#rather than getting burnt by this fire in my heart you let it warm you instead ⸢ jupiter + minsung / r3dblccd. ⸥

[caelcstis]

❛ i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making. ❜ (from Minsung to Jupe)

more smut. // @r3dblccd currently accepting.

so maybe telling minsung that he had some toys was a mistake, at least for how much of a brat he was.

the vibrations between his legs and minsung slamming his hips into him had jupiter's head humming at the same speed. his voice was hoarse and he was losing it the longer minsung kept that damned thing pressed against him. like the testosterone didn't already have his libido boosted like crazy and had him acting like a horny teenager on the occasion, minsung had to keep teasing him. pulling out so painstakingly slow, just to slam his hips back into him, plunging as far as jupiter could take him.

"i can't... i can't keep cumming...!"

he didn't even bother trying to reach for the toy pressed against his clitoris, every time he had, minsung was shoving his hands away and going so far as to pin him down with his free hand and his body weight. he went to grab for minsung's arms instead, hands trembling as he tried to hold onto him. painted nails dug their way into his flesh and jupiter couldn't help the choked whimper that made its way out of his lips. "p-please min... please take it away...!"

he couldn't take it anymore, the constant orgasms between the toy and minsung being buried so deep between his legs. he didn't know if he was going to pass out, or make a mess, but he knew he couldn't take it anymore. he was tired, thirsty, and he just wanted to be held now. through his bleary eyes, tears still rolling the sides of his face and making their way to the pillows, jupiter pulled at minsung's arm.

"please? i just want you to hold me."

#letters received &&. sent out ⸢ 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗 / asks &&. answers ⸥ #r3dblccd #nsfw. #rather than getting burnt by this fire in my heart you let it warm you instead ⸢ jupiter + minsung / r3dblccd. ⸥ #no one makes him beg bc he's such a prideful asshole #but bls min ur killing him-

[pleasurebuttonwrites]

Irritated

Matt Murdock x F!Reader | Explicit 18+ | 2.2K

Summary Cooking for Matt goes all wrong and your insecurities come out.

