#‘they have no pockets and they’re cut too tight! not every pair of jeans has to be sexy!’

[the-zebra-dragon]

I have been begging. For years. To get me some boy pants. Because POCKETS. And for years. My parents have told me. ‘Absolutely not.’ Bc I’m not a boy. And now. All the pants. I got when I was 14. (I’m 24 if you’re keeping score) Are wearing out. And I have to buy children’s pants anyway. Because I’m short AF for 24. And I finally convinced my parents. To try the boys section. Because if I’m buying kids clothes I might as well get pockets out of it.

And my parents. Now agree. Boys pants. Fit me better. Than girl pants.

[iamthecomet]

Mushy May Day Three

Pre-Show Ritual Pairing: Swiss & Dew Rating: Teen Featuring: Swiss' pre-show ritual, featuring Dew. Word Count: 850+ Read below the cut, or on AO3.

Swiss learned pretty early on that even ghouls have their bouts of superstition. Small things they have to do before each show—in each city. Routines that refuse to be interrupted. It’s a piece of humanity that has sunk under all of their skin and made a home there.

Dew and Rain always disappear for twenty minutes—intent on finding the worst coffee in the city.

Mountain mediates.  The earth ghoul sitting cross legged on the floor of hundreds of dingy dressing rooms, feet bare. Uniform half-buttoned. His palms upturned on his knees as he breathes.

Aether and Cirrus stretch. Sunshine goes for a jog. Cumulus knits, knee bouncing with nerves as her fingers fly.  

Swiss?

Swiss smokes a cigarette.

He doesn’t smoke any other time. Not like Dew who picked up the habit from roadies years ago and never spots. Just one cigarette before every single show. He has the pack in his hand before he even pushes out of the venue doors. He’s alone, everyone else deep in their own rituals.  He passes the dressing rooms on his way out. Rain’s on the floor across from Mountain now, eyes closed, chest heaving with each measured breath.

Swiss shoves through the double doors and into the summer heat. He crosses the parking lot, making sure he’s the requisite distance away. He probably could get away with leaning right up against the building next to the no smoking sign. But it’s not worth the conversation he’ll have to have about it. He leans up against a stone fence instead.  The city is loud around him, people calling to each other, sirens wailing in the distance. The marquee on the venue flashes a kaleidoscope of colors. The openers' names, then Ghost flashing aggressively. Swiss pulls his eyes away.

He doesn’t like to think about the show until he’s on stage. Otherwise, he starts to feel nervous. Such a human feeling. Foreign to him, and yet intent on cuddling up in his stomach like an old friend. He shakes himself free of it.

He flips open his pack of cigarettes, and Dew appears like magic. He doesn’t come from the door Swiss did, but from around the corner of the building. Hands shoved into the front pocket of his well-worn black jeans—too tight for their own good. His face splits into a knowing smile and he crosses the parking lot toward Swiss with long strides.

Swiss fits a cigarette to his lips as Dew gets close. He doesn’t bother reaching for a lighter. There’s a crackle, the sharp smell of sulfur, and then Dew’s fingers are in front of his face, thumb and forefinger pressed together, a small flame flickering to life between them. Swiss inhales and swears he can taste the bite of hellfire beneath all the tobacco and chemicals.

Swiss used to smoke alone. But more and more often Dew’s been showing up as if summoned. And even though he has his own cigarettes—even though Swiss can smell the fresh smoke all over him—Dew plucks the cigarette from Swiss’ lips and takes a drag of his own.

Swiss watches him out of the corner of his eye, the end flaring in the fading daylight. He offers the cigarette back to Swiss, smoke curling from his nose and mouth in a slow stream. Dew looks up at the sky, brilliant blue despite the falling sun.

They don’t talk. They never do. Swiss has thought to ask Dew about it—why he goes so silent in these small moments before the show. Before they’re both let loose of their leashes and allowed to show a room full of thousands of people a glimpse of what they really are. Dew and Swiss are rarely quiet—especially not when put in a space together. They bounce off of each other with reckless abandon. But these five minutes always pass without a word.

The first time Dew had come out here, plucked the cigarette from Swiss’ fingers and put it in his mouth—Swiss had tried to think of things to say. But all the words felt stilted. Awkward in a way that didn’t make sense. Paltry to the way it felt to just stand shoulder to shoulder with each other and share a cigarette.

It’s an intimacy that Swiss can’t put a name to. He doesn’t really want to try. Thinking too much about this feeling building in his chest would probably kill the magic of it. They pass the cigarette back and forth, filling their lungs with the taste of smoke and each other.

Swiss always allows Dew the last drag. And they always smoke it down to the filter. Dragging it out for as long as possible.

Dew grinds it out on one of the stone fence posts when it’s done. Exhaling a stream of smoke as he gives Swiss a small nod of his head and turns away. Heading back the way he came, around the corner of the building to disappear into whatever ritual he does next.

Swiss watches until he disappears, then pushes away from the fence and goes back inside.

[salmonskinrolltf]

I am a 5'5 19 year old cuban guy, with a bit more body hair then I'd like. Can I roll the dice to make me more athletic and taller?

I have submitted your request to the Magic Die and you have rolled: 5

You submit your wish to the Tumblr account, and just a couple of hours later you’re washing dishes in your apartment when the plate you’re holding suddenly has a blue 5 embedded in the porcelain. You pump your fist, knowing that you’re going to get the transformation you wanted. You feel a tingling deep in your core and you open up Grindr, reaching out to that twunk you had been messaging. What he didn’t know was that your profile picture was photoshopped, showing a tall, muscular jock rather than your real short stature.

You ask him if he can come over and he responds, “Fuck yeah, hot stuff. It’s rare to find a jock these days that shaves his chest, I think body hair is so gross. I’m down, be there in 15.”

You look down at your torso, which you have already shaved for the occasion. You hate the feeling of body hair too, it’s always so itchy. You change into a pair of tight jeans and set yourself in front of your full-length mirror, then let the tingling sensation envelop you.

You feel a little light-headed as the floor recedes beneath your feet and your body stretches like taffy. You measure yourself with a tape measure you made sure to have handy, and learn you’re now 6 foot 2, the exact height that every liar on the dating apps has pretended to be. You smirk to yourself.

You can feel your skin getting tighter and tighter as your chest expands into a pair of perfectly sculpted pecs that make you feel like one of the models in the underwear aisle you used to scope out as a kid when you didn’t think anyone was looking. Your nipples thicken to two pepperoni-like discs with nipples that pop out obscenely. They’re going to show, no matter what shirt you put on. As if you’ll ever want to cover up again.

Your stomach suddenly contracts, like you’re sucking in your gut before heading out onto the beach. Only your belly doesn’t reappear when you let out a breath. Instead, your skin roils and a pair of tight abs appears, nearly swallowing your belly button. Your arms and legs begin to swell like a helium balloon, the calves and triceps stopping long before the biceps and quads do, making you look like a cartoon strongman. You can also see your shoulders and jaw squaring out to match the rest of your new athletic look.

Your doorbell rings and you answer, still shirtless, briefly noticing that a duffel bag with a soccer uniform is now shoved into the corner of your living room. The twunk, who was busy tapping on his phone, looks up and immediately shoves it into his pocket. “Yes, please.”

He leaps into your arms and you carry him over into the bedroom. You sit on the bed with his legs wrapped tight around you. He begins to rubs your abs and you close your eyes, moaning in pleasure. He runs his hands up to your chest and suddenly, he stops short. “Gross, man, I thought you said your pictures were current.”

You open your eyes and see disgust registering on his face. “What? They are, man. I’m not a catfisher.”

He points at your chest. “Well, THIS was definitely not in your photo.”

You look down to see short, sheared stubble dotting your entire chest in a profusion that you’ve never seen before. As you watch, the hair begins to sprout, first growing in straight lines like blades of grass, then curling as they get longer, getting caught in one another as they spread in a thick line down your torso and cover your abs, obscuring your cut stomach under a layer of fur. Hair also spreads down your arms and legs in a thick mat, and you can feel your pubic bush plumping up to twice its size within your pants.

“What the fuck? Shit. Well, give me five. I can fix this.” You rush into the bathroom and grab your electric body hair razor, shaving a tuft off your left pec, the taut flesh of which trembles slightly as you move your arm. The tuft falls into the sink and you grab a piece of toilet paper to wipe it away, but it vanishes into thin air. The bare patch on your pec sprouts hair in a violent frenzy, completely re-coating the area you shaved in thick, black hair. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Too late, you realize that rolling a 5 means you don’t get exactly EVERYTHING you asked for. This huge, hairy form is yours. Forever. You squirm and rub your chest, enjoying the feeling of your tight nipples and buxom pecs but failing to quell the itching.

You emerge into your bedroom. Apparently the cursing coming from the bathroom wasn’t exactly a turn-on and the twunk has already ditched you, leaving the front door hanging open.

You sigh, realizing you probably shouldn’t have relied on a magical die to make your Grindr dreams come true. But you decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth and head to the club, determined to find someone who WILL like the hair you’re stuck with, because everything else is fucking perfect.

[stop-saying-tootsie]

the ghosts and what they would wear if they were alive today!!!

*

robin

definitely into ripped up band shirts that he’s cut the sleeves off of

would have a denim jacket for when it’s cold

jeans, but buys one pair a year and cuts them up into shorts when it’s hot out

a pair of steel toed boots

generally just a huge diy guy

humphrey

would try to keep up with whatever the youth is wearing

a fan of brighter clothes in the summer

like button ups and stuff

generally sort of quieter but the button ups are important to him, they’re his bit of confidence (totally not projecting)

so older shirts like robin, followed up with a brighter hawaiian type shirt

also funky socks!!

when it’s colder out he definitely has a ton of sweaters

mary

i think she’d love a nice sundress

something simple but colorful

like i can see her loving a gentle blue dress

but she’d have dresses with pockets bc she’s cool

kitty

loves to dress like her friends honestly

doesn’t have too much of her own style but then again that IS her style

she also likes nice dresses, but it’s not unusual for her to be in a jumper like the captain or humphrey when it’s cold

she’s actually stolen quite a few of theirs and they don’t mind

thomas

oh god

dark academia wannabe

he tries to dress all fancy every day

but also he loves denim

finds robin’s cut up clothes atrocious

wears good shoes every single day

he would enjoy long sleeved button ups with sweater vests but everyone laughs at him

bc he looks like a child

fanny

old lady

jk jk but also like. not

she’d also wear dresses but not like mary’s, hers would be not quite so bright

cardigans probably

accessories galore!! she has so many rings and necklaces and stuff

the captain

very serious all the time

dresses like he’s got an office job

ties and button ups and khaki pants

tho he does throw a jumper over it when it’s cold (he owns cardigans too don’t argue w me)

also rolls the sleeves up a lot

casual wear?? what is that??

no bc on weekends he always has some project (dad™️)

so he wears heavy boots and shorts and old t shirts

but no one ever sees this so. cannot be confirmed (except pat)

pat

this guyyyyy

we know he wears funky jumpers

honestly dresses like a tourist a lot

he has a lot of just very cool polos and such

would love thrifting so he can keep an 80s dad style

wears tight shorts and is unashamed

has a big sun hat he wears when he gardens (totally not while the captain works on his projects)

julian

also always in a suit but only because he thinks it’s sexy

it’s not julian

his casual wear is very golfer-esque

bright shorts and polo shirts

it’s sorta funny but also suits him

[allwaswell16]

This is a fic rec of One Direction fic writers who both appreciate positive, long comments and enjoy replying back to these comments! This was made in honor of an enthusiastic friend who had a few bad experiences commenting in our fandom and receiving less than kind replies. Instead of just fuming about it, I decided to do something about it. I knew that most writers would absolutely love to receive comments like the ones she leaves, so I made a post asking for writers who fit this to recommend their fics to us. And wow did you all come through for us! 

Below the cut are 54 writers, each with one of their fics to recommend to us! But please be sure to check out all their other fics as well! I’ll put the fics in order of wordcount and I’ll list pairing, rating, and wordcount along with the summaries. 

(Please note that there are really lovely writers out there who also very much appreciate each and every one of their comments, but are too overwhelmed or anxious to reply. I am not at all saying that writers who don’t reply are unappreciative!)

Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse​ / writing_practice [Louis/Harry, E, 162k]

“Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?”

-----

Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.

When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

Hold You Now by @solvetheminourdreams​ [Louis/Harry, M, 131k]

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.

Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

forever is in your eyes by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ / we_are_the_same [Louis/Harry, M, 125k]

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.

don’t want to fight you by @lt2soon​ / starryharry [Louis/Harry, M, 124k]

Louis hates that it’s familiar. He hates that sparring Harry is familiar because they train together. He hates that he even has to spar Harry at all, because Harry is good.

Louis wonders what his life would be like if him and Harry didn’t hate each other. He can’t picture it, really. The incessant bickering that often turns into real arguing, the nasty looks, the eye rolls, the middle fingers. It all feels very necessary at this point.

Or, the one where two fighters can also be lovers because routines are never permanent.

Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo [Louis/Harry, E, 114k]

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

promise your whispers are mine by @lightwoodsmagic​ / lightswoodmagic [Louis/Harry, E, 94k]

"Where did I say it’s been easy for you, or,” he paused, staring at Harry’s lowered head and willing him to look up, “where have you ever gotten the idea that it’s been easy for me either?” When a few beats had passed and Louis was sure the conversation was done, Harry looked up, straight into Louis’ eyes like he was trying to physically pin him in place. “Our situations are completely different and you know it, please stop trying to - .” “Then let me help you fix it, Harry,” Louis interrupted, desperate to reach out and cover his hand with one of his own. “Let me help, please.”

Harry’s the head chef at Azoff’s Catering, and he loves his job; the opportunity has always been more than he could dream of and he’s proud of the food he creates. Until he meets Louis, an event coordinator rising through the ranks with his own company, and who reminds him of the dreams he once had for his own career. While their easy friendship initially thrives in an industry known for chaos and betrayal, they soon discover they both have their secrets, and maybe it’s too late for either of them to try to find happiness outside of their work. Especially when they realise that their happiness might rely on each other.

Playin’ It Safe and Breakin’ The Rules by @local-troubled-writer​ / local_troubled _writer [Louis/Harry, M, 90k]

In his life, Louis Tomlinson set out to do three things: find a way to make art that he loves, make his mum proud, and have as much fun as he could reasonably fit into one lifetime.

--

“Hello?” Harry’s deep voice calls.

“Hi,” Louis pops his head out of his doorway, motioning Harry back. “Louis,” he holds his hand out for Harry to shake and a small grin takes over the popstar’s face. He’s taller than he seems in photographs, but his smile is just the same as the ones that used to wallpaper his sisters’ walls.

“Harry.” He seems to have just gotten off stage, still sweating in a pair of skin-tight black jeans but a soft-looking blue vest. A beige headscarf holds his long curls off his face and he has all the easy confidence of a world-famous pop sensation, but still slouches in a way that isn't unfamiliar to Louis’ own posture.

“Yeah, I know who you are, popstar.” Louis teases, pulling his hand away and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

--

or the One Where Maybe this Fake Relationship Gets a Little Too Real.

Consequences by @allwaswell16​ [Louis/Harry, E, 78k]

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

The Sound The Leaves Make In The Heat Of The August Sun by @sleepwalk-living / anderscones [Louis/Harry, T, 76k]

Louis is an elf who lives in the Kingdom’s forest, as far away from the pompous Castle Court as he can get while staying within city limits. He’s a thief out of necessity and is happy enough to steal from the rich when they’re not looking. He notices something mysteriously dangerous happening in his forest one morning and begs for an investigation from the Court, who of course tells him he’s seeing things.

Intro a shamed knight, a runaway prince, a blacksmith, and a mage with fae blood who figure something is better than nothing. The King is all too happy to make criminals out of them and run them thinner than they already are just to prove a point to his son. With the combined powers of Captain Pla- One Direction, they figure it out.

adjudication by @bottomlinsons​ [Louis/Harry, T, 75k]

Harry's been engaged to Princess Charlotte of Ryde for as long as he can remember. He's come to know her, to love her, through the letters she's sent him over the past three years.

But when the wedding finally arrives, Harry quickly learns that nothing is as it seems. With his crown and country at stake, Harry must decide who to trust in this strange new land. And the sly Crown Prince of Ryde doesn't seem inclined to make things easy.

The Ground Below is Above My Feet by @zanniscaramouche​ / zanni_scaramouche [Louis/Harry, E, 63k]

“-ouis, are you awake?”

“M’ff,” Louis manages. Slowly he remembers where he is. Who he is. His nerve endings take stock of his body, the soft sheets twisted around his legs and the warm rush of breath on his face. Harry.

“You were sleeping like the dead,” Harry muses, calloused fingers delicately brushing through Louis’ fringe. “Could barely tell if you were breathing.”

Louis' heart stutters, his throat working hard to swallow the lump of ugly truth. Blinks until Harry’s bright eyes come into focus across the pillow.

He holds back the obvious joke.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody by @vintageumbroshirt​ / 28sunflowers [Harry/Louis, E, 58k]

After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of.

Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening.

But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

Live a Thousand Lifetimes by @laynefaire​ / Layne Faire [Zayn/Liam, E, 57k]

It’s 2025.

After secretly writing and producing their first album in ten years, One Direction is weeks away from releasing their first new single and announcing a world tour.

With the whirlwind about to begin again, Liam re-evaluates the last ten years - the fame, the money, the people who changed his life forever - and the person who walked away.

just a flicker in the dark by @falsegoodnight​ [Harry/Louis, E, 57k]

Harry Styles is his case partner. High and mighty, annoyingly smug Harry Styles who’s known him for years and has fucking seen him naked for fuck’s sake.

He glances at Venus who’s blinking up at him with curious eyes, no doubt sensing the agitation sparking in his magic.

“This is not happening,” Louis says loudly. “This is not fucking happening. I am going to kill Liam, oh my god.” He doesn’t even know if Liam is responsible for this but it feels like something he’d do to drive Louis absolutely insane - exes don’t just show up to your assigned haunted house out of nowhere. “Fucking fuck!”

He nearly jumps when Harry knocks again, his muffled voice carrying through the wood. “I can hear you, you know,” he drawls, sounding frustratingly amused.

Louis exhales, resisting the urge to scream.

-

Or, Louis is a struggling witch desperate to prove himself after yet another magic disaster and finds a calling in the haunted house of client Niall Horan. Things get more complicated when he’s assigned a case partner: acclaimed medium and ex-boyfriend, Harry Styles.

I'm On the Hunt Now (I'm After You) by @afangirlfantasy​ [Louis/Harry, M, 56k]

Omegas haven’t been able to shift into their wolves for two hundred years. That is, until Louis Tomlinson changes everything.

Or...an AU where Alpha Harry and Omega Louis have a lot more than falling in love to deal with after The Mating Ceremony.

That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright​ / yeah_alright [Louis/Harry, T, 50k]

Harry’s never noticed how lovely Louis really is. Maybe it’s just that she’s usually so guarded – a little tense, a little irritated, a little put out. At least when she’s at school, and also usually when she’s around Nick, which are the only times Harry has really seen her. Until tonight. Tonight Harry’s seen her with her guard completely down. Too busy laughing and enjoying herself to remember to be prickly, maybe. She seems different.

It feels different.

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

Baby, Won’t You Look My Way? by @peachbootylouis​ / PeachBootyLou [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

Louis tiptoed to the door and opened it, looking over his shoulder for a moment. Harry looked absolutely gorgeous, almost enough to make him strip back down and give it another go. But that wasn’t who Louis was. So he sighed and stepped outside, leaving back to his flat. And for the first time in years, he felt alive.

Or the where Louis’ routine centered life runs like clockwork until a chance hook up throws a wrench named Harry into it all. But as it may turn out a change in plans could be what Louis has needed all along.

dirty laundry looks good on you by @tomlinvelvetfics​ / tomlinvelvet [Louis/Harry, E, 50k]

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.

Passing By by @larryyouknow​ / Larry_you_know [Louis/Harry, E, 48k]

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.

i kiss you (across hundreds of separating years) by @milkcurls / loveroflou [Louis/Harry, M, 44k]

He reminds Louis of the day he met him, the first day of Harry’s first year and Louis’ second, when he stood on wobbly legs beside Zayn, his cheeks flushed and hair parted to the side and tucked neatly behind his ear. He’s all dainty and soft – he’s pretty, Louis can admit that.

He’s also a rich frat boy who fucks every omega that will throw themselves at him – and they all do – so instead of pretending to be a precious little doll Louis thinks he should spend more time learning how to be a decent human being.

or, the stars and two amused boys are playing cupid, and there are one too many coded love letters and a duck plushie that smells like home

don’t want no other shade of blue by @louisisworthit​ / padfootyoudog [Louis/Harry, E, 43k]

“I know you’re putting on an act,” says Harry after a moment, and Louis scowls when he realises the prince is actually amused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Louis.

“All I’ve heard over the past couple of years are rumours of Prince Louis’ kindness, and generosity, and oh, he’s so handsome I can barely pour his tea without shaking!” says Harry, putting on a silly, high-pitched voice for the last bit. Louis’ scowl deepens. “I would already know if you were just another selfish, bratty omega prince. You can’t fool me, darling, but I admire your efforts.”

“As you said,” Louis grits out, “those are only rumours. I assure you, I’m a terrible person.”

prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

A Thousand More by @travelingwinchester​ / Ot5aresoulmates [Louis/Harry, NR, 42k]

Harry wakes up one morning during the separation of April 2015 missing Louis fiercely. He wonders if they had never been on the X-Factor would they have met. Cue the weirdest "dream" he's ever had in which lessons about the course of true love are learned.

fondre ton absence by @scrunchyharry​ [Louis/Harry, T, 41k]

Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him.

It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life.

When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died.

Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in.

He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

I’ve Been Hoping You’d Be Somewhere Better Than This by @runaway-train-works / runaway _train [Harry/Louis, E, 40k]

“Does she know who it is then, from the New York office?” Louis enquires.

“Yeah, some guy Henry? Henry Styles I think she said?"

“Harry.”

“What?"

“Harry. His name is Harry Styles.” His heart sank. Louis hadn’t met him, they had only shared a couple of emails back and forth, but he knew exactly who he was. And Harry hadn’t just been killing it in the Big Apple, he’s been ripping the place to absolute shreds, nailing some of the most lucrative accounts in the business.

Louis is so fucked.

Or

The one where Louis is up for a promotion, he just has one tiny, little problem standing in his way.

Without you it’s a season I ain’t needing by @whatevertearsyou​​ / perfectdagger [Louis/Harry, M, 38k]

Spring was everything in '17, now I'm just cold Summer fell to fall after all November froze Without you it's a season I ain't needing, I want to go come back home The reds and all the greens don't mean a thing when you're gone Winter means nothing to me now without you.

A long distance relationship au in which Harry is away for a year and Louis is left to pick up the pieces.

take my hand, wreck my plans by @daggerandrose​ / amomentoflove [Harry/Louis, T, 38k,]

Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him.

“Mr. H,” he whispers.

The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.”

“Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…”

“Dance?”

Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.”

Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.”

Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

I Wish, I Found Love by @slytherinzouis​ / friendofhayley [Louis/Harry, E, 37k]

A fandom retelling of the Maiden Without Hands.

Solace is a land of religious hypocrisy, demons, and two ostracized families. When prophets from every denomination foretell a boy of unknown origin who might change the tide of the magical world, is any place safe for him?

Harry and Louis grew up together, two pariahs among their peers. Will their love be able to overcome distance, prophecies, and the trials of finding out who you truly become under pressure?

You Try To Be Everything (I Need) by @lululawrence​ [Harry/Louis, NR, 36k]

Wars, and rumours of wars, were nothing new for the world in the twenty-fourth century. The fighting had evolved over the years, and rarely did it involve traditional weapons. A group most widely known as the Southern Powers gained strength amongst portions of the western European continent and spread quickly.

There was a fight the Southern Powers didn’t expect coming from the north of England, though. Resistance came in the form of an organised underground; a group comprised of people with the Touch that did the best they could to enforce a line that would not be crossed. Slowly, that line was moved from the Channel to boundaries further and further north. It seemed only a matter of time before the Southern Powers took over everywhere.

Until that time, people did the best they could to live their lives in some semblance of normality. For Louis Tomlinson, that sense of normality was about to change when his best friend, Harry Styles, goes missing.

Louis embarks on the journey of a lifetime where he uses his newly developed abilities to search for his friend, even when it takes him to places he never thought he would see while surmounting trials he never could have imagined.

Your Wonder Under Summer Skies by @emilee1421​ / Emilee_1421 [Louis/Harry, NR, 34+, wip]

Needing an escape after a particularly hectic year, Louis decides to join Harry in Italy where Harry is working on his next Gucci campaign. While in Italy the two decide to join an old friend at her county home to enjoy a much deserved break from their usually busy lives. Louis and Harry begin to see their friend in a different light and all three are forced to confront the possibility that their friendship may actually be something much deeper.

Work of Magic by @justalarryblog​ / Bekita [Louis/Harry, NR, 34k]

"C’mon Liam, are you really going to use this against me now? You know the kind of humans his kind is! You know very well why we hunt them!" Louis said, done with the conversation and walking down the hall.

"No! We hunt people who don’t care about others, and neither Harry nor anyone in his family is like that!” Liam exasperated, following behind. “Louis, it's been two weeks, don’t you wanna know how Harry is? Has this hatred taken over so fast?" Liam inquired, knowing the hit a nerve.

"You know what, Liam? I'm not going to have this conversation with you." Louis said decisively, turning his back to his friend ready to go to his class.

But life is never fair, is it? When he turned around he was face to face with Harry in the middle of the hallway. The two stared at each other. Do I hate him? Louis wondered as he watched Harry's eyes fill with tears and seem to be begging for something. He preferred to ignore the pang in his chest and the urge to comfort the boy in front of him. He lowered his head and continued on his way.

Or the one that Louis is a WitchHunter and Harry is a Witch and they keep it as a secret, but they fall in love.

Swear I’ve Known You Since Forever by @louinlavender​ / abaddxns [Louis/Harry, T, 33k]

Harry then pats around his trouser pockets only to remember that Gemma has his phone in her bag so he can’t even call her, and he’s far too intimidated to ask a stranger if he can borrow theirs. She has his wallet, too, so all he has on his person are the stick of gum in his back pocket and his muddy wellies and a too-long scarf he’s ready to ball up and throw the ground, because he’s only sixteen and he’s just a shopboy in a bakery and he’s about to cry twenty minutes into his first music festival that he had to beg to attend, all because he lost his big sister and her uni friends, who didn’t even want him to come in the first place, and—

“Oi, y’alright, mate?” a bright voice asks, just as his eyes start to water.

Or: Harry attends his first music festival and promptly gets lost. Little does he know that the first friendly face he encounters is bound to change his life forever.

Part one of three of 'And The Sun Came Out'—a series detailing the growth of Harry and Louis' relationship through the years after meeting at Leeds Fest as teenagers.

i’m gonna keep this love, if you let me by @tomlinbuns​​ / pixies [Louis/Harry, E, 26k]

Louis makes Harry pretend to be his boyfriend one night out. The rest is history.

Dear Diary (series) by @alwayslarry-vol28​ / kikiberosski16 [Louis/Harry, E, 20k]

Life in quarantine is hard, especially if you're an arrogant son of a bitch and your husband is a stubborn little shit. Harry and Louis argue a lot, so much it affects their daily routines. Harry tries to write his feelings down in a diary, but will this cause more trouble for the couple?

The Golden Prince by @behappyhl​ [Harry/Louis, E, 19k]

When He arrives in London, he’s speechless.

It’s so different from his little hometown, he can’t help the feeling that it is an unknown planet. Everything is bigger; The streets, the buildings, the stores. The people are always running somewhere, always in a hurry. Harry instantly feels out of place.

Or, Harry lives a perfectly normal life until he gets a life changing job opportunity.

The Boy with the Tin Chest and a Glass Heart by @louloubabys1992​​ / louloubaby92 [Louis/Harry, M, 17k]

Alpha Harry Styles, world-renowned author of fairy-tales, is being persuaded by the Beta, Liam Payne to hire a new illustrator. Since Harry’s own illustrations are too graphic for what is supposed to be children’s stories, Liam feels the need is dire. Omega Louis does not agree with Liam since he believes that Harry’s stories are fine just the way they are. Of course this has nothing to do with Louis being totally biased or totally head over heels for Harry. It certainly has nothing to do with being jealous of the mysterious omega illustrator Liam has in mind to team Harry up with. Seriously, it has nothing to do with that at all. Nothing, absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. Yeah...

Sweet Heart by @bluecolouredlou​ [Niall/Louis, G, 16k]

Designing clothes, not falling in love.

That was what Niall had in mind when he first met up with Louis. He couldn't be falling in love with the other omega. Not while work as one of the few omegas at the company was getting more stressful. Not when he was supposed to find an alpha and settle down.

just one look (and i fell so hard) by @disgruntledkittenface​ [Harry/Louis, M, 15k]

Louis takes a small step back, breaking the moment first. “Well, I should–”

“Do you want to come up?”

The words are out of Harry’s mouth before he’d even planned them, and he bites his lip.  

“Oh, thank god,” Louis laughs, stepping back into Harry’s space. “I wasn’t, um…”

“Wasn’t ready to let go of you yet,” Harry finishes quietly, glancing up at Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, reaching up and twirling one of Harry’s curls in his fingers. “Yeah, exactly.”

Harry has wanted to go to the Shubert Theatre ever since he moved to New York and lucked into a rent-controlled apartment just outside of the Theatre District. When he finally gets his chance, he hopes the night can meet his sky-high expectations. But the last thing he could have expected was the man seated next to him.

wasting my time when it was always you by @hometothecanyonmoon​ / sunflower_lwt [Harry/Louis, T, 15k+, wip]

A "Married To The Maverick Millionaire" AU. Louis is the captain of Manchester United, Harry's the heir of the richest charity organization in the country as well as his best friend and they have to fake being married to save both of them from impending doom.

Sounds like love to me by @neondiamond​ [Louis/Harry, G, 14k]

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Louis watches as Harry’s face falls with the realization that this is one of those things he won’t be able to experience. For a second, Louis considers saying no, to show Harry they’re truly on the same boat through all of this. But he nods in the end, reaching over for Harry’s hand as the doctor flips a switch. Noise fills the room then, and it takes a few seconds for the sound to become clear enough for Louis to make out the baby’s fast heartbeat.

