip your coffee and remember the heat of his tongue chasing the taste of his namesake in your mouth. When you cross your legs and feel the deep, pleasant twinge between them, for a split second all you can think about is the way he felt sinking down into you with his teeth against your neck.

The time absolutely crawls by. There's moments when you half expect to look up at the old analog clock on the wall and see the hands start running backward. Of course this would be the day the presentations run long, wouldn't it?  Restless and fidgety, you eventually give up on your notes completely and just resign your attention to the clock and whatever obscenity your brain wants to conjure up from the night before.

Claudia, one of your only work friends that actually opted to attend this fiasco, gives you increasingly amused looks throughout the morning, glancing up at you over her phone (on which, you can't help but notice, she has been playing Bejeweled for the past hour with the brightness turned down). After you check the clock for the fifth time in twenty minutes, unable to really keep yourself from sighing angrily through your nose, she shakes her head at you, laughing quietly.

"So what's his name?" she whispers, leaning over conspiratorially.

You give her a glare, but she only raises her eyebrows expectantly. Goddamn it, why does the entire universe find it so funny when you're irritated?

"Whiskey," you mutter back, glowering.

She has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop a snorting giggle from being loud enough to cause a disruption. "Oh my god," she sputters. "Are you fucking a biker?"

And okay, maybe that is a little funny. You shake your head, mutter back, "Cowboy."

Claudia grins so wide her shoulders pull up with it. "Save a horse," she whispers, trying to dodge out of the way when you elbow her to cut off the rest of the joke. Three people behind you simultaneously shush the two of you, and you toss a dirty look over your shoulder, settling back into your seat.

A few seconds go by before Claudia's leaning back over to quietly add, "The dick must be good to get you this distracted."

"Shut up," you shoot back, but you're already smiling.

When the presentation ends, the entire auditorium raising up on creaking knees to shuffle out to break for lunch, Claudia's hand clamps down on your arm.

"I'm buying lunch and you're going to tell me everything."

So you do.  Parked in her conservative little hybrid over styrofoam boxes of take out, you tell her. Damn near everything, too. She listens with rapt attention, this not being the first time she's poked you for details of your love life, such as it is, but judging by the look on her face it's possibly taken the top spot as the most memorable.

"So you're gonna see him again," she says finally as you tell her about Whiskey's invitation before slipping out the door this morning.

You settle back, trying to make yourself look suitably apathetic before answering in the hopes of not being completely transparent. "I dunno. Maybe."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh please. You're gonna see him again. You've been spaced out with dickbrain all day, there's no way you're turning down that invitation."

You wave the end of your plastic fork threateningly. "I will stab you, I swear."

"Not with this many witnesses," she says with a wave at the horde of pedestrians outside on the sidewalk, blatantly ignoring the shanking motions you make in warning.  

When she doesn't drop that annoying, knowing look, you start jabbing at your food, rolling a piece of cucumber around the styrofoam. "I mean...ok yeah I thought about it."

"All morning," Claudia provides.

"Fuck you," you counter lightly, and resist the urge to fling the chunk of cucumber at her. "I just...I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea."

"Oh my god, why not?" she cries, head thrown back in exasperation.

"Well it's not exactly fucking sensible, is it?"

"Honey if you were worried about being sensible you wouldn't have fucked a cowboy you picked up at a hotel bar," she says with a shake of her head.

"Did you miss the part where he tried to convince me he was James fucking Bond?  I mean c'mon Claudia.  That's gotta be...I dunno, some kinda red flag."

She scoffs, flapping a dismissive hand. "Oh please, when the bullshit's that obvious I don't even think it counts. It’s not like you bought it anyway.  Besides, honesty is the backbone of a solid relationship, if you're just poking fun it's more like a bonus.  As long as he's not married and not a serial killer, who gives a shit?  You’re overthinking the shit outta this, hon.”

That’s...well that’s not wrong.  It’s honestly irritating how not wrong that is.

When you don’t give a response save for the idle sounds of plastic scratching on your takeout box, Claudia groans. “God are you really gonna make me talk you into getting yourself laid? Okay, if you wanna be rational about it, fine, here's some rational thought for you." She pops out her thumb, ticking off digits as she lists. "He's hot. He likes to eat pussy. He's a fuckin' sub, which - holy shit, girl. Holy actual fucking shit. Plus he's packing and he actually knows what to do with it.  Oh, and he bought you fuckin' breakfast!" She wiggles her fingers as she thrusts her hands out towards you. "Seven outta ten, babe! My god, if you don't fuck him I'll do it for you just so I don't have to eat another shitty continental breakfast."

You laugh, but there's a hot flush creeping up your face, and you have to stare out the window for a minute until it starts to wind back. It's almost successful, until you think of Whiskey again. This time, though, all you think of is him outlined in the door, looking back at you with his face too shaded to see.  And then your cheeks flare hot again, not with that lingering sense of want, but with a flighty kind of panic.

And just like that you pin it down, your stomach twisting on itself as you finally put words to that moment of apprehension.  Whiskey doesn't scare you.  His lines don't scare you.  The way he fucks you doesn't even scare you.  But that moment that he lingered does. It scares you because you think maybe what was going through his head is the same thing that's been going through yours, a fine little thread looped around every remembered pleasure: the worry that you're about to develop a taste for something that you'll never have the chance to get again.  

Maybe it's better to leave it.  To chalk it up as a fluke and not risk finding out that he'd feel just as good the second time as he did the first.  Cut it off now before that lingering taste turns into a full-blown craving.

Claudia sighs, closing her takeaway box.  "Look, hon.  I'm not trying to tell you what to do. It just sounds to me like you're overthinking this. You don't need to be fucking sensible all the goddamn time. So what if you're thinking with your pussy right now? You had fun. He was fun. You have the option to have more fun. You are entitled to have some fun. So, hey: fuck sensibility and have some fucking fun."

You nod. It's reflex at first, but slowly becomes more deliberate. More sure.  "Okay. Yeah. You're probably right."

"I am always right, thank-you-very-much," she corrects, and then promptly shrieks as you launch a slice of cucumber into her hair.

                                                           ⁂

The trick of it all, you remind yourself that evening as you cross the hotel lobby for the elevator, is not to think about it.  Because if you think about it, really think about it, you will find a way to talk yourself out it. Sensibility is as much of a hindrance as a help at times.  But you've decided now: the absolute last thing you want to be tonight is sensible. You've been bored out of your mind all week, and as much as you're loathe to admit it, Whiskey has been the only bright spot in the whole affair.  At least he's given you something to look forward to, even if it is just the prospect of getting railed until you forget your own name.  

You take the time to change when you make it to your room.  Grab yourself a short, but blisteringly hot shower, and conveniently forget your panties when you redress.  Eventually you make your way down to the bar with your heart almost strangling you with the way it's seemingly lodged itself in your throat.   Whiskey's nowhere to be seen, which isn't a complete surprise.  He always seemed to turn up a little late in the evening before.  Not wanting to deviate too far from your own habits, if only to make yourself a little easier to spot, you take your familiar place at the far end where you've been set up for so many nights in a row. You order your drink, make friends with the closest basket of pretzels, and you wait.

And wait...and wait.

Your eyes are half on the clock and half on the door, flicking back to that last at every sign of movement.  Despite the fact that you're practically nursing your drink, the bartender refills your glass twice over the course of the night. When he offers a third, you shake your head.  Your face feels like it's burning. The bartender nods and wanders away, either oblivious to the growing anger on your face or determined not to end up the recipient of it.

It's nearly midnight when you finally push yourself off the bar stool, throwing down enough bills to cover your tab and storming off.  He stood you up.  You cannot fucking believe it.  What's worse is you feel like you should believe it.  Should've expected it.  As if a man that strutted around like a preening rooster and fed you a bullshit James Bond story would have a streak of honesty.

You punch the elevator button hard enough to make your hand tingle, pushing your way through the doors as they open and hitting the button for your floor. The walls of the elevator are mirrored, and you duck your head, not wanting to know what your face looks like just now, twisted up in anger and more than a little shame. The doors hang for a moment before sliding closed.  At the last possible second a hand darts in, stopping them. Broad. Tanned. Tattooed. The man of the hour leans through the doors as they retreat, and gives you a grin.

"Room for one more?"

Your stomach does a back flip, blood rushing in so many directions you're not sure if you've got enough left to power a response. If this little scenario had played out even half an hour earlier, you might've laughed. Might've fallen back into that easy bitchy banter the two of you seemed so good at. Might've even kissed him. But not now.  Now you've built up too much steam, and every little ounce of anger – earned or not – that you'd had percolating for this man since you first laid eyes on him bursts out of your mouth in two words, laced with as much venom as you can muster.

"Fuck you."

You can practically hear the record scratch in his head.  The smile falls, eyebrows ratchet up so high you can't see them for the brim of his hat.  It's satisfying in an awful sort of way.  Like scratching an itch hard enough to draw blood.  Too late to take it back now, though.  You lash out at the elevator panel, punching the button marked CLOSE DOORS, and Whiskey side-steps neatly inside.

"All right," he says slowly.  "That is not exactly the reaction I was hoping for."

"Yeah, well tough shit, cowboy," you all but spit, raking a hand through your hair. You keep your eyes down.  Forward.  Anywhere but on him.  It's hard, too many reflections.  Even the distorted shape of his  silhouette in the door makes your blood boil.

"I know I'm late," he starts, hands raised, and the low and placating tone of his voice hits you like lighter fluid on a match.

"You don't fucking say?"

His hands drop. "Can I at least explain myself?"

Laughing too loud and too sharp, you shrug, shoulders pulling up hard.  "Yeah, sure, why not? Let me guess, rough day at Spy HQ? Assassination appointment run over? Or were you just hiding behind the fucking dieffenbachia to see how long I'd stick around before I came to my fucking senses?" 

The shrill sound of your own voice almost makes you wince.  You're overreacting. It's not like you're unaware of it. But you're pissed off, and worse now, you've committed to being pissed off. Backing down now is damn near impossible, never mind actually apologizing.

Whiskey takes a step forward, his eyes gone all puppy dog again; wide and imploring under twisted brows. "Look, I don't blame you for thinkin' the worst. I know I left you waitin', and I apologize for that -"

You roll your eyes, mouth twisting into a smile that shows too much teeth to be kind. "Christ, y'know what, don't flatter yourself.  I like that bar.  The pretzels are nice and they don't water down the liquor.  I didn't show up for you."

"Oh horseshit," he snaps. He doesn't raise his voice, but there is a whip crack of impatience in it. "If you didn't want to see me tonight you wouldn't have turned up at all. You and I both know that."

Fuming, you jam your hand into your purse, fishing out his flask and tossing it at him hard enough that it hits him square in the chest. He catches it on the rebound.

"Here. You forgot this."

Whiskey turns it over in his hands, thumping the metal against his palm. "Right.  I see," he says slowly, slipping the flask into his pocket. Under that thick drawl, there's a twinge of something that might be disappointment. "Just came to do the decent thing and return a man's property."

"Yes." Part of you sinks, screaming in frustration.  But it's like you're a spectator now, just watching yourself sabotage the only thing that'd brought you a shred of joy all week just because your pride and temper won't allow any other option.

One hand falls to his hip, the other rubs idly across his mouth. He's scowling now, quite spectacularly at that, and for a second you think you've finally dealt enough of a blow to his pride to piss him off. Then he steps in close, jaw set. The way his eyes travel up and down you sends a flush through your body, and you're not sure if you want to slap him hard enough to knock the mustache off his face or kiss him until his lips bleed. His gaze lingers at your hip, your curves quite plainly displayed under the tight skirt. He reaches out. The back of his fingernails barely brush the fabric.

"Do you always make returns without any panties on?"

You try to swallow, but find your mouth has gone suddenly bone dry, your throat sticking with a sharp and painful click.  "Fuck off," you try to tell him, but it comes out a croak.

"You know what I think?" Whiskey continues, and the tone would nearly be conversational if it weren't for the way he's looking at you, eyes perfectly black and hungry under the shade of his hat.  "I don't think you're just mad because I'm late.  I think you're mad because I can get a rise outta you. Part of you kinda likes it. Enough to wanna come back for a little more of it. And you don't know what to do about that.  Bet you can't even decide if you wanna throttle me or ride me 'til you can't come anymore. Bit of both, maybe, huh?"

Oh fuck you very much, Mister Perceptive.  "Christ, you and your fucking ego-"

"Oh to hell with my fucking ego, and yours too." He leans in close enough that you can smell aftershave and a fainter, acrid smell that, if you weren't so fucking preoccupied, you might recognize as spent gunpowder. "If you want me to go, just fuckin' say it. But don't bullshit a bullshitter.  If you wanted rid of me that bad you would've tossed me out on my ass last night before I'd even finished coming."

Your jaw works, and you push yourself a little harder against the handrail just to keep from slapping him. How dare he-

How dare he what, exactly? Be right?  Again?

You clench your jaw, gripping the handrail on the wall tight enough that the corners dig into your fingers. Glare at him like you're trying to light him on fire. He doesn't flinch.

"What you did last night...that made for a hell of a first impression," he says slowly, and the low rasp of his voice almost curls your toes.  "One I don't expect I'm liable to forget this side of fuckin' doomsday. Shit, I don't even know your fucking name and I ain't been able to shake the thought of you all damn day.  Now you can believe that or not, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.  But the only thing I'm asking from you right now is to be fucking straight with me.  If you want me to go, you fucking tell me, and I'm gone.  But if you want me to stay, honeybee I swear I will make up for every second you had to wait."

"Fuck you, Whiskey," you breathe.  It's all you've got left, all you can even think to say, but it's too soft. It's too hard not to believe him when he's looking at you like that.  Even if he's still got your teeth on edge, ready to bite, the fire in your belly is sinking lower every second. And there's no way to mistake the low rasp of your voice for anger.

He leans in, hovering barely an inch away from you, and tips your chin up with his knuckle. "That ain't an answer, honeybee."

His lip curls into a smirk and for a second all you can think about is running your tongue out to follow the curve of it.

"You can punish me if you like," he offers in a low, darkly sweet voice. The fingers on your chin trace a path along your jaw, up to your ear, and down the side of your neck as he talks; a three-point constellation drawn in goosebumps. "Lord knows I deserve it. Tie me up again. Ride my tongue until you've had your fill and never lay a finger on me.  I don't mind a bit.  I'll probably come in my fucking jeans like a goddamn high school virgin while you do it, too."

Oh god. It's too hot. It's too hot and he's too close and it feels like there's no air left.  Those words took the last of it and left you with nothing. And then your lungs finally unlock, hitching in air so pitifully loud that for a second his eyes drop first to your mouth and then lower to watch the buttons strain on your blouse.

His tongue brushes up against the back of his bottom lip, a strange gesture, but one you can't drag your eyes away from.  And the bastard just keeps talking.  

"Then again, maybe the way you've been acting up you'd be more inclined for a little punishment yourself. I could take you upstairs. Turn you over my knee and put my hand to that pretty little ass until it blushes like a ripe summer peach. I'd bet you'd drip just as much and twice as sweet, too. I'd kill for a taste of you right now. Fuck, if you really want I could just hike that skirt up and fuck you right here and now.  I am a flexible man and I am willing to take you any way you'd see fit to let me. But only if you let me.  I ain't here to play bullshit games, and I will not take anything you don't want to give.  So I need you to tell me, honeybee.  Do you want this? Yes or no?"

Everything inside you burns and twists.  Fuck, you want that.  All of that.  And all you have to do to get it is unstick your stubborn, too-sharp tongue and admit that you want it. That even without the excuse of three shots of tequila on top of a few too many cocktails, you still want it.

You're burning up.  There's sweat on your palms.  It squeaks as you twist your hands over the railing.  He hasn't just turned the tables on you, he's flipped the whole fucking room and cornered you with it. And God help you, it's infuriating how much you like it.

"Hate you. So much."

"Hm." His hand falls away, and you miss the touch instantly. "So you keep sayin'. Decision time, honeybee. You pick or I'm picking for you and we're both gonna be disappointed in that result."

There is a long long beat where that threat hangs between you.  Any hope that he might just push forward and take you anyway – push you into the wall and fuck you ragged right here and now without another word – bleeds away as you stare him down, your wordless challenge going unanswered. His gaze is iron; hard and unyielding, and you know if you wait even one more second, this...whatever the hell this is, will be over. Permanently.

Swallowing the last of your pride like so much cheap liquor, you seize the front of his shirt, dragging him forward even as he starts to back away.

"Yes. Fucking goddamn it.  Yes, I want this."

"Yeah?" He leans in, nose brushing your cheek.  Somehow it's that little gesture that sets off a bomb's worth of butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes."

The heat of his hand is almost shocking as it glides up your thigh and underneath your skirt, his thumb stroking up and finding only bare skin. Whiskey grins. "Knew it."

You choke back a sigh.  "Smug bastard."

"Yes ma'am."  His thumb brushes up and down your slit idly, slow and considering.  He glances around, quirks an eyebrow, and offers: "Here?"

Following his glance, you spot the hunk of plastic mounted in the top corner of the elevator.  "Camera. Fuck."

"Sure enough," he drawls, still grinning.  "You want to give the boys 'n' girls in the security booth a show, or d'you want to go someplace a little more sensible?"

Sensible. God, If he'd chosen any other word, you might've agreed. Private. Safe. Anything but fucking sensible.  

"Fuck sensibility. Fuck security, too. Just shut up and fuck me."

He laughs through your kiss, the touch of his lips too gentle by miles.  The last thing you want right now is gentle. You don't fucking deserve gentleness after all that.  And so you rake your teeth across his bottom lip, roll your tongue against his. When you nip at his tongue, Whiskey breaks off, cupping your sex with a warm, calloused hand.

"You're gonna eat me alive, honeybee," he growls.  He parts you with a thick finger, drawing the pad of it from your entrance to your clit and back again. "Mm, I have been thinkin' about this all day," he murmurs before his finger sinks into you.

Sighing, you curl your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off to run your fingers through his hair and muss up that razor-clean side part. His hand works unhurried between your legs.  You rock against it, listening to the obscene smacking sound as he works you open.

"All that fuss and you're wet for me already, darlin'," Whiskey says wonderingly.

All you can do is groan, chasing the sensation of the heel of his hand pressing against your clit.  "Shut up and kiss me."

You tug at his hair, try to urge him forward, but he doesn't budge.  He sinks down to his knees instead, right hand never leaving the wet heat of your cunt.

"I'll kiss you, baby," he says, pushing up your skirt and lifting your right leg over his shoulder.  "Don't you worry."

And he kisses you: a warm, wet slide of lips and tongue where he's got you spread. Gasping, you grab the back of his head. He looks up at you, only the crinkles at the corner of his eyes proof of his smile, and his eyes slip closed like a man savoring his favorite meal.

"Jesus." The word comes out in a squeak as his mouth works on you, your throat tightening in an effort to keep quiet.  A second finger joins the first and you whimper, tightening reflexively against the stretch.  Christ those fingers are thick. Shuddering, you work your fingers in his hair and pull him closer, your eyes wandering up to the reflection in the far wall.  The view is mesmerizing: your back arched, skirt hiked up to your waist, with Whiskey's head buried in between your legs like a man trying to slake an ungodly thirst. The view on the left is even better.  From there you can watch his mouth work against you, catching a glimpse of his tongue, wet and shining as it slips between your folds. He sways forward on his knees like a charmed snake, a growing bulge straining against the dark blue denim of his jeans.

There's a gentle ding, and for a moment you're so scrambled you think maybe your phone's going off.  And then the elevator doors slide open. An older looking gent with a battered briefcase stands frozen on the other side, eyes wide as dinner plates as he takes in the same view you've been admiring in the mirrored walls of the elevator.  

For a single spaced-out second the only thing you can think is, Going down?, which makes you erupt into a fit of breathless, senseless giggles.

The newcomer's mouth hangs, flapping uselessly over words he can't quite formulate.  He might be trying to apologize for the intrusion or insist you repent and turn to Jesus.  You don't know and you don't care.

Whiskey looks up at him over the line of your thigh, lips glistening.  "Get the next one," he snarls, and punches the CLOSE DOORS button.

He plants a rough, sucking kiss at the top of your cleft as the doors close again, utterly unperturbed.  "Penthouse, darlin', if you please."

Oh he would be in the fucking penthouse, wouldn't he?  Panting, you fumble a hand out trying to find the button just as Whiskey slides in a third finger and you cry out, almost swiping every button in the center row by accident.

The elevator hums to life and begins to move.  The red light on the security camera flashes benignly and you stare at it for a long beat while Whiskey gets right back to work, moaning hungrily between your legs.  Someone's watching this.  The thought excites you more than it should, adding fuel to the already roaring fire Whiskey is so eagerly stoking with his tongue.  You roll your hips, swearing roundly.  It's not enough.  It's fucking glorious, but it's not enough.  You know what you need.

"Fuck me," you gasp.  "Goddamn it, Whiskey, gimme your cock."

He glances up at you through thick lashes, eyebrows raised.  "Is that what you want, honeybee?" he asks.

You bear down on his fingers hard as if to answer and he clenches right back, thumb and pinky giving him leverage against your pubic bone as he grips you tight, fingers stroking along your walls. It's only by virtue of the handrail and the support of his shoulder that you don't sink straight to the floor.  Christ that backfired.

You nod fervently, head spinning.

A roll of his shoulder unseats your leg, and he stands.  His left hand wraps around your throat, thumb against your jawline, and that's so fucking perfect you can't stop yourself from whimpering. In a flare of desperation you grasp his wrist, urging him to grip your neck just a little tighter. Chuckling, he brushes his lips against yours – soft and strangely tender – while he fucks you steadily with his fingers.

"Shoulda known you'd like that.  Well?  Cat got your tongue?  Come on, darlin', lemme hear it."

"Yes."

"Louder. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"Oh god-d-d-damn it!"

He chuckles darkly, fingers coaxing inside you.  "You can do it, honeybee.  I know you want it. I just need hear you say it."

You bare your teeth.  "I want you to fuck me."

"Good girl."  He grins down at you, wide and wolfish.  "Now: ask me nicely."

Oh he would, wouldn't he?

"B-bastard," you snarl, then begin to laugh.

"Oh come on now," he croons, eyes darting between your lips and your own heavy-lidded stare. "I'm sure you can get along without your pride for an hour or two. It ain't so bad.  And I promise I'll make it worth your while. C'mon."

You groan, grit your teeth, and hiss out: "Please."

He crooks his fingers and you gasp like you've been burned.  "'Please' what?"

"Please fuck me.  Please fuck me."

He slots your trembling thigh between his legs, pressing the clothed, solid length of his cock against you.  "With this?  Hm?"

"Fuck, yes."  You writhe, feel it twitch, and he rolls against you in response.  

"Come for me first, honeybee.  Then I'll fill you up good and proper. Cross my heart."

His fingers press into you harder, spreading gently as he draws them back. Your legs begin to shake so badly that he has to pin you to the wall to hold you up.  The rail digs into your back.  You'll bruise tomorrow, but you're not sure you've ever cared less in your life.  

"You gonna come, for me?" he asks, rutting a little more enthusiastically against you when he feels you begin to tense and flutter around his fingers.

Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you nod, feeling the drag of his lips on your cheek.  

"Uh-uh. Talk to me, darlin', I wanna hear it. I want you to tell me every single time you're gonna come, you understand me? Count them out.  Let's see just how many you got in you tonight."

"Oh you ass!"  You moan and laugh all in the same breath.  

"You like it," he says simply.  

He kisses you, warm and deep, and you bite his lip for the audacity.  "Don't stop.  Fuck, I'm close."

He turns your head, slides his hand around to cup the back of your neck. "Open your eyes, honeybee.  Watch yourself."

You try.  Everything's a blur; inside and out.  Fuzzy and disconnected and hot. Blinking to clear the fog, you can see your reflection caught between the wall and Whiskey's body. Your eyes are dazed, unfocused. His cheek is against yours, a look of utterly indecent hunger on his face, lips red and swollen where you've bitten him. He's pressed up against you too tightly to get a good view, but you can see his arm pinned between your bodies, and the flex of muscles working underneath his jacket.

There is, you note with a fuzzy sort of disconnect, a small, ragged hole in the arm of his jacket.

But before you can put any more thought to this discovery he presses his thumb down against your clit – no friction, only a firm, rolling pressure – and that's all you need. If it wasn't for the his body against yours, you'd buckle.  As it is, trapped between him and the wall, all you can do is quake and cry out, arms tightening around his shoulders as you come.

He hums indulgently, kissing your cheek.  "Count it out."

Panting, you pull hard on his hair until he groans.  "One."

"Good girl," he murmurs.  Slowly his hand withdraws, giving one last slow swirl over your folds before he sucks you greedily off his fingers.

There's the muffled sound of a zipper and you could almost laugh – finally! But then the elevator slows and stops, doors sliding open with a soft ding.  Whiskey glances sidelong at the open door, corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-cocked grin.  The disappointed whine you give as you hear him zip himself right back up is wholly involuntary.

"Well wouldn't you know it," he says, pulling away from you and stooping for his hat. It's all you can do not to whack him on the back of the head – or on the ass – as he turns away, wiggling your skirt back down over your hips instead.

He gives a ridiculous wink towards the security camera with his hat held to his chest. Your stomach gives a neat little flip as you look up at that blinking red light – god, you'd forgotten it was even there.  

"Sorry to blue-ball ya and run, fellas." He gets an arm around your waist, tugging you into the hall at an easy, languid pace, as if nothing had happened. As if your legs weren't still quivering, with the evidence of your orgasm running in sticky trails down the inside of your thighs.

"Betcha money, marbles, or chalk they'll be jerkin' off over that for weeks," he says jovially, pulling you to his hip when he feels you start to wobble. "C'mon. Let me get you in a bed before I say to hell with it all and fuck you out here on the goddamn floor."

Your knees tremble again; at least one part of you has full support of that particular idea. As the door opens you pull him back to your mouth, kissing him hard even as he steers you by the hips through the suite.  You barely see any of it. Recessed halogen lights.  The sparkle of painstakingly cleaned glass and marble.  Little else. A grunt escapes you as you fetch up hard against the wall and Whiskey crashes into you.  The sudden pressure against his groin leaves him winded, rocking forward against you with a shuddering groan.

"Tell me how you want it," he says, words mangled against your mouth. The salt-musk taste of you still clings to his tongue, sharp against some faint remnant of sweet mint.

One hand slips down, squeezing your breast through the material of your blouse.  The room spins giddily like a tilt-a-whirl, still riding the coattails of your last orgasm. "Hard," you breathe.  The skirt you chose is too fucking tight, and you have to reach down to drag it back up your thigh just to hook a leg around him.  "Don't you dare be gentle."

He chuckles as you press into him. "How hard is hard? I can be a little rough if you let me off the leash."

Frustrated, you slip your hands under his sports coat, nails biting into his shoulders through his dress shirt.  "Fuck, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah," he says, and his voice has reached that breathy, sonorous pitch that sends a hot-cold shiver rocketing down your spine.  "Yeah you do.  A little honesty would be appreciated tonight."

One good shove and his jacket slips to the floor.  "That's funny coming from Double-O-Cowpoke."

"Not my fault you don't believe me."  It's pitched like a joke, light and breezy, but there's something in his eyes.  Sharp and peculiar and gone almost before you can be sure it was really there, but makes your stomach clench with a sudden surety that the next words out of his mouth are completely genuine.  "I ain't lied to you yet, honeybee."

And that almost brings you to a halt.  Your hands splay out on his shoulders, pushing back to look at him more clearly.  If that's true. If that's true...oh god, why would he have told you?

The question is halfway to your lips before he surges his way forward again, his mouth crashing into yours and kissing you hard and urgent and bruising. A faint sound of protest rises in your throat and you push back a little, not wanting him to stop but wanting him to wait because...because....

And the rest of that thought flutters away. He doesn't stop kissing you.  He just doesn't stop.  And he's moaning as his tongue licks into your mouth and his teeth scrape over your lips like it's the most decadent thing in the world.  You grasp at his face, wrists caging in his neck, feeling his pulse race along next to your at such a frantic speed it's almost alarming.  Your last little shred of rational thought all but begs you to push him back a little harder, to make him look at you and ask him what's wrong...and then it just flutters away because God this is what you want.  This.  This, this, this.

"You want it hard?" he rasps into your mouth, rutting up against you hard enough to drive you back into the wall.

Breathless, you nod.  Work your fingers through the mess you've made of his hair. "Ruined you last night, didn't I?"  You tighten your grip, use your knuckles for leverage and pull.

Whiskey groans, slipping his hands under the bunched hem of your skirt to grip your ass and grind you down against him.  "Goddamn right you did, honeybee."

"So ruin me back."  The thick denim that covers his fly is rough, but you rub against it all the same, shuddering at the coarseness against your tender skin.  "Fair is fair.  Right?"

His eyes slip closed and he buries his face against your neck for a moment, breathing unsteady.  "Jesus, girl, you're gonna soak straight through my jeans," he mutters. "All right, honeybee.  All right.  I only got one rule.  If I do anything you don't want, you tell me. 'Cause I ain't stopping unless you do. Not tonight. Got it?"

"Whiskey-"

He gets a grip on your chin, levels your eyes on his.  "You tell me 'no' or you tell me 'stop.'  Got it?"

"Yes." Patience exhausted, you wrench his belt open. "Now come on."

Buttons patter to the floor as he tears open your blouse.  And that's good. That's fair. And what's even better is the rough way he puts his hands on you, yanking your bra down to knead and squeeze your bare breasts.  When you finally free his cock there's only a brief moment to savor the warm, solid length in your grip before his fingers clamp down on your nipples.  The sensation is so sharp and bright and sudden that you yelp, arching up on your tip-toes.

"Hands off, honeybee," he warns.

Whimpering, you flatten your hands against the wall.

"Too much?" he asks softly, that funny little furrow deepening between his eyebrows.

A groaning laugh slips out of you, and you arch your back, pushing your breasts against his hands.  "Not enough."

"Fuck, ain't you just the sweetest, dirtiest thing." He twists and you cry out, hips bucking forward.  His cock drags against your hip and you chase it, trying to pin it between you.

"Oh, c'mon.  You promised," you whine.

"Oh I'm gonna keep my promise, baby, don't you fret. I want you just as fucked-out as you had me. Wanna see you so goddamn cock dumb your eyes roll back. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, too, haven't you?"

The wall warms under your hands as you fight not to push back more.  And maybe that's what does it.  A little mental-short circuit.  Because God knows you haven't been able to think of a single fucking thing other than this.  But the denial is on your lips so fast it must be involuntary, a reflexive need to find his buttons and push: "You wish."  

Whiskey raises an eyebrow, lip curling.  For a second he's amused, seeing the game you want to play. And then it's like a switch flips. Suddenly this isn't the man who'd begged for the privilege of fucking you last night. This isn't even the man who'd put his grateful mouth to your cunt in the elevator. This is the man he'd pretended to be right up until you got his hands tied. The cowboy get up wasn't the costume – this is. This smile. This infuriating swagger.  

"Oh, really?" he says, and for the first time you realize just how much that drawl had begun to soften around you, because now that dial's ramped right back up to 11.  "You turn up tonight without any goddamn panties on, ride my fingers like a coin-op pony, beggin' to get fucked all the while, and then you try and tell me you ain't been thinkin' about me?  I felt how hard you came. How fucking wet you were."  His hand darts between your legs as quick a snake-strike, fingers carding through your folds. "Are.  Ain't no face left to save, darlin'."

He's in your space, radiating heat, his fingers stroking against your swollen sex, stoking your own fire all over again. But the fire those words kindle burns a little quicker and a little hotter. Without a second thought you strike out, palm tingling as it finds its target against his cheek.

For a moment Whiskey doesn't even seem to breathe. He just stands there leaning heavy against you with his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring. Redness blooms against his cheek.  When his eyes open again, the way they bore into you, glittering and eager takes your own breath away.

He hums, that low, pleased sound.  But now it slips lower and lower into a breathy rumble that lances straight through you.  "Do it again."

Swallowing hard, you slap him again.  Harder this time.  For a moment the only reaction he gives is the way his cock bobs sharply, slapping against your thigh.

Then he growls, seizing the back of your neck and crushing you to him.  You crane up, half expecting a kiss, but his thumb snags the corner of your mouth.  He drags it open until your jaw hangs, tilting your head back.  A choked sound that's a little too plaintive to be a protest slips from your open mouth a second before Whiskey spits into it.

"Swallow."

You do, sucking hard on his thumb for good measure.

"You nasty little thing," Whiskey says, his voice slow and dark as molasses. His eyes glaze over a little as he works the ball of his thumb against your tongue, watching the way your lips purse around it. "Maybe you are the one that needs the punishin'."

He leans against you, breathing hard as he considers this thought. You frown a little, catching his thumb with your teeth, hoping he'll get the hint and give you something better to put in your mouth. But then his grip loosens, one hand disappearing behind you. Hints, it appears, are completely off the table tonight.

"In," he growls, throwing open the bedroom door. "Now."

Whiskey leads you inside, hitting the lights with his elbow.  The room is furnished in that same drab but sparkling minimal style, an impressively large bed swallowing up the majority of the space.  One wall is nothing but windows behind drawn shades, a sliding door leading out to a small, isolated balcony.

He steers you directly to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you across his lap to straddle his knee.  You let out an indignant little yelp at the treatment, but then he shifts his leg under you and the indignance crumbles. It presses against your mound just right, urging you open, and you grind down with a gasp, trying to find a little relief.