Warnings smut, oral (f receiving), angst with a happy ending

A/N First time writing for Matt. The perfectionism was strong with this one - this has been sitting for months and I'm finally posting.

~~~

The cloud of smoke is quickly filling the apartment. You had turned the burners off, but the charred mass in the skillet is still sizzling. You crank the vent hood fan on high, and open a window. It isn’t enough.

—

As he’s racing home across the rooftops, the smell singes his nostrils. His body is exhausted but it gives him a dose of adrenaline before he realizes that it’s not a fire, just a burnt dinner.

Dinner? At this time of night?

That’s when it dawns on him. The smell is coming from his apartment. Maybe it’s my neighbor, he hopes with half-hearted optimism. With the way his night has gone, he doesn’t think he’ll get that lucky.

—

You’re fanning the smoke out of the window, using one of Matt’s law document tomes in Braille, when you hear the door to the roof. You speed up your fanning, as if that will in any way remove the smell from the apartment.

His footsteps are on the steps now and you turn to apologize — with some self-deprecating humor to relieve your anxiety — when you catch the irritation on his face. Cautiously, you say, “I’m sorry about the smoke. I was just trying to cook and I don’t know what—”

“It’s fine.” He cuts you off with words a little too flat and forceful to be sincere.

That familiar feeling washes over you. You had expected it to happen sooner or later, and here it was. He was finally figuring out that you were more trouble than you were worth.

He tosses his mask on the chair and yanks off his gloves, his mood infecting every motion. Without another word to you he retreats to his room and closes the door behind him.

—

From the other side of the door, Matt catches the way your breath hitches, hears you gather your things and walk out. He wants to stop you but the devil still has a hold on him and he knows he could only make things worse now.

He knew this would happen sooner or later. He knew he’d drive you away. Took longer than he thought it would. He tells himself the smart thing to do would be to let you go. Just let it end here.

But he hears your footsteps on the pavement outside. You’re walking home instead of taking a cab. He throws a shirt and pants on over his suit, and chases after you.

—

You only make it a block before he walks out of the shadows and strolls along next to you, not even winded from catching up.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. You could get hurt.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, resentfully even. If he’s there out of real concern for you, rather than a sense of duty, he doesn’t show it. You say nothing to that and he doesn’t speak again.

The walk seems to take longer under the weight of the silence between you. When you finally get to your building’s door, you unlock it quickly and step inside. You don’t even look at Matt as you push the door closed behind you. But before it can latch, he catches it.

“Sweetheart,” he begins. “I’m sorry about the way I— the way I acted. It had nothing to do with you. I had a shitty night and I should’ve cooled off before coming home.”

When he puts it like that, it makes you seem unreasonable. Softly, apologetically, you say, “No, you should get to cool off in your own home.”

The words you’re not saying hang in the air between you but you feel too foolish to speak them so instead you stand there in the doorway, picking at your nails, looking down at them instead of him. He reaches out and stills your fidgeting, his warm hand enveloping both of yours. “What is it, sweetheart? Will you talk to me, please?”

Your first instinct is to lie, but the way he subtly turns his ear to you lets you know he’s listening to your heartbeat. Your pulse picks up just from knowing he’ll know if you lie.

You let out a sigh. “I just— I feel like I can’t do anything right.”

His brows furrow and he lifts his chin. You wait for him to prompt you but he’s going to keep silent until you tell him everything. He’s stubborn like that.

You remind yourself that he actually wants to know. He’s asking you for the truth. You take a deep breath, gearing up for an act of trust, and you let it all spill out. “All I do is make everything worse. I mean, I don’t bring anything to this relationship. But I thought maybe I could make you a nice meal. Then I’d be good for something. And that blew up in my face. Almost literally.”

A thick silence follows and you think he must be struggling and failing to dispute anything you’ve said. But you realize you’ve read it all wrong when he says in a quiet and deadly voice, “You think you don’t bring anything to our relationship?”

That voice — his devil’s voice — never fails to light a fire inside you. The sudden heat on your skin makes the night air feel that much cooler, and you shiver. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, taking in all the ways your body has reacted to him.

He steps forward into your building, and you step back. “It seems I haven’t properly showed you how important you are to me.”

As he advances, you back down the hallway. You can’t take your eyes off his face. The naked desire, the grim determination, the devil stalking his prey. You nearly collide with the staircase banister, but he gently guides you out of the way with a hand on your hip. One he doesn’t remove until you get to your door.

He plucks the keys from your hands and feels for the right one before quickly unlocking your door. It swings open but you both stand at the threshold.

“Matt,” you begin. As much as your body is begging for him, you feel guilty that the whole situation got turned around. You were trying to prove something to him and now he’s the one putting in the effort. Again. “I just feel like I haven’t yet earned your love.”

He hangs his head, exhaling his frustration. “First of all, you don’t need to earn my love. Secondly, if you even think for one second that you don’t deserve it, then I’ve failed you.”

“No, stop! I’m the one who fucked up, okay?” You storm past him into your apartment. He follows you inside, shutting the door behind him.

He draws in a breath to say something, but thinks better of it. He nods and says simply, “Okay.”

It’s the way he gives in that has you on alert. He never just gives in; he’s planning something.

“Make it up to me, then,” he tells you.

“How?”

“Take off your pants.”

“Matt—”

“I said, take off your pants.”

“That can’t be all I’m good for.”

“Sweetheart, I promise you we will find a way for you to feel deserving in this relationship. But right now, let me surround myself with your scent so I can get this smoke out of my nostrils.”

How were you supposed to think straight when he says things like that to you? You really wanted to give him what he wanted, but it didn’t feel right. “Well then that’s just you doing something for me again and I still can’t give you anything.”

He flashes that grin he uses during cross-examination when he’s about to tear the prosecution’s case to shreds. “You wanted to feed me. Now let me eat.”

—

You don’t know how he does it. But as soon as you stopped protesting, he had you naked with your ass at the edge of the couch and him kneeling in front of you.

“Spread your legs for me,” he says in a low, soft voice. You do as he says. He takes one deep breath and whines, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip. “I can already taste you.”

He starts on your thighs, pressing kisses from your knee to the hinge at your hip all along the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You feel the heat of his breath pass over your cunt before he kisses his way down to your other knee.

He’s doing it on purpose. Taking his time and lavishing you with kisses. Giving again. The guilt washes over you. “Matt—”

He shushes you just as the pad of his thumb brushes at your entrance, collecting your slick before sliding up to your clit. Your eyes roll back into your head and your words die on your lips. He applies just the right amount of pressure as he works circles over your sensitive nub. You whimper at his touch and he gives a satisfied hum in response.

It feels so good yet it’s not enough. “Matty, please.” Your voice is barely even a whisper but he hears you loud and clear. He lifts his thumb to his lips, moaning as your taste hits his tongue at last.

You expect to feel his mouth on you but instead he brings his hands together and says, “Bless us O Lord and these Thy gifts—”

“Matt—”

His name is no sooner from your mouth than his lips wrap around your clit, and you cry out from the pleasure. His skilled tongue slides through your folds and dips into your entrance. You clench around nothing, pushing more of your juices onto his greedy tongue. You don’t have to worry about making a mess on the couch. He’d never let one drop of you spill.

You honestly don’t know which of you are making more noise. He’s so vocal even with his mouth as busy as it is. He grunts and moans with every exhale, and every inhale is a heavy intake through his nose — when it’s not pressed into you.

Your hand, outstretched at your side, grips a throw pillow, the stuffing clumped beneath your palm, your fingers wrinkling the fabric. Matt clamps his hand over yours — while his tongue continues swirling — and guides you to the crown of his head. You grip a fistful of his hair and instinctively pull him even tighter to you.

His moans muffle but grow more desperate. In truth, you try hard not to make more sound than your breath, just to catch every unhinged noise of his.

You’re so close now. You can’t help but raise your hips a bit, humping his face as his tongue works you over. The vibration of his growl sends you over the edge. No matter how quiet you’ve been trying to be, the force of your orgasm rips pleas from your lips. “Matty…fuck! Oh, Matty, hngh…”

As you come down from your high, you loosen your grip on his hair and he slowly pulls away from you. You take in the sight of him. A bit of his Daredevil suit peeks beneath his shirt. His hair is mussed, hairline damp with sweat, and his mouth and chin are coated with you. He licks his lips and smiles and it’s totally unfair how pretty he is just like this.

You let your head fall back, your breathing slowly returning to normal. But the drop in your heart rate coincides with the rise of your thoughts, and the feelings of guilt, shame, unworthiness. You don’t know why you can’t just accept his love. But no matter how much you try to trust that he means what he says, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve fooled him somehow. And he’s going to wake up one day realizing his mistake.

Almost as if he can read your thoughts —

“Sweetheart, if you need me between your legs to chase away your thoughts, I’m more than happy to be of service, but it’s probably not the healthiest way to deal with it.”

“Matt Murdock’s lecturing me on what’s healthy.”

“I know. I know.” He gives you that wide smile. So comforting that it’s impossible to feel anything but warmth when he smiles at you like that. Then he gives your thigh a little smack and says, “Let’s get cleaned up.”

—

Later, while you’re laying in bed together, his body cradled around yours, you’re both too tired to continue the conversation you know you need to have, a conversation of the ongoing variety. In the quiet and the dark you both feel your insecurities rise. Matt is pretty sure he’ll end up driving you away. You’re pretty sure he’ll realize you aren’t as great as he thinks and leave. But both of you really want this to work and you’re both willing to work on it.

Your thoughts hazy, your breath becoming rhythmic, you speak into the dark. “I don’t have to cook for you, you know. Like if you don’t want me to. Do you want me to?”

He hums in response, sleep nearly stealing his ability to speak. “If you want to… then I want that…too. But you don’t have to. But you can. You can use my kitchen whenever you want. If you want.”

You’re both quiet again and you nearly fall asleep then he says, “Just not for a few days. Let the smoke clear. ‘M staying at yours til then.”

#matt murdock fic #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #daredevil fic #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfic #matt murdock smut

[colleenmurphy]

In the Land of Gods & Monsters - Jack & Colleen Donnelly

“I don’t see how this could possibly be important, Jack. I mean, really. How does anyone think I’m a target?”

Warm hands enveloped hers as he stood behind her adjusting her stance moving a leg between her legs to get her to shoulder width. The scent that was unmistakably him.  A heady mixture of tuscan leather of the shoes that matched the belt and gun holster he wore, the herbaceous inviting spice with the warmth of black pepper and lilac of his cologne and hair tonic mingled with the Benson & Hedges cigarettes he smoked and the metallic tang of the gun oil he had just serviced his chosen piece with. All of those things were cemented in her mind as Jack Donnelly. They always would be, just as she was cemented in his mind as the scent of home, burnt sugar and toffee of bread and butter puddings she made for him after a long business trip and an under current of the lavender soap she loved followed very closely by all things as baby lotion that she preferred rather than the expensive skincare things all the women in her social circle were using. The innocence and light to his dark malice. He, admittedly was not a soft man, he never could afford to be, but with his wife he was Changed. But that was always behind closed doors. She brought out the softer, warmer side of the blue eyed man that nearly every other person was terrified of. In the land of the powerful, the gods, and the power hungry, the monsters, she was an angel. His angel in the garden of evil. 

“Because you’re the one thing, the one person that means the very world to me. You have to know how to defend yourself. Just in case.”

He hadn’t needed to finish the sentence because she knew.

 In case I don’t make it home.

Her panic rose and her hands started to shake even with his over hers the tremble was there. He braced her once more and planted a gentle kiss to the long column of her milky white neck. Aiming her towards the target he noticed her face take on a hard edge. He could tell that she was trying to steady herself internally. 

“Breathe in and hold. Count to three, exhale and fire.”

He felt her breathe in, her heart hammering as she counted and then came the bang. Smooth and fluid. A rapid succession of shots almost startled him. She had surprised him, as well as his trusted driver and assistant Jackie Flannery, by emptying the remaining rounds into the target. The holes in small spaced points around the center of the target’s bullseye.  She calmly turned and kissed his cheek before handing the firearm back to him. Jack hadn’t missed the tears that had misted over his wife’s eyes she studied his face for a moment before she headed back towards the car. 

“I’d sure as **** say she can take care of herself, Mr. Donnelly. I’d feel sorry for whatever poor bastard crosses her. Did Mrs. D. tell you she started taking defense classes along with the defensive driving?”

This surprised him, he knew his wife went to the gym and they had talked about taking those defensive driving courses together but to know that she took her own safety into her own hands had surprised him a bit. 

“No, she didn’t.”

“I know this might not be my place to say this but...I’d seriously consider taking her with you on the next trip. Even if she sat in the hotel room with me you might ease her mind. Even with all the training you’ve given her she still crumbles. When you pack a bag and head out it’s like she’s lost a part of herself, man.”

He knew Colly was prone to feeling things deeply and he also knew that she would tear up if she was moved to but knowing that he was the cause of her emotional turmoil broke his heart. How many times had he called her when he was away on business and noticed that she had sounded down or like she’d been tearing up. Her voice huskier as she let loose a rapid fire succession of questions to him, was he safe, did his flight or drive go okay, was he sure he packed everything he needed? But the one question, that always managed to choke him up was the one she asked when trips had run over a bit longer than anticipated. When will you be home? That panicked edge filled with longing and loneliness. Jack Donnelly had never had a home before he’d met his wife. Only places where his collections of things bought with the money he earned were. Four walls and a roof, nothing more. She was his home. Wherever she was he felt at ease and here he was tormenting the one person he’d ever loved.  “Maybe you’re right, Flannery. I’ll call Vitaly and make the arrangements. But know that I’m leaving her in your hands until after the deal with your brother is done.”

“You got it, boss. Besides...you did see her back there...right? If Frank comes anywhere near her or moves one hair on your head, and probably mine too, Mrs. D’ll kill him herself.” “I noticed. Jackie?”

“Yes boss?”

“Don’t call me boss, okay? It’s Jack or Donnelly.”

“You got it...b...Mr. Donnelly.”

“That was my father. How about just calling me Jack?”

“You got it...Jack.”

#Jack & Colleen #Gods & Monsters verse

[horrormancer]

If you hear voices from the attic...Run

They tell me today is September 27th, 2021. But that can’t be right. I KNOW it is April 30th, 2020.

I don’t know how much longer I will be able to fight against the darkness, the swirling shadows that once seemed to be so far away but now twist and whip across my vision, close enough to snuff out all of the light that my weary and bloodshot eyes might take in. I don’t know even if I will have time enough to finish telling this tale before my time runs out: it is not as if there is a ticking clock that marks the passage of time or gives me clear warning of how many more times my heart might beat before it stills at last. There is only my laptop sitting at 33% battery life, the ever curling smoke-like wisps of anti-light, and the ever present whispers that fill my ears, sometimes louder, sometimes barely audible depending on which way I turn my head. They whisper the most horrific things: not graphic descriptions of my own demise, nor threats against my loved ones, nor promises of endless pain and torture that conjures images of fire and brimstone. No, they are far more insidious than that, but I am getting ahead of myself. 

As I sit cross-legged on the cold cement of my basement floor, dying laptop across my thighs, I have decided to relay what has happened here. Any attempts to do so before now resulted only in a litany of diagnoses from the so-called “medical and mental health professionals”, several stints in my local medical institution, and a mountain of medical debt that I shall never be able to pay off, even if I were to survive the night. At least all of the pointless sessions and perpetually inconvenient appointments left me with a cocktail of drugs that will make my last hours upon this earth somewhat enjoyable. 

To anyone that reads this, I urge you to believe that I am not, as the doctors have insisted, ill of mind. Nor am I the sort to actively seek out attention from others; in fact it was my desire to be left alone that brought me to this place, and ultimately my doom. I don’t know if anyone will ever find these words, but I hope that maybe, just maybe, if you find yourself in my position, they might serve to save you. Not that I know how to save myself. But my failures might save you valuable time. For time, I have learned in stark contrast, is the most valuable thing in the world. And so, with my purpose clear, let me tell you of the horrors that await anyone unfortunate enough to stumble across what I have. 

I am a writer, or rather, I was a writer before all of this began. I had a small apartment in a large building of similar apartments in the middle of the bustling metropolis that is New York City that was my shining little bubble of light and comfort. Outside my walls and windows, the smog and grime that littered the city walks and poisoned the air were replaced by warm lamps and the subtle scents that wafted through my small rooms thanks to a little aromatherapy pod I had picked up on clearance a few years ago. Sure, the walls were thin and every morning and evening at 6:04 sharp, the train would pass by my window, nearly close enough to touch if I were to reach my fingers through the thick black metal bars welded over them from the outside, and gunshots were as common as raindrops, but the rent was cheap, and heavy curtains could block out the world along with the ever-present noise canceling headphones that I wore morning, noon, and night when I was home. I was, therefore, relatively happy with my little life: though I was able to find work as a writer from time to time, and had published a couple of books to small success, I had still found the need to take a job at a local diner to make ends meet. 

It wasn’t, all in all, a terrible set up: the diner was a quick five minute walk from my apartment, a little hole in the wall with perpetually greasy countertops no matter how much bleach we laid down, the smell of burnt toast and old coffee lingering in the air, the worn plastic topped booth seats...you know the sort. The clientele was minimal but familiar, the work was easy enough and steady besides, and the tips were nothing to scoff at. And though I had long fantasized about moving away from the city, maybe buying a little cabin set away from the nearest town where my windows showed the surrounding forest and blessed silence where I might spend my days in peace waxing poetic on a page, it was more of a daydream than any active quest of mine. 

Until the day *he* arrived, that is. I remember the day well. It was a late autumn afternoon, where the crisp winds of October drafted through the alleys bringing the slightest hint of scent from the trees beyond the city, drifting down and over from the mountains and hills of the Northeast before being washed over with the pungent smell of grime and decay from the city. It must have been the first week of October, as I had yet to be paid my bi-weekly check, and was carefully tracking my tips, as I do, to decide if the night would be another macaroni and cheese night, or if I might be lucky enough to splurge on a frozen pizza from the market down the street when the front door of the diner opened violently, the wind outside no doubt taking the patron by surprise and sending the little silver bell above the door to ringing with its familiar tinny sound, whipped up to a fever pitch as the gusts blew around, making the various flyers on the cork board dance beneath their thumbtacks. 

Its almost funny now, looking back, at how annoyed I had been at the bell for chiming as it rested back into place when the man managed to close the door and stillness swept back over the place. It was a Wednesday, and the lunch crowd, if the handful of senior citizens we saw every afternoon could ever be called a crowd, had cleared out already and the diner stood empty ready for the small trickle of diners that would make their way in for dinner. One of the things I liked about this job was that I was more than welcome to sit on a stool with my laptop and click away at my keyboard, penning my next manuscript or combing through my notes for my latest ghostwriting contract, and so I was when the door opened and the gust of air blew through the little diner. 

Dutifully, I closed my laptop and stood to greet the patron, screwing on a happy, welcoming smile as I turned towards him. He seemed at first glance to be rather ordinary: maybe 5’8 in height with grey hair, a slightly stooped posture in a charcoal grey suit. Nothing about him really stood out, except of course, for his eyes. They were brilliantly blue, refracting the lights from the diner in a way that would have made fashion model’s jealous. 

I greeted the man, and offered him a seat either at the bar, or in a booth, whichever he preferred. He smiled, a weary sort of smile as though the weight of the world were attached to the corners of his mouth and took a seat on a stool. I sighed a little inside, for I knew this business enough after my 6 years of working here. When someone wants to be alone to get work done or is with a companion, they opt for a booth. But when they want to talk they always sit at the bar. So much for getting back to my manuscript.

I crossed around through the little lifting gate and bustled around behind the counter with a few automatic, practiced motions, and set a glass of ice water down in front of him, along with a paper placemat, an empty coffee cup, napkin, straw, spoon, and fork. 

“Would you like a menu?” I asked helpfully. The menu was written out on a large chalkboard on the wall across from the counter where he sat, but older customers sometimes prefer the thick black books with the laminated pages; better for their eyesight, I suppose. 

“No! Thank you,” he responded and I did my best not to be alarmed by the response. For it was as though he was having trouble gauging the volume of his voice. The first word had been shouted, though not angrily, followed by what were barely more than whispers. I pulled my order book and a pen from my apron, flipping it open and at the ready, doing my best to ignore the strangeness. After all, strange was nothing new in a little place like this. 

“Alright, what can I get for you?” I asked, just as pleasant and calm as ever.

“HAM and eggs WITH TOAST wheat bread AND CAN I also please have SOME ORANGE JUICE with my coffee NO CREAMER?” Again, he alternated between shouting at the top of his lungs, and whispering in a raspy voice as though decades of whatever condition he had that caused him to lose control of his volume had damaged his vocal chords, the air acting like broken glass in his throat. I gave him a soft smile, my heart going out to him for what he must have been through. 

“Absolutely. Coming right up,” I said with a forced cheerfulness that I did not truly feel, but felt he could use as I passed the ticket through the service window to the cook, Barny, and set about pouring his coffee and bringing him orange juice and a bowl of sugar packets for his coffee. As I set them down he smiled up at me silently, and I noticed for the first time that his grey hair must once have been black, for there, at the very roots of the strands, was a deep pigment, just a few millimeters in length, growing from his scalp at the end of each strand. It looked rather like when my ex-girlfriend had dyed her hair platinum blonde one summer, just as the roots of her natural chestnut brown were beginning to grow back out. 

An odd effect, to be certain. Who would dye their hair grey? Wasn’t it normally the other way around? 

I said nothing and moved to lean into the service window to watch Barney work, stealing glances at the man as he sat there in silence, his eyes shifting about looking at something unseen in the way I had seen all too often with some of our older customers as dementia sets in, shortly before they simply stop returning to the diner. The realization that they probably died not too long after had hit me one night, about 8 months into my employment here, and I was wracked with agony. At this point though, I had learned to simply think they moved away to a beautiful retirement community in Florida somewhere, sunshine and shuffleboard, and did their crosswords and ate their gravy laden pot roast and burnt corned beef hash at another diner closer by. It made it easier. 

For a brief moment I worried whether the man had any money on him, or whether I would end up paying for his meal. But as Barny put the finished plate of food up on the window for me, I realized it didn’t matter. It never had before now; there had been a handful of occasions over the years where I ended up footing the bill for a diner that forgot their wallet in confusion or else for the few that had wandered in off the street thinking it was still 1952 or something similar. I fixed my smile back into place and delivered his food while kissing thoughts of that frozen pizza goodbye, and wondering idly which dried spices I was going to add to my 99 cent box of mac and cheese tonight in a vague attempt to give it variety. 

To my surprise, as I laid the plate down, the man withdrew a hundred dollar bill from his pocket and extended it with a hand trembling slightly as I had come to expect from aged customers. “You can KEEP THE change,” he half whispered, half shouted, and I took the bill from his hand, he picked up his fork and knife and began carefully laying the napkin in his lap, prim and proper as I had ever seen. “Thank you!” I said with delight as I turned to the register to ring up the sale. I might even get one of those rising crust frozen pizzas tonight! 

When I turned back to the man, his plate was entirely empty, as if it had been licked clean while my back was turned. So too was the glass of orange juice empty, and the water glass as well. I did my best to hide my surprise and asked simply if he would like more coffee. He nodded, pushing his cup towards me and I poured him another cup. I don’t normally start conversations, you see, but after such a generous tip, I felt obliged. 

“My, you were pretty hungry huh? Is there anything else I can get you?” I asked, picking the plate up off the counter to get it out of his way. He shook his head no immediately, and then paused before nodding after all. 

“YOU COULD tell me your NAME!” The half whispered, half shout did not have much effect on me as the stark realization, looking at his face, that his man was not in fact old at all. Or rather, that I was able to see what he looked like while young, just buried under a layer of loose and wrinkled skin on his face, so noticeable it was a wonder I hadn’t assumed him to be wearing special effects makeup. 

That’s when it hit me. He must be a method actor for one of the shows or movies being shot about the city. I’d heard of this sort of thing happening before, and it would explain the poorly dyed hair and the weird affectation, and the rather generous tip. I smiled, somewhat relieved at my own folly, and stretched out my hand. 

“Name’s Charlie. Charlie B. Finnigan.” I smiled warmly as he tentatively stretched his hand out towards my own, his shaking softly in a very good affectation I had seen of the older patrons, and placed it in mine. I marveled at the feel of it. His hand was soft with skin that felt as thin as paper loosely draped over the bones of his gnarled fingers, just as many of my customer’s hands felt. 

“CARMICHEAL,” he said, “George CARMICHEAL.” 

Pleasantries exchanged, he soon launched into telling me about his life, and I happily stood by, leaning my forearms against the counter to listen. I’ve always appreciated a good story, you see, and getting the backstory of this character bound for the big screen before anyone else held me quite in rapture, though he never would say what movie he was involved in, despite my asking several times. 

He had been a broker for a large hedge fund in the heart of New York, penthouse suite, large corner office, 5-star hotel stays around the world when meeting with clients, the whole shebang. Living in the ivory tower of high finance and beautiful women, when he had lost it all, he said. Made a bad deal, lost millions for his clients. In and out of rehab for the liquor that he had used to drown his sorrows after he lost his position, his penthouse, his cars, his entire life. Broke, disgraced, and with nowhere else to go, his uncle in New Hampshire, the only family he had left, had offered him respite in his little cabin up there. He had taken him up on the offer, using the last of his available funds to buy a bus ticket up, with nothing but a single suitcase of clothes and a few vestiges of his former high life. 

He was able to kick the drink, he said, with the help of his uncle who lived a curiously simplistic lifestyle. Though the house was wired for electricity, once the night fell he would throw a large switch in the basement for the breaker, cutting the electricity and would be in bed not long after in order to rise with the sun. Only candles and lanterns were permitted for light once the sun went down, and there were precious few of those. He did not own a computer or a television, in fact his only means of contact to the outside world was an old fashioned rotary telephone, affixed in its worn wooden box on the wall of the kitchen. You could only call his uncle, Carmichael explained, between the hours of 2 and 4pm each afternoon, otherwise it would ring and ring on for ages. 

“TOO MANY years as a RECLUSE I THOUGHT!” Carmichael said. “BUT I WAS so wrong. WRONG!”

I was quite taken with the story and the immenseness that went into the crafting of the tale, as well as the skill of the actor recalling the plethora of details without a cue card in sight. As he spoke, I periodically refilled his coffee cup and he would take long swigs from it as if the caffeine or the warmth of the liquid was giving him strength to go on….I was overjoyed to be in the presence of such a master storyteller. I quickly gave up trying to pester him for his true name, or the project he was working on, for he was committed to his character and would not break it. Thus I poured myself a mug of coffee as well, and simply absorbed the tale. 

It had taken some time, he said, to adjust to the strangely disconnected way of life. But within a few months he found he fell asleep easily, shortly after the lights went out without being kept awake by the whistling of the wind against the windows, or the odd creaks that accompany an older wooden building in the night. His uncle had even given him a new purpose, furnishing him with an old typewriter dug out from the basement so he might set about writing an autobiography of his rise to the top and the fall afterwards. He had a glimmer of hope, he said, of finding his way to the top of the New York Times Bestseller List, and making a comeback to the financial world and high society life. 

He had, in fact, contacted a publishing house that sent him a rather handsome advance for the manuscript, which he had used to purchase a laptop to work on, as opposed to the dusty old typewriter. Shortly afterwards, he said, his uncle had died of a sudden and rather dramatic heart attack one night, in the pitch black of the little cabin. He recounted a tiny funeral attended only by a few members of the local church, and a brief interaction with a lawyer that informed him his uncle had left him the bulk of his meager estate: little more than the cabin and its belongings, as well as the 3 thousand dollars he had managed to squirrel away into the bank. 

With his uncle gone, a manuscript to deliver, and dreams of a return to his former life spurring him onwards, he no longer had reason to throw the big switch in the basement when the sun dipped below the hills, and he purchased a small flat screen television with a Netflix subscription by way of keeping himself entertained while working on his laptop late into the night, rising in the afternoons when his body woke him. 