“It’s really fast,” he voices his thoughts out loud as he uses his thumb to tap against the back of Harry’s hand, replicating the rapid rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat. It takes the younger man a little while to figure out what Louis’ doing, but a huge grin breaks out on his face as soon as he does.

“Is that them?” He signs with the other hand, his own eyes starting to tear up when Louis nods.

OR: Harry is deaf, Louis is pregnant. They figure it out.

The Prince and the Youtuber by @haztobegood​ [Louis/Harry, E, 12k]

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

One Way Road To Something Better by @femstyles​ [Harry/Louis, T, 12k]

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

stop the world ('cause i wanna get off with you) by @thedevilinmybrain​ / devilinmybrain [Harry/Louis, E, 12k]

Five times Louis and Harry get walked in on at the worst time, and one time Louis makes sure they don't.

my solitude ain’t the same no more by @dryourtearsaway​​ / louisnights [Harry/Louis, M, 10k]

Louis is a traveling homicide detective who goes to the small town of Holmes Chapel to investigate the murder of a young woman.

somewhere only we know by @quelsentiment​ / wordsnnotes [Zayn/Louis, T, 9k]

Their eyes meet again, and the man suddenly frowns, asking: “Do we know each other?” Oh. So maybe that’s why Zayn is so intrigued with him. He’s always been pretty bad at remembering people’s faces, but there is some kind of vague familiarity to the man’s appearance. “Might help if you told me your name”, he points out. “Right. Sorry, I’m an idiot”, the man chuckles. “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” And of course. With this voice, Zayn should have known. He’s actually surprised he didn’t recognize it right away. “Lou”, he says, his own voice caught in his throat. “It’s me, Zayn.” Or: Zayn and Louis grew up together, but haven’t seen each other in over a decade. Now they're both in their twenties and meet again on a flight from LA to London, with ten hours in front of them to catch up, and maybe start something new.

I'm Asking You Please, Don't Talk Dirty to Me by @larry-hiatus​ / larry_hiatus [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

Prompt #68: Harry’s best friend Louis is a nice, well-mannered omega, at least when it comes to sex talk. He has always been closed off and quiet... until Harry hears how Louis talks during his heat. Now, it's all Harry can think about before his upcoming rut... (Original prompt wording edited for clarity)

making me sweat by honey_beeing [Harry/Louis, E, 9k]

A not-exactly University AU where Harry and Louis meet at an orgy where the both of them don't intend to have sex at.

Twist the Knife by @snowjosh​ / jishler [Harry/Louis, E, 6k]

Infuriating, but Louis missed it. Louis missed him. His thighs and his chest and breath and warmth and toothbrush next to Louis’. He missed sex with Harry but he missed his presence more: Louis would settle for watching Harry get himself off if it meant he got to see him; hear the voice that was like a soothing balm over all his wounds.

Two weeks after their breakup, Harry wants his toys back.

the stars are coming home by @harrystinyshorts​ / lsforever [Harry/Louis, G, 5k]

For years Harry has been waiting for their schedules to click just right. Finding a day where he’ll not only be available but also is the only visitor on the premises has been near impossible.

After three years together and nearly a full year of marriage, Harry has finally been permitted to sit in for one of the team’s practices. They get more than they bargained for.

My True Love Gave to Me by @ponymom-stuff​ / ponymom [Louis/Harry, NR, 5k]

After puzzling over a Christmas gift for Louis, Harry comes to what he believes is the ultimate gift for his true love.

Fistiana by @louandhazaf​ / YesIsAWorld [Zayn/Louis, NR, 2k]

They met in the center of the ring and bumped their bare knuckles together.

Strawberries and Cigarettes by @hlhome28​ / ThoseFookin_Avacados [Louis/Harry, T, 2k]

strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you

"Need help there, love?" "Oh god, yes-" Harry turned around to look at the source of the voice and his heart dropped to his stomach as they caught each other's eyes.

Or on a very lonely valentines day, Harry's car breaks down in an unknown alleyway, where he bumps into a blue-eyed boy who takes him back seven years ago on the same day.

Safe Like Springtime by @beelou​​ / cherrylarry [Louis/Harry, G, 1k]

On the way out of the park, Gabriel gasps suddenly and points across the grassy area. He starts running.

When Harry catches up to Gabe, - that boy runs fast - he's with a man and his dog and Gabe is petting the dog.

"Gabriel James. You know better than to run off like that! Did you ask to pet the dog?" Harry scolds.

"I'm sorry Uncle Harry. I saw a dog and I just wanted to see the fluffy dog! Look how fluffy!" Gabe exclaims.

Harry rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the dog owner. The very attractive dog owner.

Or, the one where Harry takes his nephew to the park and runs into Louis and his Labradoodle Clifford.

best hangover cure by @loulovehome​ [Louis/Harry, E, 1k]

"A wank will miraculously cure your hangover, honey."

Stay Till The A.M. by @flexible-racoon​​ / goneforbooks [Harry/Louis, G, 1k]

It's 23rd July and Louis reminisces.

[keeper0fthestars]

midnight cravings and other starry-eyed confessions

Frankie Morales x f!reader

summary: Frankie trusts you enough to let his guard down, to be vulnerable with you. Love languages and the messy emotions that go along with that, fluff, cheesy self-indulgence. this started out as a series of soft h/c and I have no idea what happened.  3K words later, here we are. A few of you have touched on domestic Frankie in the kitchen and it turns out i'm a sucker for the ‘slow dancing in the kitchen’ trope too. 

warnings: mentions of anxiety/PTSD, a tiny bit of smut 

~~ 

Francisco Morales is a man who notices everything. He tucks a blanket around you when you've fallen asleep on the couch. If you're outside together and if he sees goosebumps on your arms, he’ll drape his jacket around your shoulders before you even realize you're cold.

He notices when you're exhausted after a long day and he’ll be there to wrap his arms around you as if it’s what he’s been waiting for all day long. He makes you laugh when you need it most.

He notices when you're too tired to shower sometimes and he says, ‘babe, let me help you,’ and he gets in the shower with you and if you want him to, he'll wash your hair because he knows how. 

His tendency to do little things for you plays into one of his love languages. He notices when the fuel gauge on your car is low and he'll fill it up for you without saying anything. Not that you can't do it yourself, he knows you can, but the next time you get into your car, you'll try unsuccessfully to hide your smile when you discover he did it for you.

Frankie is a man who finds comfort in your nearness. 

If he finds you in the kitchen making coffee, two broad arms will wrap around you from behind. If he’s walking through a crowd with you, his hand will rest on the small of your back. If he's sitting beside you at a restaurant, if you're in the car with him, anywhere within arms reach, soft fingertips rest on the inside of your knee, his thumb moving back and forth. In the mornings, there are warm lips on your shoulder and ‘c’ mere baby’ as he folds you closer to that sleepy thick voice.

He'll drive across town on his day off to bring your favourite treat at work because he knows you have a stressful day ahead. 

If he's away for the week, he’ll stash away little notes for you to find. He'll surprise you with tickets to see your favourite singer.  When you’re under the weather, he'll show up on your doorstep after work with hot soup and honey ginger tea.  

He also knows he can count on you. 

It’s getting a single text at the end of the day with the words ‘I need you’  

It's the brittle sound of his voice against your neck in the middle of the night. You hold him and talk him down and fight his demons with him when it becomes too hard to do on his own. You never force him to talk about it. When he's ready, he'll tell you and right now, the way his fingers are absently tracing patterns on your bare arm tells you that his guard is down, in the darkness he trusts you. 

He’s getting used to the safety of your arms. He's slowly getting used to the way you pay attention; the way you listen, and actually hear what he's saying. He notices you're not just lying there, waiting to jump in and interrupt the moment he stumbles and falters. He's glad you can't see his eyes right now in the darkness of your bedroom, but at least his voice no longer shakes.

You've made a safe space for him inside your arms and underneath the blankets, he confides in you. He tells you that his neighbours think he’s lazy because he lets his front yard grow out of control when in reality, the smell of fresh-cut grass triggers his PTSD and that’s why he doesn't use the lawnmower as often as he should.

Two days later, he would come home from work to find it all done for him and it sends his heart reeling so hard he thinks he might collapse right there on the driveway.

No one's done anything like this for him before. The fact that you’d done that for him. The fact that you did that. For him.

You’ve just piled a week’s worth of freshly laundered clothes into a basket to be folded when there’s a knock on your door. Resting the basket on one hip, you swing the door open and see him standing there, still dressed in work clothes, sleeves rolled up, and hands in his pockets. He lifts the brim of his hat to reveal a pair of piercing eyes brimming with some desperate emotion you have no name for, his mouth parted slightly, chest caving in like the wind’s been knocked out of him. 

“Francisc-,” is all you manage before he wordlessly barrels in, capturing your waist in one arm so fast your stomach lurches. His other hand gently curves around the back of your neck, his thumb on your jaw, tenderly seizing your lips in a blinding kiss, smothering you, engulfing you with those broad shoulders. The basket of clothes tumbles to the tile floor in your tiny foyer, forgotten. Warm hands cover the expanse of your back as he holds onto you, your spine bending with the force of him. You hear his hat softly hit the floor as he inhales shakily against your neck like his throat is clogged.

Judging by how hard he’s struggling to control his breathing, you might be able to guess why he hasn’t let go of you yet. Melting into his embrace, you breathe him in, combing your fingers through his tousled hair. You smile against the swell of emotion stinging behind your eyelids. Struggling with a hitch in your own throat, your voice shrinks to nothing but a hoarse whisper, "you never have to do it again, okay."

“Thank you,” he manages in a watery voice, pushing his face into the bottom of your neck. Words fail him but not because he can't talk about his feelings, but because words are too simple to express the depth of emotion he has for you. When you're inside his arms, cradled against his chest, with his lips against your temple, you hear all the things he doesn't say out loud. 

**

His love language is handing you a bowl with two scoops of ice cream when you’d only asked for one. He rolls his eyes and kisses the corner of your mouth, ‘you never only want one’

It's tickle fights and sappy old movies and saving all the red m&m’s for you because those are your favourite. 

He's the man all your friends wish they had.

He's also the man that will casually rest his hand on your thigh under Santiago's crowded dinner table and secretly start tracing letters on your jeans, slowly spelling out what he wants to do to you afterwards. He is enjoying the fact that you're too distracted to finish eating now, and if you so much as look at him, he’ll stop. 

His love language is being in the kitchen late at night, dancing to an old playlist, your soft curves fitted into his solid frame. One of you had a craving for cookies and someone left them in the oven a bit too long and now they're a little too brown. But it’s not his fault that Andy Kim started singing from the tiny speaker on the table and Frankie needed every inch of you pressed against him and it still wasn’t enough. 

Maybe his jaw accidentally, on purpose, brushed the spot at the bottom of your neck that made goosebumps shiver down your arms. Maybe his mouth lingered on the skin behind your ear and trailed up across your cheekbone, nudging your face upward, his breath mingling with yours.

Maybe his mouth still tasted like the sweet ache of your first orgasm from earlier that evening when you’d left Santiago's place and Frankie couldn't unlock the door of his truck fast enough to nudge you back across the seat, his eyes all dark and hungry like he'd had this on his mind all day. And maybe he did. Maybe he'd parked here at the far end of the block on purpose knowing this dead-end would be dark and quiet at this time of night. His door swung wide, he’d stood between your legs on the broken pavement, using two fingers and a thumb to loosen the button on your jeans, a gruff edge to his voice, 'Lay down for me, baby.’

His mouth was slow and lazy but his hands were greedy, tugging your jeans down just to your knees, trapping your legs together and lifting them, bending his head underneath your knees, leaving just enough space between your legs for his mouth. 

When you finally do make it to his place, maybe you end up on the couch straddling his lap. 

The only thing better than the slide of your tongue in his mouth is the sweet stretch of you around his cock. He’s fairly certain nothing will ever exist beyond the flare in your eyes when he twitches inside you and he feels every snug inch of you clench tight and wet.  

‘...so fucking good for me’

You are unable to move beneath the solid weight of his hands on your hips, his grip on your supple thighs, where they press and dig and tease. He likes it when your fingers are lost in his overgrown curls. 

Something deep in his stomach blazes white and hot when you tell him how fucking good he makes you feel. Seated as deep as he can go, he rocks, fucking into you that much further, giving you the friction you need. He likes to bunch the thin fabric of your t-shirt in one fist, yanking it just high enough so he can see how hard your nipples are. 

He wants to chase the deafening arousal in his stomach when you beg him to ‘just please fuck you already.’ 

He grins, his breath hot, his voice like gravel right above your ear, 'gimme one more first'  

The sound of your muffled whimper against his mouth nearly sends him over the edge so he slips his thumb down, circling once, twice.  Your sharp gasp pulls all the air out of his mouth. He likes the sight of you falling apart; he doesn't even wait for you to come down this time because his favourite thing to do is fuck you through it. One solid hand anchoring your hip firmly in place, the other arm caged across your back, gripping the top of your shoulder for leverage, he finally gives you what you want. 

Eventually, you make it to the bed; his bare legs tangled with yours, his ear resting on your chest. The soothing echo of your heartbeat combined with your fingers sifting through his hair soothes every frayed edge inside his mind. 

He wants your scent in his bed forever. He wants to come home from work to see your car in his driveway; he wants your toothbrush next to his, he wants to go grocery shopping with you, he wants to fall asleep with you curled into him, he wants to wake up every morning and reach for your warmth and leave kisses on your shoulder not wanting to get out of bed. 

“Frankie,” you whisper. 

“Hmm?”

“I can hear you thinking.”

A soft puff of air escapes his nose, you see his sheepish smile as he nuzzles his face into your t-shirt, tracing his nose along your exposed clavicle. “Is that so?” 

"You can tell me," you offer.

He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. He’s been laying on you so long that his hair is flattened on one side; there is a crease on his cheek from a seam on your t-shirt. 

He dips his head, craving the softness of your lips; not letting you read what’s on his glass face. In a slow succession of kisses one after another, I don’t want to live without you, he pours forever into your lungs, you’re everything.

His mouth is unhurried, his stubble tickling softly, and it sends you into a hazy half-awake state where breathing no longer matters. You are nothing without the weight of his body beside you, without the sweet warmth of his mouth, without the backs of his fingers tracing the bare skin at your waist.  How could you ever define the way you bloom under his touch? An entire lifetime could go by inside this moment, clinging to his ribs, with your hand against the rough side of his jaw, his forehead pressed against yours, and you’d happily allow it. 

All too soon he pulls away. It’s no small feat to open your eyes again but when you do, he’s watching you, his head slanted, one side of his mouth tilting upwards, the curve of it reaching his eye, making it crease. The look in his eyes makes your heart twist.  

“What was all that?” you stutter, surprised your voice even works after that.

His words are right there, taking up space in his mouth, he’s never been surer of anything in his life. Move in with me.

“Let's make cookies,” comes out instead.

Your eyes widen because you know he’s not joking. “NOW?” 

“You’re gonna say no to chocolate chip cookies,” he nips at your neck, unable to hide a smile, “really?”

“I don’t think you realize, my legs stopped working like two hours ago.”

“We don’t even have to bake them,” he sits up, throwing his t-shirt over his head, pulling his jeans over his bare ass. He bends down to kiss you again, that boyish grin working its magic. “We can just eat it outta the bowl with a spoon.”

“Fine, but I am not putting pants on.”  

“Even better.” 

He’s managed to keep his hands off you long enough to measure the butter and sugar and flour, and when he’s done mixing, you reach into the bowl for a taste, he tries to swat your hand away. But you're faster. 

Barely. 

"Wanna lick," teasing him, you twist away with a mouthful of cookie dough. There’s a high-pitched squeal as he snares your waist, pulling you back with frightening speed. 

The hand around your waist playfully digging while you squirm, the devious crinkle around his eyes a reminder that you are powerless against his quiet strength. The single thought sends a low tingle of arousal down your spine. 

With his free hand, he calmly reaches for the bowl on the counter.

"You were saying?" his voice like velvet, low and playful, one eyebrow quirked up, two of his fingers armed with playful retaliation and now you’re laughing so hard no sound is coming out.

"Hey…" you manage, between breathless giggles, ‘be nice,' struggling to hold his wrist away with both hands, trying to anticipate his next move, the wicked glint in his eyes sends another deep shiver down your back. 

"Ohhh," he hums, "I’ll be nice alrigh-," 

But you don’t give him a chance to finish the thought, distracting him with a wet swipe of your mouth along his bottom lip. 

He melts like a sugar cube on your tongue. 

Taking full advantage of the golden lapse where his brain stutters and stops before he chases your mouth, you pull his fingers into your mouth sucking every bit of sweetness onto your tongue. 

His gaze falls to your mouth, to his fingers buried to the first knuckle. 

Somewhere between his ‘fuck, you’re such a tease,’ and your ‘two can play this game, sweetheart,’ the walls of his tiny kitchen echo with laughter. At some point, he finally manages to cage you against the counter.

"Mm," he growls against your lips, "you taste like chocolate and sex." 

You very nearly lose yourself in the dark heat of his eyes.  "No babe, that’s you." 

Surprisingly enough, there's enough cookie dough left for a single pan. The light dusting of cocoa powder on his cheek currently matches the state of your kitchen and now you have twelve minutes to kill before you can take them out of the oven. Leaving the bowls in the sink, he pulls you against him again. 

'C’mere, it’s a good song, dance with me’ and well, you're now occupied with the lingering taste of his tongue inside your mouth and you, just, sort of, forget to set the oven timer.

At some point, the small of your back bumps against the wall, your hands tracing the smooth length of his back underneath his t-shirt, slipping down into the back pockets of his jeans, a brand new ache already throbbing where the bulge of his zipper pins you in place, his soft little moan, hotter than sin. You feel him twitch against the seam of your panties, his fingers blindly finding the warm skin under your shirt, cupping the weight of bare breasts, thumbs scraping, teasing. The whole world fades away when his eyes darken like this. 

The digital clock on the coffee machine blinks into single digits and you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs against the cupboards, catching your breath. At some point, the oven was shut off, oven mitts were involved, and you'll never be able to look at double chocolate chip cookies the same way again. Leaning heavily on his shoulder, one bare leg still splayed over his, it takes considerable effort to keep your eyes open. When you look up, there is a tender ache in your chest at the sight of Frankie's mussed hair and permanently flushed cheeks, his eyes drowsy and sweet, shining with a gentleness that takes your breath away. 

He lifts your hand, bringing your knuckles to his warm lips, before ducking down and capturing your mouth with his.  Your throat fills with a fierce rush of pastel pink words. Foolish words like always and forever, sugary blossoms that dissolve on your tongue, permeating your bloodstream, swapping your heart for a glowing blissful mess. You want to tell him. You want to tell him you cannot live without him. 

Holding a glass of milk, he assures you around a mouthful of cookie still warm from the baking pan, "if you dunk the cookie in the milk long enough, you can barely tell they’re burnt."

And it's fucking perfect.

~~ 

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

monster ii, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: Once again, mafia boss Min Yoongi and his bodyguard Jeon Jungkook have some fun with you. Nah, you didn’t do anything this time. They’re just horny. 

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, m/m masturbation, a cock ring is involved, threesome (kinda?), unprotected sex [get tested please], creampie); abuse; non-idol!AU - mafiaaboss!AgustD!Yoongi (black-haired Daechwita AU), longhaired!tattooed!Jungkook; mercenary!reader; Jungkook has a praise kink; you have a pain kink

I wasn’t actually going to post this, but it seemed like a lot of people enjoyed monster so this is my gift to you. :)

--

The first reason you woke up was sound. 

The second reason was pain. 

You didn't open your eyes yet, focused on the pins and needles of your legs from being in one position too long. Holy shit. Whatever tranquilizer they gave you fucked you up, hard. Your head throbbed, hazy and disoriented. You weren't even sure you were awake yet. There was a firmness against your ass. A chair. The wood dug into your back and shoulder blades. You were sitting and your arms were sore. You tried to move them but realized they were tied to the back of the chair with rope. Not the normal, lazy kind of tie, no. Intricate knots, beautiful handiwork. Shibari. 

Park Jimin's work.

You were wearing a ridiculous black lace lingerie set and matching stockings, the kind that was completely see-through with select... openings in certain key places. What was even the point of these things? Surprisingly, the openings at the nipples and crotch weren't freezing you to death. There was a warmth around you and you cracked your eyes open to see a black velvet robe draped around the chair and your body, the lace accents matching the set.

Very pretty, if you gave a shit.

You could hear the sound of skin on skin. Even though the light in the room was low, it hurt to open your eyes. This is why you hated tranquilizers. You ended up squinting. 

Again, you heard the familiar whimper.

Your neck was killing you. Part of you wanted to continue playing dead. The other part of you remembered the last words Kim Taehyung told you as he pinned you down for the injection.

“Hyung doesn’t treat his other women like he treats you.”

The anger that flared within made you raise your head. 

A hotel room. It didn't matter which hotel or where. The only thing that mattered was that Min Yoongi was standing at the foot of the bed. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt that revealed his pale chest and silver chains. Black hair pushed back from his forehead, the red scar on his right eye out in the open. Black jeans and black underwear at his knees, because he was stroking his dick.

His pale hand moved up and down, slowly, as if he was relishing in the pleasure. The muscles of his arm flexed as he moved, his index finger leisurely spreading his pre-cum over the angry red head. Yoongi wasn't making a sound. 

The one making noise was Jungkook.

He was on his knees in front of Yoongi, completely naked, feverishly stroking himself with his right hand as his eyes transfixed to Yoongi's hand getting himself off. The tattoos on his right arm seemed to dance with his movement. His other hand was on his thigh, nails digging into his skin as he whined.

"Hyung, let me suck you off," Jungkook pleaded, tearing his eyes away to look up at Yoongi and his teasing smirk.

"Take your hand off. Let hyung see what a good boy you are."

Jungkook whined again, removing his hand from his dark red, throbbing cock. Ah.

The fucking sadist had made Jungkook wear a cock ring. Poor thing couldn't even cum.

Yoongi seemed to sense your burning hatred because his eyes flickered towards you. You cracked your neck in attempt to relieve some of the kinks, not taking your eyes off him. His smirk grew wider. The entire time, your hands were searching for a way to get out of your restraints but Jimin was a fucking pro. How annoying. 

"Look, Jungkook, your favorite cockslut is awake."

Jungkook turned his head to look at you. You weren't sure how long Yoongi had been teasing him, but it must have been a while. His long black hair was sweaty and sticking to his forehead, pupils blown wide with lust, pink tongue licking his lips as he panted. His jaw was tight, sharp with tension. He looked thoroughly fucked out and you could guess Yoongi hadn't even let him orgasm yet. 

You didn't say anything, not because you didn't have anything prepared, but because you knew Yoongi was doing this on purpose. He was trying to get a reaction out of you. Yoongi barked Jungkook's name and the younger man faced him abruptly.

"You've been a good boy," Yoongi purred, low and deep. Jungkook bit his lip, looking up at him expectantly.

"Open your pretty mouth for me."

A strange feeling coursed through you. It was like your veins were on fire. You realized your mouth was open and you shut it immediately, breathing hard. You watched Jungkook open his mouth, tongue lolling out, hungry and desperate. Begging his hyung as Yoongi stepped up, stroking himself faster. You saw his jaw tighten with effort as Yoongi shut his eyes, softly moaning. Why were you so angry watching this? Every muscle in your body wanted to ram into Jungkook to push him out of the way. After a moment, Yoongi snapped his eyes open and stared directly at you. Directly at your hunched form, body half-shrouded in shadow from the robe, eyes fixed on his dick, breathless.

Yoongi came with a hiss, all over Jungkook's tongue, shooting thick white liquid down his throat, splattering on his chin and cheek. Jungkook groaned, swallowing greedily before opening his mouth again to receive Yoongi's last residual pumps of dripping cum. Yoongi was breathing hard, exhaling as he came down from his high. After a moment, Yoongi removed his hand and held it out. Jungkook licked it clean, palming himself despite knowing he couldn't get off. 

You blinked slowly, finding your entire body tense. Your eyes drifted over Yoongi's form, his long legs, his defined waist, his large hands, his broad shoulders. You finally stopped at his face to see him smirking at you. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

Yoongi chuckled and tucked himself away with one hand, pulling up his pants. The other was wet with Jungkook's saliva. He tilted his head as he walked towards you. You wanted to kick him in the nuts, but you must have been on some fucking horse tranquilizer or some shit. Your legs felt like lead.

Yoongi didn't say anything. He just slapped you across the face with his wet hand. Your head jerked to one side from the force, skin stinging sharply from his open palm. He wasn't wearing his rings because he had been masturbating, otherwise it would have been much worse. 

Silence. 

Centimeter by slow centimeter, you turned your head back to face him. Your face stung with pain but it was nothing compared to the daggers you were glaring at him with. 

Yoongi grinned. “I love it when you’re angry.”

You bared your teeth and snarled.

His hand shot out and clamped around your throat, pushing your head back and forcing your spine to arch painfully. The velvet robe fell onto the floor, leaving you exposed to the cool air as Yoongi’s hand tightened around your throat, jamming your shoulder blades into the chair. You tried to fight him but he slapped you again, harder, making your see stars.

“Fuck you,” you choked out, strength draining with each passing second.

“Not tonight,” Yoongi said calmly, slapping your tits repeatedly. You flinched at the contact, trying to twist away. Jungkook was losing his mind. You couldn’t see him very well, but he was moaning, probably jacking off to Yoongi smacking you around. Bastard.

Yoongi pinched one of your nipples, hard, and you bucked, black spots dancing in your vision. He released you and kicked the chair. Your whole body toppled and you hit the ground hard on your knees, thankfully having enough strength to twist and skid across the carpet with your shoulder. Your shoulder burned painfully and all three points hurt from impact.

You were breathing hard, neck on fire, your entire body rattling as it struggled to breathe. Your eyes flickered upward as Yoongi looked down at you with a bored expression. Something must have pissed him off because Yoongi wasn’t usually the one who beat you. Usually it was Jungkook, Jimin, or literally anyone else. He also usually let you fight back because he enjoyed watching you fight. You cackled, tasting iron in your mouth.

“This is how you treat the other women, huh?” you taunted.

You saw him pause. His black hair was shrouding his dark eyes so you couldn’t read his expression. Your knees were fucking killing you. You exhaled sharply and leaned your face against the carpet. After a moment, Yoongi reached into his pocket and pulled out his switchblade. He moved around your body and cut the top of the rope, freeing you from the chair. You tried to pull your arms apart but, of course, they were still tied.

Fuck.

Yoongi yanked the chair out from under you, smacking you right in the shoulder blades. You hissed, twisting your body to get on your knees. Yoongi just calmly grabbed your arms by the rope and dragged you along the ground, throwing you onto the bed. It was unceremonious. He continued to shove you around until you were on your face, kneeling, ass up in the air. You tried to lift your upper body but he pushed you down roughly. You suddenly felt his lips next to your ear.

“Jealous?”

You froze.

What?

Before you could even fathom what he meant by that, you could hear Jungkook climbing onto the bed, and the next moment you were almost screaming into the bed as Jungkook plunged his thick, rock-hard cock right into you. A loud, wet squelch paired with Jungkook’s wail of satisfaction. Fuck. You were wet from Yoongi hitting you. You hadn’t even realized it. Jungkook’s rough hands grabbed your ass and began to thrust into your roughly, already hitting you so deep that you gasped in pain.

“Jungkookie,” Yoongi purred patiently, still holding you down with a hand on your upper back. “You forgot to take the cock ring off.”

Jungkook whimpered, slowing down a bit as he sank fully into you.

“But hyung…”

You could hardly register what the fuck was going on. You could barely breathe being face-first into the sheets, Jungkook was setting your hips on fire with how tight he was gripping you and you were sure the head of his cock was smacking your cervix with every thrust. His cock throbbed against your walls. Tears stung your eyes.

“Hyung, I thought you liked seeing me with it on…” Jungkook was saying. You could imagine the unsure look on his face, the hesitant lip bite. “I’ll do anything you want, hyung. I want to make you happy.”

This guy was fucking whipped for Yoongi. You couldn’t even begin to think what that was like.

You felt Yoongi shift his weight and lean forward, pressing your further into the sheets. You didn’t even bother making noise. They were in their own world. Maybe if you passed out you wouldn’t have to remember any of this.

“Take it out for me. Let hyung see your pretty cock.”

A soft, choked sob came out of you as Jungkook pulled out, cock glistening with your juices. You prayed Yoongi didn’t hear, but his nails digging into your back told you otherwise.

“Come.”

Jungkook groaned as Yoongi freed him. There was a thunk as the cock ring hit the wood of the chair before falling to the floor.

“Show me how much you can give her,” Yoongi murmured, leaning back. “Let hyung see how full you make your cockslut.”

Jungkook rammed himself into you once again. You winced, your entire body shuddering as he began to thrust into you mercilessly, strong hands holding you in place as he fucked you. You felt cool metal against your skin as Yoongi sliced your ropes free. Before even computing you could use your arms again, you were gasping in pain was pins and needles ravaged your arms, sputtering as Yoongi grabbed you by the hair to lift your head up. It took all of your power to claw for something, anything, to give you some hold. You found yourself clutching his shirt, gasping as you looked straight into those dark eyes, that familiar red scar. Your body was jerking forward from the force of Jungkook’s thrusts but you could only helplessly stare at Yoongi as he smirked at you, flashing his white teeth.

“This is the way I treat you,” he breathed.

You clenched your jaw, your hands clenching into fists on his shirt. “I hate you,” you grinded out.

Jungkook moaned so loudly that it was almost a scream. Your eyes widened as suddenly a torrent of cum was shot inside you and you pitched forward, scabbing at Yoongi’s shirt and holding onto him. Oh, fuck. So much. So fucking much that you couldn’t even think straight. It felt like your pussy was being stretched out and at the same time you could feel it oozing out of you, splattering onto the sheets. Oh, fuck, you could even smell it. Your hips felt numb as Jungkook began to rolling his hips into you again, groaning at the slick sensitivity. Your thighs were shaking, covered in Jungkook’s cum mixing with your juices.