Whiskey tuts.  "Oh now look at that. Try to tell me you ain't been thinkin' about takin' my dick and then rub on me like a goddamn cat in heat."  

There's the sound of a zipper – not his this time, but your own – and then a little tickle at your hip as he undoes the skirt and wrestles it down your legs. He pushes your blouse up, bunching the material up around your shoulder blades.  For a second you think he means to pull it off, but then he twists the fabric around his hand.  The garment draws up tight, leaving your arms, still in the sleeves, pinned to your sides.  

You moan a little when you feel his hand slide across your ass. He bends over you, and you feel the wet heat of his mouth against your ass cheek.  A sweet, languid swirl of his tongue before he bites down.  You jerk hard enough that your clit drags against the rough weave of his jeans and you cry out, the sound muted by the bedspread.

The pressure of his knee aches beautifully against your cunt, your breathing so shallow and quick it makes you lightheaded.  You know what's coming, and you know what you asked for.  The last thing you wanted was to be sensible.  And this – well this might be the least sensible thing you've ever done.  

You buck your hips up sharply. Searching for his hand.  "Do it."

The first strikes are quick and brisk.  They tingle, warming your skin, but don't hurt. Not yet.  This is just a tease of the real thing.  A warm up. The tips of his fingers trace the first reddening outline of his hand against your skin, a match for the not-yet faded print against his cheek.  Crooning, he kneads your buttocks, spreading them apart, making the slick folds of your pussy slide against each other.

"Sweet Jesus will you look at that.  Open that up, baby.  Lemme see just how fuckin' wet that gorgeous little pussy is."

You gasp, grinding down again, and then first real slap lands across your ass, unexpected and jarring.  The sting is enough to make your eyes water, but the impact drives you forward, almost encouraging your hips to grind into him.  A second strike lands on the other cheek, then back to the first, alternating each time.  You rock with it, caught between the hot stinging slap of skin on skin and the building heat between your legs.

"This what you wanted?"  Crack.

"Fuck!"

"Is it?" he demands.  His hand descends again.  Crack.

"Yes!" You kick out, struggling not because you want to, but because you have to. And it only makes it worse. Or better, or – God, you don't even know now. It's more. It's just more. His knee digs in harder and your poor neglected cunt throbs with a misplaced ache and you swear you have never needed to feel yourself filled up more than you do right now.

"You gonna behave?" Crack. "You gonna stop lyin' to me now?"  CRACK.

"Yes!" The word leaves you in a shuddering sob, thighs clamping down around Whiskey's leg.  One more, God help you, one more and you'll tip over, you'll come all over his knee, you're so close.

And then he stops, rubbing and kneading the hot flushed skin, and you whine in desperate frustration as your orgasm begins to retreat.

"Goddamn. Prettier than a Georgia peach," Whiskey says thickly. His hand strays, slips down between your cheeks and presses against the splayed lips of your pussy. You writhe under the sudden attention, feeling the tips of his fingers slide around your clit. "And damned if you don't drip twice as sweet."

"Please." Warmth trickles from the corner of your eyes, blooming against the bedspread.

The swirl of his hand is lazy, almost soothing but for the way it keeps you so frighteningly close to the edge. "Truth first, honeybee. C'mon. You know what I wanna hear."

"Ye-yes," you mutter.  "Goddamn it yes.  I've been thinking about fucking you all day.  All goddamned day...God, Jesus, fuck, and then you didn't show. Thought you'd ditched me.  Made me want - want it and then ditch me."

You bury your face in the quilt. It's a fucking cop out and you know it. You don't just want it.  You want him.  Fuck, what is happening?

Again you feel his mouth against your ass cheek, open and wet, but this time his tongue is almost cool by comparison. "There now. I didn't ditch you, baby. Wouldn't fuckin' dream of it."  His voice is low now, placating, nearly apologetic. And then his fingers are slipping inside you again, stroking and curling. "I'm right here here, baby. Right here. Just a little late, is all."

You whine, trying to wriggle back to drive him in deeper. Those thick fingers are like fucking magic but you need more than they can provide. Desperate now, you clutch your fingers back towards him, find his shirttail and tug at it. "Jack. Please."

It doesn't even register to you that you've called him by his name – God, you didn't even think you remembered his name – until the fingers inside you still. If it wasn't for the hammering of your heart in your ears you might've heard his breath catch.

Slowly he twists his fingers inside you, pressing down until you shudder. "What is it, honeybee?" he mutters. The hoarseness in his voice is familiar. You wish you could see his face. "Tell me what you want."

"Please fuck me.  Please.  I waited all fucking night."

He rolls you off his lap, leaving you dangling half off the bed and folds over you, cock nestled against the heat of your reddened ass. There's a sticky slide to it; you're not the only one that's wet.

"Hand to God, baby, I'll make it worth every minute. On my fuckin' life." The pained edge in his voice sets the room spinning, and for one mad moment you find yourself trying to grab onto the bedspread to keep from rolling away. Whiskey leaves a kiss against the back of your neck before he draws back, the hand fisted in your shirt tugging you along just a bit.

There's a long, wavering moment when his touch leaves you entirely and you almost protest before you hear him frantically shedding his clothes behind you. Then his hands return, his left winding back into your shirt, his right warm and strong against your back. The blunt, weeping head of his cock nudges between the swollen lips of your pussy. He stays there for an infuriatingly long moment, enough that you cry out your frustration into the bedclothes.  

And then he finally makes good on his promise.

You go up on your toes, legs straining as he breaches you. After all the hours you spent thinking about it, all the hours you waited, it's bliss. But the pure, unadulterated stretch of it laces that bliss with a white-hot line of fire that only serves to make it all the more urgent. Maybe it's the angle, bent in half with your ass up and your legs closed. Maybe it's just how overwrought you are already. Maybe...fuck, you don't know, maybe somehow he's even harder than the night before.  All you do know is that he feels so big you can't hardly stand it. It's so much, bridging the gap between pleasure and pain until it's just an overwhelming sense of pressure and fullness that has you clenching and fluttering around him. As if your body can't make up its mind if it wants to expel the intrusion or welcome it deeper.

He has no right to feel this good. None. But goddamn it you're so glad he does.

"Fuck," he mutters shakily, fingers biting into your hip. "This what you wanted, honeybee? Huh? This what you been waiting for?"

You can't find the air to give him an answer.  Whiskey's still moving forward, you're not even sure how. Christ how much more of him is there? He leans forward, pushing you into the mattress, pushing down into you until you start to shake, until he hits that buried junction inside you that sends a flare of heat rocketing clear down to your toes and your stalled orgasm rears up again so sudden and so close that it's startling.

Every muscle in your body tenses, straining. The whine that breaks out of your gaping mouth is pitiful. "Shit, oh shit, Jesus fuck, Jesus fuck-fuck-fuck-"

He feels it. He must. There's no way he can't. "Oh fuck, that's it honeybee," he croons, working his free hand under you to circle your clit as he sinks that last broad inch into you. "Come on. Come all fuckin' over me."

For a second everything shorts out, all senses lost in a white-out. The only tenuous connection you have to your body lies in the grounding pressure of his cock inside you and the faint but rapid fluttering of his pulse in it. And then you're slamming back to yourself with a ragged cry, blood roaring in your ears and coming so hard that you nearly buck off of him entirely. Your arms flex, bend, bunched cloth digging deeply into your skin until you feel rather than hear the seams rip. And then the tightness is gone, Whiskey's hand unwinding immediately from your shirt to stroke up and down your back.

There's a lump in your throat when you finally find enough air to speak: "T-t-two."

Whiskey groans. "Beautiful.  Fuck, you shake so pretty when you come for me. I could watch you do that all night. Might just, at that."  He drags the torn wreck of your blouse off you, popping the clasp on your bra and bending to place an open, humid kiss in the valley along your spine.

He rocks forward and back, one hand clamped into soft flesh at your hip, humming tunelessly. "Been wantin' to bury myself back in this sweet pussy from the minute I woke up.  Ain't been able to think of nothin' else. Just this," he says, drawing back slowly before burying himself to the hilt and rolling his hips against you.

You clamp your teeth down on your lip, fighting the haze. It's hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. But he's rolling into you slow, far too fucking slow.  And that isn't what you need. You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but he thrusts forward, a little more force in it this time, and your arms give out.  

"Ha-harder," you pant, voice thick and muffled by the quilt. You turn your head, claw the hair out of your face. "F-fuck me harder, god-d-d-damn it. Make me fuckin' feel it tomorrow. Big-dicked b-bastard, oh my God, don't you stop."

He breathes out a laugh, folding over your back. The pressure against your tender ass stings like hell, and you hitch in a hissing gasp as Whiskey's mouth finds your cheek. He kisses you, or does his best to. The angle is strange and your face is half-smashed against the bed, but his mouth slants over the side of yours, tongue dragging against your lips until you open for him, letting him lick against the sharp points of your teeth.  

"Careful what you wish for, honeybee," he whispers, grinding forward in a maddening circle. "Words like that will get you in a whole mess of trouble."

The air leaves you in a whooping rush as he stands, dragging you up against his chest, your back bowing to try and keep the searing length of him pressed where you need it. And then – ah god – his hand is around your throat and his teeth are sinking into your shoulder, and you're suddenly glad he can't see the way your eyes flutter and roll back.  

Not that he even needs to see it, because just then Whiskey groans into your skin as a rush of wetness courses down his cock.

"Fuck, is it that good, baby? Hm?" His voice quavers as his body impacts yours like a sledgehammer. "My dick finding all the sweet spots in that pretty little pussy for you?"

You grapple at him, find where he clings to you and grip his hands, inadvertently encouraging him to press his hand just a little harder against your throat. And there goes the room again, looping and floating as he starts to move, really move, driving forward harder and harder. You stumble, going up on your toes, some choked and desperate noise caught in your throat somewhere under his hand. Sparks pop behind your eyes, faint and wavering like fireworks reflected on choppy waters. And then the pressure eases, air rushing into your lungs once again. The fire in your belly flares up at it like a backdraft.  

"M-more," you grate out. "Oh f-fucking God please more.  D-don't...d-d-don't-"

"Don't you worry, baby.  Ain't gonna stop," he mutters harshly against your ear.  "I'll give you all you want. Ain't stopping 'til you tell me to stop."

You shake your head, or at least try to, the movement restricted by his hand. "N-no. Never. Fuck, never-never stop. Right there f-fuck-"

Whiskey growls out something low and broken and unintelligible as you clamp down on him, your body chasing that bright, blazing heat whether you want it to or not.

"Oh fuck, are you comin' again for me already, angel? Shit, you are, aren't you? Got yourself all riled up today and now you just can't stop. C'mon then, baby. Come on my dick. You feel like fuckin' heaven when you come. Pussy's so good it oughtta be fuckin' blasphemy. C'mon, honeybee, do it for me, come like you fuckin' mean it-"

Before you can breathe a word it hits you and it hits you hard, muscles seizing up so tight it's like they're trying to wring the pleasure out of you. You ride through maybe three or four near-blinding shocks of it and then your knees, traitorous things, finally give out underneath you. The only thing that keeps you up is Whiskey's arms wrapped tight around you, clutching you to him, suspending you on his dick as it grinds up brutally against your g-spot.

"Got you, honeybee," he grunts, rhythm never faltering. "I got you.  Keep comin' for me, baby, keep comin'."

And god help you, you are. You're still quivering, still coming, and then his hand falls away from your neck to cup against your sex, palm flat against the rigid little knot of your clit. He doesn't even rub, it's just a heat and a pressure and it's like your whole body stutters upward, launching towards a second, higher peak. Whiskey lets out a broken groan against your neck as you bear down on him so hard it nearly hurts and you wail at the unexpected, overwhelming force of it.

Everything spins off and away in the aftermath, senses blown out like a bad circuit. Sounds are swallowed up in a high, persistent ringing. You haven't got the strength to force your eyes back open. There's a shift and a feeling of soft cloth beneath you and when the haze starts to lift you find you're on your knees on the bed, shoulders down and ass up with Whiskey draped over your back. He murmurs things against your cheek, your ear, your neck.  You can't hear a word of it over the ringing in your ears.

You turn your head, knocking your forehead against his by accident. "Thr- I- f-four?"  Your voice jumps in your throat, but you can't quite make it steadier. "I...I don't-"

"Honeybee," he drawls, his cock giving a hard, desperate twitch inside you. He grins at you indulgently, gathering your hair up in one broad hand and pulling. "Good girl."

A shudder goes through you as you realize he's still fucking you. Deep, swift strokes that send tingles sparking through you. He drags his cock out of you and drives it back in, pulling it over your blazingly sensitive nerve endings like a bow over violin strings. Like it's a privilege to do it. Like it'd be a fucking crime to stop.

He drags two more orgasms out of you like this. Shuddering, slow-building things that overtake you like flood waters, rising up with an aching, consuming crawl unmindful of the pounding pace Whiskey holds to like a clockwork battering ram. It's only when you gasp out a broken cry of "S-sih-s-six!" that Whiskey's hips finally begin to falter, stuttering and slowing at the feeling of your overworked pussy milking his cock again. His grip on you tightens as he tries to steady himself, tries to hold on, groaning his own restrained pleasure through gritted teeth.

"Tight - fuck!  Goddamn it girl you get so fucking tight when you come. So fuckin' wet. Sweet Jesus. I don't know how m-much more of that I can fuckin' take."

"God, fuck, do it, just do it," you whine, reaching back for him with hands that can't stop shaking. "C'mon Jack."

He laughs at that, but it's a little frayed and frantic at the edges. He brushes the hair out of your face, working his fingers into it and giving it a tug. "I – ungh! Oh s-shit – I got... your p-permission this time, honeybee?"

You hum, nodding, and hitch in a breath as he grinds in particularly deep. "Please."

His rhythm falters again, hips canting suddenly at a hard angle. "W-where? Fuck, fuck, where do you want me, baby? Hurry."

"In-inside. Inside me. 'S what you wanted last night?  Right?"

Whiskey makes a broken sound, lurching against you. "Y-yeah. Oh shit, yes. Jesus fucking Christ, honeybee."

Growling, he flips you over and slides in deep, pushing your knees up almost to your shoulders and staring raptly down at your face even as his own contorts. The length of him inside you stiffens even more, pushing in so deep his hipbones grind painfully against your own.

And then he breaks with a cry, his whole body locking up with the force of his climax.  His head drops between your breasts and his back arches high, fists punching deep divots into the mattress on either side of you. He rocks through it, jerking at every pulse and spasm, and you can't help but shiver at the warmth that pools inside you as he comes.

"Fuck, fuck. Nngh, ho-holy shit." He almost says more, but another tremor wracks his body and it chokes off into a broken mess of Spanish - "¿Que chingas me estás haciendo a mi mujer?"

Winded and boneless, you scratch your nails weakly across his scalp, working your fingers down his neck to his shoulders.  "Better be a compliment."

"You have no idea," he pants open-mouthed against your skin.  Instead of elaborating he just eases himself out of you and crawls his way down, trailing his mouth over your skin until he's settled between your legs, staring at whatever disaster he's made of you and groaning softly in appreciation.

Take a picture, you almost say, it'll last longer. But before you can work up the air and energy to put breath to the quip he's drawing his tongue against you, cleaning up the mess he's made with a desperate, greedy reverence that sets your knees trembling on either side of his head.

Whimpering, you clamp your lower lip in your teeth, shuddering up against the warm heat of Whiskey's mouth.  "Careful," you warn.  "Oh, G-God, careful."

The only answer you get is a low moan and the feeling of his fingers sinking diligently back into your cunt, coaxing out the trickling remnants of his orgasm.

A high, lazy heat begins to build again, over-sensitivity easing back into something warm and sweet and giddily aching.  Your hands cradle the back of Whiskey's head, carding through his sweat-soaked hair as he licks his own come out of you. It's not a thing you've ever really given much thought before – bodily fluids were always more an incidental part of sex for you than anything else – and you're not sure if he's enjoying the act itself or just the strange submissive edge of it.  Curiosity gets the better of you and you glance down at him, expecting to see him staring intently up at you over the rise of your mons, gloating over the state he's put you in.  Fuck, he's made you come so many times you're sure he'll never let you forget it.

Only he isn't.  His eyes are closed, face lax with a blissful intoxication as he tastes himself inside you, holding your thighs up and apart to let him work his tongue and fingers in deeper.  The sight of him so clearly lost in the moment, not goading or gloating, just rapturously gone is maybe the single most erotic thing you've seen in your whole life. And that sweet, lazy heat suddenly licks up to a blaze.

The sudden clench you give is impossible to miss from Whiskey's vantage point, and he groans against you.  "One more, honeybee," he almost pleads, breaking away from you with a sucking pop just long enough to gasp air.  "You can gimme one more, can't you? I know you can. C'mon baby. Lucky seven."

He lowers his head once more with a decadent hum and you throw yours back as he sets to more deliberate work, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.  

"God, you greedy b-bastard," you rasp out.  The stimulation to your worn nerves leaves you quaking, wriggling underneath him.  You're not sure you can stand another one, but a deep, hungry part of you is desperate to find out.  

He growls at that, more in agreement than in offense, and when your hands scrabble at his he parries them without even glancing up, seizing your wrists and yanking you down even tighter against his mouth.

You nearly kick him in the ribs when you come.  It's not your fault. Honestly it's his for working you up to this point.  To this high, nervous overload that's barely left you any control over your body.  It doesn't seem to faze him, though.  Your heel glances off his side as your shaking legs lock around his back and he just keeps going, like he hasn't even noticed, like he isn't even here.  Like the world has spun down smaller and smaller and the only thing left is his mouth and your cunt and leaving that would mean the end of everything.

But it's too much.  Goddamn it, it's too much.

You sob, wrench your hands out of his grip and push at his head. "S-s-seven.  Sev-seven.  F-f-fuck, Jack.  No more, n-no more, please, stop, I can't, I can't– "

He's pulling away before you even finish, pressing one last biting kiss against your thigh before crawling shakily over you to put his mouth to yours with a surprising gentleness. The taste on his lips is heady, musky and sharp. His arms tremble at the strain of keeping himself from slumping over on top of you, gasping raggedly between each kiss like they’re just as necessary as air.

For the longest time you can’t even move, you’re far too wrung out and exhausted to even try.  All you can do is lie underneath him and do your best to remember how to breathe between slow, lazy kisses.  Eventually you work up enough breath to speak. "'M sorry," you whisper hoarsely.

Whiskey shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes.  "What for?"

"'Two minutes and a cigarette.'" You bring up a hand, patting his cheek with an awkward bonk. "I stand corrected"

A look of comical confusion takes over his face, brows knitting together, until he finally remembers the jab you'd made after you'd tied him up the night before. "Shit," is all he says before he dissolves into giddy laughter.  His arms finally give out on him and he rolls to keep from toppling onto you.  

You roll with him, tucking your head into his shoulder and giggling. It aches. The muscles in your abdomen so overworked that even laughing hurts, but somehow that just makes it funnier.

You’ve nearly composed yourselves when Whiskey tries to prop himself up on an elbow that immediately slides out from under him and almost smacks you in the head, and that just sets you both off all over again.  Giving up entirely, you just lay there, shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing like a couple of punch-drunk loons.

"You hungry, honeybee?” Whiskey asks breathlessly when he’s got himself back under some semblance of control. “I could eat a goddamn horse."

Now that he mentions it you realize just how long ago lunch was, and your appetite, which had so far taken a backseat to both your temper and libido, roars back to life. "God yeah, actually.  'M fuckin' starving."

So for the second time today, you get room service on Whiskey's dime. Or his employer’s dime, he insists.  You're not sure if that's better or worse.  It's a little ridiculous.  Even more so when you think to look for a clock and realize just how late it is, but you're absolutely famished and the second he's on the phone asking in a pleasantly fuck-drunk voice for a couple hamburgers and french fries you're stomach's growling so insistently you're almost certain the staff on the other end of the line heard it.

He's chuckling as he hangs up the phone, draping over you to nuzzle into your neck.  For the first time you notice just how much his mustache tickles, and you squirm under him, giggling all over again.

"Love me a woman with an appetite," he mumbles, nipping playfully at you.

"God, what the fuck are we doing?" you stutter out through your giggles.  It's not meant to be a real question. You’re practically a space cadet right now, and you can’t remember the last time you were this giddy after sex. But Whiskey shifts a little, pulling back to look down at you, and you can't quite parse the look on his face. "Never had a one-night-stand like this before.”

"Hm." He drops his head a bit, tapping an idle finger against your collarbone. "Think the repeat offense kinda cancels out the one-night-stand idea, honeybee."

"You didn't strike me as the repeating kind."

"Mm. Didn't strike you as the kind who could hold his dick up for longer'n a minute, either.  So I'll try not to take offense at your continued misjudgment of my character."  His eyes wander away from yours, pulling up his well-worn crooked smile with some degree of effort. "But if you're looking for a polite way to tell this old man you've had your fill, there ain't no need to beat around the bush about it."

You might've appreciated the easy out once.  After tonight, though, you're almost offended at it. You're not in the habit of begging for things you only have a mind to dispose of. A little of that flighty panic starts to take hold, and you tamp it down. Fun. This is just for fun. Even if you do want a little more. Fuck, don’t start overthinking it now.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, and it's only the curiosity in your voice that keeps it from sharpening into an accusation.

Whiskey shakes his head, a bit of incredulity in his eyes. "What I want...shit, what I want is to get me somethin' nice an' artery-clogging to eat and then get some fuckin' sleep. Preferably next to the woman who has fucked me ragged two nights running, if she happens to be amenable to that kind of thing. That's as far as my wants go right this second."

The deflection is so clumsy it’s almost funny. “Chickenshit,” you mutter.

Whiskey blinks down at you, shocked for a moment before you give him a teasing smile. “Fuckin’ comedian,” Whiskey says, snorting laughter.  “Ain’t no softening that tongue of yours, is there?”

“You never know.” You shift a little, heart hammering as you consider your next words. "How much longer are you going to be here?"

The crooked smile slips, becoming softer.  "Well.  That sorta depends on you, honeybee.  My work's all wrapped up.  But if you're gonna be around a bit longer and are lookin' for a bit of company I might be convinced to stay a bit longer."

You feel the smile creep up on your face before you can stop it.  "I wouldn’t mind a little continued reprieve from corporate hell. Under one condition," you insist, waving a finger at him.

Schooling his face into a parody of gravitas, he nods expectantly. Proceed.

"I need to know something first.  Some things. Plural."

He cocks an eyebrow.  "How many is plural?"

You consider for a second, squinting.  "Three."

"All right," he says, resting his chin against your shoulder.  "Fire away."

You pop out your thumb.  "Are you a serial killer?"

He stares at you for a long, silent beat before his eyes slip closed and he shakes his head, his chest hitching with stifled laughter. "No, honeybee, I am not now nor have I ever been a serial killer."

You nod, grinning. "Okay, one down.” You pop out your pointer finger. “Are you married?"

The levity bleeds out of his face with a swiftness that makes you regret the question instantly, sure he's about to drop a bombshell directly on your head that's going to leave you hating him and yourself.  But he shakes his head, holds up his ringless left hand as if in proof, as though nobody having an affair would've ever thought to slip a ring off beforehand.  But then, very quietly, he adds: "Was. But not for a long time."

You nod dumbly, mutter, "Okay.”

For a second you wonder if you should apologize – you’ve clearly tripped on something raw by accident – but then he's poking you in the ribs and drawing in a sharp breath.  "And number three?"

A little grateful, you pop out your middle finger ask your last question: "What do you do?  What do you really do?"

The corner of his mouth gives a twitch.  "Shit, is that all?  Well.  Officially, I'm a businessman.  I own a sizable amount of shares in the Statesman distillery company. Which, incidentally, is where that fine stock of bourbon whiskey came from," he adds.

You lean back, eyeing him carefully.  You don't think he's lying.  And yet....

Your fingers find the catch of a scar against his ribs.  "You're scarred to shit for a liquor tycoon, cowboy."

The twitch turns into a grin.  "I have been known to get a little rough-and-tumble once in a while."

"I don't know if I believe that story any more than I did the James Bond bullshit."

Whiskey huffs a laugh.  His jeans are in a puddle at the end of the bed and he drags them up, pulling out a thick leather wallet out of the back pocket.  From one of the compartments he pulls a business card embossed in gold and black and hands it to you.  

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels, Statesman Distillery, Kentucky.

You blink at it, giggling a little.  "Jesus Christ that is actually your name?"

"More or less.  Been Anglicized for flavor, among other things."

"What was it before?"

There's an odd sharpness in his eyes when he looks at you, a shrewdness you'd never have expected from the costume cowboy you'd met down in the bar.  For a moment you're sure that not only is he not going to answer, but that you've overstepped a line you weren't even aware existed.

"That's four questions," he says, "not three."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," you add with a tilt of your head.

The corner of his mouth curls slightly, and the sharpness fades.  "Well now, how can I resist that a bargain like that?" He pauses a moment, as if reconsidering, then adds: "It was Joaquin."

"Joaquin?"

"Mm." He nods. There's only a moment of quiet before he tilts his hips to the side, jostling you. "C'mon, darlin. A deal's a deal."

You roll your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. And you tell him your name.  He repeats it back, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smiling.

"Pleasure to meet you," he says.  "Literally."

"Jackass."

[blackmissfrizzle]

The Barbershop (EZ Edition)

Angel’s Edition

Miguel’s Edition

Pairing: EZ Reyes x black!reader

Summary: The reader gets EZ ready for his patch party.

Warnings: Use of the n-word & smut

A/N: Thank you to @ly--canthrope​ for the EZ fluff prompts!  

A/N (2): I highly suggest listening to El Clavo while listening. Also, I think Nestor and Coco might be getting some attention from me, so be on the look out for that.

Prompts: 

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice” 

Person scrunching their nose & other kisses them

When you got your first pair of clippers in high school, EZ was your first customer and ever since you’ve been cutting his hair. Even when he went off to college, EZ came back to Santo Padre to get his hari cut by his best friend. The only time you didn’t cut his hair was when he was in prison for those 8 years, but since he’s been back, he hasn’t missed an appointment.

Now here he was at your house with his hair longer than usual because he was busy with club shit. Luckily, he came by with enough time for you to do his hair before his patch party. “Ezekiel, please come to me before your hair gets this long again.”

He pinched your side as you moved around him. “Hey, you do Angel’s hair all the time and his hair is a shit ton longer than mines.”

“I’m used to Angel’s long locks! You’re supposed to be the clean-cut brother.” You stopped cutting his hair and moved the clippers in front of his face. “Oh, and if you pinch me again while I’m doing your hair, I’ll purposefully fuck up your hairline. Let’s see how many of those hang arounds will want your dick then.”

He held up his hands in surrender and mumbled his apologies, but not really meaning it. As long as you’ve been his best friend his favorite pastime was to rile you up. He loved how flustered you got when you couldn’t come up with a clever comeback. He loved how your hand slapped him across his body even if it was a little painful. He loved how your eyes widened in shock and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how you’ll look when he finally gets the chance to slip inside you.

Everyone was aware of his crush on you, except you. The only reason EZ didn’t tell you was because with the pair of you, timing was awful. When he realized he was in love with you, you had a boyfriend and when you broke up with that boyfriend EZ was with Emily. Then, he went off to prison and when he came back, he didn’t want to involve you with his mess, so he kept his distance. But he couldn’t wait anymore, he had to let you know.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he grabbed your attention by lightly grazing your hip. “Yes, Ezekiel?” He let out a soft groan. He loved when you used his full name. It didn’t matter if you were yelling it excitement, teasing him, or scolding him, he just loved to hear it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t say anything else because your phone started to ring. It was your sorta boyfriend, Rick. EZ couldn’t stand him. He was a douchebag that gave you more headaches than anything. And it was obvious to EZ that you didn’t love him. It was evident in the way you talked about him like an annoying chore. For the life of him, EZ didn’t understand why you kept him around.

“Oh, so now you’re coming? Well, just meet me there because EZ’s riding with me.” EZ couldn’t help to smile a bit at you putting Rick in his place. He tried to listen to Rick’s response, but he could only make out his tone and from that he could tell he was pissed. “Why? Nigga, I don’t have to give you a reason why my best friend is riding in my car.” Even though you were busy with your little argument your hand never faltered, cutting hair was second nature to you. “Ugh, if you must know its his party and I’m planning to get him plastered, so he needs a DD. That’s good with you? Oh, wait I don’t care,” You hung up the phone soon after that.

“Rick coming?” EZ managed to keep the disdain for him out of his voice. “Who knows? Probably be better if he stays but forget about him.” You turned off the clippers and brushed his hair, then gave EZ the mirror to inspect himself. After he gave his haircut a serious inspection, he started biting his lip and doing his signature pretty boy poses.

“Okay, Lothario if you’re done making out with yourself in the mirror, imma go take a shower to start getting ready.” As you turned to walk away, EZ grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him. “Thank you, querida.” He kissed your wrist and gave you those adorable puppy dog eyes. “No problem, EZ,” you gave him a kiss on the cheek, then went to your bathroom to get ready and ignored your heart swelling up from EZ’s touch.

An hour later you were still getting ready and EZ was taking a shower. While you were applying on makeup, EZ walked into your room wet, fresh out the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. You knew EZ was ripped, but see it up close, my god there are no words.

EZ caught your staring in the mirror. “Like what you see?” He asked, flexing his pecs. “Ew, no!” You falsely claimed and scrunched up your nose in faux disgust.  EZ came up to you and kissed your nose before snatching your lotion off the dresser.  “You know what, you’re right. You love it.” EZ was so damn close to you that you could feel the heat of the shower radiating off of him.

“Yeah, I love it,” you deadpanned before pushing him away. “Now get ready. I don’t want you to be late to your own party.”

--

While EZ was having the time of his life, you were having the opposite. Rick ended up coming, but he was in a funky mood thus bringing your mood down. When his first words were something about how your dress wasn’t flattering, you made plans to break up with him. Using him as a distraction from EZ was draining your soul and you didn’t need that kind of energy in your life.

He made the breakup easier for you when you caught him in the restroom with one of Vicky’s girls with his dick in her mouth. You couldn’t even muster up any anger, instead you gave the girl and extra $100 for her troubles.

Although, getting cheated on sucked, what pissed you off the most was the girls all fawning over EZ. They were all over him like bitches in heat, rubbing on his chest, arms, and head, commenting on his haircut…your haircut. “Damn chica, just go claim your man.” Coco observed how you were sending death glares at the women.

“He’s not my man! He’s grown and can do whatever he wants.” You sputtered, surprised at being caught. “Exactly! If you weren’t too chicken, then he’d be your man.” Angel commented, taking a sip of his beer.

You ignored Coco’s and Angel’s somewhat encouraging words to look back at EZ. Your face instantly brightened when you saw how at ease he was. It wasn’t too often EZ could let go like this.

EZ felt a pair of eyes on him and when he found out it was you his eyes gleamed, he cracked that boyish smile and raised his beer to you. Excusing himself EZ made his way to you and gave you a hug. “Ezekiel, what’s with the hug?”

“I miss you.”

“You rode with me here, EZ.”

“Its Ezekiel and I barely talked to you since we’ve been here. Is it so bad that I want to party with my best friend?” You scrunched up your face. “I guess not.”

EZ hummed his appeasement and kissed your nose.  “Come dance with me.” He didn’t give you time to reject him. Tightly he tugged your hand and pulled you into the middle of the scrapyard.

Prince Royce and Maluma’s El Clavo began to play. EZ knew how much you loved this song, but since you didn’t know Spanish you didn’t understand the song. It was ironic to him that this song was playing tonight. Earlier, he saw how Angel escorted Rick out and the relief wash over you when you saw him leave. He knew Rick must’ve done something stupid. If it wasn’t for your need to avoid conflict, EZ would’ve beat his ass right then and there.

“What are you doing?” You questioned EZ as he placed his leg between yours and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Dancing obviously,” he chuckled near your ear sending vibrations throughout your body.

You decided not to fight him and followed his lead. There’s been plenty of times you’ve dance with EZ, but it was always playful and fun, but this…this was different, this was sensual. A passionate dance only meant to be shared between lovers.

“Eyes,” he ordered assertively. It was his command to you when he wanted you to feel what he was saying.

Si esta noche tu novio te bota (If tonight your boyfriend throws you out) Dile que tú no estás sola (Tell him that you are not alone) Que tú estás conmigo, que yo sí te cuido (That you are with me, that I do take care of you) No como ese idiota (no como ese idiota) (Not like that idiot (not like that idiot) Si esta noche tu novio te bota (If tonight your boyfriend throws you out) Dile que tú no andas sola (que no 'tás sola) (Tell him that you are not alone (that you are not alone) Que yo soy el clavo que saca ese clavo (That I am the nail that pulls that nail)

Y dile que se joda (And tell him to fuck) Maluma, baby

Your breath hitched as EZ began translating the lyrics to English. He had to be able to feel how fast your heart was beating. “There it is.” He pointed out. “There what is?”

“That look.” He tugged your bottom lip that you had tucked underneath your teeth. “What look?” Your breath brushed against his thumb and it took all his control not to pounce on you.

“Eyes blown out, chest heaving. See,” EZ gripped your chin to keep your eyes leveled with his. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. It’s the same look I have when I look at you.”

“Stop playing with me, Ezekiel.” Your heart couldn’t take it if this was some sort of joke. “I’m not.” His voice did not waver.

“What about Emily? Or Gabby?”

“Distractions. Distractions that kept me from the real thing for too long.” You sucked your teeth in disbelief. EZ decided to translate the song for you some more. If you weren’t going to believe his words, then maybe you’ll believe another’s.