It was a simple, quiet life he said, and though he missed his uncle, he enjoyed his time he said. The cabin began to have issues shortly thereafter he said, as one might expect from such an old place under the care of a man who knew nothing of tending to a cabin of its age. Lights flickering as circuits became overloaded, faucets making odd gurgling sounds and shaking violently when washing the dishes, doors refusing to close properly as their frames swelled with the summer heat, and swinging open at night when they returned to their normal size. They didn’t bother him terribly much, he said. He had planned to sell the cabin off once he made his return to New York, and it would be someone else’s problem. Until then, he could live with it. 

“NO SOONER HAD I DECIDED that there was nothing to FEAR ABOUT the place than I learned HOW WRONG I WAS!” 

What he had recounted next made little sense, between the intermittent high volume shouting and the way the words quickly tumbled out of his mouth as though he were suddenly pressed for time, his thoughts too jumbled to keep his story straight, and his eyes darting around wildly. He had begun hearing voices, he said, from the attic. Singing to him like angels of his work, and urging him to work on into the night and through the day, to skip meals and showers in order to complete it. 

The lights, he said, would begin to flicker and at times the power would go out for days at a time, forcing him to use the typewriter by candlelight, leaving him to retype his manuscript over and over and over again, and all the while the light of the candles would illuminate less and less of the pages. 

I had to hand it to him, he was doing a wonderful job of playing the role of a man suffering a severe mental break as he described the looming existential doubt of failures and dreams never to be obtained, of disasters the world over that he would never prevent, and of the ceaseless passage of time that slipped away in chunks, first hours then days and ultimately weeks at a time without notice. 

He described the looming darkness that was spreading like a shadow over his soul, and the never ending overstimulation from every sensory input in jumbled, half formed sentences, as I listened on, slack jawed, coffee forgotten in my hand and gone cold. For it seemed to me, all the while, that as he spoke his eyes grew brighter and drew me in like a moth to a flame. I wondered idly about electronic contact lenses and was just about to ask when Carmicheal stood up as if startled and sprinted with uneven, almost drunken steps across the diner, the whooshing of the October wind that swirled into the diner with the relentless tinny sound of the silver bell as it sung on its hook serving as his goodbye. 

Bewildered, I leaned through the service window to find Barny asleep in a chair with a newspaper draped across his lap like a blanket: his favorite position when not working the grill. With a shake of my head at the strangeness of actors in his city, I cleared away the dishes from the counter and prepared for the few regular’s we would be expecting for dinner. 

That night, I had a lovely self-rising frozen pizza from the corner shop with pepperoni, bacon, AND sausage while seated in my bright little bubble of warmth, immersed in some wispy instrumental music and worked on my manuscript. It did not occur to me how truly strange my life was about to become. 

As October came and went, and November reared, news of a strange new disease sweeping through parts of Asia started to fill headlines and drove thoughts of the strange man from my mind, replaced instead with reports of high infection rates and airborne pathogens. The disease, they said, spread from person to person easily and had the potential to decimate populations, especially in densely packed areas. I began to dream again of having my own little house, perhaps a cabin in the woods, cut off from the world to sit and write and weather the storm of this infection. 

Though of course that wouldn’t be possible, not with my meager funds and the small savings I had been able to scrape together from the diner and odd writing jobs. Life as I had known it changed rapidly: my uniform now included a facemask, a thick plexiglass divider was strung up from the ceiling to hang over the counter, and the diner was more packed than it had ever been as we were one of the few establishments that remained open. I couldn’t argue with the tips either, even as countless people found themselves out of work, they were more than generous. I even ordered a proper pizza one night, delivery and everything!

As the lockdowns came, we of course stayed open through special waivers and precautions, and at night I would shut the world out while returning to my apartment, ignoring the rumors of the mounting death tolls and the mass burning of bodies that were overwhelming morgues all over the city. Needless to say, when the opportunity to get out of the city came, I took it without a second thought. 

It was December 2nd, and outside my window snow was falling like grey ash to cover the sidewalks, turning to a dirty sludge as I trudged through it on my way to the diner, the collar of my coat turned up against the soft wind sweeping it way through the buildings. When I opened the door to the diner and was greeted with the familiar tingling of the silver bell and the smell of burnt toast and old coffee, there was a gentleman in a brown suit that matched his cloth face mask and leather briefcase in his hand. He greeted me instantly, stated he had urgent business, and we moved to a booth together to handle it. 

He was a lawyer in charge of George Carmicheal’s estate. I laughed in his face. The method actor? The lawyer insisted that Mr. Carmichael was never an actor, but a former broker for a large hedge fund in the city before a series of unfortunate events, and he had left his estate to one Charlie. B Finnigan who could be found at this diner. I was in shock, and wanted to ask a million questions, but the lawyer was in a hurry, he said, and before long had me signing papers to take possession of one cabin in Vermont, a transfer of $2431.16 to my bank account (more money than I had ever had at one time), an unsealed envelope with my name written across the front, and a ring of keys that looked as though they had seen more than a little abuse over the years. When it was all said and done, he thanked me and left without a word, leaving me bewildered and with a 12 hour shift ahead. 

I remember having an odd detachment throughout my shift, and performed my tasks and waited tables and patrons with a series of automated responses and motions, as if I were running on autopilot, my mind turning over and over the events of the day. Could this be some sort of elaborate prank? Intense promotion for the movie? All of the paperwork seemed so official. I had no way to be sure. And all the while I longed to read the letter contained inside the envelope that was safely tucked away in my coat under the counter. 

I hurried home the following morning, taking little notice of the smell in the air, nor the quiet that seemed to settle upon the city with the thickening layer of snow. How I wish now that I had taken the time to enjoy it, to revel in the muted silence and the brightness of the street lights as they glittered and fractured against the flakes of snow. But I took no notice and bolted my apartment door behind me, flinging my wet shoes off, slinging my headphones over my ears while clutching the letter in my free hand and sat down on my small sofa. 

The letter was written on a single sheet of slightly crumpled notebook paper, the little fringes where it was torn from a spiral bound notebook still clinging to the edge, the handwriting a shaky, uneven scrawl. It read thus: Charlie,

This is a poor way to repay your kindness, but perhaps you will find that not every tale is just a story. If you hear voices from the attic, run. 

George Carmicheal

So it must be a horror movie, I thought. Like many at the time, the full scope of the illness that was sweeping the globe had not struck me as something that would last beyond just the next few months, and clearly the studio did not expect it either. They had an elaborating marketing plan, clearly designed to go viral. While I may end up the laughing stock of their marketing campaign, I had made out, at least as far as I was aware, with a free cabin removed from the city and the disease as well as money enough to make the trip up North. 

And so, I called the diner that very morning to quit my position, and spent the day packing my few belongings into a rented uhaul. 12 hours and more than a couple wrong turns later I pulled up a long gravel drive and saw the cabin for the first time. It was well outside the nearest town, and set from the road by a long driveway amidst a small clearing of the forest around it. The 2 story cabin had a certain beautiful majesty to it, with its shuttered windows and bright red door. The logs that formed its walls fit together perfectly, without gaps at the corners in a sort of cross stack, and some sort of ivy had claimed each of them, climbing its way up and onto the roof. 

I let myself in after trying several of the keys that I had been provided and reached for a lightswitch, finding without surprise that there was no power. Using my cellphone as a flashlight, I roamed around the first floor, finding the door to the basement and quickly locating what I sought: a large metal switch with a handle large enough that I could fit both hands on it at the same time, a few flakes of red paint still clinging to its worn surface and with some effort, I was able to lift it up into place. 

Immediately the lights of the basement came to life, revealing the concrete floor, a large wash tub of old wood with lightly rusted metal bracers, and a well worn wooden workbench that traversed the length of one wall, laden with various hand tools. Smiling to myself, I made my way back upstairs to survey the home that had so luckily become mine. 

The door to the basement was located to one corner of the small living room, which was illuminated by an almost abrasively bright light from the ceiling, which hung directly over a small coffee table, the surface of which was strewn with papers, some of them crumpled, others in small stacks, all of which appeared to be typed with an old fashioned typewriter. I could not make out the words, however, as each page appeared to have been typed, then fed through to be typed over again with different words, several times, so that letters combined with each other in unintelligible blobs that marred the surface of the sheet. Pages and pages of hand typed nonsense. I wondered idly which poor unpaid intern drew the short straw and had to spend countless hours on this little detail. There was a small, threadbare sofa that once must have been green across from a small flat screen television on the wall in the living room as well, the remote for which was secured to the wall by the television with a bit of velcro. I had to admit, it was a clever way to never lose the remote. A shame I had never thought of doing so myself. 

The open floor plan of the cabin had the kitchen partitioned by only a small outcropping of half wall, the top of which formed a sort of counter by which two lifted chairs rested, and I imagined eating breakfast there the following morning as I made my way through the cabinets and drawers, locating a number of plates, bowls, cups and utensils as well as cookware. Score. I had a very limited collection of dishes myself that I had brought along, but this was more than I could ever have hoped for. There was a gas stove, which I wasn’t familiar with, I had always used an electric stove, but I felt certain I could figure it out. Heat is heat, after all. And of course, affixed to the wall in its little wooden frame was a rotary phone with an old receiver. 

It struck me as odd for a moment that there was no refrigerator, just a large heavy old fashioned ice box, and I laughed out loud to no one about how no detail seemed to be overlooked by whatever production crew was in charge of furnishing this place, and hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed when I ordered a refrigerator...assuming I would be able to find one that I could afford. It was then that I wondered for the first time if the cabin had been rigged with cameras or microphones, so that whoever was behind this could utilize the footage for their movie trailer or something similar. 

I spent the next half hour or so looking for any signs of surveillance on the main floor, in the living room, kitchen, and small bathroom before moving upstairs to continue the search of the two bedrooms, small office, and larger bathroom. Finding nothing, I ventured up the rickety stairs pulled from the ceiling to the attic. Again, I found nothing to suggest there was a film crew watching my every move. In fact, the attic was entirely empty, save for a dusty old typewriter with its stiff brass keys. Poor intern, I thought out loud to no one in particular as I carried it down the stairs and placed it on the old desk in the office. If Carmicheal had been using the typewriter for those pages downstairs, it wouldn’t have this much dust on it. Good try, though. 

I spent the rest of the day moving in my few items, returning the uhaul to the nearest drop off location, and then taking a very expensive taxi ride back to the cabin. By the time I returned that night, I was exhausted, and ended up falling asleep with ease on the hard sofa shortly after sundown. 

The next morning I ventured upstairs for a shower. The water pressure was terrible, and it took ages to find the proper temperature, but I was glad there was running water. I fixed myself a small breakfast of oatmeal, and interesting endeavor for someone who had only ever used a microwave for oatmeal, and set about looking for a small refrigerator. Around noon I had it sorted out, and a second hand refrigerator would be delivered the following day from a local outlet. 

I would need a job, of course, in order to afford food and electricity and internet and such, but I had savings enough thanks to the generous donation of George Carmicheal to worry about that in a few days, after I had settled in. Besides, I had my meager royalties from my books, and ghost writing besides….I might not even need to take a job now that I didn’t need to pay rent anymore. 

It was with this thought that I settled myself onto the sofa and absorbed myself in my own manuscript. I was startled out of my work by the ringing of the phone in the kitchen, a loud, echoing sound that reverberated throughout the whole cabin, bouncing off the walls like thunder. As I crossed to the kitchen to answer, wondering who it could be, I noted that the clock on the wall said it was 3pm. I was absorbed in my work for longer than I realized. 

I lifted the receiver to my ear, noting how heavy it was in my hand. 

“Ah, hello. You must be Charlie B. Finnigan,” said the female voice on the other end. 

“Yes, I’m Charlie. Who is this please?” “My name is Nancy Hallmaker. I’m one of the publishing agents at Nondescript Publishing House. I worked with George Carmicheal before his untimely demise.”

“Oh,” I said simply. “It's uh...nice to meet you.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, but fortunately I didn’t need to, as she quickly pressed on and got to the point of her call. 

“George told me that you were a writer and that I should check out your work. I’ve actually just finished Lights Over The Bay and I love your imagery. I don’t know if you’re working with an agent or have plans for another work, but I would love to sign you with an advance.” I was taken aback. The man from the diner had looked into me, and set up a book deal for me? My worries over money were potentially over, forever. Little did I know how right I was. 

I spent an hour on the phone with Nancy, discussing details and emailing her over the first few chapters of the manuscript I had been working on. When we hung up, I was pleased as punch and expecting an email of documents from her to sign off on, as well as a sizable advance on the book sales. Everything was coming up Charlie. 

A few weeks later, I was settled in with more comfort and security than I had ever known: no bills hanging over my head, no 12 hour shifts, and no more endless boxes of 99 cent macaroni and cheese from the corner store for dinner. I would wake with the sun in the morning, attend to the ever-present removal of dirt, dust, and grime that seemed to accumulate in the house, and work in solitude in my own little space in the world, bothered by no one with the lilting music of violins and orchestras filling the rooms from the little television. It wasn’t long before I stopped charging my cell phone and let the bill lapse into disconnection, so happy was I with my little sanctuary away from the world. 

I would work on my manuscript into the evening, and tuck myself into bed when I was tired at night without a care in the world. I soon grew used to the creaking and groaning of the old cabin, after a few nights of being convinced I heard someone walking up the stairs. Loose floorboards, nothing more I soon discovered and before too long, I had settled into a nice little routine. 

February came and went, and as early March brought with it slightly warmer weather and the icicles that hung from the roof could be seen dripping slowly with the afternoon sun, I received word from Nancy from the publishing house. The world was in the grips of what had become a full blown pandemic, and the need for entertainment was greater than ever before. My manuscript, she said, had a real chance of becoming a best seller if we could publish it by the end of April. 

Excited, I agreed to the rushed timeline. After all, I had little to fill my days besides enjoying my world, in my own little bubble as the world passed me by, and had made a lot of progress. Surely I could deliver. All it would take was a few late nights and a little of the hard work ethic that I had left behind in New York. And so I moved from the living room with the television up to the office, setting up my laptop on the desk next to the typewriter and got to it. 

I remember the first night in the office, hard at work into the wee hours of the morning, when the power switched off unexpectedly, plunging me into darkness save for the light from my laptop screen as it swapped over to battery power. Without a flashlight, or my cell phone, I carried the computer with me down into the basement to hunt for a fuse box, assuming that one must have blown. I found no fuse box, only the same handle that controlled all of the power in the house. It was in the down position, apparently having been switched off by an overloaded circuit. Placing the laptop on the ground at my feet, I struggled to push the heavy switch back with both hands, but finally managed it, and realizing it was nearly 4am, decided to head to bed. 

I had slept through the day, unaccustomed to the late nights, and woke up as the sun was setting. Fortunately enough for me, I wasn’t beholden to any set schedule, and after a quick meal, got back to work. When I sat down with my manuscript, I found that I had unintentionally repeated a few paragraphs, no doubt owing to having been too tired to remember where I was. I took no notice and got back to work, speeding through progress through the night, and becoming very annoyed when once more, just after 3:50am, the power to the cabin switched off.

This became a habit, a schedule of sorts. I would wake late in the day after being up too late, work into the night until the lights switched off, and take that as my cue to go to bed. I had taken to keeping a flashlight on my desk for my nightly trek to the basement, but as the cheap batteries seemed to work for only a night or two, I first replaced it with a jarred candle, and then gave up going down there all together, instead starting my “morning” with throwing the switch. 

I don’t know how long this went on, but at some point, when the power to the house would switch off, I would jokingly call out to the empty house with a “Thank You George. I’ll go to bed.” or a “Five more minutes, George.” It seemed only fitting somehow, despite the fact that I knew I was alone. I didn’t believe in ghosts, of course, and knew well enough that it was likely power surges in the middle of the night were too much for the old circuitry to handle.

It was oddly comforting, in my self-imposed isolation, to talk to George throughout my day, and I would as I was fixing meals, or taking a shower, or working late into the night in a frenzy to complete my manuscript. At times, I even fancied he would answer back, in that strange half shouting, half whispering voice that I had heard in the diner, though it was always far off, as though he were upstairs while I was in the kitchen, or outside the office door when I was at work. 

I delivered my completed manuscript with a sigh of relief the night before the new deadline, and closed my laptop just before the lights went out, looking forward to the comfort of my bed and long sleep before a return to a normal schedule, but was woken only a few hours later by the harsh and resounding ringing of the phone in the kitchen at 9am. 

I shuffled my way downstairs, squinting my eyes against the morning light that streamed abrasively through the windows and answered the phone. 

“Hello?” Silence was my only answer. Annoyed, I tried again. “Hello? Who is this?” Finally there was a soft clicking sound, and the voice on the other end finally came through. It was Nancy, though her voice sounded far away, as if coming down a long tunnel, and strangely distorted in such a way that I could only make out every couple words or so. 

“Charlie. I got your manuscript…...too little too late…..last April’s release date…...can’t make out what this is supposed to be…..”

I hung up the phone and shook my head, trying to clear it of the distorted sound that I could still hear, and trudged back to bed, convinced that I must be having a weird dream. I would call her tomorrow to confirm she received my manuscript. I tossed and turned in bed for hours, the strange sounds of distorted voices down a long tunnel filling my ears before I finally slipped into unconsciousness. 

When I awoke again, the moon had already risen over the trees outside my window. So much for resetting my sleep schedule, and I called out to the house as I had grown into the habit of doing. “Why didn’t you wake me, George?” I shuffled my way to the basement to throw the switch, and then headed to the kitchen after some food, my head foggy with the memory of the strange sounds that had filled my ears. Turning on the kitchen lights was a mistake: I cried out and closed my eyes as my vision went black for a moment and my head felt like it would crack in two, the whooshing distorted sounds in my ears flaring back to life. Great. A migraine. 

I heated up a can of soup in the darkness, aside from the soft glow of the gas flames on the burner, sipped it slowly while seated on the sofa, not daring to turn on the television and cursing myself quietly for not having any headache medication in the house. I wasn’t prone to headaches, and my medicine cabinet was always rather bare: even over the counter the medications cost money and for a long time, I was severely lacking in funds. I curled up on the sofa with the blanket I kept there, and resolved to head into town in the morning for some meds if the migraine was not alleviated by more sleep. 

When I awoke the next day, the light was still blinding and I squinted as I made my way upstairs to my laptop, telling George that the switch had better be on in the basement so I could order a cab to the store. The strange whooshing in my ears now seemed to me to be a cacophony of raspy voices, all talking over each other, impossible to distinguish one sentence from the other, and the sensitivity to light was leaving swirling black spots in my vision, like mist crowding over my eyes that would drift like clouds in the sky. 

I searched quickly for migraine symptoms: yup. As I thought, auditory and visual hallucinations. Since it had progressed to this point, it was better that I saw a doctor rather than attempt to treat it with over the counter medications. And so I ordered a cab through the website, dragged shoes on my feet, and stumbled my way towards the door. 

I felt bad for the cab driver, who looked understandably shocked when I shouted directions at him, unable to hear myself speaking over the sound in my ears. Shouting, I decided, was a terrible way to communicate, as it made my head throb all that much more. I must have collapsed on the way to the hospital, for when I awoke I was on an inclined hospital bed with doctors standing over me, the voices in my ears louder than ever, the bright lights searing my eyes and I was grateful for the black wisps that coalesced over my eyes. 

Blood tests. Dehydration. Arrhythmia. Psychosis. Schizophrenia. Narcolepsy. The words passed through the voices in my ears during various bouts of consciousness and the complete darkness and peace that was unconsciousness.

I recall one doctor, young, handsome, with a smile that probably sent all the nurses swooning through the drifting bits of vision I had, talking to me gently, though I could barely make out his voice through the haze of never ending voices. 

“I’m NOT mad,” I insisted. “PLEASE just take the migraine. It HURTS.” My throat hurt from being so dry, and I choked on the words like shards of glass before drifting back to the darkness, the peaceful serenity of unconsciousness. 

Medications, therapy, release. All of it pointless and meaningless as the voices and the loss of my vision continued, the painfulness of the bright lights. Clipped conversations. I want sleep. Turn the lights out. Freedom. HELP ME. 

Keep the LIGHT of day. The future REPEATS ITSELF. There is no end TO BE FOUND. Don’t answer the phone in the MORNING. All I wanted was my own LITTLE WORLD don’t you UNDERSTAND?! If you hear voices from the attic, RUN.

#creepy #creepypasta #horror #horrorstory #original #spooky #nosleep #pyschologicalhorror #scary #scary stories

[spacecadetspe]

Jan. 19, 2024

Thanatos made an appearance in Muspelheim. He presented himself to Surtr to ask for a favor; the repair of his legendary scythe. According to him, Destiny was malfunctioning, reaping souls without being told. The correct souls, but at the wrong time. And he was no longer sure what to do, or what was wrong with her.

The rest of the Jotnar could not touch her; their gloves and armor began to decay at the slightest touch. Even Surtr's anvil began to rust, and she let out waves of energy that started the entire realm crumbling.

Luckily for all of them, I was already in the Forge. I had spent the night and released another aspect of myself; a martyr who I've named "Scherzo." She was so eager to make a difference, to feel important, that she was tearing pieces of herself off... and me with her! She felt that there was so little time to get things done, and everything happened so quickly, she could not give of herself fast enough to keep pace. I called upon my other aspects and the energy of the Warrior of the Ages to enable me to corral her, and settled her into a kind of stasis until I could figure out what to do with her.

I picked up the scythe from Surtr's anvil, and rainbow fire leapt from my hands. Mother was listening. And through her, I could hear the terrible wails of the weapon.

She too was burnt out. She cried that the cosmos was due for another extinction. Thanatos countered her, reminding her that they are a function of the cycle, rather than its ruler.

I showed them both the cracks in my heart chakra. A heart that's been broken repeatedly throughout the ages. "When you give too much of yourself in too many places; when you spread yourself out, trying to fix everything, this is what happens. The world... the cosmos... it becomes a cruel, unforgiving place with nowhere to rest."

Destiny continued to rant. "An age of debauchery, indifference, ignorance... the cycle has been made impure!"

As Mother put it... "What a righteous little nihilist!"

But thankfully, I knew what she needed. I cradled Destiny's snath against my body, with her blade hanging over my shoulder as if carrying a small child, and shushed her gently. "I know," I cooed. "It's all too much, isn't it? You're trying to carry a weight you feel so responsible for... and yet nobody has actually asked that you carry it. So nobody understands how heavy it is." I rocked my body to and fro, trying to soothe her. "But you and me... opposites in perfect balance... we get it. You're going to destroy yourself, doing that. And you have too many people who care about you for us to stand and watch."

Destiny shifted, as if taking a breath. "Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you like this?"

"You know why. As many times as you've touched my soul, you should know."

"Yes, and you should be as rotten as the rest! Why aren't you?"

"Because I too have people who love me, and legitimately want the best for me."

At my answer, there was a low grating sound, and her blade toppled from the top of the snath. Literally a breakdown. If she had been human, she would have been sobbing into my skirts.

I summoned Scherzo from the Forge and directed her to take the blade and tang into the hearth with her. She wanted to help someone; anyone. She just needed perspective. One person, one being is enough. You can't help everyone. Just one makes a difference.

Ekibyou appeared to help bind the forge down, and we discussed which weapon to supply Thanatos with until then. I offered him the choice of my personal armory; Ire of the Ages, Harmony of the Ages, Gungnir, and Balancer. He took Gungnir and Balancer and headed off to do his rounds. We talked a bit as he went, about human things and things he hasn't tried before.

I hope he visits me again soon. Unlike most mortals, I always get a warm fuzzy feeling when he's around.

#mythology and folklore #dreams #spicy psychology #magic #trauma #tw death

[kurenaiwataru]

What Color Does Your OC's Love Feel Like?

I was tagged by @bunniletto​! Feel free to do it for your OCs, if you want to! The quiz link is here!

Just a few of my OCs, including the new boy Saud Malik~

Saud Malik - Bright Sunny Yellow: Sweet tasting popsicles, summer dresses and shielding your eyes from the sun. Your love is the excitement of something brewing, something growing. It's the almost childish bubbling giggles of something new, but with the potential to stay. It's wide smiles, blinding sunny light and warm bodies that gravitate to one another. It's the the softness, the willingness, the slight holding of breaths in a crucial "what if" moment. It's the impatience too. The bouncing on tiptoes to see further than your eyes can reach, the holding out for a future that never seems to come even though you're ready, you're so so so ready. It's the constant feeling of warm sand beneath your feet, holding out for the crashing waves. And still you wait, dry and impatient and with burnt soles of feet. Your love is sour candy, enjoying it as your nose scrunches up from the aftertaste of it. It's hands that grab and take hold, that reach and ask them to stay and hope and beg and wait. It's bubbling excitement sure, but it's also demanding, focused, driven. It's love like a plan, with a path and route and a clear destination. And you bonce on your tiptoes, and burning, waiting for the soothing water, the crashing waves, you hold onto the melting popsicle, you wait and wait and wait. It's tiring almost as much as it's laser focused ambition, deeply rooted desire and the unrelenting hope that it will work, that it will come. And it does, I promise it does. The waves crash, the beach floods and the pain passes, the water cool and soothing and you can let yourself fall in, sinking, sinking. And it's good, it's perfect, what you were hoping and more, holding and embracing you and welcoming you into the stillness you always knew you were reaching for.

Kalvirs Lemshks-Elkano - Warm Burnt Orange: Riding off into the sunset, the hope of a happy ending, the bitter after taste that still in it's own way smells kinda great. Your love is all bitter hopefulness, all about a broken heart that refuses to quit, all about the unshakable knowledge that a burning fire has a great comforting warm and a soft glowing light, all about the way when the sun comes down there's a beautiful starry night. It's stubbornness, it's the refusal to give up, the clutching of broken shards despite the searing pain and being adamant that dammit you can still make a beautiful stained glass window out of it. Yours is a screaming heart, a pleading love, a bitter and almost belligerent hopefulness that things will still work out even if you have to roll up your sleeves and make them. And god, aren't you tired? Isn't your heart heavy? Is all your hard work worth it? Don't you just want to curl up and let it be? Let the fire turn to ashes and the sky turn dark and let love die down and watch people leave? But you don't, do you? You're the bravest out of all of us, so you pick up the pieces and you keep going, you keep believing and you keep your heart full of hope because some day. Some day you know you'll get it. You keep riding off into the sunset and you keep filling my heart with hope as you go because god, how do I wish you finally get it too.

Valfore Clamenti - Cold Stark Gold: Fireworks, borrowed lighters and sparklers against a dark backdrop, yours is a love that burns stark and bright. It's scary though, like things that burn always tend to be, but for you it isn't the thrill of the open flames that gives pause and a slight stomach drop of terror, but rather the time when the flames go out, the sparkler ends and the night is cold and dark once again. Fireworks, borrowed lighters, a striken match, your love burns bright and fast and then maybe it passes, maybe the feeling dies out and you're left in the cold once again. And that's the feeling isn't it? Of being bored and waiting for someone to light you up again? To be fair, you do know you don't need it, but then again we don't often crave the things we need. And you crave and yearn and burn in the wait, restless in the knowledge that at some point someone will pass and rub you the right way, that some day you'll light up the night sky bright yet again. There's comfort in the darkness and solace in the predictable loneliness of the in between, but your heart still squirms inside you, waiting and willing and begging to burn up again. Your love might not be comfort, it's not one for the sick days, but then again, there's a reason why everyone waits for the shining lights in the sky during holidays.

(How did they all end up as warm colors??)