Yoongi chuckled.

You looked up, face to face with him. Eyes wide, panting, clutching onto his shoulder and shirt for dear life as he grinned at you. Your pussy felt like it was going to explode with the amount Jungkook shot into you. In fact, it was actively dripping and making a puddle underneath you two. Something touched your face. You froze, feeling Yoongi’s hand against your cheek, thumb running over your lips. He sighed, dark eyes finding yours, pupils blown wide with lust.

“Want to fuck your mouth so fucking bad. Want to feel my cock being squeezed by your throat.”

Something inside you snapped. You heard a moan, a long, wanton, pleading moan – oh, fuck, that was you. Pleasure racked through every fiber of your being as your walls clamped around Jungkook, forcing another orgasm out of him as you came, Yoongi’s name leaving your lips like a fucking prayer. His eyes widened at your reaction, lips in a soft ‘o’ as you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to you, teeth sinking into his neck as you screamed in pleasure.

His skin, his taste – it filled your mouth and seared its memory into you. Was there ever anything that tasted so good? So erotic? You could feel the wave coming again and moaned against Yoongi’s neck as you came again, licking your bite, pressing your lips against his skin. Your hands snaked around him, splayed against his back and digging your nails into him as Jungkook pulled out, gasping, splattering cum on your back and ass. Who was mumbling Yoongi’s name like that, so soft and sweet as if you were lovers?

You.

And then the pain came crashing down and you couldn’t think anymore.

-

click here for part iii

--

masterpost

[touyasdoll]

Complicated - Chapter Two

Chapter One: Here

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x reader

Warnings: self-degradation/self-doubt

Word count: 2.2k

A/n: Gonna rework this and ditch the first person POV, jsyk.

A/n pt. 2: This story does contain spoilers for the show/manga. The dates/ages of characters are going to be shifted around a bit.

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

It's been two days. Is he gonna call? Text? Completely forget I exist?

I sigh, trying to expel the anxiety balled up in the pit of my stomach.

Why would he call? We talked for, what, five minutes? He seemed older too. You were in your damn school uniform, idiot. He's obviously got more important shit to do than chat up a schoolgirl who can't mind her own fucking business.

"Ugh," I groan to no one but myself in my apartment. "I'm really just the biggest fucking jackass, aren't I?"

Flopping down on my bed, I let out another weighty sigh and bury my face in the plethora of pillows piled beneath me.

Relax. Maybe he'll text. Maybe he won't. And if he doesn't he's just sparing you the embarrassment that you would inevitably bring upon yourself.

A yawn escapes my lips as I feel a wave of drowsiness wash over me. Glancing at the clock, I could see it was hardly 5 PM.

Fucked up sleep schedule, here I come.

The familiar comfort of my bed allows me to quiet my thoughts enough to fall into a shallow sleep, until I'm startled awake by a vibrating sensation coming from underneath my chin.

I blink against the harsh light emitting from my phone, squinting to see who was disturbing me.

What the--oh shit!

It was an unknown number. Recognizing that it could be him, I sit up faster than I have ever managed to after a nap and fumble the phone into my palm, eagerly sliding my thumb across the screen to accept the call.

"Hello?"

My breath hitches and I bite my lip in anticipation as I wait, eager to hear his deep, silky voice on the other end.

But the pause on the other side of the line seems just a little too long. Something is off.

Is this him? Is it..just some creep? A prank? What the hell?

"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."

My eyes slam shut, a shake reverberating through my spine as a cocktail of anger and embarrassment wash over me.

That's it. Hope is off limits from now on.

"Fucking great."

I tap the end button, half ready to throw my phone out the window.

Instead, I decide to check and see if I missed anything else while I was out.

Hope is off limits.

I shake my head, trying to erase the little embers of hope that persist, praying that maybe he did reach out.

To my surprise, there's a text from an unrecognized number.

Unknown: You free tonight, doll?

Holy shit.

Looking above the message, I see: Today 6:58 PM. I wince as I dare to look at the clock, which mercifully reads 7:26 PM.

Tapping the text box, I don't give myself the chance to overthink this opportunity.

Me: For you? Sure thing.

Tossing my phone onto the bed, I nod my head, processing the sudden burst of confidence I seem to have found.

I'm not like this. What is it about this guy? He's just that--a guy. One that I don't know. And now I'm just gonna meet up with him?

He's literally a stranger. Who the hell do I think I am?? Is my vagina just running things now? Gonna run out and meet up with some strange dude, because he's pretty and charming?

You know who else was pretty and charming?? Ted Bundy.

That's right, you said it. This is dumb, logically. This is everything everyone’s ever warned you about.

My phone buzzes and my heart rate spikes in response, tearing me from my spiraling doubts.

Unknown: Our spot. 30 minutes. See you there.

A noise that I've certainly never made before eeks past my lips as I process his instructions.

Fuck it. The possibility of this guy being a serial killer has been assessed. I'm going, risks be damned.

You're an idiot. You're an idiot. You're an idiot.

I sigh for the umpteenth time today, waging war in my own mind.

I don't know what it is about him, but I have to see him again. Nothing bad is going to happen. It'll be fine.

That's what I tell myself as I exhale, until I catch my reflection.

My hair is disheveled, my mascara askew. I didn't even bother to take off my uniform before I passed out.

As if I weren't flustered enough, now I gotta make myself looking somewhere near presentable and get down there in time.

Here goes nothing.

Fifteen minutes fly by and I think I've managed it as I step back to look myself over in the mirror once more.

The shortest pair of high-waisted shorts I own, paired with a low-cut black crop top and my favorite slip-ons. My make-up doesn't look perfect and there's not much of it, but it's touched up, and my hair is at least brushed.

Okay, no turning back now.

Grabbing my keys, I tuck my phone in my back pocket and make my way to the meeting place.

+++++++++++++++

Our spot. The man is smooth and I think that he knows it.

I re-read the last message he sent for probably the thirteenth time in the past five minutes.

The clock in the corner of the screen reads 8:02.

Maybe he won’t show. Maybe this is a joke. He and his buddies with come around a corner and laugh as they speed off.

Damn, can I chill? No. He’s going to be here. And I’m going to act like a human fucking being. A normal girl. Someone he could like; I’m capable of that.

Aren’t I?

Scanning my surroundings yet again, I take in the scenery. I never really get out at night, but the city looks so pretty this way. There’s not too much traffic, especially considering that it’s a Friday night, but there are some people milling about up and down the sidewalk. Some look like they’re on their way home. Some look like they’re on their way out for a night on the town.

“Hey there.”

My eyes are quick to follow the sound of his voice. I look up and he’s strolling up to the bench where I’m seated, the same one where I bandaged his arm the other day.

His hands are shoved in his front pockets, thumbs pushed through the belt loops of the tight, black jeans he’s sporting. His white t-shirt dangles off of his frame in a way that suits him, offering a glimpse of his muscular chest. A black coat completes his ensemble and he certainly looks the part of the typical bad boy.

But, damn, does it look so good on him.

“Hey, there. How’s the arm?”

I scoot over a bit, allowing for ample space between us if he were to take a seat. To my surprise, he sits towards the middle of the bench, so that his thigh brushes against mine as he settles.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, glancing down and covering the noise I want to make with a quiet clearing of my throat.

“It’s good. You do make a pretty decent nurse, sweetheart.”

He grins and pulls his coat sleeve back, revealing the still bandaged wound.

“Wait, have you changed that?”

You’re such a mom. You better hope he’s into MILFs, because otherwise this ain’t gonna get you where you wanna go, girl.

His brow furrows in an expression that tells me all I need to know before he even speaks.

“What do you mean? Changed what?”

A quiet sigh leaves my lungs as I hold out my hand.

“May I?”

His puzzled expression doesn’t falter, but he shrugs and offers his forearm up for inspection.

Carefully, I pull back the tape holding the bandages together and slowly begin to unwrap them.

That is, until the smell hits me. I barely catch of glimpse of the reddened skin before my nostrils detect the scent of burned flesh and excess viscera.

“Oh, dear. Have you even unwrapped this thing?”

Trying not to agitate anything further, I delicately wrap the bandages back around his arm, taping them down once again.

“No, should I have?”

I look up and my gaze meets his, a sense of true ignorance evident in his expression; I try not to laugh. I really try, but a soft giggle escapes nonetheless.

“Yes! I mean, if it doesn’t hurt, I’m sure it’s not that bad right now, but you should be cleaning and redressing a wound like that once every 12 hours at the very least. It’s been what, like, at least 50 at this point?”

His good arm reaches for the back of his neck, scratching at it as he dons an apologetic half smile.

“Sorry, I’m not exactly nurturing by nature, doll. I don’t know the first fucking thing about this kind shit.”

I cock a sympathetic smile as I look at him, sitting there looking almost helpless. I guess he is, in a sense. It’s actually kinda cute how he doesn’t seem to have an inkling of how to properly care for himself.

Because that’s absolutely what you want in a potential relationship. Someone to fix, how fun! Why not open up a shop for broken boys? Girl, when will you learnnn??

“Well, I don’t have anything on me right now, but if you don’t mind coming back to my place, I could clean it up there? And I’ll teach you how to keep up with it this time.”

I guess not today, motherfucker.

“Coming to my rescue again. You must be in a hero course, huh, doll?”

His smile is so naturally disarming as he stands and offers his hand out before me.

“I don’t mind, if you’re sure you don’t. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable and I don’t wanna be a burden. I didn’t ask you out tonight for you to have to play doctor on me again.”

He seems so sweet, so genuine. Maybe he is broken, but everyone deserves kindness. He looks like he hasn’t seen much of that. And as cliché as it is, maybe I can help him. Maybe he can help me.

I slip my hand in his, smiling as flirtatiously as I can manage as he pulls me to my feet.

“I don’t mind. I was kind of hoping I might get to play doctor on you again anyway. Maybe you could even return the favor.”

I brush my fingers against his as our hands disconnect, taking a page from his own book and watching his expression as my skin glides against his.

Or maybe we could just do this. This works too. No muss, no fuss. But oh my goodness what if what I just did was weird and he’s not even interested??

His eyebrows rise for just a moment as he chuckles and glances down, still grinning as he puts his hands in his coat pockets.

“Well, sweetheart, I don’t know much about medicine, but I do know how to give a pretty thorough physical exam.”

Something twitched deep inside my belly as my breath caught in my throat and I damn near tripped over my own two feet as we started walking.

Thankfully, his reflexes were quicker than my inate ability to fuck things up and his good arm reached out to steady my frame as he stepped in front of me.

The delicious scent of his cologne mingling with remnant cigarette smoke nearly made me dizzy as my hands connected with his chest, now completely unable to ignore the muscles just beneath his thin shirt.

“You all right there, doll?”

Long, slender fingers find their way under my chin. His thumb just barely brushing the edge of my bottom lip as he strokes it over my chin.

His eyes are practically piercing mine as he carefully lifts my face to his. Who knew being in such close proximity to someone so beautiful could be this paralyzing.

Holy fuck. Forget fixing me. He can break me and I’ll probably thank him for it.

The strong hand on the small of my back threatens to rob me of my breath all over again and I have to fight to keep any semblance of composure in his arms.

“Yeah.” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and will myself to break eye contact. “You always have girls falling for you this quickly?”

I pity laugh at my own joke, wishing my quirk was something that would allow me to disappear.

But then he’s chuckling too. It’s melodious at first, but then it morphs into a deep reverberation that sends all the right chills down my spine as I level my eyes with his again.

He looks like an enigma personified. His eyes look so gentle and warm, but his smile reads so sad. The words that leave his lips sound like both a warning and an invitation to my flushe red ears.

“Trust me, princess. You don’t wanna fall for me. I’m no good for you.”

Oh, but it’s too late for that.

[canarygirl1017]

Ghosted - Chapter 3 (Teaser)

Pairing: Reader / Jungkook, Reader / Taehyung (past relationship, friends to lovers to friends)

Genre:  College!au, fluff, angst, supernatural drama, smut, friends to lovers, emotional trauma, hurt/comfort

Length:  2, 933k words (partial chapter)

Warnings:  language, episodes of anxiety, panic attacks, sexual themes in later chapters.

Summary:  Living in a world full of things only you have the ability to see, growing up with Jungkook has been your island amidst the chaos. But when your best friend makes an impossible request, your friendship is fractured, and your sudden decision to cut ties and move abroad changes everything. Three years later, Jungkook is thriving at university as he begins his junior year. He’s a star athlete, member of a popular fraternity, and every girl’s ideal boyfriend. He tells himself that he’s long forgotten you and the friendship he never had a chance to mend – that is, until you show up on campus as a transfer student with new friends in tow. It’s been three years, and everything has changed, but the biggest change is you. Your new found determination to use your abilities to help the ghosts you used to live in fear of, no matter how dangerous it might be, makes Jungkook fear he’ll lose you before he has a chance to fix what he broke. College AU.

Disclaimer: Just for funsies, I don’t believe in real-life shipping. But I like to write, and I like fandom, so here we are. Please do not duplicate this work or repost anywhere else without permission.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Ghosted Playlist

Chapter 3

“You ready to go?”

You turned to see Taehyung leaning in your doorway. He was wearing flared jeans and a green paisley silk button-down shirt. The open butterfly collar revealed a vintage Chanel gold medallion, and he’d added light green sunglasses to complete his retro look.

Taehyung had picked out your outfit – a short, cream colored wrap dress with an abstract floral design and long flared sleeves. Knee high rust red boots and pin straight hair completed the look, and for once you felt like a match to his fashionable appearance.

You held up a finger as you opened your jewelry box, looking for the vintage garnet drop earrings you’d found to complement the outfit. You slid them in, moving your hair back to admire how they dangled and caught the light.

“Okay, I’m ready,” you said, turning to find him behind you.

“Almost,” he said, pulling a small box out of his pocket.

“Tae,” you said reprovingly as he opened the box and took out a ring. The antique gold setting was beautiful – an oval opal surrounded by a halo of garnets – and it looked perfect when he slid it onto your right ring finger.

“Now you’re ready,” he said, looking pleased as he stood back to check your appearance.

You raised a brow. “When did you even have time to shop for this?” Taehyung’s little surprise gifts were something to which you’d become accustomed over the last few years, and your attempts to discourage him were usually ignored.

He shrugged and as always, his sheepish grin disarmed you. You reached up and adjusted his collar.

“You look like you’re ready for a Vogue shoot,” you said, smiling back. “The poor girls at this party won’t know what hit them.”

“That’s why I have you to protect me,” he replied.

It was Friday, the final weekend before classes started, and the welcoming activities had ramped up in the last week. You and Taehyung had attended some of them and declined others, but you’d committed to the biggest events of the weekend – tonight’s Musical Eras mixer and tomorrow’s Movie Night on the Quad.

The mixer was being held at the Kappa fraternity house, something that had almost made you reconsider attending because you were certain to run into Jungkook again as you had for the last week. While your anger had cooled, you still felt that knot of anxiety in your stomach whenever you saw him, wondering if he’d still be angry or if he’d just pretend you didn’t exist.

So far, his attitude fell somewhere in the middle – when he saw you and Taehyung together at the supermarket, he tried to hide his reaction, but the little muscle ticking away in his jaw was a dead giveaway. A couple of days later, you saw him in the park while you were walking Yeontan and for once, he didn’t look big mad at the sight of you. You were alone and had considered trying to talk to him, but he was with friends. Not wanting to invite public rejection, you waved at the group and hurried away, noticing the little wrinkle between his brows as he watched you go.

Jin, Jimin and Jimin’s girlfriend, Ayeong, had all been by the house a couple of times. Sera had also visited with her mother, accepting Taehyung’s offer of a house tour since Sera’s mother was interested in how the historical home had been renovated. Jungkook was noticeably absent, though Jin seemed certain that he’d eventually come around.

You weren’t so certain of that. In all the years you’d been friends with Jungkook, you’d never seen him so deeply upset with another person. If someone upset him, he might avoid that person for a while, but he always got over it, and you’d never seen him blow up at anyone the way he had with you.

You always thought you knew him better than anyone, and he you, but now you had to acknowledge the reality of this situation – three years had passed, and the truth was, you didn’t know this Jungkook. Worse, he didn’t know you either and you had no one to blame for that but yourself.

________________

Stepping into the Kappa house was like stepping back in time. The large house had several rooms downstairs, each of which reflected a different decade of music, and everyone had taken their costumes just as seriously. You laughed when Jimin and Ayeong met you out front dressed as Sonny and Cher.

“Very nice,” you said, gesturing to Ayeong’s dress.

“Thanks, I love yours too.”

Thought it was still early, the party was already a crush of people circulating between the rooms. Younger guys, probably freshmen, circulated with drinks on trays which they offered to guests.

“Pledges?” Taehyung asked Jimin as he took a beer.

Jimin nodded. “They have to put in an hour according to a schedule and then they’re free to party. That’s as close to hazing as we get here.”

When Jimin offered you a glass of wine, you shook your head. “I don’t really drink much when I’m…” you paused, unsure how to finish the sentence without being weird. “When I’m out.”

You could see that Jimin understood what you meant. “Got it. We have a dry bar too if you want to call it that.”

Ayeong linked arms with you. “I’ll show her. I’m not really in the mood to drink either.”

The dry bar turned out to be pretty impressive, with lots of juice, sparkling water, club soda, and even fruits you could add. You settled for club soda with a splash of raspberry juice and slices of lemon, while Ayeong created a tropical drink.

“I know Jungkook is being… well, difficult. But I just want you to know that Jimin is so happy you’re back,” Ayeong said. “He said you were all friends since kindergarten.”

“Jimin was always one of the sweetest people at our school,” you replied. “It was really easy to be his friend.”

“Not much has changed then,” Ayeong laughed. “What about Jungkook? Jimin says he wasn’t always such a fuckboy.”

You choked on a sip of your drink. “Jungkook is a fuckboy?”

“Well, a nice one? I think he only hooks up with girls who want the same kind of no-strings fun, so there’s never any drama related to it. He’s not the type to get serious though, which is why I’ve told Erin she needs to move on from her crush.”

Fuckboy Jungkook wasn’t something you could really imagine, nor did you want to. You chose not to think too closely about why it bothered you so much.

But once you spotted him across the room talking to a group of girls, you couldn’t shake that image from your mind. He looked good. Really, really good. He was dressed in tight red pants, a black silk button down, and he’d completed his Michael Jackson Thriller homage with a red leather jacket trimmed in black. When he laughed at something one of the girls said, his dimples appeared.

“I’m surprised Jungkook is wearing a costume – he almost never does,” Ayeong commented.

“He kind of stopped wearing them by the time we were in high school,” you said. “But this kind of party, plus a Thriller homage, is pretty on brand for him.”

“Oh, that’s who he’s supposed to be! I’m really bad at guessing all of these costumes.”

You and Taehyung stuck with Jimin and Ayeong, who introduced you to people you hadn’t met yet. Everyone was welcoming, but two hours in you were starting to feel a little overwhelmed by the crowds and the noise. There was also the fact that ever since Jungkook became aware of your presence, you’d felt his eyes on you. You’d hoped his neutral response to you at the park was progress, but you could feel his judgmental stare like a brand.

Every time you glanced over at him, his impassive expression was contradicted by some blazing emotion in his eyes. You reminded yourself that you’d known this would probably be a struggle – that Jungkook would likely be angry with you for leaving. Emmie had even said that no one mentioned your name to him anymore.

You’d just underestimated how much it would hurt.

___________________

Jungkook almost skipped Movie Night on the Quad because he was in a foul mood after the Musical Eras mixer. Seeing you there with Taehyung in your matching costumes had made him inexplicably angry, something Jin called him out on.

“Shouldn’t we be glad that she has good people in her life?” Jin asked him when he stomped around the kitchen the next day, slamming cabinets as he fixed a late breakfast.

“He’s right,” Jimin said. “Plus you know that she and Taehyung aren’t together, right?”

That made him pause. “They look like they’re together.” Fucking matching costumes and all, he thought viciously.

“They dated, but Ayeong said y/n told her it’s been a while since they were together like that. At least six months or so.”

“Who the hell follows their ex-girlfriend to another country? And buys a house?”

“If you took the time to get to know Taehyung, you’d understand that he feels like y/n saved his life. He’s committed to helping her with the ghost hunting because of that, but he also genuinely cares about her. So do Namjoon and Chloe,” Jin said. “They’re all good people.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook muttered, shoving cereal into his mouth.

“Forget it, Jin. He won’t admit the real problem, and we all know his anger default setting when it comes to y/n is because of that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jungkook demanded.

“You’re jealous. You’ve always been jealous of anyone that got close to y/n,” Jimin replied calmly. He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

Jungkook grit his teeth. “I’m not jealous.”

“Really? So every time a guy expressed interest in dating her back in high school, and you very pointedly warned them all off, that was you just being what? A good friend?” Jimin rolled his eyes.

“Who? Like Lucas? You’re damn right I warned him off. He didn’t deserve her.”

“What about me?” Jimin asked, a challenge in his tone. “I told you that I liked her our sophomore year, and you shot down that idea so fast I was afraid if I pursued it, it would actually ruin our friendship.”

Jungkook stared at him, shifting uncomfortably. “Because you weren’t serious about it.”

“Says who? I was dead serious, Jungkook, and you know it. For that matter, I think even Lucas was serious about liking her. He never said a word about her that wasn’t totally respectful.”

“Yeah, because he knew I would beat his ass,” Jungkook said.

“You’re right – everybody knew that. Why do you think people steered clear of her? Why do you think Grace hated her so much? I told you that Grace wasn’t as nice as you thought she was. Yet you still held tight to y/n with one hand while you chased after Grace. And I figured it was just a matter of time until you realized how you really felt about y/n, so I let it go. But damn, Jungkook, you need to stop taking out your anger on y/n. Let her explain why she left.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then Jungkook asked, “Has she told you why?”

“I asked her,” Jin said. “But I think she’s waiting to talk to you first.”

Jungkook tried not to think about what Jimin said, but now that he was here on the quad, and you were just a few feet away, it was all he could think about. Jealousy.

He couldn’t deny he hated seeing how close you were to Taehyung. The way the other man touched you, or kept a protective arm around you, pissed him off. The way you smiled at him made him even angrier. Still, beneath the anger was something else – a yearning for the way things had been. No one had ever understood him the way you did, and he missed that connection with you.

It was his fault you left. That little voice in the back of his head kept reminding him that you weren’t the only one to blame for this vast distance between you now. He kind of understood why you’d left, but he didn’t know why it had taken you so long to return.

He kept stealing glances at you rather than watching the movie playing on the large screen set up on the quad. You’d been to the concession stand, and he wasn’t surprised to see you eating gummy bears since that had always been your favorite movie snack.

You looked pretty. Your hair was a little longer now than it had been in high school and fell in gentle waves around your shoulders. You wore another floaty little summer dress, the kind you had always liked, small feet encased in comfortable flat sandals. You and Taehyung had joined Jimin, Ayeong, Erin and Jin on a large blanket towards the front of the crowd.

Stubbornly, Jungkook had opted to sit with some of his friends from the baseball team. He was still close enough to watch you – to hear your voice – to just observe you while his mind sorted through his confusing thoughts and emotions. You had glanced over at him a few times, as if feeling his eyes on you, a silent question in your own. And somehow, he knew that you understood that he needed some time.

At the intermission between films, you went with Ayeong and Erin to the bathroom. Jungkook got tacos from a nearby food truck and when he returned, he noticed that you were the only one missing from the group. A few minutes later, Taehyung was frowning at his phone after making a call that had gone unanswered.

“I’m going to go check on her,” he heard the other man say as he stood up.

Jungkook hesitated for a few seconds before following him. Taehyung had his phone to his ear again, though again there seemed to be no answer.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asked as he caught up to him.

Taehyung turned and scowled at him. Then he sighed. “Ayeong said she stayed back because she got a call from her mom that she needed to answer. Maybe it’s nothing, but she’s been gone for almost twenty minutes, so I just want to make sure nothing happened.”

Jungkook nodded and then they were silent as they walked around the buildings that were still open. The campus was well lit, so it was easy to see the faces of people walking to the dorms or back to the quad. When they didn’t see you anywhere, Taehyung made another call.

“Chloe, I need you to ping y/n’s location and send it to my phone.” He listened for a minute. “Maybe nothing but I can’t find her and I don’t know – I’m getting a weird feeling. Okay, thanks.”

Taehyung’s unease was contagious, and Jungkook shifted from one foot to the other as they waited. Then Taehyung’s phone vibrated, and he studied his screen for a moment before gesturing for Jungkook to follow him. After walking for a few minutes, Jungkook realized they were heading towards a park where students often had lunch or relaxed between classes.

And there you were, a silent, ghostly figure swaying in the moonlight as you hummed a strange tune.

“Fuck.” Taehyung started running.

Jungkook was right behind him. When he reached you, he tried to take your arm to turn you towards them, but Taehyung stopped him.

“Don’t touch her,” he said, a note of warning in his tone. “She’s in a sort of fugue state, and it’s safer if she comes out of it herself.”

Rather than argue, Jungkook walked around to face you, but froze when he saw that your eyes were unfocused, and almost… glowing? It was clear that you didn’t see him, though he was standing right in front of you.

Jungkook’s heart was pounding now. “How do we make her do that?”

“There’s something else here,” Taehyung explained. “It probably tried to communicate with her. Sometimes, if she lets her guard down, or if the spirit is especially powerful, she gets sort of… pulled to the other side. It’s usually because they’re trying to show her something.”

Swallowing hard, Jungkook nodded. “Okay. How do we make her come out of it?”

“We can’t make her, and if we try, it can cause severe shock. She’ll already be in a state of shock when she comes to on her own, so we have to be careful. I’m going to go get the car. You wait here with her and just keep talking to her, okay?”

“Can I touch her hands?”

“Carefully,” Taehyung said. “Don’t pull her or shake her, and don’t try to make her move.”

“Okay.” Jungkook pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Jin, I need you to come to the park right now. The one behind the science building.”

You were still humming and swaying when Jungkook reached out to touch your hand. There was no response, so he carefully took both your hands in his.

“Jesus, your hands are freezing,” he said quietly. “You never dress right for being out at night. You know that you get cold even when it’s not that cold, right?”

He squeezed your hands carefully in an attempt to warm them up. There was no response from you, your eyes still fixed on something he couldn’t see.

A/N: I know it's been a long time since I posted, and I'm sorry about that. If you're still reading, I'll get the rest of the chapter up this week, and there is some fluff in the future as Jungkook and y/n start repairing their relationship. I hope I remembered all the people who asked to be tagged (and got the tags right.) If you’d like to be tagged for updates, let me know.

Tag list: @ggukkieland @jikooksgirl19 @waves-and-woods @kookiesbreaky @koochiekoo @monvieesdaebak

[yourfangirlfriend]

It’s Nothing Serious

Chapter One

Multi-chapter if enough interest

Rating: E!

Summary: Well, your new neighbor certainly knows how to entertain his guests

It’s not serious

At least, not enough that you’d complain. It’s just sex. And it’s not unbearably loud. Honestly, you’re happy someone is having a good time. Unlike his bedroom (and, from the sound of it, his couch, his kitchen island, his front door), yours has been woefully quiet since you moved in. So, even though it’s annoying, those nights you can’t sleep and you’re staring up at the ceiling as the muffled moans and groans echo through the wall, you have to think:

Good for her.

Maybe it’s not a conventional way to learn your neighbor’s name, but after a week sharing a wall you’re pretty confident it’s Javi. Javier, if the woman he’s entertaining is feeling particularly formal. You’ve never seen him – heard him plenty, sure – but what little glimpses you almost catch are always just as he’s disappearing into his apartment or out the door. You’re not sure what you’d say, anyway – hey, I’m your neighbor, you have quite the voluminous orgasm – so you don’t make an effort to introduce yourself. Besides, if your shared wall is anything to go by, he seems quite busy.

Still, that doesn’t stop you from imagining it. You haven’t had time to meet many men since you moved down to begin your teaching job, and you haven’t made enough friends to go out with and find some. So, your first few months are just you, your hand, and what inspiration leaks through the walls you are increasingly becoming convinced are made of rice paper. You’re not proud of it, but it’s a healthier stress reliever than the cigarettes in your purse or the tequila you keep in your kitchen. Besides, if he was worried about someone listening, he could move his fucking bed. Or at least put a sock or something between the wall and the headboard.

One night though, you’re reckless. It’s been a particularly rough day at the school – how do you tell a bunch of kids some of their classmates died in a bombing? – and you’ve drunk your dinner and smoked dessert. Now you’re on your bed, hand down the front of your trousers, fingering yourself like a virgin trying to break their hymen so prom night won’t be a disaster. Behind you, Javier – well, Javi! tonight – is absolutely wrecking some lucky woman. Luckily, she doesn’t have that breathy baby voice the girl Saturday had, and every sound that came from the two of them was enough for you to lose yourself in the fantasy. It’s probably – well, that and the alcohol, the insane amount of stress and just a general lack of shits to give – why you let out such a loud moan when you finally cum on your fingers, unaware that your vocal contribution was not, as you assumed it would be, covered by the sounds coming from the next room, and instead cut through the rare silence that interspersed your neighbor’s rounds. It's only when you’ve come down from your high that you snap back up with the shattering realization that they definitely heard you.

The shame is multiplied in the morning, when your head is aching you sleep past your alarm. You try to shove it down, along with what little stomach contents you have left, as you pull your work clothes on and rush towards the door, a black heel in your hand as you turn the doorknob and rush outside. You lock the door before bracing against it to put your shoe on, your messy bun flopping forward when you see a pair of blue jeans and shoes standing in front of his own door.

Of course it’s today.

With your shoe secure, you stand back up and make eye contact with the subject of your masturbation sessions for the past three months. You two stand there for a moment, taking the other in. Annoyingly, he is good-looking. You’re somewhat lost in his eyes a bit before you catch yourself, and remember you’ve got fifteen minutes before a class full of eight-year-olds are left in a room with no supervision, scissors, and a very old and anxious pet hamster.

“Good morning, Javier,” you say before you can stop yourself. His eyebrows raise in surprise as you make a b-line for the doors, throwing them open and walking your burning face outside.