Yo llevo la cuenta, esta es la quinta vez  (I keep track, this is the fifth time) Pero yo no entiendo por qué no lo ves   (But I don't understand why you don't see him) Tú estás demasiado buena para estar con él (mamacita) (You're too hot to be with him (mamacita)) Tremenda mujer para estar con él  (Tremendous woman to be with him) Y si te busca a las 4:20 porque te llama borracho  (And if he looks for you at 4:20 because he calls you drunk) Ahora te quiere pero mañana vuelve a hacerte daño (Now he loves you but tomorrow he will hurt you again) Por ese bobo no llores  (For that fool, don’t cry) Deja que yo te enamore (deja que yo te enamore)  (Let me make you fall in love (let me make you fall in love)

Now that you knew EZ’s feelings, the lyrics became much more intense for you. Instinctively, you rested your forehead on his. His lips hovered over yours so much that you could taste the beer on his breath. Your acrylic nails caressed the back of his head caused him to stop his translation and purr against your neck. “You like that, Ezekiel?” You teased, giggling against his neck.

“I don’t know,” EZ pressed up against you tighter so you could feel his hardon. “You tell me if it feels like I like it.”

Now or never, you thought. You brought your lips closer to EZ’s. The both of you fighting for dominance, but ultimately EZ won, claiming you in front of the club. It wasn’t until you heard the cheers of his brothers that he’d stop kissing you.

Instantly, EZ started pulling you in the direction of your car, but you stopped him. “I can’t wait, Ezekiel. I need you now.” EZ’s normally bright eyes darkened and he led you towards the clubhouse. On your way to the dorm room, both you and EZ ignored Angel when he told you, “Don’t be surprised when EZ starts crying.”

As the pair of you made it through the hallway, each of your touches got heavier, more daring. So daring that when you finally got to his dorm your dress was halfway off. The rest of the clothes fly off like a whirlwind except EZ’s jeans. In his rush he tripped over his jeans. “Oh, that’s funny?” He asked when he caught you giggling.

“Just a little.” EZ rushed to you, tackled you to the bed and quickly turned your giggles into soft moans as he kissed you.

Despite your best efforts to keep him close, EZ pulled away. He leaned back on his haunches and admired your body. “I can’t believe I finally have you.” He lifted your leg threw it over his shoulder and started kissing you from your ankle up to your inner thighs. “You know one night when I slept over at your place. I caught you touching yourself. Your hands flew to your face to cover up the embarrassment. “Oh god,” you mumbled.

EZ’s deep chuckle made you peek through your hands. “What are you embarrassed for? For that little 10 seconds, it was the sexiest thing I’ve seen, but it was so damn torturous in the most beautiful way. Do you know how hard it is to have that vividly replaying in my head and not have you?”

The whole time EZ was talking he was getting closer to your core, but you were hyper focused on his words that his mouth on your clit took you by surprise. “Shit,” you squealed underneath his tongue. With your hand you covered your mouth to keep your screams down. EZ lifted his head at your muffled screams. “No, let me hear you. Let me know how good I make you feel.”

Following his instructions, you removed your hand and that earned you an approving smile from EZ. “Good girl.” Before he returned to his meal, EZ grabbed you by the back of your neck, forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

This time he added his fingers as he ate you out. The hold he had on you allowed no room for you to run, you had to stay there and take everything he was giving you. Add pussy eating to the long list of things that Ezekiel Reyes is great at.

Your hands shot out to EZ’s head. Scratching it was your best alternative since you had nothing to tug at. EZ raised his head, his mouth glistening from your cunt. “I bet you wish my hair was longer now.” He teased before diving right back in.

“EZ, I’m gonna cum.” You continued scratching the back of his head as he moved his tongue and fingers faster. “Cum all over my mouth, preciosa.” He murmured above your pussy.

An explosion. That was the only way you could describe your orgasm. It busted through your body, leaving you and EZ soaked. The evidence shone on his forearm, highlighting his veins, leaving you in a trance.

EZ noticed your staring at his arm. “Ride my forearm.” He demanded, excited that he’ll be able to get you off this way.

At first you were hesitant, but with EZ’s urging you hopped on it. You were experiencing immense pleasure and wanted EZ to experience the same. Tonight, was a celebration for him and this entire time his focus was on you. Completely selfless as usual. Reaching between your bodies, you began stroking him, smearing his precum all over his engorged head. “What are you doing?” He gasped, flexing his arm a bit more. “Tonight’s about you. I want to make you feel good.”

EZ nibbled at your chin. “I want you to cum all over my forearm, that’ll make me feel good.” You continued jerking him off while you rode him.

Who would’ve thought the rough ridges of his protruding veins and his constant flexing had you cumming a second time for the night? “Fuck we got to do that again!” You tried to nuzzle your face in EZ’s neck, but he wouldn’t let you because he was too busy kissing you all over your face. “EZ, I just came on your fucking arm.”

“Yeah and it was hot! I bet that douchebag couldn’t do that with his measly dick.” Slowly, he began to lay you down. “Now you’re about to cum all over my dick while screaming my name.”

Your now boyfriend made good on his promise. Opposed to Rick’s useless jackhammering, EZ made slow, powerful strokes, ensuring you were well taken care of.

He was tending to your body so well your eyes kept rolling to the back of your head. “Eyes!” He commanded harsher than ever before. When your eyes met his, you could see the struggle in his eyes. EZ wanted to be soft, gentle, and romantic, but deep down he wanted to fuck you hard, show you who you belong to.

“Make me yours, Ezekiel. Fuck me like you mean it.” It took him some time to process the words, but when he did his widened in realization that he got permission to let go. “Fuck, I love you.” He captured your lips in a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how much he loved you. “I love you too.” You told him as he had a bruising hold on your hips.

Gone was sweet soft Ezekiel. He was replaced by EZ, the harsh lover that’s gonna push you over the edge, then bring you back just to do it all over again.

Yours and EZ’s moans accompanied by the sound of bodies slapping together made a symphony that you would never get tired of. This was what you were missing for all those years apart.

“Make me proud. Cum all over this dick, querida.” EZ suckled your neck, branding you with his marks. “Ezekiel!” You cried out as your body combusted, almost feeling every molecule in your body. The newly patched Mayan silenced your cries with his mouth as he came soon after you.

EZ tried to lay in the bed with you but you refused. I t was his party and you were adamant that he enjoys it some more. You two can have your alone time later.

Just as you were sliding up your panties, EZ stuffed his fingers up your cum filled pussy. “Don’t want this leaking out.” He whispered, giving you a cheeky grin as you moaned at his ministrations.

“Okay, that’s enough you nasty ass kids. Playtime is over! Time to get fucked up, baby bro. I’m sure Y/N wants to forget the last 30 seconds.” Angel banged on the door.

“That was nice while it lasted.” You slipped your dress over your head and fixed your hair. EZ hummed his agreeance and led you out the door and ignored the childish jeering from his brothers. They could tease all they want, because as long as he has you, he doesn’t give a damn.

Taglist: @starrynite7114​ @sadeyesgf​ @ly--canthrope​ @woahitslucyylu​ @marvelmaree​ @angrythingstarlight​ @teakturn​ @thickemadame​ @ifoundmyhappythought​ @strawberrywritings​ @dearsamcrobae​ @chaneajoyyy​ @spookys-girl​ @bigsisbria​

[ladydorian05]

Dangerous love - Javier Peña x Gn!reader

Okay, I finished it, finally!!! I don't have a lot to say about this except that it all began with a few lines provided by my brain in the middle of the night and then this happened.

A huge thank you to @din-damn-djarin​ she helped me so much editing this thing and with the ending (many parts of the ending were written by her).

Hope you guys enjoy it!!!

Dangerous love

Pairing: Javier Peña x gn!reader 

Summary: With Steve on vacation, it's up to Javier and you to check upon the new lead; unexpectedly the stakeout goes to shit and some surprising things happen after you jump at the first opportunity to endanger yourself. (I still don't know how to write this thing and I'll probably never learn.)

Warnings: Bullets, minor injuries, mentions of blood, what else, Javier’s potty mouth but with restraint, maybe a little of out of character behaviour at the end, no time line, fictional events. thoughts in italics. Spanish translations of long sentences can be found in ( ). And I think that’s it.

Word count: 5K and then some.

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Damn you Murphy, Why did you have to ask for vacation days right before we got a lead. Javier thought as he tried to get comfortable in his seat  behind the wheel, with Steve out of the picture, he was left to carry out this stakeout alone, alone with you. Inside the close quarters of his car.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like you, far from it actually. He just didn’t want to fuck things up with you now that he was finally able to put a name to the way he felt whenever he was around you. From the way his heart rate increased in your presence, to how much his thoughts revolved around you. Hell, he even stopped fucking around with his informants for the simple fact that none of them were you.

There was no way he was going to tell you. He couldn’t, your jobs were too dangerous. The slightest mistake could cost either of you your lives and the last thing he wanted was to put you in more danger than you were already in, even if he knew you could take care of yourself.  Besides, he didn’t deserve someone as wonderful as you.

“Okay, I got the snacks and here’s your coffee.” You said opening the door of the passenger side, taking him out of his thoughts. It was some kind of tradition between the three of you, getting snacks to make sitting inside a car for hours on end, waiting for something to happen, a little more bearable,”Any sign of our guy?”

He thanked you, taking the paper cup from your hand “And no, no sign of him or any of his associates.” he sighed before taking a sip from his coffee.

“Damn it, it’s close to midnight, either they appear in the next 3 hours or we’ll be stuck in here for another day.” You complained, leaving the bag with the snacks between you two. You were tired, even if you liked the extra alone time with Javier it was hard to enjoy it when both of you were sleep deprived, more than usual, and cramped inside his car for the second day in a row.

The lead was solid, the problem was they needed evidence that the house they were watching actually belonged to the guy you were after, once you got it you could take the information to Carrillo and mobilize resources to take him in. 

“Five says that we won’t get anything tonight either.” Javier says, taking a bag of chips for himself.

“Five what? Bucks?” You see him nod while stuffing his mouth with a handful of potato chips. You contemplate his profile for a moment before answering his bet, “Alright, I’m in. I have a good feeling about tonight.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, it's been quiet.”

“That’s mainly because Murphy’s not here.” You both share a laugh at your partner's expense. It was no secret that out of the three of you Steve was the most approachable. Javier was the known asshole of the embassy, you always tried to keep your guard up, what with being the new one, and Steve was just a ‘by the book’ kind of guy, even if being after Escobar made him bend some rules lately.

When you were first transferred to Colombia you were surprised that you actually got along just fine with both of your partners. You were the newbie, but they didn’t belittle you or underestimate you like you expected them to. However, you certainly never expected to end up falling for one of them.

As the months passed Javi became more than just your partner or friend, he became your confidant, you knew you could always talk to him. While he wasn’t the  most approachable person around the embassy, you found out he actually had a soft side. He was reliable, hard working, with a dry sense of humor, a ‘no bullshit’ attitude that called to you, and as much as he wanted to hide it, he cared deeply, even for things that were out of his control. The fact he was so fucking handsome didn’t hurt either.

You didn’t fall for him overnight, it was a steady, slow kind of change. It took sleepless nights pouring over documents, each taking turns getting more coffee to keep you both going;  late night conversations and laughs over strong alcohol to chase the stress from work away; having occasional dinner nights with him at his apartment or yours on those nights when the feeling of being alone in a different  country fighting a never ending war gets unbearable.

It wasn’t sudden, but it still surprised you when you realised your feelings for the DEA’s resident Cassanova were deeper than you thought. That was another thing that worried you, it was no secret where or rather from whom he tends to get information about the narcos you were chasing after. Even if he’s recently been more discreet about it.

“Heads up, we’ve got movement.” Javier brings you out of your thoughts, tossing the bag of chips back into the bag of snacks you brought. “Seems like you’ll be getting those five bucks after all.”

“Told you I had a hunch.” Both of you watch as a van parks in front of the house you’ve been watching, several men get out of the vehicle. You recognise a couple of them from the list of known people working for Escobar, most of them were foot soldiers.

You reached inside the glove compartment for the camera, hoping to get a few good pictures before they disappeared inside the house. This could be the missing link you needed to get to the guy that lived there.

“Hold on, don’t finish the film just yet,” Javi’s words give you pause as you start rewinding the camera to take another photograph, “another car’s pulling up.”

“Anyone we know?” You ask squinting to see who comes out of the other car parked away from the street lights lining the road.

“Fuck me...yeah, from the Cali cartel.” He answers, rubbing his chin with a hand.

“Shit, that can’t be good.” You lowered the camera. The change in the atmosphere around you was instant the moment both of you noticed the persons inside the other car were readying their guns.

“You have your gun with you?” Javi asks, reaching behind him for his own weapon.

“Never leave the house without it.”

“Good. When all hell breaks loose, and it will, I want you to find cover before you do anything else, got it?” You hear the click of the safety from Javi’s gun as you reach for the handle of your door; you can sense the familiar feeling of adrenaline as you ready yourself for what’s to come.

“Yeah, you better do the same.” You don’t get a response from him. In a matter of seconds, the once quiet street turns into a war zone. Gun in hand, you run for cover, ending up behind the wall of a house at the entrance of an alley.

You take a moment to breath and try to pinpoint Javier’s location. You see him poking his head from behind a wall on the opposite side of the street. You sigh, relieved to see that he got himself behind cover in time.

You can’t really do anything. It’s just you and Javier out here, you lacked both the numbers and the firepower. Minutes that felt like hours passed. You take a look at the shooting happening a few meters from your position before hiding again in the dark of the alley as three more cars arrived on the site. One of them coming up from the street you were in, you prayed that they didn’t notice either of you. It was clear that both sides had called for backup.

Fuck, now bullets were flying towards this side as well, it wouldn’t take long for them to start looking for a more solid cover than their cars. You see Javi come to the same realisation as he sends you a worried glance when your eyes meet. You needed back up too.

Neither of you expected something like this to happen, it was just a stakeout; you were horribly unprepared with no vest and only so many bullets. The moment they noticed either of you it was over. There was only one choice, you needed to call Carillo.

There was a phone inside the car. If you were fast enough you could dive inside the back seats of the car and grab the phone, you were certain Carrllo would still be in his office, he never left early. It would take him little to no time to round up a team and get to your position as fast as possible.

You turned to look at Javier after formulating the quick plan in your head and explained it as best as you could with your hands, asking him to cover your back. You watch him shake his head, gesturing with both hands for you to stay put. You know if you do as he wants they’ll find you sooner or later; with your plan, if everything went well, at least you both stood a chance of getting out of this alive and  there was even the possibility of taking some of them into custody.

You put the safety of your gun back on and  tuck it into the back of your pants for the moment. While looking at Javier straight in the eyes you slowly shake your head, watching as he spits out a curse you’re too far away to hear before diving out of your cover to get to the car.

Javier knew the situation would escalate badly for the two of you if they noticed your presence there, he was just holding onto the hope that they would be too engrossed in trying to kill each other for that to happen. He turned his attention away from the wall in front of him to check up on you, only to see the determined expression on your face. He’s seen that one before, you always looked like that before doing something brave, yet incredibly stupid that would no doubt end up endangering you.

What the hell were you thinking!? Javier understood what you were trying to say with your hands, your plan was insane. Yes, having backup would be really helpful, life saving even; but risking your life like that? No, he wouldn’t let you. He answered by very clearly telling you to stay where you were.

He swears his heart leapt out of his chest the moment you disregarded his instruction to stay put, tucking your gun in your pants before breaking into a run for the car. FUCK!

You left him with no choice but to do as you asked, there was no way in hell he was going to leave you even more open than you already were. Hopefully, with all the chaos going around, they wouldn’t notice you or where the bullets from his gun were coming from.

He tried to keep an eye on you while also paying attention to the altercation. The car wasn’t that far from your previous position, but considering the stray bullets raining all round, it was too damn dangerous. He was filing away in his head all the things he would say to you if- no, ONCE both of you were out of this mess. He wouldn’t let himself think of any other outcome, you were going to be fine and you would get out of this, both of you.

What was in reality a few seconds, felt like an eternity to him. You running alone, unprotected, straight into a firefight was a scene he’s only seen in his nightmares, the fact that this was really happening was worse than he had ever imagined.

He stopped breathing for a moment when he saw you stumble a little from the corner of his eye, but when he turned his full attention towards you, you weren’t there and the backdoor of the car was open. He sighed in relief, you made it.

Carrillo got there with backup in record time and these guys were still at it, they had the worst aim he had ever seen, it was laughable that the shooting lasted this long, but damn he was glad to see Carrillo and his men arriving. They blocked the escape routes, effectively cornering them and made quick work of subduing and cuffing any survivors.

He made his way towards you as soon as he was sure he wouldn’t get a bullet for stepping out from his cover, after all he would be of no use to you dead, but Carrillo noticed him first and stopped him halfway there.

You could hear the moment the backup arrived from your place on the floor of the back of the car. You were tired and probably in need of medical attention. You hadn’t felt the pain initially, too preoccupied with your madrun to get to the car and filled with adrenaline to notice. It wasn’t until things had quietened down significantly and the adrenaline began to seep from your body that you had time to assess your injuries and felt the searing hot pain blossoming in your arm and thigh. You weren’t sure if the bullets were still in there, if you had been hit anywhere else and just hadn’t felt the pain yet or how bad the bleeding was.

Slowly, you began to move in order to get out of the car. Hissing in pain when you had to use your leg to crawl to the opposite door, you figured it would be easier to keep moving forward and get out from that side than try to backtrack towards the one you used to get in.

The sudden movement of the door opening caught everyone who was close by off guard, some of the men actually pointed their guns at you.

“Whoa! Easy there, I’m friend no foe.” Scanning the area you spotted Javier with Carrillo, their attention focused on you, it seemed like they had been talking before you made your presence known. Javier walked towards you as the Colonel ordered his men to lower their weapons. “Hey, a little help please?”

He offered you his hand to help you get out of the vehicle. “Easy there, are you hurt?” He looked you up and down  searching for injuries and sure enough, he found them, “Fuck, you’re bleeding. Coronel, pida una ambulancia!” After telling the colonel to call for an ambulance he gently guided you away from the bullet hole ridden car to sit on the flatbed of one of the team’s trucks. 

Javier was uncharacteristically quiet considering the move you pulled off, you were expecting the scolding of your life, but he said nothing. He just hovered around you as the paramedics cleaned and treated your wounds, thankfully they weren’t life threatening, and gave one word answers when they asked him any kind of questions to find out if he was also injured. It was unsettling.

Anger you could deal with, you’ve done so on multiple occasions already used to his fiery personality, but this cold shoulder treatment...the only times he had ever acted like this had been when things got really bad or when he felt responsible for losing someone on the job. He would often shut himself out in situations like that,  but even then you were always able to get through to him and coax him into talking to you. 

Carrillo approached you once the paramedics’ job was done. “Mis hombres se encargaran de los malparidos. Yo los llevo de regreso a la base, necesitaran otro carro para ir a casa.” (My men will take care of the sons of bitches. I’ll take you back to base, you’ll need another car to get home.)

“Gracias por su ayuda Coronel.” You thanked him for the help, seeing as Javier still refused to speak.

“Al contrario, gracias a ti y tu llamada ahora tenemos arrestados no sólo a colaboradores de Escobar, sino también miembros del cartel de Cali.” (On the contrary, thanks to you and your call, we now have arrested not only Escobar’s collaborators, but also members from the Cali cartel.)

Javier went to retrieve any personal belongings from the car before following Carillo back to his truck. The ride back to base didn’t change anything, the three of you travelling in tense silence since Javier still refused to speak. It was a good thing the Colonel was never really a talkative man to begin with otherwise you’re sure he would have felt insulted by Javi’s current mood. 

Once back at base, Javier made quick work of the paperwork needed to take a provisional car while the one previously assigned to him was towed away and replaced. You decided to  put his odd behavior down to the stress of the night's events, thinking maybe that was what had him acting like this and hoping that maybe he would relax on the way home.

No such luck.

The car ride was infernally quiet and Javier’s mood only seemed to worsen by the minute, you could see his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. He pulled up in the building’s garage, killing the engine without so much as turning his head in your direction. You couldn’t take it anymore, the silence was suffocating you.

“Hey, I got a new bottle of whiskey if you wanna grab a drink?” The only answer you got was the sound of the door slamming shut behind him as he got out of the car. At first you thought that was a no, but when you got out he was standing by the car’s trunk waiting for you. 

You made your way through the building to the door of your apartment; the slight limp from the wound on your thigh slowing you down somewhat. It wasn’t serious, the bullet only grazed the outer side of it. Your arm didn’t have the same luck; still, it was nothing time, a few stitches and bandages couldn’t fix, but it still hurt like hell, you’ll be sure to take some pain meds before going to bed. Javier was following behind you. If he ever decided to quit being a DEA agent, you were sure he’d be able make decent cash playing poker with the expressionless face he had going on  at the moment. Well, he would as long as he wore dark sunglasses, otherwise his expressive eyes would probably give him away. 

You opened the door and turned on the lights of the living room. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll get the bottle and the glasses.” You tell him as you toe off your shoes, leaving them in the entrance. You hear the door close and before you can make your way to the kitchen his hand darts up to grab the wrist of your uninjured arm.

“Javier? Wha-”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Oh. So it was time for the scolding, he waited until you were alone for this, shit. Maybe you could play dumb?

“I was thinking about getting a little bit drunk before going to sleep.”

“You know what I mean. Back there, what the fuck were you thinking putting yourself in danger like that?” So, that was a no on the playing dumb thing then.

“Do you have any idea how lucky you were? You had no vest and still you ran headfirst into the open, you could’ve died!” He could feel the grip he had on his emotions slipping, all the fear, all the helplessness he felt the moment he saw you dive out into the rain of bullets rushing back to him.

“But I didn’t.” You knew he was right, it was a dangerous move, but it worked, it got you out of the tight spot. “Listen, I know it was dangerous, but it worked out.”

“So you were aware of how dangerously stupid that was and you still went ahead and did it!?” He let go of your wrist to pass his hand through his hair in exasperation,“To top it off, this isn’t even the first time you’ve pulled something like this, I don’t have enough fingers on my hands to count how many times your dumb luck has saved your ass.”

“Well excuse me for saving our asses back there!” You snap, your composure which you had managed to keep up until this point wavering, “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You think I don’t know about your little endeavours with the other side of this war?” How dare he act as if he’s never put himself in danger, as if he wasn’t playing with fire himself, “How’s Don Berna? When’s your next coffee date?”

His eyes widened in horror and all the blood drained from his face. Any other day this kind of reaction from him would’ve made you laugh, but right now it only gave you a strange sense of satisfaction.

“How do you know about that?” His eyes fixed on yours, both of you locked in a staring match until you’re silent for a little too long and he speaks again, demanding an answer, “Huh? Answer me. How. Do. You. Know. That?”

“I saw you with him.”

“You followed me!? You fucking followed me!?”

“Yes, I did! What did you want me to do!? We were stuck, stressed as fuck, with no new leads and you were acting strange! I was worried!”

“That didn’t give you the right to go and fucking follow me! And that’s beyond the point, that’s different!” Your once tense, but relatively controlled, conversation was now a shouting match. A match that would most likely end with no winner and your friendship on the line, but you’ll be damned if you backed down from this.

“How!? How is it different!? I run once or twice towards some bullets to save our asses and you get to lecture me about it, but I can’t bring up the fact you’re meeting with a sicario, behind both of your partners backs, in your free time!?”

“We’re not talking about me!”

“OH! So YOU can make stupid and dangerous decisions, but I can’t!? And YOU can call ME out on them, but I can’t call YOU out on YOURS!?” Every time you stressed a word you made sure to poke him hard in the chest with your index finger as if you really needed to emphasise your point anymore.

He let out a heavy sigh trying to cool down a little. You had moved at some point during the heat of the argument, both of you trying to get into each other's faces as you yelled back and forth and you were so close to him now that the puff of air lightly ruffled your eyelashes. Deep down he knew you were right, but the night events still hung heavy in his mind. For a moment, he swore you weren’t going to make it, he should’ve known better- should have trusted you, but that didn’t mean he would support every single insane plan you came up with.

“I just-”

“You just what!?” You interrupted him. He was beyond frustrated with this situation. He just had to go and open his fucking mouth. He could have just stayed silent, shared that whiskey with you and drink until he forgot all about this whole stupid situation and then gone to bed.

“I just want you to understand-”

“Understand what!?”

“Goddamnit.” he muttered under his breath.

“Understand what Javier!? Maybe if you stopped stalling and just said what you want to say I would!”

“That I fucking love you!” Shit. He drags the palm of his hand over his face as he contemplates his options, it’s too late to go back now he decides, “I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you!”  

“Well, I love you too!” 

The stunned silence that followed the unexpected confessions was deafening. Neither of you dared to move from your positions, until you saw his eyes flicker from yours to your lips and his tongue poked out to lick his bottom lip.

You don’t know who moved first, but at that point you don’t care. Your lips came together with his in a passionate kiss, all thoughts of your argument forgotten for the moment. You could only think about how good it felt to finally kiss him, you always believed that he would be a good kisser, but this was beyond anything you ever imagined, all your previous fantasies of what kissing your partner would be like fell in comparison to the real deal.

It wasn’t perfect; no, nothing in real life is ever perfect, but at the same time it was everything and more. There was no fight for dominance, it was just a coming together of two people, two people trying to convey with actions what has never been said with words. Months of pent up feelings finally finding release.

His arms were around you, one hand on your lower back and the other behind your head, pulling you ever closer while your own hands held the back of his head, fingers losing themselves between his short locks of hair. You were so drunk on him, you never wanted to stop, unfortunately, oxygen was a necessity. Slowly, you pulled apart from each other, leaving little pecks on his lips as you went. 

“Fuck, we’re a mess.” He said, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Did you mean it?” You ask, finally finding your voice after taking a few deep breaths.

“Every word.” He answered, pulling you into another much slower kiss.

“Good.” You said against his lips the next time you parted. “Because I do too.” You were going to go in for another kiss, but you felt the pull of the stitches on your arm when you tried to bring his head closer, making you flinch in pain.

“You okay?” He asked, noticing the sudden movement.

“Yeah, just...the stitches are bothering me.” You said with a grimace.

“Fuck. I forgot about them.” He slowly detangled himself from you as not to hurt you further. “Let’s sit down on the couch, there’s more light over there, let’s make sure you didn’t reopen the wound.”

“It’s alright, just a bit sore, that’s all.” You gingerly touched the bandage covering the stitches. He called your name, to get your attention back.

“Please. If only for my peace of mind.” With a sigh, you agreed. He left his hand on your lower back, gently guiding you to your couch. He began to remove the tape that kept the gauze in place over the stitches as carefully as he could manage. “Thank you, your plan really did save us.” You stared at him in surprise, you weren't expecting that. “But you really need to be more careful. Do you have any idea how I felt when you just ran out?”

You shook your head.

“I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest, I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

“You’re not THAT old.”

“Excuse you, I’m not old at all.” His eyebrows raise at your words and there’s a look of mock offense written across his features.

“That’s not what your cracking back says.”

“If we didn’t spend so much time behind a desk my back wouldn’t sound like fireworks going off every time I stretch.” Your eyes found each other for a moment before both of you ended up laughing. “No, but seriously. I don’t know What I would’ve done if anything had happened to you. Please, don’t risk yourself like that, don’t go where I can’t follow.”

“You know I can’t promise something like that...but I’ll try.”

“I can work with that.” He focused back on removing the tape without further upsetting the wound.

“I’ll be more careful, but in return, I want you to do everything you can to cut all ties with Don Berna. I don’t care how much information he gave you or keeps giving you, it’s not worth it if you’re going to end up in the middle of both sides.”

He took a deep breath before letting the air out. “I am trying, but it’s a delicate subject, I need to watch my steps. I reached out to him on a whim, and even if I got some good stuff from him, I’m not stupid, sooner or later he’ll cash in the favor.”

“Be careful, please.” He nodded.

Once the tape was out of the way, he looked at your stitches without touching the skin around them, not wanting to cause any kind of infection, once he saw that none of them needed to be redone, he covered them again.

“Alright, all’s good, let’s get you to bed.” Your eyes widened at his words.

“Javier, not today, I’m tired and my leg hurts and-” You’re cut off by his chuckle.

“To sleep. Jesus, get your head out of the gutter. Go get ready, I’ll bring you some pain killers and a glass of water. Whiskey’s not going anywhere, we can have it another day, you need to rest.”

When he came into your room you were already in your pajamas, taking your pants off had been tricky but you managed it without disturbing your wounds too much. He hands you two pills and a glass of water, you thanked him before swallowing the pills with some water. Leaving the glass on your nightstand, you make yourself comfortable in your bed.

“Well, I’ll umm...I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nods his head in your direction before turning to leave.

“Javi, wait.” You call before he reaches the door. He looks back at you over his shoulder, “Could you stay?”

His eyes widened in surprise before answering “Of course, sweetheart.” He’s quiet as he takes off his shirt, shoes, socks and moves to climb under the covers.

“Do you sleep in jeans? Isn’t that uncomfortable?” he freezes in place, one knee on the bed and one hand lifting the corner of the thin sheets covering the bed.

“No, I- I usually sleep in boxers.” he lowers his gaze to the bed, “I just don’t have any with me right now.”

There’s a moment of silence as you process his words before you burst into laughter.

“You- you mean- you’re not-” you try to talk in the middle of your laughing fit, but only manage to get a few words out.

“Yeah, I’m not wearing any underwear,” you swear he almost looks embarrassed “get over it.” he mutters.

“Sorry, I just-”you try to calm down, but can’t help the giggles that still escape your lips. “What, did you have plans for after the stakeout?” The question came out jokingly; maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to ask after what happened in your foyer, but deep down you wanted to know. You trusted him in any other way, could you also trust him completely with your heart?

“No.” He looks you in the eye and you notice that he understood the double meaning of your question. “I don’t do that anymore, for some time now. ”

“Oh.”

Once he settles, you reach over to the nightstand turning off the small lamp that sits there. You can’t see Javi in the darkness of the room, but you know there’s still something playing on his mind from the way you feel him fidget beside you. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, reaching out for him across the small distance that separates the two of you. Your hand finds his shoulder and you run your fingers up and down his arm, enjoying the way he relaxes under the touch. 

“It’s nothing, go to sleep.” 

“Javier.” You warn, much too tired to argue but determined not to sleep until you get to the bottom of whatever's bothering him.

“I’m still thinking about what happened earlier...loving you can be quite dangerous.” Javier sighs, “You know that, don’t you?”

“It’s just as dangerous as loving you.”

“What a pair we make huh?” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Your voice is laced with exhaustion and you shuffle closer to him, nestling your head under his chin and wrapping an arm around his body, “We’ll be fine.” 

He hums in agreement, his arm hovering over you but not quite touching.

“You can touch me you know?” You say with amusement.

“Your arm- I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t. I promise.” You smile, pecking a kiss against the first patch of skin you can reach.

He lowers his arm tentatively, wrapping it around you and pulling you closer to him.

“Goodnight.” You mumble against his chest, sleep already beginning to pull you under.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He whispers into your hair, listening to the way your breathing has evened out. Sleep has never come easily to Javier, but that night for the first time in months, it does.

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@oloreaa @16boyfriends-and-me​ @ilikechocolatemilkh​ @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans​

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Seis Dias - Prologue & Chapter One (Frankie Morales x OFC - Triple Frontier meets Six Days Seven Nights)

I watched Triple Frontier and Six Days Seven Nights in the same day awhile ago and... this happened over the weekend lol

It was a lot of fun to write and I hope y'all enjoy it too!

Notes - my Spanish is a work in progress, if there are any mistakes they are mine. Rating is lower than usual for me (T - on Ao3) but I have an idea for a bonus chapter at the end that would bump that up. Canon typical violence and language.

~~~~~ Summary~~~~~

A well known photographer on vacation with her new fiance just got called in on a once in a lifetime, last minute job for one of her biggest customers. Promising her fiance that it'll be a quick 2-3 day trip from the south american resort they're staying at to the job and back. With an overnight bag, her camera and a bribe for the... quirky pilot that flew them to the remote vacation spot, she takes off to the shoot.

A storm rolls in while they're in the air and the quick trip takes a dangerous turn.

Forced to land in the middle of the night when lightning strikes their plane the pair find themselves in the middle of the South American jungle with a wrecked plane and no way to get help and no way out of the jungle but to work together.

They survived the crash but that's the least of their concerns, the jungle has more than one danger lurking in its shadows.

~~~~~~ Prologue`~~~~~

Joanna was grateful to be out of the slush and snow but her annoyance with the February weather soon turned to annoyance towards the crowd of people in the lobby which she had found her shelter in. She shoved and excused her way through the frigid New Yorkers to the front desk, "Hi, I'm here for an appointment with," She was cut off by someone knocking into her camera bag, causing her to sway on her feet and clutch at the strap to keep it from slipping, "Excuse you. Anyway, Robin Monroe? Can you let her know I'm here"

"Floor seven, elevator bank is to your right." The receptionist had no clue that Jo had been here a dozen times already this month. She only glanced up to point to the general direction of the elevators as she reached for the phone receiver.

"Thank you." Joanna squeezed through the gap in the crowd and made a beeline for an elevator just opening. Her and the other elevator riders stood in silence, slowly filtering on and off as the floor numbers climbed. At the seventh floor Joanna took her leave and soon heaved in a deep breath at the wonderfully empty foyer of Ms. Monroe's publication office.

