#^ this was prompted by the fact that my school lets seniors dress up one day and that day is thursday and i have no one to go with

[countrymikelover]

took my adhd meds this morning and i believe the post-crash depression has begun

[narrators-journal]

hello happy kinktober! is it possible for ryoji x minato 29 with a bit of bondage

This one’s another one that I’m not the PROUDEST of, but I’m happier with it than I was with the last one, lol. So, I’m not actually that mad, even if I’m realizing now that I accidentally swapped the dynamic. Woops... Though! I hope you can enjoy it regardless, sorry I swapped em, I tend to forget that a lot of the fandom seems to think of Ryoji as more of a top. That, or I mixed this up with the previous request, either way, my bad.

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober masterlist: Here

CW: A slightly weird form of bondage? I may have gotten too creative, but I technically count it lol. Dubcon, semi-public sex since Minato’s outside, sort of? Crossdressing? Ryoji wears a skirt and thigh highs.

Free from his part-time job, Minato Arisato’s day was effectively done. School had ended hours ago, Ryoji had been drug off by Kenji and the other social butterflies, and Minato’s club activities had ceased for the season. So, until The Dark Hour hit, the midnight-haired man was left to wander the streets of Tatsumi port. Left to slowly make his way back to the Iwatodai dormitory at his own pace.

Which, took him a while to do, between stops for snacks, window shopping, or simply drinking in the bliss of no Junpei or Ryoji to yap at him until a migraine formed, but he did eventually meander towards his dormitory. An impressively large, dark-stoned, multi-floored building that had enough space within it to house at least thirty students, but, in reality only housed the nine current members of the SEES.

Yet, an odd noise from the side of the fancy building upon approach made the emo pause to listen. Do we get raccoons at this time of year? He asked himself as he snuck closer to the corner to listen again to the noise. The sound of wood squeaking and jostling, it turns out, so that confirmed for the blue-haired man that it wasn’t a raccoon. An intruder then? His internal voice suggested next while he peeked into the sideyard of the dorm. Only to be greeted by the sight of a set of hips dressed in a pink schoolgirl’s skirt with black thigh-high socks on the legs attached.

Judging from the way the person’s body wasn’t in view, and the noise, Minato could see that whoever it was, was stuck in one of the windows. Who the hell would break in like this? Robbers don’t wear fucking skirts, so...is this one of Aki’s fangirls? Minato asked himself as he crept closer to try and discern any other details in the thick darkness of the cold night. Which, was when Minato heard Ryoji’s familiar voice from the other side of the jammed window.

“Ryoji, what are you doing there?” Minato asked, stealth forgotten now as he approached the window with a small, slightly mischievous smile on his lips. “How the hell did you know it’s me, funeral lily? You can only see my lower half, did you somehow recognize me by my ass?” The brunette asked, and while his words were muffled by the fact that his front half was in one of the dormitory’s sitting rooms or living rooms, his slightly panicked teasing was still very audible. Even through the window and stone between them. “Because you’re the only person who would try to break into the dorms like this, especially in a skirt.” The man pointed out, his eyes stuck on the swish of the pink plaid in the darkness of the night. “I-!…” Ryoji’s attempt to argue fell flat before he even crafted it. “Damn, am I seriously the only one?” He ended up asking instead, more surprised at the fact he was the only one likely to break in than Minato’s actual accusation. Then, the brunette continued to chatter. Even though, the sound of his voice was quick to turn into little more than white noise for the shaggy-haired senior who let his mind begin to wander into...creative corners of imagination as he drank in the view.

With his body trapped beneath a jammed window, all that was visible on the outside of the dormitory was the pleated, pink plaid skirt and cat-themed thigh-high socks. Why he was in the outfit, Minato didn’t care to guess, but, he did know that the brunette wore it very well. And I bet he wears panties with it too. Ryoji’s the type to. A dark voice in his head mused. Which, Minato found himself able to agree with, so, he reached over and lifted the skirt to check. Almost as if he’d slipped into autopilot while his fantasies began to form.

“-Funeral lily?!” Ryoji squawked, his, likely, explanation of how he ended up in the window interrupted by the surprise that yanked the emo back to reality. “What? You’ve been trying to sleep with me for two straight weeks, yet you’re gonna be prudish when you’re in a skirt?” Minato asked with a small, slightly cold snort. His nonchalance and dark curiosity probably clear, even through the pane of glass between the two. Because Ryoji couldn’t seem to articulate an argument while the wildcard admired the black, lace-trimmed panties that the brunette did in fact wear with his skirt. Knew it.

Though, while the fact Ryoji wore panties to match his outfit wasn’t a surprise, the way his bulge seemed to twitch under Minato’s gaze. Which, made the blue-haired wildcard’s dick give his own twitch. Which, seemed to awaken some buried, dark side to the wildcard. “Ryoji, is there any particular reason that you’re wearing panties?” He asked, his voice purposely kept flat in case Ryoji truly was uncomfortable. “Oh, because my boxers poked out from beneath the skirt, and it felt very exposing to let my dick, y’know, just kinda hang there? In a skirt.” The brunette explained, and, as the wildcard had assumed, his indignation from Minato’sinitial peekcompletely gone. Little more than a flash-in-the-pan reaction that was snuffed out by his desire, it seemed. So, the shaggy-haired man let his hand wander beneath the pleated skirt to feel over the curve of the man’s ass cheek and the soft fabric of the panties.

The simple touch of his hand against Ryoji’s pale skin was enough to make the stuck man shudder slightly beneath his palm. Which, only further amused the wildcard as he pulled his hand away and let the skirt fall back over Ryoji’s plump ass. Though, he didn’t move to free the captive brunette. Instead, he simply slipped his hand into his school bag to fish out a small bottle of lube that he had originally packed for a rendezvous when Kenji grew a bit curious. “Um, do you mind maybe helping me out of here now, Mina?” Ryoji asked to break the silence that had settled between them. Suspicious curiosity was evident in his words, but, the wildcard didn’t bother to verbally reply. Instead, he slipped his hand back beneath the fabric of the skirt to hook his fingers to pull the lace-trimmed panties down. “Hey?! Funeral lily, the hell are you up to now?!” the brunette squawked, tense surprise now thick in his voice along with a hint of fear that the wildcard caught, though all he got in response was a flat, “That should be pretty clear.” that didn’t at all show the spark of dark enjoyment that bit of fear gave while Minato dripped a bit of lube onto his fingers and spread it over his digits.

Then, he slowly pushed them into the captive brunette’s asshole. That dark spark in his chest seeming to grow stronger when he got a startled, half snap of, “Funeral lily!” while Ryoji squirmed. And, if the emo hadn’t known just how hard Ryoji tried to get him into bed, he would’ve assumed his startled anger was real. But, he did know how desperate the man was for him, so his attempt at anger just made him grin again. “Ryoji.” He snorted back as he curled his fingers to massage the brunette’s inner walls. The minimal amount of friction all it took to make the stuck transfer student’s argument devolve into barely contained moans and whines.

And, Minato made sure he stayed in that thoughtless state of pleasure with deep, slow thrusts that continued to drag his fingers over the sensitive flesh. Though, even with how easily the tall transfer student had crumbled beneath the pleasurable friction, he couldn’t seem to resist the chance to purr, “And look at that, you’re taking my fingers so well. I could almost think you got stuck like this solely to let me do this.” to make the man tighten around his fingers in a barely repressed needy shudder before he pulled his fingers out completely.

Though, the blue-haired man made sure that Ryoji didn’t stay empty for too long. That would’ve risked his coherent thoughts being able to return, so he made quick work of his belt and pants so that he could line himself up and push into the brunette’s ass. A moan allowed to escape into the chilled night air to match Ryoji’s lascivious whine.

And, after a brief moment to let the man adjust, the wildcard was quick to set a rough, quick pace. “Ah! Fuck, M-Mina!” The brunette gasped, his voice mangled by melancholic moans and small whines from the sudden burst of friction and stimulation. However, he seemed to swiftly remember his position through the haze of sudden pleasure and muffled his noises. So, Minato just gave a small grunt and grabbed onto his hips with a grip that was sure to bruise.

Though, if the brunette cared about the ache of his hold, Minato didn’t hear him say anything over the sound of his hips against the soft meat of the taller man’s ass. So, he happily continued to pound into him at his relentless pace. “Mmmina!” Ryoji whined, need nowthick in his breathy, lust-filled voice as the wildcard tried to simultaneously chase the high, and savor the slick warmth that almost felt as if it would strangle his cock. But, the emo was still quick to hiss, “Keep your voice down, Mochizuki. If we get caught, I’ll have to stop.” as he tightened his hold on the brunette’s hips so that he wouldn’t jostle the window too much and cause more noise than the captive transfer student already was.

And, thankfully, that simple hiss and maybe a painful squeeze to his hips seemed to be the only reminders needed to quiet the boy back down. Granted, it wasn’t by a whole lot, but it still allowed the wildcard to focus back in on the rhythmic plap, plap, plap of his hips against Ryoji’s ass and the delicious friction of the man’s hole around his dick. The only sounds that slipped through the jammed window were muffled, choked-down moans and whines that fed the bonfire that simmered Minato’s blood.

His own lewd noises slipped out pretty freely into the cool night air, but Minato made sure to keep his volume low and his attention at least slightly on the noises around them to be sure nobody found him. “God, you’re tight as hell…” He muttered, more to himself than his partner, since Ryoji likely hadn’t even heard him through his moans and the window between them. But, his words were still true. The way that the brunette’s ass squeezed him was almost maddening, especially when paired with the lewd sound of Minato’s hips against the captive man’s ass.

But, he had to fight down the stew of stimulants just a bit. Easy, not too soon, Arisato. He scolded himself with an unsteady breath, You can’t cum too soon, you’ve gotta savor this. He continued to think, even though the squeeze around his member seemed to slowly eat away at that resolve. With each rapid shlick or plap of skin on skin a push to his back to inch him closer to the edge. But, he did his best to vent the desire that burned the oxygen from his lungs with deep breaths that expanded his ribs and granted him just a moment longer of stamina.

However, it was only a few moment's extension. Because, no matter how Minato pushed his orgasm away, it continued to build in his belly. Continued to make the man’s thrusts sloppier, and sloppier. Each lewd moan that the brunette let slip another strike to the wildcard’s mental dam.

Until, against the midnight-haired persona user’s wishes, euphoria swept him away. The waves of warmth overwhelming, and the shudders of bliss strong enough to give the man a belly ache until they finally began to ebb. Which, felt as if it took an hour, even though Minato knew it only took at most three minutes for his senses to return.

When that moment came, Minato slid himself free of Ryoji’s ass before the warm constriction became painful. Much to the annoyance of the stuck man, but his whine and curses were ignored. Instead, Minato righted his pants and pried the window back up so that the taller male could get free and glare at him. “Are you really just- are you…” That time, the annoyance in the brunette’s voice was palpable in the chilly night’s air, so he had to take a moment to compose himself enough to get out, “Is that it?!” “Yeah, kinda.” the wildcard said flatly with a simple shrug while Ryoji finally remembered to right his panties. “I don’t like overstimulation, I’m not going to continue if I cum first. You can jerk yourself off.” “That is such a selfish thing to do!” He snapped, but the wildcard just laughed his glare off and turned to go. “And it’s kinda fucked up to break into my dorm, so, we’re kinda even.”

With that, the dark-haired man headed back for the front door before Ryoji could recover from that point. The last thing Minato heard from the brunette was the sound of his spoiled whines and claims of never speaking to him again. But, they both knew how shallow that claim was.

[likecastle]

Ronance Femslash February - “It’s OK to put the gun down”

Thanks to the lovely anon who sent this prompt! I did tweak the wording slightly on this one, but not enough to substantially alter the meaning.

I’m accepting Ronance prompts all month for Femslash February. Don’t be shy! You can find previous prompts I’ve filled here.

After the end of the end of the world, things are a little weird. Robin doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to reconcile the fact that she helped defeat a dark wizard, but still has to finish AP Spanish if she doesn’t want to lose her scholarship to IUB in the fall.

Her plan to graduate on time is complicated somewhat by the fact that her parents decided to go stay with her Aunt Diane in Cincinnati after the ‘earthquake.’ Robin wasn’t keen to transfer to a new school for the last two months of her senior year, so Nancy convinced her parents to let Robin stay in their basement to finish the semester out in Hawkins. How, exactly, she managed to persuade her parents to take Robin in isn’t quite clear, but Robin isn’t about to complain.

Staying with the Wheelers has been an adjustment, to say the least. Mrs. Wheeler insists on sit-down family dinners every night, which to a latchkey kid like Robin is both miraculous and strangely oppressive. Sometimes she winds up watching The Price is Right with Ted, an experience almost more surreal than climbing into an alternate dimension via a rope made out of bedsheets.

It also means that when she can’t sleep, which is most nights these days, she can creep upstairs and climb into Nancy’s bed, and they both sleep better for it. And if Nancy sometimes curls her arm around Robin’s waist and buries her nose in the hair at the back of her neck, well, Robin tries not to read too much into it.

Tonight, when she eases open the door to Nancy’s room and slips inside, Nancy isn’t in bed. At first, Robin thinks she’s not there at all, but finally she spots her, curled up on the floor of her closet with a shoebox open on her lap.

“It’s a little early for dress up, don’t you think?” Robin whispers.

Nancy glances up at her, then back down at the box she’s holding. “I just wanted to make sure they were there.”

Robin edges closer, and realizes she recognizes the box. It’s the same one that held a pair of delicate white pumps wrapped in tissue paper in the Upside Down, and which in this world contains a Russian Makarov and a revolver.

“Don’t worry,” Nancy says, her voice impossibly small. “They were just where I left them.”

All at once Robin feels like she’s going to cry. Instead, she sinks down onto her knees next to Nancy, whose hair is a sleep-mussed halo around her face. She knows, intellectually, that it’s too soon for any of them to be remotely OK about anything they’ve been through, but sometimes she can’t imagine how they’ll ever reach a point where the gloom of early morning doesn’t immediately throw them back into that awful, impossible place.

“I wasn’t worried,” Robin says softly. “I know you’d have my back, either way.”

Nancy looks at her again—really looks this time, not that haunted, half-absent glance from before. “Thanks, Robin.”

“For what?”

“For not trying to tell me everything will be OK.”

“Oh,” Robin says with a quiet laugh. “I mean, it definitely won’t. Not for a long time, maybe not ever. But whatever happens, I know we can handle it. We’ll get through it together.”

Nancy nods, and wipes her face with the back of one hand. The box in her lap tips slightly, causing the guns inside to clank together, the noise alarmingly loud in the early morning stillness. Next door in Mrs. and Mr. Wheeler’s room, the mattress creaks.

“All right,” Robin says soothingly. “Maybe we should . . . It’s OK to put the guns down. Just for now. You can always check on them again later if you need.”

Nancy lets Robin take the box from her. Holding it gingerly, even though she knows it doesn’t contain any live ammunition, Robin replaces the box on the top shelf of Nancy’s closet, just where Nancy always keeps it.

“C’mon,” she says, extending a hand to Nancy and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s try and get some sleep.”

Nancy lets Robin nudge her back into bed, and they twine around each under Nancy’s pastel bedspread, close enough to feel each other’s heartbeats until Nancy’s alarm goes off two hours later.

[hub3jokes]

Good Joke

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[stripperblvd]

obviously I gotta ask for an eddie x male reader 🥹

prompt:

eddie with a fellow “freak” bf that finally gets to see him graduate, and they’re just completely going crazy, screaming and chanting with the hellfire club when he gets his diploma, throwing roses and weird shit at him as a cute joke, and the other kids are just looking at them all weird, but Eddie is just so proud and happy. just complete tear shedding fluff where they all get their happy little ending!!

Moving Forward (Eddie Munson x male!Reader HCs)

Warnings: absolutely nothing, just pure pure fluffffffff. Maybe a little intimate mention but nothing huge.

You swear you probably would have broken the trailer with how much you two boys jumped when Eddie got his final’s results. 

You swore that your heart had physically stopped, if it wasn’t for Eddie’s lips making contact with yours.

Most definitely giving him a “reward” in bed later that night. 

Most of the days leading up to graduation were spent smuggly walking through the halls, laughing at all the stares you were given. 

You’d hear the occasional “freaks” maybe a slur or two, but you’re favorite of all time was one you overheard in math

“Fucking weirdo’s, probably getting pity passed.” 

Neither of you minded much, comforted by the fact that not only would you not have to move on from high school without your boyfriend but you wouldn't have to see Eddie repeat senior year a third time. 

“Don’t worry, pretty boy, I’ll buy all the booze you want when I turn 21.” Eddie would laugh, whenever you brought up the fact that he would be the indefinite buyer.

And finally the day is here.

Graduation Day. 86’ Baby

You spent the night at Eddie’s hanging up both your suit and his dress pants for the big day.

Lots of kissing, I mean in a few hours you won’t ever need to deal with pesky annoying teachers again in your life.

Definitely getting high, I mean how else are you supposed to graduate?

Fucking sober? Hell no.

Getting flustered all morning with all the compliments Eddie keeps giving you.

“Looking great sweetheart”

“My pretty boy” 

“Damn, cutest cheeks in all of Indiana” 

Is this man TRYING to give you a heart attack at 9 in the morning? 

Wayne would rather die than let you two step out the trailer without at least a few pictures.

“Now you boys just stay still. I said still damnit, Eddie get them hands out that boy’s hair!” 