Maybe, deep down, you wanted this to happen. You never smoke outside your building, especially not once you got that window seat set up. Still, here you are at 5:30 pm standing outside your apartment complex smoking your second cigarette. You’re not sure if he’s home already, or held up doing whatever he does, but you still feel the desire to try. So you take another long drag and lean your head back, exhaling the puff of smoke into the sky above.

You jump when the door behind you swings open and there he is, his own cigarette caught between his lips. He doesn’t notice you at first, too concentrated on lighting the end. After a few attempts, he sighs and shoves the lighter back into his pocket.

“Need a light?” You ask.

He looks up and regards you for the second time that day. You extend your hand out, offering the cheap red lighter you bought from a corner shop your first night here. He hesitates a moment before reaching out and taking it from you.

You take a drag, considering his profile as he sparks up. You like his nose in particular and the way his dark eyes focus on the simple task at hand. You’re so entranced you visibly snap back when his eyes meet yours, handing back the lighter.

“Thanks,” he says around the cigarette. You wave your wrist before dropping the thing back in your purse. The two of you stand in the silence for a second, watching the empty street before you.

“So, you’re the new neighbor?”

You shrug. “Newish.”

“New to me,” he says. He turns towards you and extends a hand. “What’s your name?”

You mirror him and lean against the handrail by the stairs. “Eloise.”

He chuckles. “Like the kids’ books?”

“Yeah, my mom was the author.” You say with a straight face. His eyebrows shoot up.

“Really?” he asks.

“No. I’m fucking with you,” you bring the cigarette back up to your lips. His stupid, handsome face breaks out into a smile before he turns back to the front.

“Got me.” He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales again before turning to look at you.

“Thanks for the light, Eloise.”

“Anytime.”

He gives you a nod before he starts down the stairs. You watch him, letting the cigarette in your hand burn and die as your eyes follow him down the block until he disappears around a turn.

You’re not sure if it's unconscious, but you run into him in the mornings a lot more now. Sometimes he’s got his nightly companions with him, but most mornings it’s the two of you rushing out of your respective apartments. It starts with the usual greetings followed by an awkward, silent, shared walk through the doors and down the stairs before unceremoniously parting at their end. Sometimes he holds the door open for you, and you give him a hurried smile and nod as you rush through, your heels click-clacking against the tile before stepping down onto the concrete stairs. You can feel his eyes on your back when you walk down before him those days. It makes your face hot.

Perhaps a week into this routine you notice he’s begun smoking outside more when you return from work. He nods at you, and most evenings you find yourself joining him. As if payback for your early generosity, he always holds out his lighter to spark your cigarette. At first, it's just silent smoking sessions, the two of you standing in the quiet until someone finishes and throws their butt to the ground first. Then the little questions start. That second talk you discover you’re both from Texas – him from Laredo, you from El Paso. He asks if you know some shithead kids he went to school with, and you actually recognize one of the names. When he smiles at that, you find yourself wishing you knew them all.

One Friday when you return, you find him in his usual spot, leaning against the wall in those too tight blue jeans and a stupid pastel button-up– you’ve never seen a man with so many button-ups. You instinctively reach for your pack when he speaks up.

“You want to get a drink, neighbor?”

It’s nothing serious.

It’s just a drink. Or three.

You’re sat across from him, a slowly filling ashtray between the two of you. The conversation has stayed mostly light – how was your day, how was work (he works at the embassy, you’re not sure doing what), want another? It’s perfectly plain, and it almost feels like a drink you’d get with your brother when he finally asks:

“How’d you know my name?”

You almost choke on the sip you were taking. Coughing, you put the glass on the table and ask him to repeat himself, as if you didn’t hear him the first time.

“My name,” he says, and the way his voice emphasizes the word sends a tingle down your spine. “The morning we met.”

You wonder if you’re drunk enough to answer this truthfully. You take a drag of your cigarette.

“You’re smiling,” he says, breaking out into a grin. Underneath the table, you feel his knee hit yours and it’s like a shock across your skin.

“It’s, uh,” you exhale, taking the excuse to look anywhere else but at him. Emboldened by the drink, or maybe it’s just him, he nudges your hand.

“Go on, then.”

“Your, ah, guests.” You laugh.

“My-” he stops, realizing what you’re saying. The two of you hold eye contact for a second before descending into a fit of giggles.

“I, uh,” his hand goes to the back of his neck. “Ha…wow.”

“Hey, you should be proud,” you say. “It sounds like they’re having a great time.” You reach out for his lighter to re-light your cigarette. “Should move that fucking headboard, though. Like a drum major, some nights.”

He watches you as you inhale, running his thumb across his annoyingly puffy, never quite closed lips. You don’t realize you’re staring at them until his knee hits yours once again, jolting you back to the present.

“Maybe my guests could learn some manners from yours,” he says. You shake your head, too drunk to let the compliment lie.

“What guests,” you laugh.

“You know. Your gentleman callers.” He jokes. You roll your eyes and take another sip of your drink.

“Haven’t had a gentleman caller since I moved down here,” you admit. His eyebrows raise and you shoot him a look.

“Oh shut up,”

“I’m just surprised is all,” he says. “You…look like you. I thought you’d be knocking them back with a bat.”

“Flirt,” you chide. You shake your head. “Sadly, no. Only room for one Cassanova on the bottom floor,” you wink at him.

“There was-“ he begins, then closes his mouth. He reaches for his drink.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he smiles. You kick him under the table.

“What,”

“It’s not polite,” he teases you.

“Go on, I’m drunk enough.”

“I heard something…once. First time I realized someone actually lived there.” He laughs, bringing the glass to his lips. “Sounded like fun. Lucky guy.”

You laugh.

“…girl?” he offers, a sly smile playing across his lips.

“You could say that,” you laugh. He holds your gaze for a moment and you burst into giggles under his scrutiny.  “Look, sometimes a girl is lonely and…” you giggle again. You’re definitely drunk. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“No, go on, I’m intrigued,” he says, placing his drink back down and leaning forward. You flick your eyes back up to him.

“I mean…you’d get a bit jealous, wouldn’t you? Some woman next door is having the time of her life-”

“ ‘Time of her life'? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes and swirl your empty drink. “and you’re just…look, it’s been a long….”

Oh god. You do the math and cringe at the duration since the last time you got laid. You shake your head.

“A girl’s got needs. You seem to know all about that.” You laugh.

“Do I?” he asks, his voice noticeably deeper. You look up at him and see how dark his eyes are. His tongue darts out and wets his lips as those same eyes dip down from your face to your chest, your hands, back up to your lips.

“I…” you smile.

…Fuck.

It’s not serious.

It’s not.

It’s just two neighbors, very neighborly, fucking each other absolutely senseless.

You knew this is where it was going when you agreed to drinks. If you hadn’t, you knew the minute he asked you that question.

Do I?

Fuck off.

So when he offered to buy another round, you agreed. When he came back and sat next to you on the bench, you let him. By the end of the fourth drink, his hand was on your thigh, having pushed up your cute pencil skirt, and his mouth was on your ear, whispering the kinds of things he must have used on countless women before you. It worked, though, because after that last drink you were taking the hand he offered and following him out of the bar, down the street, and back into his apartment.

Once he got you inside, he was surprised to see you taking it all in. He came up behind you, his hands slipping around your waist as his mouth nipped at your neck.

“See something interesting?” he asked, annoyed your focus wasn’t solely on him.

“Feels like I’ve been let backstage,” you laugh, turning around and looping your arms around his neck.

“Yeah?” he leans forward and captures your mouth for the first time in a loud, puckering peck. You smile when he pulls away.

“Yeah, you won’t believe what I had to do to the security guard to get back here,” you shake your head.

“I think I can imagine,” he pulls you back into a kiss. His hands trail down your sides, traveling further down until he’s grasping at your ass through your skirt. You let out a sigh and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. You let out a small groan at the intrusion, reaching up and threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. You bite his top lip as his hands glide up to fiddle with the zipper at the back of your skirt. Breaking the kiss, you begin to play with the button at the nape of his neck.

“You have…”

“What?” he breathes. The zipper is down and his hand slips between the fabric, grabbing your bare ass. God, what a good day to wear a thong.

You laugh. “So many button-ups,” you spring the first button free and dip your face down to kiss his neck in a show of appreciation. He lets out a soft moan as you continue to work the buttons free, your hands taking a moment to explore the expanse of skin before moving on to the next. You feel him shimmy your skirt down and you aid him by working your hips until the fabric falls to the floor. As if he’s out of patience, he pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere, his attention back on your lips as he cups your face and brings you in for another deep, searing kiss. And god, what a mouth. It’s plump and plush and so soft.

It takes a lot to break away from them.

“Bed, I think,” you huff. He nods, his hand dropping down to grab your hand and pull you along the empty hallways towards the bedroom – a strange mirror to your own apartment. Once he’s got the door open he pulls you inside until you tumble into him, pressed against his front with a giggle.

“Take this off,” he says, pulling at the hem of your shirt. You let him pull it over your head and drop it to the floor. In a move that’s too practiced, he unclasps your bra and lets it fall with the shirt before cupping your breasts in his big, warm hands. Heat pools between your thighs – god, it really has been long – and you find yourself pushing him back towards the bed. He falls back with a thump, looking up at you expectantly.

You reach up, pulling your hair out of its hold and letting it fall to your shoulders. Holding his gaze, you hook your fingers around the hem of your underwear and pull them down until you can pull one leg out. Tossing them somewhere in the dark, you lower yourself onto him, crawling up his body until you sit astride his hips and begin to unbuckle his belt and fiddle with the zipper. When he springs free, you smile.

“Of course you don’t wear underwear,” you say. He smiles as he sits up, reaching to pull your mouth down to his.

“Just gets in the way,” he says before his lips press against yours again. You reach down and take him in your hand, slowly jerking up and down as he lets out little breathy sighs in your mouth. You increase the pace, enjoying hearing his noises for once before he pulls away from you and sits upon his knees on the bed.

“What-”

“Lay back,” he instructs, pulling the jeans down before falling onto his back and kicking them off. You lower yourself down, watching as he rolls off the bed and stalks towards its end. One hand wraps around your ankle and pulls you down, causing you to squeak in surprise. His hands trace up the insides of your legs, and it’s a beat before you realize what he’s about to do. His lips follow his finger’s trail, leaving open mouth kisses until he’s there and his hot breath on you is enough to make you cum right then and there. You screw your eyes shut as you feel a finger enter you, and despite yourself you let out a small moan. Proud of himself, he pulls back and thrusts back into you before bringing his lips down to wrap around your clit. You buck up against him, which only encourages him to add another finger and swirl his tongue around you.

“Fuck-” you breathe, reaching down to fist the sheet beside you. He pumps into you again and you try your best to keep the moan threatening to escape caught in your throat. He sucks at you, lazily pumping in until you’re too slick and squirming against him, urging him to go faster because you’re so so so close. Devilishly, he licks your length before circling your bundle of nerves with his thumbs, looking up at you as your back arches and your foot kicks out.  

“Keep- keep-”

Then.

Then.

The fucking bastard pulls his hand back.

Absolutely outraged you shoot up to see him standing, sucking his fingers.

“Why did you stop?” You breathe. He smiles as he pulls his hand from his mouth.

“Was wondering why you’re being so quiet,” he laughs. “Thought I wasn’t living up to the hype.”

“You were,” you insist. He smiles as he walks around to his nightstand and pulls the drawer open. You hear the foil packet tear before you can see the glint in the light.

“I think I’ll have to do better,” he says once he’s settled back on the bed. He pulls you astride of him, and you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance. You let out a shaky breath as his hands grip at your hips.

“Don’t be afraid to make noise,” he says, kissing along your jaw. “My neighbor likes to listen.”

“Oh fuck y-” the words turn into a moan as he pushes up into you, stretching you out across him. You let out a fluttering gasp as you take all of him in, so warm and big and good. When he bucks up into you again, you let out a girly, breathy gasp, then again when he rocks your hips back and forth. Before you know it you’re pressing him down into the mattress, righting yourself against the banging headboard as you bounce on top of him, impaling yourself on him and the aching stretch of him inside you. You let out another moan as he brings a hand up and slaps your ass, and you suddenly realize how easy it must have been for these women to lose themselves shamelessly in the noise and feeling.

“Like that,” he says, his own voice deep and breathy. “Just like that, baby.”

You hum as you roll your hips against his, your clit pressed against the wiry hairs that cover his public bone. Without warning, though, you find yourself being knocked onto your side and hauled up on your hands and knees. Before you can say anything, he rocks back into you, causing you to let out another loud gasp as he begins to fuck you from behind. You bite your lip as he plunges in and out of you, the pace is more quick and unforgiving than it had been. The feeling inside you builds and you squeeze your eyes shut, reaching up in between your legs to touch yourself.

“Fuck…fuck,” you head from behind you. You speed your fingers up and he continues to fuck you, your moans coming fast and ragged now. What was happening? You were never particularly loud before, but now-

“I’m going-“ you warn him. He slams back into you as if encouraging you, and you’re just so full of him and that sweet slide of him inside you and your fingers working in small circles. You’re surprised, then, when you feel his hand fall on your shoulder and pull you up onto your knees, his hands groping at your breasts as he bites where your neck meets your shoulder. You let out a groan as he pinches a nipple and fucks up and into you.

“I’m-”

“Cum,” he instructs, and it’s enough. You clench around him, harder than you have in months. You let out a cry as you ride out the spasms, the firmness of him inside you feeling so impossibly good and foreign. He follows not long after, and you feel him pulse inside you as he cums, a little pathetic cry escaping his lips.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, panting and sweaty. After a moment, you feel his hands on your hips relax, and slowly, almost tenderly, he pulls out of you Exhausted, as if he was the only thing keeping you up, you fall forward onto your stomach, letting out a hefty exhale.

Behind you, you hear him shuffle around, take off the condom, and go dispose of it in the kitchen. A minute later you feel his weight on the bed once more next to you, and you turn to look up at him. He’s got two cigarettes in his mouth and lights one after the other. Satisfied they won’t go out, he plucks one from his lips and holds one out to you.

“What a gentleman,” you say, bringing it to your lips. He chuckles and relaxes down next to you.

“What was it you said? I know all about a girl’s needs?”  he sends you an impish look. You roll your eyes.

“One fuck after nine months of celibacy doesn’t make you a god,” you laugh, taking a drag. He shakes his head.

“Give me thirty minutes.”

It’s nothing serious. It’s nothing serious. It’s nothing serious.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch6: That Makes Two Of Us

Summary: Things heat up between Katie and Steve as their relationship progresses, but when Tony caches them out, he’s on the war path.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Bad Language, Smut (dry humping, oral- male receiving) NSFW, 18+. and a VERY angry Big Brother...

A/N: One of my favourite chapters. Thank you to @angrybirdcr​ , its a pleasure to have your edits for the repostings!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 5

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

End of May 2013

“For the one hundredth time, no, Tony I am NOT coming.” Katie groaned as she pulled up outside Steve’s apartment building “I have work to do.” “But the damned meeting is in DC!” Tony protested “Surely you can manage to spare an hour! You’re part of the board!” “You know full well that’s only to make sure that Starks maintain a controlling stake!”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you don’t care about our business.” Her brother’s voice took on a petulant tone. He could be such a child at times. “Stop being a dick.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose “Look, I’m busy with work, I can’t just drop everything you know just because you-” “Have you got a man on the go?” Tony asked suddenly, cutting her off “Because I’ve not seen you for weeks. Do I need to prep a Shovel Talk?” “Goodbye, Tony.” Katie cancelled the call before she stepped out of the car and headed to the lobby door.

In his apartment Steve was reading a proposal and groaning to himself. They wanted him to record videos to talk to high school kids about puberty, keeping fit, being in detention, not doing drugs…and he had agreed, just to shut them up mainly, but he was already regretting his decision. With a final wrinkle of his nose, he threw down the document he was looking at and was about to make himself a coffee when the buzzer to his apartment went off.

“Hey, Handsome.” Katie’s voice rang over the intercom and he smiled just as he always did when she called him that, a habit she’d slipped easily into over the last three weeks of dating, which had consisted of early morning breakfast meets on their way into work, stolen lunchtimes away from the office where they could hold hands with a slice or a burrito as they walked around the Mal, three more intimate evening meals at quiet restaurants and one trip to the cinema. That had been Steve’s favourite date so far, not just because it had been his first time in a movie theatre since the 40s, but more so that he he’d enjoyed the feel of her as she leaned into him when he’d put his arm round the back of her chair, sharing popcorn, stolen quick kisses on the lips in the dark as they sat on the back row in between their bursts of hysterical laughter at the film. They had gone to see the third and final instalment of the Hangover trilogy, which Katie had been ridiculously excited about. She loved those films and Steve had to admit he agreed they were pretty good, as all three had made him laugh in places until tears rolled down his face. Movie and TV nights in their apartments had also turned into something special too as they snuggled down together, sharing snacks and personal space along with deep kisses that left him wanting a lot more… “Hey Sweetheart, come on up.”

He waited for her by the door and felt his breath catch as she emerged onto the landing from the stairs. She was wearing a blue and white LA Dodgers T-shirt, which was tight and finished just above her hips and clung to her chest flashing a strip of her toned stomach, tight grey jeans which fit snug to her ass and black baseball boots. Steve had seen her in all sorts of clothing items- jeans, tops, dresses…but never like this.

And fuck, she looked hot.

“Hi!” She greeted him with a huge smile and a gentle kiss, standing on her toes to meet his lips, before she stepped into the apartment and headed into the living room. Spotting the file on the coffee table she picked it up.

“What’s this?” She asked, opening it.

“A proposal from Fury. I’m going to be doing some videos, for high school kids..phys-ed classes that kinda thing.” “Videos?” “Yeah, apparently they get Celebrities to do them normally but they thought they’d use me this time.” Steve shrugged. “You’re not some kind of performing monkey they can trot out when they want.” She winkled her nose in distaste as she remembered those awful USO videos as she thumbed through the file. 

Steve smiled at her indignation on his behalf. “It’s only a couple of videos.” he assured her. 

“Hmm.” she dropped the file with disdain onto the table “Anyway, enough about that. You busy?” “When it comes to spending time with you? Never.”

“Oh that was smooth, Captain Badass!” She smirked and he gave her a quick shrug and a smile.

“What you got in mind?”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat she pulled out what looked like two tickets from her back pocket and suddenly it became apparent why she was dressed as she was.

“Are we…no, you’re kidding?” Steve couldn’t help the childish grin which flickered across his face “Baseball?” *****

“Oh what?” Katie cried out, jumping to her feet as the umpire made an atrocious decision for what felt like the 100th time, turning to Steve in disgust. “Is this guy blind or just really fucking dumb?”

Steve let out a snort, leaning back in his seat with his hand gesturing to the field. “Blind, he has to be. No one can be that stupid. I mean he’s been calling bad ones all game.”

Katie angrily dropped to her chair and Steve gestured to the vendor for two more beers. He passed one to Katie who hesitated as she took it.

“I bought the car.” She said, looking at him.

“Sweetheart,” he leaned over, kissing her cheek, “ridiculously fast metabolism, remember? I can’t get drunk. I’ll drive home…”

He handed over his money, waved away the little bit of change he would have received before he turned back to his girl who was pouting at him.

“The last time you drove Rainey you didn’t respect her. You drove her through a fuck tonne of puddles.”

“Doll, it’s a…”

“Er, she.” Katie looked at him. “She is not an it…”

Steve rolled his eyes. She was ridiculously attached to her Range Rover. He had to admit, as far as cars went it was pretty damned nice both to be driven in and to drive. White with black wheels and windows, and every gadget in it known to man. Mind you, he expected nothing else from the Starks.

“Ok, she is a damned four by four…” He raised an eyebrow for her. “They’re supposed to go off roading, so what’s a few puddles?”

“Off roading?” Katie spluttered, her eyes wide. “No! You’re so not driving her ever again.”

“Fine I’ll drink both of these then.” He shrugged, moving to take the beer he’d handed her back, and she moved it out of his reach, glaring at him. The desire to drink and have fun won out over protecting her car from a haphazard Captain who was on the sly a bit of a speed demon and probably never actually completed any kind of driving lesson in his life, let alone a test. She dug into her pocket and handed over her keys.

“One scratch and you’re a dead man.” She narrowed her eyes playfully.

“I’ll take good care of her.” He said solemnly, putting the keys into his pocket.

As the game progressed, despite his protestations that the LA Dodgers just weren’t his team, he found himself rooting for them and he was getting more and more frustrated at the current batters method. The guy was swinging it around with more force than Thor wielded his hammer and it wasn’t working. But just as Steve was about to let out another cry of frustration, the bat suddenly connected with the ball, and it was a good hit. Both Steve and Katie got to their feet shouting for the players to speed up and go for home. When they made it the pair both let out a loud cheer, and Steve hugged Katie, grinning wildly. At that moment, stood there, surrounded by strangers but with the girl who made him feel so grounded, he had never felt so normal since coming out of the ice, and he loved it. 

The rest of the innings passed far too fast, but at the end of the game, the Dodgers won, much to Katie’s delight. They joined the throng of people streaming out of the stadium hand in hand and Steve, still grinning like an idiot felt Katie tug on his hand.

“Shall we head for a drink?” She asked as he looked at her.

He nodded, tilting the peak of her cap back slightly and giving her a quick peck on the lips. “Sounds great.” And it was a great idea. Until they parked up, walked into the sports bar and spotted half of STRIKE in there round a table.

“Turn around.” Katie hissed with a groan and, just as they were about to do so, Rumlow yelled from the bar.

“Hey Cap, Nova…”

“Too late.” Steve muttered as Katie rolled her eyes and turned round.

“Fancy seeing you here!” Rumlow smiled and Katie shrugged.

“Yeah, small world, huh?”

“You want a beer, Cap?” Rumlow gestured to the bar and Steve nodded.

“Sure, thanks.”

“Stark, what do you…woah, what is this shit?” Rumlow pointed at her shirt and it didn’t escape Steve’s notice that the man’s gaze was lingering far too long on her boobs. He took a deep inhale, his fists clenching in his pockets as Katie let out a scoff.  

“This shit just kicked the Nationals asses!” she responded, jabbing Rumlow in his chest.

“Whatever man!” Rumlow shook his head. “Fucking Dodgers…” They didn’t have much option then but to join the rest of the team. Rumlow took the opportunity to eyeball Katie at every given opportunity and it was really starting to piss Steve off. At one time Katie looked up and caught Steve simply glaring at Rumlow, and in an attempt to keep him calm she gently squeezed his knee under the table. Steve was glad when it was his round, giving him an excuse to leave the table, Evans following to give him a hand.

“Enjoy your date?” Thee ginger haired man looked at Steve with a smirk.

“What?” Steve replied, a little too quickly. “I saw you and Stark kissing.” Evans popped a shoulder. “Outside the stadium. Don’t worry, no one else did.” Steve let out a sigh. It wasn’t like they were doing anything wrong, but he knew that Tony didn’t know yet and the pair of them were simply enjoying the early stages of a new relationship on their own before the inevitable tornado of interest hit once they did go public. Glancing at Katie who was talking to Rollins and Rumlow at their table, he turned back to Evans and dropped his voice slightly.

“We’re not deliberately keeping it from everyone, it’s just early days, don’t want everyone sticking their noses in, get what I’m sayin’?” “Secret’s safe with me.” Evans nodded. “Although I suspect it won’t be a secret for much longer if Rumlow keeps eye fucking your girl.”

Steve let out a snort as he took his change from the bar tender. “He’s a pain in the ass.” “Yeah well do me a favour, Cap.” Evans chuckled, picking up three of the glasses “When you do eventually snap and beat on him, make sure I’m there. Been waiting for someone to smack the shit outta him for years.”

****

Later that evening the coffee table at Katie’s apartment sported a number of empty plates, which had previously contained several frozen pizzas, and a good quantity of empty beer bottles. Katie was happily snuggled under Steve’s arm, curled against him and he was enjoying the closeness and comfortable silence that had fallen over them as they watched another ‘Game of Thrones’ episode. Katie had gotten him hooked on the fantasy programme and promised not to watch any of the latest season until he had caught up on the last two. As the episode finished he felt her stir and he didn’t want her to move, thankfully she didn’t too far, simply shifting her head slightly.

“So I never asked if you enjoyed yourself” She asked, looking up at him.

“Doll, it was amazing. Thank you.” “We should go more often” She mused “I haven’t seen a game live in years but I really enjoyed it.”

“You know what I didn’t enjoy?” He looked down at her, the soft light from the lamp illuminating her pretty face, highlighting the freckles spattered across her nose. “Sitting in that bar with Rumlow watching him looking at you.”

“Aww were you jealous?” She teased, sitting up.

“Not at all.” He shook his head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he recalled what Evans had said at the bar “Just don’t appreciate him eye fucking my girl.”

She let out a large snort before she looked at him, as her brain registered what he had just said.

“Your girl?” Her tone was teasing but the look in her eyes told him she was anything but, in fact she looked almost nervous. “Is that what I am?”

Steve hesitated, realising that he’d never actually asked her that question before. Was three weeks too soon? He had no idea. To him it wasn’t, he’d been waiting to be able to call her his for months now, but was he outside of modern day dating etiquette?

He looked at her and took a deep breath, before he swallowed and spoke quietly, the nerves making his stomach flip slightly. “Well I’m kinda hoping you wannabe. I mean, if it’s not too soon.”

“It’s not too soon, it’s not too soon at all.” She whispered as she looked back at him, her features soft, eyes alive in the dim light of the lamp. “Stevie, I already am.”

And that was it, his lips crashed onto hers and he was kissing her like he’d been wanting to kiss her all day, his arm curling tighter round her, pulling her close. Katie took the initiative, every inch of her body was on fire for him, and she wrapped her arms round his neck and pulled him down as she fell slowly backwards, sinking into the couch. The movement came as a not-entirely unwelcome surprise to Steve and he didn’t resist. Automatically his hands crept to her hips, settling just under the hem of her top as she placed both hands on his face, the pads of her finger tips cupping his jaw. She broke away this time to breathe, head laying back on the arm of the couch and he dropped his head, pausing his lips inches from her neck.

“Can I kiss you here?” He whispered softly. .

“God, yes.” Katie sighed and he obliged, pressing his mouth to her neck. He gripped her hips again and they gave a little jerk of their own accord, pushing up against him and they she let out a soft moan at the feeling of his crotch bumping against hers. At the noise Steve pulled back to stare at her again, almost as if he was needing her permission to carry on. Katie wordlessly answered by tilting her hips up again, causing him to give a little grunt as she did so, before he took a deep breath and swallowed.

“Doll, I don’t want to rush you or do anything-”

“It’s okay Steve,” Her voice was low and slightly breathy as she looked at him, her eyes, locking onto his. She wanted this, more than she’d wanted anything before. She pushed her head upwards, lips pressing back to his and her hands slid under his t- shirt. His muscles twitched at her touch as the sensation of her gently dragging her nails across his stomach sent a spike of desire, like a red hot poker through his entire body. At that point, something snapped inside him and he let out a growl and Katie paused, hands still on his stomach.

“Did you just growl at me?” Her eyes flashed, dark, a smirk on her face. She was enjoying the effect she had on him, and right now so was he.

“Yeah.” he nodded, simply.

Her smirk grew wider as she grasped the bottom of his T-shirt. He held his arms up so she pull it over his head, and once he was free, he glanced down to see Katie looking at his chest.

She’d never seen him topless before and she was momentarily stunned. She let her hands wander, tracing the lines of the flowing muscles and Steve let out another groan wanting to feel her skin against his. He interrupted her hands exploration by gripping her top and looked back at her, ever questioning. As means of an answer she moved her arms and sat up slightly to allow him to yank it up and off, her hair falling around her shoulders, his lips catching hers as he gently slipped one strap of her bra down at a time placing a soft kiss on each of her shoulders. Her breasts spilled over the tops of the lace lined cups and his groin twitched, the crotch of his jeans now painfully tight.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered gently, and then he kissed her again. Her fingers gently took his hands and she guided them onto her, sliding them up her rib cage to her chest and he obliged, boy did he oblige. Gently at first, softly squeezing and kneading the soft flesh and white lace, before his hand slid into the cups, teasing her taught nipples with his thumbs, acting completely on instinct, listening and watching her as she groaned gently, arching her back, her reaction telling him he was doing something right as all the time his groin bumped against hers.

Katie could feel the fabric of her underwear sliding in her jeans with every thrust of his hips against hers, that’s how wet she was. Steve was rocking hard against her and she buried her fingers in his hair, pulling sharply, forcing his head back, almost violently. As she tugged he let out another low growl and when she let go he stared down at her to see her smirking as she watched him, his pupils blown so wide there was hardly any blue left.

The rhythm of his hips was growing more frantic and their kisses were growing more desperate. “More,” she moaned into his mouth, and he gave her what she wanted, moving his hips even faster, rubbing against her in ways that had her clutching at his back like her life depended on it. Steve had never felt anything like this in his life. It was so good, so right, in a way nothing had ever felt so right before. This was a first for him, rutting up against someone fully clothed. Making out, Bucky had called it, but none of Steve’s bedroom experiences had ever entailed anything like this, and God, his head was a whirl of lust, desire, and he didn’t give a fuck about anything else at that moment other than her as she lay underneath him.

He started to lose his rhythm and he let out another groan as the tell-tale tightening across his lower stomach warned him he was fast approaching his release. This was too soon, he needed to get her there first. Clenching his teeth he desperately fought back the high as he pushed his hips down hard, making her gasp and claw at his back.

“Sweetheart, I’m close.” He breathed. “You almost there? Tell me your close baby, please?”

He needn’t have worried, at his words it was all she could do to moan brokenly and nod and his mouth fell to that spot on her neck which seemed to drive her wild. She tipped her head back as he gently nipped beneath her ear with his teeth and a few more thrusts of his hips against hers and she was done, fingers wrapped around his hair as the lights exploded in front her eyes and she felt the coil in her stomach unravelling as she came hard underneath him, hips bucking upwards, almost violently. Her voice was broken as she gasped out “Stevie…”and it was the single most beautiful sound he’d ever heard in his life. Her name for him, the name that no-one in this day and age called him other than her, tumbled from her lips and seeing and feeling her fall apart in his arms sent him over the edge right behind her in a pure surge of ecstasy. He fell forward, his arms shaking as he fought to keep his body up, not wanting to crush her under his weight. His head dropped forward, as he lowered himself ever so gently onto his elbows, his face pressing into the crook of her shoulder and she gently ran her fingers through his hair as they both breathed deeply as they waited to regain control of their bodies. Eventually both of them evened out and he raised his head to look at her, to find her smirking a little, her eyes twinkling with what looked like humour.