Making her way through the desks and design tables Joanna waved and greeted the familiar faces until she came face to face with a photo shoot set up in complete chaos. Backdrops set in disarray, layout mock ups scattered on the floor, makeup and hair assistants scurrying back and forth and in the center of it all Robin trying to direct the melee. "So... how's your day going so far?"

Monroe turned around in a snap and visibly sagged "Oh Joanna, you'll never believe!" She fell into the long and winding story of how the talent for this particular shoot had fell through and now everything, absolutely everything, was a disaster.

Joanna took a deep breath, situated her camera bag on her shoulder and pulled out her phone to shoot her boyfriend a quick text that she would probably be late getting home tonight.

Later when everything had calmed down and the shoot was completed, a success as far as Jo was concerned, Robin walked her to the foyer where one of the assistants met them with a huge bouquet of flowers. "These came awhile ago for Jo." The young girl informed them, giddy to see what the card said. "They're from Kyle," She grinned and bounced on the balls of her feet while Robin inspected the exotic flower arrangement.

Jo read aloud, "A surprise after a long day, love you, Kyle." She flipped the note over to find a reservation card for one of her favorite restaurants.

~~~

"Fancy flowers, fancy restaurant, what's going on?" Joanna teased as the hostess guided them to their table.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Don't ask questions, it'll ruin the surprise."

Kyle was a handsome young man, tall and lean, blonde close cropped and perfectly styled hair, bright blue eyes and a worked as a shockingly successful stock trader for someone his age. He and Joanna made a striking couple and they both knew it. Especially Kyle.

Once they were seated and had placed their drink orders Jo pressed again, "Ok, you know I'm not a patient woman Kyle. What's up."

"Okay fine," he chuckled as he reached for the inside pocket of his suit jacket, "Close your eyes."

Jo balked slightly but at his insistent stare, did as he asked. When she was finally allowed to open them she gasped.

"Two weeks from now, you, me and six days, seven nights in paradise." Kyle swiped through pictures of an out of this world, boutique, trendy, South American beach resort."

"Oh my God." She watched as he swiped through the promotional photos; lit, edited and laid out in such a way that she could nearly feel the sand under her toes and the sun on her skin. When he put his phone away she turned to face him, "Kyle, you're not serious! That looks amazing! Are we really going?"

"We're really going. You always say you miss travelling and that I need to take more time off so... tada!" He said with pride and matter-of-factness that was his trade mark. "Are you excited baby?"

"So excited." Jo leaned in to give him a kiss and mentally begin counting the hours.

---

Day One

When they landed in Bogota Joanna swore that she felt a weight lift and her mind clear. All she could think of was being able to enjoy herself, truly, for the first time in a long time. She reached out and grabbed Kyle by the back of his shirt, "Wrong way." As he turned outside the terminal towards security and away from where they needed to go, to collect their luggage and then towards the charters.

"What?"

"Seguridad." she laughed and pointed at the sign he was about to walk under, "We want maletas, and then we have to find the charters, she pointed in the opposite direction. "This way."

Without saying anything he trailed along as she led the way, following the signs, correctly this time. Eventually they found themselves walking thorough the doors and onto a paved tarmac where two men where leaning against a small plane chatting and laughing.

"Disculpe me,"

Jo approached them and Kyle muttered under his breath."I always forget you can actually speak Spanish."

Joanna ignored him. The two men by the plane glanced up as Joanna continued, "Ayudame, por favor? Estamos buscando por..." she paused to pull up the name of the charter service, "Aire Tropical?"

The two men stood up a little straighter, the taller, scruffier of the two cocked his head as he looked her and Kyle over. "Well you found it." He said in a very American accent. He was tall and broad, his arms bulged slightly through the sleeves of his button down shirt. His jeans were faded and worn, so were the cowboy boots on his feet and the Standard Oil cap on his head. He slapped the other man on the back and then stepped up to Kyle and Joanna. "Franciso Morales." He extended his hand to Kyle and then Joanna, "Mucho gusto."

"Mucho gusto," She offered a small smile and was glad to see it returned.

"So you're the pilot?" Kyle asked, incredulous.

Franciso pulled his worn out cap off his head, ran his hand through his shaggy hair and placed it down again, "Umm, yeah."

"And you're American?"

The other man scoffed, short and silent, "Yeah, for the most part anyway. If you're ready to go, I am." He glanced over his shoulder to the plane.

"Great," Kyle interjected before Jo got the chance, "Could you grab the bags?"

Franciso looked to Kyle, his head cocking to the side again as he chewed thoughtfully on a piece of gum.

Joanna cringed, worried Kyle had offended their only ride to paradise.

His eyes jumped from Kyle to Jo and then back. When he smirked it was not in the pleasant friendly way it had been when they shook hands. "You bet."

After the pilot, Francisco, had grabbed their bags and took them to the plane Kyle pulled her aside. "I'm not sure how I feel about this hillbilly flying us anywhere."

Jo smacked his chest with the back of her hand, "Kyle." She glanced towards the pilot to see if he had heard, "He works for the resort. It's fine."

A shrill whistle interrupted them. "Angelica, vamanos!"

A leggy woman with perky breasts and a big smile came bouncing out of the charter hangar. 'Coming!" She giggled as she joined their little group, "Hello!" Her accent was thick and not from South America but Jo couldn't place it. "You must be the couple coming to the resort. I'm Angelica, I work their and I promise you are going to love it!"

For a brief moment Jo doubted that was true, but beside her Kyle was nodding enthusiastically.

~~~

The flight went perfectly well and Jo couldn't stop leaning to look out the small window at the jungle as it passed by beneath them in a blur of green and random villages on their way to the remote section of coast where the resort resided. At some point Francisco must have noticed her excessive staring, "Este es la tierra de los dios, no?'

Jo glanced back at him, seeing him watching her over the rims of his dark aviators and under the bill of his cap. She couldn't help but smile, "Verdad. Es... es increible. No tengo los palabras."

Francisco nodded. "Verdad." He smiled and turned back to the windscreen. everyone remained silent the rest of the flight.

~~~

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God." It was all Joanna could say upon setting eyes on the bungalow that would be theirs for the next week. The beach under her feet, the sea in front of her, jungle behind her and a bright blue sky above her. She was in paradise. Truly.

"I know right." Kyle dropped the bags by the door and joined her outside. "It's perfect." He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the top of her head as she leaned back into him. "This is perfect."

~~~

The first thing Joanna did was put on her bikini and a pair of shorts, grabbed her camera, and headed for the beach. For a change it wasn't model wannabes, actor hopefuls, suburban families or Instagram influencers in front of her lens. She couldn't remember the last time she had taken pictures just for the enjoyment of it. It was the most amazing feeling. Without even thinking about it she spent the whole afternoon wandering the beach and the resort snapping pictures. The ocean, the jungle, the mountains, young couples playing in the surf and lovers cuddled in the shade.

Joanna hadn't realized how late it was until she came back to the bungalow to find Kyle dressed for dinner in pastel shorts and a linen shirt. "Was beginning to wonder if you got lost or something. Got out of the shouer and you were gone."

"Sorry." She shrugged out of her camera strap, "Wanna see what I found?" Jo clicked some buttons on her camera and turned it so Kyle could see the screen.