After what felt like hours he’ll finally be satisfied, a few good proper pictures, some silly ones, and a whole lot of blurry ones. 

Getting there all the parents stare. Some whispering to their spouses or pulling their kids closer to them.

It’s not everyday you see Eddie “The Freak” Munson and his boyfriend walking with their caps and gowns at a Hawkins High graduation ceremony. 

The ceremony drags on, waiting impatiently for each other's names.

You swore you would get your diploma taken away within 5 minutes when you were called. 

Hellfire raising actual HELL when they heard your name, and screaming at the top of their lungs when they see Eddie walking the stage smuggly. 

Getting bombarded by the same boys the second the ceremony is over, throwing a bunch of confetti, DnD dice and the occasional cigarette bud. 

Needless to say, you knew exactly what to do when you saw Eddie starting to tear up, overwhelmed by the support despite all the looks people were throwing at him.

More uproar as you both kiss, raising your diplomas in the air. 

“Let’s run like Hell baby”

I love these nerds, man. Anyways, thank you very much for the request anon, I truly hope you liked it.

7-2-22

[buckyownsmylife]

Elastic Heart - Logan Howlett smut

The one where it started out as a bet but now Logan won't let you go.

Warnings: NONCON, smut, angst, age gap, manipulation, deception, sex in a public place, choking, threats, slapping (face), praise kink, crying, unprotected sex

WC: 1.5k

A/N: this is my first work for the @writing-in-the-dark-bingo! It fills my family friend + first time + lost a bet + age gap + car sex squares, although I've tried to make it a bit unorthodox in relation to what one usually expects when it comes to car sex and first time in a dark story, meaning: the sex isn't inside the car and the first time isn't the focus on this fic, but rather what prompted it, if that makes any sense. Anyway, I hope you guys like it, and there are more works coming to help me actually fill a line or row in my card!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“There’s no fucking way!” They’d screamed upon seeing us. “You actually did it!” The nerves that had been twisting my stomach suddenly turned acidic, confusion taking over my features as I stared from my boyfriend to his friends - the friends I was meeting for the very first time - in an effort to understand what was going on.

“You know, when we bet you couldn’t make a younger woman fall for you, we didn’t mean you best friend’s daughter!” The reaction was instantaneous. My face fell, his head too. I would have been inclined to believe this had all been some sort of mistake if he hadn’t looked so damn guilty.

“Did you take her virginity too?” As a matter of fact, he had. He had, because I was a massive idiot, who genuinely believed the man more than twenty years my senior actually had real feelings for me.

“Sweetheart…” He called from behind me, but I was too fucking hurt, too fucking angry to care that I was walking in high heels in the middle of nowhere. I just wanted to get as far away from him as possible, and I’d walk from his friend’s fancy mansion back to the city in this uncomfortable as fuck dress if I had to.

“Get away from me,” I growled, not even bothering to look over my shoulder. I was genuinely convinced he’d do as I told him because why the hell would he be bothered to follow after some girl he’d fucked just so he wouldn’t lose a fucking bet?

He’d won it now. He could go back to that house of horrors and boast all night. I just wanted him gone from my life.

I stopped dead in my tracks when he yelled my name, suddenly scared. I’d never heard him speak in that tone, but even as I started to tremble from a mixture of cold and anger, my irritation powered me as I turned around to face him.

“No!" His eyes widened at my shout, and he too froze, standing right in front of me, but keeping his distance. “You don’t get to order me to stay and play nice just so you can parade me to your friends like I’m some sort of prize or something.”

And that’s when I started crying, despite my best wishes to be able to avoid looking this weak in front of the man who hurt me.

I couldn’t help it. I was heartbroken.

Tonight was supposed to be a great night. We’d finally gotten over the taboo of our relationship and my father was well on it’s way to accept us as a couple.

It was why I accepted that it would be a good idea to join him at his High School reunion. It was why I got all dolled up, and I was so excited to be with him there, fully believing this was the next step in our relationship.

This was the proof that he wanted me for more than just sex.

I had thought I looked so beautiful when I checked myself out in the mirror, earlier tonight. But now, I only felt used. Because now I knew the truth.

He only wanted me to win a bet.

“Kitten,” he called out for me, voice clipped as he grinded his teeth. “I’m not gonna say this again. Come here, let me fix this.” But I was too distraught, I was hurting too bad to even make sense of his words. So I just stood where I was, hugging myself and shaking my head as the tears fell from my eyes.

“You were my first everything,” the realization fell from my lips in the form of a whisper. “And to find out you were only doing it because of a bet?!”

“So fucking what?” His shout scared me, making me jump out of the way as he lunged towards me. “I fell in love with you anyway. It doesn’t matter how it happened. I didn’t bring you here to brag, I brought you here because I love you. You’re my girlfriend now.”

A multitude of emotions took over me then. Butterflies erupted in my stomach upon hearing his love confession, until the cold, harsh reality of the situation brought me back to Earth.

There was one truth I couldn’t escape.

“It matters to me!” I screamed, for the first time approaching him out of my own free will after I heard his friends laugh and congratulate him for ‘bagging a pretty young thing like me’. I didn’t care how loud I was. I didn’t care if everyone would hear us, I just couldn’t keep this pain inside of me for any longer.

“And what do you want me to do about it?” He retorted, just as loud, and all at once, my anger disappeared. Chest heaving, eyes watering, I took a deep breath as another realization rushed through me.

“Nothing,” I admitted. There was nothing he could say that would make this better, nothing that could erase the memory of the night I lost my virginity and make it so it wouldn’t feel painful to remember it anymore. “I want to break up.”

His answer came immediately, not a second of reflection following my confession. “No.” It was so final, so harsh, it had me hugging myself again, looking away from him as I tried to voice my emotions.

“Logan…” I barely got it out and he was already crossing the distance between us, hand reaching out to grab me by the throat so he could make up for the difference in height.

“Don’t you dare repeat those words,” he threatened, and for the first time since I met him, I was scared. I choked on my real feelings as he inhaled me deeply, eyes closing momentarily and when they opened, they seemed to be a brand new shade of dark.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “Come here, I need you.” His hands were warm as he undressed me in the middle of the parking lot, but I still shivered as the unforgiving wind hit me.

“You’re gonna be mine forever,” he spoke over my protests, hands easily subduing me as I tried to fight back while he ripped my dress to shreds. “Do you get it?” He pressed. “I’ll never let you go.”

It was like I was seeing him for the first time. “L-Logan…” I tried again, but was silenced with a slap to my face. “Shut up,” he ordered. “I’ll die without you, princess. There’s no way I could ever allow you to leave me.”

His pants were pooled around his ankles before I could realize I was being bent over the hood of a car, and for once, I hated the fact that he never wore underwear. “You’re gonna love me forever,” he warned me just as he started to inch his huge member inside of me. “Take it, c’mon.”

I could just stand there and try to do exactly as he told me, with his weight holding me down, even though I still kicked my legs around in my effort to stop this from happening.

I’d never have to ‘take him’ without any sort of preparation beforehand. Usually, Logan would spend hours getting me wet and needy, desperate to feel his cock stretching me to my limits, but right now, there was barely even any pleasure. In fact, it was borderline painful, but still, he seemed to revel in it.

“I know you can take it,” he groaned as I whined, mourning the loss of the magic it was once always present when he fused us together. Mourning the loss of the trust that had been broken in more ways than one now.

Sobbing, I felt broken as my body reacted to his no matter how conflicted I was, and the worst part was that Logan recognized it. “Yes, there you are,” he preened. “So good for me.” I moaned at the praise, and hated myself for it. “You can’t lie to me, little girl.”

His hands rubbed my ass, spreading my cheeks for his eyes to take me just like he was doing with his member. “You and I both know that you like it,” he taunted me. “And I, sweetheart…” Raising me by my hair, he whispered the last words against the shell of my ear. “Well, I just want to please you.”

Closing my eyes, I felt a tear roll down my cheek at the intensity of my feelings. I hated the fact that he was going to make me cum, but it was as undeniable as my love for him, and the heartbreak he had caused me.

I came with a scream, not even realizing he’d followed me until I was blinking away more tears and trying to get up from the car, the hot mess of his cum dripping between my thighs.

“Such a shame…” He complained, picking up something from the ground. “I loved that dress.” A smirk made its way to his face as he thumbed the fabric. “But I had a feeling it would end up in shreds the second I laid eyes on you tonight.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Summer Vacation

Prompt: Avengers prompt!

Peter is going to summer school so he can get ahead for his senior year, but when he tried to explain why he was going to the team, they didn't seem to listen, instead focusing on the fact that Peter is going to summer school.

They start teasing him, joking about how he really couldn't be much of a genius if he was going to summer school and things like that.

But Peter takes them seriously. He starts to think that he's stupid or something like that, despite the fact that he's doing all his easy classes (gym/PE, health, etc) over the summer so that he can do his harder classes (AP Biology, Physics, Spanish 4/AP Spanish, etc) during the year 

Tony finds out and he, Bucky, Sam, and/or Rhodey team up to essentially give the team the most extreme dressing down/lecture they've ever had

Love you and all your hard work! - augustwritessometimes

Read on Ao3

Warnings: peter has a lil mini freak out and some of the avengers are kinda jerk ish

Pairings: it’s gen all the way down folks

Word Count: 3987

“Summer plans,” Steve prompts, “you have any?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah, yeah, I, um, I got some plans.”

Or, Peter isn't exactly thrilled to let the Avengers know that he's planning on going to summer school. But it's fine, he's just...doing things the way he wants to do them. They'll understand.

...right?

“So,” Clint says as they sit down in the living room, “last summer before senior year, huh?”

“Yep.” Peter kicks the remote over to him. “One more year and then I’m in college!”

“Shit, kid, you’re growing.”

“You know time passes for everyone, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to remind me how old I am.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“’S what you meant, though.” Clint elbows him. “Young whippersnappers think you can get away with everything nowadays, don’t you?”

“You sound like Mr. Stark.”

“I’m not that old.”

“Who’re we calling old?” Natasha walks in and sits next to Peter, ruffling his hair. “Hey, Baby Spider.”

“Mama Spider,” Peter sighs, leaning into it as Clint makes a fake-gagging noise in the background. “Clint was saying that Mr. Stark—“

“Ah, yes, that makes sense.”

“I didn’t even finish!”

“You didn’t have to.” She winks and ruffles his hair again. “So, you’re a senior when you go back in the fall, huh?”

“Yeah.” 

Oh, god, he’s gonna be a senior. He’s gonna go off to college. Oh, wow. Time is passing. Rude. 

“You gonna go all out this summer, then?” Clint leans against the back of the couch. “Party big time? Get Tony to introduce you to the playboy lifestyle before you’ve gotta settle all down and be serious for the college admissions teams?”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to do it the summer before he goes to college?”

“Nah. Then they’re already watching you ‘cause you ‘represent them,’ or whatever. Beforehand? You just gotta hide it well enough and you’ll be just fine.”

Silence. Clint looks over to see both Natasha and Peter staring at him. 

“What? I didn’t go to college, I physically can’t speak from experience.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s that look for?”

“No, no, Mr. Barton, I totally believe you.”

Clint picks up a pillow and whacks him—gently!—in the face with it. 

“Hey!”

“No assaulting my Baby Spider,” Natasha says, pulling Peter closer and glaring at Clint, “he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Why, ‘cause he’s your Precious or whatever?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think I’d be compared to the One Ring today,” Peter mumbles half into Natasha’s sleeve, “but here we are.”

Natasha gives him one more squeeze Clint does his very best not to look fond at—seriously, these guys are super spies, you’d think they’d have a little better control of their faces—and lets him go. Peter sits up and tries to get his hair back under control. 

“So since you’re not doing whatever the hell it was Barton suggested,” Natasha says, “what are you doing?”

“Well, I—uh—“

“Are we talking about summer plans?”

“Dr. Banner?” Peter turns around, hanging over the back of the couch. “I thought you weren’t getting in ’til tomorrow!”

“Conference wrapped up early, caught a good flight.” He settles into one of the chairs. “You were right, by the way, kid, about the neutrinos. Good catch.”

“Thanks, Dr. Banner, sir.”

He cracks a smile. “You don’t need to do all that, kid.”

“He’s still calling Tony ‘Mr. Stark,’” Clint stage-whispers, “I don’t think this is something you can fight.”

“What’re we fighting?”

“Okay, did all of you just finish right when we were gonna start hanging out?” Clint throws his hands up as Steve comes to join them too. “Where are all of you coming from?”

Steve blinks. “I just went to the bathroom after dinner, Clint. You saw me not ten minutes ago.”

“Wait, really?”

“He’s getting old, Steve,” Peter stage-whispers, “you have to be nice to him.”

“Well, unless I’m very much mistaken, I’m still the oldest around here when Thor’s not in town.”

“But you got the serum and were then cryogenically frozen.”

“Ah, yes, you’re right.”

“You little—“ 

“Hey,” Peter shrieks as Clint starts roughhousing with him, “hey! No! Not fair!”

“Of course it’s fair, you need to respect your elders!”

“Giving me noogies is not going to make me respect you!”

“No?”

“No!” Peter squirms against Clint’s grip. “It’s just what all the bullies at school do!”

He gasps as the hold suddenly releases and he’s pulled into another protective hug. As his face is smushed into the leather jacket, he can feel the death glare Natasha is giving Clint over his head. He fumbles around and pats clumsily at her elbow. 

“’S fine,” he slurs, “it didn’t hurt that much, ‘m good, don’t kill him.”

“Sorry, Peter,” Clint says softly, “are you okay?”

“Yup, yeah, ‘m fine.” He keeps fumbling to try and get Natasha to let go. “We’re all good, Mama Spider, leggo.”

Natasha does but she keeps glaring at Clint even after Peter leans the other way and rests his head on his shoulder. 

“Well, when I came in,” Bruce says, trying to break the tension, “we were talking about summer plans.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Steve turns to him. “Your last summer before senior year, right?”

“You guys do know there’s technically only one summer before senior year, right?”

Clint very gently hits his leg. “Don’t be a smartass, kid.”

“He’s Tony’s protege,” Bruce sighs, “don’t think that’s an option.”

“Summer plans,” Steve prompts, “you have any?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah, yeah, I, um, I got some plans.”

Steve perks right up. “Yeah? You and Aunt May gonna go anywhere, do anything? Are MJ and Ned gonna come?”

“Ooh, are MJ and Ned coming?” 

Peter lifts his head to look up at Clint. “Why are you so excited about that?”

“You got friends, Pete. That’s exciting.”

“You—do you not also have friends?”

“Them? Nah. We tolerate each other at best.” 

At the vague noises of agreement, Peter looks around in confusion until Natasha gives him a wink. He settles back against Clint and shakes his head. 

“No, we’re not planning any trips. We, uh, don’t have the funds for that.”

“Kid. You know Tony’d foot the bill for anything you wanted, right?”

“Yeah, but then he’d also try to plan some of it, and May and I don’t really have the same…lifestyle choices that he does.”

Bruce snorts. “That’s one way to put it.”

“So no trips, then,” Natasha says, “but plans?”

“Yeah.” 

When he doesn’t say anything else, Clint prods him. 

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Quit being so tight-lipped, Pete, just tell us.”

“But they’re boring,” Peter whines, gesturing to the others, “what are you guys gonna do?”

“Right now, I’m gonna listen to what your plans for the summer are.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

“Yeah, I like that idea.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “You guys are the worst.”

“Sure are,” Clint deadpans, “so spill.”

“I’m gonna do summer school.”

Crickets. 

Then Steve huffs. “Okay, kid, if you don’t want to tell us, you don’t have to.”

Peter frowns. “I just did. Those are my plans, I’m doing summer school.”

“Why would you need to do summer school?” Bruce leans forward. “You’re one of the smartest kids I know.”

Clint snorts. “Evidently not.”

“Hey!” Peter sits up and pulls away from him. “What does that mean?”

“You’re going to summer school, Pete,” Clint says slowly like he needs to hear what he just said again, “isn’t that for the kids who need more time than the normal school year?”

“Well, yeah, but—“

“Don’t make fun of him, Barton,” Steve says, “if Peter needs a bit more help for his senior year, that’s fine.”

“It’s not that I need help—“

“No, no, it’s okay, Peter.” Bruce shifts in the chair. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. You’re not any less important to us just because you’re doing summer school.”

Peter frowns. “No, that’s not what I—“

“Peter,” Natasha says softly, “it’s fine. We understand.”

No, you don’t, Peter wants to scream, you don’t and now you’re all treating me like a kid but not in the way that you need to ‘cause I’m still squishy, in the bad way where you don’t listen to me and assume you know everything and you need to listen to me and—

“So,” Steve says, turning to Bruce, “what’re your plans for the next few months?”

And they move on. 

Peter’s left there, sitting on the couch, trying to figure out how to explain why he’s going to summer school. But every time he tries to say something or figure out how to break into the conversation, there’s this awkward moment in his head where he’s sure they’re just going to give him that condescending or patronizing okay, Peter, and he doesn’t want that either. 

Okay. 

Okay, maybe that’ll be the end of it. He can just…go to summer school and it’ll be fine and then everything will go back to normal. 

Then Clint starts teasing him about it. 

“Hey, summer school, when do you start? You got all your notebooks and everything?”

“Don’t worry about it, summer school, you go study.”

“Hey, aren’t you still in school? Don’t you have homework?”

Could it be classified as concern? Yeah. Is it? Hell no. 