“What?” He managed to ask, his nose sliding against hers.

“I haven’t dry humped since I was about sixteen.” she said closing her eyes again with a smirk.

“Dry humped?” He snorted. “What-“

She laughed “Dry humping, making out, whatever. It’s been a while, Rogers.”

He felt himself chuckle again and she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, one of her hands running up and down his spine causing the muscles to gently twitch at her touch, neither of them in a hurry to move, but Steve’s arms were starting to hurt.

“You ok?” Katie looked at him, seeing the tension in his muscles and he nodded.

“Yeah, just, my arms.”

“Lay down.” Her hands moved to his biceps, gently trailing shapes on his skin.

“Doll, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m not made of glass, handsome. I promise you, it’ll be fine.”

Steve licked his lips and with a deep breath he lowered himself down gently, shifting and moving lower, pressing as little of himself to her as he could, despite the fact he could have happily smothered her to feel her body pressed against this. He closed his eyes and lay his head gently on her chest as she carded one hand through his hair, the other softly trailing down his neck and across his shoulders. Her touch was soothing, relaxing, loving even, and h felt himself beginning to doze off.

Katie was also growing sleepy, so she gently kissed his head and whispered a single word to him.

“Stay?”

It was a question to him, an invitation to stay with her that she was desperately hoping he’d take up.

He opened his eyes to blink lazily up at her. “Do you want me to?” he asked, his voice thick.

She nodded, “Let’s go to bed.”

He made to stand before he remembered his trouser predicament having just shot his load into them like a pubescent teenager and stilled, his cheeks flushing even more.

“I uh…I think I need to…”

“There’s some stuff of Tony’s in the spare room.” she said, looking at him cutting him off knowing exactly what the problem was because she was also in need of a clean-up “Should be a pair of sweats in there. Might be a bit short on you but…”

With another soft kiss, he pushed himself up off the couch before offering her his hand. She took it and he pulled her up, a little more forcefully than he had intended and she fell forwards, crashing into his chest.

“Steady on Soldier.” She grinned and he apologised, dropping a kiss to her forehead as his gaze once more dropped to her chest. With a certain glint in her eye she turned around, undid her bra and slipped it off before bending over in front of him, picking up his T-shirt from where she’d tossed it to the floor before heading over to the stairs.

Steve was hard again like it had never left.

After he had cleaned himself up and managed to calm himself down, he thrown on a pair of Tony’s sweatpants retrieved from the spare room and exited the main bathroom, heading to her room. She wasn’t asleep as he found out as he settled down in the bed next to her, and she moved to rest her head on his bare chest tangling her legs into his as his hand stroked her back, gently underneath his T’shirt, light fingers brushing her soft skin.

“This is mine…” He teased with a yawn as he tugged at the bottom of his shirt and she moved laying a soft kiss onto his lips.

“You can have it back tomorrow.” She said, laying her head back down on his chest. As her breathing grew even he felt himself start to drift off too, the warm feeling in his chest made him want to burst with happiness.

*****

When Steve woke the next morning it was peacefully. Katie had shifted positions through the night and now her back was to him pressed as close as she could get, he still had his arms around her, his face buried in her hair. She smelt so familiar and comfortable. As his sleepy brain reminded him of the previous night he smiled and felt a familiar twitch. He was hard, again, which wasn’t uncommon when waking up, but suddenly he felt her stir, and then he realised with horror that she was going to feel him poking her in the back.

It took Katie a few seconds to recall the night before, but when she felt a solid, warm wall of muscle pressed against her, a small hum of contentment rumbled in her throat as she pushed back further into him. They both lay there for a moment, silently, basking in the warmth and softness of each other before Katie turned over and looked up at him. Her face was devoid of any make up, not that she wore a lot anyway, but her freckles were more pronounced, clear skin was bright, cheeks flushed and her hair was tousled in waves around her shoulders. He reached out to tuck a long strand that had fallen over her cheek behind her ears, when she looked up at him, her eyes glinting.

He was about to wish her good morning, but before he could she kissed him, hard and fast, tongue tangling with his. And then she was straddling him, his head against the pillow, as her lips began to trail down his chest. By the time his sleep and lust addled brain had caught up with what was going on, she had reached her destination and had flipped the waist band of the sweats he was wearing down, taking his erection firmly in one hand, making him hiss slightly.

His size had taken Katie slightly by surprise, although she knew with retrospect it shouldn’t have. She looked up and locked eyes with him before she gave him one final smirk and took him in her mouth. Steve panicked for a second, this had never happened to him before, his hands flying to the bed sheets either side of his waist, but it wasn’t for long, as all worry flew out of his mind as she began to work him.

From the noises he was making Katie knew he was enjoying himself. Which was her aim. After a short while, she pulled off of him to suck at the tip and worked her hands over the rest of his length. When she glanced up at him, he had his head thrown back against the pillow, face contorted in utter pleasure. She continued to lick, suck, and when she pulled away slightly to suck at the sensitive tip, working the rest of his length with her hands he let out a loud groan and he looked at her. Her eyes locked onto his and he felt that tell-tale warmth rising in his groin and stomach.

“Katie, sweetheart, shit.” His voice was raspy from desire and the fact it was morning and Katie was beyond aroused at the sound as he babbled the first words either of them had spoken since waking. “I’m gonna-” his words caught in his mouth as she took him in hers again, this time all the way to the back of her throat. At that, he was gone, his fingers gripped her hair tight the other clutched at the bedsheets, noises escaping him that he’d never heard before as he spilled himself down her throat and slumped back completely blissed out.

Katie rolled onto her side watching, as he finally opened his eyes and looked down at her.

“Morning, Handsome.”  She grinned and he felt himself chuckle.

“Morning, Gorgeous.” he said, still fighting to control his breathing.

“You want breakfast?” She asked, leaning over to peck him on the lips. He hummed a response and she smiled once more before climbing out of bed. Steve watched her head into the bathroom and found himself thinking that as far as mornings went, he’d had worse.

She emerged a few moments later, her hair slightly less wild, and she was still in his T-shirt, which fell to midway down her toned thighs, giving him a better look at that intriguing tattoo that adorned her right which he still hadn’t seen in full properly. She flashed him a smile, fully aware he was looking her up and down, and then she left without a word, clearly with no intentions of getting dressed fully yet. Which was fine by him.

Katie turned the radio on and set about making coffee, singing softly to herself as she replaced the filter paper. She tossed in a liberal amount of Columbian Roast and was just pouring two mugs when Steve, who was now out of bed, appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She smiled at him and slid a mug of the coffee over the island where the creamer and sugar already lay waiting and he took it with a thanks.

“How hungry are you?” she asked and he arched an eyebrow over the top of the mug and she gave a laugh. “Sorry, dumbass question. Fancy pancakes and fruit?”

“Don’t got to any trouble, Doll.” He began to protest but she shook her head.

“It’s no bother, I can whip up a batter in five minutes.”

Turning away from him, she reached up into the cupboard for the flour and the T-shirt she was wearing rode up slightly giving Steve a perfect view of her ass which was clad in black lace panties. The fraying tendrils of self-control he had been holding onto snapped completely and stood up from the stool he’d been perched on, right hand still clutching his coffee. He rounded the island in three long strides and placed the mug down on the counter beside her, his hands falling to her hips and he gently spun her to face him. She giggled slightly before his lips met hers and he reached down and cupped her ass in both hands picking her up easily and setting her down on the counter.

“Something got you worked up Captain?” She teased, looking up at him. Last night had clearly unlocked something in the Soldier, and she was liking what she was seeing, and feeling.  

“Yeah, the sight of you wearing nothing but a pair of panties and my t-shirt…” He said raising an eyebrow as he reached for his mug again, taking another drink, trying to play it cool. But it wasn’t working clearly, as she simply laughed and slid both arms around his neck as she leaned in to kiss him again. His free hand slid to her thigh, tracing a path up until, just as he had reached the bottom of her panties, they were interrupted by the sound of the lift doors opening.

“Hey Kiddo, you in?” Steve and Katie exchanged a look, utter horror spreading from Steve’s head to his toes as Tony’s voice hit his ears.

“Kiddo?” he shouted again. “I can smell coffee, you in the kitchen?”

“Shit…” Katie said as she gently pushed Steve backwards, jumping down from the counter, adjusting the T-shirt. Steve was now a shade of crimson pretty much from his neck upwards as he desperately tried to rearrange his pants to hide his once more ebbing arousal. She debated telling Steve to hide in the bedroom but there was no way he’d get across the open plan living space to the stairs without Tony seeing him.

They were well and truly caught.

As she clocked the utter horror on Steve’s face she was suddenly overcome with giggles at how ridiculous the entire situation was. A super soldier and a SHIELD agent, both of them having faught aliens, deadly terrorists and weapons traders, were stood in her kitchen panicking about being busted fooling around by her brother.

“So, the damned board meeting was cancelled which would have been fine had I not already been on the jet over, so I thought seeing as I now in town with nothing to do we could hang for the day or if you’re too busy at least have breakfast…” Tony’s voice was getting louder as he walked through the apartment.

Steve looked at her in utter astonishment as she began to laugh now because frankly he couldn’t think of a single thing that was funny about this situation if he tried. Her laughter didn’t stop even as her brother walked into the kitchen, his brown eyes flashing from his sister to Steve and their various state of undress, a look of utter horror on his face as he processed the implications.

“Oh you have gottta be fucking kidding me…” Tony muttered, dropping the box he was carrying onto the kitchen counter. “Please tell me there’s a perfectly innocent explanation for this…” “Explanation yes, innocent…not so much.” Katie said through her laughter and Steve let out a groan. This was not how he wanted Tony to find out.  “Don’t you know how to buzz Dickwad, before just walking into my apartment?”

“I have a key…” “For emergencies…” she shot back. “Stop changing the subject.” Tony demanded his eyes flashing dangerously and Katie folded her arms and tilted her chin up defiantly.

“Look, this isn’t a big deal, Tony…”

“No, this…this is a very big deal…” he snapped back as he looked from her to Steve, every line on his face was contorted with anger and shock.

Steve took a deep breath and placed his mug down on the side. “Tony…” he began trying to placate the billionaire but he was cut off.

“What, you gonna tell me this aint what it looks like?” he shook his head. “That Captain America isn’t banging my little sister? I might be like nearly 60 years younger than you old man but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Steve took a breath, his nostrils flaring at Tony’s snipe.

“Tony, I’m 29 next week, I can do what or who I like” Katie snapped at him “And besides you’ve no room to talk, the amount of times I’ve walked in on you and whichever bimbo you decided to bring home that night…”

“That is completely different!” Tony spluttered.

“No it isn’t” she shot back, hands going to her hips.

Tony’s eyes locked onto hers, before he looked back at Steve who held his gaze evenly, before the dark haired man shook his head and looked at the super soldier.

“Can you go and put some clothes on please, frankly the amount of flesh on show is disturbing me.” “Well I would but your sister is still wearing my shirt.” Steve shot back, his temper rising. Tony gave another growl and then he stopped, open mouthed.

“Are those my sweats?” He spluttered, his voice practically a squeak.

“Yes.” Katie replied simply, and at that point she grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him out of the room and up the stairs. The initial humour she had found in the situation had ebbed away and now she was livid at her brother.

“He is…” she started, opening the various drawers to pull out a hooded top. Taking Steve’s T-shirt off, as she threw it over the bed to him. “The biggest hypocrite going…”

“To be fair I can kinda see it from his point of view…” Steve said shrugging on his T-shirt and making a point of averting his eyes as she strode over to her dresser, naked bar her panties.

She pulled on a hoody and narrowed her eyes at Steve. “Don’t defend him…”

He chuckled and crossed the room, walking round the bed. “I’m not.” he placed a peck on her lips “But I do think that I should go, let you talk to him alone…”

“Yeah, probably for the best…” she breathed out a sigh and followed him down the stairs where he retrieved his sneakers.

“Wait, do you wanna take my car or…” He gestured up and down his body, and she took in his trainers, slightly too short joggers and a T-shirt “Nah, Baby Girl, I’ll run.” She smiled at the term of endearment that he hadn’t used before then, as he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll call you later.” He promised, before disappearing in the elevator.

Katie took a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen. Tony eyed her from where he was leaning against the counter, mug of coffee in his hand.

“Don’t start.” Katie warned him, to no avail

“Oh I’m gonna!” Tony spat, before he paused and looked around “Where is the Star Spangled Ass-hole?”

“Gone home.” Katie folded her arms.

Tony snorted “I bet he has…” “You know I don’t remember me reacting like this every time you brought a girl home, which from my recollection happened quite a lot.” Katie sniped back, as she walked to where he was stood by the coffee pot and reached round him to pour herself a fresh mug.

“That..that was different…” Tony stammered at her back as she walked to the counter for the creamer.

“How so?”

“Because, well, it’s him…” he whined “I mean, seriously? Of all the men in the world…”

“Yeah because the last one worked out so great…” Katie said sarcastically, replacing the carton down with a slightly harsh action, causing some to spill over the top.

The room fell silent bar the chink of the spoon on the edge of her pink unicorn mug as she stirred in sugar and milk. She took a sip of her drink and turned to face her brother who was hunched over the counter slightly, eyes on his mug. Eventually he straightened up and met his sister’s eyes before he spoke again, this time his voice was softer.

“How long?” he asked,

“Three weeks, give or take.”

“Three weeks, and I’m only just finding out?” “Yes, Tony.” she groaned, with the air of someone talking to a small child “And your reaction is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”

To be fair, Steve was right. It wasn’t an ideal way for him to find out, but she knew the reaction from Tony wasn’t about her being caught, it was about her being caught with Steve. The two men got on okay, which hadn’t always been the case, but after the battle of New York Steve had spent a lot of time with them both at the tower. Tony was still a little reserved with Steve, more so due to the fact that Captain America was someone their dad had idolised but, whilst the two men were immensely different, there was a mutual respect between them and Katie was hoping now that that was going to be enough for Tony to be reasonable about the situation.

“Please don’t kick off about this. I care about him, a lot.” She said gently, looking at her brother, appealing to his better nature and the fact that she knew he would want her to be happy.

And sure enough, that was exactly what Tony asked as he looked at her.

“Does he make you happy?”

“More than anything.” she replied honestly. “I really like him Tony, I want this to work.”

Tony studied her face for a moment before he let out a deep sigh, looking away. “Damned it.” He groaned “I can’t believe I’m going to have to have the Shovel Conversation with Captain America.”

In the silence that followed Katie debated pointing out that Steve wouldn’t be frightened in the slightest of Tony’s various threats anyway, but who was she to rob her brother of his opportunity to try and protect her?  Instead she placed her mug on the counter and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Tony who sighed again and reciprocated the gesture.

“Suppose he is an improvement on Agent Shitweasel” he said, resting his chin on her head.

“That’s not exactly a glowing endorsement.” she snorted.

*****

Steve was reading a book in his lounge when Katie messaged him later that afternoon. Apparently Tony had calmed down enough to take her for lunch at some Italian place in the Business District following which they’d had a walk round the city together before Tony had left to go back to New York. Steve was pleased, he knew that despite the fact that he drove her insane at times, she loved the bones of her brother which was why his reaction before had pissed her off. He messaged back, telling her he was glad she’d had a good time and that he would call her later before he picked his book back up, but he’d only managed another chapter or so before there was a buzz on his intercom.

“Rogers, it’s me.”

Steve sighed “Come on up.”

He wasn’t surprised Tony was on his doorstep, he’d been half expecting it. And, judging from the lack of stupid nickname, no Spangles, no Capsicle, no Old Man, he wasn’t here to exchange pleasantries. A fact that was confirmed when Stark didn’t wait for Steve to invite him in, he simply pushed past the door into his flat and stalked inside, glancing around.

“You can tell Kiddo helped you decorate and furnish this gaff, far too modern to be your doing. There’s no Dig for Victory posters or wind up radios…” Tony said, causing Steve to roll his eyes “Holy shit, is that an original Dekka?”

“Katie said you’d like that” Steve watched the inventor cross the room and run his hands across the sleekness of the record player’s casing. “But I have a feeling you didn’t come here to admire my music equipment.”

“Perceptive” Tony turned to face him, his eyes flashing. Steve took a deep breath.

“Tony, I…” “No, you don’t get to talk, you get to listen. And you better listen good.” the billionaire cut him off “Katie was heartbroken when Agent Shitweasel did the dirty on her. She came home and I held her as she cried herself to sleep for 2 goddamned weeks before she shipped out to New Mexico… ”

“Tony…”Steve began, knowing already where this conversation was going. He wanted to assure Tony that he would never do what Ward had done, ever. But Tony ignored him.

“I hated him.” Tony said “he was an absolute dickhead with her at times and she changed because of it.  And then, after New York she seemed to go back to being her old self. She was laughing, socialising…and that was down to you” Tony looked at the Super Soldier, who cocked his head slightly to the right as he listened, a small smile tugging at his lips “ She had a friend, something she hasn’t had much time for since my little sioree in an Afghan cave, my bad, and for the first time in ages I can see she’s over it, you know…” he took a deep breath and Steve waited for him to finish “But Katie puts her heart into everything, and I gotta ask Cap, is this serious for you or you just after getting your dick wet?”

“What? No, of course it’s serious for me Tony…” Steve said, his temper flaring slightly at his crass tone. “I can’t believe you think that little of me that you had to even ask me that!”

“Oh get off your high horse, Rogers!” Tony shook his head, and Steve raised his eyebrows “This has nothing to do with what I think of you, this is about my sister…you know the girl I brought up from the age of 7.  The girl I couldn’t love any more if she was my own. I’d die for her you got that? Die for her!”

“Well that makes 2 of us!” Steve said loudly, silencing the other man. There was a moment where no sound was heard in the apartment bar the ticking of the clock on the wall and Tony raised his eyebrows slightly as Steve looked down at the floor taking a deep breath.

“Look, I know you’re not happy about this…” Steve sighed, looking at Tony again “But do I care about her Tony, more than you know, and nothing you do or say to me is gonna change that.”

Tony’s eyes softened, but his jaw remained set. Steve took a deep breath and wet his lips before he continued.  “And, for what it’s worth, I think you did a damned good job of raising her. She’s an incredible woman.”

“She’s a pain in the ass…” Tony sniffed, Steve was glad to hear his tone was less confrontational “And she’s stubborn, always thinks she knows best…”

“Wonder where she gets that from?” Steve said cheekily

“Absolutely no idea” Tony deadpanned back.

Steve’s face cracked into a smile as did Tony’s.

“Look.” Tony sighed, “I just want her to be happy and with someone that treats her right…”

“I don’t ever want to hurt her, Tony. You have my word…” Steve said, honestly.

“Good, because if you do, make no mistake I will fucking kill you, slowly and painfully and there will be no defrosting 70 years down the line.” Tony’s brown eyes flashed slightly as he stared at Steve, And Steve knew, absolutely 100% that he meant it. He was surprised to find himself slightly unnerved by the threat. Hoping that his face didn’t give him away her merely nodded and then Tony’s demeanour changed completely and he turned back into the Tony Stark that Steve knew, and had to admit quite liked after all.

“Good, this was a good talk…” Tony said, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

Steve smiled as the weight he hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying was lifted off his shoulder. Having Tony’s, albeit grudging, approval would mean the world to Katie, and if he was honest, it meant a lot to him as well. Not only was Tony his friend also, but he was the closest thing Katie had to a father, and he wanted him to be alright with the fact the two of them were together.

He offered the man a coffee which he politely declined, stating he needed to get back to New York. The two shook hands on the threshold of Steve’s door before Tony gave him one last look, raising his index finger and middle finger of his right hand to his eyes, before turning them to point at Steve in an “I’m watching you” gesture. Steve raised his eyebrows in understanding and felt his mouth tug upwards at the side as Tony turned on his heels and left.

He retreated back to his living room and pulled out his phone.

“Hey Badass” Katie greeted and Steve chuckled.

“I’ve just had a visitor.” Katie groaned into the phone as he sat back on his couch

“Let me guess… my darling brother turned up to give you the shovel talk?” her tone was exasperated. “No mention of a shovel, just threatened to kill me slowly and painfully if I hurt you, and you know what? I have absolutely no qualms about the fact he would.” Steve grinned as he spoke.

“Don’t tell me Captain America is scared of Iron Man?” she questioned playfully. “No, Steve Rogers is slightly disconcerted by Tony Stark.” He corrected as she let out a chuckle.

“Best make sure you don’t hurt me then aint ya?” “I’ve no intentions of doing doll.” He said, honestly before he let out a breath, smiling “I really enjoyed last night.”

“And this morning?”

“Yeah, another first.” He said, unable to stop the smirk on his face spreading into his voice “I’ve never, errr, had a woman use her mouth on me before…or vice versa for that matter.”

“I like being your first.” she said softly and his chest warmed at her words.

“You know what else was a first? Waking up next to my girl.”

There was a pause before she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“And you know what else I like? You calling me your girl.”

A shit eating grin crept back across the Captains face. “Well, you better get used to it, Doll.”

**** Chapter 7

**Original Posting**

[thedeathdeelers]

anyway so i finally finished another Juke drabble (at 12:45am on a Tuesday when I have to be up for work in 5 hours lols) based on the word prompt “Dancing” sent in by @nervousmiracletrash

the word mostly just inspired the idea for this fic - but ya. still counts :) enjoy!

(also this fic refers to a movie about a friendly ghost from 1995, so i hope it still makes sense to you even if you haven’t seen it)

Now also up on my AO3

————

childhood crushes

“So you’re sure it’s in one of these?”

Julie’s eyes remained focused on the notebook balanced on her knee, skimming through the never ending lines of poems and lyrics covering every page as she answered Luke.

“Yes! I swear, I remember working on something similar with my mom a few years before she- A few years ago. If we can find it, we won’t have to start from scratch.”

Feeling a little stiff, Julie leaned back, her eyes never leaving the pages, as she rested against the foot of her bed, stretching her legs out in front of her. They had been sitting on her bedroom floor all morning, surrounded by piles of scattered old notebooks of varying colours.

“I know, but we’ve been up here for ages and we haven’t even taken any breaks yet.” She could almost hear Luke’s pout as he continued, sitting cross legged and leaning against her closet door. “I’m nearly done with my stack. Maybe we should just consider focusing on one of our other songs for now? Come back to this one later?”

Julie shook her head as she looked up, her eyes needing a second to readjust.

“I’m telling you Luke, we’ll find it. I won’t be able to work on anything else unless I get this melody out of my head. I know I can find the lyrics. They’re definitely here. Plus we’ve pretty much gone through the majority of my notebooks - there’s barely a few left. We’ll be done before it’s time to head down for band rehearsal, chill.”

Without waiting for a reply, Julie lowered her gaze back down, quickly finding her spot on the page she was in and resuming her search. Luke shook his head at the stubborn girl sitting across from him, a small smile touching his lips. He knew there was no point in arguing with a Julie that had already set her mind to something. Adjusting his sitting position to avoid cramping (who knew ghosts still had to deal with pins and needles, eh?), he dived back into the book in his lap.

It stayed quiet for a while after that, only sounds of paper crinkling under fingers, and soft whispers of words being spoken disturbing the peace.

That is, until disaster struck.

“Uh, Jules, why does this notebook have “Julie hearts Casper” written all over it?”

Julie was so focused on the poem she was reading, that Luke’s words took a few good seconds to fully sink in. But when they did, her head snapped up while her heart sank, the blood draining from her face. It would have been funny if she wasn’t the one panicking right now. Her eyes, now as wide as saucers, zeroed in on the offending journal, balanced on Luke’s left knee. She had completely forgotten about that.

“It’s nothing! Nothing just a- a- a pet’s name! Yes! We had a dog named uh Casper and I really loved him.”

She scrambled up, the notebook she had been so focused on only a few moments ago hitting the floor with a soft thud. She quickly reached Luke’s side, swiping the journal off his knee and out of his reach.

“I thought you guys never had any pets? What with your dad’s allergies?”

Julie froze on her way back to her spot by her bed, having completely forgotten that her dad, who she’s literally known her whole life, was allergic to dogs. Trust Luke to remember that tiny, throwaway detail, but completely “forget” that her dream box was out of bounds.

She slowly resumed her half hop trek to her spot, avoiding the minefield of papers and journals, making sure Luke couldn’t see her face for as long as possible. Her mind, on the other hand, was busy hastily trying to come up with a plausible excuse.

“Yeah, we uh- we had Casper for a week before we found out Dad was allergic. Had to give him away after that.” Julie held the journal tight against her chest as she turned back around to face Luke now that she was at a safe distance.

Luke’s eyebrows lifted, disappearing under his beanie. The disbelief on his face was palpable. He could always see straight through her.

“So you’re telling me that your dad didn’t know he was allergic to dogs until he was in his thirties?”

“He was still in his late twenties, thank you very much!”

“Jules, you know that’s not my point.”

“The point is we had a dog, I loved him very much and then he was gone. It was a sad time, can we just move on?”

He was still looking at her sceptically, but nodded his head regardless, diverting his attention to the dwindling pile of notebooks yet to be explored, spread out on the floor next to him.

Julie was just glad Luke hadn’t noticed the little ghost doodles decorating the spine of the notebook. She plopped back onto the floor, sneakily pushing the accursed nightmare under her bed.

It was only half an hour later however, just as her heart had finally reached a normal tempo, when Luke spoke up again.

“So, Casper huh? You guys really named a dog after a ghost?”

Trying hard not to groan out loud, Julie forced her features to adapt a natural expression, before lifting her face towards her band mate.

“Yes. Mom had just introduced me to the movie, and the name was still fresh in my mind.” She could see that he was still not buying her story, but there was nothing she could do. She was definitely not about to spill the truth to him.

Luke scratched his head, his beanie shifting with the movement.

“I see. So the little ghost doodles down the side there, have nothing to do with the actual friendly ghost? The one from the Casper movie released in the summer of 1995?” He was pointing in the general direction of where she had thought she had managed to carefully dispose of the journal. Apparently not.

Julie could feel her cheeks getting warmer, and curse it all, Luke had definitely noticed. That damn smirk.

“Not to mention the ghost painted on the back pocket of your favourite pair of jeans.”

She threw her head back, bouncing slightly against her mattress as her hands flew up to hide her warm face. Luke chuckled.

“Fine! This is mortifying, but fine! I had a crush on Casper as a kid, okay? Happy?” Her voice came out muffled, her palms pressing hard against the horrified expression taking centre stage.

But not even a few seconds later, did she feel hands wrapping themselves around her wrists and pulling her fingers away from her face. She hadn’t even heard him move. She kept her eyes closed, scrunching her eyelids together as tightly as she could. Maybe if she thought of it hard enough, her carpeted flooring would eventually swallow her up?

“So, you had a thing for ghosts, huh?”

She could hear the barely suppressed glee in his voice, making her eyes pop open in disbelief.

“Ugh! This is why I don’t tell you everything!” Now that her eyes were open, she didn’t know where to look. Maybe over his left shoulder?

A soft chuckle made its way out of his mouth.

“Aw, come on Julie! This is actually pretty cute. Kinda feels like fate, huh?”

“Really?” She deadpanned. Her eyes diverted to his face of their own accord.

“I mean, he’s a ghost from a movie from the 90s, the girl has the hots for him even though he’s clearly dead...I’m getting similar vibes here.”

“He was just a floating orb!”

He tried to cut her off with a sly “As opposed to cute air?” But she continued speaking over him, wanting to defend her old childhood crush.

“It was an emotional connection. A deep connection, exploring different emotions and representations of love, resulting in some pretty iconic lines and moments in the movie.” She sounded a little hysterical, a little ridiculous. But the whole situation she currently found herself in was ridiculous in and of itself, so there really wasn’t much pride left for her to hold onto anymore.

Luke hummed at her reply, his eyes brimming with humour.

“Thought about it a lot, have you?”

“Ugh! You’re impossible. Fine. You might as well know. It was my favourite movie for a long time. I’d watch it whenever I was having a bad day or whatever.” She shrugged, casting her eyes downwards towards her lap where their hands lay; his fingers still locked around her wrists. She knew she wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Was?”

“Yeah, well...It started hitting too close to home a few years ago so I just.. stopped.”

Understanding dawned on him, as she felt more than saw, the energy leave him in one fell swoop. She chanced another look at his eyes, and saw that the humour previously taken up residence had now shifted to something softer.

“Julie I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that, I-“

“No, no Luke really. It’s fine. I’m okay now. I haven’t felt the need to watch any comfort movies or shows lately anyway. Maybe I’ll even revisit it sometime soon, who knows. See it with a fresh set of eyes.” She gave him a small smile as she tilted her head to the side. “Honestly, don’t worry about it.” After a beat of silence, Julie grasped at the chance to steer the conversation away from anymore embarrassing questions.

“Do you think we could stop looking through these for now? I’m getting hungry, and it’s nearly time for practice so...” She gestured towards the mess on her floor.

“Yeah, of course.” Luke looked at her for another second, checking that she really was okay, before letting go of her wrists and jumping up. He then extended his hand down to her, waiting to pull her up with him.

As she got up, she couldn’t help but appreciate how sensitive Luke could be when it came to her feelings. She reached up on her tiptoes, and sneaked a quick peck on his cheek, before pulling him along with her, leaving the mess of notebooks (and hopefully that whole topic of conversation) behind them.

A few days had passed, and Luke hadn’t brought up the movie again. She had assumed he had forgotten, or at least accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to get much more out of her concerning that topic. Or maybe he even felt bad. But then a week later, while Julie was sat in the studio on her own (a rare occurrence), she was proven wrong.

She was sat on one of the armchairs, scribbling away furiously in their songbook, inspiration having finally struck. She was so focused, her hands gliding through the page as she hurried to get every word down, that she barely glanced at Luke when he popped into existence to her right.

She didn’t even notice when he moved to stand in front of her, knees nearly knocking into hers.