"I made reservations at the restaurant for us tonight. Why don't you go get ready."

~~~

Dinner had been amazing and when the restaurant served drinks and desert a band had started playing. Couples all around them were attempting their best Tangos or Cumbias but Joanna was worried about Kyle. He had been off ever since Bogota and she worried her wandering off hadn't helped matters.

Just when she was about to ask him he took a sip of his cocktail and cleared his throat. "Joanna." He leaned forward, "Do you know what tonight is?" He took her blank stare as a no, "This is our anniversary. Well unofficially at least, it's the anniversary of the day we first met. Three years ago."

Realization hit her, "Oh, the cab! We fought over a cab and I called you an asshole." She chuckled.

"It's okay, it was worth it. All part of the journey." He stared at her, clear blue eyes glinting in the candles and tiki torches.

Joanna smiled, unsure of what to say. Instead she just stared at his handsome face. Then out of nowhere he was kneeling in front of her, staring at her, his hand reaching into his pocket as the diners around them all collectively began to notice, and look their way.

"Joanna..." He looked as if he was considering his words carefully, hoping to be long and eloquent but found nothing, "Will you marry me?"

Awestruck Jo blinked at him, heart in her throat and forgetting to breath. Now she was the one at a loss for words. So, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him while the rest of the diners applauded and cheered.

---

Chapter Two/Day Two - Read Here!

[mikeisthricedeceased]

You’re My Home

Catfish x OC

Part 1: Winds Change

Word Count: ~1.9k

Part 2  Part 3

A/N: This is an idea I’ve had for a bit, and it’s been a little easier to actually type out than the Mando fic I’ve been working on. It’s probably because I’m planning for this to be some sappy, smutty fun while the Mando fic is a bit more involved.

Edit: replaced some Spanish lines because I’m nowhere near fluent and have no way of knowing how well they actually translate

Summary: Frankie has had a rough year since the whole heist shit show. It’s been one bad thing after another, leaving him all alone in a dingy apartment and steadily slipping back into old habits. He’s more than a little surprised when a pretty stranger approaches him at a bar and coaxes him into having an actual conversation. Nita guides him into a whole new world that might be just what he needs.

(The last sentence of the summary is more of a hint to the series as a whole.)

~*~*~*~

Frankie sat alone at the bar, nursing his third beer of the night. He could’ve been drinking at his place for cheaper, but the empty apartment just served as a reminder of how alone he’d become in the past year. He’d been able to meet up with the guys a few times since the divorce, but they all had lives. Pope was always traveling to see Yovanna. Will and Benny had each other, even with how often they butted heads. He just had himself, and the few days that he got to spend with little Isabella. He and his ex technically had shared custody, but she kept their daughter most days, afraid of what could happen since he clearly still clung to old habits. He couldn’t really fault her for that, as much as it tore him apart.

He was trying. He really was. But, with all that had happened, it was just so easy to find himself sliding back into shit. And going out to drink on his own so he wouldn’t have to sit in an empty apartment where most of the boxes still sat unpacked because it wasn’t home didn’t come close to his worst night, but fuck, was it sad.

He pulled his hat off and dropped it onto the bar top, running his fingers through his too-long hair. He knew he looked just as much the mess that he felt.

~*~*~*~

“Oh, Boss.”

Nita raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking across the table. “Oh, Ryan,” she said, mimicking his sing-song tone.

He smirked, gesturing toward the bar. “You’re staring.”

“And?” she asked.

He scrunched his nose. “Little rough around the edges, don’t you think?”

Tiff nudged him with an elbow. “Careful, bucko, she’s paying for our drinks.”

Nita leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with a small smile. “You should listen to her, pretty boy. You wanna insult my taste, you can buy your own shots.”

He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just trying to bring you back to the table.”

She hummed, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Honest,” he insisted, a grin breaking through.

“You couldn’t kiss ass to save your life, could you?”

Tiff snorted at that and Ryan sighed, clasping his hands behind his head.

“I wouldn’t have the job you gave me if I could, Boss,” he said, giving a quick wink.

Nita rolled her eyes. “Switches exist. You can just go ask Jorge or Monique,” she waved a hand toward the small group of their coworkers on the dance floor. “At least they don’t insult their employer.” She jabbed a finger at him “And fair warning, I am wearing a belt that I’m not afraid to use.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

She slid off of her chair, straightening her shirt before grabbing her glass.

“Where are you going?” asked Tiff.

Nita held up what was left of her bushwacker. “Grabbing another one of these,” she said. A quick glance at the figure at the bar and she smiled back at Tiff. “And testing my luck.”

~*~*~*~

She appeared next to him, a hand on the back of the stool beside him.

“Hey, is it okay if I sit here?”

He looked over at her. A soft smile and warm eyes greeted him. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he told her, looking back down at his beer.

“Thanks.”

She set an almost empty glass on the bar and slid onto the seat.

The bartender came over immediately, a broad smile on his face. “Hey, boss. Need another one?” He tapped near her glass.

She nodded and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “And I think los idiotas in the back need another round, if you don’t mind.”

He pointed to her and grinned. “Claro.”

“Gracias, señor.”

Frankie glanced over at the woman beside him as she rested her elbows on the bar and looked up at the lone tv on the wall.

Her eyes flicked to him and he had the decency to feel embarrassed about being caught, face warming.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat a bit, offering a polite, if awkward, smile.

“Hi,” she said softly, gaze now fixed on him.

He sat up a little and met her eyes. “Hey.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. “I’m sorry if this is too forward, but I really just came over here to talk to you,” she told him, lips pulling into a small smile.

His brows shot up. “Oh.”

The bartender breezed past, smoothly placing a new bushwacker in front of Nita before lifting a tray laden with tequila shots and small bowls of lime wedges.

“Just ‘oh’?” she asked, eyes alive with amusement.

Frankie found himself smiling back at her, even as he looked down sheepishly. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting that.”

She shrugged, stirring the chocolate syrup in her drink around. “I do like being unpredictable sometimes. Keeps things fun.”

He turned toward her a little more. “Does it? Probably makes planning a little hard.”

She wagged a finger. “That’s why I said sometimes. I have responsibilities that require forethought on occasion.”

“Like owning a bar?” he asked, gesturing around them.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t, actually. This just happens to be one of my go-to places to bring out-of-towners and colleagues who want to get tipsy on my dime. Lorenzo there has seen me drag a few of my friends outside with the help of a bouncer,” she said, grinning at the bartender.

“¿Los idiotas?” Frankie asked, nodding to the group in the back.

Nita smiled into her drink. “A few of them, yeah.” She took a sip and set the glass down, turning in her seat a bit to look at them. “I’ll probably be doing that again tonight.”

“Someone has to make sure everyone gets home alright,” he reasoned.

She nodded in agreement, focusing back on him. “It’s honest work.”

He almost wanted her to stop looking at him like that. So warm, so inviting. It didn’t feel like the sort of thing that should be happening to him, especially with how life had been treating him recently. He couldn’t believe that he was actually managing to hold a conversation either. He’d been communicating almost exclusively through grunts and monosyllabic words for the past few months.

But, sitting there with her eyes on him, it just made the words a little easier.

“So, what do you do, if you don’t own a bar?” he asked before taking a sip of his beer.

She shifted, eyes sliding to her friends in the back again. “I own a few clubs. One of them is local, that’s where all of them work. There are a few more spread out across the States. I also have a business with an old friend of mine in New York.”

He nodded, eyes dancing over her face as she spoke. “A pretty successful business woman, then?”

She smiled. “Something like that. Being your own boss has its pros and cons.” She lightly bumped his arm with the back of her hand. “What about you?”

It felt like his chest was going to burst with that small touch. It finally clicked that this woman was really, honest to God flirting with him, and he might’ve been losing his mind about it.

“I’m a pilot. Been working some odd jobs recently, though, waiting for my recertification to go through.” He tried not to wince as he thought about it. “Some old buddies of mine have an MMA gig that I help out with sometimes. Adds a little bit of excitement to my weeknights.”

“Sounds like it would,” she said, a hint of a laugh in her voice. “They have some amateur kickboxing tournaments at the gym my business partner’s husband works at. Always a fun time.” She swirled the straw in her drink absently. “Do you fly commercially?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. Mostly private stuff. Helicopter tours or cargo transport.” 

“Ah, a chopper guy,” she said, pressing her lips together to hide a grin as she nodded.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “What? Do I seem like the kind of guy who wears a suit everyday?”

She bit the inside of her cheek lightly and ran a finger through the condensation on her glass. “You just seem like the kind of guy who’d look really good in one,” she said, tilting her head at him.

He blinked at her, mind going a little blank. He looked down, grinning like an idiot as he picked at the label on his beer. “I don’t— I don’t know about that.”

She waved a hand, her broad smile making his face hot. “Oh, you’d probably look great in all kinds of stuff. Gotta love a uniform.” She studied him as she lifted her drink. “You’d make a good cowboy, too.”

He let out a surprised laugh, a little louder than he’d meant to. “A cowboy?”

She sipped her drink, humming affirmatively, and gestured at his head as she narrowed her eyes. “I’m picturing the hat. It works for you.”

They just laughed for a moment, gazing at each other. At some point in the conversation, they’d both fully turned, each of them resting a single elbow on the bar as they faced one another.

Frankie sighed, lips still turned up in a smirk. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. In the meantime,” he grabbed his old ball cap off the bar and slipped it on, “I think I’ll stick with this.”

“That’s a good look, too,” she said, smiling softly with her chin in her palm.

“You think so?”

“It’s definitely working for me.”

He bit his lip. “Y’know, I feel like an ass, sitting here and getting compliments from a beautiful woman without coming up with a way to return them that won’t embarrass the shit out of me.”

She dropped the hand she’d been leaning on, letting the tips of her fingers brush where his elbow rested on the bar. “I think that one was pretty good.”

It took everything in him not to look down at her hand. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A hand appeared at her shoulder and they both turned to face the newcomer.

Tiff looked between them apologetically. “Sorry,” she said before directing a frown at Nita. “Matt’s had about six too many shots and he’s gonna break his neck trying to backflip off the stage.”

Nita gave a long-suffering sigh, pinching the space between her brows. “And that means that Ryan is two shots behind him and everyone needs to be taken home before more chaos starts.” She shook her head and set her glass back on the bar, gaze lingering on the clear condensation ring it had left on her jeans. “I’ll be back there in a second.”

Tiff scurried off and Nita met Frankie’s eyes again.

She offered a half-hearted shrug. “Idiotas.”

He chuckled softly, hoping that she couldn’t tell just how disappointed he was to see her go.

Her gaze shifted to something over his shoulder. “Lorenzo! Do you have a pen?” she called, making a writing gesture in the air.

Frankie could only watch as she thanked the bartender for the pen and pulled her wallet out of her back pocket.

“All I have are business cards,” she told him, biting her lip sheepishly. She slipped one out of her wallet and started writing across the back. Then, she was handing it to him. “This is my cell number. And I don’t think I ever got your name.”

He took the card in a daze. “It’s Frankie,” he said softly.

“Nita,” she said, gesturing to herself with one hand as she returned her wallet with the other. “Maybe we can do this again sometime, Frankie. Sin los idiotas.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

She offered him one last breathtaking smile. “Have a good night.”

“Night. And good luck with the carpool,” he said as she started walking away.

He heard her laugh.

He turned to face the bar again, a smile plastered across his face.

A few moments later, he saw some of her group walk out the door. A few stumbled. The woman who had brought an end to their conversation stopped to talk to the bartender before moving to hold the door open. Then, Nita was half-carrying, half-dragging a chattering man out of the bar, a bouncer following close behind.

Frankie chuckled to himself, shaking his head. It was probably time for him to head out, too. The beer in his hand was beyond lukewarm and it wasn’t going to help him feel any better than he already did.

He waved down the bartender as he reached for his own wallet, carefully tucking Nita’s business card away before thumbing through his cash.

“How much?” he asked.

Lorenzo shook his head, holding up a hand. “You’re covered.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Boss took care of it,” said the bartender, nodding to the door and offering him a shrug.

“Oh.” Frankie let that process as he slowly put his wallet away. “Gracias, señor.”

He felt a little light-headed as he made his way out of the bar. So much had happened so quickly. He’d started the night determined to wallow in self pity, only to end it with a warm feeling in his chest and the promise of a date in the near future.

~*~*~*~

If anyone wants to be tagged, send me a message and I’ll add you!

Taglist: @zeldasayer @tarrevizslas

~ Mike

[lunaschild2016]

Belief - Part 3 (Edit)

Rating: M

Devi is Dauntless. Through blood sweat and tears she made a place for herself three years ago when she left her life in Amity behind. Not once in that three years has Eric Coulter even deigned to look her way. Not until that night. Now she has nothing but his attention. Eric/OC AU [Smut, Language, Romance]

Part 3

 I decided that I'm not going to eat the food Eric pushed on me. After he left I felt furious at how presumptuous he had been and that pushed aside any pleasant feelings I had when I opened the bag to peek inside.

I'm angry at my reaction to him.

I'm still furious at Four for letting Rain go.

My head is killing me and I'm completely exhausted.

I'm just pissed and grumpy in general. I walk out of that room still clutching the bag tightly and fully intend to toss it in the trash then start back to work.

As soon as I get to the waiting room I see that most of it cleared out and that Kari is rushing towards me with wide eyes. They're darting between me, the bag, and then the cameras.

I grumble under my breath, already knowing what's coming. "What did he say to you?"

It's not Kari who answers her but Devon, the other aid on staff. "He said that if you didn't do what he said he would hold the two of us responsible. That he would be more than happy to arrange for an extended visit for one or both of us at the fence."

Kari is pale and shaking, confirming that everything Devon said is true. My fury explodes and I start muttering in a combination of English and Spanish. Mainly curse words.

I refuse to give in! I know there is no way he's going to get away with taking away the staff we need here at the clinic. I push past Devon and go to throw the bag in the trash but he stops me by pulling my arm back and scowling at me.

"Fine! If you're so dead set on seeing one of us being sent to the fence, at least I can see what the mighty Eric brought to you. Better yet, I'll just eat it myself and then I can say I was treated to something by the man that never does anything for anyone other than himself."

He goes to actually grab the bag but this makes me snap and I punch him the gut before clasping the bag, the one I was about to toss just seconds ago, close to my chest. "Culo! No one is touching this!"

He smirked through holding his stomach. "Told you." He said looking back at Kari.

"Told who what?" I snapped.

Kari shakes her head and raises her hands while still shooting glances at the camera. "Seriously though, could you just go eat, Devi? Go to the office and we can handle things while you are gone. You know you get all grouchy when you haven't eaten anyway."

I narrow my eyes but went ahead to the office. Kari isn't wrong and I can become a complete bitch when I haven't eaten. Today it is so much worse because I'm also hungover and tired as hell. I slam the office door and fling myself in the chair after tossing the bag on the desk. It doesn't take me long to give in to the temptation of the smells and the urgings of my growling stomach.

I tear into the bag then lunch eagerly.

It isn't just the sandwich, but also a bag of cheese crisps, a cake brownie, and then one of the whole dill pickles that are shipped in from Amity.

It’s all perfect food to fill me up and soak up the alcohol that I'm sure is still running through my system. For that reason, and that reason alone, I decided not to feel guilty about taking my time eating every bit of lunch.  There is also paperwork and charts that needed to be completed or filed, so I took this time to get that all done since I was already in the office.

In between bites, I worked happily and with the occasional hum of pleasure.

I hate the fact that my mood started to improve as I went along. When I emerged from the office I felt loads better but wasn't about to comment on it. The first time Devon cast a knowing smirk at me I sent him a glare that shut him up very quickly and sent him hustling to get the areas that needed it cleaned up.

The rest of the day was spent catching up with normal things.

Members or dependents that needed to be seen for one thing or another, but couldn't during the week, they always come in during the weekend for appointments. That makes my morning packed with those visits on top of anyone that might come in that hasn’t been scheduled. 

Things calm down eventually, but we still have to push people we didn't get to during the day to be seen tomorrow. Which means another of my days off will be spent in the clinic.

Shauna finally comes in to relieve me for the evening shift but I stay to help clean things up and go over the charts of the unlucky few that have an overnight stay with us ahead of them. She chatters the entire time.

What Tori said about Dauntless and gossip is completely true. The 'head bitch', although she herself would never be considered a bitch, in the gossip food chain is none other than my friend and co-worker. Her information is usually on point and reliable. She can usually call or predict something before it ever becomes official.

Part of that has to be because her fiancé and his brother are both working in Intel or work closely with leadership. Tonight she's going on about what had happened in the faction so far and the big story going on is about the brawl.

Turns out the former champ at Big Shots, Razor, did sort of throw the fight. He was wasted out of his mind and nowhere near the condition to handle the level of fights he was scheduled to face that night. The brawl happened when the refs, manager, and judges all made the decision that the wins were void and the fights would be scheduled for another night.

The people that won big were livid. The ones that were all for the rematches got pissed when the other group started calling them, and the champ, out for cheating in some way. Honestly, it sounded like even if he won there would have been an explosion of some kind. We’re all fighters after all, and it doesn't take much for us to want to get in on the action too.

In the middle of cleaning a room together, Shauna stops and looks over at me with a frown.

"Hey, you really should take off and get some sleep. You had a long night from what I heard and it isn't going to get better for you tomorrow."

I snapped up from making the bed and whip around to look at her. "What the hell does that mean?"

I already have dread running through me, and when she shrugs with a knowing smile, I know. I just know.

"Something I heard but I'm not supposed to talk about. I can tell you that tomorrow will probably be a long day for you."

If Tori and Shauna could be put side by side, at least the Tori from this morning and Shauna right now, their tones and smiles would be a complete imitation of the other.

"You can't say? Why?" I pop my hip out and my hand goes on it.

I might be tiny but I can be fierce if you piss me off enough and I'm right there at the edge with the only thing in my line of sight being Shauna. Friend or not it's tempting. I guess she recognizes this look enough and the smile drops.

"Look, I want to tell. I had every intention of telling you, actually. That's why he ordered me not too when he saw I was listening in to his conversation with Uri at lunch."

I don't even need to ask who gave that order. Her expression matches the one Kari had from earlier.

"Hijo de puta! Esto es un montón de mierda de caballo. Durante tres años, apenas sabe que existo, ¿pero ahora decide que merezco otra mirada?" I fume and stomp my foot in a huff.

I jerk around and finish making the bed.

"Sorry," Shauna says softly from the other side of the room. I wave that off and shake my head.

"Not your fault," I mutter with a sigh.

When the bed is made we make our way out of the room and she looks to me as I am gathering my things from the office.

"I don't think he didn't see you all those years, Devi." She calls to me softly as I was walking out of the room. "I don't know for sure, but sometimes I thought I caught him watching you. It's hard to know with Eric though."

I sigh wearily and smile back at her. "I'll see you in the morning. Thanks for the heads up."

I head home and grab something to eat after I take a much-needed bath. My roommate and friend Sadie apologized profusely for the night before.

It turns out they were there with me all along but when they tried to approach Eric when he was taking me from the pit, he turned his famous glare on them, warning them away. They hadn't dared to try and stop him after that. I would have told her off for not even trying, but it isn't worth my energy. I know all that would have done is get them on Eric's shit list.

By the time I finally crawl into bed I've gone into denial mode and coming up with anything that could be causing Eric's behavior besides what my body is telling me it might be.

This was all just an amusing distraction for him. Sadie told me what happened and how Four also tried to get me away from Eric. This is his way to get back at Four after he tried to keep me from Eric in the Pit. Eric knew it would be a button he could push on Four and had done that.

Come tomorrow he'll be bored of it and move on to some other much more willing victim.

He doesn't really have any interest in me and I refuse to let myself feel any kind of hurt about that realization.

Tomorrow I'll wake up, go to work, and then go out with my girls.

Maybe I'll even take Ash up on that offer to hang out. I could use a pick me up.

I go to sleep feeling more confident and with a smile on my face.

But there is the faint thought that if there is real interest, Eric is about to get another wound to that overinflated ego of his.

             **********************************************************

The morning dawns once again, and way too soon for my liking.

Over my morning coffee, I send off a few texts to make plans for that night.

Sadie, Vera, and AJ are all willing. Even Lynn said she could be counted in for a few drinks and dancing. I also send one to Ash telling him where I would be for the night. If he wants to stop by, have a few drinks and maybe dance he's more than welcome too.

Ash is someone I see from time to time.

He works patrols and has a rotating schedule where he's out of the compound for two weeks before coming back for two.

We've never tried for anything serious between us for various reasons. Some of it’s because of our schedules and dedication to our jobs, but that isn't all of it. We are honestly more just friends with the occasional side of benefits. We don't always hook up when we hang out though.

It's just nice to have someone to cuddle or dance with, without them being a total creep. Just someone to have fun with, be myself, and not worry about either of us wanting more than we are capable of providing.

I don't expect him to be up to reply right away, neither of us expects the other to drop whatever we might be doing just because we call, but he does and he happily agrees to meet me for the night. It will be his last night to out before he goes back on rotation.

There is a pep in my step as I head out to work. I even stop by the combination deli and bakery to pick up some treats for me and the others.

I have to be careful how often I do this, but I've never been one to try and deny myself just because of what someone else thinks will be bad for me.

It's nice to be able to get things like muffins, cake or other baked goods again now that I don't have to worry about them being dosed with peace serum. It took a while for me to be able to eat anything even remotely close to bread once I got to Dauntless. They don't talk about what happens to the people that have been living on that mierda.

On the day of my choosing ceremony, my family made a big breakfast for me. I didn't give it a thought when I was eating my fill of sweetbreads right along with the fruit they had that morning. They were both normal things for our meals, and we had sweetbreads at least a few times a week. Mi Abuela loved to bake and garden. Those had been her pleasures, so there was always something for us to eat from that.

I've always wondered if they knew what would happen to me that first week of being in Dauntless.

I wondered if my family had known, as I loaded up on the bread, that once I left there I would suffer. Did they know I would go through something called withdrawal? Did they think it was only right that I go through hell for betraying them and leaving?

I don't want to believe that they would do that to someone they loved, but I have my doubts about their love because of that suffering. Someone had to know that living for so long on a drug-induced set of false feelings would throw me off so badly. Someone had to know that I would struggle with trying to deal with all of the feelings that I had never been allowed to deal with on my own before.

Initiation would have been hell on anyone but a girl with my physicality coming from Amity made it a certainty. Adding that I had the emotional stability of a pubescent teen and it just amplified that.

It took me almost an entire year before I would even touch something with bread in it at all.

Have I mentioned how much I love bread and sweets?

That by itself was enough to make me completely moody, especially when all around me the Dauntless cake was taunting me. I may have punched someone once when they seemed to take pleasure in teasing me while they slowly ate their cake across from me at dinner once.

Uriah Pedrad still won't eat cake if I'm around.

Keri and Devon fall on the donuts and muffins once I make it into the office. This is where we gather every morning to be debriefed by the night staff on everything that happened during the night and the status of anyone staying.

It's another busy day for me. All the appointments or people that got turned away and told to come back yesterday are expected today. Some of the ones leftover from the mess the brawl created came back during the night, so thankfully most of that mess was taken care of by the night crew. There are a few walk-ins with cuts or broken bones but none of the crap that I was seeing yesterday morning.

Overall, while work does keep me busy, I'm still holding onto the good mood I woke up in. It's looking like I'm going to get out earlier than I expected, and since this is supposed to be my day off anyway, it just improves my mood even more.

So much so that I almost forget about yesterday completely.

I mean, I've only daydreamed about that kiss and Eric a few times today, so I think I'm doing pretty good.

The last appointment of my day is a young dependent. It's just a simple one, being seen for a persistent cough and congestion that turned out to be an ear infection.

We don’t have a doctor on staff from Erudite and while I am qualified for many things, there are some of them that are just beyond me.

Instead of sending a doctor over, we have a computer station that has a scanner along with other various places where we can put in any blood draws or other things of that nature. That allows us to send and receive information to staff over at the Erudite hospital. It’s fairly old and can take an absurdly long time, so it becomes fairly useless in true emergencies. For simple cases like this, it works fairly well. I send over a few cultures, a blood draw and a scan of her chest for the doctor to look at and diagnose.

With a shot of antibiotics and a script for a syrup to help with a cough, I send the little girl and her mom on their way. As I'm doing a clean up of the room they were in Kari comes rushing in with a harried look in her eyes.

"He's here." She says simply and with no need to elaborate who ‘he’ is.

I huff and close my eyes tightly, my good mood going right out of the window. "Any idea what he wants?"

I open my eyes and roll them when I see her horrified expression. Like it was horrifying to her that I even suggested she try and ask him what he wanted. So I shove past her and make my way out into the waiting room, but Eric isn't there.

Devon points the office and then the nerves hit. I was hoping he would stay out in the open here in the waiting room where I wouldn't have to be alone with him. Which is probably exactly why he went into that office.

I groan quietly at this realization before determination sets in and I grit my teeth and give myself a short internal pep talk. I push my shoulders back and walk into the office with as much of a calm and uncaring demeanor as I'm capable of pulling off right now.

Eric is sitting behind the desk and has a file in his hands with a few others laid out in front of him and with his feet propped up on the desk. He looks way too at home in the place I consider my domain, for my liking. That calm demeanor snapped straight out of the window. I slam the door and put a hand on my hip as I glare at him.

"Did something happen to the staples? One pop out of place or something?"

He looks up from the file in his hand and smirks. "Nope. They're still intact." He tilts his head and that infuriating smirk gets wider. "Sorry if that ruins your hope for getting my shirt off again. Although, if you ask nicely enough…."

I sputter and glare at the gall of the man. "Hate to burst your ego but that was the furthest thing from my mind."

Mentira! As soon as he said it, that’s all I wanted.

I walk closer and shove the feet he has propped up on the desk off then go to snatch the file in his hand away. He jerks it back and makes a tutting noise.

"Leaders have full and complete access to any and all data or files." The smirk is gone though his words are full of it.

"What do you want, Eric?" I snap at him.

"I looked at your personnel file," He states simply, putting the file down he was reading and I get a good look at it for the first time.

This one isn't my personnel file but the one I have full of my proposals and requests for the clinic from over the last few years. I frown at that and his statement trying to connect the two and my tangle of thoughts.

"Okay?"

"You haven't taken part of the yearly physical training and assessments yet. In fact, you didn't for last year either."

I sigh tiredly and rub the back of my neck. "Eric, I don't know if you’ve noticed or if you even care, but the clinic is running on a tight budget and limited staff. Most of the people qualified to do the things beyond basic aid are Erudite, and they are only here for eight hours of the day. Those hours are early ones that most of the people in Dauntless aren't even awake for half the time, not to mention they aren’t here on weekends. Patrol medics have to come from somewhere and the weekends that takes them from the small staff we have here. I guess it isn't surprising you don't know this considering any and all requests I’ve made are either rejected out of hand or just ignored.  Perdóname  if I don't make it into maldito training when I'm too busy stitching up or setting bones for everyone else who is able to."

Eric starts tapping his fingers on the table, his jaw clenched and looking around. He stands and grabs the file he was looking at before he turns his cold eyes on me. "Follow me."

I've probably pushed my luck just once too often with him while I was unloading my anger and frustration. In fact, I'm sure of it as he stomps to the door and rips it open, then stalks out. I can hear him barking something to Devon and Kari but not what. I scramble to grab my bag, just in case I need it, and follow after him. Both of the staff are looking at me with worried eyes but they make no moves to say anything or help.

They couldn't help even if they tried to be honest.

I follow after Eric but he stops at some point and waits for me to catch up to him. "You might be short on staff but I can't excuse missing the training. I especially can't excuse missing the assessment. Normally, you would need to do it with one of the qualified staff, and during their hours, but that isn't going to work, obviously." He pauses in speaking even as we are walking and glances over at me. "So, I’m going to take that on myself. We'll be starting with weapons at the firing range today. You won't need to change into workout clothes for now, but I  will  expect you to have some on you for when we next train."

My fists are clenched at my side as I walk beside him. There is a tiny part of me that's thrilled with this development while the majority of me is pissed at being dictated to like this.

I bite my lip and decide to pick my battles.

Eric’s right and the reason for the lapse in training doesn't really matter. Here in Dauntless, it is expected and the standard unspoken rule is you  always  make time for training.

We don't go right to the gun range.

First, we stop by his office where he deposits the file on top of his desk. I immediately know I'm never going to see it again and am thankful I have backups of all the information on my laptop.

His desk seems to be one big pile of paperwork. Organized piles, but still.

The desk has a towering stack of files in a tray with a label indicating they still need to be looked over and a matching stack of ones that have the label indicating they are complete. It would take counting each one to know which one has more as they seem to be at the same level.

I don't know what he intends to do with my file but I have a feeling it's just going to get shoved in with one of those enormous stacks and get lost.

I do feel a tinge of pity that he seems to be swamped with work.

I guess I never really wondered what it's like for any of the leaders. Tori never complains, and that isn't something Four is likely to do either. I just always looked at the power they hold along with the perks that come with holding that position, and never considered what needed to be done behind the scenes. Logically I know there is work, but I never considered they would be as buried under as it appears he is.

"Is that always like that?" I ask as I wave towards his desk. Eric unlocks a cabinet at the back of the room and starts pulling out things.

He glances at me and then to where I'm indicating and shrugs. There is a tiredness that etched itself onto his face for just a second before it's gone just as quickly to be replaced by a slight scowl. "It's usually worse."

I frown as my eyes wander over the file names, reading them quickly and seeing that some of the labels are things I would think would be taken care of someone else. "So why don't you have an assistant or something to help?"

"You aren't the only one that has to deal with budget cuts and short staff, Devi. We have the same issues up here. Everyone thinks it will be such a fucking cakewalk to work in leadership or as one of the assistants. Then they get a face full of reality and we find out they aren't cut out for it and have to find someone else or do without."

I should feel ashamed of my words to him earlier but leadership could at least explain that to their departments. Especially ones that are so vital to the faction.

"I didn't know," I start out saying then narrow my eyes at him when he snorts and is probably about to make some smart ass comment. "That could be solved by someone just telling us all this." I wave again but this time between the desk and him. Making it clear I'm meaning him specifically.

It turns out he had been pulling out his handguns. Now he started to slip those into holsters he had on his hip and thigh after checking them. "Would it have made any difference if we had? Knowing that we have little in the way of budget to work with and even less staff?"

I put my hand on my hip and frown while looking down slightly. "Of course. That would have been much better than thinking I've been ignored for the last three years."

I glance back up briefly but quickly look away and blush when I realize how hurt my tone sounded and I caught the flicker of something in his eyes as he caught it too. Eric came closer until he is standing right in front of me. He reaches out a hand and uses his fingers to gently grip my chin and raise my head until I'm looking him in the eyes once again.

"Devi, you were never ignored." He says softly while he runs his thumb over my lips lightly then drops his hand along the soft expression in his eyes and sighs. "Circumstances have had my hands tied until recently. We're working to make up for everything the previous leaders did to destroy the faction."

I nod when his eyebrow raises, seeming to ask if I understand, but can't find the words to reply. I don't trust my voice to speak because of the fluttering in my stomach. It seems good enough for him and he moves to the door, holding it open for me to pass through first before closing it behind him. He sets a brisk pace but not one I'm unable to keep up with. Soon we are entering into the gun range.

The people in the gun range at the moment look at us curiously as we pass. A few of the guys I know from their frequent visits to the clinic, and they start to wave or smile at me. They stop immediately and turn away quickly after a glare from Eric.

He sets us up about as far away from everyone else as he can get while still being in the same room.

It's clear any and all focus is going to be put on me and he isn’t going to tolerate any kind of distractions or interference. I found out it’s entirely possible to be in a large room full of other people and activity and it still feels like I am completely alone with Eric.

This just ramped up my nerves that were already frazzled.

It's also obvious that my lack of training has clearly affected my aim. Something he's all too quick to point out, rather gleefully, and then insisted on physically correcting me while informing that my performance is so abysmal that he might as well start me out like he would a beginner.

That's about how the next two hours progress, with him acting as if I've never even held a gun. He has been pressed against me, or at least uncomfortably close, almost the entire time. Shoving me this way or that. Pressing his legs between mine to correct my stance or wrapping his entire top half around mine while he stands behind me.

He also won’t shut up!

He keeps assaulting me with question after question. When I said something about it, snapping out that I didn’t realize he had so many words in his vocabulary, he just grinned wickedly and said he’s just testing my ability to maintain my skill through distractions and then continued on.

He spent the next hour or so grilling me about anything from my life in Amity before I transferred all the way up to my life now, my friends and things I do with them.

"You said you were considered the perfect Amity. Why did you transfer if you were happy there?"

"You never wondered how you were able to kill chickens? I mean come on that had to be a red flag right there."

"How often did you find a wild horse beyond the fence?"

"Did you really spend that long out of the fence on those trips?"

"How did you get into healing if you worked with animals?"

"How can working with animals and their recovery be compared to a person?"

"Explain all this massage and herb therapy crap. I don't get why it is such a big deal or help."

“Are you actually friends with your roommate, because I remember her being in our initiation and never saw her talking to you?”

“How did Lynn end up in your circle of friends?”

“So, you aren’t all that close to Number Boy?”

“You dance? Where do you go?”

On and on the interrogation went, and all while he's physically distracting me as well.

Between the verbal and physical invasions going on, I quickly become exhausted. By the end of the two hours, I reach the end of my patience.

It's when the questions start to get slightly more personal and trying to pry into past relationships, that it snaps completely. I start responding in sarcasm and Spanish.

Eric just looks amused while his hands start to do things along my back and hips and I realize that I've only been speaking in Spanish for the last thirty minutes of that time and Eric understood every word, even if he only responded back in English.

"Alright, we're done here for the night." He says, stepping back abruptly after having just been brushing his fingers down my neck while his breath tickled my ear. "Let's go to the mess hall and get dinner."

I watch as he holsters the gun and let out a frustrated puff of air while calling him every kind of bastard I can in my mind. I can't decide if I want to turn around and slap him or push him against the wall and relieve all this frustration he’s built up in me.

The first one I dismiss, because even I am not loca enough to slap a leader, and definitely not  this  one.

There is still the second option.

I snort quietly and shake my head, dismissing that. I’ll just need to find another way to relieve this frustration because there is  no way  it’s happening with Eric.

My plans for the night flash in my mind suddenly. Hair from my ponytail came loose at some point during Eric’s pawing at me and has fallen in my face. I shove some of the hair back from my face and start to grin then look at Eric as he finally faces towards me after cleaning up our area.

I flash a smug smile at him as I shake my head then grab my bag up. “Thanks, but no thanks. I have plans for the night already.”

“Plans?” Up until my statement, he had been wearing his own smug smirk after stepping back and seeing how flushed I was. That smirk drops as soon as I shoot him down. His eyes move over me cooly but then he just gives me a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Cancel them then.”

His tone is so fucking flippant and as if he’s presuming this would be what is obviously going to happen.

I let out a scoffed laugh. “No. I don’t think so. I’m meeting up with my girls for drinks and dancing before Lynn goes back out on patrol rotation.”

“Your girls, huh?” He drawls slowly while narrowing his eyes and looking me over slowly before his eyes meet mine.

We spend the next few seconds in a stare-off and I think he might be waiting for me to back down and just go along with him.

Clearly, he has learned nothing about me.

Then he surprises me by shrugging casually and gives a small nod of acceptance. “Okay. Just remember what I said though and be prepared for me at any time, little one.”

I ignore the flush of warmth at his nickname for me and narrow my eyes.

He’s up to something. I know it. But whatever is going behind those blue eyes of his is a mystery. I just know there is an intensity to him that makes me want to lick my lips and return the action of looking him up and down like he just did me. It’s so strong that it makes me whip around instead and sashay my ass out of there as fast as possible.

“Will do, Sir!” I toss over my shoulder to him with a grin.

His chuckle after seemed to follow me for the entire walk to my apartment. It sounded like more than just a laugh or simple amusement.

It was dark, rich, and raspy. Like it held a promise of something to come.

Something that shouldn’t have my nipples going hard or my knees going weak. But it did and I think I knew then that I am well and truly fucked.

              *****************************************************

 “Damn! You are going all out tonight.” Lynn says as she looks me over and walks further into my bathroom where I’m still getting ready.

I’m already dressed, other than my chosen heels for the night, but I’m putting the final touches on my make up. I smile at her through the mirror and lean over the bathroom sink and counter to get closer to the mirror so I can swipe the mascara on in a way that it won’t clump the eyelashes together.

“Damn straight,” I finally reply to her then quickly finish with the other eye.

I put my makeup down and step back to take a look at myself in the floor-length mirror on the other wall, turning this way and that to get a better look.

I wouldn’t say that I don’t dress up when we go out, but I don’t usually go all out like I am tonight. Most of the time I’m wearing something a bit more relaxed. Like the other night, my dress was just a simple black dress; long-sleeved and with a slightly rounded neckline that went to just above my knees and had a tiny slit on the right side. It was just the right amount of casual and sexy. Something I threw on right after work and used my new shoes to add spice and color to the mix. I didn’t even do anything with my makeup or hair really other than fixing my ponytail and adding a bit of lip gloss.

Something about tonight seemed to call for a bit more….well, everything. Something a bit more...Dauntless...and daring.

I left my hair down tonight and let it fall into my natural waves, but added a little product to smooth the hair and make it slightly shiny. My lipstick is a wicked red color and I lined my eyes so that the chocolate brown looks a bit more sultry. I have the same shade of red on my finger and toenails that I used for my lipstick.

My shorts are a little shorter and my cleavage a little more revealed than I would normally display.

The outfit is almost all black in color. The top is a deep v-neck silk wrap top that I have to tape down to make sure the sides stay in place and I don’t end up flashing everyone since I’m not wearing a bra underneath. I have that tucked into the black silk shorts that provide me full coverage of the assets...my ass...but mold to it nicely.