And then Bruce starts to ask the other interns and scientists for help instead of Peter. Even when Peter knows the answer and he’s the one who’s been developing that prototype and he’s the one who found out that answer in the first place, Bruce will pass him over like he’s not even there and he knows, he knows exactly why. 

And the worst part, the worst part is that Steve and Nat don’t do anything. 

If Clint makes a joke, Nat either tells him to take it easy on him ‘cause he’s just a kid or she doesn’t say anything. And he can see her hiding a smile behind her coffee mug, he’s not an idiot. Or when Bruce passes him over she just shrugs and doesn’t point out that Peter’s the one who brought that issue to their attention in the first place. 

And Steve? Forget it. He barely even reacts. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look over when Clint teases him, or when Bruce says he doesn’t have to worry about one of his projects, and even when he tries to work up the courage to talk to him, Steve always seems so…busy. 

Peter sits on the edge of his bed, staring at his backpack. His first day is tomorrow. He has his notebooks, he has his loose leaf paper, he has his textbooks and his pencil case and everything. 

His fists clench on the bedcovers. 

Maybe he is stupid. 

He…he shouldn’t need summer school. Ned and MJ don’t need summer school. Even Flash doesn’t need summer school. May thought it was a good idea, was she…is she just being nice? Is this her way of telling him that his grades aren’t good enough to get into college?

He grips the sheets harder. 

…is that why Ned and MJ are still friends with him? Are they—do they think he needs the help? Is that why they insist on doing homework together, are they—maybe they’re trying to get that they tutored one of their fellow peers to write about for college admissions. 

His lip wobbles. 

His teachers did say he’d benefit from doing summer school. 

Peter buries his face in his hands. 

“Mr. Stark is requesting entry to your room,” FRIDAY's quiet voice comes from the ceiling, “should I activate Rainy Day Spider protocol?”

“N-no, he—he can come—come in, FRI.”

“Hey, kid, we just got that new shipment of nanites from the Cali lab, c’mon, we gotta test ‘em out.” 

He should ask someone else. Someone more qualified. Someone smarter. 

“Pete, come on, we’re wasting daylight here.”

No. He can’t. He’s too dumb. He’ll just break them. 

“Pete? Peter?”

Just leave him here. With his stupid summer school backpack and his stupid tears and his stupid, stupid self. 

“Oh, shit.”

There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye and then the bed’s dipping beside him. 

“Spider-ling,” he hears softly, “hey, hey, Spider-ling, c’mere.”

Peter closes his eyes and bows his head and tries to be as small as he can but then warm hands are turning him to a cotton chest and there are fingers carding through his hair. 

“Hey, bambino,” Tony murmurs, “you wanna talk about it?” 

Peter wriggles his head into the crook of his neck and sniffles. 

“No? Not right now?” When Peter shakes his head, he gives him a squeeze. “That’s okay. Can you cry some of this out for me?”

Peter is a stupid kid and he bawls into his mentor’s shoulder like a fucking baby. 

“Shh, shh, there you go,” Tony says softly, rocking him a little bit back and forth, “that’s better. We’re just gonna sit here for a moment, okay, bambino?”

Tony doesn’t call him bambino when he’s upset. He only calls him that when he’s worried. Maybe he won’t be mad if Peter tells him that he’s stupid and he should pick someone else. 

When the sniffles finally trail off, Tony pulls back and gives Peter a tissue box. 

“Now,” he says, still soft and careful as Peter blows his nose with a desolate honk, “why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Peter sniffles. “‘M stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you this upset, baby.”

“No,” Peter says insistently, “I’m stupid. That’s the problem.”

Tony blinks. “You’re not stupid, Peter.”

“I am.”

“Okay,” Tony says slowly, reaching up to cup Peter’s miserable face in his hands, "why don’t you tell me why you think you’re stupid?”

Peter flails in the direction of his backpack. 

“…did you forget something?”

“No. I gotta go to summer school.”

“And you think that makes you stupid?” When Peter nods, Tony tuts and brings him back in for another hug. “That doesn’t make you stupid, Peter.”

“But I shouldn’t need it!” 

Peter wrenches himself away, burying his face in his hands again. 

“I should—shouldn’t need it ‘cause Ned—Ned and MJ don’t need it and no one else needs it and I—and I—and I should be able to do it just fine but I—but—but—“

“Shh, easy, bambino,” Tony soothes, tugging his hands away from his face, “you and I both know that being smart or stupid has nothing to do with how you do in school.”

“…it doesn’t?”

“Look, most formalized education is designed to get kids used to the capitalist workforce and how well you fit into that kind of structure.”

Amidst the snot and tears, Peter narrows his eyes at Tony. “You’re a billionaire who runs a company that contributes really heavily to the problems of capitalism, Mr. Stark.”

“…yeah, and as of next quarter, we’re shifting our practice to try and be better about that.”

Peter sniffles. Tony reaches out and rests a hand on his arm. 

“But you know that you’re a smart kid. You do,” he says when Peter tries to interrupt him, “you know you’re a smart kid. And part of that is because you’re willing to work hard to do the things you want to do and learn the things you want to learn.”

“B-but if I’m going to summer school—“

“Where’s the kid that flew into an indignant rage when Ned wasn’t going to be allowed to have extra time on his tests? Where’s the kid that fought for subtitles to be added to all the mandatory in-class videos?” Tony nudges him gently. “Huh?”

Peter twists his hands together and looks down guiltily. 

Tony sighs and lifts his chin back up. “You’re not stupid, Peter, and your worth isn’t determined by whether you’re taking summer school or not. You’re the smartest kid I know and you’re gonna help me as long as you want to, okay?”

“O-okay, Mr. Stark.”

“That’s my bambino.” He opens his arms. “Now c’mere.”

Peter lets Tony wrap him up in another hug, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of coffee and grease. 

“…you should wash your shirts, Mr. Stark.”

Tony lightly tugs his hair. “Shaddup, kid.”

“You shaddup.”

Voices come from the hall and Peter peeks over Tony’s shoulder just in time to see Sam and Rhodey pause by the door. Their conversation tapers off as Sam waves a little. 

“Hey, Pete,” he says, “you guys need a minute?”

Peter shakes his head, sitting up a little. “You can come in if you want.”

Sam nods and they come in, Rhodey leaning against the wall by the door and Sam taking a seat on the bed next to them. 

“You doing okay?”

“Mhm.”

Sam glances at Tony. “You want us to help support you or do you want a distraction?”

Peter rubs his nose. “Support would be nice.”

“Okay. Would talking about it help?”

Here goes nothing. Peter sits up and turns to face Sam, his hands clenched in his lap. “I’m going to summer school.”

Sam just nods. “Cool. My nephews are doing the same.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Sarah called me about it, had me help figure their schedules out and everything.”

“I didn’t know you had nephews.”

“Really?” Peter shakes his head. “I should introduce you. They’re real smart kids too, you guys would get along great.”

Peter nods. “What, um, what are they studying over the summer?”

“They’re doing the core curriculums that they don’t wanna do during the school year.” Sam waves his hand. “Health class, gym requirements, that kind of stuff. Sarah told me they said they wanted to make sure they had enough time to focus on ‘the good stuff’—their words, not mine—during the school year.”

Peter blinks. And blinks again. 

“That…that’s what I’m doing too.”

“Oh, really? That’s cool.” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, smiling a little, “yeah, that…that’s cool.”

Sam smiles too, gently nudging Peter’s leg with his. “You look a little better, kid.”

“Y-yeah. I, um, I think I feel better too.”

“That’s good.”

Rhodey glances at the backpack. “When do you start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Then we’d better get you to eat. C’mon,” he says, gesturing them out into the hall, “Mama Rhodes said the meal before your first day is the most important dinner of your life.”

“That’s what my titi said too.” 

“I can’t cook like my mama can—“

“No, you cannot.”

“Shut up, Tony, you still burn water.”

“Wait, he does what?”

“Shh, shh, you didn’t hear anything. FRIDAY, let it be known that I do not burn water on the stove.”

“I don’t know, boss, there’s some footage that would stand opposed to that record.”

“FRIDAY, I’m gonna need you to send all of that footage to my phone,” Sam says, “thank you.”

“Sending, sir.”

Peter giggles as Tony and Rhodey keep bickering all the way to the kitchen. But as they get closer, he can hear the voices of the others, and the smile drops. 

“Hey,” Rhodey says, elbowing him, “what happened?”

“Nothing.”

Of course, all three of them stop and look at him. 

“It’s fine,” he mumbles, squirming a bit under the attention, “it’s just—“

“Hey, where’s the kid? Aren’t kids supposed to eat before they go to school?”

Peter isn’t quite quick enough to disguise his flinch and all three of them see it. Tony’s face darkens and he turns to stomp into the living room when Rhodey catches him and shakes his head. 

“Come on,” Sam says, “let’s get you fed. You still up for pasta tonight? I think Steve’s cooking.”

Steve’s pasta is really good. But also…

“Yeah, sure.”

They walk into the kitchen and Clint throws up his hands. “Summer school! You made it!”

“You’re going to summer school?” 

Oh great, Thor’s here. “Yeah, I’m going to summer school.”

“Is this unusual?” Thor pats the seat next to him. “You sound like you’re not used to it.”

“I’ve, uh, I haven’t gone before.”

“Ah, I see. Here, have some salad.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you learning new subjects?” Thor sets the salad bowl down and takes the big dish of pasta. “Is that why you’re going for extra schooling?”

“N-no, not really. Oh, here,” he says as Thor makes to put some pasta on his plate too, “thanks. No, I’m, uh, you have to take a certain number of mandatory classes your senior year but I’m gonna go and get them out of the way so I can focus on the fun ones throughout the rest of the year.”

“Ah, a clever solution. I presume the ones you’re getting over with are boring and uninteresting?”

“Yeah. Health class, gym, that one weird music one they make us all take for two weeks.”

Thor nods, passing off the pasta. “But that means you will not be in school all summer, then? It will be shorter?”

“Yeah. Just ‘cause I’m doing the mandatory ones. It’ll be like…three weeks at the most?”

“And you’ll probably finish in less time than that?”

“…it’s likely, yeah.”

“Well, then.” Thor grins at him. “You must come to Asgard after you’ve finished. There are some electives there that I think you would greatly enjoy.”

Peter grins. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds like fun. I mean I’d have to ask Aunt May, of course—“

“Naturally.”

“—and maybe, could Ned and MJ come too? They’re both really smart and they, um—“

“Yes, of course. The more the merrier.” Thor places a roll of bread on his plate. “Now enough talk. Eat! You’ll need your wits about you.”

Peter happily tucks into his plate, oblivious to the glares Tony is giving the rest of the team and the slightly guilty looks on their faces. He’s also oblivious to the fact that Tony lingers behind when Sam, Rhodey, and Thor all take him out for ice cream after dinner. 

“So,” he says as he turns to a very shifty Clint Barton, “you wanna explain why you were making fun of Peter?”

“It wasn’t just him,” Bruce admits, “I…was also not very…decent.”

“You, Bruce? I’m surprised. And disappointed.”

“Bruce wasn’t as bad as I was,” Clint says, “I…yeah, I owe the kid an apology.”

“We do too,” Natasha says as Steve nods, “we didn’t exactly stop you too.”

“Nor did we let Peter explain.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “Damn.”

“So are you all gonna accept your fates and sit down?”

Clint makes a face but sits. Natasha sits next to him and folds her hands politely in her lap. Bruce sits in the chair and takes his glasses off, folding them and putting them in his pocket. Steve sits too and nods. 

Tony claps his hands. “Perfect. Now, let’s talk about how not to be dicks about someone going to summer school.”

When Peter comes back to an apologetic team and one of the best Steve hugs he’s had in a while, Tony nods to himself and discreetly high-fives Thor. 

“Thanks, Point Break.”

“Anytime, Stark.”

“Were you serious about the electives on Asgard?”

“Absolutely. The little spider would excel in some of their classes.”

“…and his friends, they can come too?”

“Of course.”

“…what about me?”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[percabethfeelsfandom]

Writing Prompt AU: Childhood Best Friends to Lovers

PART 6: Age 18 

“California is pretty far away,” Percy says softly into the night as Annabeth lays on the rooftop by his side. He hears her shift so that she can look at him, and he mirrors her, looking at his reflection in her pale eyes. 

“2914.9 miles,” she answers. 

“You really had to choose the farthest college from me didn’t you?”

Annabeth snorts and shakes her head. 

“Yes Percy, I chose it purely because it’s the furthest from you in particular.” He pouts and pushes himself up on an elbow so he can look down at her. 

“Why are you leaving me?”

“I’m not just leaving you Perce, I’m leaving everyone else as well. My Dad, my brothers, Thals, Grover...not just you.” Her face shifts and he sees sadness replace her joking smirk. 

“Yeah but I’m special...I’m your favourite.” Percy is half-joking but he wishes with all his heart that the first part of his sentence is true, that he is in fact special to Annabeth. Special in the same way that Annabeth is special to him. 

“Don’t let Thals hear that,” Annabeth says, rolling her eyes but Percy leans in closer, poking her repeatedly until she’s laughing. 

“You’re only saying that because it’s true.”

“Shut up.” Percy notices how she doesn’t deny it and it brings a smile to his face. 

 “I’m going to miss you.” His heart gives an uncomfortable squeeze as his voice softens and his smile drops. Annabeth gives him a sad look and pokes his chest trying to get him to look at her properly. 

“Don’t get all sappy on me now Seaweed Brain, we’ve still got summer.”

“And then you leave and forget me, and find a cool Perry Johnson to be your new best friend.” He says and dramatically throws his head back, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like he’s about to faint. 

Annabeth groans and pushes him away so he falls back on the blanket they’ve laid out. The other two aren’t due to arrive for another hour, but Percy has been spending so much time at Annabeth’s house already, that it made no sense to go back to his last night, so he stayed over and helped set up the apartment rooftop for their sleepover under the stars. 

He thinks they’ve done a pretty good job for the two of them, there’s an array of pillows, blankets and sheets all over the floor, and plenty of snacks to last them through the night. A couple of years ago, way back when they were younger, Mr Chase set up fairy lights along the edge of the roof, so they’re not in complete darkness, not that New York can ever be truly dark. The lights illuminate Annabeth’s features as Percy turns his head to her, she looks like a goddess and Percy swallows deeply when she returns his stare. 

“What are you looking at?”

Percy shrugs and sits up so he can rearrange snacks that don’t need rearranging to hide his blush at being caught. 

“Oh, I nearly forgot! Can you sign this, you never did?” Annabeth says changing the subject and tugs on his arm so he can come back and sit with her. 

He looks at her confused until she brings out her yearbook. Their school emblem shines on the front cover, and she places it in his lap, pressing herself to his side, so she can flip the pages, looking for an empty space to write. On the back, there’s an entire blank page and she smooths the paper down and hands him a marker. 

“All yours.” She says and watches him expectantly. 

“Are you going to watch me write in it?” He twirls the pen uneasily and rubs the back of his neck, slightly uncomfortable under her intense gaze. 

Annabeth huffs. “Do you want me to leave?” 

“Can you?” He asks half-jokingly. 

“You’re such an idiot. Fine. I’ll go check if there’s anything we forgot downstairs. Do you want anything?” He grins as she shakes her head, pretending to be annoyed. 

“Anything blue.”

“Of course,” she mutters and gets up, using his shoulder to steady herself. He leans into the touch and tries to ignore the way his body misses her warmth when she leaves.  

When she leaves Percy flips back to the front, reliving their senior year, one page at a time. He skips past the photos of the people in his grade and goes straight to the events. It starts with homecoming, and there’s a photo of Percy, Annabeth, Grover and Thalia all dressed in black suits. Percy smiles fondly at the close-up photo of Thalia and Annabeth posing together, in matching suits and corsets. Since Thalia broke up with Luke, she’s reintegrated back into the group with no issue, and it’s like she never left. 

He turns the page, skipping through the other homecoming photos, and pauses at the one of him and Annabeth. It’s a candid, and even though he’s already seen it, his heart still stutters, because in the photo she’s fixing his hair in the photo right before the official photos like she always does, and Percy can’t help but think about how much they look like a couple. 

He keeps turning through the pages, trying to find more photos of their group. They’re not a very social group, preferring to hang out with each other than go to school events, but they’re at all the major ones. 

There are small snippets of them at the football games, student fairs and pep rallies, it’s not till the end where there are photos that focus more on students not part of clubs that he sees more pictures of his friends. 

There’s one of them all laying on their back enjoying the sun looking up at clouds the way they used to when they were kids (completely unaware that someone is taking photos of them). There’s even a photo of Grover with Thalia on his shoulder as she tries to climb a tree with toilet paper in her hand from prank day. The next one is a blurry photo of Percy completely wrapped in toilet paper and chasing Annabeth. 

Moments from their senior year have been captured and immortalised in these pages, and Percy’s heart heaves at the thought of leaving this all behind or watching people leave. 

Tears start to prick at his eyes as he reaches the graduation and prom photos. There’s a huge shot of his entire grade, a choice of a few students throwing their caps up. In the corner on the page before the prom photos, there's a small snapshot of the four of them, their arms thrown around each other, heads pressed together. He remembers this moment vividly. All of their names are relatively close together in the roll, so as soon as they were announced, he had bolted straight to Grover, who had bolted to Thalia, who had bolted to Annabeth, and they had all ended up screaming and jumping into each other's arms. 

He’s going to miss this. 