“Okay! So I finally figured out the second vers-“ Julie looked up, stopping mid-sentence as she finally took in the sight of the boy standing in front of her.

“Can I have this dance?”

“Luke? Why are you dressed like that?”

“Humour me, Julie. Dance with me?”

The fact that there was no music currently playing was on the tip of her tongue, but Julie held back. She takes a few seconds to reply though, too busy drinking in the sight in front of her. He had his hand outstretched towards her, dressed in black pants and a white dress-shirt. She was hyper aware of the fact that he was dressed in the near exact way she had imagined him during her imaginary Perfect Harmony routine. The only difference was his hair - but she had to concede to the fact that he looked better this way. It was 100% Luke, and she wouldn’t have him any other way.

Putting her notebook with the pencil tucked inside on the coffee table to her right, she reaches over towards Luke, taking his proffered hand.

He pulls her up, just like he did in her bedroom the other day, and guides her to the centre of the studio. They stand there, staring at each other for a few seconds before a song starts playing on the old garage stereo - the same one that had brought them, him , to her in the first place.

every now and then,

we find a special friend,

who never lets us down

who understands it all

reaches out each time we fall

you’re the best friend that i’ve found

I know you can’t stay,

a part of you will never ever go away,

your heart will stay

Luke reaches over to grab her other hand, lifting both up to his shoulders. Once settled, he lets go and finds her waist, pulling her in a little closer. Following his lead, Julie wraps her arms around his neck, her eyes focused solely on his. She listens to the song that is playing, gently swaying from side to side with the boy in her arms.

She cocks her head to the side as she tries to figure out why the melody and words sounded so familiar to her.

“This song sounds so familiar? Like I’ve heard it so many times but I just can’t place...” As her sentence dies on her lips, a small gasp is heard escaping her. Julie’s eyes widen as memories of her younger self listening to this song and swaying along in her mother’s arms flood her mind.

cAll the while, Luke’s eyes are intent on hers, reading her reactions. His hands resting on her hips, slide past her hips towards her lower back, his arms fully wrapping themselves around her, pulling her closer to his chest.

“You didn’t!” Her eyes still wide, still unbelieving.

“I figured of all the things I could actually accomplish as a ghost, any childhood dreams you might have had - this might actually be it.” He shrugged, his shoulders moving under her hands. His grin turned boyish. “Plus I didn’t like the idea of another ghost having a hold on your heart.”

Julie has to try hard to focus on the questions she wanted answered, and not on his sweet confessions.

“But- I assumed you guys never got to watch the movie? It came out around the time you were too focused on the band and the gigs, and then...” She let the rest of her sentence trail off, never too comfortable mentioning their early demise.

“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” She felt his shoulders shift up and down again. He shook his head at her as he continued. “I gotta say Jules, you really know how to pick ‘em.” She could see the mirth brimming in his eyes, his lips twitching as he tried to keep his amusement under control.

Julie’s eyes narrowed at him, even as she tried to keep her own smile from forming on her lips.

“Girls are all about that star crossed lovers’ life. Add in a dash of supernatural? Absolute dream.” She moved her hand, gesturing wildly to convey her (ridiculous, but secretly truthful) point.

Luke chuckled at that, the laughter finally spilling out of him.

“Lucky for me then, eh?”

Julie’s eyes softened, her mouth curling into that special smile she only ever reserved for him. She stood on her tiptoes, her lips a hair’s breadth away from his.

“Who said I wasn’t the lucky one?”

They stayed that way for a few seconds, still moving slowly from side to side as they stared at each other. They were so close they were breathing the same air. And just when Julie was about to close the distance, Luke shifted, tracing his lips across her cheek, her jaw, until they hovered by her ear, warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

And then he whispered to her the four words she had been dreaming of hearing ever since she was a little girl.

“Can I keep you?”

FIN

[yeojaa]

“i love you.”  read:  6:45 pm.

drabble inspired by this post that @hobi-gif​​ tagged me in.  i'm a sucker for misunderstandings, y'know?  also, this is unedited and not proofread.  xoxo

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  a bit of dumb angst due to misunderstandings, some fluff to make up for it, mentions of drinking/alcohol, idiots in love. idk.  wc.  1.9k.

“So, you’re shooting bourbon at 7:30 on a Wednesday why, exactly?”

How Yoongi manages to keep the judgment out of his voice, you’ll never know.  Maybe it’s a bartender thing - some skill you acquire over time, like an achievement in a video game. 

Charisma:  +30 Listening:  +20 Interest:  0

“Because he replied ‘hella’ when I told him I was in love with him.”  You think if it weren’t so funny (and embarrassing and bruising to your ego), you’d have a hard time repeating it.  Instead, it cuts off the edge of your teeth in a melodramatic wail and you knock back your fourth shot in not very long at all. It burns on the way down, igniting your insides in a very different way than you’d like. 

Luckily, the bar is packed - it’s freshman night! - and your cry is lost in the crowd, eaten up by the awful din that seems to only exist in college bars.  It’s only you and your favourite bartender that hear it and for that you’re grateful. 

“You’re not serious.”  From the look on his face, you know he believes you.  Has to, because he knows the culprit behind your heartache. 

“Do I look like I’m joking?”  You deadpan before waving your liquor-laden wrist in a lazy circle.  “Another, bar wench!” 

It’s not that funny but between the alcohol that’s buzzing in your veins and lighting you up like a goddamn Christmas log to the humiliation that’s burning its way through all your sensibilities— well, you can’t help it.  

You’ve always resorted to humour when you were hurting. 

“I think you should slow down.”  He means well - you can see it in the narrowing of his eyes, the way his mouth tilts just enough to make you feel like a kid in front of the principal - but you don’t want well.  You want more.  Need it.

For a split second, you feel a wave of emotion.  It crests and threatens to swallow you whole, dragging you seven thousand miles beneath your own misery.

You swallow it down as best you can, tasting salt water and the sea when you tug a rough hand through your hair.  It aches a little where your rings catch, threading silver through silk.  “Yoongi, c’mon.”  You ignore the way his name slurs out of your mouth, trapped between wet lips that don’t quite move like they should.  “I’m fine.  Please.”  The desperate edge to your plea tells him enough - that you’re well on your way to having too good of a night, inebriation playing at the sidelines of your vision.  You play it off and shift in your seat, sneakered feet kicking this way and that to right yourself.

To his trained eye, you’re about two minutes from slipping backwards off the worn leather stool.

“Can I call someone at least?”  He’s meeting you halfway, begrudging and a little worried. 

“I’m fine!”  It shoots off your tongue, a rocket to the moon.  You don’t want to come down.

He sighs once, a sharp inhale of breath through his nose.  He’s got that look on his face - the one that tells you you’re going to owe him one.  You think that might be better than returning to your dorm, empty-handed and heavy hearted.  

“Please?”  

Amber liquid finds itself in your shot glass again and you’re quick to snatch it up, worried that Yoongi might dump it the moment he has a chance to consider how he’s indulging you.  You swallow it greedily, as if it isn’t pooling uncomfortable heat everywhere it hits - down your throat and around the sides of your mouth.

“Take it easy,”  comes a voice - an achingly, devastatingly familiar voice - to your left.  It steals your breath - tugs it out of your lungs in the same instant your heart heaves out of your chest.

Jeon Jungkook’s grinning that megawatt smile at you, dimples on full display.  His hair’s a little damp and more than a little messed up, sweeping across his forehead in that way that makes you want to run your fingers through it.  Shoulders are swathed in soft cotton and plaid, the navy blue and grey pattern a stark contrast to the blinding white of his tee shirt.  

He looks so good you want to eat him up.

Instead, you jolt like you’re about to lose the contents of your stomach.

Hands - both his and yours - dart out.  Yours grip the sticky booze-stained bartop;  his seize your elbows, steadying you easily.  You try to ignore the way his palms burn heat across your skin. 

“You okay?”  He says it so sweetly, as if he hadn’t just shattered your hopes and dreams into a million little pieces less than an hour ago.  He says it like he always does, with affection painting his words and stars in his eyes.  Even in the dim light, they’re mesmerizing, constellations swirling in his irises.

You have to make a conscious effort to tear your gaze away, redirecting your - admittedly fuzzy - stare to the speck of lint on his collar.  It honestly doesn’t help much, because like this, you can see the trail of ink that drifts past his neckline.  Swirls of black work that make up the roses that span his shoulders, capping each segment of bone prettily.  

He repeats himself when your silence stretches too long for his liking, a tattooed finger rising to tap gently along the ridge of your jaw, thumb sweeping just so across your chin.  “Hey, baby.  You good?”

A part of you wants to live in the way that sounds.  You’re a sucker for pet names and while you’ve heard this one once or twice (or a hundred times), it coils itself like a cobra around the organ in your chest, poised to ruin you.  One wrong move and you’d be paralyzed on the ground.

“What’re you doing here?”  You finally manage, tearing your roving eyes from the patterns you know lie beneath cloth.  

It’s not the smartest move - because you’re distracted by his stupid handsome face again.

“Well, you didn’t answer my text so I got worried.  Checked your Snapchat and saw you were here.”  It comes so nonchalantly, like he hadn’t just discovered you drowning your sorrows in cheap whiskey.  

“I didn’t answer your text?” 

You can see Yoongi lingering at the edge of your periphery, hand paused around a glass that he’s in the middle of passing off.  You wonder how crazy you must sound, or if you do at all.  Maybe just pathetic?  You don’t want to think about it too hard.  

“You said ‘hella’ to my confession!  What am I supposed to say back to that?”

“What’re you talking about?”  It’s Jungkook’s turn to take the title of village idiot, big doe eyes widening to the size of saucers.  You want to smack the expression off his face - would, too, if your heart didn’t also clench pitifully at the thought of hurting him.  

You think he might be backtracking when he retreats a hairsbreadth, releasing you in the same moment his other hand dives into the front of his too-tight black jeans.  The denim strains against his thighs, muscle and sinew flexing when he transfers his weight enough to allow him to yank his phone out of his pocket.  Said device is in your face in the next instant, glaringly bright screen making you shy away.  

Who the hell kept their brightness at 100%?

“Hey - look at this.”  He sounds stern as he continues to wave the sleek black iPhone before your eyes, seemingly unaware of the fact that you can’t damn well see a thing with him constantly moving it.

“Stop!”  You snap, finally, drink-addled hands snatching it out of his hands when he’s still twirling it like the most annoying wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man in existence. 

With the phone in your own two hands, you peer down at the screen, trying to make sense of what you’re looking at.  There’s definitely your last two texts - you cringe at the sight of them, blue bubbles bursting your own - but there’s a slew of others beneath it and they’re all delivered, the read receipt mocking you. 

You nearly yeet the phone across the room when, after two or three read-throughs, you grasp what he’s said.  “You want to date me?”  The words fumble on their way out, knocking into each other in a way that’s equal parts drunk-girl and stupefied-crush. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”  He’s got that shit-eating grin of his lighting up his face, sweeping sunshine and daisies into every corner of his expression.  It’s at complete odds with the way his mouth twists and turns, flat of his cheek rounded by the tongue he presses into it.  You’re both awestruck and turned on all at once.  You feel like you might short circuit or maybe that you already have.

It’s the only explanation for the way you’re surging forward - because you’d never do it otherwise, unless you weren’t in control of your own stupid body - and all but throwing yourself against him.

As if he anticipates it, he receives you like a bed you’ve been away from for too long, broad palms sweeping across the backs of your thighs as you cling to him like a koala.  Your cheeks burn white hot and steeped in something - love, lust, a mixture of both - and you hum comfortably against the column of his throat.  The sound is returned tenfold, echoing from his cavernous chest like the happiest cat in the world.  It shakes your entire body, so closely pressed to him that you can feel every vibration that runs through all five feet, ten inches of him. 

“I’m guessing that’s a yes?”  His words lose themselves in your hair, breath warm against the shell of your ear as he squeezes you tight.

You give him his answer in the press of your mouth, parted and a little sloppy, more tongue and teeth than technique.  You swallow the laugh that builds, devouring it like a kid in a candy store with the intensity of your adoration.  “Hell-a yes.”

The way he grips you in response, laughter rolling off him in intoxicating waves - because you’d happily get drunk off the sound - fizzes excitement through your limbs. 

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”  Both of you know the answer to that question, the knowledge passing silently between you.  

You smirk;  Jungkook mirrors it.  He surges forward for another kiss and you’re meeting him halfway, slanting your mouth greedily across his.  He relents for the briefest moment - lets you savour the gentle brush of his lips, the soft pass of his tongue - before he’s taking all he can get.  He’s licking over your teeth, laving hotly across every inch in a way that makes your head spin.  

“Get a room!”  It comes from your right, somewhere just behind you. 

“We should take their advice, baby.”  He coos, breaking away just enough for you to gulp in lungfuls of air.  His lips are the prettiest shade of red, kiss swollen and slicked with spit.  

At any other time, you might be ashamed - you can only imagine how you look - but here and now, fueled by the knowledge of reciprocated love and the pleasant warmth of liquor, you couldn’t care less.  So you kiss the boy you love, eager and with hands trailing the expanse of his back.

“Let’s go.”

[rhysismydaddy]

New Years Kiss Smut - Elriel NSFW

From an ask: Elriel smut!! If you want. They can be celebrating new years eve or something, and after y e a r n i n g for years they finally kiss and it gets ✨steamy✨

___________________________________________________________

Elain smiles at the person talking her ear off, mentally trying to calculate when it’d be socially acceptable to walk away. 

It's not that she’s uninterested in whatever the heck he’s talking about, it’s more that she didn’t want to be here at all. 

Not when he’s here. 

Which, by the way, why in the world is he here? 

He’d graduated last year, which thankfully meant she hadn’t had to face running into him on campus. Avoiding him in her personal life had been hard enough. 

The guy talking to her paused and looked at her expectantly, so she nodded and said, “Yeah,” hoping that’s an acceptable answer. 

Elain didn’t know how he expected her to concentrate on a word he was saying when one of her oldest friends was standing across the room, staring at her like he hated her. 

Or maybe like he wanted to kiss her. 

Either way, she isn’t paying attention to... Luke? and his complaints about his history professor. 

Her mind’s focused on a year ago today, when she’d somehow found herself at an upperclassmen house party as a freshman. Azriel had smiled when he’d seen her, and like always, there was just something... different about being around him. 

It was like her body was in tune with his. 

When he came in the room, she noticed. When he smiled, she found herself smiling back. 

And that night... she’d been just drunk enough to believe in New Years Eve kisses and that everyone should get one in their life. 

So when the countdown had ended and the new year had begun, Elain had gone up on her tiptoes and smacked her lips against Azriel’s. 

Which was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done. 

Because apparently, he was perfectly content to have all this sexual tension with her and never actually act on it. His hands had gone to her shoulders, gently pushing her away, and he’d looked down at her with wide, confused eyes. 

And the absolute shock on his face had been too much to bear. 

So she’d fled. 

She’d run all the way home and had adamantly refused every single one of his calls. And since he’d graduated in December and immediately moved to the city to work, she hadn’t seen him since. 

Which was honestly kind of impressive, considering for the first eighteen years of her life, she’d spent almost every day with him. 

Their friend group was insanely close, and they’d immediately noticed that Elain stopped coming around whenever she knew Azriel would be there. So she kind of... stopped coming in general. 

She'd taken an insane amount of classes in the spring so she’d be busy enough to never leave campus, then over the summer, she’d worked two jobs. And this semester, she’d done both, taking enough courses to keep her busy and also working part time at the local bookstore. 

At first, he’d called all the time. And texted. And called some more. 

But until she could figure out how to look him in the face and not break down crying or blush from head to toe in embarassment, she was staying away. 

At least, that was the plan before he’d smacked the ball firmly back into her court by showing up on campus tonight. 

He’s currently standing by the mantle, hands shoved in his pockets, glaring at her. Or rather the boy she was standing with. 

Elain didn’t realize why until the people around them shout Ten, then start counting down. Maybe-Luke looks down at her expectantly, small smile on his parted lips. 

She knows instantly that there’s no way she can kiss him, especially not when Azriel’s twenty feet away distracting her. So she blurts, “Um, I have to go.”

And runs. 

Spotting a staircase, she bolts for it, praying she’ll make it up in time to avoid the sight of all the happy people kissing other happy people. 

By the time the crowd chants, “Three, two, one,” she’s in the dark hallway, thankfully alone. 

But then a rough, very familiar voice says, “Happy New Year.”

Fuck. 

She grabs one of the closest door handles, figuring she’ll go out the window or something. Anything would be better than having to face him. Azriel, however, does not agree with this plan. 

He smacks her hand away from the handle, wraps her in very muscley arms, and dips her so low her hair grazes the floor. 

And then he kisses her. 

Elain’s dreaming. She has to be. Because this... this is all she’s ever wanted. 

A soft nip at her lower lip tells her that no, she isn’t dreaming, but she might as well be. 

Because being kissed by Azriel... it’s everything. 

One hand supports her head, the other is on her back, and he holds her captive against him as his tongue meets hers. She isn’t exactly sure when she’d even opened her mouth, but she isn’t complaining. 

Her body’s wide awake, well aware of the strong chest pressing against hers, the stubble scraping her cheek softly. 

All too soon, he pulls back and tells her, “You, Elain Archeron, are fucking done avoiding me.” 

A shiver runs over her at the pure command, the anger in his voice. And then everything that had just happened catches up to her, and she becomes really, really confused. “But I thought-”

His hazel eyes are dark, somehow brewing both irritation and amusement. 

“You thought wrong,” he mutters back, lips meeting hers again. 

Well, that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point. 

Because he’s kissing her like he’s trying to make up for lost time. She's aware she’s doing the same to him, since the result is a clash of teeth and tongues and lips and-

He stands up, bringing her with him, and then she’s against a wall, picture frames digging into her shoulder blades. 

But she doesn’t care in the slightest, because Azriel’s hands are roaming over her in a way that makes her shiver, and his mouth is moving down her neck to kiss the top of her breasts. 

For the first time since her roommate forced it on her, she’s actually glad she’s wearing the low-cut thing. 

“You are so annoying sometimes,” he mutters, teeth scraping her neck slightly as he moves back to her mouth. 

“Okay,” she gasps, head falling back against the wall with a thud. 

Angry, beautiful hazel eyes meet hers. “I’ve wanted you for years, a feeling I didn’t know you shared, by the way. And then you kiss me, and before I can do something about it, you run.”

“I’m sorry.” Gods is that true. 

His hips press into hers, and she arches against him. “That’s 365 days we missed out on.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats against his lips. 

“You’re about to be.”

They’re kissing again, and he somehow supports her with one arm long enough to yank the closest door open and walk them inside. 

Part of her is aware that she’s sitting on the sink in a stranger’s bathroom, but the other part’s too busy yanking his t-shirt over his head so she can explore his shoulders and abs and chest. 

The straps of her dress are pushed down, a hand in her hair forces her head back, and then his mouth closes around her nipple. Her back arches instinctively, and she almost falls off the sink, but his hands shoot out to brace her hips. 

He switches to her other breast, and she knows he’s trying to be polite, but she’s way too far gone for foreplay. 

Her legs pull his hips to hers, and she grinds against him desperately. He apparently gets the message because his hands push her dress up off her hips and slides a hand to the apex of her thighs. 

Azriel curses, then says, “I’ll buy you another pair.”

She doesn’t have to wonder what he’s talking about for long, because there’s a ripping sound, and then the tights she’d forgotten about become a torn mess at the top. 

Elain couldn’t care less as she reaches for his belt and pushes his jeans down his hips. After a brief moment, he’s pushing inside her, his body tense against hers. 

His hands are braced on her hips, hers are gripping his shoulders for dear life. She’s practically laying in the sink, back arched and head against the mirror, but he keeps her in place as he starts to thrust. 

And she realizes he was right, because she is so, so sorry she missed out on this for a year. 

His hips are hard against hers, and she moans as he picks up the pace. His lips are suddenly on hers, absorbing the sound. Which is good, because she’s not exactly being quiet. 

He isn’t either, though. He’s tugging on her earlobe with his teeth as he murmurs all sorts of filthy, wonderful things she never knew she wanted to hear. 

He’s telling her things with his body, too. 

He’s telling her how stupid she was to not realize that he wants her, that he’s desperate for her. How glad he is that she finally knows. How this is everything for him, too. 

One hand bracing the small of her back, Azriel slides the other down her stomach to the apex of her legs and starts to draw little circles that make Elain tremble. 

“Azriel, please.” She doesn’t even know what she’s begging for, but she feels like she needs it right the fuck now. 

Her nails rake down his back as he pounds against her, and he groans, biting her lip. 

She’s so close she can hardly breathe, so when he murmurs, “Come for me, Elain,” the sound of his gruff voice does it for her. 

She gasps as release barrels into her, head dropping back again as her eyes press shut and her body shakes. She can feel his eyes on her, watching, and that somehow makes it even sweeter. 

He makes a low, helpless sound as he follows, hips hips stilling against hers. 

Pulling back a little, he looks down at her and says, “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” she whispers back. It’s all she can think to say. 

His dark eyes track down her frame, and his lips twitch. “I fantasize about you for years, and the first time I fuck you, it’s in a stranger’s bathroom.”

Elain smiles, a giggle escaping her. He shakes his head, then lifts her off the sink and sets her on the floor gently enough to make her laugh again. 

Callouses scrap against her skin as he fixes the top of her dress. Glancing down, he bites a lip and says, “Sorry.”

“I don’t care,” she replies honestly. If he wants to rip every pair of her tights, she’ll let him. As long as she gets a repeat of what just happened. 

Luckily, her dress is long enough to cover the ruined tights, so she doesn’t have to take them off and risk freezing to death outside. 

Azriel throws on his shirt and buckles his dark jeans, then peeks outside the door. “Thank the gods there’s not a line of people out there.”

Laughing, she walks out, feeling better than she has in ages. Especially as he follows and grabs her hand. 

“Elain.” She turns to face him and raises a brow. “I really missed you. You have to promise you won’t ever do that again.” 

Nodding, she wraps her arms around him. “I promise.”

“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs against the top of her head. 

“Lucky me.” Leaning up to kiss him softly, she says, “I’m really sorry I ran. And avoided you. And called you an asshole a time or two behind your back.”

He laughs, and she can’t realizes how much she’s missed that sound. 

Elain pulls back and looks at him through her lashes. “How can I make it up to you?”

The grin he gives her can only be described as wolfish. “I can think of a few things.”

_______________________________________________________

Ugh I love them. Sorry this is kinda shitty, but thanks for the ask nonnie! Feel free to hit me with some more :)

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[italiansteebie]

Valentine’s Day is Just a Money Making Scheme

Steve loves Valentine’s Day. The hearts, pink, red, purple, chocolate! He doesn’t know why exactly he’s so drawn to it, it’s never made a big deal out of, not from his parents, and surprisingly not from Nancy. When they were together she made it clear that Valentine’s Day was a waste of money in her mind, just a holiday to feed corporate greed. Steve never thought about it like that though, he enjoyed the light-heartedness of it all, the love the was felt seemingly all around. Maybe he’s drawn to it because affection becomes normal, and it’s never a regular occurrence for Steve.

When Valentine’s Day comes around, Steve expects Billy to have the same views as Nancy, especially because of the macho, manly-man, front Billy puts on. So, Steve never mentions it seriously, maybe a couple of off-hand comments when they’re at the store together in mid-January, and Billy points out the decorations and stuffed animals. On the day itself, Steve doesn’t expect anything, he’s learned not to get his hope up, in chances that he gets disappointed again.

Before leaving for work, he fixes Billy a nice breakfast of pancakes with tiny chocolate syrup hearts. He kisses Billy goodbye and heads out to Family Video, which’s been decked out in pink and red streamers, and small plastic hearts covering the front windows. Once arriving Robin gives him a small wave and tosses him a small piece of candy. “Happy Valentine’s day, Dingus.” He smiles at her and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the piece of chocolate he had picked up at the store for her. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Rob.”

“So,” She drags out, “Is lover-boy planning on doing anything special for you guys tonight?” She asks with a waggle of her eyebrows. Steve laughs and shakes his head, “Nah, I don’t think so. We didn’t really plan anything, I didn’t want to make a huge deal out of it.” Robin furrows her eyebrows at this, “Steve. I thought you loved Valentine’s Day?” Steve sighs, “I do, but I know it’s not really Billy’s scene and I didn’t want to make him do anything he’s uncomfortable with. Besides- The decorations at Family Video are enough for me.” Robin shakes her head, “Whatever, Steve-o. You deserve to have a good Valentine’s Day.” Steve waves her off and clocks in, ready to start his shift.

Steve goes through his shift quietly, and Robin can tell he’s disappointed by how he’s acting. So she starts planning, on her lunch break, she tosses Steve another piece of chocolate and says “I’m gonna go make a quick call. Be back in a sec!” and walks out the front door down to the payphone that’s on the next block. She dials Steve’s house phone, knowing that Billy’s there and not at work, Steve mentioned it quickly during one of their conversations. When Billy picks up she wastes no time explaining how Steve feels, and together they start formulating a plan. After 10 minutes, a Valentine’s dinner is planned for Steve, all Billy has to do is set it into action.

When Robin gets back to family video, Steve notices the grin on her face and asks what’s up, she makes up a lie that she has a date and is excited for it. Steve hums, “At least one of us is going to have a successful Valentine’s day. They continue through the last half of their shift relatively quickly, though it does get a bit annoying having to tell every last couple that all the romance movies have been checked out already. After they finish closing, Steve says goodbye to Robin and wishes her good luck on her date. They both get in their cars and pull out of the parking lot, driving off in separate directions.

Robin stops by the payphone once again to let Billy know that Steve’s on his way home and to make sure everything’s ready at the house. Once Billy confirms she hangs up and starts heading home, hoping that Steve gets the Valentine’s Day date he deserves.

Meanwhile, Steve is driving home listening to the mixtape Billy made for him for his birthday last year. Getting closer to home he sighs, disappointed, but not surprised.

He pulls into the driveway and put his car in park. He’s not paying attention and he almost misses the chalk-drawn hearts that are spread out on the driveway. “What?” He whispers to himself. He pulls out his keys and unlocks the door, once inside he can hear records playing soft love songs, ones that his grandma used to listen to, and he can smell something amazing coming from the kitchen. Rounding the corner, he sees Billy all dressed up in his nice, white, date shirt, and his best pair of jeans. Billy walks up and pulls him in by the waste and plants a sweet kiss on Steve’s lips, “There’s a bath waiting for you upstairs, go get ready while I finish setting up dinner.

Steve’s heart is so full as he nods and heads up the stairs to his bathroom, he swears it’s going to burst. Once in the bathroom, he almost cries at the sight of the rose petals dancing in the water, and the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries on the counter. He relaxes in the bath for a while, picking at the strawberries and washing his hair with the peach-scented shampoo he knows Billy loves. Once clean, and dried off, he walks into his room to get dressed, pulling on his own nice pair of jeans, and a red sweater.

He walks downstairs and this time he does tear up at the sight of Billy at the dining room table, with a cheesy teddy bear and a bouquet of lilies, because Steve only like roses as an accent, whatever that means (He’s learned not to question Steve about house decor). Take out dinner from Enzo’s is plated up nicely, curtesy of Billy, and there’s a cheesecake omn the counter for dessert. Wiping his eyes, Steve looks at Billy, “Bill, you didn’t have to do all this,” He whispers. Billy grabs his hands and pulls him into a tight hug, “Yes, I did Stevie. Robin called me from work and told me how sad you were. Why did you tell me you didn’t want to make a huge deal out of it?” Steve stammers, “Well, I. I knew it wasn’t really your type of thing and Nancy always-” Billy cuts him off. “Stevie. I’m not Nancy. I love you, and if you love Valentine’s Day and like to celebrate it, then so do I. You give up so many things for me, like not going to operas and all that fancy shit you like. I can do Valentine’s Day for you. Because. Because I love you.” He finishes with a whisper. Steve looks up, eyes shining, “I love you too, Billy. So much more than you’ll ever know.”

Billy smiles, “I’m glad you said that. Now. I’m, I’m not proposing. Because we’re young and we can’t get legally married, but. Someday. When we’re both ready, and out of this shit hole town, I will marry you so hard.” And with that he pulls out a ring, a plain silver band, and slips it onto Steve’s finger, “I promise, that if you’ll have me, I’ll be with you forever.” And the final straw is when Steve notices the matching band wrapped around Billy’s finger, and he breaks down. With tears streaming down his face he grabs Billy’s cheeks and swings in for a long, teary kiss. After pulling away and wiping his tears, and watching Billy wipe at his own eyes, they sit down and enjoy their dinner.

With a new promise shining on their hands, and in their hearts, each fall asleep on the couch, with their lovers in their arms.

[joonsdiary]

jamais vu (m)

↳ noun | the illusion that the familiar is being encountered for the first time.

                                                                                            (are you the remedy to my broken heart?)

pairing: jungkook | reader | taehyung genre: slice of life au, acquaintances to friends (to lovers?) au // heaps of angst, a tiny bit of smut, a sprinkle of fluff word count: 13,4k

— warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, hints of gaslighting, mild descriptions of a panic attack, themes of infidelity, sexual intercourse (protected penetrative sex, implied female masturbation) 

— note: mildly inspired by the films lost in translation and ocean waves, as well as jamais vu by bts (hence the title). some concepts were derived from my wip list, so in a way this was my remedy for the writer’s block i was having while writing ‘worth fighting for’. i hope in one way or another it can be your remedy, too. (p.s. despite being inspired by lost in translation, i haven’t actually seen the film so this won’t be exactly like that adkjhsd)

— playlist: carry me home - jorja smith ft. maverick sabre / sweet insomnia - gallant ft. 6lack / drew barrymore - sza / run - joji / truth is - sabrina claudio / bath - offonoff / ghostin - ariana grande / ... etc!

     There’s something thrilling about sitting in the backseat of a car past midnight, windows rolled down as the driver chases the destination planted on her navigation device. You welcome the cool breeze that tangles your hair into an uncomfortable mess, as it only helps propel your heart rate faster. Inhaling slowly allows you to savour the musky scent of the earth shortly after being bathed with rainwater; if this is what freedom tastes like, you wish to savour as much of it as you could.