I'm not tagging anyone, but if you're interested in doing it, feel free to tag me! :)

#meme

[stxr-bxster]

⏰

Slip a ⏰to see a memory or a part of my muses' past.

Disclaimer for some kinda' gory depictions of a warzone.

A string of quiet, heaving sounds undercut by weak, raspy attempts to suck in some air through spasming muscles echoed in the warm, humid air. The rasps slowed, as though the reflexive muscular tremors were abating, only for an attempted deep a breath at the wrong time to shatter whatever composure the fresh recruit was trying to muster up. A sickening splattering noise followed soon after.

Krigg coughed, throat burning and eyes watering from the sudden chunder, hand pressed against the wide form of a fallen chain crab for stability. Well... the ass end of a chain crab, anyways. The bus-sized beast's segmented body ended quite abruptly in a splintered mess of shattered carapace and pulped flesh where a falling orbital shell had shredded half of it into paste. The corpse rose from the mass of the dead like some malformed boulder, its legs frozen in death in twisted arches that seemed to try and grab at the skies.

A fresh shell's distant whistle tore through the atmosphere, the baleful ringing growing in intensity until a bone-shuddering clap sounded off, the roar of the explosion moving like a liquid mass through ground and air. The small alien's body gave a distressed shiver, the autocannon she hadn't let go of rattling in her grip. Her fingers ached from gripping the weapon so tight her knuckles went white for so long. Another scream, another bang, another nauseated gag escaped her, another quake of her body - weaker, tired.

The world was so, so loud. Every new boom from distant shelling pounding the next area to clean up was like claws raking at her spine, sinking under her ribs to press razor edges against her heart. The world had been worse what felt like seconds before - but every sound felt like it could be the jumpstart of something new, the violent return of death and danger. It sunk deep, violently shaking tired nerves back into cruelly acute awareness.

The charge had been a maelstrom of noise, fire and vibration. A vivid nightmare she wasn't sure she'd dreamed or lived. A wall of information threatening to crush her from all sides she had to push through, holding steadfast to her training, lest she meet a gruesome end along with her comrades. And the smell- oh, the smell! Ozone and burnt flesh and bile and a million other disgusting scents clawing at her throat.

It was worse then, once it was over. The battlefield around her was nothing but rubble, upturned earth and the bodies of dead things. A few on her side. Many, many, MANY on the other. The ground was a carpet of pulped flesh, gristle, shell, bone and guts through which liquefied flesh and blood ran in knee-deep, muddy puddles. It was wrong. Everything was wrong in a way her body rejected violently. The air was wrong, the place was wrong, and she wanted out out OUT OUT-

"Alright rookie, not so bad." Krigg tensed harshly at the foreign sound ringing out from behind her, autocannon springing back into a proper two-handed grip. She spun sharply, heels skidding against the slick ground, only for her to slowly, painfully lower her weapon at the sight of another squadmate. A large, heavily modded combat cyborg with a bulky chest and four grasping limbs modified with bladed implements. Has Krigg been from elsewhere, she would have compared them to a top-heavy bionic praying mantis, with an extra pair of graspers on their shoulders.

The veteran squad member ambled closer, reaching out to tap her shoulder with the graspers on the end of his bladed forelimb. She shrank away from the touch, the intrusion feeling foreign and too raw on frayed nerves. If they noticed, they didn't care. "Don't worry, everyone's first scrap goes a bit like this. Lucky you, you made it out alive, and given your performance in the thick of it rather than on the backline, you just might cut it to climb the ranks!"

"I'll be seeing you later. Welcome to the extermination corps. Get used to killing things, you'll be doing plenty of that."

#ask meme #I got carried away on this one

[whaleofatjme1920]

In the Tent, Under His Arms (Eyeless Jack X F!Reader)

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: literally just smut, knotted dick, breeding kink kinda?, possessive, I feel like EJ is his own warning, dubcon, rough, degrading(?), slight praise, if you are a minor DNI]

[AN: this thing is 8K words so have fun. Ngl, I had a lot of inspiration from the Wolf Man from Darkwood, so like,,,,,, that's gonna show up here as influence srry. ily <3]

To say you are nervous as you traverse the woods was an understatement. You could hardly breathe as you quietly stepped through the darkness that curtained the forest around you. Small little mushrooms and pieces of paper dotted your way as you continued to shine your flashlight at the deer path before you. Branches seemed to spring out from tree trunks in the blink of an eye scratched at your clothes as you pushed yourself forward. Every little sound that didn’t emit from you set you on edge.

How the hell did you even get here? You woke up on the floor of a rundown house. Cold tile had been your mattress as you slowly found your bearings. A quick glance around the darkened room showed a barren room, its walls littered with papers worried about a tall man in the woods. The only warnings were to watch out for him, fear him and not get caught by him lest you be taken. But you were still confused, scared and unsure.

Instead, you found yourself doing the only thing you could really think of. Securing your safety. This went on for a week without a hitch (save for the odd faces that peered into the windows every now and then) until one fateful morning where you were greeted by the only sentient living being that wished to talk to you since… Well… Since before you ended up here.

You had taken up refuge in a closet for the night and after stretching, headed to the kitchen to make something when you were rudely greeted to a… man?

Leaning against your counter drinking some coffee he’s already brewed.

You were about to rush back to your closet and pick up your blade when the man lowly chuckled.

A deep silence fell between the two of you as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. From the silence came low, rumbling, almost animalistic breathing.

It was then that you finally got a clear view of who was leaning in your kitchen. You grounded yourself in the doorway, not budging as the man slowly sipped from the coffee mug. You took notice of what he was wearing as he did so - a big, dark blue hoodie, and on top of that, a big, brown jacket. He had worn blue jeans. Steel toe boots.

The most unsettling parts of it all?

He had ashy, grey skin. From his profile, you could see shark-like teeth, grinning at you like a wolf.

“It’s really rude to stare, sweetheart,” the grey skinned man interrupted before taking another languid sip. “Have some coffee. I went outta my way to get it for you,” he finished before you could even begin to register what he was saying.

You awkwardly looked off to the side as words failed to build in your mouth. However, your mind continued to race with thoughts.

The grey skinned man verbally rolled his eyes with a huff before placing his mug down. Then, he quickly turned himself around and opened up one of the cabinets, fished for a mug, settled on a slightly chipped white one, inspected it, then placed it on the counter beside his. His clawed hand reached for the pot of coffee and grasped it before pouring the pleasantly warm and aromatic liquid into the slight chipped mug.

“Here,” he hummed as he held out the mug to the still frozen in place you. “Before it gets cold.”

You felt immediate disgust but hit it from your face as you cautiously stepped forward.

Sighing deeply, he closed the space between the two of you by taking confident steps forward.

On instinct, you held your hands out and took the mug.

He smiled in approval before leaning back on the counter to drink from his mug. “Sorry about the lack of sugar and creamer,” he said in passing as he watched you take a slow, shy sip. “You’ve seen the state of things out there, haven’t you? Can’t find shit even if I tried.”

Upon deeming the drink not poisonous and not harmful to your wellbeing, you felt more at ease and took more confident sips. “Who are you?” You asked, effectively breaking the semi-comfortable silence.

“A medic in some circles, a trader in others,” he began, flashing his rows of pearly white sharp teeth. “Call me Jack.” His gaze then lowered, eyes still obscured by his hood. “And what about you, sweetheart? How did you find yourself in this wicked place?”

You shifted uncomfortably before leaning in the doorway and taking another sip from the mug. “I don’t know,” you muttered. “I woke up here,” you gestured to the cold, checkered tile the two of you were currently standing on, “and got to work,” you finished. Your eyes remained trained on the floor. You remembered the first few days you were here - how awkward and strange they were. The feelings of confusion and anger. Stumbling around in the dark.

Jack nodded thoughtfully at your words before he finished his mug in one big gulp. He then smirked at you, the corners of his lip tilting upwards before he began stalking towards you.

Instinctively, you backed up, ready to defend yourself.

Jack chuckled under his breath. He smelled of wet soil and pine. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said as he stopped just an arm’s distance in front of you. He looked down at you, his eyes still observed by the darkness as you struggled to see what he looked like. His clawed hand suddenly reached out, and you flinched. He grinned, and took his lifted hand to hold your chin before slowly tilting your gaze upwards to meet his in full. “Let me get a good look at those pretty eyes,” he murmured.

And that when you saw his, or rather, the lack of. Just empty caverns. Dark, soulless, but they looked at you with such hunger.

Jack watched your pretty eyes flutter, mostly in nervousness before he leaned down. His sockets bore into you. His other hand left his coat pocket to your face, clawed came closer and closer to your eyes making you scrunch your nose. “Find me in the burnt clearing. I’ll be waiting for you.” His index finger came up to the bridge of your nose and slid down it. He chuckled at your confused expression before he tapped your nose.

When you reopened your eyes, he was gone.

You spent a few days wondering if you should go or if it was a trap. There was really no one to ask and the faces that peered into your window didn’t seem to give an answer one way or another. Your gut, however, kept telling you it was a bad idea.

That was what you were sticking with: it’s a bad idea, you shouldn’t go.

So, why were you stumbling through the woods near sundown looking for him? It was stupid, you thought, that you could be walking into your death. You quickly slashed through the brambles until you made your way to a small clearing. A light shined in the short distance when it wasn’t obscured by rapidly growing branches. A quick glance down at your map showed that this was the eyeless man’s camp.

Your fingers tightened around your blade as you left the heavy foliage to inspect the camp. There was a sizable tent followed by various crates strewn about. In the center was a fire pit and across from it was a worn down green couch. How did that even get in here?

You carefully came closer to the roaring fire with timid steps while trying to calm down your breathing. A quick glance around and there was nothing but silence to accompany you as the sun sunk further and further down the horizon. You let your guard drop for just a moment before prickling back to attention. A presence behind you made you swivel, lurch and raise your blade faster than what you were capable of.

“Took you long enough. You do know that it’s rude to keep people waiting, don’t you?” Jack states with a small frown before bursting into a fit of laughter at the sound of your still drumming heart. “What has you so nervous?” He questions, eyeing you like you are nothing but a piece of meat.

“This is your camp?” You say, more out of observation than waiting for affirmation.

“It is,” Jack hums. “Good to see you made it. I’ve seen some proxies barely make it here by the skin of their teeth,” he continues as he sits down by the fire.

“What?” You ask as you quirk up an eyebrow.

Jack picks up his back to rest between his knees and rummage through it before beckoning you over to sit next to him.

You cautiously sit next to him on another crate. You avert your attention from him back to the fire.

“Proxies are servants of this tall guy,” Jack explains after ensuring you took your seat. “They run these woods essentially, but they never come to my neck in fear of the things that exist past what is safe,” he grins slightly, still rummaging in the bag. “Out here, it’s just me and the things who lurk.”

“The things that lurk?” You whisper in a questioning tone.

Jack nods again and pulls out a little journal. He begins to thumb through it as he continues to explain to you. “Things known as the Rake, the notdeer, the proxies that succumb to their sickness early, y’know, the things that kill.” He finally finds what he’s looking for.

You turn your attention to the journal and see he’s amassed a collection of polaroid photographs of the things that lurk.

“See? These are some proxies,” he hands the book to you and points at the pictures. “And here is one of the things that lurk.” His clawed finger shows you what used to be a proxy, their body torn to shreds, organs hanging everywhere, and in the center, what you can describe as a monster hungrily devouring their flesh. “I have a lot of good shit out here, and most of them never make it past this guy.”

You shiver slightly and Jack furrows his brows for just a moment.

“Sorry,” he apologizes for a moment before briefly taking the book from you. “Anyways, very few people make it out of the woods unless you’re a proxy or me. We used to make it out a lot easier but there was this one guy, ugly fucker,” he hisses. “That left the woods after burning down the trees to the main road - one of our crossing points. The trees grew back so fast after the tall guy’s wrath and now we’re all stuck here as a result. That ugly fucker? He disa-fucking-peared.” Jack growls deeply as he says it, clearly not happy with the memory.

“I’m… Sorry,” you apologize awkwardly.

Jack shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, yeah?” He hums. “Anyways, flip a few pages and you’ll see the ugly fucker’s hovel before he left.” He pointed to the picture of a house similar to the one you were staying in.

Small world?

You studied the man who stood in the picture. He wasn’t that ugly in your opinion.

Jack then shows you other photos, places, effigies, proxies and one of a brilliant mansion. Apparently, you need to stay away from that place at all costs. There’s also pictures of him and other people, some of them you recognize from your time on earth? Is that right? Are you still on earth?

Jack explains a bit more to you. Mostly about this place. It’s like a pocket. Somehow, you were taken and brought here for a reason. Jack suspects it’s because the tall man, also known as the Slender Man, wants to make you a proxy.

“You’ll lose your humanity that way,” he tsks. “And that’s why I called you here. Not for pictures and conversation,” the warmth that was in his tone over reminiscing over things and learning about others is gone.

You notice it almost instantly. You watch as his posture changes and so too do his facial features. You know he means business now.

“I know you’re looking for a way out,” he begins. “I can help you with that.” Jack notices your eyes light up for the first time in well… It’s the first time he’d seen you look so hopeful.

“What’s the catch?” You ask as you slowly lean away from him.

Before Jack could say anything, a shriek was heard off in the distance. Jack’s face twinkled with excitement for a second before he nodded his head over to his tent.

It caught you off guard and sent your heart racing before yet another shriek emitted from the dark forest around the two of you.

“It’s dark,” Jack says as his gaze goes back over to his tent again. “Stay here for the night. Those things out there don’t really fuck with me,” he muses. When you don't answer, he stands up. “Unless you wanna try your luck out there, sweetheart. By all means…” He trails off as he slowly begins walking over to his tent.

You swallow your pride and stand up much too fast and catch pace with him.

Jack lets out an amused chuckle as he opens the flaps to the tend and allows you entrance.

You were immediately shrouded in the scent of petrichor and wild flowers. Surprisingly, it didn’t smell near as rough as you had originally expected. You felt a tad awkward standing in his tent as he zipped it up.

“You can sit down,” he says as he ensures the flaps were shut properly.

You nod more to yourself than anyone else and take a few more steps inside. It was tall enough that you could stand without brushing your head on the roof. On the floor interspersed with grass were carpets. It looked like a nest was in the near middle? Tons of blankets and two twin sized mattresses laid side by side were on the ground.

You glance around and see a small little desk, some writing supplies, just normal home stuff. Why was Jack living out here? There were tons of vacant houses.

Instead, you brush the thought off and settle on sitting timidly at the end of one of the blanket covered mattresses.

“Good choice,” Jack says as he procures from his pocket a box of matches. Then, he reaches over on the little desk for a kerosene lamp. After lighting it, the dimness of the tent became something actually visible. He checks his watch as he slowly makes his way to the other mattress.

“What time is it?” You ask as you struggle to get comfortable on the mattress.

“Surprisingly? Nearing midnight,” he answers. Jack stretches slightly before plopping down entirely. “Get some sleep, yeah? Tomorrow morning, we’ll set out to do what I ask,” Jack subtly demands. He props his elbows up on his knees and watches from the corner of his gaze as you shift awkwardly.

You felt strange laying down on the mattress, but did so anyway. It doesn’t seem Jack cared very much that your shoes were still on. You move your body slightly to find comfort on the mattress while Jack continues to eye you from the corner of his vision.

He takes note of your form, how delicious you look. How he can take you right now.

But he saw your eyelids grow heavy. Within moments, you were on the verge of passing out.

Jack relents softly. He knows she wants your full attention while he ruts into you making you cry out to gods that don’t want to hear you. He sees you begin to fade in and out of consciousness. Luckily for him, he does have some business to attend to, and those creatures didn’t ever get too close to his camp.

They wouldn’t touch you, not with his scent bathed all over you.

One of the last things you heard before Jack left to attend to other matters was a compliment. You barely heard it, and it would have shocked you right awake if your body wasn’t on the verge of shutting down.

“You look so pretty right now, Sweetheart. Beautiful, even.”

It wasn’t until 3am that Jack finally returned. You were fast asleep when he finally resented the tent, but he could smell you all the way from where his important matters laid. His nose guided him back to you. And funnily enough, it brought him back to you about a week ago as well.

Jack hadn’t smelled a fertile woman in a very long time. Well, since this whole mess came upon the Slender Man’s woods, really. He spied on you the first few days you were here. You weren’t as ready for him then, must’ve just been leading up to it. When he popped into your kitchen, it was because you were getting so close to your peak. The smell was overwhelming, sweet, and tender. Intoxicating. Like fresh peaches and the tangiest of strawberry pie. Lucky for him? You came to him at your peak.

Jack ressecure the flaps of the tend before his vision that saw all too well in the darkness his beauty that rests on the mattress he knew you’d choose. Your face and other gestures were gently lit up by the almost extinguished kerosene lamp’s flame. It drove him wild to see you breathe so peacefully.

Your chest rose every so slightly and he could have sworn he caught the outline of your nipples if it wasn’t for that stupiud bra you had on instead.

Jack licked his lips as he quietly drew himself closer to you. He couldn’t stop himself from crawling on top, quietly and slowly, so as to not wake you. One of his knees gently pried apart your legs, and then he took in your scent. You smelled of something not from the woods. You smelled of fresh vanilla and dark roast coffee. Of strawberry pound cake. Of good things.

Jack leans down and takes in your scent near the base of your neck, inhales deeply, then buries his nose in your hair. You smell divine, possibly even better than… Well, it’s best not to say. His hand picks itself up off the mattress to gently and gingerly brush near your hairline. Sily. Pretty. He then places it on your stomach and lightly presses, trailing his claws along your abdomen to your side. You are so soft. So delicate.

The moment his clawed fingertips touch your side and begin trailing down, you wake up.

Your eyes fly open and you almost let out a scream at seeing how this strange man is looming over you. Your mouth opens, but his hand quickly leaves your side to smother you. You breathe heavily against his palm, your eyes wide and with fear. You struggle against him.

“Shhh, he hushes as his hand presses a little firmer on your mouth. “Calm down.” His voice was low as his knee dug further into the mattress, just below the place he wanted most.

You continue to struggle against him, fighting against his planted hand while his other hand presses down on your hips.

“You promise not to scream?” Jack deadpans in a low tone with an edge that cuts you to your core. He sees tears welling in your eyes, and he knows you’re telling the truth. Slowly, he peels his hand back, watching as you keep true to your word.

You take in deep breaths to help self regulate. “What the fuck?” You seethe. Your arms, which have been pawing wildly at his chest, relax only slightly when his clawed hands catch your wrist in a vice grip.

“Easy,” he murmurs, only loosening his grip when he’s sure you won’t fight him any further. His head dips so his empty caverns can peer right through yours in the dim light.

One look and you know what he wants. Horor and something else - something wanton - pass across your face, making Jack laugh.

“I said I wasn’t gonna hurt you,” he hums, his clawed index finger trailing your cheek.

Before you can say anything else, Jack’s hand leaves your hips and grabs your face. With a wicked grin, he licks his teeth, then leans down and licks your face.

You contort to digits as he does so. He smells of iron.

“Why are you doing this?” You growl as his tongue leaves your cheek to your chin, slowly making his way to your neck. “I can leave if that’s-”

“No,” Jack growls. “You won’t leave,” he states before gently nipping at the soft flesh on your neck. “You smell so good,” he murmurs before taking another languid lick at your neck.”I’m going to make you mine,” With that, he entirely retracted his form from yours to look down at you.

Of course, you fight him. Your thighs grip around his upper leg that still rests between your knees and you almost maange to flip the two of you over. But he was much bigger and much stronger than you could manage. With a deep laugh, he grips your wrists tighter above your head and squeezes to let you know who is in charge. With his free hand, he reaches into his back pocket and gets the zip ties.

How the fuck did he get zip ties?

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you hiss as he dangles them in front of your eyes.

“I just can’t trust you right now,” Jack tsks in the tone of a pouting child. The black zip ties feel awful against your wrists (they also feel good) - and he’d secured them so tightly. He playfully watches you attempt to break free from them, and when it proves futile, he laughs. Jack then allows his hands to take free roam of your body while you begin to protest him less and less. “I know you don’t have any spare clothes,” he hums thoughtfully before his fingers waltz down to the hem of your shirt. “Luckily, I have some left over. You won’t be needing any of this,” he cackles as his sharp claws make waste of the fabric.

You feel yourself growing weaker and weaker under his grasp but still curse at him more than what you deem possible. Jack seemed to eat up your insults. “You’re fucking sick,” you spit as he eyes your bra hungrily. “A sick fucking pervert.”

“You stayed the night, Sweetheart,” Jack grins wickedly. “I’m only taking claim of what’s now mine,” he says before delicately tracing the cups of your bra. He likes the design. Dark blue with light colored polka dots. An interesting choice. Without wasting any more time, his claws cut through the fabric too - no use in unclasping while your hands are bound. “How beautiful,” he giggles. “How lovely. I could hardly tell when you were using those bags you call clothes,” he teases, making your knees clamp around his knee once more, making Jack break again and laugh.

You bite your tongue and try to avert your gaze from him, not wanting him to see that you’re flushed due to the intimacy and that your body and you yourself are growing keen to the situation you have found yourself in. “This is…”

“C’mon,” Jack breathes out as his fingers trail up your smooth flesh to your breasts. “You must’ve known something was up. A man doesn’t just ask a woman to stay the night. He’s got one thing on his mind if she isn’t family or a friend: he wants to fuck her.”

The harshness and pure lust that dripped from his tongue made your face heat up in response. Your gaze darts and bounces around before you finally settle on his hands that are now fondling your chest.

Jack’s hands travel to your pants. He takes in your scent again. You are intoxicating, so intoxicating.

“You’re gonna have to work for it,” you manage to hiss out, legs still clamped around his knee.

Jack’s expression falls. “You’re not in charge, I am.” And with that, he rips through your pants, leaving you naked before him.

You shiver slightly in response to the cool air, and of course, Jack has to see that and make note of it as well.

“Awh,” he coos as his nose gets closer and closer to your heat. “Are you cold? Do you want me to warm you up?” He murmurs in a sickening lust filled tone.

“You bastard-” you’re barely able to breathe out before you’re cut off by Jack dragging the flat of his long, black tongue from the bottom to the top, taking great joy in the arousal that was already present.

“What a naughty, naughty girl,” he teases before dragging his tongue again. “Already soaking,” he compliments. His thumb, careful of the sharpened claw, travels to your clit and begins to slowly massage it. He feels your legs shift. Jack hums as he does to, hsi tongue only playing with your lips. He was going to make you suffer before he stuffs you completely.

His teeth nip you every now and then, just to remind you who was really in charge as his tongue and lips press kisses to your lower lips. He doesn’t dare dip into your heat despite wanting to taste you in full.

You write in his grasp, trying to hold back any and all sounds of pleasure. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he’s doing to you.

It’s a shame really, he could make you see stars if only you’d let him.

He must have gone near half an hour with his head between your legs, still fully dressed. He was a man of great patience, and he’d been edging you for much longer and harder than he should have. He could see frustration dotting your face when he finally came back up to look at you.

You look a little more flushed than he remembers. It’s probably all the heat rushing to your face. He notices your hands are quite restless too, that and being tied up couldn’t be the most comfortable thing in the world.

“You look upset, why?” He asks before sucking on your clit. When you struggle to say anything, his teeth graze you ever so slightly. “Use your words, please,” he hums much like an authority figure would.

“Tongue fuck me,” you mumble in embarrassment, eyes darting anywhere but at Jack who is still nestled securely between your legs. You watch as Jack’s ears perk up.

“Say that again,” he prompts, his fingers taking over his tongue on your clit.

“Please,” you say softly “Tongue fuck me and please untie me.”

A sly grin crosses onto Jack’s face alongside yet another chuckle. He momentarily leaves your legs and crawls back up to be face to face with you. His index finger reaches up and his claw slashes through the zip ties.

You freely move your wrists, getting used to your newfound freedom.

“It’s only because you asked nicely,” Jack coos as his sockets bore into your eyes. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, pleasantly surprised that you don’t fight him like before. He then crawls back down your body to rest in between your legs, his clawed fingers parting your lower lips slightly before he dives his tongue in. He takes great joy in how you write beneath him as your thighs press harder against the side of his head.

He buries his tongue inside of you and curls it in places no human could ever reach. He has you seeing stars.

You buck your hips quite a few times and Jack’s hand reluctantly leaves your thighs to push your hips back down. As he tongue fucks you closer and closer to release, you become a little harder to control. He enjoys it though.

Jack hums absentmindedly as he does so, relishing in your taste. You are soaking wet and so, so close. All he has to do is push you off the edge.

He slithers his tongue out of you before rubbing your clit with his thumb, allowing you to take your mind off your pussy and to the assault your clit before your mind goes white hot in pleasure. Jack’s tongue darts so fast into your pussy that you almost yelp in response as he thrusts it back in and out, still humming like it was no big deal.

Your back arches and that’s all Jack needs to know to see you’re just about to cum. A few more rough flicks of his tongue and you’re creaming onto his face. Your hands grip the nest’s bedsheets and various blankets as he continues to carefully tongue fuck you through your orgasm. He grins as he laps up your sweetness, teasing you under his breath about the effect he has on you.

But he’s not done with you, not by a long shot.

You look up hazily while panting deeply as Jack’s tongue slowly leaves your pussy. The flat of his tongue slowly swipes up from bottom to top which makes you giggle, and he smiles against your skin. From there, he begins working on undoing his belt.

“Here,” you murmur softly, his ears once again perking up to catch your words.

“Hm? He hums in response as he cocks his head to the side, watching as you slowly sit up and stretch before your hands gently press onto his chest. You push off his dark brown coat and then trail down to his belt.

Your hands are soft and gentle as you work on freeing him, and within moments, you are tossing his belt to the side and unzipping him. You can see the tent in Jack’s pants, and you can already feel how delicious he’s going to feel inside of you.

Jack nods for you to lay back down when you shake your head ‘no.’ Interesting. Instead, your hands unzip him and you reach for his cock. Your eyes pop as you touch it - he was hot, much hotter than any man you’d previously been with.

“Come on, don’t keep me waiting,” Jack teases.

You roll your eyes playfully before finally fishing him from his pants, guiding him out with anticipation. You look up at him the entire time you do so, lust clouding your vision and burning through your soul as you do so, almost unaware of the monster you hold in your hands. When you finally look down, you feel heat rise to your face once more.

Jack smirks in response and tangles his fingers near your scalp, brushing you ever so slightly. He guides your lips down to meet the giant. He was big. No denying it. Had to be near nine inches, thich, veiny, with a girthy know he couldn’t wait to stuff inside of you.

You didn’t fight against him. Instead, you eagerly awaited him for your mouth.

Your lips are soft as they press the lightest of kisses to his tip. And just like that, you’re dragging the length of your tongue up and down his cock and listening to him growl in anticipation. When you know you’ve got him where you want him, you take him in your mouth.

Jack’s claws keep steady in your hair as you bob your head. Your lips couldn’t reach his know, and to be completely fair, he wasn’t expecting you to be able to take all of him orally, but he loves what you can do. Your tongue swirls around his tip and shaft every time you come back up, and when Jack was acting up? You graze your teeth against him.

Before he knows it, you are looking up at him with the sweetest gaze, giving him your permission for him to use you. Jack passes you a look of affection before his other hand reaches up to caress your cheek, moaning out deeply as your tongue swirls on his tip, trying to coax his cum out.

Without any particular warning, he pushes your head down and brings you back up before working into face fucking you.

Your face goes dark as he uses you, making breathing damn near impossible. He begins muttering in some language you don’t know - they sound like praises - but he’s coming closer and closer to his edge.

In a mix of English and whatever language he was mumbling in, you can feel his praises get filthier and filthier. Though, Jack doesn’t want to finish in your mouth. Not this time.

“Back down, I’m going to fuck you,” he murmurs deeply while looking at you with lust and… something you can’t quite name. It wasn’t animalistic, that’s for sure.

Jack expects for you to lay back and spread your legs for him but instead, he watches as you maneuver on all fours. Your face is burying into the blankets and your ass is just shy of his waist level despite you pushing up towards him.

You glance back at him and roll your eyes playfully before swaying your hips, attempting to entice him further.

Jack sees the slickness of your cunt and without any hesitation, takes your waist into his clawed hands and begins rubbing his cock with your slick. “Gods, you’re so fucking wet,” he murmurs as he continues to rub his cock with your juices. “I’m going to destroy you.” And then he slips into that language you just can’t understand. “I’m going to knot you and you won’t be able to look at another man without begging for me to fill you up,” he says as his fingers lightly part your lips that were so tightly pressed together as he lines up with you.

