#( i really just needed a fluff interlude to my life. )

[elvisabutler]

sentimental over you

summary: sometimes your fiancé's insomnia has its perks. namely that he'll let you sleep while your daughter and him have a little one on one time. rating: g, it's literally a baby on big daddy's chest. like what was i gonna do to it. pairing: big daddy elvis x female reader word count: 867 warnings: fluff. talk about elvis's insomnia. babies being babies and not sleeping like adults with nine to fives. it's tame, i'm being silly with these warnings. though there is unsafe sleeping practices in that a baby in any bed that isn't a crib for the first chunk of their life is technically speaking a no-no in the us now. author's note: literally blame this on the at least two times i saw someone come into- god i think it was daisy's and tam's inboxes mentioning elvis and babies and being adorable. i just wanted to write fluff and this has been in my head since i read those things. also i did mention curly hair in relation to the baby so know this is meant to be both for poc and non-poc readers.

Elvis would like to argue that both times he's had a child, first with Lisa, his Yisa and then with little Crystal, Lisa's lil Crys-Crys- he hadn't actually planned for them to come when they did. Lisa coming nine months to the day of his and Priscilla's wedding and yours- well yours right after you had just gotten engaged. You could have been married for when she was born but you had put your foot down, telling Elvis that under no uncertain terms were you going to be walking down the aisle with your belly as round as it was in a wedding dress.

You haven't gotten married yet and there's a nebulous promise from both of you to each other that once Crystal is sleeping through the night comfortably you'll get married. At the rate she was going, you and him would be an old married couple without the marriage part before she decided it was a cool thing to sleep. You've gotten used to waking up in the middle of the night and it used to be to feed her but nowadays it's just to have her look at you with eyes so blue you swear no part of your genes even entered the equation when it came to figuring out her eye color. Sometimes she's crying, other time she's just making noise but tonight- tonight you find yourself sleeping past your normal wake up time. Tonight you find that you sleep past the midnight hour, the witching hour for your daughter and into the early morning hours of 4AM. What wakes you up is the low murmur of your fiancé singing.

You blink slowly, your eyes trying to focus in the low light of the room. It takes you a minute or five to actually notice that it's not just him in the bed next to you, that there's a soft cooing noise being made on his chest. Crystal doesn't sleep with the both of you ever, unless she's sick and even then one of you is usually awake to make sure she's alright. Last you had checked when you put her to bed in her crib she was fine, there was no real reason for her to be making noises on Elvis's chest. Elvis is too engrossed in singing to your daughter to notice much of anything in relation to you waking up and hearing him sing a version of one of your favorite Ella Fitzgerald songs does bring you a bit of joy that you don't want to pop just yet by announcing your awake state. When he stops his hand moves to play with your daughter's hair, taking note of the curls starting to finally grow. The jury was still out on how tight they would be but you were hoping for a potential middle ground between your hair and Elvis's.

"Ya gonna go back t'sleep lil one? Gonna let Daddy put ya back in your crib all nice and comfy?" He whispers to her, almost trying to bargain with her like that was ever something that worked with babies. Crystal's answering whimper as he starts to shift in the bed to attempt to get up answers for him. "Gotcha, ain't gonna move from this spot I guess. Gonna have mama wake up t'you all curled up like a cat on me. How we gonna explain that t'her?"

You can't help the tiny giggle that escapes your lips at the last part before you see Elvis's head turn to look at you with Crystal's head following suit, blinking slowly. "Satnin. You supposed t'be sleepin'."

You hum, moving a little closer so that you can nuzzle noses with him and then with your daughter. "Was. Singing woke me up. She been up long?"

"Half 'n hour. She's gettin' drowsy. Gonna have her out like a light in no time." He says with all the confidence in the world. "Go back t'sleep. We'll be here in the mornin'."

You shake your head. "Sing us both to sleep? Maybe even yourself?"

Elvis looks at you and looks at your daughter- your daughter that both of you made together- and exhales. "Drive a hard bargain y'know that?" But he aquises nonetheless, moving his arm out so that you can scoot closer, and place your head near Crystal's on his chest and a soft kiss to her nose. Your arm drapes across his stomach, pulling him closer as you hear him start to sing again.

Crystal falls asleep first, a small yawn leaving her body before she burrows into Elvis's chest, turning it into a warm and comfy little pillow. You feel your eyes starting to droop soon after but then you hear a light snore coming from Elvis instead of singing. You glance up and a smile crosses your lips, he fell asleep mid-song. You follow soon after and the next time you wake up it's to the first rays of sunlight entering your room casting a light on your future husband and your daughter's face that makes your heart full to bursting.

Maybe a few more minutes of shuteye wouldn't hurt. After all, they'll be there in the morning- the later morning.

They were.