To add some color, and to break up the black and highlight my waist, I added a wide belt made of silver metal that is thick enough to draw attention to the waist and what I consider my best feature, my butt.

The real feature of the outfit is my shoes.

As always they are high heels, four inches, but the style is a roman sandal with leather straps that go all the way up to the knees. I sit on the toilet to slip those on and secure all the little black leather straps.

Lynn has her arms crossed over her chest and is shaking her head at me with a knowing grin.

She knows this look. This is my going out to get mine, look. When I’m feeling sassy and sexy and want to let loose.

“Well, let's go then. Did you eat something?” She frowns at me worriedly while I pop my lipstick into my clutch purse that already has my keys, phone, and some protection (in case I get lucky) in it.

“Yes, mami. I had a grilled cheese when I got home.”

Lynn rolls her eyes but chuckles and shrugs. “Well, that’s better than nothing. We can just order some bar food when we get there.”

I sigh but admit that’s a good idea. I don’t do well with drinks if I haven’t had anything too substantial to eat.

Lynn has a reputation for being hard, and she definitely can be, but we both have the habit of being the  ‘mothers’  for our group of friends. We’re the ones that usually make sure everyone doesn’t completely overdo it and that they make it home at the end of the night.

So, I would have normally heard something from her about what happened to me, but I guess since she knows I’m now dealing with Eric, she also figures I have enough torture ahead of me.

If she only knew.

Sadie was waiting for the two of us in our living room while our other two friends that said they could make it, Vera and AJ, already headed over to the club to get us a place.

Vera is currently dating the guy that manages the bar we are going to tonight and managed to sweet-talk him into setting aside one of the balcony areas that overlook the dance floor. Those spaces are usually reserved for officers and leaders in the extremely popular club, so it was a surprise when she messaged us earlier saying she managed to get us a spot.

This will be a treat, because normally we grab whatever spots are available on the lower level and pray there is enough seating. There never is.

We head out and talk as we go, catching up on what’s going on with each other along the way. Once we reach the club we spot the section Vera told us we would be at and can just faintly make her out waving at us from there.

I stick close to Lynn who seems to have this ability to make the crowds just kind of move for her with little to no effort, and in no time we’re across the already full dance floor and at the stairs. We quickly pass the guy that serves as a guard that makes sure no one gets up there that isn’t supposed to.

The upper level is amazing and has a very polished look to it while the lower levels seem to go with a raw kind of approach to decorations. There are already other groups gathered in their own little lounges that we pass on the way to where our group is set up at the far end.

I slide onto the seat of one of the sleek black couches and take in our set up. There is a huge lighted table in the shape of a cube that alternates colors sitting in the center of the L shaped sectional and a collection of four armchairs in dark red of the same material of the couch. On the table itself there are a few buckets filled with ice. Two of them have a bottle of a wine of some kind and the other two have juice. I reach forward and deposit my clutch onto the table and reach for a bottle, examining it and raising an eyebrow when I see that it’s a sparkling white wine from Amity. One that is very popular and is usually reserved for trade with any one of the factions that want it. Erudite is very fond of it and is known to be the one to buy it up after each production year.  

I raise my eyebrow at the bottle while looking over at my friend in question. Vera just giggles then shrugs. The pulsing music of the club can still clearly be heard but it’s not so overwhelming up here that we can’t hear each other talking.

“Blaine said they’re for us, so I guess he just wants to make sure we have a good time. It’s one of your favorites right? That wine from Amity?”

I shrug with a smile and start to crack it open but Lynn glares at me and slaps my hand away. “Food for all of us first before we start downing this.” She grabs it from me and shoves it back into the ice bucket.

“Oh good idea!” Sadie coos and then eyes the bar, more specifically the bartender, on this level. “I’ll just go order us some snacks.” She is already up and waggling her fingers at us before I can even tell her what I want.

“Ash is here.” AJ says as she comes up from dancing on the floor with some guy she’s decided is going to be her date for the night. “I told him we’re up here.”

“Thanks.” I reply with a smile and look around.

The club is amazing and has always been my favorite here. That might be because it was the first club I ever went to in Dauntless.

I always loved dancing back in Amity.

They would have days filled with music out on the open fields. Nights where we all just got together and danced with the stars and moon shining down on us.

I would drink and dance my ass off. Then I would go off somewhere with Vicente. We would spend hours more just touching each other or later on as I got older, making love. It’s hard to not be bitter after I realized that all of that was drug-induced.

At the dances where all the young but of age were encouraged to attend, they served drinks laced with shit that I can’t even stomach the name of now. It wasn’t bad enough to be on peace serum all the time but they also gave us other things. I didn’t know that back then. It wasn’t until I got to Dauntless that I was informed about what I was exposed to and what it did to me.

It tainted all of those memories for me. Even the relationship with the man I had hoped to marry. It made me question how much of it was real and how much was the drugs.

After getting through initiation and becoming a member, I resisted going out. Still bitter and upset about so much of my previous life. Doing anything that was remotely similar to my old life was out of the question. I worked and went back to the apartment I shared with Sadie, refusing attempts to be friends or hang out with anyone.

I knew it was fear holding me back. Facing your fears in sims doesn’t make them go away, it just makes you super aware of them.

So I knew that I was afraid to get close to anyone but I was also afraid that I wasn’t able to get close to anyone or love them. Afraid that everything from my life in Amity, who I was, had been fake. Tori brought me out of that and said I wouldn’t know if I didn’t try. Was I Dauntless enough to do that? Of course, I couldn’t back down from her challenge.

So, one night I got dressed up and found myself standing in Club Onyx for the first time.

It’s a literal cave. Stalagmites and stalactites can be found everywhere. The ceiling is high enough up that at places it disappears into the dark. The walls are mostly the natural stone of the cave, but in other places it’s smoothed out to make way for different decorations, furniture or built-in rooms, like the restrooms.

I’m told there are little nooks and crannies all over the place that people like to go and explore. Tori once said there is some type of water in one of them, a grotto she called it. I haven’t explored the big cavern yet so I haven’t discovered if that’s true or not for myself.

The club is a cross between the primal aspect that defines Dauntless and the tech and polished aesthetics from Erudite. That means it has lights, sounds systems, and other little luxuries that make it easier to let go and enjoy.

I enjoyed myself so much that first time. I found my rhythm again and danced long into the morning hours with Tori. Since then, I love to come back here when I can.

Ash finds us just as Sadie comes back with a smirk and a drink. She informs us the food will be here shortly. I pour myself out a glass but at a look from Lynn, I also add some of the juice that was in another bucket being chilled.

I sip my drink and laugh along with the others as we talk over the music. The food is delivered by the bartender, who then joins Sadie. Now we all have partners to dance with. Even Lynn called in one of her girlfriends to be with her tonight.

I can never go right into dancing. I’m not sure why this is, but I always have to have at least a drink before I feel relaxed enough to let go. Tonight it seems to take more for me to be loose enough, and I draw it out by eating and talking with Ash or the others when they make their way back to us.

If he’s picking up on how I’m even more nervous than usual he doesn’t say. We just talk and catch up, comfortable enough with that and each other, that it isn’t awkward at all. Even when he brings up Eric.

“So I hear Eric is breathing down your neck.” Ash says with concern.

I almost choke on the mouthful of wine I had but managed to gulp it down and breathe again.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I had to go to the administration offices to get some paperwork settled for a new patrolman being assigned to my unit and heard some chatter about Eric being after you or something like that.”

Oh, he’s after me alright.

I wave my hand casually and dismiss that thought as well as Ash’s worry.

“I missed the last few assessments and he’s having to handle it. No big deal.” I down the last bit of my drink and plop the glass on the table then reach for his hand. “Let’s dance,” I say even as I start to stand, wobbling only a little, and tug him up with me.

He doesn’t protest and soon we’ve made our way to the dance floor. I enjoy myself, I do, but something about Ash’s hands feel off. I can’t help this uneasy feeling that surges up every once in a while.

Normally, I can lose myself in the music and have no qualms about Ash being close or touching me. Ash even notices and asks me if I’m feeling okay. I just tell him I’m fine but that I need another drink. So we go back up to the lounge and he gets a few drinks from the bar for us. Once I have that downed, I drag him back onto the dance floor.

It seems to work and I dance until my feet can’t stand it anymore. He almost has to carry me back up to the balcony and the couch, where I plop down laughing and into his waiting arms.

I’m drunk and headed to well past drunk, but I really don’t care at this point.

“Wanna get out of here?” Ash asks as he leans in close to my ear brushing some of the hair away from it with his fingertips.

I giggle a little and nod. “Yeah, I just wanna go freshen up first.”

“Okay.” Ash agrees and helps to push me up from my seat, chuckling a little as I groan when my feet throb a little.

He makes a comment about the dangers of wearing such high heels that I ignore after a playful glare over my shoulder at him.

“Be right back,” I say and then weave my way to the bathroom.

The one on the balcony is occupied with a few girls waiting outside for it. I decide to not wait and go down to one of the ones on the main floor that I found a while back that is usually empty.  It has two stalls with a well-lit vanity area that I would think would make this a popular bathroom, but it’s well away from the dance area so maybe that’s why it isn’t packed like the others always are.

I take care of nature’s call first. Grateful that the toilets in places like this are nothing like the ones in the dorm or training room from when I first came to Dauntless. You need a shot just to prevent diseases from being near those.

I finish quickly and wash my hands then can’t resist using the vanity to check my lipstick and makeup. I’m so absorbed in finding my lipstick and reapplying it that I don’t notice the door opening, but I definitely hear it closing. And I definitely hear the lock being flipped.

The first, brief, thought I have is that someone’s decided to use this as a place to be intimate so for a few seconds I don’t get worried. It isn’t until the feeling I’ve had, but denied, all night surges through me with a vengeance. The one that felt like I was being watched. The one that had the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention and my senses buzzing. Only this is much worse and it finally gets my attention enough to turn to look out of the little vanity area that is in its own little nook.

Eric is standing there, leaning against one side of the archway, and the expression on his face makes my legs tremble slightly while I swallow heavily.

Eric Coulter isn’t an expressionless, emotionless robot but at times it certainly seems that way. But there are times when that mask breaks. I’ve always thought that the reputation he earned, even as far back as our initiation, didn’t come from the cold, calculating and the ruthless man he can be, but from these moments when whatever he is feeling is unrestrained and intense, overwhelming even.

The expression he is wearing now isn’t far off from one that I’ve seen before when he lost it on someone but I haven’t seen that since our initiation. His forehead is screwed up in wrinkles while his jaw is gritted and his lips turned into a scowl. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving, and his vein in his neck is pulsing as his fists clench and his muscles bunch up. That too is something I’ve seen before when he unleashed his body and showed just how lethal it can be.

I’ve seen all this before. I’ve just never been the one it’s all directed at.

“Just drinks with the girls, right?” He advances on me, all sinuous menace and the words are a hiss.

Despite the feeling that I just want to melt into the floor, I don’t let myself. He’s a beast. I’ve tamed larger and more powerful than him. I raise my chin and stand my ground.

“What business it of yours what I do with my free time? Yes, I’m having drinks with my girls and having fun. I never said there wouldn’t be others involved.”

Standing my ground means that I also didn’t move and he was on me in seconds. My butt hits the counter of the vanity as he brackets me in with his hands gripping it on the sides of my hips. He leans in so close that I can smell the aftershave he must have used before he got dressed for the night.

Dios ayúdame is the man dressed.

He’s wearing a black skin-tight, short-sleeved shirt with a v neck that clings to his skin so much that I can make out the muscles of his abdomen underneath it. It tapers in so that his waist is clearly defined by the belt showing since it’s tucked into black jeans that might as well be painted on him. They look to be barely containing the things he calls legs.

All of that is definitely drool-worthy but it’s not what has my mouth salivating and going dry at the same time. It’s his arms and those fucking veins that are pulsing. It’s the bunching of the muscles of his forearms up into his biceps. It’s the sound of his hands rubbing against the stone of the countertops as he grips them tighter.

It all made me want to lick my way up his arm, starting from his tattoos, until I reach his neck and then down the other until I reach….well….

If at all possible, his breathing goes even more ragged and his chest rumbles in a growl. “I’m not happy, at all, little Devi. You’re fucking drunk again.” He hisses and moves even closer making me gasp and flush. “And you let him touch you.

His powerful thigh shoves its way between mine, opening my legs. Much like he did at the firing range but this time he’s facing me and it brushes up against my bare thighs, pressing into the silk shorts I’m wearing.

I let out a moan and reach out to grab his shirt, pulling him even closer. He finally lets go of the counter and uses one of his large, rough hands to grip the back of my neck after moving until the curtain of my hair.

“What am I going to do with you, Devi?” He growls out the question.

And it is a question.

Said in a tone that lets me know he’s at a loss for what to do, maybe even at the end of whatever control he is trying to keep right now. That and the drinks make me much braver than I would ever normally feel. It has me feeling smug even, knowing that I’m the one doing this to him. That I have the unshakable mountain of arrogance and confidence feeling unsettled, unsure.

“Take me home with you, Eric,” I demand forcefully.

As the words come out I feel a brief moment of astonishment. But yes. This is what I want. I wanted it all day when I’ve relived the kiss. I wanted it last night when I touched myself thinking of him and what could have happened in that exam room. I wanted him even more as he touched and teased me at the gun range.

Dammit, I want him and I will get what I want!

The grip on the back of my neck tightens even more and the rumble in his chest deepens before he shoves away from me. He steps back, his eyes a little wild, and runs a hand through his hair.

I bite my lip and start to step forward, to press the advantage I feel I have but stop as soon as I see the change in him. He was looking down for a second, just one second, but that was all it took.

The wild out of control Eric is gone. He is back to the cold and calculating one. Wearing a wide smirk and his head raises.

“Okay.” His tone is a strange combination that I can’t even describe. All I know is it sends both anticipation and worry through me.

Then he steps forward again and that heat I felt just yesterday envelops me making me feel nothing but raw hunger and need. He grabs my wrist and starts to lead me out. This time he barely takes into account my height as he sets the pace. It takes us no time to make it from the almost empty area the bathroom was into the overcrowded dance floor and bar set up.

Some rational thinking kicks in and I realize I need to let someone know what’s going on.

“I have to tell my friends…”

“They’ll figure it out.” He interrupts me with a smirk and looks over his shoulder a little.

I crane my neck and look to see that a few of my friends are on the dance floor and looking at us with wide eyes. Ash is one of them.

I send him an apologetic smile and then gasp when Eric jerks me back around. This time he pulls me completely against his side and wraps his arm around my waist. He all but picks me up and carries me the rest of the way out of Club Onyx.

I debate telling him I changed my mind but the drunken loss of inhibitions doesn’t allow me. My drunkenness is mortifyingly confirmed when I almost twist my ankle twice and finally my legs almost buckle while trying to keep up the pace he set.

Eric stops me from falling with a curse and whips me up into his arms, bridal style, without even really breaking stride. A strong moment of deja vu stops me from protesting as a faint and hazy memory emerges.

The memory a night when Eric caught me in his arms and held me close, refusing to let me down. Pleasure and warmth from the memory add the desire.

“You could have taken me home that night. I wouldn’t have minded then. Why didn't you?” I ask as we walk and he’s keeping his eyes on the dark and winding path out of the part where the Club is housed.

“I told you before. You were drunk and I don’t take advantage of drunk girls, no matter how fucking tempting they are.” At this last part, he turns his head towards me. I see his blue blazing with the same hunger I’m feeling.

I can’t speak for what I think is only for a few seconds. It turns out to be much longer because he had long ago looked away and now we’re in front of a door. He glances at me with a frown as he lowers me to my feet. As soon as they touch solid ground he pulls me tight to his side again. Once he has me tucked in like he wants me, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out keys. He almost kicks the door in before he ushers me through and I hear it slam behind as he does kick it closed.

He moves us so fast I barely notice anything about his apartment other than it is definitely an apartment. He rushes me through the living area and into a dark bedroom. He flicks on a light switch and finally releases his hold on me.

“Wait here.” He demands and then disappears back out of it. He’s back again before I have time to get my bearings or even move, holding something black in his hands. He moves past me into another dark room that is revealed to be a bathroom when he flicks on that light.

I frown and take a step when I hear what must be the faucet running and cabinets being opened and slammed shut. He comes back out with a scowl on his face.

“There are pills on the counter. Take those and drink the water. Get a shower and I left a shirt for you to put on to sleep in.”

My jaw drops a little and I shake my head in confusion. “What?”

He advances again and takes my clutch from me. He roots around in it, takes my keys and the phone, then pockets them both before tossing the whole thing to the side on a chair in the room.

He then jerks me against his body and crashes his mouth against mine. Our teeth gnash against each other as we both let loose the hunger we’re feeling. By the time he releases me from the kiss I’m panting and spinning.

Not all of it from the kiss either.

He steadies me and scowls as he holds me close. “It won’t be when your drunk or have even had anything to drink, Devi. I want you, but I won’t have you like this.”

I have to lay my head on his chest due to the spinning, dizziness and burning of tears in my eyes. “So why bring me here dammit.”

“Because the fucking thought of you out there like this is enough to drive me to want to hurt someone. I wouldn’t care if they were a friend of yours or not. I want you in with me in my bed, but I don’t trust myself enough to even allow that right now. This is my spare room. In here, I’ll know you’re safe from me and everything else.”

Something about that touches me and I sigh out his name. I let out a shuddering breath and his arms circle around me. The embrace is comforting and claiming all at the same time. It ends too soon though because he pulls back and lifts my chin once more to look at him. “I said you are different and if you can remember this in the morning, maybe you will see I’m proving that to you.”

He places a small gentle kiss to the tip of my nose and then gently pushes me towards the bathroom. I walk in and look at him over my shoulder as I grab the door to close it. The wild look is back. So is the chest heaving and clenched fists. I hesitate to close it but he shakes his head and backs away.

“Tomorrow, Devi. I’ll be here when you wake up tomorrow.” Then it seems like he melts into the darkness and I hear the door to the room click.

I close the bathroom door and lean against it.

The mirror in front of me shows the reflection of a girl I don’t even know right now. Who is this girl that’s feeling hunger like I have never felt before?

It’s almost like I’m the old me. The one from back in Amity that lived and loved with such wild and passion.

Was it always there and the serum just brought it, and only it, forth? Is that what Eric is to me now? Some kind of drug that brings out a side I thought I might have lost forever.

All the questions and events of the night have my mind spinning.

There isn’t an answer for me right now. The only way I can get one is to move forward and find out.

But, in the light of day will I remember this? In that harsh morning after light am I going to want to find out as much as I do now?

I take the pills, drink the water, step into the shower and then put on the shirt that smells so much like Eric it makes me feel like I wrapped in his arms again. I almost think that I won’t be able to sleep at all but it finds me sooner than I would have liked.

[bab-ybird]

Friday Nights with Defsoul

Pairing: Jaebeom x Reader

Genre: College!au, Best friend!Jaebeom, best friends to lovers, fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Word Count: 8,245 words

[ ft. GOT7 and some DAY6 members ]

A/N Yes, I am aware that I misspelled Jaebeom’s name here, but I wrote this before he clarified the spelling, so until I find time to edit this, you’re just going to have to sit through jAebUm lmao oops; thanks for reading tho! mwah

~

It's been a while since Jaebum last attended a party. Not because he was busy- even though he was- but because he just didn't feel like it. After all, parties were only fun when he was in the mood to get wasted and spend the night dancing with his best friends, so he didn't see the point of attending one when he felt like doing something else more productive.

Like hosting his radio segment. He'd only decided to join the campus' radio station as a DJ in the October of the previous academic year. It was in his third year of college that he composed a significant amount of songs and gained enough experience to be confident enough to share them with the world that was his university. Finally giving into Park Sungjin’s, his senior, antics about becoming a part of the crew, Jaebum now appeared on the station every Friday night to share his music in a segment he (lamely) liked to call "Friday Nights with Defsoul". Now, he was in his second year of hosting the segment, and his fourth year of college, set to graduate at the end of March- if he managed to not screw anything up.

Despite not being in the mood to party, Jaebum couldn't say no to his friend Jackson's invitation- not when Jackson was using this party as an excuse to finally relax from his hectic life. It was rare that Jackson was willing to let loose for the night (he was always so busy with his extra-curricular activities), and since Jaebum figured that his friend needed all his support during this tough time in his life, he agreed to be present. So here he was, half-heartedly sipping at a drink that his over-enthusiastic friend, Park Jaehyung, had given him, standing at the kitchen counter, and snacking on a bowl of chips that he had poured for himself.

"Jaebum! My man!"

Ah. The sweet sound of a dongsaeng forgetting to call me hyung.

Hong Kong native and fellow performance group member Jackson Wang carelessly calls out his hyung's name as he bounds through the kitchen door with a red cup in his hands. "I've been looking all over for you!"

"Have you really?" Jaebum asks sarcastically. "You seemed so eager to leave me alone, by myself, when you went to go mingle with your Chinese friends."

Failing to notice that Jackson didn't come up to him alone, Jaebum almost misses the small chuckle that comes from Jackson's friend. A girl with a lean frame, pale skin, long black hair, and the warmest brown eyes Jaebum had ever seen watches their exchange silently. You stand behind Jackson, watching amusedly as he playfully hit his hyung's arm. "Aish, hyung, don't be like that. They're Chinese, like me. They remind me of home."

Jaebum nods understandingly, patting his friend on the back. "Okay, okay, I get it. Go have fun- "

"EY, LUCAS! Glad you could make it, man!"

And just like that, Jackson forgets about his friends and leaves the kitchen to go mingle with a handful of people who look too young to be at a college party.

"Don't they look a little too young to be here?" Jaebum comments, eyeing the new arrivals and starting a conversation with the girl that Jackson had left him with to entertain.

You seem to know who he's talking about and nod. "Yeah, they are. They're just in high school."

Jaebum's eyes nearly pop out of his head. "Eh?! And Jackson invited them here? How does he even know them?"

Amused at his reaction, you smile. "They met at a summer camp a couple of months ago. You know what he's like, it's so easy for him to get homesick. I'm happy he's able to make so many friends that let him feel like he's at home, even if just for a little while."

Jaebum watches the kitchen door warily, largely aware of the trouble that the underaged teens could get into if they were caught drinking. Sensing his discomfort, you speak up again. "I wouldn't worry too much about them. I made Jackson swear that he would take care of them tonight. No alcohol, no drugs, no funny business whatsoever."

These words unexpectedly give him comfort, despite the fact that they come from a complete stranger. "Thanks." He says. "That makes me feel better."

You nod, but don’t say anything back as you reach into the fridge and grab one of the many smoothie bottles that Jackson liked to stock up on.

"You seem to be really close to him. How come I've never heard of you before?" Jaebum asks.

Swallowing the sip you had just taken, you sit on a counter stool as you answer. "Jackson and I go back. Summer before freshman year, I think? We met at summer camp."

Raising an eyebrow, Jaebum tilts his head, confused. "Oh, so you're-?"

"Chinese?" You chuckle. "No. I'm Spanish-Korean, actually."

Jaebum's head tilts in confusion. "Spanish-Korean? But then why would you go to one of Jackson's Chinese summer camps?"

"I speak Chinese. At least, now I do. Back then, I wanted to get a better grasp of the language before heading off to college, so I decided to attend a Chinese summer camp." You tell him, taking another sip.

"So how many languages do you speak? Or is it just Spanish, Chinese, and Korean?" Jaebum can't stop himself from asking.

You shake your head, smiling proudly. "I'm also fluent in English, Russian, Japanese, and French."

"Wow." Jaebum's voice comes out filled with awe. "That's amazing. It really is, I've never met someone fluent in so many languages. You could conquer the world, probably."

Chuckling softly, you brush the hair out of your face. "Thanks. I'm flattered."

"If you don't mind me asking, why so many?" Once again, Jaebum can't keep his nose out of your business.

"Oh, I want to be a translator or a travel guide." You tell him honestly. "I love travelling, and the only thing I'm good at is talking to people, so I figured I'd make a career out of it."

"That sounds fun." Jaebum comments. "So, your major is-?"

"Majoring in Linguistics, minoring in World History." You answer. "What about you?"

The conversation is suddenly about him, and he thinks it’s such a shame because he could spend all night learning the tiniest details about this very interesting girl.

"Major in Film, minor in Music Theory." He says.

"Oh, you're into music?" You ask. "Do you compose?"

Jaebum nods at this, takes a sip of his drink, and gestures for you to share his bowl of chips.

"Are you, perhaps, on the campus radio?" You raise an eyebrow.

Jaebum is shocked. Unless he told them directly, no one ever even guessed that he was a DJ for the campus' radio station. "How did you know?"

You snap your fingers, looking at him with a triumphant look in your eyes. "I knew your voice sounded familiar! You're Defsoul, aren't you? The DJ that comes on every Friday night?"

Oh, my god. For the first time in his life, Jaebum is speechless. How did this girl, who didn't even know him before this, figure that out faster than any of his actual friends?

"Um- I, uh- "

Taking a sip from your drink, you continue. "I love your segment. I've been listening to it ever since you started."

Wow. "Thank you. That means so much to me, really." Jaebum finally finds his words.

"Although..." You hesitate, and this makes Jaebum even more curious.

"What is it?" He pries.

"Well," You pause. "Have you ever considered, um...calling it by a different name?"

...excuse me? "Come again?"

"Don't misunderstand me, please!" You hurriedly apologize. "Not to be rude, or anything, it's just...your segment name is sort of..."

Jaebum senses that you’re having difficulty putting it nicely, so he offers words of his own. "Lame? Boring? Cliché?"

You nod, relieved that you don't have to say it yourself. "Exactly."

Jaebum gives you an expression of distaste. "I happen to like calling it that, thank you very much. My friends think it's a good name too!"

"I'm not saying that they don't! It's just that you could have a name that's catchier, more unique, more memorable- so maybe one with not too many syllables in it- "

"Okay, okay, stop. I get it." Despite himself, Jaebum finds himself laughing, thoroughly amused by this girl and her personality. "I still don't know your name."

"I’m Y/N." You tell him.

Jaebum offers his hand for you to shake. "Im Jaebum."

"Finally." You say, firmly gripping onto his hand as you shake it. "A name and face behind the lamest radio segment name in the world."

Jaebum's jaw drops as he watches you laugh with an incredulous look on his face. "Wow, you really- "

"I'm joking, I'm joking!" You cackle unreservedly. "Forgive me."

Jaebum decides to poke some fun at you. "No, I don't think I will."

Your face falls. "Ah, oppa, please! We only just met!"

Jaebum shakes his head stubbornly, taking a sip of his drink.

"Fine." You resolve. "If it helps my case in any way, I'll personally make it my mission to find you a better segment name."

Jaebum shrugs, swallowing his drink as he watches you munch on his chips. "I don't see the point of changing it, to be honest. I'll be gone in a couple of months."

"Okay, first of all, graduation's still in March. It's only September, you still have a long way to go." You point out. "Second of all, that's all the more reason to change it! You don't want to leave this school known as the guy who couldn't come up with a cooler name for his segment now, do you?"

Jaebum narrows his eyes. "As much as I hate to admit it, you make a valid point."

"Of course, I do." At this, Jaebum scoffs, making you laugh. "Look, since you're obviously incapable of doing it yourself, I'll do it, okay?"

Jaebum looks at you incredulously. "Yah. Don't you think you've insulted me enough?"

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm joking." You apologize quickly. "I can't help it. I'll stop, I promise. As an apology for my behavior, how about I make you a drink?"

Jaebum accepts, looking into his cup with distaste. "Why the hell not? You owe it to me to make me one, and this one tastes like shit anyways."

You get up from your stool. "I'll be right back."

The both of you fall into conversation so naturally that night, that neither of you notice how long you talk for until the music dies and the small crowd goes quiet. You exit the kitchen to be greeted by the sight of passed out bodies sprawled across the floor, the party host nowhere in sight. While you do a thorough check of the first floor for any conscious party-goers, Jaebum does a sweep of the second floor to find Jackson unconscious on his bed. Setting some painkillers and a glass of water on his bedside table, Jaebum goes back downstairs and leaves the house with you, locking the door as you walk out. You quietly chat about random things as he walks you back to your dorm, and Jaebum decides he wants to be your friend. Obtaining your number, the both of you text each other the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Suddenly, going to parties doesn't seem so bad anymore.

-=-=-=-

Jaebum feels his phone vibrate in his pocket as he exits his last class of the day.

Y/N: Hey, are you doing anything for the rest of the day?

He feels a smile growing on his lips, but he stops himself from smiling at his phone in public.

JB: No, why?

Y/N: Last class' prof isn't showing up, and everyone else is busy. Want to get dinner?

JB: It's like...5pm.

Y/N: Fine. Want to eat food, extend eating into the hours of the night, and call it dinner?

At this, Jaebum allows the corners of his mouth to curl up in a grin.

JB: Sure. Where do you want to meet?

Y/N: I'm at the convenience store in front of the social sciences building. Bring your wallet.

Jaebum can't help but chuckle at this. He immediately stuffs his notebook in his bag, and heads for the social sciences building. When he gets there, he sees you standing outside the convenience store across the street. He's about to cross when he sees you motion for him to stay put, crossing the street yourself. In your hand is a plastic bag of various snacks and drinks that you had just purchased.

"Take this, please." You heave, holding the bag out for him to take. Jaebum receives it, noticing red marks on your hand, left behind by the weight of the bag. "Thank you. God, that's heavy."

"You could've asked for two bags." Jaebum points out, falling into step beside you as the both of you walk in the direction of a nearby park. You shake your head adamantly.

"Tsk, tsk, Jaebum. Don't think like that. It's not good for the environment." You tut, imitating the tone of a mom scolding her child. "Do you want help with your bag?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You just gave this to me, and now you want it back?"

"Not the convenience store bag, dummy." You smile. "Your backpack, I meant."

"Ah. No, I'm fine." Jaebum refuses.

"You sure?" You press. "The bag I gave you is quite heavy, and I'm not carrying anything. I'd feel bad if you were the only one doing the work here."

Jaebum smirks, turning his head to look at you. "What kind of man would I be if I made you carry my bag for me?"

Your jaw drops and you put a hand to your chest dramatically. "Now why'd you have to bring gender roles into this? I'm just offering an exchange of baggage!"

Shaking his head, Jaebum's smile doesn't leave his face as the both of you arrive at the park and settle on the grass. He sits, crossing his ripped-jean clad legs. You mirror his position, sitting in front of him, comfortable in your leggings. Tugging the plastic bag closer, you pours out its contents onto the grass, revealing bags of chips, and four bottles of drinks, two of each kind.

"First things first," You start. "Don't think I'm some kind of gold digger or anything like that just because I told you to bring your wallet."

Jaebum smirks, looking at you with amusement. "Wasn't planning on it."

"I only asked you to bring your wallet because since I bought us snacks, I expect you to pay for dinner." You declare, ripping open a bag of chips. "And not in the gentleman-should-always-pay manner, but in the it's-my-turn-to-pay manner."

"Sounds fair." He helps himself to another bag, opening it and setting it in between them so that the both of them can share. "What are you, some kind of feminist?"

You cock your head to the side in genuine confusion. "Huh?"

"That's the second comment you've made today about gender roles."

"Oh." You laugh, understanding. "No, I'm not. I just don't like it when people hear my words but listen to a different meaning, so I have a habit of saying things explicitly. Miscommunication is so common these days, don't you think?"

He nods in agreement. "Too true."

"Besides," you add, lifting a chip to your mouth but not eating it yet. "it's easier to let people know what type of person you are straight up instead of having them judge every single thing you do."

Jaebum thoughtfully watches you as you continue to munch on your salty snack. As a student, he was too familiar with the saying 'honesty is the best policy', having heard it almost every day, but you take it to a different level, give it a completely different meaning.

Noticing his blatant staring, you raise an eyebrow in the middle of chewing. "Why are you staring at me like that?" You ask, voice muffled by the hand you raise to cover your mouth.

"Oh. Uh, nothing." Jaebum answers, averting his eyes. "You're probably the most honest person I've ever met."

The expression on your face is unreadable, Jaebum decides, as you nod.

"It's a good thing." He adds, just in case it isn't clear.

Not failing to pick up on this, you chuckle, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Really? Most people don't think so."

"Oh? Why not?"

You shrug. "A lot of people say I'm too blunt. Too brutal when it comes to expressing myself. That I don't know how to sugar coat even the harshest words."

"And how do you feel about that?"

You shrug, meeting his eyes. "I don't really care. They're all empty words. At the end of the day, the truth is the truth, and nothing can change that."

At that moment, Jaebum notices the sun starting to set. Its light tints everything in hues of orange and purple, reflecting off of the brown of your eyes. The last rays of the day kiss your skin and the strands of your hair, giving you an ethereal glow.

"Stay put." Jaebum orders, reaching into his bag and digging around for his camera.

"Didn't have plans of moving at all." You comment.

Jaebum brings out his camera and turns it on, hoping to capture the scene before him.

"Smile." He tells you.

Lightly grinning and striking a casual pose, you stare back at the camera lens. You watch as Jaebum frequently changes his position, making sure to not leave any angle uncaptured. He even plucks a random daisy he found, asking you to hold it up to your face and pose with it. You oblige, even moving your snacks aside so you could get up to stand and pose as Jaebum directs you from behind the camera.

By the time Jaebum decides he's done with the impromptu photoshoot, the sun's completely gone, and your space on the ground is dimly lit by a nearby streetlight. You finish the rest of your snacks and drinks while looking at the pictures he took, and when that's done, fall into natural conversation as you walk around, looking for a good restaurant.

"Was that for a project?" You ask as you’re seated at one of the tables in a barbeque restaurant.

"The pictures? No." Jaebum answers, picking up the menu card and scanning it. The both of you had previously decided that since he would be the one paying, he would be choosing the menu for tonight.

"Then why take so many?" You ask, thanking the waitress that comes to bring them your side dishes.

Before the waitress leaves, Jaebum places his orders and returns the menu card. "I had to take a photography class in my freshman year. It became a hobby of mine."

"Do you have a photography account on Instagram or something?" You ask. "Photographers are into that, right?"

"Yeah, I do." He confirms, somewhat baffled. "How are you so good at that?"

"Hm?" You raise your eyebrows. "Good at what?"

"You're the only person to ask me these without me having to mention it first. None of my friends asked about the radio segment or my Instagram. I've barely known you for a week and you've already figured out both!"

You shrug, smiling and sitting up as the meat is served. "Intuition, I guess."

As Jaebum gets to work in grilling the meat, you nibble on the side dishes. Dinner is quiet. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, your chewing being accompanied by soft sounds of approval at the taste of the meat.

You guys finish eating just before the clock strikes 8pm. You wait outside as Jaebum settles the bill, and you both decide you want to take a walk before returning home.

"Before I forget," You start, brushing your hair back. From his angle, Jaebum can see the way the streetlights illuminate your face, giving your skin a warm glow. The shadows that fall across your features contrast greatly against the milky color of your skin, giving your face depth and definition. The moonlight kisses the highest points of your face and brings a twinkle to your eyes, nature giving you an ethereal glow for the second time that day. Despite it only being his second time to witness this kind of natural beauty, Jaebum didn't think he would ever get tired of seeing you like this, nor did he think he would ever stop craving to capture every single moment like it.

"Def's Soul." You say.

Jaebum blinks. "What?"

"I told you I would come up with a new name for your segment." You state simply. "I decided on one just in time for your next appearance on the station."

"But, that's just my code name."

You hum in disagreement. "No, it's not. Def's Soul. As in, the soul of Def. Your soul."

Jaebum looks at you in amusement. He has to admit; it is kind of catchy.

"Music comes from within, right? By sharing your music to the world, you're giving everyone who listens a peek into your soul, your mind. I thought of calling it 'Peeking Into Defsoul', but that's just not attractive to listen to, it has a weird connotation, and it's worse than what you've got now. You can also call it 'Soul in Seoul; by Def', but I think 'Def's Soul' is the best." You finish your mini ramble about the segment name, turning to look at Jaebum's reaction. Jaebum can see on your face that you’re happy with what you had come up with, and abandons all plans of bickering with you about not needing to change the name of his segment at all.

"Okay." He concludes. "Def's Soul it is."

-=-=-=-

"Hey, everybody, welcome back. I hope you all had a wonderful week, hung out with some friends, aced all your tests. I know I certainly did. Even if you didn't, there's always next week.

Before we get down to business and listen to some sick tunes, I just want everyone to know that I'm going to be changing my segment name. That's right, from now on this segment will no longer be known as 'Friday Nights with Defsoul', but 'Def's Soul'.  As in my soul.

If you want to know why, ask away and I'll reply in a bit, but for now, let's welcome the weekend with Sucker by the Jonas Brothers."

The live comments feed is suddenly full of questions on why he suddenly decided to change the segment name. When the song comes to an end, Jaebum turns the microphone back on.

"A lot of you are asking why I suddenly decided to change the name.

To be honest, it wasn't my idea at all. I was content with the previous name, but I met someone who recognized my voice from radio and told me that it was such a corny name. So, she helped choose a new name, and that's when she mentioned 'Def's Soul'.

Basically, it means that by showing you all my music and my personal playlists, I'm giving you guys a peek into my soul, my mind. A song says a lot about the composer and lyricist, the same way you can tell a lot about someone by the way they compile their personal playlists.

In my opinion, it's one of the most intimate things a person can bare, yet also one of the vaguest. As those of you who study the arts should know, art can be interpreted in many different ways. Some interpretations are exactly the message you want to convey, and others are the exact opposite. So, by sharing my music with you, I'm baring my soul while at the same time, covering it up for you guys to decipher and uncover.

Here's your next look: we have one of my personal favorites, Teenager, by yours truly, featuring my friend, Jackson Wang. Enjoy."

Jaebum switches off the microphone, leaning back in his chair and sipping on a bottle of water as he listens to one of his latest compositions blare through the speakers of the studio.

Things in front of my eyes look new...

You brighten even the deep part of my heart...

-=-=-=-

"You were right." Jaebum comments, sinking down on the grass. You look up, and, seeing the cat in Jaebum's arms, take hold of it immediately, cooing and petting its head. "Def's Soul is a much better name."

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him triumphantly. "Oh? What made you realize it?"

"A couple of kids in my cinematography class were talking about it." He says. "Then I passed a couple of people on my way here who were also talking about it. I guess it just rolls of the tongue more easily."

You grin as you strokes the cat's head. It purrs, nuzzling its head against your arm. "I'm glad."

You stroke it a couple of more times. "What's her name?"

Jaebum looks at you blankly, clearly not paying attention. You chuckle. "Your cat. What's her name?"

"Nora." Jaebum watches as his cat cozies up to you, looking the most content she ever had. "She likes you."

"Really? I like her too." You grin widely, bringing Nora to your face to rub cheeks with her.

"You should cat-sit sometime." Jaebum suggests. "I tend to get really busy with practice."

"Practice? For what?" You ask.

"Dance practice. I'm part of a performance group."

You stare at him unbelievingly. "No way. For real?"

Jaebum nods nonchalantly.

"That's so cool! You're so multi-talented, can I watch you guys practice? I'll take care of Nora in the practice room and I'll stay out of your way. Promise!"

Chuckling at your enthusiasm, Jaebum finds himself nodding. "Sure. You can stay with Youngjae's friend who always comes."

"Yes!" You cheer, then lean down to talk to Nora. "You hear that Nora? We're going to see Jaebum-oppa dance!"

A strange feeling appears in Jaebum's chest, one he can't explain. "What?"

Looking up innocently, you meet his eyes. "Hm?"

"What did you call me?"