Eventually, the exhilaration wears down as the city lights blur into a cacophony of colours. It’s incoherent and indiscernible, yet it possesses the ability to lull you into a dream-like state. You had the utmost privilege of plugging your phone into the aux cord, therefore the familiar voice of your recently played songstress croons softly against the speaker, filling the cold, void spaces in between. Your heavy eyelids fall into an accustomed pattern, gradually flickering until it closes shut.

Sleep beckons; fatigue welcomes you into the abyss, and you embrace it with open arms.

Well, almost.

“Can you roll the windows up? It’s freezing,” he mumbles as he sinks further down the leather chair. You jolt awake at his sudden announcement, but he doesn’t apologize for disturbing your calmness.

“Hm? Yeah, of course,” your fingers scramble to find the right button to press until the tempered glass lifts, shielding you away from the busy city. You want to argue that it’s not even that cold, but he scoots closer towards you, tugging on your left arm before burying his head in the crook of your neck.

A wistful sigh escapes your lips and you turn to place a quick kiss on his crown. You immediately understand the exhaustion that plagues you both, brought about by the time difference between the country you came from and the one you’re currently visiting. You glance out the window once more as your thumb plays with the golden band on your ring finger.

Seoul is beautiful. The city itself is alive, evident by the way the summer stars in the night sky are dimmed by the light that emits from the numerous buildings and towers that create Seoul’s skyline. Looking at it from above while on a plane is similar to peeking at a telescope to view a galaxy far away, dotted by billions of brilliant stars. But despite the breathtaking aerial view, nothing feels more intimate than weaving through its streets.

Although you can tell its old roads are recently refurbished, unsurprisingly, which buries any inkling of familiarity beneath the cold cement. Despite you knowing the place, there’s still something different about it, like buying a new laptop to replace the old one. The specs are guaranteed to be exactly like its predecessor, but the fact that it comes in a sleek box, still unspoiled and untouched, fascinates you all the same. It begs to be used until you’re so attached to it that you refuse to part ways even just for a singular moment. That’s what defines Seoul for you.

But the city can wait. There will be plenty of opportunities to explore and rekindle your love affair with the town you once called your home. For now, your reason for being lays cradled within your arms, encapsulated within the bubble you desperately wish would stay intact, unmarred by the destructive forces of reality.

Although those illusions of fantasy can only take you so far. The fragility of your relationship is beginning to materialize into a spectre, its gaunt face haunting you in every corner you look. There’s no escaping the truth as it will, without a fail, catch you in one form or the other.

“What are you thinking about?” he hums lazily, soft breath tickling the nape of your neck.

“Just excited to finally be back after so long.”

“That’s right, you moved away long before I did.”

“Mhm.”

The discussion flickers out of existence, whose life is shorter than that of a fire in measly matchstick. You aren’t much of a conversationalist, and you appreciate that neither is he. Is that the defining trait that convinced you to marry the man sitting next to you three years ago? Perhaps. You like that he gives you the time and space to bask in your thoughts when you need it, even if there are moments where you’d like nothing more than to connect with him like you used to.

“I miss you,” slips out before you’re able to hold your tongue back. But you don’t scramble to reclaim the words like you usually do, followed by an apologetic I didn’t mean it like that. You let the phrase simmer, hoping it will soak him to the bones enough that it becomes his wake up call.

But, “I’m right here,” is all he says.

The him-of-past would have cradled your face in his big hands, turned you so that you’re face to face before he makes a silly face that will make you laugh. He’ll say you’re being silly for even thinking of such thoughts when he’s always been by your side, and forever will be. It will follow one chaste kiss, then a second, and before you could blink his limbs will tangle with yours, hearts beating fast but in unison, nonetheless.

“I know,” you murmur.

Perhaps he believes it’s enough that he’s there beside you, physically. Perhaps it’s wise to presume the same. It’s only wishful thinking to expect otherwise, after all.

    Jungkook believes he’s a creature of habit. Or, he used to be, at least.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with falling into a certain pattern in life, especially at his age; God knows he needs a stable rock to hold on to so he doesn’t get carried away by the raging currents of the river.

But it had only been once upon a time where he enjoyed such endeavours; waking up, coming down to work, going back up to bathe, before finally retiring to bed. Yes, he’ll find pockets of time to eat meals, of course. Days come when he has the freedom to choose to go to the gym, instead, so his life isn’t completely mundane. There’s a nuance to such life, and he always aspires to have the propensity and the undeterred tenacity to stick to such a strict regimen.

However, days began to bleed into each other with the same shade of grey, indiscernible and incomprehensible. It’s not necessarily a lousy experience because he never felt starved or threatened out of his home. Life for him is like cruising down the endless highway, foot off the gas but going at one hundred kilometres per hour all the same. The figures he passes by become obscured by the speed he’s going at, but at the very least he’s still heading somewhere.

It’s only recently he’s fully realized the futility of his mundane schedule. She’d told him so.

“Don’t you want to break away from all of that? From your parents’ expectations of you?” her voice comes softly through the phone. His moments together with her are often brief and hurried, their conversations cut short by external forces acting upon them both. It’s dinnertime for him, but she has to drop the call in order to catch the early bus for work. Such a prick, time and distance can be.

(Perhaps, he now looks back and thinks to himself, they’re merely trying to find more reason to converse less with each other. Since when did it start, the feeling of obligation?)

“Are you suggesting that I—”

She says yes without letting him finish his sentence.

So he finds vigour in his life once more as he throws himself into his work, constantly propelled forwards by the need to meet an end goal: Save up enough to be able to move halfway across the world. To see her. To be with her.

But the respite is brief, however.

The more money is stored in his bank account, the less he thinks of the idea as brilliant. Is he ready to uproot his life from the only home he knows to move in with somebody he has only met through the screen of his phone?

Looking at the bigger picture, nothing else has changed in his life. He needs a true break; a real step back from a routine that is numerous years in the making.

Having sex with a stranger in a random motel seems like a good way to go about it, he thinks.

Several hours prior, his friends asked him to go out drinking with them. Jungkook, who rarely makes time for such occurrences, naturally agrees, surprising the very same acquaintances that invited him. At that point he believes they’re only asking to be polite, not having the courage to kick him out of an old group chat formed during their college days. They never expected him to say yes then, and they didn’t until now.

Countless bottles of beer and a few shots of liquor later, he’s fumbling with the zipper of his tight jeans. The woman, whose name he didn’t have the courtesy of asking, giggles as she rises from the bed to approach him.

Mistake number one.

“Do you need help, love?”

He fumbles through his words, unable to form a coherent thought. It’s not that he’s completely inexperienced — although the woman probably thinks he is by the way he acts — it’s just that, admittedly, it’s been a good while since he’d had sex with anybody. Add the nervousness to his inebriated state, and he’s got himself in quite the dilemma.

Mistake number two.

“I’m guessing you like them tight,” the woman points out.

“Huh?” his head whips towards the woman, eyes wide and mouth agape, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Your jeans, I mean.”

The woman chuckles once again as he attempts to peel the fabric off his skin. “Wasn’t really planning on this, that’s why.”

Mistake number three.

“But you have this,” an inconspicuous packet is pulled from his back pocket. Jungkook merely grins sheepishly in response. The woman kneels as she grips his underwear but he grabs her hand and pulls her up instead, crashing her body into his. He recalls her murmuring something about getting straight to the point, but he’s unsure if the woman meant it as a complaint or a compliment. He didn’t bother asking to elaborate, because none of this is even supposed to happen.

Mistake number four.

Guilt bubbles from within his chest, gnawing at every nook and cranny of his consciousness.

Mistake number five.

He’d have to tell her sooner rather than later. It would be fucking shitty of him not to. But before he has the time to steer clear of trouble and save himself from potentially ruining the only good thing he has going in his life, the woman’s lips are on him. There’s no going back now, he assumes.

Mistake number six, seven, eight.

Nine: His kiss feels famished as he drinks in each quiet moan that comes out of the woman’s lips. Every second feels reinvigorating like he’s sitting in front of the roller coaster as the ride pauses before the first drop. When the wheels turn and roll against the metal railroad track, he stumbles back and falls into the bed. He’s here for the thrill, which would bring the total up to ten so far.

Eleven is when he watches the woman slip the condom with ease, sheathing him. His presumed experience she possesses excites him further; that is number twelve.

He loses count when she traps him between her knees as she licks two of her fingers at once, before hiking up her skirt.

Jungkook wants to laugh at his lack of perceptiveness. Tactless when it comes to asking for the woman’s name; even more inadequate and impolite not to think about prepping her.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, head tilting to the side as wisps of her hair fall across her face as she grinds herself against him. He bites back a moan as he looks away from her. It probably would be best not to tell her. He then catches his reflection in the mirror, and despite the dimmed lights he could outline the expression he’s making; a reflection of someone unrecognizable.

“There’s a mirror,” he pauses as she gets a hold of him, her warmth enveloping him as she slowly sinks onto him. His hips jerk seemingly involuntarily in response, and she groans, tossing her head backwards. He forgets to speak altogether. The woman does the same, opting to mumble profanity, instead.

Jungkook wishes to hide the shame and guilt, the wrongfulness, the missed opportunities to say no. Is his need to feel something other than the heaviness of his heart worth all the pain he’s about to put not only himself but the person he wishes to spend the rest of his life with?

And so he buries himself deeper before denial could even stake a claim in the vast expanse of his thoughts. If to forget is to lose himself in the pleasure of someone else’s company, then he’ll desperately seek the ecstasy he’s craved for so long until he’ll see stars beneath the darkness of his eyelids.

His breathing is no longer erratic when he comes into consciousness.

“That was good,” she breathes out softly, and he turns in time to watch her brown eyes disappear from view.

“I have to go.”

He gets up from the bed and begins to move on autopilot, picking up his discarded clothes one by one. The woman immediately sits up and asks with an evident frown on her face, “Already? Didn’t you have fun?”

The corners of his lips are pulled upwards into a grin. “It’s for work.”

“At this hour? It’s almost one.”

“Midnight shift.”

When he’s dressed, he hesitates at the foot of the bed, shifting weight from one leg to the other. He’s never been the best with words, and his unexpectedly expected tryst with a stranger leaves him at a loss for what to say. It doesn’t help that the woman refuses to meet gaze with him.

I wouldn’t want to look at me either, he thinks bitterly to himself.

“Thank you for your time. I hope to see you around,” his half-truth is enough to pluck a rueful smile from her lips.

The bus ride back home is the longest one Jungkook thinks he’s taken ever since he moved to Seoul.

    You watch as Taehyung lazily drags his feet behind him each step he takes towards the bed and breakfast place you decided to rent. The cicadas chatter loudly as if to cheer him on. A few more steps, they urge.

“Come on, Taehyung,” you groan from above the stairs, already reaching the top long before he does. “I’m about to pass out, too. But can we do it once we get to the bed?”

“I’m literally, like, dead,” you can’t help the roll of your eyes at his dramatic statement. But you hold your tongue back at any other snide comments that might offend him further. Patience is the key with him, always. Complaining to him, as you did earlier, will only force him to act against your wishes.

He reaches the top with a huff and a hand on his bent knees, handing you the duffel bag that’s filled to the brim with your clothes and his.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” is your attempt at making the situation lighthearted and less serious than it needs to be.

“Still should have booked a hotel, instead,” his nose scrunches in obvious dismay.

“For the last time, I thought—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” gone is the Taehyung of previous, whose tiredness begins with softness around his personality. It’s not unusual for him to get cranky after being jet-lagged. But hey, guess what, so are you!

You ignore him for fear of escalation as you make your way inside. A quiet chime of the bell signals your arrival, and your gaze meets a familiar set of doe eyes; someone you knew once upon a time in a place you can pinpoint exactly. His expression mirrors that of your surprised one as he tries to figure you out. It wouldn’t surprise you if he doesn’t recognize you as you did him.

It’s Taehyung who breaks your state of bewitchment when his shoulder bumps into your arms as he jogs towards the receiving desk.

“Hey, stranger! How long has it been?” Taehyung exclaims a little too loudly, his state of disarray seemingly vanishing in a flash. With the roll of your luggage as a guide, you follow after him, standing nimbly behind the shadow of his confidence.

“Since we graduated high school? Probably ten years,” he says humorously.

“That long, huh? Damn.”

They fall into a small talk which is somewhat out of sync, which is understandable considering the amount of time they haven't been in contact with each other. No matter how close they had been during their teenage years, some words are hard to come by more than others.

He suddenly calls your name out in a greeting, and you peak over Taehyung’s shoulder with a small wave of your hand. “Hey, Jungkook.”

His smile is gentle, and your mood shifts entirely.

“Are you back here on a trip?”

It’s clear the question was directed to you, but Taehyung absolves you the courtesy of answering. “Actually, it’s a work-related thing. She wanted to tag along.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” you say with a strained chuckle, and Jungkook glances between you and Taehyung.

“Ah, I see. In any case, I’ll get out of your hair,” he slides a pair of keys in your direction. “It’s well past midnight, so I’m sure you guys are tired from your flight.”

Taehyung snatches it up, and it falls into the pocket of his slacks with a soft jingle. He thanks him with enthusiasm before turning towards the direction of the elevator.

“Hope I see you around. Have good night.”

Something about your greeting has Jungkook’s eyebrows creasing in discomfort for a split second before he gives you a small nod. “I’ll be here if you need anything else.”

But he isn’t there to greet patrons by the next morning when you go down for your complimentary breakfast. Taehyung did not join you, opting for an extended hour of sleep. You didn’t mind, but you couldn’t lay aimless in bed for too long; you’ve always been a morning person, after all.

So you sit by your lonesome in the vast dining area, surrounded by an old couple in one corner and a young family of four in the other. The two children fight for the last remaining pancake while the parents share a hushed discussion. You glance down at your warm abalone porridge.

There was a time when you imagined such a life with Taehyung—a family you can call your own. Of course, it’s by no means too late for you; at the tender age of twenty-eight, you know that life still has a lot to offer. But approaching three years into your marriage, Taehyung does not present any hints of wanting such a future with you. Sure, the topic has been brought about occasionally, but never serious enough to be considered anything but a passing daydream.

“I hate to break it to you, but that soup isn’t going to give you the answers to your most pressing question, even if you stare at it like that.”

You look up to see Jungkook wearing an amused expression, carrying a plastic bag on his right hand. He follows your trail of gaze and lifts the item into view.

“I might have raided the kitchen before my shift is over. Don’t tell a single soul,” his gaze holds differently, but the smile he wears is the same one from his youth.

“Cross my heart,” you humour him, and his grin grows wider. “Have a safe trip home.”

His nose wrinkles in contemplation. “If you mean be careful going up the stairs to my room, then sure, I will.”

Your brows lift in confusion, “You rent here?”

“You could say that. I own this place,” the chair scrapes against the tiled floors as he welcomes himself into your bubble. “Well, sort of. My parents own this, but my older brother and I manage it.”

“You should have said so earlier!” you chuckle, placing your chin on your palm as you turn to face him. “I would have asked for a discount.”

“Ouch, this is exactly why I didn’t do that in the first place. It’s opportunists like you that I’m terrified of.”

“Okay, Richie Rich, I knew you were always a selfish prick even then.”

“Hah!” he exclaims, leaning closer. “I’m well aware of my reputation back then, and none of them was ‘selfish’. In fact, there was always a lot of me to go around.”

“I highly doubt that, somehow.”

“You wouldn’t know,” he says in a casual tone while crossing his arms in front of his chest. He gives you a knowing look. “You were always with Taehyung.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” you mumble against your palm, your voice growing quiet. Your ring suddenly feels heavy on your finger.

“Mhm, that’s why I wasn’t surprised when I heard you two got married a few years back. In another country, no less. Congratulations, by the way,” his tone softens, mirroring your sudden predisposition for a hushed conversation.

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile. “Married life is…”

“Different?” he offers, and you nod wordlessly. You would’ve chosen a different word for it, but you’re glad he finished the sentence for you. “All my other friends who’re in the same situation say so.”

“And you?”

He wears the same troubled expression from hours ago, but only for a brief moment. He mimics your posture as his face lights up with the biggest smile you’ve seen him wear. You know that expression; there was a point in time where you’d wear the same elated look when someone asks you about Taehyung.

“Long-distance. But we’ve been together for a couple of years,” he hesitates briefly, before continuing. “I’m leaving in less than two weeks to move in with her.”

“Where to?”

He reveals the name in a hushed tone, almost as if it’s meant to stay a secret between the two of you.

Your eyes widen with bewilderment, and he grins sheepishly. “Wow, that’s—”

“Halfway across the world? I know.”

It’s only when there’s a pause that you realize what your intended purpose is. So you dig a spoonful of the soup and chase the heat away with a quick blow before taking a quick bite.

“You’re really here just to tag along with Taehyung?”

You look at him in surprise, not expecting the subject to be brought out once again. “Not really. We um…”

You hesitate, unsure whether to share your thoughts or not. But Jungkook is neither a friend nor a stranger and is possibly the perfect candidate. There’s nothing that binds you to him and in a few weeks, you’d be back to being strangers. Perhaps he wouldn’t even remember your story.

“We didn’t really have an official honeymoon after our marriage, and this was supposed to be it,” you chuckle, trying to play the situation off nonchalantly. “He sort of double-booked because he couldn’t turn down this gig.”

“That seems shitty, to be honest.”

You’re taken aback by the ruggedness of his tone, and you immediately jump to defend Taehyung. “It’s fine, honestly. It’s been a while since I’ve been back home.”

“Yeah, you missed out on our high school reunion just by a month,” his aura is lighthearted once more, and you’re glad for it.

“You went?”

“Nah, there was nothing good to reminisce about high school.”

You turn to him with your mouth agape. “This is coming from the captain of the football team, Jeon Jungkook?”

“Ah, come on, stop with the teasing,” he says as he rolls his shoulder back, before clearing his throat. “It just so happened that I was good at kicking. And running. And scoring goals.”

Undeterred by his boasting, you give him a sly smirk. “I’m sure you revelled in the attention. There was enough of you to get around, you said?”

“Now you get it.”

You giggle and he laughs along with you. The interaction gives you a certain heaviness within your chest but at the same time, you feel lightheaded, almost as if you’re about to soar towards the heavens.

“I should go catch some sleep,” he says once your euphoria dies down. “I’ve had a long evening.”

“I’ll let you get to it, then,” you say almost wistfully. He mumbles a quiet later! and you allow your gaze to follow his movement.

“Don’t get lost on your way.”

He looks back and motions a mock salute. “I’ll come knocking on your door if I need help with directions.”

However, three days go by without seeing Jungkook; not in his usual spot at the entrance of the building, and nowhere near the kitchen or the lounge area. Although you weren’t looking for him by any means because Taehyung constantly kept you busy, dragging you from place to place to take cityscape photos for his client. Despite the constant travelling, it’s hard to enjoy the scenery when the affair appears to be completely one-sided.

There’s no mistaking the fact you’re extremely proud and gratified that Taehyung pours his heart and soul into each project he throws himself at. But would it hurt that much for him to point his lenses towards your direction even just once? Surely, your whole trip will not consist of you constantly waiting on him.

He must’ve noticed your affliction because suddenly the weight of his stare begins to feel heavier each quiet second that passes.

“Bored yet?” he asks, left hand on the wheel and the other placed on the knob to change the car’s gear. Your eyes flit back to him and his right palm opens for you to take. With your fingers interlocked, he places a soft kiss on your knuckles.

It’s difficult to harbour resentment towards him when he makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter with merely the tiniest of gestures.

“With you? Never.”

He chuckles, and you feel the rumbling of his chest as he presses the back of your hand against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat doesn’t match your erratic, nervous one.

“Hm, you should have said yes. I was going to save you of having to come with me later,” his tone is playful, and a small smile adorns his flushed lips.

“What’s happening later?” you shift in the passenger seat to face him.

“The dinner with Min, my client. I told you, remember?”

You carefully sift through your mind regarding your recent conversations with him. You recall them being short and clipped, sure, but none told you of a certain meeting with somebody else. So, you tell him in earnest, “No.”

“I’m sure you’re just forgetting,” his grip on you loosens, and you reclaim your hand before it falls on his lap.

No, you’re one-hundred-percent certain you would remember something as important as that. Yet you don’t tell him so and instead, you yield with a wordless nod.

“You mean to tell me you’re going to miss out on having takeout dinner with me?” you ask, attempting to humour him, but your tone mistakenly comes out tasting bitter on your tongue. The silence that ensues sears into your brain like the afternoon Seoul sun, prickly and scorching hot to the touch.

“You can come with, if that’s what you want. I’ll tell you in advance that it’s going to be boring, though, since we’re going to talk about work.”

Somewhere along the line, you presume Taehyung has developed the proclivity towards telling pretence with a straight face. It catches you off guard when you join him for the much-anticipated dinner that he apparently told you about. It’s not the fact that “Min” turns out to be a woman — you have no qualms about that. Taehyung is somebody who could make acquaintances with somebody while waiting in line for their prescription in a pharmacy. Rather, it’s the way he prepped you for the oncoming conversation or your lack of inclusion in any of them, for that matter.

Introductions aside, you found her to be amicable and friendly. But afterwards, you fell behind two steps as they divulged into a topic other than work. Despite the premise that the chat would be boring, Taehyung is deeply engrossed in whichever story she decided to share. You didn’t have quite the energy to match theirs, so instead of playing catch up, you decided to stop walking altogether. You watch as their figures grow smaller on the horizon, not even bothering to look back and ask if you’d like to join them.

She laughs at something Taehyung says and automatically reaches to grab his arm as she giggles along with him. When she makes eye contact with you, instinct tells you to force a smile. And you did, uncaring if she perceives your gesture to be nothing but utter bullshit.

You busy yourself with studying the restaurant instead as you pensively wait for food to be served. The dim lights of the room create a warm ambience — romantic, almost.

The gears in your brain stop turning as they click into place. Your pulse gums with vigour as you feel the sweat seeping through the pores of your palms. Suddenly, the vast expanse of the dining hall feels suffocating; there’s no room for you. To breathe, to feel, to be.

“I’ve got to go.”

You suddenly feel lightheaded as you begin seeing multiples of dark spots, clouding your vision. The floor caving beneath you, and you struggle to keep afloat.

“What?” Taehyung looks at you with wide eyes but makes no move to hold you back from gathering your things.

“I forgot I was supposed to meet a friend today,” you say with self-assurance, miming the same expression he wore when he lied: I told you, remember?

Taehyung stands when you move away from the table and hope blooms dangerously in your chest; your wish for him to hold you back and stop you from leaving begins to permeate.

(Though in hindsight, you should have known better.)

“I’ll call a cab for you.”

    Static fills the void, and for the first time in his life, Jungkook fears the silence rather than basking in it. He’s unsure when his words began to fail him; is it because he’s nervous he’ll slip up and say the wrong thing? Truly, at this point, being seen as the bad guy should be the least of his concerns.

Because as far as any human with a functioning brain thinks, he’s already fucked up in more ways than one. There’s no returning from the level of hell he’s put himself in.

“Are you still there?”

Her voice is patient, but he can tell she’s apprehensive.

“Uh, yes—just, thinking.”

There’s a brief pause before an accusatory, “Look, if you’re having second thoughts then maybe it’s too early.”

He immediately leaps from the couch of the empty lounge area. It’s a little past eleven at night, so everyone is either already in their rooms or out enjoying the city, which gives Jungkook a leg room for privacy.

“What? No, that’s not it!”

Two years isn’t too damn early. He feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime; tired of the time difference, tired of the distance, tired of being deprived of touch. Tired of the same old city, with the same predictable people. Everything around him is starting to feel foreign; the steps that lead to the bed and breakfast lodging, the corner street that sells the best tteokbokki he’s ever tasted in his life, the crosswalk that has malfunctioning lights which should be a public safety hazard but at this point he thinks will never be fixed. It’s all mundane, cycling through the same wheel of routine.

He no longer wants to feel apathetic when he faces his future while he houses resentment on his present self milling around aimlessly. She’s his only ticket to escape, so he better stop fucking around and tell her the truth.

But where to begin?

“Listen, I—”

“Whatever it is, can you please just say it? I’m leaving for work soon.”

He takes two steps back, for fear of retribution. Is he ready to ruin the entirety of her day?

“Never mind. I’ll talk to you later. Have a great day at work.”

She heaves a sigh, and preemptively ends the call.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he mumbles as he stares at his phone with her name printed in big letters across the screen. He contemplates pressing the call button and finally telling her everything—her work be damned. He knows that he owes her the truth at the very least.

But you come barrelling down the door, barefoot as you clutch your heels safely between your armpit. You’re dressed formally, yet casual enough for a nice dinner outside plenty of Seoul’s restaurants. But the slight stutter in your step and your somewhat dishevelled hair tells Jungkook all he needs to know. He doesn’t have to hazard a guess.

“Jungkook!” you raise your arms as you exclaim, and the wooden floor welcomes your shoes with a loud thud. “It’s been so long. What are you doing here?”

He laughs, not because of your deeply inebriated state, but because of your inquiry. What the hell am I doing here? He’s been asking himself that very same question without an answer in sight for a while now.

Though he doesn’t have time to answer because you almost knock him over when you skid over to wrap your arms around his neck. His senses are overwhelmed with the pungent smell of liquor, mixed with a subtle hint of rose water.

“I miss you.”

Jungkook is perplexed by your brutal honesty, to say the least. Though he knows to excuse any action while somebody is foolishly drunk, so long as they are not harming anybody or themselves. You grow quiet, and Jungkook is about to ask where you’ve been when he feels dampness on the front of his button-up shirt. He looks down and sees you visibly shaking, before grabbing at his sleeves seemingly for physical support.

It’s when you ask, with conviction, “Why did you hold me back?” that he realizes you aren’t referring to him. So, he wordlessly wraps his arms around you as he pats your back reassuringly. He doesn’t mind that you began sobbing louder, not even when a guest comes through the door and gives him a perplexed expression. He simply nods in their direction as a form of acknowledgement before giving a tight-lipped smile.

When minutes pass and Taehyung doesn’t arrive, he puts two and two together and concludes that he had to be the reason. His heart squeezes painfully as you attempt to swallow a sob which ends up sounding more agonizing and hollowed, carrying with them the weight of all the sorrow you’ve seemingly piled up.

When your cries are reduced to soft hiccups, you pull away from him with a quiet apology. Jungkook shakes his head as he places his palms delicately against your face before wiping the remnants of your sorrow away from your cheeks.

“Better?”

“No,” you sniffle. “I feel like shit.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I wanna go out again. Will you come with me?” you look up at him, bleary eyes pleading. Jungkook dips his chin as he guides you to sit on the leather couch, which you thankfully follow.

“At this rate, you’re going to pass out before we step foot outside the building.” With a sigh, he crouches down to reach eye level with you. “Do you need to puke?”

“I already did that after getting off the cab earlier, I think.”

“Okay then, wait here.”

You nod wordlessly and he goes to pick up your discarded shoes before placing it near your naked feet. He unlocks his phone as he makes his way to the dining hall, dialling a familiar number.

“Jaehyun?” he asks after the third ring. “Can you come earlier for your shift? Something came up.”

When he’s sure someone is going to take over for him, he makes his round in the empty kitchen, grabbing whatever he thinks might be immediately necessary: clean towels, an empty bucket in case of an emergency, and a glass of water.

You’re placid when he returns, eyes puffed out and red as you stare at nothing in particular. He hands you the water and you immediately finish it before he can blink.

You mumble a quick apology as he exchanges the empty glass for the clean towel.

“Don’t worry about it. This will all be billed towards room service.”

You chuckle and throw him back the towel which lands squarely on his face.

“Not funny.”

“I’m dead serious. Look at this damage on my shirt!” he points at the makeup smear accusingly, causing an escalation in your laughter. But the tears return, and you wordlessly wipe them with your palms.

“Come,” he offers his hand for you to take. “You have to eat.”

You stare wordlessly at it for a while, before taking it and pulling yourself to stand. You’re wobbly on your feet, and Jungkook tightens his grip on your hand in an attempt to steady you.

“I can’t go out like this,” you mumble. Jungkook nods in agreement as he wears a playful grin. You nudge his side, brows furrowed and lips forming into a pout. “I know I look like a mess. No need to rub it in.”

“I never said anything,” he chuckles. “Weren’t you the one asking to go out again?”

“I still do. But don’t worry,” you pat the back of his hand reassuringly. “You don’t have to come with.”

“I haven’t noticed Taehyung pass through yet, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jungkook watches your expression morph back into a blank stare. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, after all. His mind scrambles to quickly divulge the topic. “Where do you want to go? I already called my replacement at the front desk—”

“I know this is a bed and breakfast and not a hotel, but you guys have liquor, right?”

You’ve somehow convinced Jungkook to siphon a bottle of whiskey and a few cans of beer from the lodging’s inventory. Though he can quite happily admit that it didn’t take much to get him on board. But he technically can’t be seen drinking and lounging on the job for morale’s sake, so he sneaks in some food along with the alcohol — and you — back to his room. Although Jaehyun did catch you and Jungkook on the way up.

(He promises a wage increase if Jaehyun doesn’t say anything to Jungkook’s older brother. You didn’t have to but since you offered, I’ll take it, the latter said.)

“Apologies for the mess,” he mutters, holding the door with his foot as he welcomes you. He turns on the lamp instead of the main lights since they’re less obtrusive to the eye.

“Are you kidding?” you stumble in, trying not to drop the cans of beer you’re holding. “This place is practically spotless. You have bodies in your closet, don’t you?”

Jungkook laughs as he makes a beeline for the makeshift table sitting between his pseudo-living-room-slash-bedroom and kitchen—

“Wait, you have a kitchen?”

Jungkook isn’t sure if you’re perplexed or amazed. He shrugs nonchalantly either way.

“Perks of being part-owner, I guess?”

He haphazardly throws a blanket and a pillow near the table for you to sit in, but apparently, you have other plans and proceed to make a home for yourself in his bed. You bury your head in the sheets, mumbling, “It smells good.”

“I change the sheets every month,” he boasts rather proudly; all part of his routine.

“I should definitely check that closet.”