[suhnshinehaos]

growing pains : interlude ii

series synopsis : people say that you’ll experience three kinds of love in your lifetime. the first is an idealistic love, the kind that feels straight out of a fairy tale. the second is the hard love, the kind that will leave you with lessons about yourself and the love you want and need to experience. finally, the love you never see coming. this is the story of your three loves. pairing : svt 97 line x gn!reader genre/s : non-idol au, coming of age, angst, fluff, my attempts at humor interlude two wc : ~1.1k

interlude ii  ➤  live well

" and i know it's fine to end our time be safe, be true, and i'll think of you " from palace's live well

previous  ➤  act three, part sixteen next  ➤  act three, part seventeen growing pains  ➤  masterlist

“gyu, i swear to god if you get drunk i’m not carrying you back to your hotel.”

mingyu laughs, loud and unrestrained, his head thrown back and his eyes screwed shut, and it hits you just how much you missed the sound. or really, just how much you missed him. you tilt your head to the side, a small smile creeping up the corners of your mouth as you take a sip of your drink.

“it wouldn’t be the first time.” he speaks through his chuckles, shaking his head, and his eyes meet yours. for a moment, you have the same thought, and he’s the one to actually say it out loud. “this is nice.”

and it really is.

there was once a time when you couldn’t even imagine being in the same room as him, just the two of you, laughing like there hadn’t been years of shared history between the two of you. for a second, a memory flashes across your mind; the feeling of his arm slung across your shoulders, his alcohol laced breath mixing in with his cologne, muttering a drunken string of words that you couldn’t quite make out.     

and you look at the mingyu in front of you, cheeks flushed and a look of complete contentment now settled on his features. 

���crazy how life just,” you pause, and eventually sigh out- “works out, huh?”

under the pale moonlight, in a city both of you are relatively unfamiliar with, mingyu has never felt closer to you than he does now. strangely enough, it all feels right. he nods, “crazy. everything that happened had to have happened.”

a silence settles between the two of you, but not tense nor uncomfortable, as memories of the last couple of years, and eventually the last couple of months, fill both your senses. mingyu scans your face, noting for any signs of unease from being with him.

mingyu finds none, which makes him let out a breath of relief.

cutting through the silence, you ask a question you’ve been meaning to ask him for a while. 

“are you happy, gyu?”

you didn’t mean for the question to be so loaded but, in a way,  you only knew so much. you saw him every now and then, when he came to visit you, jeonghan, vernon, and soonyoung for a couple of days. you saw his instagram stories and twitter posts, travelling around the world, meeting new people, walking runways, booking several editorials.

“i am.” he lets out a breath and you see the tension in his shoulders fall, looking up to the clear night sky then back at you. “god it feels good to finally say that out loud, and actually mean it. you know?”

you blink back at him for a couple of seconds, it seemed like it was something he was just acknowledging himself, but a smile spreads across your face. “i’m so happy for you.”

and you mean it, with every fiber of your being.

just like that, you notice how much he has changed since your college days. gone is the tense, hesitant mingyu that you had once come to know. the one that lied on the other side of your bed in your apartment in new york, the one with the permanent crease between his brows. you see him now, calm and confident, and secure in himself. you had caught glimpses of it before, but now it radiates through him, engulfing you in his light.

“you seeing someone?” the words tumble out of your lips before you couldn’t even process them. curiosity got the better of you, and before you could take it back he simply shakes his head.

“ah no, i go on dates sometimes, but nothing that ever really lasted.”

you nod, and mingyu continues.

“and that’s okay, you know? i’ve just been doing eyes, heart, and arms wide open. being honest with myself and what it really is what i want, whether it’s in my professional or personal life. if things don’t work out, at least i can say i did my best. it took a while for it to feel sincere, and not like i’m just forcing myself to do it for the sake of it, but i’m happy with myself.” 

his voice grows softer as he ends his little ramble, and you part your lips to tell him that you’re proud of him, but he beats you to the punch.

“you taught me that, you know?” he smiles, “i mean, if we hadn’t gone through what we did- not like i’m saying that you were in my life just for a lesson because i really do value you as a friend, and as a person-”

“no, i- i get it, gyu.” you cut off his rambling with a quiet laugh, noticing his eyes become bigger and more panicked. 

he lets out an exaggerated breath of relief and holds a hand over his heart. “what about you, yn? are you happy?” 

your mind briefly flashes to reuniting with your maple drive friends, to the friends you’ve made at work, being able to see jeonghan, soonyoung, and hansol more often, to the shoots you’ve done and the work you’ve accomplished.

from all the stress you’ve gone through from moving so far away from home, from struggling to book shoots when you were freelancing after graduated, to where you are now.

a wave of peace washes over you, and you think of tea in the mornings and farmer’s market runs in the afternoon and impromptu shoots at night. 

mingyu didn’t near to hear your answer, he simply just knew.

he silently raises his glass and you do the same, clinking them together and downing the rest of your drinks. 