Before he does so, he begins to shrug off his hoodie.

“Stop teasing me,” you say in a teasing tone, making Jack pause from taking off the rest of his clothes.

Jack verbally rolls his eyes before taking his hand out from under his hoodie before gripping your waist again. Without any warning, Jack shoves himself into your roughly, hilting himself to his knot before resting there and taking off the hoodie.

Your eyes roll up slightly as he thrust inside of you. The thickness he had wasn’t anything you were used to, and he stretched you open with absolutely no lead up and it made you see stars again.

“I can feel your wet cunt,” he says in passing as he throws his hoodie up and over his head. “Squeeze around me while you wait for me to fuck you,” he chuckles with a devilish grin. He feels your body’s eagerness for him to fuck you, and like such a good girl, you squeeze his cock making him breathe out with a smile. He feels you pulsing, he feels you growing hundred with the need the longer he stays dormant inside of you.

He sighs in ecstasy as he begins to slowly move himself out of you. When it was just the tip, he roughly slid back in, still refusing to knot. His ears twitch at the sound of you gasping for air as he really begins to fuck you. “And here you were calling me a pervert,” he muses as he begins to thrust into you with deep, long strokes, adoring the sounds that pour from your mouth. “But you like fucking me huh? You like it, you goddamn slut. You like being fucked by something that is no longer human,” he continues in that same dead language, nails digging into your soft flesh. “You’re gonna milk my cock and then you’re gonna do it again in the morning.”

Your eyebrows furrow, mouth slightly open, hair bouncing slightly with every thrust. Your face is so heated in response. This is something you know you shouldn’t be doing, but fuck was it good at keeping you around and interested.

As one of his clawed hands undug itself from your flesh to slide down your hip and caress your abdomen, his claws trace your skin and press into your clit once more. He thumbs you and leans over you as he does so, his other hand propping next to your head as he engulfs you with his size. He’s pounding into you now, still refusing to know. His tongue lazily swipes at your shoulder as his hips thrust into you at a damn near inhuman speed and strength, making you mumble incoherencies.

Your moans are music to his ears.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you feel like you can’t anymore, and I’m gonna fuck you until I’m the only man you’ll ever fucking think about,” he roughly sneers into your ears as he continues to pound his hips against you. “I’m going to fuck you until you tell me to stop, and even then? I might not stop.” He breathes deeply into your ear, his tongue tracing the shell as you pathetically move in tandem with him, his fingers digging into your clit and swirling.

He’s trying to get you to cum again.

You are trembling beneath him as his hips shatter you. You can feel his knot greet your lips, but still refuse to enter as Jack growls deeply into your ear. Your legs clamp together as his hand roughly fingers your pearl.

He’s so intoxicating, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

“Cum on my cock,” he hisses harshly, still fucking you to orgasm.

And just like that, he got his wish.

You squeeze shut your beautiful eyes before tightening your thighs together. An immediate waterfall gushes from between your legs, filling the air with something sweet and slightly bitter.

Jack laughs as he pulls out from your pussy, watching as the liquids continue to gush out. “What a cutie,” he teases as he lovingly licks your cheek. “Turn over. I wanna see your face when I knot you,” he grins, nodding for you to lay back on the side of the twin mattresses that was not turned into an ocean.

On hellied legs, you slowly wobble and hum as his finger traces your slit before falling back to the side of the mattresses that isn’t soaked. Your eyes meet his gaze and you slowly spread your legs as he looms over you. You catalog everything about him. In your eyes, he looks so animalistic, and so human all at the same time.

Without his jacket or his hoodie, you’re able to see the scars that decorate his body. He’s so dark, and the cuts and jagged lines that dash across his form are so light in contrast. He’s still lacking eyes - so how is it that he looks at you with such love?

That stupid smirk is looking at you again and you’re tearing your gaze off it to see the head of his cock weeping with precum.

Jack whistles down at you, his hand resting on your knee. “You knew this was coming, Sweetheart,” he hums as he leans forward, hands placing themselves on both sides of you. His grin grew as he saw your face heat up once more.

Jack feels your legs shift followed by a slight weight on his lower waist, He makes a noise of approval as your ankles lock before he glances down to where your bodies are soon going to be connected again. “Let me know if I hurt you at any point,” he whispers softly in your ear as his slightly pointed tip prods at your entrance.

You find yourself almost taken aback by his sudden kindness - he was so domineering but so soft? Your trail of thought is almost entirely derailed as he pushes his cock in and past your puffy, swollen lips as you listen to him hiss at the new angle.

It’s intimate - neither of you can deny that.

Jack watches your expressions from the corner of his gaze as he slowly begins to pump in and out of you, working you to that breakneck pace once more. He watches as your eyebrows furrow as he picks up the pace, fucking you in your entirety. He feels your legs tighten around his waist and watches as your eyebrows furrow once more and knit together in pleasure.

You begin to pant as he does so, walls pulsing deliciously around him as his hips meet yours in thick, meaty thrusts. You feel his cock slide deeper and deeper with every thrust, pushing you to new limits.

Your moans are, once again, music to his ears as he fucks you senseless. Your hands wantonly claw at his back and brush against his sensitive flesh. Swears and curses escape your lips every now and then and that makes him blush.

“You are taking me so, so well,” he harshly compliments through pants as he lowers himself onto his forearms, his hips continuously snapping forward. “It’s almost as if your cunt was made for me. I wonder if you can take my knot as well?” He mumbles as his knot kisses your bruised lips once again. “I don’t care what you say, I’m gonna make you take it.”

“Fuck!” Jack swore under his breath as your walls vice gripped him. “You’re gonna take my knot and you’re gonna like it,” he mumbles into your neck as he kisses and nips at it. He hisses again when you rake your nails across and down his back. His ears fall back in pleasure and close to his scalp as you moan louder. The sound of your pussy gobbling him up has him weak at the knees.

“You’re getting close again, aren’t you?” He questions as he nips at your neck, threatening to bite in the longer you hesitate in answering.

You’re admittedly pretty tongue tied at the moment. “I-!” You’re cut off but his hips slapping forward making you choke and gasp for air. “I am-,” you breathe out through your moans.

“Perfect,” Jack chuckles as he slowly inches his way out. He watches your face carefully as he pulls out, his gaze trained on yours as his forearms push up so he can see you better.

Confusion etches itself on your face. “What?”

“I just wanna see your face,” he answers as his tip rubs against your entrance. He licks your cheek playfully once more before slowly, and deliciously dragging his cock back in, his knot just barely meeting your lips. “This might hurt,” he murmurs gently as he picks his hips back up once more before thrusting back in, much more forcefully, his thick, large knot finally breaching your pussy.

Your eyes widen as his girthy knot pushes inside of you, your legs instinctively tightening around his hips. Your hand leaves his back to grip onto his bicep. Luckily for you, Jack doesn’t mind. You wince as he wiggles in the rest of his knot into your pussy as it swallows him whole, the entirety of his knot being buried inside of you, making it hard for you to breathe. You feel so full and stuffed!

Jack is a little surprised by how strong your grip is! He’s almost completely smitten with it when he finally looks down to see tears welling in your eyes. He can tell it’s a mixture of both paini, from being stressed immensely, and pleasure in a way only pain could bring. It’s ecstasy. Jack leans down gently and begins to kiss your tears away, careful to not pull where the two of you are connected all the while restraining himself to what he doesn’t believe is bearable.

“You feel so divine,” he murmurs livingly before licking away another tear. “Just relax, let me do the work,” he continues. He feels your lips on his and he smiles, taking that as the green light to rock into you. Unfortunately, he would not be able to completely destroy you like he did prior to knotting you simply because of the knot.

Now, Jack takes the time to be intimate. He lovingly relishes in the feeling of kissing you as he slowly and tantalizingly grinds his hips against you and lightly thrusts after every roll. It was a little difficult due to the connection, but it felt sweet. His hand went back between your legs to work your pearl as he continued to sweetly roll and thrust into you, thoroughly enjoying how your hips are shyly coming up to meet him.

“Come on,” he whispers softly through his kiss as he begins to thrust a little rougher. “Just a little more, cum on my cock again,” he urges as he breaks the kiss, licking your cheek. He’s swiping and thumbing your clit in ways that have you writhing beneath him.

Your legs tighten around his waist, urging him to press deeper inside of you.

Not one to deny a lady from what she wants, Jack backs up as far as his hips will let him and pounds back into you. He repeats the motion, making sure to roll every time he does so.

Your hands grasp at his back once more as he fucks you with reckless abandon, his name being the only thing to spill from your lips as he does so. You can’t believe he’s overloading you again, and your heart picks up in response. You kiss him once more, feeling his chapped, rough lips against your soft ones before he leaves and nips down the side of your face and back to your neck. He lightly bites down, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough for you to know he’s got a claim on you.

You look up at him as he mumbles in that same dead language against your skin. He’s so lost in you that it’s almost adorable. Your hand gently asks for his attention, and he gives it to you. You give him a look of nothing but lust and possibly love, and Jack’s lips are on yours again, thickly, warmly, with something deeper and much more passionate than anything you would have expected he was capable of. When he breaks away, panting, against your face, he makes you cry out in pleasure.

“I’m going to fill you,” Jack sneers through his panting, hips still thickly pounding into you. “I’m going to fill you for as long as I’m inside of you,” he mutters as his thrusts frow sloppy. Jack covers you entirely with his body as he roughly pants into your ear, so, so close to spilling.

Your walls begin to flutter around him, urging him to spill as he growls into you. You feel like you’re creaming rings around his dick, urging, no, begging him to bottom out inside of you. Your nails are leaving dark, jagged marks into the flesh of his back as he does so.

With a few more powerful thrusts, Jack finds himself going over the edge, his hips back as far as his knot will allow him before he buries himself deep, the tip pressing against your cervix as he releases himself inside of you. Hot, thick, sticky ropes of cum begin to flood into your needy cunt as lightly rocks himself inside of you, gritting his teeth as you tremble beneath him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He continually growls out like a prayer as your fluttering walls coax more cum from him.

Your eyes roll upwards as the heat floods your cunt, making you squeeze your eyes shut and burying your face into his chest. You’re squeezing tightly around him, vice gripping him as he continues to relish in the feeling of your body holding him so tightly. You can barely think straight as his cock weeps more cum, threatening, and succeeding in filling you to your brim.

“Gods, you’re milking me,” he murmurs as he finally stops pumping you full of cum. “This… This is gonna take a while,” he says darkly in your ear.

“What?”

Jack nods down to where the two of you are still connected. “Gonna be a while.” He sighs, secures your legs to his waist, and then flips you over so you are resting on top of his chest. “Get comfortable.”

“How long..?”

“A while,” Jack awkwardly coughs. “It’s just uh, a knot thing, I guess?” He attempts to explain as you shift your hips deliciously, making him huff and his cock spurt more ropes of cum. He looks away in slight embarrassment. “You can sleep, if you want? Like I said, this is gonna be a while,” he finishes as his hand fishes around for a blanket as his other hand travels down your lower waist to finally cup your ass. He squeezes gently once he finally throws the blanket over the two of you.

“Or,” you say as you plant your hands firmly on his chest, gradually bringing yourself back up. “We can go again.”

Jack laughs. “And you called me a pervert.”

You lightly slap him and grind your hips slowly against him. “Shut up.”

#eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #nsft #creepypasta scenario #x reader #reader insert

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Something about last summer sucked. 

Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous. 

There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.

You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them. 

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:

Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more. 

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”

“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”

“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi. 

“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”

Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook. 

Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together. 

The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more. 

Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat. 

“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body. 

You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception. 

He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m in love with you.”

The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true. 

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”

It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault. 

“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish. 

“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone. 

“What are we supposed to do?” He asks. 

You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.

He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else. 

The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

“Me too.”

Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.

The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed. 

The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you. 

Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it. 

Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is. 

You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away. 

“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick. 

“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.

“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.

“I guess that would be me.”

You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all. 

“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer. 

The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.  

If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well. 

“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written. 

Some things never change, you suppose. 

“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.

“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow. 

You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life. 

There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer. 

But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.

“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”

“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”

“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face. 

His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation. 

“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes. 

You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”

“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me. 

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?

“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?

“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”

Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give. 

“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him. 

Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two. 

Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?” 

And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer. 

You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin. 

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done. 

“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”

The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire. 

Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t. 

The fact is that it has always started and ended here. 

When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving. 

You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old. 

Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit. 

You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him. 

The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin. 

“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while. 

“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies. 

“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now. 

Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly. 

“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”

“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it. 

Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died. 

“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”

“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you. 

“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks. 

“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!” 

The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more. 

You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.

There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here. 

The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.

But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible. 

“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room. 

“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience. 

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things. 

Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.” 

He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh. 

Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine. 

“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t. 

Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”

Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.

“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other. 

The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors. 

“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”

“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion. 

“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval. 

“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”

“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s. 

“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”

“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters. 

“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”

“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”

“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”

“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair. 

Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice. 

“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”

“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable. 

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose. 

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”

You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink. 

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”

And the two of you must have both known that was a lie. 

You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better. 

After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door. 

“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent. 

“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”

You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie. 

“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”

Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that. 

“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had. 

“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”

“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night. 

You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet. 

You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.

Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that. 

You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back. 

You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.

If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back. 

But you can’t.

The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up. 

Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes. 

This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived. 

You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall. 

“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.

“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside. 

“Is this your first year at camp?”

“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face. 

“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.  

“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on. 

“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”

“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent. 

“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself. 

The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”

When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other. 

Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials. 

Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him. 

Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing. 

“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable. 

“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you. 

You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands. 

As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all. 

It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair. 

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”

“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. 

You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame. 

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks. 

You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.

Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here. 

“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible. 

“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features. 

“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”

“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable. 

“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”

“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you. 

“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”

“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation. 

“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”

“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.

“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin. 

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back. 

You want to be honest?

Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart. 

The only solution, it seems, is to smother them. 

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid. 

You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope. 

It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you. 

Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will. 

As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.

Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will. 

Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.

Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless. 

If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy. 

The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete. 

Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell. 

Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you. 

You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off. 

“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb. 

“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously. 

You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?

Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”

“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight. 

“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi. 

“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute. 

“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply. 

“Try what?”

You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon. 

“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them. 

“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks. 

“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears. 

“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing. 

Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction. 

Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go. 

“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin. 

“I think so,” you heave out in response. 

“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough. 

“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”

“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way. 

“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different. 

“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline. 

You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter. 

“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks. 

“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”

One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun. 

He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others. 

Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent. 

Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials. 

The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain. 

A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember. 

Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you. 

You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder. 

There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be. 

When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.

Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves. 

You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted. 

As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider. 

Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too. 

Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers. 

The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken. 

You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.

“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces. 

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her. 

Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”

“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts. 

“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”

“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up. 

“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes. 

You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea. 

They will bloom every year, Jimin said. 

So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded. 

It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—

God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting. 

“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”

But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?

You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.

Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him. 

Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables. 

Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance. 

Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you. 

Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time. 

“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands. 

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”

It’s no secret to the both of you why. 

“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him. 

“Alright,” Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”

“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”

“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”

“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests. 

Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know? 

“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.

You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question. 

“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one? 

You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.

You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on. 

“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”

You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”

And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks. 

“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year. 

“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”

And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.

“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.” 

The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway. 

“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”

A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.

“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get. 

“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.

“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”

Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow. 

“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken. 

It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.

You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile. 

Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter. 

It’s getting easier. 

No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors. 

And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier. 

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other. 

Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again. 

“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop. 

You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.

“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”

Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name. 

“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you. 

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting. 

“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly. 

“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”

“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”

Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back. 

“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”

“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place. 

“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”

Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record. 

There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers. 

Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed. 

“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.

“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.

“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.

Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.

Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”

He means that part, too.

The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability. 

This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them. 

Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.

Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.

Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance. 

Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children. 

And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now. 

All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud. 

“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages. 

“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge. 

“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”

You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you. 

“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”

“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard. 

“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”

“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again. 

“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”

Shit. 

Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms. 

You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows. 

And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be. 

Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright. 

Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative. 

“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”

“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.

“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”

“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it. 

“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you. 

“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”

“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”

“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”

You do? That is news to you. 

“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”

“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read. 

“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”

Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more. 

Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much. 

“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”

“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims. 

“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back. 

It can’t be. 

You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear. 

You swear.

“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”

“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”

Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”

“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more. 

What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality. 

“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room. 

Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”