“By all means,” he grins, plopping down in front of the table. He’s yet to have dinner, so his intentions to get food and beer had been partly selfish. Jungkook turns to you, now laying on your side, sullen eyes already studying him. He quickly looks away and grabs a spoon before holding it up.

“Food? You’re probably hungry, right? I know I’m always craving, especially after a good cry. Not that I cry often, but doing so from time to time doesn’t hurt either, I suppose. I hope that doesn’t sound too weird—I know there’s this stigma around men and crying but honestly, it’s all such bullshit. We are born into the world crying, it’s literally the first thing we do as humans. Anyway, do you fancy some beef and white rice? I know it’s not much, but...what are you laughing for?”

Jungkook watches you descend into hysteria, clutching your stomach as your giggles turn silent, but your shoulders are still visibly shaking. You heave for air, turning over so your back is face to him.

“If I knew I was this funny, I would have switched careers,” he mumbles, though loud enough for you to hear, as he stuffs his face with rice.

“It’s not too late,” you reply with a sniffle. “You can still change your mind.”

“That’s true, I suppose. Don’t they have that saying that goes ‘a fickle heart is the only constant in this world’ or something?”

Your head whips back towards him, swollen eyes wide in astonishment. “Did you just quote Howl’s Moving Castle?”

His nose scrunches up in deep thought. “Maybe? I did watch it recently.”

“You’re an odd one, Jeon Jungkook,” you muse quietly, eyes mimicking one of the phases of the moon as you grin.

“Says the person who’s soiling my fresh linen with her tears,” he says playfully. But there’s no reply this time around, and he quickly backtracks. “It’s okay to laugh at that one—it was a joke. A very terrible one, apparently.”

“No. You’re quite spot on, actually.”

Jungkook doesn’t speak for a while, unsure whether he should be overstepping the boundary more than he should have. But he looks at your vulnerable state, splayed across his bed, and thinks all formalities are out the window at this point. Despite the previous state of your relationship with him, or otherwise the lack of it, this would probably constitute friendship. Therefore, as a friend, it’s his moral duty to rid you of your throes and woes, even just a little.

“Where did you go, anyway? Must have been fun if you got all shit-faced like this.”

Keeping the tone airy is probably the best way to go as an introduction.

“Just a pub. I didn’t want to go clubbing by myself, it could have been dangerous.”

Jungkook’s forehead creases with worry, and he holds himself back from the question that he’s burning to ask: Then where the hell is Kim Taehyung? He reserves the right to be outright angry because he knows it’s not his place to. He reaches for the can of beer, which hisses in frustration when he opens it.

“You don’t have friends in the city?” he asks, hoping you will not take offence at his question. You shrug.

“I didn’t really keep in touch with anyone after moving away. It felt weird asking someone out of the blue.”

“You could have called me,” he says without much thought.

“I seriously considered it, but…” you trail off, leaving Jungkook to fill the void himself. He doesn’t mind that he probably didn’t cross your mind as a go-to person to call in times of crisis. “I heard you were quite the party pooper in high school, so I had my doubts.”

“Hey!” he protests, but you ignore him and continue. He doesn’t disagree, of course, but being called out is not a fun experience whether it came from a drunk acquaintance or not.

“New in town, straight-A student—but to be fair, quite good-looking and athletic to boot. My god, all my friends had a stupid on crush on you.”

Jungkook’s cheeks grow warm with embarrassment at the deluge of compliments. “Me? With gangly limbs and an awful bowl-cut? Who couldn’t even get a single word out to anybody, especially girls, without stuttering? That Jungkook?”

“You need to give yourself a little more credit than that, Jeon.” You’re facing him once again, both hands tucked neatly beneath your head.

He nods as an acknowledgement but swiftly changes the subject. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat, though? I’m halfway through this already.”

“I’m sure. I think I’ll probably just nap, then go,” you chuckle. Jungkook can only offer you a rueful smile. He doesn’t mind if you’re unwilling to share the whole spiel of what caused you to be miserable enough to drink by yourself. He’s quite well-versed in that area, after all. It doesn’t solve anything, sure, but it’s enough to numb the feeling of being alone with his thoughts. He doesn’t have to guess who the root of it is, though.

He sighs as he turns on the television, before lowering it down to a manageably quiet level where it will not disturb your sleep. He doesn’t have a particular show in mind to watch, but having the mindless static accompany him is more than enough.

“I lied,” you begin after several minutes of silence. “I can’t sleep.”

“That’s because you’re doing it wrong,” he motions for you to move over as he walks closer to the bed. You follow his instruction, and he peels a layer of the bedsheet. Jungkook laughs as you scramble to get under it. “Better now?”

You didn’t answer but instead, lift your head from the sheets before nodding. He’s overcome with a sense of assurance when he sees your peaceful, content expression.

He hasn’t so much as turned his back on you when you call his name out once more.

“Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Just make sure you leave us a five-star rating.”

He grins just as you crack one eye open. “I’m serious.”  

“So am I. We need that public approval to keep running,” he watches the corner of your lips twitch in amusement as you settle back comfortably into the futon with a nod.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes?”

“Was I wrong? For feeling wanted, I mean.”

Your question catches him by surprise; suddenly the hardwood floor beneath him begins to feel cold against his feet. Instead of returning to his previous spot, he carefully sits on the edge of the bed as the springs creak from his weight. He pulls both his legs underneath him; he couldn’t quite face you, so he stares at the television, instead.

“I don’t think so. We all crave validation, more so from our partners than anybody else. I think it’s natural. Otherwise, it’s pointless.”

“Pointless,” you echo softly.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t work it out, though. Part of it is communicating your needs to each other.”

Hypocrite, Jungkook says to himself. It’s laughable, the level of bullshit he allows himself to bask in. What’s the point of giving someone else advice, when he can’t even get his shit together?

“You have to be truthful because the other person might not know what you want.”

“I know that,” your voice is shaky when you speak. Jungkook hedges his bet and assumes that you began crying once more; he didn’t need to look back to confirm. “I guess I’m just scared of facing the outcome of the confrontation when it does happen.”

“You don’t want to be abandoned when shit hits the fan,” he says more to himself than you.

“Exactly. I don’t even know when it began. One day I just woke up and,” you pause, and Jungkook hears you sniffle. “And everything felt so unfamiliar. The places—the people I thought I knew. It’s like I dissociated from my body, and I've just been on autopilot ever since.”

You pause, and Jungkook continues for you. “And you thought going along with the flow would fix things, but it feels even more jarring because you’ve lost that sense of familiarity.”

“Yeah, exactly. I thought coming here would somehow magically restore everything, but quite the opposite, actually. I guess running away from it doesn’t solve anything,” you chuckle bitterly. He slowly shifts on the bed to face you.

For the first time in a long time, Jungkook feels seen; like someone has found the lock to the door he threw away so long ago. Your words continuously play on a loop in his mind, forcing him to look at the actions he’s been taking. Certainly, he’s not racing away from himself by choosing to move to a different country despite his parents’ protest, is he? What about the fact that he chooses not to tell her, the supposed love of his life, about the fact that he’d felt so deprived that he couldn’t resist the temptation to have sex with someone else? And to top it all off, he doesn’t have the guts to tell her.

Jungkook knows he doesn't deserve the right to sit there and tell you what to do when he doesn’t dare to be honest in his relationship.

When you’ve cried your eyes dry and the evenness of your breathing signifies you’re fast asleep, Jungkook gently moves from his spot on the bed. He grabs the phone that has been idly on top of the table, before heading to the bathroom and closing the door shut. No matter the outcome of the conversation, she deserves the truth.

Jungkook inhales deeply and presses the call button.

    You rise before daybreak, and at a glance, Jungkook is nowhere to be found. There’s a painful throb on the side of your head as you sit up, and you ignore it as you untangle yourself from the sheets. With the help of the lights from the television, you find him splayed across the couch not too far from where you stand. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had on a few hours ago, and guilt creeps up quicker than you anticipated it to.

You untuck the blanket you’ve used from his bed before walking towards him, careful not to disturb his slumber.

“I apologize for bothering you,” you mumble as you lay the blanket softly on top of him. You didn’t think to wake him before your departure; you already told him that you were set to leave after a short nap, anyway.

Hurriedly, you exit his room, forgetting that you’re completely barefoot. It’s fine, it’s just a few floors down, anyway.

The short elevator ride gives you little room to prepare for what you’re going to tell Taehyung. You glance at the phone you’ve been keeping on ‘do not disturb’ to find two missed calls from him a few hours prior. You just hope he’s already asleep by the time you get to your room.

You’re relieved when you enter and the lights are turned off. It feels juvenile to be sneaking around as you use your phone’s light to pick up a discarded shirt before stripping away your clothes and hurriedly putting it on.

Taehyung’s body is turned towards the wall as he hugs the pillow tightly against his body. Seeing him tranquil and at peace shifts your mood, as if all the frustration you feel dissipates within an instant. You slide under the covers, careful not to disturb him but he shifts at your presence anyway. He forgoes the pillow, snaking his arms around your waist instead as he inches closer.

“Where have you been?” he murmurs sleepily against your ear.

“Just...here.”

He doesn’t ask further and you don’t elaborate, thinking that he’s fallen back asleep. A part of you is glad for the unadulterated freedom he’s giving you. But there’s a sudden feeling of optimism; perhaps the sensation of loneliness will pass, and that you’re merely being dramatic (for the lack of better term). Once again you’re lulled into complacency. But it’s never a bad thing to just hope for the best, right?

But Taehyung is gone by noon when you finally have the decency to peel yourself off the bed. There’s a simple text from several hours ago that reads: Didn’t want to disturb you. Call me later.

You do exactly that, but it takes you straight to voicemail. Twice. Three times.

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach, but you try not to read into the situation too much.

“It’s fine, I wanted a day to go around by myself anyway,” you say out loud, uncaring if the walls are the only ones hearing you out. You fall back into the mattress, knowing the eagerness to get ready will not come unless there’s anybody to encourage.

But it seems like you didn’t have to wait for your saving grace for too long because your phone rings and you immediately roll over to reach for it.

Your heart sinks when you read the caller ID, but you grin and answer the call, anyway.

“Hey, Mom.”

She answers back cheerily, before divulging into her familiar list of questions; the usual how are you’s and the have you been eating well’s. When she finally inquires about Taehyung, you answer hesitantly.

“He’s out for work. You know how it is.”

She sighs and you wince, regretting your choice of tone. “Did you argue again?”

“No! That’s not it at all. I’m just—”

“Whatever it is, just be patient with him,” she admonishes. Your grip on the phone tightens. Right, because that very same rhetoric did nothing to salvage your marriage with Dad. It had been one of the reasons why you decided to move away after high school in the first place. Your mother managed to convince you to move in with her, stating that she wanted to make up for being absent most of your youth.

A different country. Foreign places to see, people to meet. The thrill of it all had been enough to convince you to depart the only place you knew your entire life. But part of the reason why you agreed had been because you were growing weary of living with your father’s new family. There was never a sense of belonging that tied you to Seoul despite spending all your life there.

Except for Taehyung.

He followed you five years later, like a fool in love. Then you decided to get married two years after rekindling your relationship. Three years since then, it feels like you’re floating in between two sides of the same coin with him, neither in bliss nor in terror.

“I know,” you chew your bottom lip. Fear is catching fire in your chest, and you smother it quickly so it will not disperse and reach your heart. “I’m trying.”

She switches the topic quicker than you can wipe the tears that manage to fall, and soon enough she’s complaining to you about having to come out for late lunch with her friends. Your answers are short and subdued, just enough to let her know that you’re still there, but your mind is itching to run somewhere else. Before she hangs up, you give her a gentle reminder to check on your apartment. She promises not to forget.

“Have fun, dear! Don’t forget to visit the places I told you about.”

“You act as if I didn’t live here before,” she chuckles at your unintended humour. “But don’t worry, I won’t.”

The line cuts after a short goodbye, and you welcome silence with a long sigh. It seems like there’s a lot on the list for you to finish: get some food to cure your hangover, take a nap, and then another after waking up. The prospect of going out alone is more daunting than it seems, therefore, staying in feels like it’s the best option.

Suddenly, a fleeting thought crosses your mind. You could have called me.

You instinctively reach for the telephone by the bedside table and dial his room number, fresh and vivid in your memory.

*

It takes half an hour to get to the destination Jungkook suggested. He agreed that you’ll treat him to (a very late afternoon) lunch if he picks the place.

“No way, it’s still here!” you exclaim as soon as you step foot off the cab. Waves of nostalgia come trickling in one by one, then hits you all at once when you open the door. Your senses are overwhelmed with familiar spices as soon as you push the door open. You look back and beam at Jungkook, who’s watching you with a small smile.

It’s only when you’re seated and have ordered that Jungkook clears his throat before saying, “I’m glad you still remember.”

You gawk at him, before crossing your legs firmly beneath you.

“Are you kidding? They have the best bibimbap and tofu stew. I was here almost every night especially during the exam period.”

“I know,” he says with confidence and you eye him with suspicion. “I mean, it was tough not to. You were always so loud around your friends.”

You scoff at him despite you knowing it to be true, but Jungkook takes no offence to it as he grins.

“It’s called having fun. You should try it sometime,” you point at him with your spoon.

“I am having fun with—”

“If you say ‘with you’, I swear to god you’re going to pay for the food instead,” you warn him despite a smile threatening to break from your lips.

“With you,” he emphasizes the phrase almost mockingly. You murmur the word “impossible” under your breath as you feel the tips of your ears grow warm.

Although the comment seems gratuitous at the time of its conception, to Jungkook’s credit you also come to enjoy time spent with him. Perhaps it’s the fact that he stands between novelty and familiarity that you fall into an easy discourse with him; you didn’t have to choose your words too carefully or worry that he might think ill of you based on what you say. There’s no seed of doubt and no root cause of anxiety.

You can’t help but find it odd, nevertheless.

Jungkook, whom you’ve never shared more than two lines before your current interaction with him. You’d never have thought in a million years you’d confide in somebody who used to give you odd stares and unfriendly glares when you passed by him in the halls of your high school. The past you would gawk, confused as to how he manages to coax even the tiniest smile out of you.

You’re about to point out that very fact to Jungkook when your phone rings and you’re immediately reprieved back out of the comfort of his presence.

It’s Taehyung, and you immediately answer.

“Babe, don’t freak out, but I’m currently in Daegu. Crazy! I know, I know. But remember I told you last night about—”

He begins listing names you recall hearing in passing. But it didn’t matter, because you stop paying attention after hearing where his current location is.

“—is why I couldn’t answer your call. But don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, probably.”

You watch Jungkook shift in his seat as he asks you if everything’s all right. You nod instinctively.

“Okay.”

“Cool. I’ll call you again later after we get settled. Love you.”

“Mhm.”

He must have been in a hurry because the call cuts before you could get another word in. Although you didn’t attempt to answer longer than a few sentences in the first place, afraid that the quiver in your voice will reveal the hurt and anger that has slowly been piling up one by one.

    Jungkook thinks you’re a dam that’s overfilled and just about ready to burst. He’s afraid because you seem overly happy, obviously overcompensating for the devastation he had seen in your eyes hours prior to your call. He needn’t guess who it had been on the other side. Although he doesn’t know what Taehyung said, it’s enough to send you in a frantic search for your sanity.

This begins with you asking him to go to a karaoke bar with you, before proceeding to order several drinks. It’s on me, Jeon! I owe you lots, you declare before proceeding to down a whole glass of beer in one go.

Within the privacy the four walls of the room bring, you pour your energy into one upbeat song after another, seemingly uncaring of Jungkook’s presence. That is until your umpteenth song ends, and you turn away from the screen dramatically and towards him to hand him the mic.

“Your turn!”

“Great, I thought you’d never ask,” he says sarcastically and you join him on the seat, giggling. He takes the remote and punches in his selected number as a familiar tune comes through the speakers. He looks at you as he begins to sing the lyrics of the verse, and you break out into a small grin.

“I’m trying to realize, it’s alright to not be fine…” he sings softly as your head gently leans on his shoulder. Jungkook lets you.

He does again on the cab ride to the pub for a late dinner. And again on the way home. The weight of your presence against him is most likely inconsequential to the heaviness you carry around with you. That’s why he’ll do his part even though he most likely doesn’t have to; anything to let you know you’re not alone. He just hopes you know.

“Jungkook,” your voice is quiet against his ear as he carries you up the concrete steps.

“Yes?” he adjusts you on his back, careful not to drop you. He’s only slightly inebriated, and he’s hoping there will be no accidents for him or you.

“Thank you.”

“Just leave us a—”

“Five-star rating,” hearing your laughter feels ticklish in his stomach. “I will.”

His older brother greets him with an odd look once he enters the door of the lobby, before asking, “Is this what you skipped work for?”

“I’m only cashing in my days off before a leave,” Jungkook points at the elevator with his chin.

“Yeah, yeah,” his brother says dismissively before pressing the button for Jungkook. Silence passes through them as they wait for the doors to open. “Is she the reason why you changed your mind?”

Jungkook feels the steady rhythm of your pulse against his back, which is kilometres away from his erratic heartbeat. He tries not to put too much thought into it; he did just carry you up several flights of stairs, after all.

The harsh ping of the bell saves him from answering, and the older didn’t press him any further. It’s only after he’s turned the keys to your room, safely placed you on the bed — but not before he falls back onto the spot beside you with a deep sigh — that he has the time to formulate an articulate response.

“I’d like to think I did it out of my own volition. But a lot has happened the last few days, and, well…” he trails off as he turns his body to face you, one hand tucked against his cheek as the other reaches out to comb a stray hair out of your face.

You stir under his touch but he doesn’t make the effort to move away.

“Seems like I owe you again, Jeon Jungkook,” you whisper, the words stringing together seemingly in an indecipherable sound. He manages to put the pieces together, nonetheless.

“You’re not under any obligation to repay me,” he grins when you peel your eyes open. “I don’t want to give you all the credit, but you might have saved me more than once.”

“How so?”

The reflection of the city lights chase away the dimness of the room, but they also reflect your eyes in a way that makes Jungkook think you’re holding the galaxy’s secrets within them.

“I was having this, sort of, midlife crisis—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” you place your elbow against the mattress as you lean your flushed cheeks against your palm. “Saying you’re having a midlife crisis now in your late twenties makes it seem like your life’s going to end in your sixties.”

He shrugs half-heartedly. The pessimist in him urges him to declare, “Who’s to say I won’t?”

“Boo! I hate this story already.”

“Buckle up, because it’s about to get worse,” he smiles wryly.

And Jungkook opens up his fresh wounds and bares his soul without pomp and flowery words. He watches your reaction intently, nonetheless, knowing well enough that by the end of the night, he might get kicked out of the halls. He’ll take the punishment kindly, since she didn’t have the chance to slap him when he could tell, despite the distance, that she would punch him square in the face.

“I know it’s wrong, and I’m not making any excuses for my actions.”

“I feel like I have no place to get angry at you. But strictly speaking, from a rational person’s point of view...fuck you.”

“I deserve no less,” he says, appreciating your candour. “That’s why last night, when you fell asleep, I told her everything. I realized that I had no place to speak of communicating when I’ve been holding out on the truth from her for a while now. You can only imagine how angry she is with me.” He swallows thickly, hating the way his throat constricts uncomfortably. Perhaps he did care about how you’ll view him, after all.

“Are you all right, though?”

The worry engraved in the crease between your brow disarms him; the unexpected delicacy in the way you ask him suddenly brings him into sobriety. After hearing the phrase I don’t want to see you, ever, he hasn’t had the time to process how he feels other than the guilt that continues to plague him. He’d buried heartbreak that comes along after losing somebody so quickly that realizing it now has him terrified of himself.

Has he truly reached the point where he’s incapable of feeling anything?

Or is it that somewhere between then and now, he’s fallen out of love with her and made excuses for himself so that it’s easier to let her hate him because he didn’t have the courage to break it off? Is it because he’s using her as an excuse — his ticket out of Seoul, out of the life he thinks to be mundane? Because if so, then he’s an even bigger scumbag than he originally thought.

“Jungkook?”

The warmth of your hand on his cheek salvages him from sinking into the bottomless depth of his thoughts.

“I can’t believe I strung her along for this long.”

Then it hits him all at once; an unavoidable freight train carrying the emotions he’s repressed himself from bearing. In him blossoms the violent need to abate the heaviness that began festering within the depths of his mind a long time ago.

One sob and you pull him against you. Two and you’re running your hands soothingly down the curves of his back. Three, and he’s clinging onto you for dear life as the uncontrollable cries consume him. He’s overcome by a sense of déjà vu as you wrap your arms tighter against him.

Jungkook lets you.

Again and again, he will selfishly welcome your presence, as if doing so would diminish him of any wrongdoings he has committed.

    You drift in and out of consciousness, but the warm body stays unchanged beside you. Another aspect feels indifferent: The pounding headache constantly knocking against your temple. In hindsight, you probably need to stop drinking to the point where your body can’t handle the after-effects. Inhaling slowly puts your mind at ease as the scent of fresh lavender wafts over your senses; you’re immediately reminded of hanging freshly laundered sheets during a hot summer day. Only one person manages to conjure such specific and vivid imagery for you.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your body goes rigid at the feeling of his heavy arm draped across your waist. You slowly open your eyes, hoping that your initial hunch is wrong, and you’re merely dreaming that you let someone who’s neither a stranger nor a friend lay in bed with you.

But you’re met with his peaceful sleeping face, a stark difference between last night’s troubled and despaired Jungkook. For a split second, you let your mind wander with your heart amongst the perilous grounds of your imagination.

If picturing life with him is a sin, then there’s absolutely no saving you from entering the depths of hell.

(A tad bit over-dramatic on your part, but you believe you have the license to do so since you just woke up in the arms of someone else other than Taehyung.)

Despite the slight panic accentuated by the quick palpitations of your heartbeat, you make no genuine effort to move away. Bits of cynicism creeps up, either way, as you berate yourself for clinging onto anybody willing to keep you company.

But at this point, is Jungkook truly just ‘anybody’ to you? In a short period of time, you’ve managed to share more with him than you’ve had with Taehyung. With Jungkook, there’s nobody to compete for attention with.

So, what is holding you back from leaving the anguish behind and instead run straight on towards Jungkook? Is the sanctity of marriage you’ve sworn to uphold after seeing how it tore your own family apart enough of a reason to stay with him?

The answer sits on the tip of your tongue like a ripe fruit ready to burst.

Jungkook shifts his position as he raises one eyelid open before breaking out into a lazy grin. You return the gesture as you peel yourself away from his touch to sit upon the mattress and stretch your limbs wide.

“That was the best sleep I had in a while,” he admits.

“Maybe all you needed was a good cry.”

He gives you a knowing look. “Maybe.”

Silence ensues, and all of a sudden you’re unsure of what to tell him when minutes ago you allowed yourself to stare at him unabated. How exactly are you supposed to express gratification to the person who’s allowed themselves to be the unfortunate passenger to your rollercoaster of emotions? What’s more, is you’d done the same for him. Do you, then, without a need for more words, go back to how it had been previously and pretend nothing had happened?

You didn’t have much time to ponder because your phone vibrates in the back pocket of your jeans.

“What do you mean by ‘we need to talk’?”

“Good morning to you too, Taehyung,” you mumble. Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise, as if in sudden realization of something he’d forgotten. He moves off the bed and motions for the bathroom. You nod wordlessly. It almost slipped your mind that you sent him a somewhat vague text the night previous after Jungkook’s spiel. “It means exactly what it says. We need to talk when you get back. You are coming back, right?”

“What’s with the sudden hostility in your tone? Of course, I’m coming back.”

“I think I deserve to be a little hostile,” a sudden wave of bravery washes over you. “How exactly am I supposed to feel after you leave me without warning on our trip?”

“I told you—”

“Stop fucking lying to me, Kim Taehyung,” your voice breaks as tears blur your vision. “You never talk about anything with me anymore, and you know it.” There’s a certain pride you feel when he doesn’t respond right away. “I can’t talk to you about this on the phone. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Jungkook returns well after you’ve ended the call with Taehyung.

“I should probably get back to my room and change. I need to take over for my brother.”

You follow him towards the door, where he haphazardly puts on his shoes. When he stands, he gazes at you, eyes filled with tenderness. Your heart stutters. “Will you be okay?”

“Of course,” you offer him an encouraging smile, but he doesn’t return it. With one nod he’s out the door, and you watch as his figure retreats towards the elevator without so much as a wave, not knowing that would be the last you see of him for a while.

Taehyung’s arrival comes earlier than expected and catches you after your long shower, but says nothing to quell your worries. He merely sits on the bed and watches you pace around the room; for a comb one minute, then you put on lotion next, then you’re folding clothes to be laundered — anything to busy yourself from confrontation. It’s not that your courage has wavered, but rather your dignity prevents you from breaking first.

Yet as soon as your name rolls off his tongue, there’s a magnetic pull that has your feet nimbly walking to where he is.

“I’m sorry,” is all it takes from him for you to unravel completely. There’s no shortage of fresh, hot tears as he engulfs you against him. You bring your palms up to grab on his shirt tightly, before hitting his chest with no real intentions of hurting him. He doesn’t stop you but instead pulls back to place a chaste kiss on your forehead. Your arms fall nimbly to the side and Taehyung continues to mutter apologies one after the other, catching each teardrop before they reach the bottom of your ruddy cheeks.

He waits until you’ve stopped sobbing before you begin diving into a conversation that’s been long overdue. Slowly, the walls you’ve built around yourself begin to crumble brick by brick as the imperfections of your relationship reveal itself on the surface. It’s uncomfortable for him as much as it is for you to dredge up old wounds, evident by the way his eyes well up with tears, but it’s an intervention needed to regain what was, if possible.

Both you and Taehyung know one conversation is not enough to undo the fractures, but it’s a step closer towards salvation.

*

The end of your trip creeps up closer than you’d like. You stopped tagging along with Taehyung’s workdays because he agreed to go places with you. Days without him are spent milling around the neighbouring places of the bed and breakfast, which leads to your discovery of the best spicy rice cake just around the corner of the street. There is also the obligatory bike ride alone around the Han river, which proves to be more satisfactory than almost anything you’ve ever done.

You find yourself looking for Jungkook in-between the hours where your mind wanders and for a split second, all of your thoughts are suddenly dedicated to him. Deception comes in the form of denial when you push the aimless sentiments aside, afraid that you might get too carried away. It’s maddening to think that he only seems to show up in times of dire need as if the deity responsible for overlooking fate is playing tricks on you.

(Though you know that if you want to see him, the only thing you have to do is knock on his door. You dismiss that idea, either way, for fear of being too obtrusive.)

On the day of your departure, you wake up early to catch breakfast. You ask Taehyung if he wants to join you despite knowing the answer. He grunts in response but stays unmoving. You untangle yourself from the warmth of his body before placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

Food has been prepared once you’re in the dining area, but there’s nobody to be found. It immediately reminds you of the first morning of your arrival—the excited faces of the children and their parents who were engrossed in a serious conversation, and the elderly couple enjoying their morning of peace together. Two weeks have gone by, and you’re not even sure if they’re still here or if they’ve moved on to see other places, meet other people.

Inadvertently, you steal a glimpse of the kitchen door, waiting for it to swing open and reveal the one person whose smile you’ve been longing to witness one last time. You grin as you shake your head; your propensity towards wishful thinking never ceases to make you feel disheartened.

“Last time you were staring longingly at your soup, and today you’re smiling to yourself,” his voice cuts through your thoughts intrusively as he strolls in, dressed down in a pair of casual joggers and an ill-fitting shirt too big to possibly belong to him. “Hi.”

Your gaze meets his, and breathlessly, you say, “Hi.”

He doesn’t make any gesture that indicates he wants to sit and chat this time around.

“Been busy?”

“I could say the same about you,” your lips curl upwards in a small smile. There’s a landslide of things you want to ask him, topics you want to share. You want to thank him over and over, invite him for a meal or even a simple walk around town. But words seem to fail you as you shift your eyes to stare at your half-eaten plate of fruit slices.

“My older brother mentioned you’re leaving today,” he announces offhandedly, scratching the nape of his neck. You’d like to think he’s just as unsure as you on how to go about having a conversation. Is he also stumbling over his thoughts like you are?

“Uh, yeah—” you flick your wristwatch to check the time— “I just have to wake Taeyhung, and we’ll be on our way.” The rueful smile he gives you feels like a splinter prodding your heart. “You?”

“Oh, I was just on my way to grab something before heading to the gym.”

“Ah,” you nod. Unlike the last time you two shared a conversation in the same place, this one is marred by awkward pauses and long bouts of silence. Afraid this will cause him to leave, you promptly state, “I honestly thought you ended up leaving the country since I didn’t see much of you.”

“That was the plan, yes,” his smile finally reaches his eyes. “I was supposed to leave a week ago— I mean, I had already bought the tickets and despite how it ended with me and her, I still wanted to leave. But someone told me just because you try to run from your problems doesn’t mean it will not follow you there.”

You chuckle as you shake your head. He continues. “I feel like I owe it to her to grant her wishes of not wanting to see me, no matter how much I wanted to get out of this place. A lot of reasons compelled me to stay, and I think I’m better for it.”

When your gaze meets his, there’s an unstated agreement; a kinship that cannot be unbound, locked away in a time you can only revisit through your memory.

“With that being said, I might tour Europe in two months’ time, starting with Sweden,” he grins playfully, cheeks dotted with a dimple. You roll your eyes as you stand before shoving him lightly by the shoulder.

“Alright, Richie Rich, no need to rub it in. I get it, I get it.”

“You have me mistaken, Miss. This was a culmination of years of hard work and savings.”  

“I’m happy for you,” you say with finality. No matter how much you did not want the conversation to end, there’s a twinge of sweetness to a farewell amidst the bleakness that often comes along; it doesn’t always have to end in thunder and rainfall.

But then he asks, “Are you happy for you?”

It might have been then, at that moment, where you’d willingly say blurt the phrase out loud, your situation be damned. But you didn’t—you couldn’t. Not when you nod wordlessly. Not when he opens his arms seemingly as a conclusion, a wordless action that says: I should probably let you go so I can also go about with my day. Instead, you carefully place the three words in your back pocket to be used later before you step into the warmth of his embrace.

He whispers a farewell and a promise that you know you’ll carry in your heart until the time fate allows you to meet again at another time and another place.