“continue to live well, yn.” he says gently, sincerely, looking right into your eyes so you knew he meant every word. 

you reach out a hand across the table rest your hand atop mingyu’s, “you too.” 

he glances at his watch and notices the time, “i should get you back to jihoon, he was already hesitant to let you go with me since you’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

mingyu settles the tab, ignoring your insistence to pay your share, and you walk back towards your hotel. your shoulder brushes against his, and it doesn’t make his heart flutter in the way it used to. it simply reminds him that you’re still there, walking next to him, and for all his shortcomings, you were still in his life. 

if anything, he was simply just grateful.

even more so when you wrap your arms around him before entering the elevator, hugging him tighter as you whispered, “i’ll see you soon.”

mingyu’s lips stretch into a grin as he waves goodbye and the elevator doors close, “i’ll see you soon.” 

from reese, with love <3

oh yngyu.... ngl i choked up a lil writing that "i'll see you soon" aaaah they are so dear to me. at first i didn't know if i wanted to give gyu the seokmin treatment and give him a potential new partner, but if there's something i want you guys to takeaway from this, it's that romantic love isn't the be all-end all. if you happen to find it, wonderful! bec romantic love is a wonderful thing! but finding love within yourself, the company you keep, and the work you do is just as wonderful- and i'm glad this version of mingyu gets to have that :)

thank you for reading! asks/rbs/replies are always appreciated, i'd love to know what you think <3 hope you're all doing well!

[mirandyficlists]

Hi hi! I’d like to know what your Top 10 Holy Grail fics are? Like I’m talking about fics you would reccommend in a heart beat, fics that you feel are written extremely well that they feel like they should be published or something, fics that have really good pacing, right amount of fluff, angst, or smut. Or even ones that are just silly and fun. It would be cool to read some of your favs!

Hey Nonnie

First my standard answer to the top ten query...10!!! 10!!! You think i can narrow it down to 10!! LOLOLOL

Secondly, I'm flattered you want to know my preferences as a guide...but then that's what my spreadsheet is all about I guess. lol

Okay I did manage to keep myself to 30 fics and I will say I would live quite happily if the first 10 were all I was ever allowed to read for the ret of my life. Just saying. Heh

I've also included my reviews of each fic from my Spreadsheet of 2250+ Mirandy fics to explain my love for the fics.

If you want the fics that are no longer online just message me privately with your email and I'll send my zipped file of deleted Mirandy fics your way.

Happy Reading Nonnie

All the Breast

XVNot15

Top ten and why?

The Lady And Her Dragons by Bearblue https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738811/chapters/51860098

(WIP) OMG!!!!!!!!!!  So amazingly wonderful and magical and well just damned hot!  Full of myth and magic, Miranda and Cruella are real Dragons and Andy is their Lady. Magical machinations and battles ensue. The story is compelling and Bearblue controls the content of magical information absolutely beautifully, you're interest is captured, but you're not over whelmed with more information than what is required for the story she is telling.  Again it has to be said. OMG!!! I have now read this fic over 500 times…and I mean that! Have read it once a week and sometimes 2 or 3 times a week for more than a decade.

Truth and Measure by Telanu https://archiveofourown.org/works/779826/chapters/1468543

The downfall of my anti Mirandy life that dragged me kicking and cursing into the heart of the Mirandyverse. This is what I call a Simchat Torah story. Much like the holiday in which the last chapter of Torah is read and then the first chapter immediately afterward to start the cycle again. And that's just what I did with this one. Miranda discovers after the separation with Stephen that she is pregnant and as she copes with that Andy helps her and eventually Miranda proposes a mutually beneficial relationship...which Andy then proceeds to turn on its head almost immediately. Excellently written and adored the characterisations of both women.

It’s All Relative by Hawkbehere https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884348/chapters/13561771

OMFG!! This is an amazing story. Well written and excellently paced as well. Post Paris H/C piece where Miranda is shot and Andy runs to her side to help and care for her.. A very complex and interesting characterisation of both M and A. The hints at Sub/dom with true love and respect were pitched absolutely meltingly perfect And the passion of Miranda's need for Andy is mind blowing.

Small Favors Series  by Chillyflame https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793701/chapters/6270377

Andy wins a press award and sees Miranda. They talk and Andy acknowledges her feelings to herself. Andy sends a lily as a thank you. Hot first kiss in the conference room at the Mirror. The girls are very supportive as the relationship develops. INTERLUDE - Hot late night quickie in Miranda's office.  BEAUTIFUL THINGS - sees the development  of the relationship through some early rough spots. They're outed by Miranda's PR firm. Loved the twins with their pudding balloon bombs. HERE TO STAY - GOOD FORTUNE –

Fur No Thanks I’d Rather Go Naked by Writtensword (Deleted but I have the fic and can send it.)

Ooooooooooo so totally wonderful this story read it 3 times one after the other. Miranda is magically turned into a Mink and only Andrea can hear her speak and she takes care of her as they try to undo the spell. The characterisation of Mink Miranda is sooooooooooooooo terrific I want more Mink tales. heh  Lovely denoument when Miranda turns back to her human form.