He finally comes to the prom photos, and he’s not surprised when his breath catches in his throat when he sees Annabeth in her prom dress again. It’s a deep blue, the colour of the sky above his head, and it makes his stomach flutter each time he sees it. In the photo, she’s posing with Thalia again, but she’s mid-laugh and Percy would be lying if he said it wasn’t one of his favourite photos of her. He has copies of photos from the night on his computer, but the ones taken at the venue are better quality, it’s almost like he’s back there in the moment. 

Thalia had come with a date, once again wearing a tight-fitting suit, a girl on her arm and Grover had brought Juniper, his girlfriend. Percy and Annabeth had agreed to go together, just because it was easier. 

“Platonically,” he remembers telling Grover. He remembers Grover laughing and shaking his head. 

“There is nothing platonic about you two but okay. Have fun, Perce.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Grover had never explained what he meant and it still haunted Percy. 

There isn’t a photo of the two of them at prom together, at least not in the yearbook, but he asked for a favour from a friend in the yearbook committee and has the photos that didn’t make it on a USB drive back home. His favourite is his wallpaper, and it’s of him and Annabeth dancing their heads bent close together. It’s not obvious it’s them two but he can recognise her blonde hair anywhere. That’s another moment he holds close, them dancing and swaying to a song they don’t recognise, whispering to each other in the night. He’d almost told her that night. Told her everything, about what he felt, about how he would always feel, but when she let go, he realised that he didn’t want to risk losing what they had. It was too precious to him. 

Percy finally reaches the page that Annabeth initially brought him to and he uncaps the pen, tapping the back of it against the page a couple of times trying to think of a message. It’s not an accident that he didn’t write in Annabeth’s yearbook. When they were all doing it, Percy had purposefully avoided her because he knew that what he had to say to her couldn’t be said like this. 

He sighs as he begins a doodle instead. A little owl because he knows that they’re her favourite, and a dolphin because they’re his. His mind is still blank at what to write to her, but he knows she’s not going to let him get away with not doing it this time. 

He hears footsteps coming up the staircase and he writes the first thing that comes to his mind. The only thing that never leaves his mind when he’s around Annabeth. It’s not a long message so he’s finishing it just as Annabeth sits back down. He slams the book shut and chucks it behind him so that she can’t immediately read it. She notices and raises an eyebrow. 

“Read it later. It’s embarrassing,” he says sheepishly. She laughs and hands him a bag of sour blue candy stripes. He tears open the package and starts eating as he hears other footsteps. Grover and Thalia appear in the doorway, holding pillows and even more bags of snacks. 

“Let’s get this party started!” Thalia exclaims and drops her stuff unceremoniously on top of Percy, burying him under the wright. Everyone laughs at him as he sputters his way out. 

Thalia plugs in some music and Annabeth helps pull Percy to his feet, and they start the feast of snacks. Grover helps Percy set up a projector for their movie and it’s nearing midnight when they finally settle on Disney’s Hercules. 

As always Grover falls asleep halfway through the movie, murmuring about how his tummy hurts in his sleep. They take group selfies with him, and Percy grabs the marker next to Annabeth’s yearbook so that he can draw on Grover’s face. He’s holding back giggles with Thalia as they pose next to him and Annabeth takes a photo of them. 

He pulls both girls close to him when he falls back and squeezes their shoulders. 

“I can’t believe my favourite girls are leaving me to deal with this idiot,” he says and nods to Grover who has started snoring. Thalia scoffs and pushes his face so that he lets go of her. He gives in but doesn’t take his arm off Annabeth, and he swears that Annabeth cuddles just a bit closer to him. 

“We’re not dying, Percy, we’re just moving to the West Coast,” Thalia says as she opens a can of coke and Percy briefly remembers how he first met Annabeth and how she had protected him from Nancy. He exchanges a look with her and sees that she’s already smiling at him, knowing exactly what he’s thinking. 

“Betrayal. That’s what this is,” he says and squeezes Annabeth’s shoulder again. She threads their hands together and Percy tries not to react and turn to her again. 

Thalia catches his eye and smirks at their interlocked hands. 

She stands up and brushes her pants. 

“I need to go pee, do you two need anything from downstairs?” 

They both shake their heads and she nods before carefully stepping over a sleeping Grover and leaves the two of them. 

Percy and Annabeth stay like that, leaning on each other, hands interlocked and Percy wishes he could freeze this exact moment. 

“Did you write something?” Annabeth asks softly as she pulls away from him, but doesn’t let go of his hand. Percy nods tightly and she smiles as she reaches across from him and grabs the yearbook from their makeshift table. She skips straight to the back and opens to his page. She gave him an entire page to write on, but there’s only one sentence in the middle and two small doodles. She stares at it for a moment, rereading it before she looks up. 

“You’re my number one,” Annabeth reads, holding the yearbook open at his page, “What does that mean?”

Percy swallows, suddenly terrified. There’s no time like now to tell her, and he has no real doubts about loving her, but with her unflinching gaze on him like this, it’s hard not to be nervous. He tries not to overthink and takes a deep breath, speaking the truth that he’s kept under wraps for years. 

“There’s only one meaning, Wise Girl, what else could it mean?” He says with a shrug and reaches for her hand. She lets him take it. “My Mom once said that people who have a big heart have a lot of love in them to share, but they’ll always have their number one, and that’s you. That’s been you for years, my entire life probably.”

He takes another breath and waits for Annabeth to respond. When she doesn’t he continues, suddenly full of words. “You’re the one for me. The only one that I could ever want. The one I put before everything. You’re my-”

“Do you mean that?” Her face is full of doubt and Percy brings their joined hands up so he can press his lips to the back of her hand. 

“Of course,” he breathes, and pulls her closer. He’s barely breathing when she puts the yearbook down for a moment. They stay frozen like that, pressed against each other, foreheads touching and breath mingling.  

“I think I was made for loving you,” he whispers and carefully pushes her hair back. 

The smile she gives him is one to rival the sun that is going to rise in a few hours. 

“If that’s so, then I was made for loving you just as much.”

She kisses him, and he almost forgets his name. He brings his hands up to cup face and bring her closer and she smiles against his lips and-

“Seriously? You two couldn’t wait until after I was asleep. Jeez.” 

Annabeth jerks away from him and they both stare at Thalia who is giving them a tired look from the rooftop doorway. Percy can’t help it and starts laughing, shortly after Annabeth joins and falls onto his chest, laughing too hard to keep herself up. Eventually, Thalia sits back down and bites her lip trying not to laugh, but the more she tries to keep it in the funnier it gets. 

By then all three of them are laughing so hard their stomach hurts and Grover stirs awake. 

“What’s going on?”

“This,” Annabeth says and proudly holds up her hand that is still firmly clasped in Percy’s hand. 

Grover blinks sleepily at it and shrugs like it’s not a big deal. 

“About freaking time,” he says and lays back down. 

Percy and Annabeth look at each other again and he smiles at her before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. 

“It was worth the wait.” 

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

[velvetcloxds]

LEAVE ME BREATHLESS| D.H.

Pairing: Derek x fem! Reader

Word count: 2135 words

Warnings: none, just fluff

Summary: Reader attends her senior prom with her friends, however she can't really enjoy it as her boyfriend Derek is in Mexico searching for Kate, luckily though, Derek is full of surprises.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Stiles asks in a rush as he comes into my room. His eyes scan the bed quickly as he sees my dress and shoes scattered onto the duvet. “We had to leave half an hour ago.” He informs me and he ignores the obvious frown on my face as he walks over to the bed to pick up the dress. I groan loudly as I wipe the rest of my makeup off, ignoring his dramatic gestures behind me.

“I’m not going, Stiles.” I tell him and he makes no trouble to hide his shock, his mouth opening to protests as he steps towards me, throwing the dress over his shoulder as he touches the back of my chair.

“I don’t understand that sentence,” He announces and spins my chair in the same breath. “I refuse to understand that sentence, considering the fact that you’re the one forcing us to go,” He pauses to drape the dress over my knees and smiles encouragingly. “Now, enough of the dramatics, get dressed.” I sigh.

“Stiles.” I groan and he ignores this, pulling me from the chair and softly pushing me into the bathroom with a stumble.

“Dress and shoes, I’ll wait out here.” He tells me and I contemplate objecting for a sweet second, but cave instead.

He’s right for pushing me to get dressed, because I did in fact force everyone to go tonight. Prom in the middle of a crises seems out of order, but it’s the last time we’ll all be here together and it’s important to make memories, even if only for one night. Besides, it's Beacon Hills, there is never not a crises at hand. Although I hadn’t realized until now that I’d be going stag among all of my couple friends. And I certainly didn’t realize that the one person I want to be here isn’t.

“There she is!” Stiles exclaims with a large smile as I emerge from the bathroom. “Shoes,” He says as he holds them out for me. I take them, lifting the layers of my dress high enough to slip the heels on and out of the corner of my eyes I can see him stuffing multiple makeup products into his blazer pocket. He smiles when he sees me. “Lydia will help you in the car.” He informs me and I have just enough time to grab my clutch and some perfume before he starts pushing me out of the room and towards the jeep.

“You look amazing.” Lydia tells me as we reach the jeep. I smile, pushing a curl behind my ear as Stiles opens the back door for us to get in.

“Yeah, you’re both gorgeous. Now get in,” He rushes and Lydia rolls her eyes before jumping in, with me following suit. “Makeup.” Stiles says as he hands us his blazer over the seat, starting the car in the same movement. I smile over at Lydia as she removes everything from the pockets, looking over at Stiles through the mirror every few seconds where his eyes already wait for hers.

It doesn’t take long for her to get going. Applying everything in the correct steps, stopping briefly when Stiles gives her the bump warning. I sit still through the process, my mind slipping away from reality as I let her do her job.

“Glossy or Nude?” Lydia asks and I realize we’ve stilled in front of the school. She holds up two lip-gloss tubes for me to choose from and I reach forward to take the glossy one, knowing it’ll be much less of a hassle to reapply. “Good choice, we’ll wait outside.” She tells me, squeezing my hand before getting out of the open door that Stiles holds on to.

“Hey man!” A new voice yells from across the parking lot and I peak out of the window to see Scott and Malia walking hand in hand towards the jeep. I smile to myself and then use my phone as a mirror to quickly put of the gloss.

“Where’s Y/n?” Malia asks just as I get out of the jeep and her face lights up when she sees we’re both wearing black.

“You look very pretty.” Scott tells me as he leans in for a quick hug and I smile before following the four of them into the school.

I swing my clutch over my shoulder and allow my fingers to tangle into the little charm on my necklace, my heart swooning over to the hands that clipped it on for me a few months ago.

The gym hums with excitement as everyone moves in somewhat of a rhythm to the song that the band is playing. The decorative balloons begging to be released from their strings to the ceiling. A large collection of different coloured lights flickering on beat against the walls.

“We’re going to dance!” Malia yells over the noise, harshly grabbing onto Scott’s hand and pulling him towards the dancefloor. Scott just smiles as he allows her to lead him away.

“Do you girls want something to drink?” Stiles asks already backing up towards the snack table and Lydia just smiles as she shakes her head to tell him no. He looks at me and I mimic Lydia’s gesture which causes him to nod quickly before walking off.

I look over at Malia and Scott who are both waving us over to join them. Lydia smiles. “You coming?” She asks leaning in. I look from her to the dancefloor and I really don’t feel like jumping around and shuffling against other people right now.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room really quick and then I’ll join you.” I tell her, leaning into her as well so she can hear me. She looks me over for a second, probably checking to see if I’m okay and then nods before walking away. I wait for her to reach them before turning around and walking to the door we just came in through. I just got here and already I feel like I need some air. I bend down to take of my heels and hold them in my hand as I walk over to the school sign, pushing myself up and placing my purse and heels next to me.

Senior prom. It’s one of those milestone nights, one to remember forever. Physically I’m ready, but my mind is far away from the glitter and the punch. My mind is with Derek Hale and so is my heart.

I reach into my purse and pull out my phone, unlocking it quickly to dial the number of the motel he’s staying at in Mexico. It rings a few times before a loud beep tells me that he’s not in his room. I sigh before adjusting myself on the wall and bringing the phone closer to my ear.

“Hi,” I say almost too softly, I pull my knees to my chest, the dress draping around me. “I missed you again. We can’t seem to get this scheduling thing right. I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess,” I smile as I look up at the stars. “I’m at our spot right now, thinking of you in a suit and a tie. You look handsome by the way,” I close my eyes to picture it, but shake my head when the image starts to drift. “Anyway. Call me back when you can. I miss you.” I put the phone down next to me as I continue to look at the starts, swallowing down the tears in my throat.

“Now, you know damn well that I don’t wear ties.”

“Derek?” I question softly, my voice shaking with excitement at the very idea of that voice in fact belonging to my goofball. He laughs lightly and now I don’t even have to think about it to know that it’s him.

I turn myself around quickly, meeting his gaze for a brief second before losing my balance and slipping from the little wall. His laughter continues as he moves to catch me, getting hold of my hand just in time to stop my untimely collide with the concrete. He pulls me against him to steady me and despite the countless times we’ve done this, I still need to catch my breath. My cheeks burn as I feel his eyes moving over my body taking his bloody time to look at every single feature.

“Beautiful.” Is all he says as our eyes meet and my lips tilt upwards as a natural reaction to his presence. I move my hands from his and carefully reach upwards to touch his face, hovering for barely a second before softly cupping his cheeks. My smile grows.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, his hands folding around my waist to keep me close.

“I missed you,,” He informs me, like it’s just that simple. “Stiles called.” He continues and I can’t decide where to rest my eyes as he speaks. “He said you weren’t acting like yourself this week and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why,” His thumbs trace the stitching of my dress. “And I wasn’t exactly doing any better on my end, so here I am.”

“I was losing my mind without you here,,” I tell him, my heart beating in my throat as he smiles down at me. He tilts his head to look at me even closer and I almost instantly look down. “When do you have to go back?” I ask after a moment of silence and I feel his body tense against mine, letting me know that it’s a lot sooner than I’d want. He sighs, his hands tugging me closer.

“Let’s not think about that,” I look up to see him grinning brightly, his eyes almost sparkling as he stares at me. “We have tonight. I can hold you in my arms and hear your voice,,” He kisses my nose, the suddenness of the gesture making me giggle. “I get to hear that intoxicating little sound,” He exhales slowly. “We have tonight.” He tells me softly and his voice drifts as he leans in, I jump away from him quickly, mischief on my mind as I back away from him.

“Would you like to dance?” I ask him and he groans loudly, eyes telling me exactly what he was about to do. I laugh softly.

“Not exactly.” He pulls a hand through his hair and a glimmer of frustration rests in his raised brow.

“Come now, it’s my prom night after all,” I take hold of both his hands. “Are they playing a slow song or a fast song?” I ask him and he shakes his head at me before closing his eyes to listen.

“Slow…” He says and I smile, part of me being glad that I don’t have to stop being so close to him after all.

“Is that so?” I muse, the tone of my voice prompting him to open his eyes and without missing a beat he pulls on my hands until I’m once again held firmly in his embrace. I giggle again, something I realize only happens so naturally when I’m with him. Our hands shift into place and I tangle my fingers together behind his neck. His arms dangling loosely as his fingers fold around my sides.

“I might just enjoy this after all,” He informs me with a silly little smirk as he guides us to a rhythm only he can hear. We sway in silence for a while, my face against his chest and his chin on my head. “I don’t know how I went on so long without you,” He says suddenly, lifting his head so I can look at him. “It’ll be downright impossible to do it now.” He tells me, bringing out bodies to a halt as he lifts a hand to my face, his fingers stroking over my cheeks slowly. I close my eyes as the sensation captivates my senses.

“I know what you mean.” I say softly, sliding my hands down his blazer where I rest my fingers against his chest.

“I love you,” He tells me and I open my eyes. He uses his thumb to lift my face, a smile filling his lips when he looks at me. “Say it back , won’t you?” He asks playfully and I smile as well, my heart swelling with pride.

“I love you, too.” I tell him and he laughs.

“Again.” He tells me, looking over me as he waits for me to say it.

“I love you too.” He laughs again, softer this time. Happier.

“Yeah…” He kisses me quickly, not nearly long enough to make up for the time we’ve been apart, but the way he looks at me leaves me breathless. He rests his forehead against mine. “I’ll never be able to leave you again.”

Hi there, more of my imagines can be found on Wattpad under @mjoubertt. Mxx.

[geminioriginalsimagines]

Dirty Secret

Requests: “91 and 99 with Enzo from the prompt list please?”

“Y/N...please just give Enzo some time. He’ll text you when he’s ready.” Damon argued on the other line. “Don’t roll your eyes either young lady I know you did.” That’s exactly what she did. “Look he’s going through a rough patch right now and it’s not really my business to tell. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. But he did tell me to tell you he loves you very much.”

“Wait...Damon please...” She begged and covered her eyes with her hand. “Just wait a second...”

“Mhmm bye bye now.” And like that she was off the phone. Wow. Damon hung up on her. She’s really going to slap him next time she sees him. Regardless she had to grab her keys and get ready for her last day of school before summer vacation. She smoothed down her sun dress and smiled in the mirror, flipping her beautiful long hair over her shoulder and fixing the strap of her bag over her shoulder and bouncing down the stairs, out the front door and to her car.

The ride to school felt like it was a long one but in reality it was only ten minutes. This last day of school was supposed to be the best. She was going to take her last final, say goodbye to her friends and favorite teachers and then Enzo was going to bring her to dinner as a congratulations to moving up to her senior year the next coming fall. 