Tilting your head confusedly, you answer. "Oppa?"

Calm down, Jaebum, your heart's beating a little too fast right now. Stop thinking about how cute she is when she does that. "Why? You never call me that."

"I was...talking to Nora..." You say, confused as to why it was such a big deal.

Oh, Y/N. If only you knew.

-=-=-=-

A couple of days later, you find yourself walking alongside Jaebum, Nora's carrier in hand. He's leading you to their practice room, telling you stories on the way there. Like how one time, the boys had a bonding night and ended up drinking too many bottles of soju. One of their maknaes, Bambam from Thailand, had apparently unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and, singing wildly, started swinging around on a streetlight as if it was a pole. When the both of you arrive at the studio, your stomach hurt from all the laughing you did on your walk there.

As you approach the door, muffled sounds can be heard through the walls from the inside.

"Yah, get that away from me!" Youngjae, Jaebum notes.

"Kim Yugyeom, I swEAR to god I will kick your ass if you- " Youngjae's friend, Nayoung.

"I'm joking, noona, I'm joking!" That's Yugyeom.

"Hyung, please-!" Youngjae again.

"What happened to my hair?!" Bambam, in front of the mirror, probably.

"Really, no one cares." Jinyoung.

Plus, a loud cackle that can only belong to Jackson. That leaves Mark, though he's probably resting on the couch, so everyone's present.

As he slowly swings the door open, you clearly hear the commotion inside- though it sounds more like chaos to you.

"Sorry. They're a bit noisy." Jaebum tells you as he holds open the door so you can walk through.

"A bit?" You scoff. "I'll say."

Fully stepping into the room, your suspicions are only confirmed as you’re met with the sight of five guys and a girl causing a scene in the wide space. From where he stands, Jaebum can see Jackson chasing Youngjae with something furry in his hand, the latter not realizing that it was fake and running away screaming for his hyung to stop. Yugyeom's holding out something as equally furry, except it's directed towards the only other female in the room. The girl, Nayoung, then proceeds to take one of the few pillows on the couch, raising it above her head to protect herself from whatever Yugyeom is threatening her with, before knocking the thing out of his hands and chasing him around the room, ready to beat his ass. Bambam stands in front of the mirror in a state of distress as he runs his fingers through his now blonde hair. Jinyoung stands at his side, looking like he had better things to do, yet still taking the time to laugh at Bambam's situation. All this chaos and Mark is calmly perched on the couch, tapping away at his phone and playing a game.

At the sight of a newcomer, this all stops.

"Everyone, this is- "

"Y/N!" A loud voice that can only belong to Jackson yells. You laugh as one of your closest friends comes running and tackles you in a hug. Jaebum suddenly feels the need to unwrap Jackson's arms, but since he knows that you guys are close friends, he controls himself from following through with his tendencies.

One by one, the others unfreeze from their positions. Bambam is the first to approach, though for a completely different reason.

Sitting down in front of you, he unlatches the opening of Nora's carrier and lets her crawl onto his lap. "Hi Nora~ I missed you. It's been a while." He coos.

Jaebum sets his things down in a corner of the room and watches as Jackson introduces you to everyone. The group's practice ensues after that, and you and Nayoung sit on the couch, making sure to keep out of the boys' way.

While he dances, Jaebum steals glances of you in the mirror. His chest becomes warm and his smile only grows bigger whenever he manages to catch you enjoying the song they're dancing to- his song. Page.

By the end of it all, the nine of them gather in a circle on the floor, sharing tupperwares of Nayoung's homemade kimbap, stir-fried pork, and rice balls. Then, as if the heavy snack isn't enough to satiate their hunger, the group leaves the studio and heads for a restaurant just halfway down the block.

Jaebum ends up sitting beside you and across Jackson. The group place their orders for boxes of chicken and bottles of beer. Once the food arrives, everyone's mouth is soon preoccupied with eating.

"Hey Jaebum-hyung. Are we still up for that music video shooting next week?" Jinyoung pipes up, taking a sip of his beer. "I need to know whether or not I can visit home."

"I'm still looking for someone to help me film. A lot of the people in my class are too busy with their own projects." Jaebum answers. "If I don't find anyone by Thursday, you can tell your mom you'll be home for the three-day weekend."

"Why don't you ask Y/N to do it?" Jackson says, gesturing to you with nod of his head. "You were a videographer at one point, right? In high school?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "I don't remember telling you that, but yes, I was."

"Really? Would you be willing to help us film?" Jaebum asks, turning to his left to face you. "It's for my final project, and you'll be fully credited."

You shrug. "Sure. Just give me a time and place and I'll let you know if I'm free."

The following weekend, you help them film, and Jaebum finds that he really likes the way you do it. He also has fun editing the music video for his cinematography class, and decides that it would be a good idea to film more music and performance videos. The credits are always the same; you as the camerawoman, Nayoung as the hair stylist and makeup artist, Jaebum as the editor, director, and producer, and GOT7 as the cast. It's a fun little hobby.

Months pass and before you know it, it's the last month of your senior year. In a couple of weeks, you would be taking the last exams of your college career and a few weeks after that, you'd be graduating and leaving this place forever.

That should've been Jaebum's only worry.

But he started noticing recently that you were looking a little worse for wear. Your undereye area was looking a lot darker than normal, your skin turned a sickly pale tone, and you lost a lot of weight. He knew that you were aware of these changes as you started wearing masks more, and often hid behind baggy clothing- most of which consisted of his hoodies.

He'd tried talking to you about it, but you, like him, weren't the type to be open about your struggles and personal problems. So, he'd let you be, watching over you from afar, and taking care of you in whatever way he could. Jaebum would drive you to your part-time job if he was free, so you could rest in his car instead of tiring yourself out by taking the bus and walking. He'd show up at your apartment in the morning when he knew you would still be in there, more often than not holding a breakfast pastry and smoothie in his hands. He'd make sure you ate properly and didn't miss any meals, and even helped you study for your exams (Most of his were practical, anyway. He didn't have as much to memorize as you did.). He was the reason the amount of cup noodles you were accustomed to consuming lessened significantly.

Despite all of Jaebum's efforts, you didn't seem to improve at all.

On this particular Thursday morning, Jaebum knocks on your door holding a ham and cheese croissant in one hand and a jug of organic orange juice (courtesy of Jackson) in the other. There's a stumble from the inside of the unit, and you open the door, flustered.

Cute. Jaebum watches as you stand there in your mismatched pajamas, bare face, and messy hair that's sticking up all over the place. You cover your mouth, yawning. He frowns at the sight of your eye bags and sickly skin, but covers this up with a cheery grin. "Good morning!"

"Jaebum?" You mumble sleepily. "What time is it?"

He checks his watch. "Almost 10 in the morning. I wanted to wake you up so you'd have time to eat before your 1pm exam."

At the mention of the academic enemy, your eyes widen. "Shit. I was supposed to wake up two hours ago! I'm not done studying!"

You run back into the apartment, leaving Jaebum to let himself in and lock the door behind him. He watches as you frantically flip through your notes and continues studying your reviewer in obvious distress.

Setting the food beside her, he ruffles your hair. "Eat."

Without looking back to check if you listen, Jaebum makes his way into the kitchen and starts cooking up lunch for the two of you. He figures a healthy serving of spicy soft tofu stew would be just what you needed to get through the day.

Jaebum adds lots of meat to the pot, and even cooks rice for the both of you. While the stew is boiling, he sets the table, bringing out utensils, glasses, and a pitcher of water. By the time he finishes cooking, it's 11am, and he guesses that you have just enough time to eat, shower, and cram study some more.

He brings the steaming pot of jjigae to the dining table and literally has to peel you away from your notes. It doesn't take much to make you eat; you quickly figure out that the sooner you finish your share of the meal, the sooner Jaebum would allow you to return to your cramming. Scarfing down the food with no shame, you finish eating in less than ten minutes, while Jaebum sits beside you, leisurely consuming his portion. He eats slowly, calmly, and watches amusedly as you become frantic about studying again.

Jaebum finishes up his meal and cleans the table, even doing the dishes. When the clock strikes exactly 12:15pm, he forces you to take a shower, holding the door close from the outside. He only leaves after you stop trying to pry it open and he hears the water running.

By 12:50pm, Jaebum is walking you to your exam hall, where he stops a few feet from the door to let you go in by yourself. You stop in your tracks, turn to face Jaebum, and give him a shy smile.

"Thank you..." you start. "For doing what you did. You didn't need to, but you did. All of it."

Jaebum finds himself smiling, his chest warming up. "It's no big deal."

"No, but," you continue. "I'm really grateful. More than you could ever know. I owe you one."

"You don't owe me anything." Jaebum tells you. "Consider this as payment for all the times you filmed for us."

You start to shake your head, but Jaebum speaks up again. "Besides, as your friend, it's sort of my job to take care of you."

You chuckle and smile, staring at him with fond eyes. "Still. Thank you."

Jaebum doesn't expect what you do next. He's frozen in place as you step forward to stand on your toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. There's no trace of shyness on your face as you step back, give him a bright smile, and turn around to enter the exam hall.

Jaebum's sure that his ears had gone red by the time he finally moves (a good five minutes later). Unable to calm his heart down, he takes deep breaths as he makes his way back to his apartment. The moment he steps in and closes the door behind him, Nora comes padding up to him with her soft paws- the exact moment he decides to let out an excited and joyful scream.

She kissed me. She actually kissed me.

The smile on Jaebum's face never leaves him for the rest of the day.

-=-=-=-

It's a couple of days later that Jaebum convinces you to finally take a break. Between your part-time job and studying for finals, you were exhausted, and it was starting to show physically.

Since he knows that you would study if he left you alone in your apartment, he manages to drag you out of yours and into his with the goal of hanging out by eating a big meal together. Jaebum had prepared multiple boxes and orders of delivery food; pizza, hamburgers, jokbal, fried chicken, bossam, you name it. He's rather proud of how he set it all up in his living room: a comfortable layout of pillows and blankets, the coffee table in front of them completely covered in the food, and his TV ready to play whatever movie Netflix could provide.

"So how do you think you did on your exams so far?" Jaebum asks as you both begin to open up the different boxes of food.

"Let's not talk about that, please. I'm going to want to study again and that completely defies the purpose of this break." You respond, helping yourself to the jokbal.

Jaebum nods. "Fair enough."

He clears his throat. "How are you, then?"

You shrug. "Fine enough. How are you?"

"Fine enough." Jaebum repeats, a small grin on his face. You mirrors his expression when you catch onto what he did.

Meeting with you was always like this. Somehow, you brought out the playful side of him and you almost always ended up giggling at nothing.

"I'm just a little tired but I'll be fine." You add, bringing a piece of meat to your lips and giving him a half-hearted smile.

Jaebum studies you as he eats, stealing glances at you every now and then. When you both decide you're done eating, Jaebum persuades you to rest on the couch while he cleans up. He walks back into the living room to find that you had started watching a movie, and sinks down onto the couch beside you. Hardly paying attention to the movie, Jaebum finds himself watching you.

He's under the impression that you’re completely immersed in the movie and didn't think you'd notice, but you pause the movie and set the remote down, turning to look at him with a questioning look on your face.

"What is it, Jaebum?" You ask.

Jaebum gives you an innocent look. "Hmm?"

"You've been staring at me since dinner. What's the matter?"

Jaebum sighs. He isn't getting out of this one. "I'm just worried, I guess."

"About what?"

"You. You suck at taking care of yourself. Every time I see you, it's like your eye bags have gotten darker, you've lost more weight, you have less energy, you're paler-"

"Okay, okay, I get it." You cut him off, chuckling. Jaebum stares at you incredulously.

"Are you laughing?" He asks. "Is this funny to you? I'm worried about your health and well-being and you have the audacity to laugh at me?"

You shake your head, smiling at him. "You're too cute, Jaebum-ah."

Jaebum stops and his body has no other reaction other than to huff and turn away.

"I'm not laughing at you. Promise. It's just cute how you're so worried." You say. "Why are you even bothered so much anyway? It's not like I'm dying."

Jaebum gives you a deadpan look. "This is what I get for being concerned? You're an ungrateful friend."

This makes you burst out into loud laughter, and it's so contagious that Jaebum can't help but join in. When the both of you calm down, you give him another smile. "You don't need to worry, Jaebum. I'm fine."

Jaebum doesn't agree. He always worries about you. But he doesn't say that and just nods.

You turn away. "Geez, you worry too much. It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything."

Jaebum freezes at that statement. For some reason, it hurt. A lot.

You’ve already resumed playing the movie, so he mumbles to himself. "What's so wrong with that?"

"Hmm? What was that?" You ask, pausing the movie again to look at him.

Jaebum turns his face to look at you. He has no doubt his emotions are displayed all over his face. His heart feels heavy- is it really so bad that he wants to be yours? You made it seem so...unappealing.

"Hey." Your voice comes out cautious, gentle. "You okay?"

Jaebum breaks his silence, raising his eyes to look at you properly. "Would it really be so bad? If I wanted to be?"

Your eyes widen. "Jaebum, I-"

"Answer me. You make it seem as if dating me is such an unappealing concept. Is it really that bad?" Jaebum's voice came out weak, insecure, and he hates it. He was never really the insecure one. Everything he did, he did it with the security of hard work and perseverance to support his confidence.

But not this. How could he ever have prepared for this?

"Of course not." You answer immediately.

"Then why say it like that?" Jaebum snaps.

Oops. Maybe that was a mistake.

You frown. "What are you getting mad at me for? I was just checking up on you, and now you're being all snappy!"

"I just-" Jaebum gives up. "Never mind."

He feels like collapsing. The conversation escalated pretty quickly from him checking up on you, and he hates feeling like he's on the edge of breaking your friendship. He hates not being able to do more. Why couldn't he just man up and tell you how he felt already? How hard could it be?

Evidently, it's extremely difficult.

"No, I will not. Talk to me. You keep avoiding the topic and it's obviously bothering you." You press. "What's the problem?"

Jaebum groans in frustration. "I said don't mind it. I'm fine."

"Do you think I'm stupid, Im Jaebum? You think I'm an idiot?"

"No."

"Then talk to me!"

"No!"

"You're being ridiculous-"

"I said I'm fine!"

"Why's it so hard for you to open up-"

"Because I like you, okay?!"

Oops. That wasn't supposed to come out.

"All I want to do is care for you and take care of you because I hate seeing you suffer. Why do you think I dragged you over here to rest? Why do you think I worked so hard to take care of you all these past weeks? Why do you try to deny everything that I do for you, saying I don't need to? Okay, maybe I don't need to do anything for you, but I want to. Why can't you let me care for you the way I want to?"

Jaebum's heart is racing. He'd never felt anything as overwhelming as this before. The pain of wanting to do so much for someone who didn't want him to- what did that tell him?

You’re frozen, quiet, so Jaebum continues. "If you want me to stop, if you really don't want me to do anything for you anymore, say it here and now. I'll stop for you. Tell me you don't like me back and I'll stop it all."

"It's not that I don't like it-" you start.

"Then what?" Jaebum cuts in, voice hard. "Why-"

"Jaebum!" You snap in a tone that had the ability to zip Jaebum's mouth shut. "Let me speak!"

Jaebum backs down immediately.

You sigh. "Look. I'm sorry I ever made you feel that way. I didn't mean to make it seem like I didn't want you to take care of me. I like it when you show that you care, I really do. It's nice to have someone looking out for you, you know?"

"Then why deny it?"

"I guess I didn't want to be a burden to anyone." You shrug.

Jaebum stares at you disbelievingly. "You'd never be a burden to me."

"And I know that now." You say. "I just- ugh, I didn't want to impose. I felt like I was just an extra load to everything else you were carrying. You already do so much, and here I am, like a newborn baby, terrible at taking care of her own body and needing one of her best friends to take care of it for her."

Jaebum's face lights up. "I'm one of your best friends?" He asks with a cheeky smile on his face.

You hit him on the arm. "Yah. Is that all you got?"

"Aish. I listened, I did!" He insists. "But am I really that important to you?"

You huff and turn away, but mumble under your breath nonetheless, "Yeah."

A wide smile breaks out on Jaebum's face and he can't help but throw his arms around you in a bear hug.

"Y-yah. Wha-what is this? Don't people usually hate it when their crushes call them a best friend? Why are you so happy?" You stutter.

Jaebum lifts his head to look at you. Your face is quickly going red and there's a nervous look in your eyes. He gives you a big smile. "You calling me one of your best friends means you consider me one of the most important people in your life. Even if you don't return my feelings, it's fine. I'll take what you're ready to give me, even if it's just a friend-zone."

And you understand. Jaebum sees it in the way your features soften and the way your body relaxes against his. Suddenly gaining a shot of courage, you lean forward a little bit, smirking lightly.

"I never said I friend-zoned you." You say lowly. You’re mere inches away from his face and Jaebum can feel your breath against his lips.

It's his turn to stiffen, his turn to grow nervous. "You just did..."

You daringly bring your hands up around his neck to bury your fingers in his hair- a sensation Jaebum realizes he'd never get tired of. You smile teasingly. "That was before."

Jaebum gulps audibly. "B-before what?"

You chuckle fondly. "Is the Im Jaebum stuttering? What a historic day."

"N-no, I'm not-"

Jaebum never finishes his sentence because his lips are suddenly trapped in a lip-lock with those of the woman in his arms.

And no, sparks don't fly. They never really do, Jaebum realizes. What happens is much better.

His heart beats faster than he ever thought was possible and his head goes fuzzy. Before this, he was frozen stiff, but the second your lips start to move together, electricity courses through his veins, his entire body awake- alive.

You take over all his senses- he feels intoxicated in the best way possible. His senses are heightened and he's suddenly aware of everything that is you. Only you.

He feels you smiling as you lean back into the couch, pulling him with you. Jaebum can't help but smile himself, as he crawls over your body on the couch, the kiss never breaking.

This. This is a billion times better than the friend-zone.

[bleucheeks]

[008] rub his back;

BTS sickfic // kookie-centric // word count: 4,297

Summary: 

Jungkook gets food poisoning during the boys' vacation in Hawaii. What a time to be violently sick, under a tight schedule filming season 2 of Bon Voyage and under the watchful eye of a camera. But Jungkook has his hyungs, and to them, he comes first.

//note: i have a laptop now! <333 

anyway, it’s been a really long time, and i have lots of writing to do, but i want to offer my contribution for the small bts sickfic pool. for those of you in this community who aren’t too familiar with korean pop in general, here’s some things you might need to know. 

‘hyung’ means older brother. any guy who is older than another guy is called this if they know each other well, but it’s also a very special title, in my opinion.

‘maknae’ is what anyone is called if they’re the youngest in a group. kpop groups are known to baby their maknaes :3

‘aigoo’ is an expression in korean almost like “omg” or “oh my” but it’s more of a sound than a word. 

‘yah’ is like ‘hey’

‘*insert name*-ah’ is just an informal marking particle after a name that Koreans tend to say when saying someone’s name that they’re really close to. 

Kookie is this sweet boy right here, the youngest member in BTS. 

and also um, this, so. . . .

you’re welcome. 

___

After about the fifth time Jungkook’s stomach gives a proper churn—the kind that sends a flash of hot then cold over his body—he’s pretty positive something isn’t quite right with his stomach.

It doesn’t normally act much different from feeling full after eating a big meal. And when he is full, he’s never bothered by how stretched-out he feels, or how it might gurgle and slosh with digestion. Not like right now. Jungkook and his stomach have a good relationship with each other. It’s strong and it's. . . . trusting. 

The fact that he can’t even follow along with his bandmates' conversations as they play a simple card game is already enough evidence for himself. There’s snacks on the floor that he’d be fighting Taehyung and Jin for any time other than tonight. Tonight, any thought of consuming anything makes his throat retract, almost as if he’s about to gag.

“Uno! I think!”

Taehyung is beaming with that boxy smile of his and giggling like a child, waving his one card in the air. Jin leans toward him and Tae obligingly lets him look at the card he’s put down and the card in his hand. Yoongi sucks his teeth. “You’re not supposed to show anyone,” he mutters in his monotone voice.

Jin nods his head at Tae’s cards. “Let him live; he’s still learning,” Jin defends.

“Uno’s probably the easiest game around,” Yoongi counters.

“It’s easier if you know Spanish,” Taehyung says. Melodic giggles pour out of Jimin and he falls into Taehyung’s lap.

“Yah, the only Spanish word in Uno is “uno” silly,” he says.

“I think I’m doing pretty good for someone who’s never played before, hyung,” Tae mutters playfully, eyeing Yoongi with one of his actor’s glares. Yoongi doesn’t look up from his cards, but he smiles a little.

“Only because this is a tutorial,”

“Yeah, this game won’t count. Next game, we’re starting scores.” Hoseok says, his tone unvarnished, and everyone nods in agreement. His hand idly grazes Jungkook’s spine, brushing fingers along the back of his neck, pinching tense skin where it counts and a tired moan barely makes it past the youngest boy’s lips. It’s like he knows. Jungkook isn’t even trying to be subtle about how good it feels. Hobi’s hands are blessings. There’s a reason why the maknae stays up under him most times.

The seven members are sitting cross-legged on the floor of a beach house in Hawaii. They’ve finished filming an episode of Bon Voyage for the night—well, mostly finished. The cameras never really go off, but they probably won’t use much after coming back from the luau. At least that’s what Jungkook thinks, with his hand fixed on the tight and slightly distended bulge of his belly.

His stomach’s been making itself very known at the most inopportune breaks of silence, gurgling with low glugs and bubbling periodically like a pot at a low simmer. He doesn’t think it will be good content for filming—it can’t be. But then again, their production team were editing magicians; they’d more than likely have ways to mute the sounds. After several years of having a music career together, cameras were as normal as a lamp in the room. It was one of the reasons their fans loved them so much: they have access to so many candid moments.

Jungkook tries to pay attention, but it’s weird. He shouldn’t be feeling this full after having eaten 3 hours ago, not to the point where he feels stuffed to the brim. It’s getting harder to stay still and quiet under the mild volume of the music playing on Namjoon’s phone.

He suddenly jolts with a hiccup. A cold sweat ripples over his body. A faint, though unsettling, sensation of nausea licks at the back of his throat and he swallows nervously.

Another audible rumble and his eyes lull shut. He’s grateful no one chooses to notice the sound. Hobi continues to pet him without causing attention and Jungkook is so grateful for it. He’d hate for anyone to catch on to his distress.

The boys keep playing games of Uno for what feels like way too long, with it’s typical Bangtan raucous minus Jungkook, and Hobi jumping up for a break of animated dance over the pile of cards after every victory. Jungkook pretends to participate here and there, putting down cards just to put them down and saying he’s just too unlucky tonight.

The combined noises of his 6 hyungs makes it easy for Jungkook’s silence to go unnoticed, or so he thinks.

Jimin has already caught on that something isn’t quite right. There isn’t ever a time Jungkook isn’t competitive. But Jimin doesn’t say anything, thinking back on the times Jungkook tended to become withdrawn whenever anyone started to openly worry about him.

The maknae leaves several times. First for some water that he can’t bring himself to sip, second and third and fourth to slip away to the bathroom to try to relax. The privacy to bring up burps that are tight and wet and taste funny, to moan and press a palm into the bloat of his stomach. To aimlessly pace the hallway of the bungalow with a hand under his middle where he swears has gotten harder and stewier.

He stands in front of the mirror looking a little paler in the face and feeling a lot more helpless. He doesn’t think he can pull off hiding away to go to sleep right now without everyone wondering why, but that’s exactly what he wants to do. Any other night, Jungkook would fight bed time like a child due for a nap.

Jungkook was known to stay up with Taehyung to play Overwatch every night, the last two to go to bed most nights. At least until Jin yelled at them to go to sleep.

He bites his lip. He’s running out of ideas.

x

“I’m gonna go take a shower, alright?” Jungkook says, as nonchalant as he can make his voice. But he just looks really awkward, standing there in front of his six bandmates with his thumb pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

Everyone’s heads snap toward Jungkook. Yoongi’s resting pout face moves with one rising eyebrow, eyes narrowing.

“O-kay, I guess?” he says. It’s pretty odd for Jungkook to want a shower right this second, in the heat of the game, in the midst of their precious bonding time.

Jin’s attention briefly settles on a celery stick he pops into his mouth and Jungkook can’t possibly imagine being even marginally hungry for anything right now. The eldest’s round eyes go back to Jungkook, giving him a once over. “Yah, JK, you feeling okay?” Jin knows he has to use a light and playful tone with Jungkook so that the spotlight isn’t completely on him. He can tell there’s something wrong, but he’s choosing not to fully voice how much he notices.

It isn’t a secret like Jungkook thinks it is. He should know by now that nothing gets past his hyungs, especially Jin. But they also know how Jungkook gets when he isn’t feeling well. As tempting as it is, Jungkook doesn’t like to be coddled in any way, unless he’s really hurting. Then he himself will come to them. But they must give him that choice.

Jungkook visibly tenses. He snorts and shrugs. “I just want a shower, hyung,” His tone is defensive. “That alright? I’ll be right back to play the next round.” He glances at Namjoon before disappearing down the hall. Everyone notices how stiffly he walks away.

“I think Kookie’s got an upset stomach,” Jimin adds after leaning over to place down a card. Everyone makes a noise of agreement. He straightens up and cranes his head in the direction of the bathroom. He wants to go check on him. Yoongi places a hand on Jimin’s thigh, but his eyes are concentrated on his three cards.

“He’ll be okay. I’ll leave some antacids by him when he lays down.”

“You’d think he’d crack already; he looked about as pale as you are, Yoongi.” Hoseok pipes in, laughing a little. Jimin and Taehyung are mirroring concerned frowns.

“Kookie would tell us if he’s feeling really bad, wouldn’t he?” Taehyung asks, and Namjoon’s face melts into a warm smile, dimples sinking through.

“He always does.”

x

The shower runs long before Jungkook actually steps in. His stomach twists into a cramp that has him on his knees for a while, pressing an arm into his middle until the hot snake inside of him finally decides to relax. It doesn’t ease up until he’s curled over on the toilet with his intestines bubbling. He rests his head in his hands while he pants through the pain, praying no body hears anything but the shower running. And then someone’s pounding on the door.

“Yah, save some water for the fishes in the sea, kookie-ah—you fall asleep in there?” Hoseok’s voice. Jungkook knows that he isn’t being mean about it, but it still startles him. He swallows hard and rubs his face with shaky hands. He can feel his face burning with embarrassment even though the door is locked and Hobi obviously can’t see him.

“A-ah—sorry hyung. I’ll be out soon,” he nervously laughs, but he’s sweating. He still feels sick, but he thinks he might feel a little better once his intestines let up.

“Mmmkayyy,” Hoseok drawls, sounding a bit skeptical, but he leaves from the door. Jungkook practically melts with relief, but only for a second before his stomach locks up with another cramp. He bites his sleeve and tries to bear it.

x

Jungkook comes back like he says he will, but 45 minutes later, fresh from a shower and wearing Jin’s forest green hoodie with some loose black shorts. Namjoon knows it’s Jin’s because it’s significantly longer than Jungkook’s matching one. He hides a knowing smirk; the boy tends to “steal” Yoongi’s, Hoseok’s, Jin’s, and Namjoon’s clothes when he’s homesick or sad or sick.

It helps ground him. A habit the eldest band members promised not to call Jungkook out on. In all honesty, it’s incredibly cute. The leader watches their youngest dip his chin under the collar of the sweater, nudging it upward so it covers his nose, probably taking in all of Jin’s wonderful cologne. His round eyes lift to watch the cards grow in a pile on the floor and Namjoon wants to reach over and fluff his hair.

He looks a little better, his face clean from washing and glowy with moisturizer, dark hair now damp from being washed, but not from sweat. He pipes into the conversation, genuinely interested in catching up on what he might have missed.

“Jeon Jungkook-chingooo,” Hoseok sings, feigning a baby voice and making grabby hands toward the boy. Jungkook tightens his lips; it’s hard not to smile around someone as sunshiny as Hoseok. He saunters over with his hands shoved in the hoodie pockets and plops himself next to Hobi, where his gifted hands gravitate back along Jungkook’s spine. Namjoon silently observes that Jungkook seems more present and vocal since coming back from the shower and he’s pleased to see he looks significantly better.

They continue their night of games and music and laughter on the living room floor and all seems well.

x

Now Jungkook knows something isn’t right. He was sure he was starting to feel better after having used the bathroom, after taking that shower. But he’s bloated again, his belly hard and pushed-out under his hand. It’s back to a steady—if not increasing—roil just like earlier. Yoongi left him two bubbling tablets in a glass of water on the coffee table and Jungkook wonders how in the world Yoongi knew he might need it. Even if it might help, Jungkook can’t even bring himself to swallow past a sip of it.

He’s on the couch, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded over his stomach. Jimin is shuffling around nearby, fresh from a shower and covered head to toe in black. Sweatpants, hoodie over head, snapback on; jimin’s go-to pjs any time of the year. It’s like an extra security blanket. Jungkook can barely see the elder’s face, but he’s glad for it right now. He doesn’t want anyone to know he might be feeling any sort of discomfort. It’s still nice to have him close by.

His belly burbles softly and he bites his lip. An air bubble settles in his chest and he swallows until he can feel it slowly return to his uneasy stomach. Gingerly, he moves to face the soft cushions of the couch, covering his eyes with his arm.

Bringing his knees to his chest, he really wishes he hadn’t finished that whole plate of meat and seafood by himself at the luau. The thought alone tightens his throat and tempts him to gag. All those different heavy side dishes. That last helping of shellfish brought out later that evening that he had to try. All these foreign foods he isn’t used to, and eating so much of it. He’d been so greedy today. He really didn’t need to start the morning with a whole bowl of rice with the kimchi and ramen Jin had made for breakfast. That had already been overkill.

His constricted middle turns again and it sends a physical shudder over his body. He grimaces and burrows further into the cushions, hoping Jimin doesn’t notice the whisper of a moan he presses into the upholstery. How could he be so stupid?

____

Staying out near the sea like this is a real treasure. After all the busy schedules and the back-to-back performances and music video shoots, the group needs this. It’s so peaceful here. No worries of being spotted on the streets and no trace of the hustle and bustle and congestion that comes with city life. For Jimin, vacation includes staying up late to read to his heart’s content, the only time it’s truly quiet. It’s one of Jimin’s favorite things.  

The windows are open so the cool breeze and the sound of the steady lapping of water from the beach can be heard from right outside.

Jungkook is laid out on the sectional in the living room. The youngest used to have trouble sleeping alone, back when they first debuted and he was young and shy and the pressure to make it overwhelmed him with anxiety. But not anymore, not unless something is really eating at him. There are plenty of beds to sleep in, but here Jungkook is, on the couch while Jimin wordlessly flips through page after page of his book. Jimin doesn’t say anything about it, but he knows Jungkook is laying there simply for the comfort of knowing someone is near.

And Jungkook probably hadn’t planned on falling asleep there, but Jimin saw it coming. He stopped reading a while ago to cover the boy in a blanket and get him a pillow before curling back up in the cushioned rocking chair across from him, peeking up from his book more times than he can keep up to watch the maknae squirm in his sleep. The boy’s stomach keeps gurgling under the blanket. His body moves more restlessly as the time passes. Jimin is starting to get a little concerned.

And then Jungkook wakes up, lifting himself on his elbows and staring ahead with eyelids fluttering from a drowsy haze. He notices Jimin, but he doesn’t say anything.

“You’re stomach’s really talkative right now, Kookie,” Jimin says with a hushed giggle.

Jungkook doesn’t respond. He looks confused, with strands of his soft hair raised from being rubbed against a pillow. Jimin smiles fondly as the young singer makes a groggy noise, turns over towards the cushions of the couch and presses his face into them.  

“Mm’okay,” he mumbles sleepily into the fabric.

Jimin doesn’t question it further, not thinking much of it. Maybe Jungkook’s stomach is working overtime on all the food he ate that night. It was a lot, after all. Kookie was already a big eater. He’d tried a little of everything and a lot of what he’d liked. It wouldn’t be a surprise if all the foreign indulgence from the luau wasn’t sitting well in his stomach.

But he goes back to his book when Jungkook seems to be fast asleep again. And then 10 minutes later, a sluggish burp drags up the sleeping boy’s throat. Poor thing must be dealing with some serious indigestion. Jungkook turns on his back. Jimin watches his hand move up under Jin’s baggy green hoodie.

Another 10 minutes and he’s awake again, breathing heavy, disoriented, and visibly uncomfortable.

Slowly, he rolls off the couch. Sitting on his knees, he rests his head over crossed arms on the couch. Jimin watches Jungkook’s back curl forward with a deep hiccup and a faint sound of distress follows. The book is no longer important.

“Kookie? You okay?”

“Mm?” Jungkook’s voice sounds heavy.

Jimin gets up and kneels down with him, his hand instantly going to rub along the maknae’s spine. “It’s your stomach, isn’t it?” He guesses gently. “I kind of figured this might happen.” Jungkook keeps his eyes pressed into his arm, but he’s moaning each time his stomach makes that nasty curdling noise, puffing through his nose. Jimin’s fingers pass through Jungkook’s thick hair. “That was a lot of food, kookie-ah. Too much. Now it’s made you sick.”

Jungkook jolts with a closed-mouthed belch that he smothers into his sleeve. He breathes out fetid air with his eyes clenched shut. Jimin gives the maknae a few light pats between his shoulder blades, his frown deepening by the seconds. He looks back and spots a barely touched glass of antacids nearly dissolved in water. He brings it near Jungkook’s lips.

“Here, have some of this for me. It should help,”

“I can’t,” Jungkook chokes, shaking his head.

“Please, puppy? Just a few sips?” he tries again, even softer, brushing dampening hair behind the singer’s flushed ears. He nudges Jungkook’s shoulder with his forehead. “Please kook-ah? I hate seeing you like this.”

Jungkook wraps an arm around his stomach. “I tried,” he answers through gritted teeth. He lifts his head without opening his eyes. All color has left his lips. “I can’t drin—klp,” a sharp hiccup robs him of his speech, leaving him with a sour grimace. 

Jimin works his hand under the thick layer of Jin’s oversized hoodie to rub some circles into Jungkook’s tense back and realizes how warm he is. His other hand feels his forehead and Jungkook leans right into it. Then he brings it under the hoodie again to touch his stomach and he doesn’t expect it to feel so round and tight and active under his fingers. Jungkook squeezes his hand, pressing it against the upset organ and sighing shakily.

“Oh poor thing,” Jimin whispers, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry you feel so bad,” They stay there for a little while, letting Jungkook use his hand to put pressure on his stomach. He tightens his lips; he really should wake one of the boys up. Maybe Jin or Namjoon. Their youngest is worse off than Jimin thinks he’ll be able to handle on his own.

Eventually, Jimin makes to stand up, hooking his hands under Jungkook’s arms to hoist him up. “Alright, up up up,” he grunts, getting him to sit upright at the edge of the couch. He isn’t sure what he should do next. Leave Jungkook to look through Yoongi’s trusty emergency medicine stash? But it’s still packed in his suitcase. He might wake up. But then again, maybe he should wake him up. Or should—

“Jimin-ah,” Jungkook presses a few trembling fingers on his lips and swallows hard to keep down a burp from rising in his chest. Then he swallows again and again, sucks in a breath and barely moves his lips when he needs to speak again. “I think I’m gon—,” he shudders and closes his eyes, squeezes his knee. Swallows again. “But I can’t move.”

Jimin is already up and running to the kitchen for a bowl, or a trash bin, or anything really, come on—he snatches a mixing bowl from a cabinet, sprinting when he hears Jungkook start to gag into his hand.

Shit shit shit shit shit

x

Jungkook tastes a blend of smoked pork and seafood resting at the back of his throat after a particularly heady belch bursts past his lips. What’s worse is Jimin is right there, with his shoulder pressed right against his and gently patting his back in the dark of the quiet living room. Jungkook wonders how long he’s been here like this; he’s a little disoriented—last thing he remembers is falling asleep on the couch and now he’s sitting up and his stomach is in his throat and Jimin’s holding a bowl under him. His cheeks are burning. He’s humiliated, but Jimin only watches him with calm concern while he keeps on rubbing and patting and coaxing. With every movement of Jimin’s hand, his spine ripples with a burp or a wet hiccup. He knows Jimin’s intentions, but he just wants him to stop.

“M’sorry,” The maknae’s voice barely breaks a shaking whisper, hiccupping with a convulsive swallow. He sways a little and grabs Jimin’s thigh. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” Another jerky swallow. “You should be sleeping,”

Jimin passes a hand through the ailing boy’s brown hair. “Aigoo, don’t worry about that, I was already awake—you don’t remember?”

“Mm—mm,”

Jimin sucks his teeth in sympathy, working light circles under Jungkook’s damp shirt and into his warm and clammy back. He’s positive Jungkook has a fever. “Mmm, our maknae’s really sick,” he coos, looking genuinely sad, his dark eyes trained on the ailing boy. Jungkook’s eyebrows pull together when his middle rumbles. He presses a hand to his stomach. He’s so bloated. So full. And it’s all his fault.

He bites his lip and whimpers. And then Jimin’s hand makes him burp again, this one more forceful, more wet, and an intense wave of nausea reintroduces itself and makes his whole body quake. It’s overwhelming. The dread of it sends panic to Jungkook’s normally fearless nature and his lip quivers. He hasn’t felt quite this bad in a really long time. And he just keeps feeling worse the night goes on. His stomach is in turmoil. He’s keeping his brothers up. They’re on vacation and he’s ruining it. It’s getting hard to breathe.

“Shhh, kookie, it’s alright. Really it is,” Jimin has the sweetest voice. He really does. It’s what Jungkook thinks. It’s what he knows. It’s what most people think. But Jungkook can’t focus on it even if he tried right now. He’s freaking out. He doesn’t want to be sick. He’s thousands of miles away from home and he wants his mom. Another distressed whimper barely makes it past Jungkook’s lips and Jimin’s lips press gently into the side of his face, a desperate act of comfort.

“It’s okay. Just keep burping. It’ll help your stomach settle.” At least that’s what his mother always tells him to do whenever he had indigestion.

But then Jungkook’s shaking his head and a sob comes out like a choked cough over the empty bowl. He’s panting, his breaths catching in shaky little gasps as he works himself up. Jimin’s face intensifies in alarm. He gets up to bend down in front of Jungkook.

Without much warning, Jungkook jerks forward with the force of a deep burp that morphs into a heave. A mouthful of chunky liquid pours out of him before either one of them have the reflexes to process what just happened. Jimin’s eyes are saucers.

“Oh crap, okay-okay-okay-alright—crap, it’s okay,” Jimin manages, pushing Jungkook forward to get him over the bowl. Jungkook—bless his heart—obediently directs his face toward the bowl, but he burps up another torrent that is so forceful it splatters all over his front. He’s not even rewarded a full inhale before his stomach has him again, clenching hard, bowling him over.

It’s like he’s on auto-pilot. He retches so hard, he feels like his throat is being grated raw. With tears streaming down his cheeks, Jungkook squeezes the bowl with white knuckles as he rides out the merciless convulsions. Jimin has a stabilizing hand on his chest, still rubbing his back with the other, whispering encouragement even though he’s pretty traumatized by the sight and there’s warm vomit on his fingers.

Jungkook’s ears are ringing over his own fit of painful heaves. The burning chunky liquid can’t come up any faster, bouts rushing past his lips like a burst fire hydrant. The bowl isn’t big enough. Another mouthful gurgles past his lips and his stomach lets up enough for him to choke in a few breaths. He knows he isn’t finished, but he swallows and swallows to see if he can fight it anyway. He’s so scared.

“Hyung. . . J-Jiminnie-hyung,”

Jimin is squeezing his arm. “Hey puppy, listen to me—should I get Jin-hyung? Do you want me to go get him?” Jungkook panicking like this is beyond him. He wants to help, but he isn’t sure how.

Jungkook coughs again, squeezing his eyes together. He bursts into tears, nodding his head vigorously, his chest hitching with choked sobs. It breaks Jimin’s heart.  

The dancer is up in a heartbeat. “I’ll be right back, okay? Hey—,” He presses a hand on the younger boy’s cheek, holds his face. “It’s okay, alright? Try to breathe. . .I-I’ll be right back.”

[imashayne]

Part 1 chapter 1

So this is the first chapter of what I've been working on. It hasn't been edited at all yet so I'm not posting it too my ao3 or ffn until my beta gets her hands on it but wanted to share it here. It doesn't have a title yet. Doesn't have much of anything yet besides the entire plot summarized in my notebook. There's gonna be 3 parts... Idk blah I hope someone enjoys XD

Part 1: The Story Thus Far

Chapter 1: The Rise of Voltron

Lance’s grumbling was louder than the soft whoosh of the door as it opened. The boy’s feet dragged as he slouched into the room, allowing gravity to pull him down into his bed. He landed with a soft flump and bounced for a moment.

“Stupid Hunk and his stupid vomit stinking the simulator up. Stupid Pidge and his stupid big smart mouth and his stupid obsession getting us reamed.”

Lance continued to bemoan his rotten luck as he slowly peeled off the hideous orange uniform. (man it just wasn’t his color) This Galaxy Garrison business was no joke.

His already lethargic movements slowed further as he thought back to the simulator, lips pursing in annoyance. It wasn’t his fault that Hunk was so ridiculously easy to tease. Or that Pidge rose so quickly to everything shot his way. (did he have a little man complex or something, geez.)

If Lance had been trying at all he – Lance paused completely in his movements. Looking down at his socked feet, fingers tightening over his green jacket, which he’d plucked from over his desk chair. His deep blue eyes flicked up to his reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall right next to the door. His brows were drawn together and slanted downwards. His shoulders tight and hunched.

“I could have passed that test easy peasy.” He stated firmly to himself, not quite believing his own words.