Like Andrea Series by Ginstan https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940092

Ooooooooooooooo romance, mystery, intrigue and damn fine writing! Loved this fic! Andy is alerted to the fact that Miranda needs help when Runway does an edition where every single model looks like her. She comes to Miranda's rescue and their relationship develops super fast and super beautifully..  And beautiful mini FOL crossover! heheh I adore the characterisations of a vulnerable Miranda and a very soft butch Andy.

A Failure to Communicate by thelastgoodname https://archiveofourown.org/works/5300144

Miranda decides to Marry Andy and is busy dictating the plans to Andy just one problem... She hasn't actually asked Andy out on a date yet or anything else.  Cue a very confused Andy and a backpeddling Miranda. Ohhh my aching sides!!!! This is just soooooooooooo funny and sooooo well written.It's just brilliant!

Admiration by Punky_96 https://archiveofourown.org/works/14936337

Swooooooooooon!! Total romance and way HOT sex too! Miranda has a secret (not to us though) admirer who is leaving her daily gifts and notes. She becomes smitten and isn't quite sure until the big reveal.  Beautifully written and I loved it, but it ends rather abruptly.

The Brutal Truth by Redcharcoal (Removed as it was published…both are AWESOME! FF is available in the FB Mirandy Group and in my deleted fic file.)

Wonderfully well written piece. Miranda claims to only want the Brutal truth and ends up having a bet with Andrea that she can't get an exclusive interview with a famous designer and the stakes are one day of absolute honesty for Andrea and one week for Miranda. Andy outs Stephen as a predator and Miranda fires her...but then she gets the exclusive interview with the Deuchamps and they become her friends.

Miranda’s Runway series by Jehc https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242412/chapters/2552452

Oh the joy of a well written and well crafted characterisation piece.  Love this 4 years post Paris piece with Andy having a daughter she has actually named Miranda but who she calls Mandy who is somehting of an artistic prodigy. Andy has written a series of amazingly successful books on fashion but remains anonymous until she trades her privacy to foil Irvs latest almost successful coups against Miranda.  Things follow on from there, when little Mandy meets Randa and they fall for each other as hard as Miranda falls for Andrea.  Amazing fic.

The Fall and the Landing & 90 Days to Glory by Brithna/Ash_Mountain https://archiveofourown.org/works/481161

Warning: Character Death. My God almighty what a powerful piece of writing! This is not fanfiction, this is life, this is the most skillful playing of all that it is to be human, fragile, and to hold friendship and love as the reward for the pain and challenge that those prizes intrinsically bring with them. Have tissues ready, and be prepared to read with your heart and know that love is the force that truly connects all life.

On a Tractor by Bearblue https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696331/chapters/26333922

OMG! Absolutely brilliantly written long post Paris piece. Andy lends up inheriting a farm which she decides to run and she becomes quite the nature photographer as well. Miranda wants her farm for a photoshoot and goes out to visit and things take their natural course. Bear's writing is incredibly fluid and tinglingly evocative. Love the characterisation of Andy in this one. A Simchat Torah - immediate re-reader.

Break it Down With Joy by Winter156 https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394080

A drabble that is sheer perfection. A and M are friends, Andy has declared her love but Miranda has stated that they will never have a physical relationship, Andy stays anyway, suffering the pain of incompleteness, until that moment of decision. Excellently written, and soooo poignant.

By Heart by Chillyflame https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673044/chapters/5976851

Swooooooooooon, mushfest!! With lovely hot sexiness too. A H/C tale where Andy ends up with a broken leg on a ski weekend and Miranda cares for her in their cabin as they get snowed in for a couple of days and the heating fails heheh. But there is a fireplace and while 'keeping warm' one thing leads to another.

Basic Black by Beachbum https://archiveofourown.org/works/29045490

Brava BB, a lovely piece set post Paris. Nigel who has stayed friends with Andy decides to play matchmaker for the two women in his life. The description of Andy's suit was totally droolsome. And the love scene, wow, took my breath away. Loooooooooved the ending, god Miranda in nothing but a white dress shirt, but still so totally confident and in control of the situation. Yowsa!!

Disarming Athena by Politic X https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921940/chapters/26942895

Wonderful but sometimes distressing psychological exploration that occurs between Miranda and Andy. Many of the interactions take place in the elevator. Miranda appears to be torturing Andy with invitations and demands for her to touch her clothes but not her. Then she fires Andy and this behaviour continues as Andy works her notice.  Eventual happy ending.

Hidden Yet Bright by needled_ink https://archiveofourown.org/works/97340

Swoooooooooooooon, a beautiful and well written short of a developing friendship gently shifting into more but without strings. Loved the chartacterisations of both Andy and Miranda.

In Some Quite Casual Way by Winter156 https://archiveofourown.org/works/621060/chapters/1120824

Holy mother of mountains what a fic. From a request for a story that involved a character with wings. Miranda is a fallen angel of sorts and saves Andy when she falls out a skyscraper window. Declarations of love, and serious sweaty snugglebunnies followed by major storyline and escellent denouement. Gret writing, amazing story, just amazing.