But he wasn’t talking to her. Yes it hurt and yes it had been a whole four days since she had saw him last. And that was only for a brief five minutes where she had to pick up her clothes she left in the Salvatore’s house when she stayed with them for the weekend. She didn’t take his absence personally but figured it could have been something to do with the both of them as a whole. 

Damon Salvatore and Stefan Salvatore were like her older brothers and they had introduced the both of them at a party they hosted for Elena and Caroline. Bonnie couldn’t make it for some odd reason and originally she was just going to hook up with Kai just because he’s insanely attractive and was staring at her the whole night from the dessert table. But then Enzo came along with the brothers and his accent melted her heart and he charmed his way into scoring her as his girlfriend. That was already a whole year ago. 

Y/N put her car in park in her parking space and grabbed her bag and keys, making her way to her only class of the day. Every body seemed so happy, there were footballs being thrown across the front lawn of the school, girls cheering and giggling, guys laughing and punching at each other. All the while Y/N climbed the stairs to the front of the school and made her way to her locker to start cleaning it out before the first bell rang. 

The main hallway was crowded, nobody really cared or knew where they were going. Until a smaller crowd cleared in front of her locker she was headed to and Enzo was standing by her locker. Nobody seemed to notice him and he looked normal. Like there was nothing wrong at all. She made her way to him and now she realized just how agitated she was with him. “Well good morning Gorgeous.” He complimented but she just stared up at him waiting for an explanation. 

There was a silence between the both of them until he spoke again. “There was no excuse for my absence Y/N. I apologize, I needed time away and...”

“Let’s not do this here. Please.” She whispered. The bell rang and kids were pushing by to get to their first class. In just a few moments they had the hallway to themselves. “I do want to talk about it-” She unlocked her locker and grabbed her textbooks to turn in. “But I have a last day to get to and an exam to take. And all of a sudden my boyfriend wants to be my boyfriend again.” 

She slammed the locker shut. Enzo gently grabbed her arm, his hands were ice cold. Instead of sparks like normal she just felt frozen on the spot. She ripped her arm away. That had never happened before. “What the hell was that Enzo?” 

He clapped his hands together, pressing the palms close and then ran one hand through his hair. “Love, look...if you’ll let me explain...”

“Enzo really...you ignored me for four whole days. I’m pretty sure your explanation can wait two hours.” She didn’t mean to sound harsh and she didn’t even think she was this upset about it until she saw him for the first time in four days. 

Now she was just expressing her disappointment. Enzo chuckled as she tried to brush by but he slapped his hand against the locker door. Y/N’s eyes widened and she jumped. He realized he may have scared her some and removed his hand from the locker, and they both noticed the dent his hand had left before. “What the hell is the matter Enzo. You’re different.” She backed away from him slowly. 

Enzo stepped toward her. “Love...there’s nothing different. I’m still me. It’s me, Enzo.” He reassured her and tried to grab for her arms again to caress her. But she remembered the cold chill he’d inflicted on her and she pulled away just before he could touch her. 

“Look, I get out in two hours. Okay? We can go right to lunch and you can explain to me what happened...if you’re acting like this because I sounded rude that’s not what I had in mind.” She tried to brush by again but this time he stepped in her way. “Enzo...”

“Y/N it’s a silly test.” 

“Enzo...it’s to help me pass so I can get to senior year. We’ve already had this discussion.” She says and Enzo huffs. “Okay look I’m not arguing so let me get to class-” 

“I’ve been going against a lot of rules dear, all to make sure I could come see you today.” He grumbled, walking at her and matching her steps as she walked backward away from him. “So many rules.” He whispered to her. 

Y/N’s back hit a locker and she peered up at Enzo who was towering over her. “W-what rules? I-”

“It’s been a rough four days Lovey and I’m not supposed to be here until I’m all better.” His hand was shaking as he reached up and placed his ice cold hand on her neck. She flinched away from his cold hand. “I can assure you I’m not better but I just had to see my girl.”

“Enzo you’re scaring me.” And just like that Enzo retracted his hand away from her neck and they just stared at each other. He looked down at his finger tips where they had just traced her carotid artery just under her perfect, smooth flesh on her neck. How satisfying it’d be to bite into...how warm the skin is and how warm the blood was that flows underneath, just into the vein. If he punctured it right, he could control that blood flow. Damon taught him that years ago. 

The thought of the warm blood trickling down his throat made his stomach twirl, his face was warm and his gums were throbbing. “Why do your eyes look like that?” Enzo looked up and realized he was seeing red. Y/N pressed herself up against the locker further. Enzo opened his mouth to say something, instead tiny daggers freed themselves from his gums and the network of patterns crawling under his eyes almost distracted her from the fact his eyes were a dark red. 

She held a hand to her mouth to keep herself from screaming and she felt like she was about to faint. Her legs buckled and Enzo caught her before she hit the ground. Her books and bag fell with several loud bangs. Her breathing was heavy, its all she heard instead of Enzo assuring her to breathe and when she looked up he was normal again. His eyes were the beautiful brown she fell in love with and his face was the smooth, perfect skin she was familiar with. And his teeth were straight and pearly white, definitely no fangs to be found. 

She was wrapped in Damon’s fuzzy blanket, sitting in front of the fireplace thinking about everything. Questioning herself, questioning her friends. But there were no tears. Not yet. The fire burned, crackling in front of her and she could feel the warmth heating up her face. That was until somebody was standing in front of her. When she looked up it was Damon. He handed her a cup of water and didn’t say much. 

He took a seat on the ottoman next to her and stared into the flames with her. “He thinks you hate him.” He said quietly. Y/N could never hate Enzo, even though she should now. “I know you don’t. But I think he needs to hear it from you.” Damon looked over and waited. For any kind of response. 

Y/N finally looked over and Damon could see the emotion on her face. It was all hitting at once. “Those people that die? That are killed? Who did that Damon.” It wasn’t even a question. “Did Enzo do that?” 

“You know Enzo hasn’t made a kill since he’s met you.” He admits quietly.

“Is that supposed to make it better Damon?!” She shouted. “None of this is okay! And you guys couldn’t even have told me sooner! I thought we were closer than that?!” Here come the water works. To her right Stefan took a seat next to her with his head low. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Damon fixed his jaw. “I don’t know what else to say.” 

“There’s nothing else to say. It turns out that the people who I thought were my second family...I don’t even know them.” She choked. “I don’t know any of you people.” 

Stefan sighed. “Well of course you do.” He caressed her hair. “We’re a family...”

“You all have had so many life times to change yourselves. I don’t know any of you.” She sniffled. 

Stefan pulled her close. Enzo watched from a distance with his head resting against the door frame of the parlor. Caroline and Elena joined in and watched as the brothers did their best to ease their friend’s mind. “That’s the thing Y/N. No matter how hard we try to change ourselves our old lives come flooding right back in. The Enzo you know is the Enzo we know.” Stefan whispered but the vampires watching in the distance heard it loud and clear.

“Stef, maybe we should give them privacy.” Damon stood and Stefan kissed Y/N’s forehead before leaving her alone. Or so she thought. As quickly as the brothers left Enzo appeared and took Stefan’s place. The crowd was gone and it was just the both of them left with raw emotion. 

“What happened...in those four days.” Y/N hissed. “That you had to stay away from me?” 

Enzo steepled his fingers under his chin. “I lost control.” He answered simply. “I almost killed somebody for the first time in a year and I knew if I did I wouldn’t be able to look at you ever again without my guilt eating me alive.” 

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath of air. “So vampires feel guilt?” 

“So much that we sometimes have to shut it off.” He said quietly. “It’s like a switch and when we flip it there is no more pain. No more suffering.” 

She shifted and made the first move to look over at him. “What else can you do?” 

Enzo thought for a long second and then looked over at her. She was so vulnerable, so helpless and scared. Yet so beautiful. “We can control minds. If you’re trying to get at killing, we don’t have to kill to stay alive. I’ve been using blood bags from the hospital...” 

“Have you ever wanted to...”

“No.” He answered quickly. “I have never wanted to hurt you, Y/N. Seeing you like this...” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s killing me to see you this way.” 

There was a silence. “I’d like to be alone.” She whispered and Enzo paused, and said no more and left her alone in the parlor. She cried and hugged the fuzzy blanket closer to her body and felt the fire warm her face once more.

Y/N rolled over when her alarm clock was ringing like mad in her ear and slapped the top of it to turn it off. She stared at the ceiling. Her first week into her summer break and she was feeling down. She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and made her way to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror and to be honest she felt and looked like trash. 

She hadn’t talked to any of the Salvatores, or Enzo, even Caroline and Elena or Bonnie in a whole week. The thought of Enzo being alone made her stomach turn. This wasn’t easy on the both of them and she knew that. But how could she face him when she made it clear to him he was dangerous? 

He begged her not to walk out that night. But she did. She left him and whether he cried or not afterward was on him. Or maybe he had to turn off his humanity like he explained? Did she mean enough to him for him to feel like he could? 

Y/N made her way downstairs and rummaged through her fridge. A knock on the door interrupted her and she rolled her eyes. The sun shined through the door and it was too bright for her liking. When she opened the door, Caroline stood there with a bag in her hand and a huge smile on her face. 

“I know you said you didn’t want to see any of us right now but I don’t care. A friend is still a friend and honey you need a whole makeover.” She glanced down at Y/N’s un-shaved legs and tried her best not to comment. “And um when was the last time you used your shower?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes and began to close the door. “Goodbye Caroline...” But Caroline pushed the door open and made her way through the house. “Right...” She watched the blonde put her bags down on the dining room table. “I forgot...you’re all invited in so even if I want to ignore you I can’t.” She made her way to the table where Caroline was setting up boxes. 

“What is all of this?” 

Caroline turned to her friend and was just so happy and giddy it made Y/N want to puke. “I brought my makeup kit, a uh...super good razor for those legs and I’m sure those armpits need it too, I bought you a new outfit. And Ben and Jerry’s ice cream just in case we need a good cry today I will eat this with you.” 

Y/N almost cracked a smile. “A good cry? For what?” 

Caroline giggled. “If I’m giving you a makeover and you have that attitude? Please. And if you start talking about Enzo while I’m doing so...yeah we’ll need the ice cream.” She un-packaged the ice cream pints and shoved them in the freezer. 

“Okay...what’s the occasion?” She asked while looking through the bags. 

“Puh-lease, Y/N. Anyone knows you’ve been locked away in this house for the past week thinking about Enzo. God knows he hasn’t come out of his bedroom since you walked out on him. Stefan says he won’t even take a blood bag. And that’s a new record. Trust me he’s never one to turn food down.” Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat. “So I’m going to make you smoking hot again, and you’re going to face your man. Makeup with him or make out.” She winked. 

“How are you so positive about all of this?” 

Caroline’s look became serious. “When I first turned into a vampire...it was really hard. Bonnie wouldn’t even look at me. Damon wanted to kill me and Stefan and Elena were the only ones who stood up for me. My mother found out, she couldn’t take it so we had to compel her to forget just so she would talk to me.” Y/N looked at the ground. 

“So you know what it’s like when people walk out on you because you’re different...” Y/N concluded. 

Caroline nodded. “I’m not telling you you don’t have to remember everything that’s happened since Enzo came to town or when you started putting two and two together. But Y/N you have a good man and he loves you so much. He’s still the same Enzo you fell in love with. I mean does him being a vampire really change anything in your heart at all?” The way Caroline held her hands made her feel safe and comforted. 

Y/N sighed. Caroline was right. “Make me hot again.” She grinned and Caroline responded with an eager clap of her hands. 

Y/N took it upon herself to find Damon’s hidden freezer of blood in the basement as a peace offering to Enzo. She never expected ever in her life she’d have to hold a blood bag and here she is in front of his door, waiting to knock. She smoothed her blouse out and tucked her hair behind her ear. How could this be so nerve wracking? Since she was the one who basically cut it off? 

She swallowed her heart back down and made three knocks. “Currently dying. Be with you in a jiffy.” Sounded from inside. Y/N pushed the door open and Enzo was found inside, laying on his back across his bed. His eyes were closed. “Typically that means go away...” He paused and then opened his eyes and glanced at the door. Y/N quietly closed the door behind her and waited for a greeting. Or any kind of response to her presence. 

Enzo couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked. Did she not care at all? “I came to talk.” She admitted softly. “About everything. About you, about us, about what I said.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “But you have to understand that the way I found out...” They look at each other for a split second. “Enzo I love you. Okay? I love you.”

His heart flipped in his chest only she couldn’t hear what she did to him. The corner of his mouth lifted with a half smile. “I’ve thought it over…I want to be with you still. You being a vampire doesn’t change how I feel about you.” She finally admits. His ears perk up. “I thought this only happens in shows or really bad movies...” She trails off and hides her blush and smile with her hands on her forehead. Enzo sits up and crookedly smiles at her. 

“Don’t say anything else.” He whispers and when she uncovers her face he’s in front of her. Right, she forgot they can move silently and quickly. Now she looks up at him and Enzo places both hands on her neck. His touch was warm as opposed to his ice cold skin a week ago. 

He pulls her close and locks their lips together quickly and passionately. Y/N was the first to break away and clenched Enzo’s shirt in his fists. “I’m totally going to ruin the moment.” She whispers and he searches her face with amusement. 

“You’re still weary?” He asks. Y/N’s silence confirmed his thoughts and she closed her eyes. She had gotten so lost in their kiss that she forgot everything she was upset about and everything that he was. 

“I trust you Enzo. I do but I still can’t forget everything that’s happened in town. My friends lied to me.” She reasons. He nods after listening and thinks of what to say to her next but nothing comes. She is justified to be upset with them, especially him. “Everything that I feel for you is magnified now and I want to be with you more than ever. But it’s the lying I can’t take anymore. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be friends with somebody for so long and then find out they’re not who you thought they were?” 

He nods down to her. “I understand. Listen, Love, at the time it was your best interest to keep you out. If you are exposed to this there are risks...risks that I wasn’t willing to take.” 

“And what exactly is that?” She clutches his shirt tighter. Enzo tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and cups her cheek gently. 

“Enemies flood in by the dozen, oftentimes many more.” He says. “They will stop at nothing to weaken us as a whole. And Y/N if they knew you knew about me, this, us they would harm you to hurt me.” 

Y/N could tell this was hard for him to say. And suddenly fear rose in her stomach and she felt butterflies. Enzo could hear her heart beat quicken and shook his head at her. “I won’t let that happen, Y/N you will never know harm while I am here.” He then reaches down and grabs her hand, locking their fingers together. “And I’d never hurt you myself. Your friends adore you, please as hard as it is to understand we just wanted you safe.” 

It was hard to understand. Especially for a human mind. She didn’t have the responsibility to make sure others were safe so her intentions were always simple. “I can learn to accept it.” She says. 

Enzo smiles at her and presses their foreheads together. “There is so much I want to show you and to tell you. I won’t hold back.” 

Y/N nods and closes her eyes again and melts into his chest. This was where she felt the safest. And to be honest it just felt normal again. Nothing changed the way she felt about him. “Tell me.” She says softly. Enzo wraps his other arm around her waist and carries her to his bed and wraps her in a fuzzy blanket and lays his head on his pillow at the same time she does. He tells his stories while caressing her cheek until she falls asleep, listening to his calming voice and feeling back at home in his arms where she belongs.

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

1D Monthly Fic Roundup 

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for April 2021! Below the cut you’ll find 17 One Direction fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​. 

To Begin Again by @chloehl10​ / lovelarry10 

[Harry/Louis, 23k, Teen and Up, tumblr post] 

“I, uh, I’m really sorry for yelling at you like I did.”

“Hey, I deserved it and more. I’m lucky you didn’t come and deck me on the nose,” Louis said, holding his hands up as if to surrender. “Seriously, you went lightly on me. If a crazy dog was leaping around me and my kids, I’d have lost my shit long before you did, and it would have been a lot more sweary than yours as well.”

Harry laughed at that, quite liking the man now he was getting to know him. This Louis seemed to have a good sense of humour, and his dog was fairly likeable too, laying there sound asleep, sunbathing.

“Well, I don’t usually lose my temper, so I just wanted to apologise.”

“It’s me who needs to say sorry. My stupid dog ate their bloody eggs, and on Easter Sunday at that. It’s a good job we don’t go to church, Cliff, or we’d both be going straight to hell. Nice ears, by the way. I meant to say earlier.”

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Harry’s ready to spend a fun Easter morning with his two children at the park, but it’s thrown into chaos when an over-excited dog and his owner come barrelling into their lives…

A Small Matter (A Matter of Trust) by @kingsofeverything​ 

[Harry/Louis, 18k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

Harry knows he and his Grindr hookup would be perfect together, if only he could convince him to give a relationship a chance. 

Or Harry has a thing for jock straps. Louis likes to wear them. 

Are you proud of me? by @sadaveniren​ 

[Harry/Louis, 2k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

Louis was completely naked, except for a silk scarf that Harry had never seen before. It was tied around his neck like a bow. His lithe body was cast in dramatic shadows as he descended the stairs and all Harry could think was holy shit, mine, mine, mine.

“Well this is a shame. I was hoping you’d keep the boa.”

Harry blinked in surprise at his voice. He was too caught up in his perfection. “What?”