“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it. 

Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him. 

“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together. 

“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.

Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches. 

“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more. 

“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.

“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left. 

“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”

And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him. 

This place will never not remind you of him. 

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”

“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”

“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take. 

You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”

Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob. 

You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room. 

“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”

“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”

“Think we should wait it out?” He asks. 

“Whatever you want to do.”

Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”

You nod. “Five minutes.”

Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain. 

You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky. 

And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking. 

You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you. 

(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else. 

He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries. 

“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”

“Needed for what?”

He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe. 

“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands. 

“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath. 

“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front. 

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it. 

“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”

“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”

With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face. 

“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious. 

“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room. 

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal. 

Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place. 

Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance. 

At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event. 

Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier. 

Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet. 

“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe. 

Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”

“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”

“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies. 

You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet. 

But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.

What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying. 

It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams. 

It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different. 

“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs. 

“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease. 

And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt. 

“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness. 

“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”

The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do. 

They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding. 

God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm. 

“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable. 

“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—

“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”

A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely. 

“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room. 

“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse. 

“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer. 

“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that. 

You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it. 

Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp. 

On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation. 

“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off. 

“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see. 

When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore. 

The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin. 

You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else. 

But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want. 

The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects. 

So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something. 

“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”

You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water. 

“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder. 

“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”

You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need. 

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jimin angst #bts angst #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts fic #jimin fic #jimin x reader #bts x reader #jimin au #bts au #w: into the wilderness #UHH THATS THE FUCK RIGHT THATS WHAT I SAID !!!!!! #okay but also i havent felt as emotionally redeemed abt a climax scene in a long time #anyway i hope you all enjoy !! this is my baby so you BETTA TREAT IT THAT WAY

[ddarker-dreams]

Contractual Obligations II. Yan Childe x Reader

Warnings: Unwanted physical contact, general yandere themes. Word count: 2.2k. →Part I. 

The sound of heavy, wooden doors shutting behind you feels like a premonition of what is to come. 

Fiddling with your skirt, your eyes dart around, taking in Liyue’s signature rich architecture. Fatui building or not, they still must abide by Liyue’s aesthetic. You thought being surrounded by your home’s design would bring solace. Warm shades of mahogany with gold motifs are illuminated by paper lanterns, giving a glow that would be otherwise pleasant, if not for the circumstances. 

You had anticipated a long wait. Ekaterina, upon hearing your name, informed that you would be seen without delay. The others in the lobby of Northland Bank grumbled at this, much to your embarrassment. It’s no secret that getting appointments here is a time-consuming endeavor. Sailors, business owners, and Qixing’s personal assistants alike had to wait. 

For whatever reason, you were allowed to skip ahead of the queue. The glaring special treatment is bound to spread rumors. Now, here you stand, unable to quell your nerves. This is no different than strolling into a ravenous lion’s den. The vulnerability you feel now makes you wish you were facing a carnivorous beast, at least then you might have hope to defend yourself. 

Even with the unexpected privilege of not waiting in the lobby, you’ve been standing here in this private room for a while now. Thirty minutes is your guess, impatience creeping up on you. Your shoulders slump, a sigh leaving your lips. There’s lots of work to be done when you’re done here, time a precious resource. Wasting it to get answers from the blight on your life is infuriating. 

Figures, the one time you need to speak with Childe, he’s nowhere to be seen. Every other time he’d show up at the least opportune moments. He has a habit of appearing uninvited and ruining what would’ve been a pleasant day. Lost in thought, you consider all that must be done when you return to your parent’s shop, too occupied with your thoughts to notice a looming figure. Two hands go out to cover your eyes, the world suddenly going dark. Heart pounding against your chest, the touch is too unexpected, heat rising in your body as protection.

“Guess who?” Childe hums into your ear with a singsong tone. His scent reminds you of the ocean, fresh and light. 

You frown, noticing how close he is to you, his chest pressed against your back. Does Childe not know what personal space is? “The source of my problems.” 

He lets out a scandalized gasp and slinks in front of you. Childe boasts a lighthearted demeanor, mirth dancing in his eyes, and a tight-lipped smile on his face. Inauthentic as ever, you note. You’ve seen what lays dormant behind the thin veil of boyish charm. The infinite darkness that you never wish to see again. He’s still closer to your person than you’d prefer, but pointing it out won’t do any good, so you decide to overlook it. Picking your battles wisely is vital when speaking with Childe.

“Is that the greeting I get, after rushing all the way here?” Childe sighs. Before you could respond, you notice a new scent in the air, unmistakably leather. It takes you a moment to identify the source. A thin, wispy trail of smoke rises from Childe’s leather gloves that had been touching you just prior. Does that not hurt? Childe catches you staring and laughs. 

“So you didn’t notice,” Childe sounds amused, lifting his hands to inspect them. Raising his hands to his mouth, he bites the tip of his gloves and pulls them off. “Looks like I caught you.” 

He nods to your necklace which is tucked beneath your blouse, scarlet light shining through the fabric. Instinctually, you cover it with your hand, the jewel warm to the touch. Childe’s abrupt physical touch had activated your Vision. It’s only when you take a few deep breaths that the telling glow fades away, but the damage is already done. Did he plan this on purpose? Whatever the case may be, Childe is the last person you want having this information.

Sensing your apprehension, he speaks up. “Relax, I already assumed as much, but my interest is undeniably piqued. Why hide your Vision? This isn’t Inazuma, I was under the impression Visions were revered in Liyue.” 

You don’t owe Childe an explanation, but your intuition tells you he’s not going to let this go anytime soon. This isn’t what you came here for, you remind yourself. Don’t let him distract you.

“It’s a long story,” comes your dismissive answer, glancing around to see if anyone else had seen, even though it’s only you two in here. “Can I talk about what I came here for, please?” 

Childe closes his eyes, humming while considering your proposition. Instead of walking behind the desk in the room, he sits on a bench against the wall, motioning for you to come over. At your blatant hesitation, he decides to pester you, which doesn’t come as a shock. 

“What’s up with that look? There’s plenty of room,” Childe pats the spot next to him for extra emphasis. A dangerous twinkle shines in his eyes with a mischievous smile to match it. “Though, I wouldn’t complain should you come to sit on my lap instead.” 

Your cheeks flush brightly, a weak glare being sent his way which he laughs at. “I would never…” 

“Sure, sure. Come over already, it’s the least you could do, considering you just scorched a pair of my favorite gloves.” Childe’s carefree tone doesn’t match his scolding words, stretching out his arm on the back of where you were supposed to sit. Gingerly stepping over the smoking gloves on the floor, you wonder if it’s somehow a fire hazard, but assume Childe’s Hydro Vision could put it out if need be. You stop just short of sitting down, gnawing on your bottom lip at this new internal dilemma. Glaring daggers at his outstretched arm doesn’t seem to faze him. 

“The offer still stands.” He teases, leading you to huff and take your seat by him. You try to ignore the close physical proximity, but it’s rather difficult, as your thighs are touching. Is this a common theme for Snezhnayans? Why is Childe so needlessly touchy? Maybe you don’t want to know. Childe drums his fingers, staring at you with dangerous intent. 

You’ve wasted enough time here. Hoping to move on to the pressing issue, your lips part without further delay. “So, as I was--”

Childe places a finger to your lips, in an act that leaves you speechless. What is his problem? Furrowing your eyebrows together, you have half a mind to scorch the finger in front of you, but dismiss the thought when remembering his strength. Damn him for getting you riled up with such ease. 

“Uh uh uh,” Childe chastises with a shake of his head. “Not yet. Business can come later. First, you’re going to tell me about that.” 

You don’t need to look down to see he’s pointing at your hidden necklace. “It’s... personal. I have no reason to tell you.” 

“Oh, sweet [First]. I wasn’t asking. You did just burn my gloves, didn’t you? Instead of charging you Mora, which -- no offense -- you don’t have enough of to replace it, I want an explanation. I think that’s a fair deal.” 

So he is going to hold that mishap over you. Messing around with a debt collector and money seems counterintuitive, giving a quick explanation the plausible option. Whatever it takes to get him to drop the sensitive topic. Childe must have a semblance of tact to have made it this far in life after all. 

“Fine, fine. It’s not really that remarkable a reason. I have a younger sister, Chunghua. We used to be inseparable as kids. More than anything, I just wanted her to be happy. You’d do anything to accomplish that, y’know? It was… all my fault, really. She wanted a Vision like mine more than anything -- hair accessories, Mora, pretty outfits -- she never cared for that. 

I had no idea why I was given a Vision and not her. She was the one who prayed to every Archon at night for it, the one who burnt incense and gave offerings, not me. I could see her gradually losing hope every day that she woke up without one, like a piece of her was breaking off. At meals, she’d just… stare, silently, at the Vision around my neck. I don’t blame her for starting to hate me. I didn’t notice until it was too late.”

Taking a deep breath, your eyes fall to your lap. “I only wanted to cheer her up. To see her smile like she used to. When I first got my Vision, Chunghua would ask me to do these little tricks. Forming animals or whatever, stuff kids like. Anyways… I tried doing it again one morning. Needless to say, it didn’t go well, she practically screeched at me. I had no idea that was how she felt. But, yeah. That’s why I hide my Vision. See, not that interesting, right?” 

Childe’s expression feels impossible to read. You’re not sure why you even shared so much, especially with him, but his lack of interruption made you keep going. Maybe you weren’t expecting him to sit perfectly still and listen to every word. Whatever the case, you clear your throat, desperate to clear the gloomy atmosphere. 

“She would’ve reacted the same eventually,” Childe says after a moment of deliberation. You tilt your head, the serious answer was unexpected. “That’s what I think, though only older siblings could understand.”

There’s a brief tenderness in his words that leaves you speechless. If he’s acting, you have to commend his abilities, because right now it almost feels like he’s being genuine. Playing with a strand of your hair, you look past him and clear your throat.

“Yes, well, I suppose you’re right.” 

Childe’s somber appearance twists into a more impish visage. “Why don’t I give Chunghua a talking to? It’s a shame seeing your cute face so sullen.” 

Mortified, you shake your head. “There’s no need for that.” 

“Hmm… a shame. I could really take care of everything if you just let me.” 

“Somehow I doubt that,” you shrug with a frown. “What you could help me with is this ridiculous situation at the shop! Why are there Fatui guards outside the front doors? It’s scaring away customers.” 

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” 

Unbelievable. Childe continues to test your patience at every turn. After your previous conversation outside Liyue, which you’re still hoping was a bad joke, you’d noticed an increased presence of Fatui around the shopping district. That was bad enough for business. Now that they’re stationed right outside your parent’s shop, it’s far worse. Rumors have begun to circulate that you’re somehow involved with the Fatui. This has Childe’s doing written all over it.

“Why else would I be here?” 

He smiles and you immediately regret the rhetorical question. “Because you missed me, of course.” 

“I missed when there weren’t Fatui around the shop. Please, I don’t know what you did, but it’s going to be harder to get money for...” you gulp as if saying it cements the reality of your situation, but power through. “Paying off the loan with this drop in revenue.”

“Tempting as that is, I’m already happy with the results. I got you to come to me and learned more about you. From my position, this is a sizeable gain.” 

Everything from your head to your toes feels hot as if molten lava is stirring inside. He’s not taking you seriously, like the time at the stream and all the times before that. Memories flash in your mind. Your father hunched over letters containing bills, frowning, hair going greyer by the day. Your mother, sneaking out when she thinks you and your sister are asleep to pawn off her old jewelry. Even Chunghua, who offered to take time away from her education to help at the shop. It hits you like a pile of bricks, heart twisting painfully and tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

“What do I have to do,” Your voice is so low that Childe has to careen his head to hear it. He blinks, incredulous, waiting for further clarification. Each breath you take feels like a losing battle, your composure threatening to shatter. “For you to stop… whatever this is. I’ll do anything. Give anything. Please, just leave my family out of it.” 

Childe crosses his legs and leans in closer to you, arm secured tight around your shoulder.

“Didn’t I tell you already?” 

His breath is warm against you, lips ghosting over the skin of your neck. He presses his lips softly against your pulse. Smiling, he notices how it quickens underneath his touch, all too pleased with your physical reactions. 

“That what I want to take is you.” 

#childe #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #childe genshin impact #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #my stuff

[caelcstis]

💋 for Min and Jupe

kiss drabbles. // @r3dblccd currently accepting.

everything felt so heavy. his bones, his eyes, his chest. gods, his chest still ached and if he breathed too deeply, he could feel his lungs tickle and it made him cough. easy, idiot. he scolded himself. SLOW, deep breaths. he wasn't panicking anymore and his lungs weren't fucking him over in the process.

his coughing had to have caught minsung's attention, how could it not? he saw how high strung he was when jupiter's panic attack turned into a minor asthma attack instead. as calm as he acted, he could see it in minsung's body and in his eyes just how worried he was. he was like a spring coiled so tight, ready to jump loose. he felt their bed shift beside him and jupiter had barely opened his eyes to see minsung hanging over him slightly.

jupiter reached to rub at his swollen eyes, nearly shut from his crying and sleeping after his attack. "m'fine..." he reassured. he heard the breath leave minsung's nose, as if all his concerns left in one fell swoop. jupiter really was fine, just tired. he always felt worn out after a panic attack, his lungs just thought it to be a wonderful time to also clock out in that moment as well. he peered up through his squinted gaze and looked up at minsung.

he huffed a little and held an arm out while he was still rubbing at his eye with the other hand. "c'mere." he demanded softly, and like a well behaved pup, his boyfriend made to lay with him again. jupiter rolled over to his side and curled right up into the warm frame. his arm laid lazily over minsung's waist and his fingers were running little circles and stars on his back. he felt little kisses pressed atop his head that it made his scalp go numb and jupiter whined quietly. affection really was a weak spot for him, someone who rarely received it ever in his twenty-three years of life.

"i said i'm fine..." he tried to argue, as weak as it was- and minsung knew it was a weak fight.

he knew with each kiss, it made jupiter's own anxieties and exhaustion flee from his body to where he could actually relax. and they were just as gentle as they rolled down from his head to his cheeks, all the way down to his lips. a soft contented sigh exhaled from jupiter's nose finally feeling minsung's lips atop his own. the kiss wasn't anything spectacular, nor was it for very long. perhaps his boyfriend was still being a little cautious with his body, and jupiter was thankful for it. any other time he'd argue and say he was fine . . . but jupiter knew himself. he knew he really wasn't himself right now. he was better compared to a few hours ago, but he wasn't one hundred still.

the kisses made it a little better, though.

#letters received &&. sent out ⸢ 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗 / asks &&. answers ⸥ #r3dblccd #rather than getting burnt by this fire in my heart you let it warm you instead ⸢ jupiter + minsung / r3dblccd. ⸥ #panic attack mention #diving more into our convo from disc bc min's the best boyfriend

[yandere-sins]

Remember that Beast!Reader fic with the yandere prince? I loved that one! Can I please request ‘Tears’ from your prompt list for this please?

I was thinking that maybe a few years pass by while the reader is still stuck in beast form, but during that time the person appointed as an alternative caretaker for the reader (obviously the prince can’t be around ALL the time if he has to maintain his kingdom and keep up his image) slowly starts forming a friendly relationship and with even something as small as a forehead kiss to the beast, it is enough to break the curse. But the two don’t get enough time to celebrate before the prince barges in👀

I’m uncomfortable with nsfw and anything too sexual but I enjoy the creepiness and horror that follows a yandere character so I hope you can write it like that please😭🥺 Oh! And please let there be some hope that the reader will either be saved or she saves herself. Even better if the reader decides that she wants to save herself and the boy who broke her curse🤩

Thank you! So sorry if I’m requesting a lot😭🙏

Oh, my sweet little anons, when was the last time I gave you a happy end, huh? But thanks for requesting a continuation, I am glad you all enjoyed it so much ^-^ What a good idea you had there!

Tears - “Sweetie, don’t cry.. they didn’t love you as much as I did.. I’ll help you over the heart break.” 

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Panting, you urged your legs forward, always one step further than you made at a time. The chilly night air burnt in your lungs, and your bare feet were icy and wet from the forest ground, but neither you nor the person holding your hand so gently in his thought about stopping. Only wrapped in a big rag, you should have been cold, but when he squeezed your hand encouragingly, you believed you could manage it all.

It hadn’t been too long since you started your way on foot down the hill the old castle sat upon. Sooner or later, the prince would find out you escaped, and surely, they would also notice your Beloved having fled the scene. There had been no reason for him to stay. Losing you was enough to get sentenced to death, his lifeless body thrown into a bog rather than buried. So why wouldn’t he leave with you? There certainly was no reason for him to stay in the wretched service of the king. 

But sooner or later, they would come for you, that much was sure.

So, you two had to hurry, but even so, you couldn’t keep from smiling, especially when he looked back over his shoulder, his warm, green eyes shining without any regrets. You two had known each other far too little, but he never once hesitated to show you his affection for you, even when you still were the hideous atrocity that you had turned into to escape the prince for the first time.

Perhaps, everything that happened was fate. Even if it had been harsh and awful, it happened so that you two could meet and start a better life together somewhere new. Even if you wished now that you two could have met under different circumstances, now, you didn’t regret your life from before anymore. Now, you could simply look ahead to the future that waited for you.

Or so you thought; you should have known better.

The soaring of arrows pierced through the silence of the night. One hit the bark of the tree before you, fire spreading from its alcohol-soaked peak. Your eye widened, as did you’re companions, and you soon found yourself ducking as another one flew over your heads.

You couldn’t spare a second to look back over your shoulder as you two urged onwards, picking up the pace. Your legs were tired and shaking, but you knew that you had to go faster and faster, or else you or he would get hit. It were moments like these in which you wished you were still a beast. One which could run faster than any arrow. One that could fight and protect what was important to you. But that was no longer, true love’s kiss having sealed that specific fate already.

It was too late when you realized that the arrows so far had not been to stop you two from getting away. Instead, as they began to light up tree after tree, you realized they were there to banish the secrecy of the forest and make the dark disappear. At the same time, they made you two run into the directions your followers wanted you to go. If you looked back now, you knew who you’d see, no robbers smart enough to roam the forest around the prince’s castle, so there really was no reason for any other armed party to hunt you down.

And yet, you did, too afraid that if you didn’t, things would go way worse. 

The moment you looked over your shoulder, another arrow flew past you, grazing your cheek. You knew where it would hit way before your companion cried out in pain, his hand letting go of yours as a reflex. He sank to his knee for a moment, cursing under his breath as you hurried to his side, seeing the arrow lodged in his shoulder. “Oh god,” you stammered as you sank next to him, hands hovering over the wound. “W-We can fix it, I’m sure, we just have to--!”

“There’s no time!” he interrupted you firmly as if he hadn’t just been shot with an arrow. Without wasting even another second, he got up again, grabbed you by the wrist, and moved forward. You caught a glimpse at his face, determination brimming from his features, but pearls of sweat collected at his forehead. He was clearly in pain, showing it in the way he held his own shoulder with his free hand, but he hadn’t given up yet. He would move on until you two were safe, and though you sympathized with his pain, you were so thankful he didn’t give up yet.

You two ran as fast as you could, but soon you couldn’t ignore the sound of armor behind you anymore, hooves trotting closer while torches lit up the forest more and more. It was almost spooky that no words were muttered, and you expected someone to call orders every now and then, but you had seen the clothes of your followers briefly; you knew who they were. The prince’s guards, clad in the finest silver and trained to the point of being nothing more than human dogs. They ceased speaking if not absolutely necessary, their eyes were soulless, and their hearts without a hint of benevolence. Them being after you could only mean one thing.

The prince wanted you back.

Another arrow getting stuck in the tree you just passed. You knew everything they did wasn’t fun but coldly calculated tactics. They wouldn’t hurt you. They couldn’t. Your cheek bleeding would probably cause one of them to get degraded to a chair for three months at least, so they really couldn’t afford to hurt you more seriously. But they did know who they could hurt you with. Someone whose pain would hurt you more than your own.

The next arrow missed completely, lost in the leaves on the ground. You two were running out of all the adrenaline you had, slowly and surely having exhaustion catch up to you. No! Please no! You begged the entities above that this wouldn’t be the end! There was so much more to live for, so much to see and experience! You wanted to be with your former caretaker, the only one who ever took you and your feelings seriously enough. You two could build a house and keep far away from the hustle and bustle of the cities, farming and taking care of livestock until the end of time. So please! Don’t let this be the end of it!

However, against your expectations, the one to collapse first was him. This time, the arrows didn’t miss, one hitting him in the lower back, one scarily close to his spine. Teardrops pearled from your cheeks as you fell into to mud with him, your hands scrapping along the roots and stones of the ground as you crawled back to where he laid, softly whimpering. Reaching for an arrow, you wanted to pull it out in desperation, but he began to cry out in pain before you could even start pulling.

“LEAVE!” he screamed. “LEAVE AND RUN!”

You couldn’t hold back the sobs hearing these words. “Please...” his hand reached for yours as he tried his best to look up to you. “Go, find a safe place to hide! Leave for another country and never come back!”

“No...” you sobbed, bringing one hand covered in mud and blood to your face. “I don’t want to leave you...”

“They are after you, not me,” he tried to reassure you, but you knew better. The sounds of their heavy footsteps drew closer and closer, and finding him, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill this ‘traitor’. If you went, then he’d die. But if you stayed and got caught, he’d die as well. No choice you could make would end happily for the both of you. “Please, go. I want you to-- ARGH!” Interrupted by his own scream, you began to panic, calling his name and shaking his arm, only to look up as a shadow was cast over you.

“[Name],” the prince sighed, relief showing in his face. He had this small, exhausted smile on his lips, happiness in his features as he looked at you. However, the moment he looked down at your companion, his face began to contort into a hateful grimace, his leg lifting once more to give your Beloved’s back a not-so-gentle kick. “No! Stop!” you cried, latching onto his leg as the kicks came down, your partner’s screams echoing through the forest.

“Don’t worry, I will get rid of the scoundrel who kidnapped you. I will save you! Just like I always do!”

“No! You’re hurting him! Stop it! Please... Please stop!”

Never had you imagined that you’d ever find yourself so low again that you’d beg the prince for something. Before, it had been for your life, but now, it was for the life of the only person that really mattered to you. “Oh, Sweetheart,” the prince cooed, his fingers finding their way under your chin, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. “Don’t cry... he didn’t love you as much as I do. I’ll help you over the heartbreak once we’re done here.”

The prince let go roughly as he pulled his sword from his sheath as you fell to the ground next to your partner. For a moment, time seemed to stop as you stood up in a matter of seconds. Panicked, you decided to throw yourself in front of the sword instead, but a hand grabbed yours before you could. Looking down at your Beloved, smiling warmly and encouraging as he muttered the final words you’d hear from him.

“Go.”

It was like he set you free, even if your definition of free originally included him. “Eh, Darling?!” you heard as you took off in a second spurt of adrenaline, the prince screaming your name after you. But your mind completely shut off the moment you passed the last lit-up arrow, sinking back into the darkness. Everything was blurry, your vision stained with your tears that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you rubbed your eyes with your dirty hands.

Your feet must have started bleeding as you kept running faster and faster, but you gave them no mind, not even feeling the pain. All you felt was the wound in your throbbing heart, something that the prince couldn’t heal no matter how much he believed he could. You wanted to understand your former caretaker’s action, telling you to go rather than defend him. If you had been in his place, surely, you had done the same. But it was as if you were the one who got betrayed by yourself by running away. By giving up on something hopeless, you felt like you were betraying everything you had ever stand for. How pathetic you were, running, trying to get the better future you had hoped to build with him.

Next thing you knew, you stumbled as the ground gave away to a slope before you, your body tumbling down the wet leaves and sturdy roots, your skim getting scratched by the branches of bushes all around you. It was pure luck that your fingers closed around one big tree root the moment they did; otherwise, you surely would have fallen from the cliff that opened up beneath you, instead of just hanging on to it now.

Only now your ears regained their function, the rushing of waves sounding far too deep and far too rough beneath you as to simply be a river. Had you run all the way to the shore? Was it the big sea beneath you? Either it had been closer than you thought, or you did develop some superhuman abilities after changing into a beast.

Groaning, you tried to pull yourself back over the edge, the slightly forward-leaning stone not being any help in rescuing yourself. Even more so, you had to realize the light of torches drawing closer and closer by the second, while you still struggled to escape the death by falling into the unruly water from a great height.

“[Name]!” you heard the screech of your name, genuine worry resounding from it. The prince’s face was the last thing you wanted to see, especially as he looked so damn horrified at the sight of you barely holding on to the cliff. “Don’t move! I’ll pull you up!” he called as he slit down the slope as best as he could without falling himself until he reached you. It was strange. You should have been happy that you wouldn’t be dying. That someone would save you from this horrific fate.

But all you felt was pure despair.

If he pulled you up, then that would be it. He’d take you back, lock you up again and do as he pleased with you. Who knew if you’d ever get a chance on escaping again, especially if he made an example out of your previous companion about what would happen if anyone ever helped you. You’d have nothing left but to live your life as a mere plaything, captured by the prince that was so beloved by everyone, and you didn’t want to think about all the things he’d do to you now that you were human again.

His hands reached out, and you noticed them faintly in your vision. Your decision fell only seconds before he could grab you by the arms. It was too dark to see, too dark to even speculate how deep it was, but you decided it was better than becoming an empty shell of a person if you stayed with the prince.