Lost Treasures by Jazwriter  (Removed as it was published…both are AWESOME! FF is available in the FB Mirandy Group and in my deleted fic file.)

  Wow! Andy works as a sales clerk and then a Window dresser in  a small boutique. Her window designs cpature Miranda's attention and fascination. She takes Andy under her wing and mutual attraction sparks. Great little fic.

Objects and Space by Stormashke https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126698

Absolutely Stunning!!!!  Compellingly written with just the right meter and timing. Wonderful internal dialogue from Miranda's pov in an established relationship. She travels through the different rooms of the house noting the evidence of Andy's presence that still bug her…but also noting their indications of Andy's space in her heart and the twins heart and the things she will live with in that space of love.

Rebellious Lock & When Locks Get Locked by Quiethearted http://ralst.com/RebelliousLock.HTM

Ohh soooooooo funny!!!! Miranda's hair has a mind of it's own and it's concentrating on one particular brunette. This is comic writing at it's best. I'm still chuckling.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeee, sequel!  Woohoo, Miranda's hair has awakened an interest from Andy's hair and all is set for the clash of the tresses. Oh soooo wonderfully funny, I so hope this series continues, I want postcoital follicle frolics. Heheh

Sharp Relief by chillyflame https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672990/chapters/5976701

AMAZING fic!!!!! Wow Andy gets a call reporting that Miranda has died in a car crash on her way to her weekend cabin. She goes into shock and faces the fact of how much she loved her. She helps with the twins and stays at the townhouse until there is another call that send her and the girls out into the night chasing a hope agaisnt hope.  So amazing this.

The Lily and the Crown by Telanu (now published) https://archiveofourown.org/works/750438/chapters/1400746

Andren is the reclusive daughter of one of the Empires most capable Station Masters. Assistant - her new slave is the dread space Pirate Queen Mir. Seduction, debauchery, abandonment and redemption in this Space Swashbuckler.Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Gaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwdddddddddd!!!!!!!!!  Wow!!!! Fluids!!!!!!! This is just soooooooooooo wonderfully hot and romantic and hot and well good god I loved it. Okay, perhaps the Andren character was a little bit tooo clueless, but perhaps wonderfully evocative of another time. Still it was a great story and really interesting.

Unexpected Grace by Silverie https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9092005/1/Unexpected-Grace

Amazingly well written fic starting with amazing dream sequances of ancient days and a Goddess/priestess Miranda, perfectly mirrored in a waking world of events. Andy expands her life into music when she comes to own a beautiful guitar decorated with a dragon...linking to her desire for a certain dragon lady.  Lyrically written. Brilliant!!!!

A not exactly storybook romance by writetherest https://archiveofourown.org/works/923207/chapters/1793725

An AU where Andy is independently wealthy and owns a book store which Cassidy starts to visit daily as Andy befriends her. Eventually Miranda and she meet and after a bad decision it's a wonderfully sweet love story. Absolutely wonderful romance done here, adore the shier sweeter Andy.

Farsighted by emeraldorchids https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129537/chapters/14047437

Excellent mid length piece. All from Miranda's pov, chronicling how she and Andrea slip into a wonderful and easy friendship after Paris, that several months later morphs into more. What I love is the realness of Miranda in this fic as a full fledged human being all balance and counter balance with strengths and weaknesses.  And I enjoyed the reality check and stunned Miranda after Andy kisses her. As well as the gradual exploration afterward. The upshot with the page six comment picture in bed is a perfect ending.

Four Corners by Chillyflame https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039309/chapters/2073686

Truth be told, this is a ten star effort. I looooved it! A phenomonally wonderful piece, well written and amazingly characterised. All told from Cassidy's pov as she lives her parents divorce, the advent and demise of Stephen and the new and wonderful inclusion of Andy in her mother's and the twins lives.

Caught Between the Moon and New York City Series  by Punky_96 https://archiveofourown.org/series/1027544

Brilliant story of Miranda as a werewolf and pack leadercaptured by a secret research facility that captures and studies paranormal creatures where Andy works.  Grat adventure unfolds as they escape and Andy's true nature is discovered. Excellently written and intriguing backstory.

After Dark by LiteraryAssasin https://archiveofourown.org/works/20560673/chapters/48807857

A wonderfully characterised slow burn, friends to lovers fic. Well written and engaging of course, from an excellent bard. Andy grows a backbone in the best and most proactive way…almost swapping some of her softness for some of Miranda’s firmness so that they can both balance themselves and each other. I adored Miranda’s oh so careful way of helping Andy while trying also not to overwhelm her with that help.  A nifty little sub pairing of a mirrored couple is so seamlessly done it’s just amazing.  Also touches on an idea I’ve had for quite some time…may have to dust that one off.