“I guess the leather will do. I do love you dressed in leather.”

aka I show up 2 weeks late with Grammy Fic

Right Back Home to You by @behindmeday​

 [Harry/Nick Grimshaw, 4k, Teen & Up, tumblr post] 

It wasn’t the first time Harry and Nick were cut off before they really got started talking. In fact, it seemed to be happening more often than not. Nick had an insane schedule that no rational person would choose, but Harry’s was even worse. Between the early mornings on The Breakfast Show and the never-ending time zone changes of tour, it seemed that Harry and Nick weren’t really meant to have any real conversations these days. 

Or, Harry writes Nick a song. 

take my hand (my whole life too) by @beckydoesthings​ / beckywritesthings

 [Harry/Louis, 44k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

“You’re famous?” he asks, deciding to dive straight into the heart of the issue.

Harry winces, dropping his gaze to the table. “Erm… famous is one word for it.”

Well, that’s reassuring. Louis raises an eyebrow until Harry heaves a sigh and continues.

“How much do you know about the British monarchy?”

His stomach drops to the floor in a heartbeat, jaw following suit. There’s no way that what Harry’s insinuating is possible. But as the time ticks by, there’s no change in the deadly serious expression on Harry’s face, fingers twitching steadily on the table as he waits for Louis’ answer.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Or a Crazy Rich Asians AU with a royal twist where Harry is a prince, Louis is most definitely not, and there’s a royal wedding to attend.

Forever Is In Your Eyes by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ / we_are_the_same 

[Harry/Louis, 126k, Teen & Up, tumblr post] 

Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.

He wants-

He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-

His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.

A statue that Louis has just kissed.

Stuck in an eternal spring by @chrysopon​ / flamboyo 

[Louis/Zayn, 4k, Teen & Up, tumblr post] 

Louis is about to go crazy in the silent solitude of London’s lockdown. The only breach into the grey monotony of his days is the hope of catching a glimpse of the dark-haired guy who lives in the building across the street. One night they have their night cigarette together while both in their flats, twenty meters and an empty, quiet street between them. It becomes a habit, but maybe there’s hope for it to become something more. 

It’s Been So Long by @elsi-bee​ / elsi_bee 

[Harry/Louis, 31k, Teen & Up, tumblr post] 

Harry Styles’ first crush was one of his sister’s best friends, a certain someone named Louis Tomlinson. And Louis? He just vaguely remembers Gemma’s younger brother from back in the day. 

A lot can change in ten years. 

Featuring Niall and Liam as Harry’s friends, flirting, fluff, and flashbacks to the awkward days of high school. 

This Dream Lost by @zanniscaramouche​ / zanni_scaramouche

[Liam/Louis/Harry, 5k, Mature, tumblr post] 

It’s a dangerous game to play his Alpha like this, and it gives Harry a thrill through his spine he’s not sure he likes. It’ll be worth it, but he doubts he’ll be pulling any surprises on Louis for a while after this. He can’t fucking stand it as is and it’s not even really for Louis, it’s for Liam. 

Mercy by @zanniscaramouche​ / zanni_scaramouche 

[Niall/Shawn Mendes, 5k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

“I-” Shawn licks his lips, eyes bright and wide with the shock. 

Balls in his court now. He could refuse, step away from the line they’re toeing and laugh it off. But he doesn’t, just like Niall knew he wouldn’t. Because Shawn wants this. They both do, and that’s what makes it so fucking insane. 

Blind Faith by @2tiedships2​ 

[Harry/Louis, 18k, Mature, tumblr post] 

“Harry?” Liam prompted.

“I’m blind,” Harry eventually said, trying his best to keep himself from crying.

Liam was silent for a few moments, before responding, “That’s not exactly news, H. You were blind when I met you a year and a half ago. Have you been in denial this whole time or something?”

“No, Liam,” Harry cut in. “This is different. I’m not legally blind like I used to say. It’s not just my night vision. The tunnel from my tunnel vision has closed. I’m fucking blind! I moved halfway around the world in the hope of finding my soulmate and it’s obviously not happening now. Not even a soulmate is going to want to put up with a blind alpha.“

The Journal by @wait4ever​ / RecycledStardust & @evilovesyou​ / 4ureyesonly28 

[Louis/Harry, 14k, General, tumblr post] 

When Harry finds himself purchasing an antique journal in the ancient bookshop of a town he’s never heard of, he doesn’t exactly want to admit that he has no idea how he got there. A myriad of odd coincidences and a few kind smiles from the shopkeeper have the two of them working hard to solve the mystery of this strange journal that seems to have been waiting for Harry for almost a hundred and thirty years. 

But I’m the Quarterback by @evilovesyou​ / 4ureyesonly28 

[Harry/Louis, 52k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

Harry Styles is the quarterback of Sunny High’s football team, dating the beautiful head cheerleader, and determined to enter his senior year with focus and discipline. That is, until a strange man shows up at his home, makes his girlfriend break up with him, and convinces his parents to send him off to a “reparative therapy camp” over the summer. 

At True Directions, Harry meets four other boys and five girls, all there to be cured of their homosexuality. He has to find a way out of this place as soon as possible—Christ, he isn’t even gay! 

Know a Trick or Two by @sadaveniren​ 

[Harry/Louis, 45k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

The night before Louis is scheduled for a Portkey to begin training with the Vratsa Vultures in Bulgaria he heads into Muggle London for one last night of fun. A few months later he finds out he’s having a child. 

Eleven years ago Harry had a one night stand and now there’s a strange man on his doorstep telling him his daughter is something called a wizard and she’s got a place at the British wizarding school Hogwarts. 

Aka the one where Muggle Harry and Wizard Louis have a one night stand and get more than they bargained out of it. 

Until That Day by @kingsofeverything​ 

[Harry/Louis, 44k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

Harry Styles is days away from walking down the aisle when his previous failed weddings are turned into a public spectacle by jaded London journalist Louis Tomlinson. Hoping to witness Harry leave another groom at the altar, Louis heads to Holmes Chapel, where nothing goes as planned, and he finds himself falling for the serial heartbreaker. 

A Runaway Bride movie AU 

Caught In Your Gravity by @lululawrence​ 

[Harry/Louis, 63k, Not Rated, tumblr post] 

It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. “They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn’t actually have much in common with the show at all.

Passing By by @larryyouknow​

[Harry/Louis, 48k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Sometimes, people are in each other’s lives just for the briefest of moments. They meet and then go their separate ways because being vulnerable is scary and it might be easier to not let anybody else in. But some people aren’t meant to be just passing by. Maybe when they open their eyes, they can learn things about themselves they haven’t known before. If they let their hearts speak they will find a way to be together.

Or the one where Harry doesn’t even know he’s into guys until he meets Louis on a boat trip. There’s something more to their friendship but it ain’t gonna be smooth sailing.

[alinastracker]

for the prompt thing: 62 or 69 <3

you got it bb <3

prompt: I wanted to tell you that I liked you before prom but chickened out and now we’re about to graduate college and I can’t hold it in any longer

i can’t fight this feeling any longer (and yet i’m still afraid to let it flow)

"Mal, I love you."

Alina frowns, shakes her head, and tries again.

"Mal, you've been my best friend for so long, and I love our friendship, but you see, I'm also head over heels in love with you."

She blows out a frustrated breath, her newly chopped bangs briefly floating off of her forehead. Telling her best friend of nearly six years she’s in love with him should not be the number one thing on her mind right now. It’s graduation day, for Saints sake. A day she hadn’t been sure she would ever see. But all she can think about is Mal.

She had met him on one of the worst days of her life. Alina had been transferred to a new foster home in the middle of her junior year of high school. There were few things worse in adolescent life than moving to a new school in the middle of the year — especially in high school, in a small town where everyone seemed to know each other. 

Alina had walked the halls that day clutching onto the straps of her backpack, late to nearly every class because her sense of direction was shit, and had even gone as far as to eat lunch in the bathroom like a stereotypical teen movie, the thought of walking into the cafeteria with all those eyes on her nearly ruining her appetite entirely. She had been stared at enough as it was. 

Her last class of the day was art, and she was praying for it to be the reprieve she so desperately needed. If only she could fucking find it. The warning bell rang, heightening her already raised anxiety. Alina took a corner too fast and slammed right into a wall. No, not a wall — a boy. 

“I’m so sorry!” she blurted, scrambling to her knees to help pick up the papers she made him drop. 

“All good,” the boy reassured her.

Once the two of them had the papers off the floor, Alina looked up and nearly dropped them again. She was looking into the warm brown eyes of possibly the hottest guy she had ever laid eyes on. He had a strong, defined jaw, grown out hair that wasn’t too shaggy, but still long enough to run her fingers through. And Saints, his lips. She was already imagining what those lips would feel like, subconsciously licking her own. 

One side of the boy’s mouth quirked up, just a hint of a smirk, like he was used to having this effect on people. Shit, had he noticed her staring? Say something, Alina. 

“Um, sorry,” she managed finally, handing him the pile of collected papers. 

He chuckled. “You said that already.”

She tried a laugh of her own, but it came out all wrong, choppy and nervous. “Right.” 

The boy stood to his full height, and for fucks sake, he had to be tall, too? She rose from her knees and he still towered over her. It was extremely attractive. 

“So you’re the new girl,” he said, not a question but a statement. “I’ve heard murmurings about you today.”

“Murmurings?” 

“Nothing bad. It’s just a small town. When someone new shows up, people notice.” He smiled, stuck out his hand. It took everything in her not to think about how long his fingers were. “I’m Mal.”

She took his hand, her own so tiny in comparison. “Alina.”

“Nice to meet you, Alina. Where are you headed?”

“220B? History of Traditional Art.”

Mal nodded. “Well, I can’t say that’s a room I’m super familiar with. I’m a shit artist. These hands are much better for other activities.” Her eyes must have widened, revealing just how filthy her mind was, because he quickly added, “Sports! I meant sports!”

A look passed between them, and then they were both laughing. It felt so good to laugh after the day she’d had. 

“Anyway,” Mal continued, “I can help you find your way. I might not visit the art hall often, but I know my way around.”

Alina shot him another pointed look, and Mal groaned. “My way around the school! Saints, I’m really shooting myself in the foot as far as first impressions go, aren’t I?”

She grinned, but only said, “You’ll be late for class.” The final bell was going to ring any second. 

Mal waved her off. “That’s all right. What poor representation of Stag Spirit would I be if I let the new girl walk around like a lost puppy? And besides,” he shot her a grin to match her own, “we can’t have you running around, terrorizing other kids and their poor papers now, can we?”

Alina let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “I said I was sorry!”

He turned, walking backwards toward the stairs. “Did you? Must have missed it.”

She shot daggers in his direction, but she smiled the whole way to the art room. The next day, she dared to actually step into the cafeteria for lunch. People were still staring, but after yesterday, she expected it. Part of her was hoping she would find Mal in the crowded space, but she doubted it would matter even if she did. After some social media stalking last night, Alina had discovered what she should have known from the start — Mal was popular. He would already have a flock around him, friends he had known since childhood, who were just like him — attractive, athletic, alien to a kid like Alina who preferred quiet cafes and sketchpads to football fields and pompoms. He had been nice to her yesterday, sure, but that didn’t mean—

“Alina!”

Her head popped up, scanning the sea of tables until she saw him, standing and waving her over. Sure enough, Mal was at a table filled with pretty, sociable looking people. But there was a space open next to him, and she realized with a little jump of her heart that he had saved that space for her. 

It was the start of the fastest and fiercest friendship she would ever have. Mal was popular and sporty, yes, but he was also kind, funny, smart — and most surprising, had grown up in the foster care system, too. Alina made friends with his friends, a few of her own from her art class, but none of them matched what she grew with Mal. Suddenly she was a football field kind of girl, dressing from head to toe in school colors for each match, cheering for her best friend so loud she gave the cheer squad a run for their money. Over the next year and half, they were entirely attached at the hip. 

And while it had truly started as a friendship, by the time senior prom came around, Alina had to face the fact: she was head over heels for the boy. Hell, she had noticed how attractive he was from that first fateful meeting. Mix that with how genuinely good she knew he was — how caring, how attentive, how it felt to have his head rest on her shoulder as he fell asleep during a movie; who could blame her for falling for him? 

“You have to tell him!” her friend from art class, Yelena, had insisted. 

“I know, I know.” She sighed. “I’ll do it at prom.”

They were going as a group — her, Mal, Mikhael, Dubrov, Yelena, and a few others from their meshed circle of friends, brought together by the two of them. But Mal had still matched his tie to her dress, a stunning royal blue. Mal had still bought her a corsage — a delicate thing of mostly blue irises, her favorite flower. He was not her date, yet in every way except in name, it felt like he was, and Alina basked in the feeling. 

But as song after song played, Alina found herself backing out each time she tried to approach him. Yelena was shooting pointed looks at her all night, murmuring as she passed her, “You’re running out of time.”

Then a punky pop song came on, one of her and Mal’s favorites. She called him over. “Dance with me!” she exclaimed, and laughed as he all but pulled her onto the dance floor. Neither of them were good dancers, but they were enthusiastic, at least with each other. As the song neared its end, Alina sucked in a breath.

“Mal, I have to tell you something.”

He raised a brow, waiting for her to speak. The song ended, and their principal took to the stage. “All right folks, it’s time to announce your prom king and queen!”

Everyone was cheering and turning to the stage, but Mal was still looking at her, still waiting for her answer.

Alina opened her mouth, closed it, then finally said, “Thank you for the corsage. I really love it.”

Mal gave her a quizzical look, lips tugging down — and was that disappointment in his eyes? Before she could fully read him, his face smoothed, his usual charmed smile returning. “Of course, Lina.” 

“And your prom king is,” the principal was saying, “Malyen Oretsev!”

The crowd roared. Mal’s smile turned sheepish, and he took to the stage to accept his crown. Ruby was named prom queen, to no one’s surprise. Alina watched them dance together in the middle of the room to a romantic song that would now forever be ruined for her. A little later that night, Mal came up to her, said, “You can get a ride home with Yelena, right?” He motioned behind him, flushing a little even as he grinned, to where Ruby was waiting. “I’m gonna head out.”

Alina swallowed the stupid lump in her throat and nodded. Mal pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and then he was gone. She would spend the night at Yelena’s, crying on her shoulder that she had missed her chance — if she’d ever had one to begin with. Because of course Mal would choose Ruby. Beautiful, blond Ruby, much more his equal than Alina could ever be. 

Graduation came, and it was happy. But in all of the pictures and celebrations was Ruby — no longer just captain of the cheer squad Ruby, but Mal’s girlfriend Ruby. She watched them partake in a summer romance that she was guiltily happy to see fizzle out once college came and split them apart. Luckily, her and Mal were off to Os Alta University together, home of the Firebirds. They forged a new friend group there: the twins, Tolya and Tamar, Nadia, David, Genya, Zoya, Nikolai. Mal didn’t really date freshman year, sticking to little flings that Alina told herself didn’t matter. In sophomore year, the tension between him and Zoya finally snapped, and the two of them had a brief . . . something together. 

Of course, Alina had her own dabbles in romance — Alexei being the sweetest, Aleksander nearly making her swear off men all together. Her next two flings were with women, both because she had finally fully accepted her bisexuality and because she truly had lost trust in the male species. She even made out with Nikolai a couple times, but they had both just been using each other. They’d spent one night in a club so obnoxiously all over one another that Zoya had stormed out. Her thing with Mal had been off and on at that point, and the next morning, she texted him that they were off for good. 

Two weeks later, Nikolai and Zoya were dating. Mal was single. 

And still, she hadn’t made a move. 

Alina stares in the mirror now, watching the tassel on her graduation cap sway back and forth. In an hour, she’ll be moving it from the right to the left and leave Os Alta University in the rear window. It hadn’t been easy getting here — nothing is easy for a foster care kid, especially one who wants to be an artist. But she’s done it. She’s graduating with top honors. Saints, she even has a job lined up. Everything she worried about growing up — making a future for herself, being swallowed by the system, figuring out who she is without the guidance of her birth parents — she has faced all of it head on. At every step, she’s run after what she’s wanted and grabbed it by the hands until it was hers.

Everything except Mal. 

And try as she might, she can’t imagine a future without him in it.

He’s not seeing anyone — for now. Last night he texted her, laughing about how Ruby of all people had hit him up. She’s going to be in the city this weekend, apparently, and asked if he wanted to get a drink. It felt like prom all over again.

“Alina, come on!” Genya calls. “We’re going to be late!”

“Coming!” she calls back.

Alina follows Genya and Zoya down to the car, sits numbly in the backseat as they drive to the giant building holding their graduation ceremony. 

“Look alive, Starkov,” Zoya says as they get out of the car, linking their arms. “Today is for happy things. New beginnings.”

Genya takes her other arm. “No pouting about boys unless you’re going to do something about it.”

She smiles, and for a little while, it’s not forced. There’s a rush of excitement as they walk inside and find their seats. Genya isn’t too far off from her, but Zoya’s a few rows ahead. In the rows between them, still too far to talk to but not too far to make out the back of his head, is Mal. He’s talking to the guy next to him, even though she’s pretty sure he doesn’t know him. But that’s Mal, blooming wherever he’s planted.

Alina knows she shouldn’t, but the ceremony hasn’t started yet, so she stands and calls out, “Mal!” 

Somehow, he hears her over all the ruckus around them. The smile he gives her has her heart beating double time. “I’ll find you after!” he shouts back, though of course, she already knew that. Mal always finds her.