Decisively Lance jammed his arms into the sleeves of the well worn green jacket and fell back into his chair. While he spun it in place the boy idly wondered what Pidge’s whole problem was with the Kerberos mission even was. The shorter boy was hard to read like all the time. Until that mission was brought up. That hadn’t been the first time Lance had needed to step between his petite teammate and a commanding officer.

Lance knew he recognized the name too. He just couldn’t quite recall from where. It niggled irritatingly at his brain. It had been a botched job to the far off moon of course, everyone in the garrison knew that. Since it was constantly brought up as an example to the cadets about why their studies tied in with the simulator practice was so important. But Lance knew he was forgetting something important about it. Something that he’d cared about at the time it had happened. He stopped the spinning of his chair for a moment. Oh yeah…. Shiro. His literal idol had been the pilot for that. Besides Hunk the Pilot and Commander of the Kerberos endeavor, Shiro, had been the entire reason for Lance’s interest in joining the Galaxy Garrison to begin with.

But why was Pidge so up in arms about the entire thing? Suddenly feeling somber Lance pulled his phone out, fingers dancing over the orange display, curious if there were any other details that he was missing.

Before he’d finished typing a happy jingle broke through the still air of the room. Lance’s body jumped and he almost dropped his phone. Lance didn’t have time or the thought to check who was calling as his grip changed clumsily to answer.

A warm and familiar voice rang over the line. “Bueno’s noches mi Carino!”

Lance had to hold his breath for a moment to keep a sigh from escaping. He allowed it out slowly and quietly before responding. “Bueno’s noches Abuela.” He stated forcing a cheerful tone into his voice. His eyes flicked over to the digital clock atop his desk, thinking that the nightly call from his family had come a bit early. But his brows shot up in surprise. Lance hadn’t been aware how much time had passed. Silently this time the boy cursed his luck. Though he wasn’t yet hungry he’d already missed dinner.

And as awful as he knew it was Lance kind of wished that he’d not answered. After the day he’d had there wasn’t enough energy left in him to match how excitable his family got when talking to him. (or you know, ever)

As his grandmother’s voice washed over him the beauty of the Spanish language rolled out across the line musically. This at least was so relaxing and the isolated moment he’d had passed just as quickly as it had come.

It was like this almost every night. And for the Hispanic boy it was what had replaced the lively family dinners he missed so much. His dear grandma was simply rambling on about her day. About how the mariposa were blooming beautifully in her garden, or that all of her friends at bingo were asking how her handsom grandson was doing in that ‘space program’ (a topic which never got old apparently)

After her speaking for however long she wished too (an endeavor that could sometimes take hours out of his night if someone didn’t pull her away from the phone) Lance’s siblings would fight over who got to talk to him next. Their excitement clear. Even though the sound of them bickering grated on his nerves just as much over the line as it did in person (regardless of how much he missed them) Lance felt his chest grow tight knowing what would probably come after. Despite himself he hoped that the arguing of his little brother and sister could last just a little bit longer.

Lance silently hoped that his parents would be at work still. They were both busy in their professional lives. For his mother, who held long tiring hours at the hospital, it was fairly normal to miss each other for these nightly calls. But it wasn’t his mom that Lance was worried about. Sure her probing questions about his studies put him on edge. Not quite in the same way any talk with his dad did though.

Lance pushed himself forward in the chair, no longer leaning precariously back as he listened. Now the boy waited with breath held as over the line muffled sounds signaled that the phon was changing hands once more on their end.

“*Alright there cadet?*” His father’s Spanish always sounded harder than his abuela’s. But then again everything about the man was like that. If it had been anyone else asking this it might have been joking. Lance knew better however. He’d really been hoping that the older man would still be out on his patrols. But as with everything else had proven today Lance’s luck was not holding out tonight.

“*What uh…. What’d’ya mean?*” Lance tried to keep his tone even, held at his usual level of teasing brevity. An attempt he almost succeeded at, though he was sure that the gulp was painfully audible over the call.

“*You know well enough what I’m talking about. Don’t play games.*” As if realizing who he was talking too his dad huffed out an obvious sigh, the only real sign of his frustration that Lance had. “But since’ you’re not man enough to tell me about your mistakes today then I’ll just get this out there for you to understand.” Oh no. Dad had switched to English. That was a sure sign that nothing good was about to happen. The Cuban man only switched to this language to keep his grandparents from hearing how /bad/ he was about to get it. (otherwise his dear Abuela would step in to tell her son a thing or two about patience with children…. And Lance, along with all of his siblings, had hidden behind her many a time to escape their dad’s wrath) Lance squeezed his eyes shut as his father began to absolutely ream him for that day’s performance in the simulator.

The Cuban boy did not know how his dad always seemed to know these sort of in depth details of Lance’s progress in the Garrison, since the man wouldn’t give up his source (and as he put it time and time again ‘if you would take this more seriously and put in actual effort you wouldn’t have to worry about this sort of thing son’) Lance just assumed that, as a police officer, his dad had connections.

He really wished the old man didn’t. For this exact reason.

Atop his thigh where Lance’s free hand rested his fingers curled into a tight fist. As always when his dad lectured Lance just assumed he would have to ride this out.

Again he was wrong to hold any hope for lady luck to give him a break today. Officer McClain’s voice didn’t halt in the berating criticism, and the final note he ended on shot straight through Lance to the heart of his insecurities.

“Perhaps you were not the right material for this space program. You didn’t get in on a scholarship like your friend Hunk. You should stop wasting everyone’s time, and our hard earned money. Just come home mijo.”

Lance felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. Go…. Home? Leave the Garrison…. And Hunk… and Pidge.

He didn’t hear if his dad was still talking or not. He didn’t really care. His hand slipped down into his lap and his body slouched back. Lance tipped his head and stared at the ceiling.

Lance wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Thoughts swirling around in his mind like vultures.

Should he go home? It was true that he wasn’t a natural genius like Hunk and Pidge seemed to be. He’d had to study his butt off to be accepted! And even then his marks had barely skimmed the prerequisites in science and math. There was nothing here that he really excelled at. He’d only really come because Hunk had made the Garrison sound so cool! And at the time Shiro had just made fighter pilot for a super important mission! Youngest guy to ever make it to that level…. That fast. Lance had tried hard to get in…. and now was all of that effort going to go to waste?

But…. It wasn’t like Lance wanted to leave. Sure he missed his family, his home, Abuela’s cooking, his mother’s stories. Hell even his little sibling’s bickering and his older sister’s teasing. But Lance could already do more than he’d thought possible of himself. And yeah the boy wasn’t having the easiest time here (a hard thing to admit, even silently and only to himself) All of the commanding officer’s seemed to perpetually have sticks stuck up in em, and all the other groups of cadets held such pretentious, pompous stuck up nerds.

And if Lance left it would put his team in an awkward position of having to find a new fighter pilot. By either promoting one of the handful of cargo pilots or making Hunk and Pidge wait…. Lance didn’t want either of those things and the mere thought twisted his gut with guilt. He couldn’t do that to them.

So…. Maybe he’d leave at the end of the semester? But even that possibility gave him a tight feeling in his chest.

Lance wished he had something to do to rid himself of all the nervous energy that now filled him. He just wasn’t good at this sort of thing. His thoughts began spiraling uselessly in his head.

If he was home right now Lance might have pulled out his old guitar and plucked out a familiar tune. Or snuck out his bedroom window to run down to the beach. Feeling the warm salt water could always refresh him after a night time dip. And if that wasn’t enough the rush of a wave would be.

But Lance wasn’t home. And he didn’t want to go home. At least not like this.

So the boy was unsure what he should do.

He wouldn’t be able to focus enough to work on his homework, or study at all (though he had a test in the morning)

Lance realized that he’d stood, and was pacing back and forth before his bed.

With a dramatic sigh Lance fell over into his bed, wondering if he could maybe just sleep this stress away.

Yeah right, he was already antsy. There wasn’t a white noise soothing enough, nor a sleeping ask that could cut out both light AND anxiety. Tonight would probably be another sleepless one. Every negative thing that had been said to him that day swirled like a storm in his mind. Lance knew that even if his insomnia lifted what sort of nightmares would await him.

Lance growled and jumped up again, heading for the door.

He had to move. To do something. Though he was still unsure about what he was going to do, that predicament didn’t last very long. As he stepped out of his room his feet had already turned towards Hunk’s dorm.

A mischievous glint entered his azure gaze and his lips twisted up into his telltale lopsided grin…. The sort of expression that promised trouble.

Commander Iverson had said that Hunk, Pidge and him had to work on their team bonding hadn’t he? And there was no better way to break down walls between people than to break some rules with them.

[rarestereocats]

tonight’s rundown!

Tenin yells at our alley boys to surrender and they reluctantly do.  so we turn them into the monastery.  we talk of information for their freedom which Xaren is upset about it until Industria tells him we’re bluffing with the Wink of Justice that conveys about two paragraphs of information with a single bat of her lashes.

when we turn them in,  we all part ways.  Xaren heads back to the monastery to do his chores like a good,  young lad while Samuel heads home.  Rikius stays behind in the Thaddeus office to discuss things and not murder someone this time,  and the rest of us head on home to excitement.

before i head into the manor,  i spot the fluffy stray cat again!  i approach,  speaking catfolk to the tiny friend and manage to gain his trust.  i pet him and he purrs.  -hacker voice-  i’m in...  i pick up the cat and head inside where Cupcake begins barking at my feet.  i give her a Talk and she seems to understand and is friendly with the cat we decide to name Muffin.  i get Muffin his first royal meal of tuna and then head to bed with my new friend.

after breakfast as a family,  we head out in the morning and meet up with the rest of the party and get our next mission.  we’re pulled into the office to discuss not only the mission,  but Rikius joining our squad.  he then asks for our opinion on the Chief Aban situation.  execute him or?  we’re torn.  some of us want him dead,  but some value his skills and would like to see them utilized with Proper Adult Supervision.  New Thaddeus thanks us for our input.  then he pulls up a  T H I C C  tome and gives us the mission.

the mission is simple.  literally the simplest fucking mission we’ve gotten.  return this bomb ass tome to the guardian of the Euvia forest.  nothing can go wrong,  right??  haha,  kids,  just you wait.  some parties are taken down by doors,  others are destroyed by powerful books.  while Industria and Elathera begin packing for our trip,  me,  Xaren,  and Samuel take Muffin and Cupcake to my family’s farm so they can be watched while we’re away.

my sisters are beyond fucking excited to look over them while they’re away,  but also sad that they’ll have to give them back eventually.  i tell them about our new manor and how they’re welcome there any time and they’re happy.  my dad asks if we’re staying for dinner,  but i tell him we can’t cuz mission time.  he understands.  we bid farewell and head back to the manor.

Rikius has taken a liking to our manor cuz as we step back in,  his ass is lounging on our couch,  talking about how nice of a couch it is.  yeah,  i bet it is,  buddy.  you’d know.  i tell him not to get any ideas and as he falls silent,  Elathera laughs.  we finish packing,  load up on the carriage,  and set out.

immediately the party is curious of the tome,  but can’t crack it open cuz Xaren fucking Iron Hands McGee won’t let us.  we ride through a storm as Arnor complains in horse language.  we camp for the night.  as Rikius leaves the tent,  me and Industria sneak over to listen if Xaren and Samuel are sleeping or meditating.  they are,  so as Industria casts silence,  i slip in to look for Xaren’s bag and borrow the tome.

i’m caught as my hands dips into the bag and Xaren freaks the fuck out.  he turns around,  fully intending to blast my head into the stratosphere until he realizes it’s me.  he calms down just a smidgen (like from 100 to about 95) and demands i explain,  but none of us can speak because of the silence spell.  frustrated,  he leaves the tent and the camp as i try and tell him that somebody broke into the tent!  not falling for that shit,  he leaves and Tenin goes after him to make sure nothing happens.

the two see bandits lurking and Tenin scares them off with no issue.  have you met Tenin,  guys?  dude’s fucking scary.  as Tenin heads back to camp and Xaren remains to calm down,  the dude’s return.  Xaren gives them the Stare and basically calls Papa Tenin back,  who scares the fuck out of them again.  Xaren tosses the two some coin and off they go!  they return to camp to find Industria basically sipping Capri Sun in her chair waiting for a Party Talk and i’m on the ground sobbing and writing poetry.

H E A T E D  P A R T Y  D I S C U S S I O N.  we wanna crack that fucking tome open like a cold beer,  but Xaren said no.  i yell that the tome is tearing us part and at that point,  exhausted and frustrated,  he tosses it to the ground and tells us it’s whatever.  before we can grab it,  Dad Friend,  Rikius;  swoops in and takes it,  packing it away for the morning and telling us that’s when we’ll talk.

morning comes and we basically come to a conclusion after more bickering that we will gather information on the book before returning it.  we pack into the carriage,  talk some more about the tome that tore families apart and finally i break down and ask Xaren if he wants to hear the poem i wrote for him.  he looks at me,  but says nothing.  so i stretch,  puff my chest and begin reciting it.

"Xaren,  oh Xaren How is my friend a-farin'? Probably not well I can certainly tell But hey,  good looking?  What cha' wearin'? Hopefully not a frown,  boy Turn it upside down,  joy! Hooray!"

after my poem,  Xaren holds his head in his hand and just tries to disappear.  Rikius gives me the Stare before turning his attention to his book cuz he can’t see true talent.  everybody else thinks my poem is great.  Samuel,  my best friend and #1 Fan,  loves my poem.  as we reach Terrindego,  we park the carriage on the outskirts and head in to collect information and sleep.

Industria gathers info.  the tome is unusual,  containing all forms of magic within.  it makes spells more powerful and allows the wielder to cast more of certain spells and there’s something of divine magic inside.  unsatisfied with this shit,  we decide to just turn it in and never talk of opening the tome again. we’re paired off for the night and i’m not with my bff as he’s bunked with Xaren.  Industria and Elathera bunk and i’m left with Rikius.  he seems miffed that he’s picked last,  but i tell him it’s fine.  we can braid each other’s hair and shit.  he says nothing. 

as we pick beds,  i lie down and Rikius begins to meditate.  he cracks an eye open and asks if i can really braid hair.  i say yeah cuz i got sisters and asks if he wants his hair braided.  he throws his hands up and says no,  but curiously looks at my paws later.  i catch him looking and shoot him a winky face and he smirks before returning to his meditation.  as he falls deep into it,  i sneak up and braid the shit out of his hair.  he doesn’t notice.  i go to bed satisfied.  We Have Bonded.  The Pact Is Sealed.

Xaren and Samuel have a romantic evening with depressing talks of their pasts and lives now.  a true heart-to-heart like this is the goddamn Notebook or something.  Elathera asks Industria of her father and then after learning she doesn’t know her dad,  she asks about how her childhood was and Industria glares at her.  after an uncomfortable answer,  Elathera tells her goodnight and goes to bed.

upon waking,  Industria goes to shake Elathera awake and is startled and disturbed by something and races from the room,  bumping into Samuel.  they head to breakfast.  as Rikius wakes up,  he notices something’s amiss.  when i wake shortly after,  he’s right by me with his arms crossed.  he’s not amused.  i tell him somebody broke into the room and put me into a sleeper hold,  so i couldn’t stop them from braiding his hair.  he doesn’t buy it.  he asks if i had fun and i said i don’t know since i was knocked the fuck out.  he takes the braids out and begins prepping his spells as i watch,  he notices my uncomfortable gaze and i tell him it’s a cat thing.

we all eat breakfast in almost awkward silence until Xaren notices something’s got Industria a little disturbed.  i ask if anyone else got attacked by the Phantom Sleeper Holder and Rikius stares at me really hard.  we try to figure out how to find the guardian of the forest and the bartender tells us we have to travel through the forests for a week as the forest constantly changes and if we do,  we’ll eventually find it.  we get ready to leave.

Rikius goes to get something and since we hate secrets here,  we ask him to just tell us.  he needed hair gel.  i tell him he wouldn’t need it if he just kept the braids in.  everybody breaks out in laughter as he glares me down.  Xaren tells me to stop fucking with people in their sleep so i tell him about the Phantom Sleeper Holder,  but Rikius yells that i was the one who did it.  I Am the One Who Braids.

as we head out,  Xaren falls back in the group to keep a healthy distance.  i fall back too and apologize for the Fuckening:  Tome Edition and he says it’s fine so long as i don’t pull that shit again.  i tell him he can punch me to get his anger out and make us even,  but he refuses.  he leans in and asks if i really braided Rikius’s hair so i tell him i braided the fuck out of that shit.  he asks if i’m good at it and i say yeah,  so he nods to himself.  mind you,  Xaren has a braid so he’s obviously looking for a new dealer.

we find a place to camp out and Tenin experiences his next Human Experience.  contact of the Alluring Kind.  he watches the camp for us and then wakes Samuel to look over the camp as as beautiful woman dances her way to him.  his shouting wakes all of us up and in the trees i get a prime view of this woman wrapping her arms around Tenin, still dancing.  this woman literally cannot stand still and i think Tenin’s highly uncomfortable.  as she goes to dive on him to apparently suck his blood (she was a fey vampire thing),  he pushes her off as we come to his rescue.

we pretty much destroy this woman.  like she just wanted a nice dance and suck with a big,  handsome man and instead she got the whole goddamn Spanish Inquisition.  nobody anticipates the Volunteer Fire Department.

[kingexplosionfucker]

Stressed and Confused

Yay! These ones have fun titles now because I used to actually title my journal entries. This one is really important. I go back and think about it a lot.

                               Tuesday, November 14, 2017

                                               3:25 am

                                   Stressed and Confused

So, I haven’t kept one of these things in a while. I guess I’ll just dive right in. As you can probably tell by the time stamp, I can’t sleep. I woke up at midnight to get a glass of water, and then I got distracted by fanfiction. I tried to go back to sleep. I really did. It just didn’t turn out all that well, apparently. I found this old thing at the bottom of my closet and I decided to start up a journal again so I can remember my old high school memories and stuff. Because only I get inspired to write a journal at 3 in the fucking morning.

Well, at least the first entry will be relatively interesting, considering one of my best friends, MM just came out to us as bi today. (I guess it’s yesterday now.) Anyway, she told me in, like, September so it wasn’t a surprise to me or anything. It was cool to see how positive everyone was about it. I mean, MP did make a joke about “tasting the rainbow”, but it was kinda hilarious. It was pretty funny, honestly. MM sent a text to the Sassy Six group chat Sunday night (which I didn’t see until Monday morning considering I was grounded all of last weekend because I didn’t log into the fucking Family Wizard app.) Anyway, basically the text said that she had something she had to tell us for a while now, but she kept on losing her nerve. I knew immediately what she was going to tell us, considering I already knew. (O already knew, too, considering we were all in GSA together. O’s pan, by the way. I just learned that yesterday, actually. I mean, I knew she wasn’t straight, but I didn’t know if she was gay or bi or anything.) 

Damn, I need to work on going off on these tangents. Anyway, MM said she wanted to tell us during Timber Time so that we’d all be there, Well, she had to tell E after everyone else because E was kinda late to Timber Time because she had to finish up typing a paper for English that she procrastinated on. Like I said before, everyone had a super good reaction and everything. (Super good? Seriously?) Which is good for me when I eventually come out. Which will be a while, considering I’m still confused as hell about my feelings. I mean, I know everyone will accept me and everything. That’s not what I’m worried about.

I just…I don’t know. I guess I just don’t want to say anything until I know for certain who I am. Is that bad? I mean, MM came out to me while she was still sorta figuring herself out, so I guess I could talk to her about it. I mean, she DID wait to tell the whole group until after she figured out she was bi, so I guess I could do that. But I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to tell her I’ve been struggling with my sexual orientation so soon after she came out, you know? I mean, I don’t know if it would be rude or not. Would it? I mean, I guess not. I mean, it sounds kinda dumb now that I put it on paper. I mean, I guess I should give her time to, like, I don’t know, adjust and stuff before I spring my confusion onto her. Yeah. It feels so much better to write this stuff down and get it out of my head. I mean, there’s only one person I can actually talk to about this stuff, and that’s H. She’s gay and she goes to my church. I go to her for advice on this sorta thing, although I haven’t talked to her recently. I should probably talk to her.

On a completely unrelated note, I highly regret procrastinating on all my yearbook interviews because all pages FINALIZED are due tomorrow! Seriously, you have no fucking idea how fucking stressed I am about it. I haven’t even finished my interviews for the page, let alone the STORY! I just can’t handle all this stress, you know? 

Not to mention my grades. Oh boy, don’t even get me started on those. I have a D in Geometry. Honors fucking Geometry. I got a D on two math tests in a row, not to mention flunking the majority of my quizzes. I got a B on my first test, which is honestly probably the only thing keeping my grade from plummeting to an F. I retook my second math test, though, which I feel I did pretty well on, so hopefully that’ll raise my grade. Fingers crossed. My parents are looking into getting me a math tutor. Normally, I’d be mad at them, but I probably need it. MZ has been helping me a ton, but I probably need more help than she can give me. 

AP Euro is my second lowest grade at an 84. AP Euro is so fucking hard. All the tests I’ve been getting C’s on. My friends, too. And Anatomy and Spanish are both around the 87-88 range. Spanish, it’s because I’m not getting enough speaking points anymore, which I really need to work on. In Anatomy, it’s because I missed one assignment when I went on my yearbook trip to Topeka, and it dropped my grade 3% and I can’t seem to get it back up. That’s the main reason my dad wouldn’t let me go on the yearbook trip to Dallas on Wednesday. I was super fucking pissed at first, but I understand now.

By the way, finals are coming up!!! The whole weight of it hasn’t fully sunken in yet, but when it does, I’m going to freak the fuck out. I mean, I don’t even know if the final could bring my grade up to an A, and if it could, I’d have to get a perfect fucking score and we all know that is actually impossible. Math is just a lost cause at this point. I’d be pretty damn lucky if I could get a B. I’m starting to get pretty tired, so I guess I’m done for tonight. It’s 4:15 am, so I can get about an hour of sleep in before I have to wake up for school, so wish my tired ass luck for school today! I’m going to need it, believe me. That and a shit ton of coffee. Anyway, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.

                                                1:36 pm

                                                  Mean

Why am I so mean? I act so selfish, like I don’t care about anyone but myself. But I do care. I care so fucking much. I just can’t express it for some reason. I’m surprise my friends don’t all hate me for being so goddamn miserable, selfish, arrogant and mean all the fucking time. I think they’re starting to get annoyed with me at least. I. Need. To. Stop. How can I be nicer to the people I love? All I do is complain to them. I’m never positive at all. I tell them I hate them and to fight me all the time. I’m really fucking rude to them. I don’t want to be. Please help. Also, I’m home from school because my fucking period cramps suck ass. Yeah, I went home during 5th hour.

2020 Edit: Wow, okay. Past me is lying to herself again. I knew full good and well that I was bi as hell back then. Again, knew I liked girls since I was 16. I didn’t really call myself bi until I was in 8th grade (or maybe 9th grade? Honestly I don't really remember). The real reason I didn't want to come out then is because I had a crush on one of my friends and I didn’t want them to think I had a crush on her. (No, not MM. That’s later.) 

[wishingfornever]

10/16/17 – No Contact:  The Third Wall

This new chapter is twice the length of the old chapter.  It’s not even finished.  I need to add a beginning to it as well as an end.  The end will be easy, I’ll just use the original chapter for that.  The beginning…  Well, a lot has to happen.

I think I said I hated writing for Atlas but at the same time I love it.  My problem is that he’s Scottish and is subject to a lot of slang.  It’s not as good as it sounds, trust me.  I had Eleanor read through a lot of what I wrote to confirm how Scottish it sounds. It sounded fine by her words.  This chapter is… incredibly action pact.  The battle just unfolded that way.  A lot happened.  I’m glad I didn’t have to read the previous chapter to see what happened.  This way is far better.

One problem is that now I keep trying to hit tab with these entries. Every paragraph gets hit with a tab.  It’s not that great.  I’ll get over it.  But I got SO much done and I need to get SO much done tomorrow.  I’m starting to yawn now.  So, I guess I’m running out of second wind.  It’s almost 1 in the morning.

I slept better than usual.  Of course, it’s currently 6:44.  Best case scenario, I slept 6 hours.  I could live off this, but more than likely I’ll be taking a nap when I get home.  It’s so dark.

When I get back, I’ll definitely take a shower.  Get ready for the day and walk over soon.  I can’t remember my dream but I think it involved Swedes.  So, the chapter weighed heavily on me last night. :3

I’m back.  Adela is exhausting because she’s stressing out.  Then she was projecting her stress onto me.  She had to meet with a coworker earlier than usual today and I guess she doesn’t do mornings well, surprisingly.  I know I wouldn’t.

I’m totally fine, mind you.  I don’t need more sleep, though I might take a nap for later.  More than likely, though, I’ll end up going to bed early today.  Finally, I fixed my sleeping schedule the night I have to actually need it.  ;)

I’ll leave at about 10.  Adela wants me to do something around the house. Just gotta spray the base with an anti-insect blocker or whatever. After that, I’ll start getting ready and will try to head out at 10.  I’ll try to leave EXACTLY at 10 so I know for sure what time I’d have to leave in order to get there.  Or at least the estimated time.  As you can imagine, walking doesn’t get caught up in traffic so even though I have two lights to walk through, it shouldn’t slow me down significantly.  I probably won’t rush, either.  Just a cool, calm walk.  And if I leave at about 10, it should be after the morning rush.  Of course, I haven’t considered Houston being the 4th largest city.  Considering the brand, it should be pretty busy at all times.  I’d be surprised if it weren’t.

My funds are getting pretty low.  Well… not low.  Like, I pay 65 a week for food basically.  260 a month at that rate.  So, to survive a year I need 3120 at least for food.  I could survive on less, I’m sure, but this is how much my current calorie intake is.  Of course, my cousin will charge me more at the end of the month.  That’s how it works.  ;)

Working at Texan minimum wage at full time, I’ll make 290 a week.  For a month, that’d be 1160.  After a full year, that’d be 13,920.  Of course, that’s all BEFORE taxes and assuming I’m constantly getting hours and don’t get overtime (which I’ll never get, because low-paying jobs are asses when it comes to overtime).  At this rate… I could maybe afford a legitimate editor.  Of course, some editors would charge about $4,000 to edit a book of my size (about the size of the first Harry Potter, a bit bigger).

However, there might be a cheaper editor who offers critique as well.  Of course, I SHOULD finish a second book at least before I publish the first.  So, I might not contact her unless I truly need it.  Then again, I’m pretty reckless.  We’ll see, of course as my book has a lot of problems.  I’m going to use your notes as a jumping point. If I do get this editor, I should make sure it’s my near final draft.  Because when I get it back, I’ll have to read through it. It’s imperative that any edits I make after she’s finished are correct and fit the rest.  I won’t get a second chance at that point.

Should be fine though.  My biggest problem is I switch from past to future, I guess.

Oof. Monkey Rag came on.  A lot of things remind me of you here.  That song reminds me of you, too.  My one problem with that song is halfway through, the lyrics end.  Ah, well.  I shouldn’t be getting moppy right now.  I have a lot to do today and not as much time to do it.

Anyways… when I get back, I want to rant about All Lives Matter on Facebook. Most people who claim All Lives Matter tend to be pro-police.  That’s fine, mind you.  To each their own.  However, the ALM thing began as anti-cop.  Weird, I know, but it’ll make sense in that post.  It’s currently 9.  I’ll get started on my chores.

Later.

Current time 10...06.  I missed my mark, but that’s okay.  I’ll use a stopwatch on my phone.  Not a problem.  I’ll have to charge it some, so I’ll leave at 10:30.  So long as I’m there by noon, I should be fine because people tend to get off then for lunch. Starbucks doesn’t strike me as a great place for a meal, but people still need coffee.

Ugh… Tried another banana.  This one smelled weird.  Threw THAT away. Really, HEB?  Really?  I learned spots on a banana doesn’t mean the inside is bad but THESE MUTHAFUCKAS managed to screw that up.  They turn brown from the inside out.  Really?  I found one that was acceptable, cut out the brown, and ate it.  Ah, well.  At least I smell nice.

My hair needs to dry.  And, to keep the curls from curling, I need to comb it as it dries.  Or brush.  I have a brush upstairs and a comb on me.  Humidity leads to chaos.  I’m sure you’re aware of this as your hair is curlier than mine.

Btw, the NationStates thing.  I basically set vacation mode on and turned it off at 12.  Meaning I get my issues at 12 and 6 on the hour everyday.  No longer do I have to check to see where the time is to do my issues.  I can just be aware now.  I wish there were an option to set it to that time automatically, but whatever.  I did it without automatic aid.

Speaking of aid, I did put gel in my hair.  Not sure if it’s helping.  I hope it is.  Judging from my reflection, it seems like it… give it time, though.

Anyways, I checked the nation count in our region.  Yeah, ours.  I know you left it but it’s still ours.  Deal with it.

Not the point.

The point is, I’m the most pacifist nation in the region.  My motto is Spanish for “They won’t pass because fuck them; they’re assholes” and my military is second largest in the region (behind a relatively inactive nation who never speaks or interacts with anyone because I’m fairly sure the guy who runs it has MULTIPLE nations).

Oof. It’s 10:20.  I have ten minutes.  I’m starting to get hit by exhaustion.  I could totally nap right now.  It’d probably do me some good.

Just did the math for taxes.  Seems it wouldn’t matter too much.  I’d lose like 2k in taxes but there is this thing called Tax Returns which are great.  You’ll never see a poor man charged for tax evasion.

Alright, time to go.  Currently have a 30% charge.  Should be fine.  Later.

Back. Took a little under 15 minutes.  I ordered an iced tea (green).  It wasn’t that bad.  I was so parched.  Should have hydrated first. The woman who served me was an older gal but she seemed nice.  No supervisors were there, unfortunately.  And everyone there was a woman.

I don’t think I’ll get the job.

That’s fine.  I’ll wait until Friday and start going out again.  This time, I’ll do it by the books and apply all over at once.  In the mean time, I’ll post that post.

Hrm… my NationStates issue is off by 40 seconds.  Still, that’s really good all things considered.  Within a minute of noon, I’ll have an issue. ��So, it’s still at noon.  :D

Current time is 6:15.  We just walked Max.  Adela is depressed.  She says it’s because of what happened with Max at the groomer.  I suspect there is more to it than that.

Let me fill you in.  Max got so anxious and was so stressed, he wouldn’t let the groomers finished.  Max’s body is shaved.  His ears are shaved.  His head?  The back of his head?  Every part of his head except his ears and front of his neck?  Unshaven.  He looks… ridiculous.

That said, I was certain Adela’s work was getting to her but looking into further proved fruitless.  I’ll be doing the dishes tonight. A never ending story… for dishes.  Whatever.  Adela asked me to do them and to be fair, we only have so many pans for eggs.  Guess what I’ve been eating a lot of.

Speaking of which, I haven’t eaten dinner yet.  Not sure if I’ll write more on the chapter.  I’ll just take it easy tonight.  Tomorrow, I have some things to do.  I’ll be sure to finish my chapter, though.

Right now, I’m listening to this dude who supposedly destroyed Eminem. That title was brought about by Republicans, so of course they’d say he was destroyed by this guy.  The page is on Facebook, called “The Red Elephants.”  Bullshit name, whatever.  Their twitter handle is “TheRealRedElephants.”  They sell a shirt for $26 that says, “Fuck Antifa” with brass knuckles on it.  They wouldn’t happen to have a shirt that says, “Fuck Nazis” would they?

Of course not.  They say both sides are to blame yet only attack one side.

I commented on that shirt saying, “Golly gosh, that sure is cool! You guys going to release a shirt that says, ‘Fuck Nazis’ on it? :D”  This is a loaded question.  I’m not sure if I discussed what a loaded question is to you while I was teaching you about politics.

A loaded question is a question where every answer is bad.  They get asked A LOT to make someone look bad.  An example of a loaded question is “Have you stopped beating your wife?”  If you say no because you don’t beat your wife, that’s bad because it implies you still beat your wife.  If you say yes because sarcasm even, that means you beat your wife and they will quote you and not even suggest you were using a sarcastic tone.  If you say, “I’ve never beat my wife” then they’ll brand you as a liar because you had to defend yourself from that bullshit.

My question is loaded because it relies heavily on the context.  If they tell me, “No” then they’ll imply that conservatives are Nazis. If they say “Yes” then I’ll ask why it wasn’t released with the shirt in the first place and turn it into a cluster fuck.

Not that it’ll matter, mind you.  They’ll probably just panic-ban me. Where they panic and then ban me.  In case you didn’t know.

Reminds me of that one Christian Warrior page who banned me because I said Aztecs were cool and they are.  They banned me and said I’m dumb and my parents are probably dumb.  Probably.  I took a screen shot. Like, really… why do they get offended so easily?  I wasn’t even TRYING to offend them.

Oh, mind you.  They were talking about how Columbus Day was getting replaced by indigenous people’s day and how we’d start sacrificing people to the sun.  I pointed out how there were no Aztecs in the United States.  That’s probably the real reason why because I followed that up with Aztecs are cool.

Some people are rude.  I tried calling them out but my friends who actually liked the page didn’t tag them for me.  Scoundrels!

Daniel and I are chatting.  Told him about Starbucks.  You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried getting with him for a night or something. Honestly, I wouldn’t care.  Not that I’d give Daniel permission to sleep with my girlfriend but you’re not my girlfriend and he didn’t try to end my relationship.  Nor did he start spreading rumors and started telling people falsehoods and flat out lying.

If we don’t get together but you and Daniel have a thing going, good for you guys.  He has a great work ethic and a sensitive heart.  Of course, his relationship with Canelo is conflicted… obviously… but I think it’s because of his time with juvy.  Not sure how to spell the slang.

Anyways, the Red Elephants are really into conspiracy theories.  Like… really.  Misleading, misinformation, partial truths.  Yeah, these guys are totally pushing an agenda.  Typical propaganda.  I know because I used to write that shit.  Of course, I was generally more honest.  I tend to focus on building up the people before letting loose political theories.  Turns out, people like to be flattered before they rise up.

Look at Obama.  “Yes we can!”  Because you’re a part of something and YOU can do it!  You can do it with us!  We can do ANYTHING!!!

Mind you, I’m not fond of Obama or Trump.  In a two party system, you’ll find that it’s great for staying unbiased.  Someone says, “If Obama did this, you’d support it!” you’d say, “No, I wouldn’t.”  It deflates their argument real quick and helps for keeping the debate rational or for skipping straight to ad hominem. One problem, however, is that the people you sling mud with tend to switch sides every 4 or 8 years.

I used to shit on Obama with Conservatives.  For different reasons, of course.  I didn’t like how he liked to drone strike children and they didn’t like that he was black and on the other team.  Now I shit on Trump with Liberals.  For different reasons, of course.

I’m reminded that I might be posting this on Tumblr.  One of my least favorite things about Tumblr are the people who claim to be Communist without really knowing what it entails.  Like, to them?  Marxism is a trend.  Kind of disappointing.  I’m sure if this ever goes on Tumblr (which might happen considering it’d be what I’d do in the event of you telling me no) people would just consistently shit on my for everything.  -,-

Ah, well.  I’ll try to get that thought out of my mind.  Brb, food

Had a salad.  Was far better than the one from yesterday.  Used honey mustard and avocado.  Nothing else.  Super simple.  The salad itself was quite simple too.  For some reason, it was fresher than the one from yesterday.  I wonder if they have dates on them.

To be fair, salads can be kind of fattening due to all the added bullshit.  I don’t think yesterdays was fattening.  Maybe a little because of the cottage cheese.  Can’t imagine that’d be healthy. But, of course, it was a shitty salad.  You’d think they’d make a salad out of something that isn’t lettuce.  It’d be healthier. And lettuce just… is boring.

I miss you.  I’m missing you.  I regret what happened between us.  I wish we could just… talk.  Not about us, just talk.  I want to hear your opinion, even if I don’t care for the subject.  You don’t know how this situation has made me feel.  I guess I don’t know how it’s made you feel, either.

Anyways, since I went vegetarian I noticed my poop has been super green.  It’s a good thing.  :D

Yeah, I know.  I can’t get too serious.  Except I was sort of serious. With both.  My poop has been super green.  But still, I’m missing you right now.  I don’t know why.  Just… with Adela and Max, I feel like you could really help out and they’d appreciate it.  I know Max would.  He loved you.

I feel… terrible.  I can’t help but think of you.  Something is going on.  I feel like I’m reliving our entire relationship in a single second every second.  A lot on my mind.

Oh… would you look at that?  They added two stages to the five stages of grief.  Placing a lot of faith in older psychological models tends to lead to failure.  These stages often have their own twists and biases, leading to heavy criticism and debate.  Maybe… all this. All I’ve done was just bargaining.  Assuming the model is true. I’m not sure I’ve accepted everything, but I’ve felt the depression.  I tried moving on.  Perhaps the journal isn’t helping. Perhaps I can’t move on while I’m still writing in this dumb little word document.

It’s helped me though.  It gives me a chance to talk about how I feel, though I think I’ve just been using it for food updates lately.  I can work on expressing my own feelings.  So what if I haven’t accepted the end?  It’s wrong of me to try to force emotions.  I’m not going to fake how I feel just to satisfy you or anyone else. Especially not myself.

I love you, Esther.  I really do.  I sincerely doubt we’ll ever get back together, but I hope we do.

That said… I intend to delete the letter I wrote you.  That was early on.  Before I even began this journal.  That contract?  Delete that two.  Why bother with it?  You’re not coming back and that sucks. Right now, it’s just a waste of memory.  And if you DO come back? Well, I wouldn’t agree to it.

The thing is, I’ve learned to respect myself a bit more.  I’m not going to give you everything just because you say, “I want it” if it’ll hurt our relationship.  So, if we got back together?  The contract would favor me more.  You said it yourself.  The contract I wrote was hard on me.

Who knows?  Maybe you’ll break up with me again when you discover the contract is no longer valid and you won’t get half the things I would have agreed to.  You had your chance to exploit me but you didn’t.  If you manage to overcome your distaste for me and we begin to talk more and somehow decide to give it a second chance but you ask for the contact I’d written a month or two ago and hear no, maybe you’ll be fine with it.  Maybe you’ll be willing to give it a chance despite no guarantees.

Ugh… if this is on Tumblr, I’ll have to explain the contract.  Gross. If I don’t, people will think we had a financial agreement or something.  I’d rather not right now.  If this is on Tumblr and someone who isn’t Esther is reading this, then know that the contract wasn’t good or bad.  It was fun and more an educational tool to get Esther to read the fine print and notice specific wording and shady legal practices.  The contract I wrote was something that’d ensure the integrity of our relationship in the event that we got back together.  It was mostly to show I had yielded and I’d do anything to get her back, regardless of my personal feelings.

I disregarded myself.  It was easy to.  Easier then, at least.  Now?  I may be moody now, but I feel more confident (on average, at least). I’ll overcome this feeling and get back on my feet.

One of Esther’s problems was that I was always on my computer. Admittedly, it wasn’t only when I was miserable.  I was on it a lot and I neglected her.  That’s one of the things I regret, not only because Dennis filled her head with the idea that I HATED her as well as himself and Daniel but because it was wrong of me to do.  Shitty move on my part.

I wasn’t the best boyfriend.  I should have been.  Esther deserves the world.  She’s such a sweet, caring soul.  But now… I know better.

I wanted to prove to her when she moved out that I would change.  I uninstalled ALL my games.  All of them except for Town of Salem.  It was more symbolic than anything else.  I offered to destroy my computer later on if that’d make her happy but that just annoyed her.  At that point, I was very low.  Not as confident.

Now, I wouldn’t make that offer.  If I ever write a book, then I’ll need the computer for writing.  I could potentially make money off through this old laptop.  However, I’d uninstall ALL my games again.  It really doesn’t matter to me.  They’re material goods and bring me only amusement but not happiness.  With the exception of rewriting the naval battle in my book, I haven’t played very many games as of late anyways.  I guess since I stopped talking to Esther and started talking to… future Tumblr, I guess?  Whatever.  Since I started talking to future Tumblr, let me confirm this now.

The Naval Battle in my book is from Napoleon Total War.  It was unscripted, a match between five people with myself being among them. If my book takes off, maybe I’ll show the battle sometime.  But, that’s not very likely.  I know my odds and they’re stacked against me.

Then again, I had a one in 400 trillion chance in being born.  Not sure how accurate that estimate is but if there is any truth to it, then I’ve already finished the hard part.  ;)

Honestly, my chances are pretty good all things considered.  If I need a source, my existence is proof enough.

Back to you, Esther.  You’re beautiful.  I just wish you could see me now.  You’ll see the difference.  You’ll see how I changed and how I’ve rebuilt myself.  I still get the odd fit of depression, but it doesn’t linger.  I don’t hurt anymore.

Anyways, it’s almost 10 and I promised Adela I’d do the dishes.  I love you, Esther.  I hope you’re safe.

Esther!!! I discovered something called a poet’s collar.  It’s longer, pointed collar.  Like a regular shirt collar… but longer.  That’s it.  The keyword is “poet” though.  It’s perfect!  I have some ideas for it and I’m super stoked.  I know just the shirt that’d work with it but it’s in California.

DAMMIT!!!