If and When by Kamuraskan https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821418/chapters/29271045

WOOT!!! No greater love hath a Bard for another Bard than to make an offering in a completely unfamiliar fandom. (Thanks Gin.) Most wonderfully well written and amazing Disaster/survival fic. Andy uncovers a terrorist plot to blow up the EC building the night the VP is attending a party there. She isn't believed by Homeland security so she approaches the new CEO of EC...Miranda they manage to evacuate the building but are still on the 20th floor when the bombs go off....suspense, love and amazingness commence.

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 4) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 30.2K chapter summary: Atlas wasn’t a god; he was just a man . . . and Jeon Jungkook could only bear so much. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, forehead touches, the first games, daisy jones and the six vibes at some point, i guess kind of public sex, well elevator nsfw, fingering, squirting, nipple play, titty fucking, explicit sex, unprotected sex, cum play, wooshik (derogatory), shit goes down, reader may have a bad leg but let my girl into the MMAs (in other words, she’d do anything for jk (not that she’d admit to it)), jungkook’s past is revealed and it’s a doozy, abuse of alcohol mentioned, mentions of past suicidal ideation, mention of past suicide attempt but nothing is explained in detail, just mentioned (please be cautious of this part; and take care of yourselves), a silent voice + the female of the species + the picture of dorian gray references/inspo, descriptions of anxiety, depression, mental illness, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter four: build me up, buttercup ( ← previous | interlude | next → )  

BECOMING SOMEONE WAS ALWAYS something you had known you were meant to do, but you hadn’t expected it to be this hard. You supposed a part of you just always thought it’d be handed to you. OK, maybe not exactly handed to you on a silver platter, but you hadn’t expected that you’d have to chase it, constantly picking up your pace just to catch up. 

It should’ve been easy, right? Being a person was supposed to be easy. Emphasis on the . . . supposed to.

Even as it was happening . . . even as the parts of you that made you a person . . . even as you graduated college . . . this new life didn’t feel like it was yours. You didn’t feel like a person yet. (And a part of you didn’t want to be.)

A part of you wanted to take a step back, restart, and move back in with your parents. A part of you wanted to be a little kid again . . . her mother still brushing her hair and tucking her into bed. Now . . . now you brushed your own hair and barely made it to the bed before you passed out for the night.

You realized for many people becoming a person meant becoming an adult and that was it. You became a person when you became an adult. But it never felt that way for you.

Realizing becoming a person meant your decisions were your own and blaming everyone around you for your misfortunes was immature, had hit you in ways you never imagined. 

It happened gradually.

If you broke a glass . . . that was your fault . . . your mess . . . you cleaned that up. But . . . you remembered as if it were recently when your father would let you cling on to his back while he cleaned up the mess you made just so you didn’t get hurt. 

Now . . . your father wasn’t there to put Hello Kitty bandaids on your cuts. Now . . . now you cleaned up the mess and if you got cut, you got cut. You sucked it up and ran it under tap water. That was it. No sugar coating. No one was there to protect you. Not anymore. 

Because you were an adult now.

But . . . you were still afraid of the dark. You still couldn’t ride a rollercoaster or a bike or even really swim. 

So what exactly made you an adult?

Your age?

You still needed a hand in yours as you navigated through your own life. So how was that fair? You supposed it wasn’t. You supposed you had to accept that there was no hand for you to hold and there was no going back.

But that didn’t stop you from remembering, and it seemed all you could do these days was refamiliarize yourself with the past.

Becoming someone when you were a kid meant so much more. It used to be something you looked forward to. It used to be something that came with being an adult, and well . . . you just couldn’t wait to grow up . . . until . . . you finally did.

You wished someone had told you to slow down; don’t be so eager about tomorrow when today hadn’t even begun.

That was just who you were.

It wasn’t something you could help; you were just always curious about what the future held. Once a competition had concluded, you got right back up there to train and practice. There were no off-seasons for you. You didn’t like to stop; it made you feel uneasy. 

So . . . you liked to keep busy . . . 

Well . . . that all came crashing down the moment of your accident. Your future consisted of hospital beds, check-ups, and physical therapy, which all equaled a whole lot of downtime.

You supposed that was why you took so kindly to literature (not at first . . . of course, because you were still a stubborn person through and through).

And you thought . . . way too much if you thought about it. Whatever.

Thinking wasn’t always kind to you. It made you remember that you had been trained to become someone, not just an adult, but someone . . . great. Sure, you had to work for it every day of your life, but it was a routine you knew well and you liked it enough. You had chosen that life for yourself. You had chosen to become someone great the moment you picked up a racket.

Until you tore it from your own hands, and now . . . now you weren’t exactly sure who you were. And sometimes, if you really thought about it, you wished more than anything you could be a kid again. You’d become someone better if you could just start over. Maybe you wouldn’t become someone great . . . but . . . you’d become someone . . . better.

Worst of all . . . and keep in mind that you were incredibly aware how independent and hellbent on being your own person you were . . . but sometimes . . . sometimes you wished someone would just tell you what to do. You wished more than anything someone would just tell you who to be; who to become. 