As the ceremony starts and a handful of different people come up to make speeches, she finds herself slipping into her thoughts from earlier. In her head, she sees Mal and Ruby, meeting for that drink. They pick up right where they left off. Ruby moves to the city, moves in with Mal. Alina’s there through all of it, supporting Mal like she always has, always will. On the sidelines she stays, watching him as he gets married and has ridiculously beautiful babies. None of it is real, not yet, but the thought is so painful she has tears in her eyes. 

Well, at least she can blame the tears on emotional graduation bullshit as she watches her friends walk the stage, cheering for each of them even though they’re not supposed to. Tamar and Tolya, the latter looking pretty emotional himself. David, who walks quickly even though he’s probably the most awarded student of the whole graduating class. Nikolai, who dramatically presses a kiss to the hand of the Os Alta University President after she hands him his diploma. Zoya, who walks the stage as if she owns it. 

Then Mal’s name is called, and she cheers so loud she’s pretty sure he hears it, if the grin on his face is any indication. Genya crosses, graceful as always. When her own name is called, she’s not expecting much. She has no family here save from the one she forged for herself. But as she walks, she can hear a very distinct cheer from a very distinct voice, and butterflies swarm drunkenly in her stomach. 

In the minutes that pass between her walking the stage and the last name being called — poor Nadia —Alina knows what she’s going to do. No backing out this time.

“Congratulations, Class of 2021!”

Everyone cheers, and graduation caps go flying through the air. Alina tosses hers with everyone else, and then she takes off, pushing through her classmates as they jump and shout, running until she finds the right row, forces herself through the bodies in her way, until she’s in front of him. Until she’s found Mal. 

“Alina,” he says in surprise. “What are you—”

“Don’t get a drink with Ruby.”

Mal frowns. “What?”

“I said don’t get a drink with Ruby!” she says, louder this time.

“I heard you. I’m just confused.” He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. “Why shouldn’t I have a drink with Ruby, and why did you run to tell me this right now?”

Because I’ve been in love with you from the first moment I saw you. 

Because I wanted to tell you at prom, but I chickened out. 

Because I’ve watched you kiss other girls for almost six years now, and I can’t stand to just watch any longer.

Alina doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she presses onto her tip toes, takes his face between her hands, and kisses him. 

Mal stiffens, but doesn’t give her time to worry before he relaxes again, pulling her body against his, lifting her so she doesn’t have to stretch so far anymore. All around them are the happy cheers of a group of people at the end of one road stepping onto another. Families in the stands hoot and holler for their children, wipe tears and think, they made it. 

But for Alina, it’s like being in a room where nothing exists except her and Mal, her best friend, her constant, the most important person in her life. She’s kissing him, she’s finally kissing him, and he’s kissing her back as if he’s been waiting for six years to do this, too. Like maybe he’s wanted her all along.

“Alina,” he breathes when their lips part, their foreheads pressed together instead. “Thank the bloody Saints.”

She giggles, actually fucking giggles, like a lovestruck school girl. “I’ve wanted this since prom. Before, even.”

Mal smiles, shakes his head the tiniest bit. “Me too.”

They laugh, so close that they’re breathing each other in. Two idiots, that’s what they are. But there’s no room to groan about what could’ve been sooner, no room to drown in regrets. They are young, and there is only room for joy in knowing they have the rest of their lives to make up for lost time. Starting now. Their lips meet again. Mal is steady and warm against her. He feels like home. It’s everything she’s ever imagined. It’s better. 

Alina can see her future so clearly now, because she knows no matter what comes next, she’ll have Mal beside her to navigate through it.

He is all she’s ever wanted — her forever person, who won’t leave when she’s being unreasonable, who’s love is not conditional. He is all she’ll ever need.  

[sasuhinasno1fan]

The way you had your hair reminds me- Zutara Week Day 1

My second Zutara Week though I hope I can actually finish it this time. I decided I really wanted to do something with Katara doing rhythmic gymnastics so I decided that since most of the prompts fit, I’ll do a sort of Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo AU. It’s a good kdrama if you’ve never heard of it. trying to fit 16 hour long episodes into 7 days is gonna be interesting. I’ll warn you now and let you know there will be onesided LuTara but for like a day maybe. I haven’t written that day yet so we’ll see. This will end in Zutara happieness, I promise. Anyway, enjoy. Hair

Zuko crawled carefully as he wiped down the windows. Most of his classmates didn’t want him anywhere near an open area, especially with his limited vision but he’d just gotten his bandaged taken off and he wasn’t about to let it hinder him.

Without them on, he didn’t see Mom flinch at the sight of them, though the massive burn wasn’t any better. The fights between his parents weren’t either and Azula’s teasing was starting to be hurtful more than playful. He wanted it all to stop. If he pretended that things were ok, maybe they would be eventually.

“Hey scarface!” Zuko looked over, 3 of his school bullies storming over. He tried not to flinch, already knowing what they were going to yell at him about. They’d been doing it all day. “We lost the race thanks to you!”

Zuko used to be more confident. But after the burns, a few harsh words and he’d start retreating back down into himself. These bullies took advantage of it. During their Sports Day yesterday, Zuko had dropped the baton in the relay race and ran in the opposite direction, away from the bullies yelling at him.

“Mr. Reversal, can’t believe you’re so stupid.”

“You need a walking stick, scarface? Huh?”

Zuko felt one of them shove him and he expected to hit the window frame. Instead, he went flying out the open window. Years later, Zuko would mostly remember him being caught by an older man with darker skin, most likely from one of the Water Tribes, with kind blue eyes, who held him as he burst into tears and two younger children. The boy patted his back, telling him not to worry because his sister would take care of it and the girl screaming up at the bullies from the ground floor. Her long braid swung back and forth as she shook her fists and threatened to do violent things to them. her eyes seemed bluer than her families, like the clearest ocean.

He didn’t know they’d slip back into his life years later. That the little girl who threatened bullies for a boy she didn’t know, would become so much more important to him.

                                             ________________

Zuko unlocked his bike, trying not to feel discouraged. It was hard not to when he’d been disqualified from another competition for having a panic attack. Every time he walked onto the mat, his hearing would go wonky and he’d start seeing double, not to mention his heart beating like it was trying to escape his chest. As a result, he’d always forget to sault his opponent and the referee.

Along with being propositioned to train an up-and-coming fencer to get onto the national Olympic team – which he refused because how was he supposed to help someone when he could even finish a match – all he wanted to do was collapse onto his bed. He could already tell that during training tomorrow, he’d have to deal with snide remarks from Jett. How that guy became captain, he’d never know. He knew if he just beat him in training like always, it would piss him off even more and with the school’s Sports Day coming up, he was not in the mood to do the worst event for the Fencing Department.

He climbed on his bike, adjusting his kit sitting on its place but stopping himself from peddling back to campus when his phone rang.

“What Sokka?”

“So, the results of the match went up. Jett wants to talk to you; says he’s got the prefect thing for you to do to make up for your loss. The rice lifting challenge.”

Zuko had to bite his lip to keep from screaming. The idea of the lifting challenge was to carry as many bags of rice and the industrial size, like the one the school cafeteria ordered and hold it for as long as possible. Usually, the Karate Department would be the one to win, fencing never even coming close.

“I’m not going.” Zuko said, making up his mind.

“What?”

“I’ll hang out at Lu Ten’s office or something, but I’m not going. Not to the crapshot of a meeting or to Sports Day. I don’t care what he threatens me with. I’m only coming back to drop my kit off.”

“Um, well I actually heard Mai was back. Didn’t make it past the preliminaries for the national team I hear.”

This day couldn’t get any worse.

“Screw it, I’m not coming back for the next few days. I’ll be with my uncle if you need me.”

“Wait! Ask Toph to do your event for you. it would put the Weightlifting Department in danger of losing but most of those guys don’t like her anyway. She’d love a chance to get back at them. come back to campus and ask her and then I’ll take you out for lunch. At my dad’s restaurant. You love his marinated salmon.” Sokka said, trying to entice his roommate.

Zuko sighed. “I want two orders. And you’re paying.”

“Done! Get here soon.”

Zuko didn’t bother answering, stowing his phone away and pushing off, heading towards Republic City Sports University.

                                     ______________________

Effortlessly, Katara grabbed her back leg and straightened it as she did her pivot. She kept her balance as she came out of it and continued to twirl her ribbon. Her coach nodded.

“Very good. You’ve been practising. Your balance is better. Now I want to see if your fouettés have improved as well. If you want a chance at placing first and getting noticed by our sponsor and qualifying for the national team preliminaries, your routine can’t have any mistakes. Ty Lee, pay attention. I’m testing your fouettés as well.”

Katara looked over at the girl dressed in pink, who was pouting down at her matching hoop, Suki patting her on the shoulder. While Katara and Ty Lee weren’t friends, it was hard to not bond over being singled out by their coach.

Katara stood at the ready, twirling her ribbon as she readied herself when the door burst open.

“Azula!” Ty Lee cried.

Azula Lung was the student with the most sway in the whole school. Her father was the Prime Minister of the Fire Nation and while he didn’t hold much power in Republic City, since all powers were equal, that didn’t mean much at the University. She got the best room, private transport to competitions and rules didn’t apply to her. She could boss around any coach, even though she was in the Karate Department. There’d been rumours that her place was bought, until her first competition where she creamed everyone. She was her department’s ace. In fact, she managed to take the Weightlifting Department’s old gym for the Karate Department, which started a massive feud between them. she was rude and arrogant and somehow, one of Ty Lee’s best friends.

Katara noticed a girl standing next to her. She was dressed in all black, the only colour being the red of her nails. She looked incredibly bored and only looked annoyed when Ty Lee launched herself at her.

“Mai, you’re back!”

“Mai has returned from her qualifying competition for the national team. We’ll be taking Ty Lee with us. Problem?” Azula announced.

“No of course not. Except, Ty Lee, you were supposed to show me your routine for Sports Day? Since you’re our department’s cheerleader.”

Azula scoffed. “Sports Day, waste of time. She won’t be attending. You, blue peasant.” Katara balked at that and narrowed her eyes. “You’ll be taking her place. Problem?”

Katara opened her mouth to say, yes big problem, but all the girls of the Rhythmic Gymnastics Department crowded around her, suffocating her with their hands.

“None at all.”

“Thanks Katara!” Ty Lee said, scooping up her bag and dashing off, Mai following and with a raised eyebrow that spoke of her superiority, Azula leaving as well.

“You can’t argue with her Katara.”

“She’d have you removed from the school. I heard she got a person’s whole family business shut down for pissing her off. Do you want that for your dad?”

“Her dad might be the Prime Minister, but he’s practically a mafia boss.”

Comments like this floated over her head, as well as ones telling her they’d help with making a routine for Sports Day, which was in a few days. All Katara could think about was how completely unfair this all was.

And she let it out too once training was concluded for the day.

“It’s completely insane how she can just lord over them like that!” she said, harshly untangling her hair from its bun.

“Easy, you’re gonna rip your hair out.” Suki said, stopping her from tugging at it more and helping to pull half of it into a bun like she usually wore it.

“She’s a student. A sophomore at that. Where does she get off acting like she’s the greatest thing in the world? Just cause her dad is a Prime Minister? So is mine!”

“I thought Water Tribe issues fell under Yue’s dad’s jurisdiction?” Toph, a member of the Weightlifting Department asked, her hand holding on tightly to her guide dog’s harness. She was just as well known as Azula, due to the fact that she was blind but was still one of the highest climbing Weightlifting competitors at the school. She beat all the senior’s bests within her first month.

“Yeah, only because the South is smaller. That’s not the point! The point is, she does whatever she wants and doesn’t get in trouble for it and it extends to her friends too. I have a competition coming up soon and instead of working on my routines for that, I’m going to be learning choreo for a routine for one of the dumbest traditions of Sports Day.”

“Oh,” Toph said, a massively mischievous smile on her face, “well you won’t think it’s stupid when you hear what I heard. Wanna take a guess as to who’s the Fencing Department’s cheerleader?”

Katara looked over at Toph, who’s smile was growing maniacal. Usually that meant someone was going to get embarrassed as hell. It usually tended to be Sokka.

“Wouldn’t it be one of the girls?”

“Nope.” Toph shook her head, popping her p.

“Is it-?”

“Katara, watch out!”

A guy on his bike and panicked look as he turned the corner, thankfully started the veer off course at the sight of her. She still stumbled over her feet and fell to the floor, her hands pricking in pain as they were scratched. Thankfully though, her jacket took most of the damage. The guy on the other hand, had to shove his bike off his feet, rubbing at his shin.

She took in the pale skin, paler than Toph’s and dark hair surrounding his face. It didn’t stop her from noticing the large burn surrounding his right eye. she noticed that his school jacket was the same one Sokka wore, meaning he was in the Fencing Department.

“You should be more careful.” She meant for it to come out a bit nicer, but the anger from dealing with Azula slipped in.

clearly the guy didn’t enjoy being yelled at as he snapped back. “I didn’t see you.” he seemed to rethink his anger and continued in a calmer voice. “Are you ok?”

ok, now she felt bad about snapping at him. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, what up Sparky?” Toph asked, seeming to brighten as she figured out who almost crashed into them. her guide dog Badger, lead his owner over and with surprising accuracy, Toph punch the guy on the arm.

It was a little scary how well she could do that.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Hey, tell me. Seen his skirt yet? I know he doesn’t shave his legs so please tell me he’s going all out for this.”

The guy sighed. “Thought Sokka told you not to tell anyone.”

“Sokka? He’s the Fencing cheerleader? That’s why he’s been borrowing my hair pins? Those things are expensive.” Katara interrupted.

Toph burst into laughter, clearly enjoying herself while Suki looked thoughtful.

“So that’s why he asked for makeup advice. Suddenly Sports Day is looking a lot more fun.”

“Speaking of which, I’m going back to my room before Jett finds me to let me know my event. Oh, Toph wanna annoying your department?”

“Always.”

“Take my spot for the Rice Lifting event. I’ve dealt with way too much to even put up with Jett today.”

Katara furrowed her brow, wanting to say something about the fact this guy wasn’t going to participate but then she noticed Toph’s smile dropped a little and her punch was definitely softer the second time she hit him.

“Done deal Sparky. Tell your old man I’ll see him later.”

“So who was that?” Suki asked as the guy finally took off.

“Zuko Lung, not related to the royal brat. I go to his old man’s tea house sometimes. He’s Sokka’s roommate apparently.”

“Oh yeah, he’s a pretty good fencer from what I hear. Weird though, I haven’t seen his name in the announcement of students placing.” Suki said.

She had a point. Katara never remembered seeing anything either. She also found it a bit strange Sokka never dragged his roommate to meet the rest of them. there was something about Zuko though that seemed familiar. It was on the tip of her tongue but nothing came to mind. Oh well, for another day then.

“Hey, let’s go find Sokka. Maybe if we catch him off guard, we can get him to agree to let us wax his legs.”

                                             __________________

“I hate you.” Sokka mumbled, hiking his cheerleading skirt up. Katara bit her lip to keep from laughing at the crop top he was in. apparently, he pissed off their department captain by telling him that Zuko wasn’t participating and Toph was taking his place, so his new uniform was worse than his last.

She tossed her braid behind her, trying not to think about how young she must have looked. She had her hair like this when she was younger since it was much easier to put it into a bun. Her own uniform was rather pink for her taste, but Ty Lee basically guilt tripped her into wearing it since it already been bought. She was still annoyed at this, even more so when she found out her new roommate was Mai. The dark and depressing girl was apparently in the Archery Department and Sokka, who’d been in that Department before transferring to fencing, said she was undefeated. Yet she didn’t get past the first round of preliminaries to get onto the national team.

“Hey Sokka!” Aang, a member of the Track and Field Department came bounding over, his own skirt floating around his legs. “Katara, you never told me how much fun a skirt can be. Took me a while to find boxers that weren’t too long but still.”

“I’m glad your having fun Aang. At least someone is.” She said, smirking at Sokka.

“You deal with 3 hours of having your hair ripped out and then come talk to me.” Sokka snapped. “Ugg, I’m gonna kill Zuko. This is all his fault.”

“Wow.” A familiar voice said. Zuko was in casual clothes, carrying a cooler. Next to him was a man, with a squarish face, the same gold eyes and dark hair as Zuko, though his hair was pulled back into a top knot. “See if I bring you anything ever again.”

“You know Jett will kill you if he sees you.”

“He can’t do anything. My uncle called to pull me out for the afternoon. This is work, we’re delivering ice tea for the Fencing and Track and Field Departments. Aang, next time, don’t put your order late at night.”

Aang looked embarrassed. “Sorry. You were already gone when I got back from training. I was going to order for the Rhythmic Gymnastics department, but I know how conscious your coach is about sugars and such.” He said, looking at Katara.

“It’s ok. I’m stealing one though, I deserve the extra sugar for being in this outfit.” She said, walking over to Zuko and opening the lid on the cooler. She noticed he was staring intently at her face.

“What elementary school did you go to?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Did you go to Ba Sing Se Preparatory?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“You screamed at those bullies.”

Bullies? Wait. It hit her like a thunderbolt, why he looked so familiar. His burn was a bit more faded but she couldn’t believe he forgot him. He’d been pushed out the window by bullies and her dad, would come to drop off lunch for her and Sokka, managed to catch him before he hurt himself and she’d screamed at the bullies from the floor.

“Holy crap. That was you!” Sokka said, “you had like no hair then!”

“Sokka!” he’d disappeared from class for a few weeks and when he came back his hair was cut so far back that it made his bandages stick out more.

“Yours was in a braid then.”