No matter what would await you in the depths down below, it couldn’t be worse than being a subject to his twisted, self-righteous love, you decide. Letting go was easier than you thought, making you realize your body must understand this situation very well even if it might cost it its life. The face of the prince as you slipped from his grasp was a priceless last sight to see before you closed your eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

Until your back hit the water, engulfing you wholly like the hungry, desperate maw of an animal. Deeper and deeper until it was everywhere, and only then you opened your eyes again for one last glimpse of the blurred light above.

#prince #yandere prince #yandere!prince #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #lovelove prompts #Anonymous

[sunshineseung]

Paperwork // Hyunjin

🍄 | genre: smut (18+ only) ☁️ | pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 5.1k 🌸 | includes: switch-dom!hyunjin, switch-sub!reader, oral (both receiving), PIV riding, pet names, begging, kinda goofy at first, cum swallowing, “sir”, a lil bit more but not too much

☀️ | synopsis: You’ve been working at this office for five painstakingly long years, but despite your best efforts, you never get a raise or promotion. When the CEO retires, his son takes his place, and seeing as you’re around the same age as his son, this could be your chance to get ahead. 

🌊 | If you want to skip to the smut, look for the [🔥] because there’s a lot of set up for this one, but I know some people just want to get off lol.

He has finally stepped down. After 60 long, long years, the CEO of the company you work at has retired, as if he didn’t have enough money to retire 30 years ago.

The amount of times you’ve been told off by that man is practically uncountable. It felt like at one point you were going into his office every week to ask for any sort of promotion, raise, or even kudos, but every time, he turned up his nose and shooed you away like some kind of stray cat. You’ve worked too long and too hard to not be given proper treatment. Despite everything, you stay at the company, knowing no where else in the city will pay nearly as well.

The company now belongs to his oldest son, Hyunjin. He’s never worked in this office, yet the old man still thought it would be appropriate for him to run the entire company (supervised by a few HRs, of course). Hyunjin looked like a complete fool trying to command the floors of burnt out office workers just trying to pay next month’s rent and put food on their tables, not that he would know what it’s like to work for anything. The first job he’s ever had and it’s the CEO of a multi-million dollar enterprise, who would have thought?

This is your chance. He’s right around your age, give or take a few months, and he seems marginally more friendly than his father. If you were ever going to climb the corporate ladder to finally move out of your studio apartment, it was right now.

Wearing the tightest, shortest skirt you own with the perfect button up to match, you step into his office after scheduling a meeting with his temporary secretary. When you sit down in the chair across from him, he just sighs and waits for you to speak your piece so he can get back to his grueling job of signing documents that he never reads.

“Good morning, sir. I was just coming up here to compliment you on how well you’ve been running the place since your father stepped down. It seems like company morale is at an all time high, and I can’t imagine thanking anyone other than you.”

“So you want a promotion, right?” He scoffs, grabbing a pen to click repeatedly as you struggle coming up with a response. You weren’t expecting him to be so quick on his feet considering he would stutter over every word talking at meetings. “I assume you didn’t come in here just to kiss my ass.”

“Alright, you caught me, but can I at least make my case?” He looks up from the pen to wordlessly incite you to keep talking. “I’ve been working here since I got out of college. This is really my dream, and it would mean the world to me if I could get farther, work harder, and, if you’re feeling so inclined, get a bit of a paycheck raise.”

“Well, you caught me on the right day, miss...”

“L/n. But you can call me Y/n if you want.”

“Y/n.” Hyunjin puts the pen down and leans on his desk, elbows propping himself up. “If you’re up for the task, I am looking for a new secretary.”

“As I’ve heard.” The rumor has been going around that his father left his secretary for Hyunjin, but all they’ve been doing if fighting, so they had to bring in a temporary one, the one you spoke with, to hold him off until Hyunjin finds a secretary he likes. “Not to be rude, but wouldn’t you rather have a male secretary like your father had?”

“No, no. I know what I want.” He runs his hand through his black hair, slipping out the ponytail that was holding the long strands out of his face. “I want you to be my secretary. No one else.”

He drags his fingers through a stack of papers on his desk, stopping at a five page contract booklet. He slides you the papers and the pen he was just fiddling with.

“If you really want this promotion, you’ll sign on that dotted line right now.”

🖊⌚️🗄🗞🪙📞

Working for Hyunjin wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Once he warms up to you, he’s actually really sweet. If you mess up his coffee or misscedule a meeting, he doesn’t fire you immediately, but rather just assures you that it’s okay and you’ll do better next time, a total 180 from what you saw that first time in his office. After a few weeks, you’re a dream to work with, and the job is a lot less stressful than you had assumed.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was beyond stressed. Meeting after meeting, signature after signature, decision after decision: it was all too much. The only time he smiled was when you brought him coffee in the morning, or when he’d hear your voice through the phone. He always looked forward to seeing you, even if it was only for a brief minute. You were really the only thing keeping his sanity together.

“Here’s your coffee, sir.” You put the cup on his desk as he reads a random document. He thanks you, as usual, and takes a quick sip before immediately regretting his decision when he felt his tongue begin to burn. You quick go to his mini-fridge and pass him a water bottle, standing back as he gulps half of it down to relieve at least some of the pain. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for it to get that hot!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Don’t worry about it.” He sits back in his chair and slowly turns to you, meeting your eyes in a light-hearted stare. He laughs before finally speaking again. “You’re holding this company together, you know that?”

You laugh right with him, rolling your eyes at his statement. “Oh please, I just forward emails all day.”

“No, I mean it.” He holds his hands out and grabs yours, interlocking your hands in a soft grip. You could easily move back, but you don’t want to. “Without you, I’d be losing my mind.”

“Aw, you’re too kind.” You stand in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say next. The silence isn’t awkward by any means, but you can’t help but wonder why you’re holding the hands of your boss. “You’re doing very well, though. You have some big shoes to fill, and I feel like you’re doing the best you can.”

“Of course you’d say that. You work for me.” Hyunjin lets go of your hands and leans back in his chair again, crossing one of his legs over the other and lazily putting his hands behind his head, lounging back. “Y/n, can I say something crazy?”

“Say whatever’s on your mind, sir. I’m all ears.”

“Ugh, drop the formalities. Just call me Hyunjin, okay?” You nod, letting him continue with his speech. “I really appreciate you, Y/n, and it’s no secret that my family is loaded, so I want to ask if you’d come live with me downtown.”

“W-what?” Your eyes practically bulge out of your head. Living with your boss sounds absolutely insane, but any chance to get out of your shitty apartment is promising. This is the opportunity of a life time, no doubt, but is it worth taking? “Sir, I...”

“For fuck’s sake, call me Hyunjin.” You’ve never heard him curse before. “Listen, I live in a penthouse on the top story of a high-security luxury apartment complex. I’m all alone in a five bedroom apartment with a full view of the town. Going home alone every night is wearing on me, and it would mean a lot to have someone else there, even just to talk to.”

“I need time to think.” You look anywhere but his eyes as he leans forward and looks up at you from his chair.

“Take your time and think it over. I’ll give you until the end of the day.” Hyunjin turns back to his desk and looks at the paper he was reading before he burnt his tongue. “Go back to your office for now, but right after your shift, I want you here.”

“Yes, s-... okay, Hyunjin.”

🖊⌚️🗄🗞🪙📞

Everyone is gone except you, finalizing one last email before heading up to Hyunjin’s office. An office with no workers is eerie to say the least, and as you take the elevator up to Hyunjin’s office, you can’t help but notice how nervous you feel inside.

This is the right decision. As difficult as it might be, you’re going to say no to his offer. It’s extremely unprofessional to have any sort of out-of-work relationship with your boss. Thinking back to the outfit you wore when you took the promotion, it’s no wonder you assume you’ve made Hyunjin think you want this. Your apartment may be shitty, but at least it’s yours. Living with Hyunjin would cause too many problems in your life, and the last thing you need right now is problems.

He was waiting for you. With his head in his hands as you walk through the door, he darts his attention to you as you sit across from him. While it was certainly a familiar sight by now, he was just glad you didn’t run away from him after such an intense morning.

“Hyunjin, I just want to-”

“Stop.” He holds his hand up, pausing you mid-sentence. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I’m just stressed, and I’m not thinking clearly. I shouldn’t have offered you to live with me. That’s not who I am, nor is that something I should have sprung on you like that.” He reverts back to his former position with his head in his hands, staring down at his desk. “I just... I’m so lonely.”

You feel for him, you really do. He’s been thrown into this situation obviously not by choice, and he knows absolutely no one he’s working with other than you. With a stressful job and no one to turn to, it was clear why he was acting so rashly.

You pull his hands away from his head, holding them in yours like you did this morning. Rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand, you give him a gentle smile as he meets your eyes. The bags under his eyes are present, and his tiredness is visible. He looks so worn out to you. You really do feel bad.

“I’m not asking you to move in, but would you like to come back to my penthouse? Just for tonight?” He returns a smile to you, lowering his gaze blankly. “We can have a few drinks and talk. I just need someone with me right now.”

“Only if you’re paying for the taxi.” You two laugh together, appreciating each other’s presence.

“I’ll have my chauffeur drive us back to my place, and afterwards, he can drive you home.”

🖊⌚️🗄🗞🪙📞

Saying that Hyunjin’s apartment was massive would be an understatement. You felt like you walked into a penthouse from a dystopian future with shiny metal counter tops and black leather furniture. It didn’t look lived in, but to be fair, there was only one man living there. You felt cold even though it was room-temperature. 

“Follow me, doll.” Hyunjin takes your hand and leads you to the living room to sit on his L-shaped couch. If his pet name didn’t throw you off, you very well would have just walked there without his assistance, but you didn’t know how to react after being called ‘doll’ by your boss. “Want anything to drink? Wine? Vodka?”

“I’ll take wine, thank you.”

“Red or white?”

“Red.”

Hyunjin pours you both a glass and meets you back on the couch, lounging next to you, letting the soft silence fall over the room as you each take a sip of the expensive booze. As you drink a bit more, Hyunjin’s eyes are glued to you, and you start to break a sweat as the temperature in the room seems to rise. He’s just... staring at you. You feel uneasy, but this alcohol should help calm your nerves, right?

Hyunjin easily notices that you’re starting to slip into deeper thought, so he carefully puts his hand on your knee to bring you back into the moment. His gesture isn’t charged in anyway, but you still jolt at his touch. You dart your eyes towards his while looking like a deer in headlights. 

“Are you alright?” Hyunjin slides his hand up and down your leg only from your knee to mid-thigh. With his other hand, he puts his glass of wine on the coffee table in front of you so he can totally focus on your needs. Even though you hesitantly nod, he isn’t convinced in the slightest. “You want to know why I invited you here?”

“Sure, Hyunjin. Why did you invite me here?” The more he rambles on, the less you have to talk, so you gladly let him fill the silence. 

“Well, to put it simply, I’m interested in you.” You tilt your head in confusion. Was this a confession? “You’re a very intriguing person to me. When you walked into my office for the first time, you suffocated me with your aura. You truly do command a room, you know? That’s probably why you’ve gotten so far in your career.” His chuckle is awkward, and you don’t respond in any way to help his nerves. “You’re a woman that knows what she wants, and I admire that, especially since I don’t even know what I want.”

“How don’t you know what you want?” Your confidence was slowly coming back, although you weren’t sure if it was from the alcohol or your want to pick at Hyunjin’s brain. “You have everything anyone could ever want! Look at where you live!” You gesture to the room around you. The modern art-deco custom paintings, the abstract sculptures, the fake plants that looked too fake to even be considered plant-like. It was a dream, especially for those that lived in the city. “You have the perfect house and the job position people can only dream of.”

“I don’t want this, Y/n.” He stands from the couch, walking over to the wall of glass that separates the living room from the balcony. “This house means nothing. This job position means nothing.” He can’t face you, fearful that you’ll see how weak he is. “I want someone. I want you.”

Silence. You stare down at your legs, unable to even process what Hyunjin just said. Your thumbs rub against each other, fiddling so you can focus on anything else. Hyunjin sighs loudly and turns around, walking back over so he can tower over you. His shadow consumes you, shrouding your figure in slight darkness. A hand slips under your chin, pulling your face up to see him. His eyes sparkle when he looks at you as if he’s enamored by your existence. 

“What do I have to do?” Hyunjin ponders, leaning in closer to you. The scent of his cologne clogs your senses, and all you can think about is Hwang Hyunjin. “What do I have to do to have you?”

Your hand goes to his chest, grabbing his tie. You pull him into you, crashing your lips against his in a heated kiss. Hyunjin puts all of his emotion into this kiss, promising himself that he’ll show his love through his actions. 

Pulling away, you both catch your breath and enjoy the brief silence. For once, it isn’t awkward; the silence is welcomed. 

“Hyunjin,” you twirl his tie between your fingers, “if you want me, then prove it.” 

[🔥]

Hyunjin takes your hand in his, pulling you off the couch. He drags you up to his bedroom without saying a word, assuming you know what’s about to happen. His sheets are all black, neatly made without a stain in sight. Hyunjin sits on the edge of the bed, tapping on his lap to invite you to take a seat. 

You straddle him, feeling heated the second your thighs come in contact with his. It feels unreal, but you want this now more than ever. You didn’t drink even an entire glass of wine, so you can’t blame this decision on any ounce of alcohol. 

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” He wraps his long arms around your waist, pulling you into him so your body is pressed against his. “I need to hear you say you want this.”

“Yes, Hyunjin. I’m sure I want this.” You shoot him a smile that never fails to make his heart melt, and he can’t help but kiss you again, his lips perfectly fitting against yours. When you open your mouth to allow his tongue to slip in, he feels like he has reached nirvana. Hyunjin was been wanting this for so god damn long; he could bust in his pants just thinking about it. 

His mouth moves from your lips to your jawline, not leaving any hickeys because he knows you have work tomorrow. His kisses along your jaw and neck make you moan quietly, and your hands slip behind his head into his hair. You curl your fingers into his hair, pulling it ever so slightly. He grunts against your neck, sucking harder than before, accidentally leaving a red mark. 

He pulls off of your throat, breathing heavily, looking into your half-lidded eyes. Your hands rest on the back of his neck, holding him close to you. Hyunjin smiles lightly and pecks your cheek, making you both giggle from his cute gesture. 

“I know I told you not to call me sir, but... maybe just for tonight, you can call me that.” Oh, he’s like that? You kiss him for a moment before pushing him back, his body falling against the sheets. Your body hovers over his, and you roam your hands over his chest and abs, feeling him from over his shirt.

“Alright, sir.” You smile innocently, leaning down, kissing his neck to test his dominance. He doesn’t fuss at this. He accepts your kisses, throwing his head back to give you better access to kiss his neck. Your hands roam all over his body, paying special attention to his chest, or more specifically, his nipples. He groans quietly, biting his lips as your fingers rolls over his nipples. “Oh, you like this?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Sit up. Let me take your shirt off.” He laughs at your commands as he raises his body from the bed and unbuttons the top of his shirt before you step in and unbutton the rest. The slow reveal of his torso his haunting, causing your eyes to dart every which way across his body. He really looks like a Greek god. “This is what you’ve been hiding from me?” 

“Oh please, I’ve been wanting to fuck you since I first laid eyes on you, doll.” There it was again. That damn pet name. He really was going to be the death of you, so you might as well enjoy this. “I’ve had dreams of bending you over my desk and fucking you during work, but that wouldn’t be very appropriate, would it?” 

You gulp out of nervousness, unsure of where to go from here. You were in control for the moment, but now that Hyunjin was letting his emotions out, you keep getting flustered, wishing he would take the reigns over this situation. 

“Aw, is my little doll getting shy?” He brushes his hand across your hot cheek, making you stutter out nonsense. “You’re so cute, baby. I could flip you over and ruin you right now, but we should take our time, right?” 

You nod, tracing your hands on his chest again. Your thumb and pointer finger grip his nipples and twist, causing him to arch his back and fall against the bed once again. He’s putty in your hands again, so you up the ante by pressing your heat against his painfully large bulge in his tight work pants, teasing him just enough to make him weak. The sounds he’s making can only be described as sinful, and you love every minute of it.

You dive your head down to his chest, sucking hickeys into his defined pecs. Your tongue around his nipples makes him keen from pleasure, his hands petting your back up and down. When you lean up to look at all the marks you’ve made, he’s desperately trying to catch his breath. 

“I was supposed to be showing you how much I like you, not the other way around!” He giggles through deep breaths, running his hands down the sides of your body. “Lay back, baby. Let me take care of you, alright?”

You shrug in agreement, dramatically throwing your body back on the mattress for Hyunjin to pin you down under his lean figure. His gaze eats you alive, skimming over your skin like he was about to devour you. 

“You’re absolutely stunning, baby.” He kisses you on the lips, short and sweet, before unbuttoning your dress shirt and revealing your bra, feeling your tits over the fabric. His hands perfectly cup your tits, moving your bra down to play with your hardened nipples. You arch your back into his touch, relaxing and letting him worship your chest. He’s a master with his hands, making you moan and whine just enough for him to get even harder under his tight pants. “Can I take your bra off?”

“Of course, sir. Take it all off for me, alright?” You wink up at him, stirring a fire in his heart. He wants to take you, all of you, inciting him to rapidly strip you of your shirt and bra, tossing them to the side. His lips attach to one of your nipples while his hand goes to the other, playing with the bud between his fingers. His other hand snakes down your body and unbuttons your pants, sneaking down to play with your cunt over your panties. His middle finger pushes your panties into your pussy, saturating them with your wetness. “Please finger me, Hyunjin.”

“Oh, needy already?” He leans up from your chest, sitting between your spread legs as he unbuttons his own pants and pulls them down enough to see his bulge under his tight boxers. He looked so big, bigger than you’ve ever taken. Your cunt becomes drentched in a second of you imagining his cock going inside you. “Staring isn’t polite, you know?”

“S-sorry, sir.” He pulls your pants down your legs, leaving your panties to be the only thing covering you. His hands hug your hips, pulling you right up to him. You feel his bulge against your cunt, making you bite your lip.

One of Hyunjin’s big hands comes down to your cunt, a finger hooking around the bottom of your panties to move them to the side, allowing him to check out your sopping heat. His fingers feather through your folds, circling your needy hole just to tease you. He smiles as you whine and buck your hips up, physically begging him to fuck you dumb.

“My baby’s pussy looks so pretty. I can’t possibly fuck her before I get a taste.” You watch Hyunjin as he scoots down the bed and leans down to be eye-level with your cunt. He licks his lips before diving in, sucking on your clit and running his tongue through your pussy. One arm hooks around your leg while his other comes up to play with your pussy, his fingers teasing your hole before sliding in just enough to make you whine for more. “You’re so sweet, princess.”

“T-Thank you, sir.” You throw your head back when he bends his fingers inside you, curling into your g-spot. Hyunjin hums as you moan loudly, hinting to Hyunjin that you’re close. “C-cum, sir. Need to cum.”

“Aw, my baby’s ready to cum?” Hyunjin teases, going right back to sucking on your clit and mercilessly fingering your tight hole with two fingers. His tongue flicking over your clit is making you so close, your legs shaking as he continues to assault your cunt. “Cum on my fingers, babe.”

Your legs violently shake as you reach your orgasm, all your nerves on edge as waves of pleasure drown your brain. You moan Hyunjin’s name over and over, holding his hair in an iron grip. As you come down, his mouth slowly detaches from your pussy, fully lapping up all your juices.

“Open your mouth.” With your eyes still closed, you open your mouth wide open and let your tongue out, letting Hyunjin do whatever he wants to your mouth. His wet fingers dip into your mouth, pressing against your tongue to make you taste your cunt. You suck lightly on his fingers, tasting yourself before he slips his hand out of your mouth, separating his spit-coated fingers to admire your hard work. “Good girl.”

Your eyes goes back down, staring at the outline of his cock in his boxers. He notices your stare, pulling his waistband down to reveal his long, thick cock, leaking with precum, ready to be stuffed inside you. “W-wanna feel you inside me~”

“Aw, but baby, I’ve fucked you dumb just from my fingers. You think you can handle my cock?” He presses the tip of his cock against your hole, pushing it in just enough to make you whine loudly. He smiles, seeing how fucked out you are so easily. He leans down to your ear, holding your hips in his hands. “Do you really want it?”

His voice is so deep and quiet that it makes you shiver, biting your lips before you can even speak. You breath for a moment to collect yourself. “Yes, sir. I want it.”

“Alright, baby.” Hyunjin gives you a peck on your lips before laying next to you, putting his hands behind his head. You look over at him puzzled, still collecting your breath. “Ride me.”

Hyunjin takes a condom out of his nightstand while you whine and breath more, trying to bring back any feeling to your legs. You regain your strength as he rolls the comdom onto his thick shaft.

You huff and sit up, wobbling before getting balanced on the soft bed. You finally pull off your panties before straddling him. Hyunjin throws his head back as you start to jerk his cock, feeling him twitch in your palm. With your free hand, you pull his pants down more to let you comfortably straddle his hips. As you lower yourself into him, you both groan loudly, you from the stretch and him from the tightness.

Hyunjin’s hands hold tightly onto your waist as you fully lower onto him, halting your movements to allow your cunt to adjust to his size. He bites his lip and stares at your face, admiring your beauty despite your messy hair and sweaty forehead. You slowly raise your hips, gripping Hyunjin’s cock with your cunt as you lower back down.

“You’re so tight, baby- fuck.” Hyunjin’s groans are loud as hell, echoing through the bedroom as you ride him, establishing a slow pace. You feel so full, his tip reaching deep inside you, and you love it. The stretch doesn’t bother you anymore, speeding up slightly. He watches your tits bounce on your chest, teasing him with their perky nipples and forming hickeys.

“Is sir close?” You feel him switch inside you at your question, his eyes squeezing shut as he nods and whines. His grip on your waist looses before his hands fall next to his head. You lean down and pin his wrists to the bed with your hands. Having your tits right in his face makes it even harder to keep his cool.

Suddenly, Hyunjin’s hips buck into you, fucking up into your tight cunt while you force yourself to stay still so he can let out his energy... and your legs were getting tired. He hits your spot with every thrust, desperately fucking you so he can release into the condom. You feel him inside you, his cum ballooning the tip of the condom, making you moan as he whines, saying your name like a mantra. He looks so hot under you, you can’t help but lean down and kiss his pretty, plump lips while he sits inside you.

“I thought I could last longer.” Hyunjin wipes the sweat from his brow as he pulls out of you, pulling off the condom, tying it, and tossing it towards his trash can. “You really know how to break me.”

He doesn’t realize that you’re still on top of him, moving down the bed to take his cock into your mouth. He winces when your hot tongue hits the tip of his cock. You lick up his shaft before taking him into your mouth, testing your gag reflex as you take him down your throat, your nose hitting his pelvis. His hands find home in your hair, pulling tightly as you bob your head on his member.

He’s totally speechless, his brain empty as you suck his cock like a pro. Your tongue feels like heaven on Earth, quickly making him fully hard again and bringing him close to another orgasm. He’s never been over stimulated like this before, whining like a cat in heat as he watches his cock disappear down your throat. You stare up at him, keeping eye contact even if he doesn’t look at you.

He twitches in your mouth, his cock spawning against your tongue as you increase the pace. He bites his lip harsh enough to draw blood as he cums again, your head raising so only the tip is in your mouth while one hand jerks his cock, milking him dry. His vision is fuzzy, mind even foggier. He can’t believe you just did that without a word.

You swallow his cum, wiping the drool off of your chin as you hop up and lay next to him, nuzzling into his chest. He puts an arm around you while you two cuddle in silence.

“You’re really good at that, Y/n.” He huffs, smiling as he looks down at you who’s drifting off to sleep. “Are you gonna sleep over?”

“I was hoping I could. And who knows? Maybe we can fuck in the morning before going to work.”

“Fuck, work.” Hyunjin sighs loudly before groaning from the reminder of all of his stress. “This won’t change our relationship ship at the office, will it?”

“Not publicly, no, but if you ever need to releive some stress during the day, just invite me up to your office and I’d be happy to help you, sir.” You both laugh, finally at ease in each other’s arms. As you drift to sleep, you can’t help but be excited for the proceeding weeks at your work.

This is exactly the raise you needed.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fan fiction #skz fan fiction #skz imagines #skz imagine #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids #skz #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin

[vocalyunho]

fire within.

pairing — San x reader (f).

genre — fluff, smut (first time).

word count — 3k

warnings & tags — established relationship, reader is a virgin, San isn’t, a lot of making out, some parts are hella cheesy (sorry), San has a vertical labret piercing and a habit of holding reader’s neck while kissing, grinding, San gets hard just by kissing uwu, handjob (not really), spanking (?), sub! reader, soft dom! San, brief mention of blood, explicit protected sex (positions: missionary & face off), you have every right to criticise me for failing to put an actual plot in this, i deserve it.

synopsis — y/n had never imagined she’d lose her virginity on a snowy night, right next to the fireplace.

The snow had covered the city like a white silky veil. It was freezing cold, the degrees certainly being under zero and the streets were all empty. In contrast to the real temperature, seeing such view made y/n feel so warm inside...or maybe it was the fireplace that burnt for a couple hours now, that made her feel this warmth. 

It was the first time, since the moment she rented this apartment, that she actually felt good for it being on such a high floor. The view of the snow-covered city looked like a picture taken by a talented photographer and not by her own two eyes. 

San was outstretched on the bed next to the big window, limbs covering more than half of the double mattress, and his head was tilted to the side to look at the darkness outside that got dissipated by thick snowflakes that had started falling again. 

San and y/n don’t live together but he got snowbound in her apartment since last night when the heavy snow-falling started. Everything has been immobile since then, no one can ride their cars and the public transportation has stopped too, that’s why San didn’t leave but, to be honest, he didn’t complain and neither did y/n.

The oversized hoodie he was wearing covered his body till his thighs, hiding the black boxers and making him look more comfortable than ever. y/n was lying on her stomach next to him, her head was resting on his outstretched arm, and she was looking outside just like he did. 

Suddenly, she propped herself on her elbows to take a look at the street, and when San felt the movement beside him, he turned to face her. She stretched her neck and squinted her eyes.

“what is it?”, San asked.

“someone’s walking down there”, she stated and he only let out a snort at her comment.

“and what if they do?”

“they’re gonna catch a cold if they stay outside for long”

She stated, as if it was a fact, and San let out a louder laugh this time, finding both funny and heart-warming how much y/n worried about a random stranger’s health. He stayed looking at her as she stared at the person who was probably just taking a healing walk on the snow, until a gentle hand got wrapped around her neck. He moved it upwards, on her jaw, and ran his index finger across her lower lip “some people like the snow, you know”.

“says you...who begged me to light the fireplace so you can stay in your underwear”, she rolled her eyes. 

San gasped, acting offended by the talk back, and y/n snickered. He held himself up on his elbows, meeting her face.

“come on, i’m waiting for a good one”

She commented cheekily but as much as San tried to think of a good comeback, the sight of her mocking smile got the best of him. The metal bar on his lower lip got between his teeth in an attempt to hold back any urges he had to kiss her... but the corners of his mouth curled up when she cocked a brow at him and a second later, his lips were on hers. y/n was more than glad he couldn’t think of anything good to talk back with because she really needed this softness against her.

She kissed him back gently and if it wasn’t for her trying to part, San wouldn’t have placed his hand around her throat again. She couldn’t lie, she lost her mind every time he did that and that’s exactly what happened now too. He kept her in place before lying down and bringing her with him. y/n simply held herself up on her elbows before bringing one hand up to the pink hair and tangling it in between the locks. They kissed slowly, San’s hand remaining around her throat and occasionally moving her head the way he wanted, and when he slightly added pressure on his hold, her eyes fluttered the most pleasurable way possible.

“so?”, y/n finally broke the kiss. San let go of her and ran a hand through his hair, sliding back the hot pink locks on his forehead, before speaking up.

“i’m kinda slow, i need more time to think”

“...right”

“if you kiss me again, I might think of something”, he said, his expression taking a skeptical turn and making a dimple appear on his cheek.

“your flirting skills are so bad, how did i even fall for you?”, y/n tsk-ed.

“you actually fell for my piercing, not me”

“you...did not lie”

“that’s why i’m putting it to good use”

San puckered up his lips, displaying the -so attractive- piercing and y/n only meant to peck it but, a moment later, she was found on top of him with a single push on her side. She didn’t hesitate to straddle his waist comfortably and once he deepened the kiss, the cute make out took a completely different turn.

His arms traveled southern until he groped her ass and squeezed it nonchalantly. As much as this surprised her, double the amount she liked it because he’s never touched her like that. San kneaded the soft flesh, occasionally pulling it so much that it stung, but she didn’t mind it, she actually liked that more. 

Her tongue dominated his and the more she guided him, the more bothered San was getting until she felt it. 