Things would be easier then. You were sure of it.

But you were long past those ages. You had to tell yourself what to do; who to become; how to act, and sometimes that blew up in your face but you supposed that was what it meant to be an adult. (News Flash: you fucking hated it.)

Whatever.

What you wanted to do was tell the past and the present to go fuck themselves. What you wanted to do was crawl under your bed and hide away from the rest of the world. What you wanted to do was not be a person at all. 

But the past had a sick way of reminding you that you were perhaps too much of a person.

You had always been just a little too much. Too loud. Too quiet. Too ambitious. Too selfish. Too cruel. Too stupid. Too you. You’d been told it all your life and you’d never really cared until all that was left of yourself was your seemingly horrible personality. That was what you were most ashamed of—not only being a person but being a . . . bad person.

The past had a way of sneaking up on you, reminding you of who exactly you had become and who you had been meant to be.

And that night was no different.

It was the night before the first round of games. Your entire team, Yunis, had traveled by train to Busan for the event, and to say you (and most likely everyone else) were nervous. You’d, of course, sat next to Jungkook the entire time, listening to him snore literally the whole duration of the trip. Eventually, you ended up having to fall asleep with your fingers plugged in your ears, and when you awoke, you were embarrassingly drooling all over Jungkook’s shoulder. (Now . . . nobody say anything, you were already embarrassed enough as it was.)

Anyway . . . 

Train. B-line to the hotel. Get your room key. Take a nap in the queen bed. Wake up. Get more practice in before curfew.

Check . . . check . . . check . . .check . . . check . . . and . . . check.

Only you had underestimated just how much your heart would be pounding the second you approached the arena’s double doors. You knew technically you shouldn’t have been there the night before the games, but it wasn’t illegal so whatever. That didn’t stop the fact that you couldn’t help but notice how much your hands were shaking when you reached out to grasp the door handle.

You just . . . 

It had been a handful of months since you’d joined Yunis. You and Jungkook were good now. Friends. He had been training you, and you couldn’t honestly say that while you weren’t some kind of Olympian. . . you weren’t horrible. And tomorrow, you’d get out there, play with him by your side and know that you had put your all into it. The past should have been behind you. 

But it kept seeping back in.

Your fall. The injury. Those three years.

What if you got hurt again?

What if you failed?

You were OK, maybe even good, but you weren’t . . . great.

And you sure as hell weren’t sure you could live with yourself if you cost your team a win. That nearly made you peel over and spill your stomach’s contents. And if you had to see Jungkook turn to you with disappointment on his face . . . ? That would surely kill you.

Disappointing him was something you didn’t want to do. Not after everything.

It was decided then what you would do: walk through those doors and practice until you could safely walk back to your hotel room without a sinking feeling weighing you down. That very thought stayed on your mind as you shoved open the doors, racket clenched tightly in your hand. Your eyes immediately found all the equipment set up for tomorrow’s tournament, and your heart thudded in your chest at the sight. 

The thing was: you hadn’t seen a court like this in three years. Sure, you’d practiced and practiced and practiced, but you hadn’t seen it like . . . this . . . like how you left it three years ago.

So without even thinking, your body took control. Call it muscle memory or nostalgia, you didn’t know, but you did know one second you were standing by the doors, then the next you had taken all of three steps before your hand touched the net. You walked along the court, hand never leaving the net as you remembered what it felt like to have this be your entire world. 

That was the thing about remembering: you never truly forgot. It had always been badminton to you. It had always just fit into your life. You missed it like you missed a childhood pet. 

And then you felt it: the excitement.

For a split second, you weren’t thinking of winning or losing or anything in between. No, instead, for a second, you remember how it felt just to hit a birdie, no questions asked. You remembered the late nights and the feel of a new racket in your hand. You remembered the joy you felt when you’d see your parents in the stands. You remembered how it felt to hear the crowd scream your name. You remembered it all. And then . . . you realized you were remembering how it felt to . . . love badminton.

Why had it ever been about anything else?

Badminton had fit into you so long ago because you loved it. You weren’t sure when you had lost sight of that.

But you didn’t try to scramble for explanations. You didn’t want to. Instead, you let yourself remember, and as you did, you gave into a small thought which crossed your mind. You leaned down, nose hanging just above the net and breathed in the scent, and then you began to smile. That was what you wished you remembered about your past—the scent of a badminton net. (You supposed it was the same feeling of walking into a bookstore and that scent hitting you all at once (had you told yourself that you’d come to love the smell of a bookstore, you would’ve laughed in your own face, but . . . now . . . badminton and books didn’t have that much of a difference to you.)

Raising your head once again, your eyes fell to the racket in your hand. Here you were three years later, a racket still in your hand, and for a second you swore you felt excited about it. For a second, you wondered if you’d enjoy tomorrow. 