She was confused for a moment when she realised, he was talking to her. Yesterday her hair had been out but now it was in the same style she had it in as a child.

She’d always wondered what happened to him when Zuko suddenly disappeared for good one day. She’d didn’t think she’d find out now.

[writtenonreceipts]

How about 4. “I shouldn’t be this attracted to an elf” for rowaelin from the Christmas prompt list?

I had way too much fun with this.  I wrote it quick and sweet.

 #

Santa and his Helpers

Aelin Galathynius did not hate her job.  Quite the opposite in fact.  She taught high school English—mostly to the juniors and seniors—and it was one of the most rewarding things to experience.  Especially when a proclaimed despiser of Charlotte Bronte turned around by the end of the year having written a full-fledged essay about the merits of understanding Jane Eyre in all its complexity and over-zealous language.

The only thing that made the job even more worth while was the fact that she coached for the girls’ basketball team.

Unfortunately, it was basketball that partially made her life slightly miserable.

It was all thanks to one Rowan Whitethorn, the head coach for the boys’ team. To say that he and Aelin didn’t get along was putting it lightly.

The found every opportunity to fight.  When the boys took up too much time in the gym after their week for the early practice time slot or when the boys didn’t clean up enough after themselves.

It got especially worse when Whitethorn, who also worked as a history teacher in the school, attempted to say that there was no literary merit to the fantasy genre.

Aelin was going to stuff an unabridged copy of The Lord of the Rings down his throat and see how he like that.

Things did not improve as the sports season progressed.  Especially not when both the boys and girls were forced to have a holiday party together due to over booking at the Sports Center in down town Terrasen.

“It’s his fault,” Aelin grumbled to Lysandra.

Lysandra rolled her eyes and shoved a plate of cookies into Aelin’s hands. The one saving grace with the basketball season was having Lys as her assistant coach and the both of them could complain together about anything and everything.

“Please Aelin,” Lysandra said sipping at her hot chocolate.  

While the kids from both teams ran around the sports center choosing to play pick-up games of basketball, climb on a rock wall, or settle on video games—the two manned the treats table.  Mostly so Aelin could stuff her face with homemade goods the mothers had all provided.

“He’s an ass, I’m sure he did it on purpose,” Aelin insisted.

“Can we please stop this and have you just admit that you’re kind of attracted to him?” Lysandra asked.

Nearly choking on her cookie, Aelin shot a somewhat terrified look at her best friend. “Excuse me?”

“Well he’s obviously gorgeous,” Lysandra said casually.  “Even you can’t deny that.  Plus, there’s always been some sort of—”

“If you say sexual tension, I will call Aedion and tell him you’re pregnant,” Aeilin threatened.

Lysandra gasped, one hand going to her belly.  “You wouldn’t.  I have been planning revealing this thing for a week.”

“The day I say that Rowan Whitethorn is attractive is the day that you know I have lost my mind,” Aelin said.

Making a noise of disbelief, Lysandra left Aelin for a moment while she went to talk to some of the girls from the team.

Aelin shook her head.  The brunette had to be having some very, very, strange pregnancy hormones going on to think that Aelin would be attracted to Rowan Whitethorn.  He was arrogant.  A hard ass.  Never knew how to have fun.  It didn’t matter that yes; he was basically a god with a very nicely sculpted body. But that didn’t make up for anything else.

Eating another cookie to avoid more than a nod to a few of the parents, Aelin shook her head.  Rowan Whitethorn would certainly be the death of her.

“Ho, ho, ho!”

Aelin glanced up to the doors of the lobby as one Fenrys Moonbeam strut in decked out in a full Santa costume.  Beard askew and all.

All the boys let out whopping cheers and grabbed their phones.

“What is he doing?” Aelin asked one of the boys that she also had in one of her classes.

The boy, Ryan, grinned.  “Coach Whitethorn and Coach Moonbeam lost a bet on how many three-pointers they could sink in a minute.  The team got to pick the punishment.”

Aelin watched in slight horror, slight admiration, as Fenrys bounded around the front area exchanging punches and fist bumps with the boys on the basketball team and a few of the girls.  Fenrys was the favorite PE teach of the school.  Especially given his easy attitude and love of teaching.

“You look great Fenrys,” Aelin said as he approached her.

He grinned. “This thing is itchy as hell, but at least I got this and not what Rowan did.”

Aelin quirked a brow and was about to ask him what he meant when the man in question entered.

Dressed in a green coat and green leggings like something out of the movie Elf, Rowan Whitethorn sulked into the room.

The entirety of the boys’ team whooped and hollered.  Rowan waved a hand and shook his head.  Surprisingly, Aelin found, he was grinning.  Flat out, no shame, grinning.

“Looking great coach!” Ryan shouted.  

“I should hope so, Ryan this is your doing,” Rowan called back in response.

The entire thing was so entirely strange to Aelin that she could only stare as Rowan and Fenrys made rounds with the other players and their parents.

“Damn, he really does have a nice ass,” Lysandra said popping up beside Aelin again.

Aelin nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden appearance.  She really hoped Lys hadn’t noticed her blatant staring at Rowan, but with the way Lysandra was grinning, Aelin knew she was not going to experience a miracle that night.

“Seriously?” Aelin was about to give her friend a hard time when Rowan came over to the refreshment table, accepting a hot chocolate from Lysandra.

“Nicely done, Rowan,” Lysandra said.  She looked him over with appreciation. “Though you really should have found some pointy ears.

“The tights are bad enough,” Rowan said seriously.  “I’m gonna make Ryan pay for this.”

Aelin couldn’t help but laugh.  The man looked so ridiculous and outside of his comfort zone that she still couldn’t get over the fact that he’d actually dressed up.  Rowan shot her a scowl.

They glared at each other with such ferocity that Aelin wondered if one of them would spontaneously combust.  Then she decided to make the best of this situation and she broke into a feral grin.  Rowan frowned, just slightly.

“Whitehorn, who knew tights were such a good look for you,” she purred, immensely pleased when his cheeks reddened just barely.

“I see you didn’t have any trouble finding an ugly sweater this year, Galathynius,” Rowan replied gesturing to her sweater. It was a mess of tinsel and stitching and cats wearing sweaters themselves while decorating a tree.  She loved it.

“I plan on wearing it up until break starts,” she said.

Rowan surprised her once again by smirking—almost laughing with her over the idea.  Then Fenrys called him over to have a layup competition with a few of the girls and boys of the different teams.

Aelin didn’t even care if Lysandra saw her staring.

“I shouldn’t be this attracted to an elf,” Aelin finally admitted, much to her chagrin.

Lysandra howled in laughter and nearly fell into Aelin’s arms.

#

tags:  @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx  @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

[anonymous0writer]

you are in love | wonderland s.s

author: @anonymous0writer

wc: 2106

warnings: drinking (all characters are 18+)

a/n: this is the first of my wonderland series for s.s and i hope you like it

summary: for the last night of their senior year, the pack is determined to make senior night count and have no regrets. after a wave of bad news has delaney indulging in alcohol, prompting her to act on long held feelings for a dark-haired boy.

Sunken into the overstuffed fluff of a couch, Delaney Halstead threw her head back, swallowing the contents of the tiny bottle gripped in her lime-painted fingers in one determined swallow. The liquor burned down her throat, a rough but pleasant feeling; the girl always liked the hearty burn of vodka. Her chartreuse colored eyes fluttered closed, her mascara coated eyelashes resting against her pink flushed cheeks, relaxing into the feeling of the alcohol and the comfort of the couch enveloping her tall body. Her long, tan legs were tucked under her black, tight fitting dress clad body as her outrageously tall heels littered the hallway’s patterned carpet floor. Delaney nonchalantly wished for another small vial of vodka to be nestled in her tiny thrifted purse that she could finish off. There was not enough alcohol in her system for the girl’s liking; desperately wishing for the distraction of intoxication to forget the sting of Brett’s breakup speech. Delaney had known it would happen, the parting before she was off to DC and Brett stayed in Beacon Hills, but she didn’t anticipate the hurt when the cerulean eyed lacrosse player bid her goodbye. The girl also desperately wished for the bittersweet ache of having to say goodbye to Beacon Hill High School in the cavity of her chest to fade and let her graduate in peace, but it would not relent. The empire of honey-soaked memories and unforgettable experiences she built over the course of seven years flashed behind her closed green eyes. Graduation is a bitch, Delaney decided with a tipsy finger lift that in her half-drunk state, solidified her statement.

Scuffed, dirty white converse hit the patterned dark green carpet as they moved down the hallway, hesitant in their direction. Malia Tate stood in the darkened hallway leading away from the gymnasium where Senior Night was in full swing, her russet eyes searching for her tall, chartreuse eyed friend. Malia wandered down the long, barely lit hall, her thin fingers drumming against her side as she came across the beige, overstuffed couch and the girl hidden in its depths. She dropped next to her friend, her thin cobalt dress sliding up her tan legs as she settled next to a tipsy Delaney. At the feeling of the couch dipping under the weight of another person and the warmth radiating off them, Delaney cracked open her pale eyes in a suspicious glare. She groaned when she saw Malia’s familiar russet eyes and her soft smile that made her plump, pink glossed lips curve.

“Did you come with more vodka?” Delaney wonders, words low and dark brows raised in intoxicated expectation.

“Why are you hiding out on a couch?” Malia fired back, russet eyes calm and steady. Despite the comfort of Malia’s presence, Delaney could feel the rush of anguish over the fact she wouldn’t get to see the girl after the summer’s hot days ended.

“Answer my question.” Delaney demanded, brushing off Malia’s concern as she struggled to sit upright against the plush cushions.

“Answer mine first and you’ll get my vodka.”

“Fine.” Delaney heaved a sigh that rose her chest and brought Malia’s attention to her cleavage for the briefest second before latching back onto Delaney’s olive eyes. “Brett called it quits right before this stupid party.”

“Is that why you’re moping?”

Delaney gave her friend a glare and rolled her pale eyes, “No, I’m so very sad that I won’t get to spend every day of my sorry life with you.” Delaney’s heart gave a mournful tug at the truth in her sarcastic reply.

“Well, that too.” Malia mumbled before she stared hard at her dark-haired friend. “I’m sorry; about Brett.”

Delaney gave a rueful grin, her teeth shining in the dim light of the hallway as she reached forward and grabbed Malia’s hand and squeezed softly. “Thanks, Lia.”

“You can’t waste your Senior Night in the hallway, it’s our last night as a whole class.” A low and gravelly voice floated toward them, the owner stepping out of the pooled shadows of the hall and revealing himself.

“Leave it to Stiles to remind me of the horrible pain of graduation.” Delaney mumbled, her tone bitter as she checked out the boy for the first time that night. She’d arrived with Malia but as soon as she saw Brett and his pretty cerulean eyes, she shuffled away, claiming she needed the bathroom only to find the comfiest couch she’d ever laid in and drunk away the pain. Stiles was dressed casually, a tie loose around his neck and his hair slick with sweat and sticking straight up. A small, secretive smile tugged on Delaney’s lips before she could hide it. Stiles’s amber eyes met her own gaze and he gave her a small nod.

“There’s enough alcohol in the punch to knock you out,” He offered, his arms extended as his warm hands engulfed Delaney’s and helped lift her off the couch.

“Ah, my kind of party.” Delaney huffed, hands clutching Stiles’s upper arm for support as she teetered on her tall heels for a moment before righting herself, but she kept her arm linked with his.

“We still have the rest of the night to get through,” Malia wryly reminded her friend as the three moved back towards the gym’s entrance, ready to reenter the cavernous gym heavily decorated with streamers of maroon and silver and balloons lingering in the air like clouds. The lacquered gym floor was packed with dancing kids and the few idling near the tainted punch table. Delaney’s chartreuse eyes skipped over the crowd, spotting a tall, dark-haired Scott accompanied by an incredibly glamorous Lydia, her red curls pinned up and her fluttering dress spinning as she danced to the pulsing beat of the high-temp music blasting through the speakers.

Delaney grinned a wide, bright smile, and released Stiles to float away, walking backwards toward the mass of seniors dancing. Her laugh was silvery and melodic, making Stiles grin as the girl motioned for her friends to join her with a twitch of her lime-colored fingertips. Malia laughed and moved toward the dark-haired beauty before her, as if pulled by a magnetic force. Stiles supposed Delaney was the most magnetic person he’d met, and he was completely useless to stop her pull. Stiles’s shoes hit the ground as he joins Delaney and the rest of his friends, savoring the way Delaney’s freckled nose scrunches and her plump lips quirk into a sly grin as he joins her. Delaney tips her head back, eyes fluttering closed and the long column of her neck exposed as she releases a howl of excitement. She straightens and meets Stiles’s intense copper gaze, her eyes glazed with subtle intoxication and the freedom of losing yourself to a beat. At this moment, Delaney Halstead is the most invigorating and lovely person Stiles Stilinski has ever come across.

“Let’s party, shall we?”

Hours bled by, Delaney only familiar with the ground-shaking beat of the bass and the reedy tone of the singer’s voice and the mass of bodies moving with her in a strange unison like the beat of a heart. Her tall heels bounce against the lacquered gym floor as she moves with the music, her hips swaying and her expression one of uninterrupted joy. Delaney’s veins are alight with new alcohol and the high of knowing this is the last night with the people she’s grown up with. But exhaustion tugs at her hands, her feet barking as the sore ache creeps in and her body is slick with sweat.

Delaney pulls away from the heart of the dancing teens, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she regains her breath. Her throat begs for a drop of cold water, her feet throbbing in pain from hours of dancing on precarious heels. Despite the pain, Delaney supports a small smile and wanders lazily through the back doors of the gym, seeking the cool rush of night air. The night air soothes her skin, providing an instant rush of relief. Delaney gives a satisfied sigh, relaxing under the illuminated light of the moon hanging high in the waxen, deep black sky.

Other figures haunt the back of the gym, seeking solitude with the presence of another person or the cool air fluttering through the formerly boiling air. Delaney moves away from the exit, savoring the calm and stillness of the night and the peace from the strobing red and purple lights and the thrum of the music’s bass. A figure is shrouded in the pools of shadow from the towering school building behind them. Delaney moves closer, tentatively trying to pick out features and recognize the taller frame. Stiles’s sharp features blink back at her, his coffee colored eyes, sharp jaw and smooth complexion peppered with freckles.

“What are you doing out here, Stiles?”

The boy lifts a shoulder nonchalantly, dark eyes watching closely as Delaney moves closer, her shoulder brushing his as she settles next to him. Stiles observes his best friend as the moon light spills onto her skin, giving her an unearthly glow. Again, the dark-haired boy is struck by her beauty, finding himself admiring the silhouette of her delicately fierce features. A wry smirk fixates itself on Stiles’s thin lips, a soft huff of laughter falling from his mouth.

“I can’t hear my own thoughts in there.”

“Wow, have you ever gotten drunk?” Delaney teases, her tone light and breathless. “I bet you fucking hate that.”

Stiles gives a huff of laughter in response, allowing the night to blanket them. A beat of silence floats over the pair, both of the teens falling in comfortable silence as they search the night sky and savor the feeling of the cool breeze sliding over their sweaty skin. Delaney tilts her head up, tall, but not tall enough to reach Stiles’s gaze as she peers secretly up at him. The boy stares ahead, unaffected by the weight of her stare. Delaney, intoxication roiling in her gut, allows herself to finally appreciate the mahogany eyed boy standing next to her. The curve of his nose and the gentle plump of his lips enhanced by the pale glow of the waning moon. Delaney clears her throat softly, shaking the touch-starved thoughts creeping into her mind.

“I’m afraid,” Stiles says, voice hoarse but soft enough it doesn’t carry on the wind. Delaney waits for him to continue on, her pale eyes softly closing as she listens. “I don’t want to leave Beacon Hills. I don’t know anything else beyond California and that scares me. But I think missing this- all of it- scares me the most. You know? Like I’ve been waiting for graduation all my life and it couldn't come fast enough but now I’m just screaming for it to slow down.”

The words sink in, voicing the apprehensive thoughts Delaney’s been battling all night with the small bottles of vodka hidden in her purse. She gives a grand, reluctant sigh.

“I shouldn’t even be thinking about anything other than getting shit faced and being in the heat of the party. But I literally can’t stop thinking about how it’s gonna be when we’re gone. What gets me is that life will move on. And I’ll still be wishing I could go back.”

“Yeah. I’m scared of leaving this place and everyone. We fucking grew up together, all of us. And we're just leaving that?”

Delaney’s eyes flutter open and she watches Stiles talk, observing and admiring. Her lips part and she swallows the rising need to act on the feelings turning in her stomach.

“I’ll miss it. I don’t want to pack to break up. But I think-“

“Stiles.”

Delaney’s voice is a breathless whisper as she pulls the dark haired boy's attention to her and her wide, jade colored eyes that hypnotized him from the day they met. Stiles swallows thickly, eyes roaming over Delaney’s face as she moves closer. And then she’s tilting her face up toward him and Stiles is kissing her. Her taste fills his mouth, saccharine and tainted with alcohol. Delaney’s hands flattened against the plains of his dress shirt clad chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her smaller frame flush against his. Delaney’s warm hands slide up his chest lazily, circling around his neck and threading through his short hair. They pull away, breathless and mouths agape. Stiles stares, transfixed by her taste still lining his lips and her raw, genuine smile and the gleam of her chartreuse eyes.

“Stiles,” Delaney breathes again, chest aching for breath and lips still inches above his. “I’ll miss you.”