“are you hard just by kissing?”, she asked not, actually, breaking the kiss.

“yeah”

“that’s cute” 

Since she, now, was aware of it, San didn’t hesitate to guide her hips against his crotch. He grinded her on him and y/n could feel nothing but his hard on even above the warm hoodie.

Her hands moved downwards and to the hem of the oversized clothing San was wearing and with slow hands she gripped it, subconsciously using it as support, and started grinding her crotch against his without San’s help. 

He moaned against her lips and y/n decided, at that moment, that his moans were turning her on more than any other sound he’s ever made while making out.

As if he wanted her to know that he liked where this was going, San slipped his hands under the shorts she had on and squeezed her now bare ass in his hands, definitely leaving his nail marks on it. She let her first moan out at that, only for San to let a low ‘fuck’ fan her lips. Her mouth found his neck and as San played with the soft flesh, she left wet kisses on him, occasionally biting down when she needed to hold back a moan. 

At some point, San’s left hand pushed her hips up making them both lose the friction they had created. y/n whined but didn’t separate from his neck. He pushed his hoodie up, till his belly button, and the boxers down, enough to let his hard on out and with a slow hand he grabbed it. With her knees pushing on the mattress, y/n held herself above his body. San pumped himself for a moment before pressing two fingers against her clothed core, making her widen her eyes and bring her head up to face him. 

She hadn’t noticed what was going on down there, until his fingers left the sensitive area between her legs and went to his dick. That’s when she glanced between their bodies, only to see San’s hand wrapped around his length, moving up and down gently. 

She had never seen his lower half naked before, let alone his dick being hard. Her lips fell agape and she raised her body to get a better view. She thought it twice before deciding to reach for it and San took his own hand away. He couldn’t believe the effect a single touch had on him, it felt like he needed instant release when he felt her hand on his tip. 

It was rather cute seeing her experimenting with her touches, finding out how an erection feels like. She wrapped her hand around the upper part and it was more than obvious how small it looked around him. She squeezed it a little and San’s breath got caught in his throat. 

“San-”, she caressed the soft skin on the tip “i have some condoms on the nightstand”, she said and moved to sit between his legs.

San didn’t expect to hear that but he definitely loved the way it sounded.

“want me to make you feel good, baby?”

y/n nodded and he sat up. He took her cheeks in his hands and pecked her before switching their positions, making her lay down on her back.

As soon as she was against the warm mattress, the eagerness took over her and so she reached for the shorts and slid them off along with her underwear, fast. She tagged on San’s hoodie, making him take it off and, now, the only remaining piece of clothing between their bodies was her sweater which was taken off too with a single nod from San.

Being bare under him was new but not that uncomfortable. Maybe the reason why she didn’t feel bad was because he glanced on her nude form and licked his lips or because he remained hard. Deep down though, she knew she didn’t feel uncomfortable because she was sure about him.

He licked two fingers and as if y/n knew, she pushed her legs open displaying where she needed San to make her feel good. 

“i didn’t think you’d be so straightforward on your first time baby but i’m loving it”

He pressed the digits on her clit and her knees, immediately, trembled but he kept dragging them down, over her folds until he stopped on the most glistening area. 

“you’re so wet”

...and the moment he said that, y/n momentarily pictured him slipping in and out of her with zero effort. She sighed and closed her eyes all the while her legs trapped San’s hand between them. 

He pushed them open fast and placed his right knee on one of them, to keep it from closing.

“don’t do that again”, a slap landed on her clit. y/n gasped, the feeling was so new and so overwhelming already...if that felt so good, how was she supposed to act once he was inside her? 

“oh-ohmygod”

Her fingers found her breast and started playing with her nipple, making the stimulation even sweeter and San...he wanted to push her hand away but the scene brought him thoughts he had never had before...the idea of her moaning for him, the idea of her feeling good because of him and, especially, the brief thought of her touching herself to the thought of him, like he had before, got him insane.

“I need you, San-”, she suddenly whined, breaking his train of thought.

“gotta make sure you’re ready, baby”

“i am...pplease”

His next ministration got her eyes rolling back and they hadn’t even done anything proper yet. San held her legs down and brought his face against her core. He gave a quick suck on her clit, humming as he did so, and left her bothered to get the so needed condom.

The cold metal against her pussy had her in shambles. Her body had given up already and when San was back between her legs, the sudden realisation that she was about to lose her virginity hit her like a truck. She was so worked up though and so in need to have him, that her mind was only filled with nothing but the upcoming pleasure.

His body was above her when he positioned himself on her entrance and y/n stuck her knees on the mattress as much as possible when she felt him dragging his tip along the folds. She sighed once again and tried to relax her muscles and San was met with a squeal when he pushed his tip in. 

y/n panicked. The pain was more than what she had expected and the feeling way too uncomfortable but San held her down. 

“it’s okay”, he whispered and kept pushing ever so slowly. Her walls were way too tight around him, it almost felt like she sucked him in but held his sounds back just for now.

“h-hurts”

“only for a bit”

He glanced down when he was halfway in and withdrew even slower, momentarily noticing a minimum amount of blood around his condom. 

“we just broke your hymen, angel”, he looked at her.

y/n’s eyes were on his but it felt like she didn’t hear a word. Thus, San pushed in and pulled out again and again and again just as slow as the first time and it must had been the fifth or sixth thrust when she, finally, moaned.

“that’s right baby, it feels good now right?”

“San-”

He kept being careful, thrusting only halfway in until her arms went around his neck and on his hair. She kept him close and wiggled her hips once he was inside her and San hissed.

“you got confident so fast?”, he groaned and y/n pouted.

“more”

“more?”

He felt his body relaxing, now that she seemed to enjoy it “are you sure?”

“i want all of you”

He granted her wish with a single thrust and he loved her reaction more than he’s ever loved anything. Agape lips, raised brows, hands pulling on his locks, that’s what he needed to let himself free. He thrusted faster and y/n lost her mind. 

“San!”

She sucked him in like she needed him the most. She felt him in places foreign to her and she couldn’t control her sounds anymore, even if she tried.

The snow was falling in bigger snowflakes now but they hadn’t noticed, and the degrees outside decreased even more, contrasting the hotness of the inside of the apartment which had reached a different extent. 

y/n was wetter than before and the momentary fantasy she had a while ago, was slowly coming into life. San was snapping his hips against hers with little, if not zero, effort and the sounds her pussy produced got her flustered. The ardor she felt, though, for more didn’t give her the time to feel embarrassed. 

“ohmygodd-”, she writhed spreading her legs without much thought now “harder”.

Her nails pulled his hair violently when he snapped his hips faster and as if it wasn’t even her first time having a dick inside her, she took it well. 

Suddenly, San wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her on his lap as he sat on his heels on the bed. 

She went dizzy but when she felt what was happening her needy cries were back, louder and more pathetic. San bounced her on his dick. She held on him for dear life, he groaned against her lips non-stop both from the pleasure and the effort and his hold on her back was too tight but she couldn’t notice as her mind was everywhere but her head... and as their breaths resounded in the small apartment and the fire kept burning on the fireside, the two fucked for the first time as if it wasn’t the first time. 

If someone was to walk into this exact apartment, the first thing they’d see once inside is a young couple making love with the whole dark, yet white-covered, city as their background. The lights on, almost, all apartments on the neighboring buildings were on...their owners doing all sorts of things, from watching tv to working on their laptops, as the weather outside their cozy homes was getting colder and colder. The owner of this one just lost her virginity to the person she wanted the most and she did it on her favourite weather just next to the warmth of the fireplace.

y/n captured San’s lips in a messy kiss, spit and moans being its main contents. She took his piercing between her teeth but he didn’t let her stay to that. A moan filled her mouth before his lips got the best of hers, the metallic sound of the labret hitting their teeth was loud but so was the slapping of her ass against his thighs. Her insides felt like exploding from the way she was repeatedly getting penetrated and San felt almost the same, the only difference being that he felt like exploding from the pressure she offered him.

She suddenly felt an immense amount of pleasure building up and taking over her entire upper body “g-god yesyesyes”, she cried in every bounce.

“-gonna cum, baby”

San mumbled breathless but y/n was too lost in the overwhelming senses of her first orgasm to even respond to him. She stilled, cries getting the best of her, and as he thrusted a couple more times, her silky release covered the entirety of his condom. 

San’s quick spurts got stopped by the thin silicon around him and, as he came, needy moans left him, moans that got mixed with low curses and his tired head resting on her shoulder. 

They breathed loudly, chests heaving and bodies sticking from the sweat. He felt so good inside her, almost as if he belonged there but after some moments, the feeling of her own silk staying inside her felt weird. 

However, y/n cupped San’s jaw and lifted his head from her shoulder. She took the time to observe the, now wet, hair and the drowsy eyes and she didn’t fail to feel his arms holding her back tighter, yet more lovingly now.

“I can assure you I didn’t fall just for your piercing”.

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#atzinc #i have no idea how this can be 3k words and not have the slightest bit of plot #forgive me #feedback is welcome <3 #san smut #san x reader #ateez smut #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #kpop fics

[subwaysurf45]

Ghost Rider

summary: on a mission you drop and few flirty comments to Bucky,  he might not pick up on them but Steve helps him figure it out. 

pairing: Ghost Rider!Reader x Bucky Barnes. 

words: 2375

warning: fighting, violence, burns(?), sexual innuendos 

Masterlist!

the whole “demon with the skull on fire” look was kinda hard to keep hidden, not that you wanted to. You were recruited by S.H.E.I.L.D. after a fight, the Ghost Rider needed to be stopped but you had info on the real bad guys that made you who you were, you helped the Avengers with hunting. 

your performing days were over, after crashes and trauma you tried to hide away...like before, the head on fire thing was very memorable; but you wanted to forget. 

Tony and Banner worked together to find a face for you, and after sometime -and a little input to make your hair fire-red- you looked normal, for an Avenger. 

The team sat in the conference room, Cap was leading the discussion. He was going over the plan and all the different ways it could end and the proper ways to handle the multiple endings. 

Bucky was sat beside you, he always found a way to be near, not too close but just enough. “I like the face, forgot to tell you- I mean, I didn’t see the skull because you were in a cell and only Banner and Tony saw it but still...looks nice,” he whispered, you smiled and nodded. When you looked back to Steve, out of the corner of your eye you saw Bucky shake his head, he muttered  something to himself before listening in again. 

“Like the hair,” you whispered after a couple seconds so you didn’t get caught like school, Bucky had just cut the long locks to a nice trim. “looks strong and healthy, like someone could pull it.” you joked 

“Thanks, it really stays out of my eyes-”

“Buck.” Steve slightly raised his voice, “c’mon, man.”

“Sorry,” Bucky whispered before looking out of the corner of his eye to you, you felt like kids trying to be proper in front of the adults. Bucky flashed a smirk before really listening. 

*****

You were all in the quinjet, your combat pants were full of knives, you preferred knives rather than guns; it just happened like that. Bucky sat across from you, you tried not to look at him because of his intense stare you thought your new face was going to melt off if you really focused on it. 

Everything was ready, your uniform was set. or so you thought, Bucky stood and kneeled beside you, His nimble fingers going to your left calf to zip up an open pocket. His hand rested on your knee as he took one final scan, looking at your legs and pockets. His thumb swayed back and forth as he checked, as he stood he used your thigh to get a little push up even though he didn’t need it. 

“Wow,” he dusted off his own knee from the dirty floor, “great thighs, you should teach me your workout routine.” He smirked before going back to his seat, his tongue flicked up and rested on his tooth, he was really going for it. 

and you weren’t one to lose in a battle of flirty comments, the first thing that came to mind was blurted out with the coolest tone. 

“they make great earmuffs,” you winked, but Bucky just nodded, he didn’t get the joke and you were now wondering if that complement he gave you wasn’t supposed to be sexy, he just thought you were strong.

*****

You were all camped out by the building which was deep in the forest, everyone was in position. The rain was beating down hard, you could hear thunder from afar but you knew it was getting closer. You were slightly slipping up in the mud, your boot would get caught and would almost fall off. 

the earpiece was buzzing, everyone was confirming their status and what they saw. The tall trees covered the moonlight so you would have to rely on the earpieces way more than a typical mission. 

“west entrance, clear.” you whispered. 

slowly everyone worked their way inside, your door was open so you went right in. You did have a gun on you but you knew if anyone came to fight you’d switch to knives, but long distance needed guns. 

All you needed was files, this group had too much information. 

Bucky was on the second floor, he and Nat were getting files loaded on the hard drives. She was typing away while Bucky covered her six, he scanned around and around even though the building was extremely dead and quiet. It didn’t look dead, there were no cobwebs or any tipped chairs, it looked like an office that was in use. 

“this isn’t right, they would have someone protecting the files.” Bucky muttered and left Nat’s back, going to the doorway where he came in to look again. When he turned, she was there. “I have this feeling, I don’t know wha-aah!” 

You heard a scream from upstairs, you dropped what you were doing and headed up, gun ready to open fire. Nat was looking around and breathing hard. 

“what is it?” you asked. 

“Bucky- he was there- and then not there- they’re like assassins, they are so quiet.” She was paranoid, you’d never seen her like that before. “I have all the info, but we need to find Bucky.”

the earpieces were constantly running, everyone else was listening. “We have to roll out, we’ll get Bucky soon.” Sam said, “this place is freaking me out.” 

“We can’t just leave,” you shake your head, but Natasha was already leading you out.

As you reached the outside Natasha let go of her death grip, you shook off her hands and looked back to the building, something was wrong; there should be sounds of movement.

“It’s too dark in there and this won’t end well, I’m calling the shots and I say no.'' Steve put his foot down and towered over, you were a little shorter but the build of that man made you feel small.

You turned back and headed to the door, Steve tried to grab hold of you but he retracted his hand with a hiss. He looked at the palm of his hand and saw it was red, there were already pus bubbles forming.

“You burnt me?” Steve yelled.

You closed your eyes as Steve yelled nothing at you, you needed to help Bucky and you were going to do whatever you needed to do. Your head started to heat gradually, like boiling water. The fake couldn’t hold your heat, the jaw began to melt exposing the skull you used to sport; a little melted near your left eye. But what changed the most was your hair, like a bonfire it was big and tall; you were now taller than Steve. Red flames licked the air as the blue flames in the middle stayed almost still, a ball of light from the actual fire on your head lit around you, allowing you to see.

“I did burn you, third degree.” You sneered and walked to the door, “and if you’re gonna leave Bucky and make me save him, get me Steve’s bike.” You left them with the sound of the door slamming to echo around the vacant forest, it rang louder than thunder and rain.

You walked around, trying to hear for any sign of life. Your heart dropped when you heard a muffled scream, it had to be Bucky. Your feet stomped and echoed up the stairs and the screaming got louder and more despite, when you turned the corner you saw Bucky strapped by the ankles and wrists to a medical table, his eyes were wide with fear and his mouth was stuffed with some rag. 

“oh god,” you muttered and ripped out the cloth in his mouth. 

Bucky didn’t even give himself time to breathe, “ghost! It’s fucking ghosts- and they went through me- i can see your jaw bone- and then they could-your head in on fire- and then I’m tied- and- BEHIND YOU!” 

you turned and saw a ghost, your flaming hair swooshed and shot out sparks because of how fast you turned. The ghost had a knife in his hand, and three emerged from behind him. They were opaque and seemed like ghost zombies, parts of them were missing. 

There was a stand off for three seconds before the fighting started, and Bucky could barely see what was going on. You danced around the ghosts with ease and it seemed as though you knew what was coming, he wanted to help but as much as he tugged on the restraints he couldn’t break free. HIs body was about to give out, he was in shock and he was tired like everyone else; but being tied up made him remember his Hydra days and that was enough to make him become small. 

“I got you,” you muttered and untied him, the ghosts were gone. 

“how did you-...?” Bucky didn’t need to finish his sentence. 

“I took one of their knives and used it on them, they couldn’t die from our real weapons so I had to use theirs, it was easy.” you got him out and helped him up,  Bucky was putting most of his body weight onto you. 

“You’re warm,” Bucky tiredly muttered, he was about to pass out. 

“I know, I have fire hair,” you said with a smirk, the fire helped you out of the building. Just for safe measures you leaned down and allowed your hair to light the wall, the rain that was pouring outside would put out your fire and you’d just have normal hair but it would also put out the fire that would start in the building; you didn’t want it to burn the entire forest down. 

Bucky was about to collapse on you, his eyelids hovered and barely stayed open.  he looked sick, his face was green and extremely pale. 

“I-I need to sit..” Bucky slurred and fell against the bottom of the staircase, “I think they drugged me...” You tried to pick him back up again but he was heavier than you. 

“Buck, we gotta go,” you warned. 

he sloppy grin covered his face, “you’re cute when you’re stressed, I love it!” he sang, “you’re always so cute, I just wanna put you in my back pocket and take you everywhere with me- Oh! I could put you in my backpack and... oh that a good idea, good one, James.” Bucky giggled as he thought of taking you everywhere with him. 

“You’re definitely drugged,” you giggled and got him up again, when he protested you thought of staying for a bit longer but the fire you light was fast approaching, “Shit!'' you yanked Bucky up and headed for the door, only then did you notice a oxygen pipe running down the wall, “Bucky was gotta go!” 

you busted through the door and smiled widely at Steve’s bike waiting there for you, you carried Bucky over and put him on the seat and you got in front of him. 

“My butt is wet!” Bucky yelled like a child, it had been there for a while because of the pool of water on the seat.

“Hold on!” you yelled, the engine revved and as your feet left the ground the bike took off. There was mud everywhere, little potholes and murky water splashing up. you spotted a ramp-type-mud-thing near a tree and went for it. Bucky saw it too and grabbed hold, “Bucky!” you yelled. 

“What?” his voice was shaky. 

“That’s my boob!” you screamed as you went up the ramp, the building exploded behind you and Bucky forgot to move his hand, the loud noise made him hold tighter, “Ow!’ you grumbled as you landed, going at top speed. 

Bucky lowered his hand, “sorry, sorry, sorry, god i didn’t mean to, sorry,” he kept repeating himself, you could feel the blush radiating on his cheeks from behind you. 

“Never said I didn’t like it...” you muttered. 

“What did you say?” Bucky asked, but he didn’t get an answer because you were back with the rest of the group. 

You all went home, Bucky was wheeled to the medical ward to see what he was drugged with and you went to your room. 

*****

Steve was holding a laptop as he walked into Bucky’s room, he was still in a hospital bed in the med center, it had been a couple days and Bucky was feeling fine; it was a mix of shock and some random drug they never really identified. 

“Alright, I’m showing you something,” Steve’s eyebrows were knitted together, he opened the laptop and it had the audio recordings from the earpieces from the last mission. 

“Those earpieces save?” Bucky groggily asked. 

“Yes, and I’m showing you this.” Steve had pulled audio clips, “you and y/n need to stop flirting and actually do something, I can’t keep hearing this in my ear all the time.” he sighed and hit play. 

‘great thighs, you should teach me your workout routine’

‘they make great earmuffs’

Steve deadpanned to Bucky, Bucky just shrugged, “I didn’t know what she meant by that so I just smiled and nodded.” 

“Bucky!” Steve yelled, “where does your head need to be for her thighs to make earmuffs?”

“between her legs?” But was picturing a really fatal choke hold that Nat did once. 

“what else is between her legs?” 

“her- oh...” his face went from confused to red, “oh...!” Bucky bug eyes met Steve’s knowing face. 

“and you grabbed her boob, and just listen to what she says when you moved it.” Steve scrolled a bit and then hit play. 

‘never said I didn’t like it...’

“I was drugged, I didn’t know what she was saying!” Bucky cried, “I can’t believe it went over my head.”

“go talk to her!” Steve said. 

Bucky stood up and rolled his shoulders back, he walked out of the med center and to the rooms, and at one point he thought about turning around and wimping out but he held strong and kept going. Once he was at your door he knocked and you opened pretty quickly. 

“I-” he cleared his throat, “I was thinking about you,” Bucky said. 

“really?” you smirked. 

“ya... I was wondering if you had a pair of earmuffs I could try on?”

#Bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky oneshot #bucky barns fluff #bucky x y/n #fatws bucky #civil warn bucky #bucky fic #tfatws #winter solider fanfiction #winter solider x reader #winter solider x y/n #falcon and winter solider series

[blazingparker]

When I’m Like This, You’re the One I Trust

hello my lovelies!! I’m here with the one-shot I wrote as a massive THANK YOU to each and every one of my followers. When I started this, I had just reached 100 followers and now there are even a few more of you! I’m so grateful to each and every one of you, and I really hope you enjoy this fic.

This was inspired by the song Blinding Lights by the Weeknd. The specific stanza is referenced in my author’s note on ao3!

read it on ao3!

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It wasn’t often that Peter had a sensory overload, but when they did happen, they were...devastating. Physically, mentally devastating.

This was one of those days.

Peter woke up with a pounding headache, every brush against the fabric of his pajamas or his sheets feeling like fire licking along his skin. Tony was apparently making breakfast for them, evidenced by the fact that Peter could hear every clunk of a dish being set on the counter and the crack of an egg that fell into a sizzling pan.

Against his better judgment, Peter cracked open his eyes. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their bedroom was normally a welcome sight, warming his skin and making him feel like a cat stretching out into the rays. Today, though, it was a blinding assault on his eyes that made him whimper and try to curl away from it, only to be met with more burning sensation from the fabric.

“Good morning, Peter,” FRIDAY greeted him, and the young man actually let out a soft cry at that. The voice, normally bearable, was so incredibly loud that he could barely stand it. He reached his hands up to cover his ears, trying to do something -- anything -- to make it better.

“FRIDAY, activate Spider Shutdown Protocol,” a voice whispered, but to Peter it sounded like a normal volume. FRIDAY didn’t respond verbally to the command, as she was relegated to listening only while the protocol was activated. Immediately, the windows were blacked out and the light blocked from the room. The heater kicked in, since Peter had told Tony once that his inability to thermoregulate seemed even worse when he was like this. Though they made no sound, Peter knew the walls of their bedroom had been soundproofed as well. He wouldn’t have to deal with hearing all the sounds of Avengers tower as people began to wake up and go about their days.

“Hey, my love,” Tony whispered as he carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are we having a bad spider-senses day?” He asked, reaching out as if to smooth his hand down Peter’s back before pulling away, realizing that might not be a good move right now.

“Yeah,” Peter whispered back in a hoarse voice, feeling tears prick at his eyes. “Sorry for ruining breakfast, it was really sweet of you to cook.” He hid his face in the pillow despite the pain it brought him, trying to keep Tony from noticing his tears. His boyfriend knew him better than that, though, picking up on how his voice wavered slightly. He might not be able to see Peter, but he knew him well enough by now to know how he was feeling even without that.

“Honey, no,” he murmured back immediately. “You didn’t ruin anything, hear me? If anything, you saved our frying pan from getting another egg burnt onto it. We’ll eat whenever you’re ready, and not a moment sooner.” Peter relaxed somewhat at that, summoning the energy to scoot closer to Tony in their bed.

“Okay. Thank you,” he whispered. After a few moments of silence, Peter reached out for Tony’s hand. Finding it, he guided it to rest lightly in his hair, sighing softly in happiness as the man began to ever so gently card his fingers through his curls.

“You’re okay with touching?” Tony asked, voice still soft as he continued his motions. Peter instinctively went to nod, but stopped himself and instead just turned his head towards Tony’s voice. He didn’t want to make his headache even worse.

“You, yes,” he clarified. “Anyone else...no.” Tony felt his heart swell at that admission, knowing that he was the one Peter trusted when he was like this. Not anyone else.

“I’m honored,” he said truthfully, smiling down at Peter in the dark. Peter blushed, instinctively turning his face away from Tony as though to hide it, forgetting there was no way his boyfriend could see it in the dark.

The two stayed there for a while, in the dark and in silence. Peter’s headache was still raging but the feeling of Tony’s hand in his hair and the darkness of the bedroom were steadily making things better. He was so grateful for Tony’s endless patience, how there was never a sign of irritation or restlessness. It was like there was nothing Tony would rather do than stay here with Peter - and knowing him, that was probably true.

“How about a bath? We can get those pajamas off you, if they don’t feel good on your skin?” Tony eventually suggested. Peter had complained to him before about the feeling of sheets or clothes on his skin when he was like this, unable to handle the sensation. When everything was too much, even the smallest thing made everything seem all the more unbearable.

“You just want to see me naked,” Peter grumbled back, but the amusement in his voice was clear. Tony huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“It’s too dark for that, Peter. But I won’t deny I always enjoy the view,” he shot back with a wink that his boyfriend couldn’t see. After much playful grumbling, Tony was able to help Peter up and out of their bed and move them to the bathroom.

“Okay, cover your ears, my dear. The water might be too loud. I’m still working on that dampener,” Tony said once they got to the bathroom, gently helping Peter hop up onto the counter and going to start the bath. He added Peter’s favorite bath bomb - eucalyptus and lavender, something Tony had made specially for him. Peter had loved the eucalyptus and mint scent from Bath & Body Works before the spider bite, but afterwards the smell and taste of mint had become unbearable. After mentioning that particular fact to Tony off-handedly one night, the mechanic had traded his Iron Man gauntlets for bath bombs and room sprays, determined to create something Peter would like.

Once the bathtub was filled, Tony turned off the water and immediately returned to Peter’s side. He helped the young man out of his pajamas, FRIDAY wordlessly increasing the lights in the room by just a small percentage so he could see and keep himself from whacking Peter in the face or something.

“In we go,” Tony murmured when they were finally ready for their bath, helping his boyfriend down from the counter and easing the two of them into the warm water. He leaned back against the wall of the tub, pulling Peter into his chest so all he had to feel was the water and Tony’s skin - not cold tile. Peter’s tense, coiled muscles immediately began to relax and the younger man let out a contented sigh.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re the best boyfriend ever?” Peter asked, almost in a daze as he rested in the water with Tony. There was no blinding light, no fire on his skin, no sounds except for the water and their shared breathing. Everything was so much better, and he had Tony to thank.

“Oh, you’re going to want to be careful with those compliments. The team is always bitching about the size of my ego already,” Tony joked, beaming when he earned a small little laugh from the man in his arms.

“Mmm, I’ll beat them up for you. I’ve already stolen Cap’s shield once, I’ll do it again,” Peter mused softly, smiling sweetly when Tony leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“My hero,” Tony murmured back, but his voice had lost all its playfulness in favor of sincerity. He wanted -- no, needed -- Peter to know just how important he was to him. After an episode like this, the younger hero could have a tendency to get in his own head, blame himself for “putting Tony out” or “making Tony deal with him.” The older man was hoping to get ahead of that this time - maybe prevent that guilt from manifesting at all.

“I’m so glad you trust me to take care of you when you’re like this,” he whispered. “I love you so much, Peter. So, so much. Every part of you. Good days and bad days.” Peter twisted in Tony’s arms, looking up at him.

“I love you too,” he said, voice a little stronger now. “Thank you for taking care of me. You-you make it better.” Peter lifted a hand and stroked Tony’s cheek, droplets of water falling into that impeccable goatee.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Tony said with a soft smile, leaning into the touches on his skin and turning his head to press a soft kiss to Peter’s palm. The two remained there, whispering sweet things to each other and exchanging soft caresses until the water ran cold. Only when Peter started to shiver did Tony dare to move.

“Time to get you nice and warm, and maybe get some food into you. You feeling up to any lights?” He asked, climbing out of the tub and grabbing towels for them both.

“If they’re low, we can try it,” Peter agreed, smiling as he got out and was immediately wrapped in the softest, warmest towel he’d ever felt. FRIDAY brought the lights up just enough so they could see each other but it was far from their normal brightness.

“We’re okay?” Tony asked, drawing Peter into his arms and holding onto him before dropping a kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s hair.

“We’re okay,” Peter murmured back, tucking his face into Tony’s neck and pressing a soft kiss to the skin there. “Thanks to you.”

“Anytime, Peter.” Tony got to work on drying them both off and dressing them both in his clothes. Peter initially wasn’t thrilled, forgetting that Tony’s clothes always felt so much better than his own. His disappointment quickly faded when he was wrapped up in soft fabrics and Tony’s cologne.

“Breakfast?” He asked hopefully, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Tony finished putting his shirt on and turned to look at him with a smile.

“Sure. What are you feeling?” He asked.

“Toaster waffles?” Peter asked, blushing a little bit as he glanced away. “The chocolate chip ones, maybe?”

“If that’s what my Peter wants, that’s what he shall have,” Tony said with a charming smile and a wink, holding out his hand. Peter smiled shyly back at him, reaching out a hand covered by the sleeve of Tony’s sweater. Their hands clasped together and the smile went from shy to positively radiant.

Sensory overload days were tough, for sure. But Tony always knew how to make them better, and Peter was grateful for that.

#starker #starker fic #blazingparker writes #peter parker x tony stark