Because maybe badminton fit into you like a hook in an eye, but maybe you had grown to hate it; to fear it. And maybe . . . maybe you could learn to love it again. Perhaps even if you did lose tomorrow . . . perhaps you could still love it. And maybe—

“Why are you sniffing the net?” you heard from behind you, and instantly you knew that voice.

Your head whipped around, eyes immediately finding Jungkook sitting at the top of the bleachers. 

Oh. (Your heart pounded a little faster now.)

Had he been there the whole time?

“Stalking me now?” you called back as you slowly made your way toward him, beginning to climb the bleachers with your racket still in your hand. (You didn’t want to admit just how relieved you were to see him there, because maybe that meant he was nervous too. Maybe you weren’t alone. And maybe (just maybe) you wished he’d come find you all night.)

“I’m not much of a stalker,” he huffed, his eyes never leaving you as he leaned back against the bleachers. “Too much work.”

You reached him with a shake of your head. “You’re too stupid anyway,” you teasingly hummed as you sat down beside him, resting your racket to the side so you could lean back and cross your arms over your chest.

��That’s rude, you know?” he remarked, nudging you with his elbow.

“Eh,” was all you hummed while you turned your head to the side, immediately locking eyes with him. “Say something rude about me then.”

Jungkook only smiled. “No.”

“Come on—” you leaned toward him, staring up at him— “tell me what’s wrong with me. Hmm? Free shot.”

Jungkook mirrored your actions, leaning toward you. “Nothing to tell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Liar.”

“Fine, you’re a brat.”

“A brat?”

“A brat.”

“You’re the brat,” you huffed as you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” he mused, taking the chance to rest his arm around the back of the bleachers where you were leaning. His arm wasn’t quite wrapped around your shoulders, but you could still feel the heat of his body radiating off of his onto yours. “What makes me more of a brat than you?”

“For starters—” you blinked up at him— “this. Oh, and when you make coffee in the morning, you do this thing where—”

But you never finished your sentence, no, instead, you were cut off with his lips pressing against yours. It wasn’t rushed or sloppy or anything like that either. It was soft, but before you could even kiss him back, he pulled away, a dopey smile on his face as he resumed his position, leaning back against the bleachers.

“Uh . . . “ you trailed off.

“Hmm?” he lazily hummed.

“You kissed me.”

“Yeah, I wanted to.”

Narrowing your eyes, you gave him a once-over. “For what?”

“Dunno—” he shrugged— “Been a long day. I like kissing you. You like kissing me. Do the math.”

A scoff left your lips and before you could stop it, you muttered, “Brat.” (Let’s completely ignore the fact that you had a smile on your face when you said it, too.)

The silence hit you two then. But it was comfortable, filled with small smiles and this warm bubbly feeling.

And then . . . 

“Are you nervous?” he asked you. “About tomorrow?”

And you knew the two of you understood each other more than you originally had thought. Because, yes, you were, and so was he. This . . . this was another chance. 

Like the two of you . . . this was a chance to start over.

So instead of bottling up your fears like you would around anyone else, you let your mind speak. “Yes,” you found yourself mumbling with a soft sigh. “A little excited too, but . . . mostly nervous, yeah.”

“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, “me too.”

“How come?”

His eyes snapped to you. “Haven’t played since . . . since last year,” he mumbled before he wet his lips and shrugged.

“Why?” you found yourself asking before you knew it.

“Something with a friend happened.”

. . . 

“Tae?” you hesitantly asked, wondering if he'd let you into his past.

Jungkook blinked. Hesitant at first, but then . . . “Yes.”

Oh.

Suddenly, you remembered the phone call you had overheard weeks ago. Taehyung. He was injured. No. No. You couldn’t jump to conclusions.

“What happened?” you asked instead of letting your mind decide for you, because this was Jungkook and he mattered to you, not some conversation you weren’t supposed to hear.

A beat of silence.

You swore he’d leave you like that. You swore he’d change the subject. Until . . . 

“We had a falling out. Jimin, too,” he ended up muttering out as he turned away from you. He . . . he couldn’t look at you. “I knew I’d fucked up. I tried to fix it, but . . . I was too much of a coward.” A heavy sigh left him. “Still am.”

“Well . . . “ you trailed off, trying to think of words quickly because here he was telling you the truth and you couldn’t bring yourself to be enough of a person to comfort him. So you ended up blurting out: “What if you—”

But Jungkook stopped you where you were. (Perhaps you had taken too much time to respond.) “It’s past that. No ‘what if’s’ will make things OK between us,” he said, his voice strained. “I ruined his life. It was my fault. I ruined everything for him. Everything.”

“Maybe it’s a misunderstanding,” you rushed out, desperately trying to reach him before he curled back into himself. “Like with us.”

He turned to you then, brows raised. “Us?”

Then you realized something . . . your own past with him. You never . . . you never apologized, because you remembered what you did. You remembered how you’d forced the blame onto him because that was easier than admitting you had ruined yourself just like you ruined everything else. But perhaps in doing so, you had ruined him, too.

And you never apologized for any of it.

So when the words “I guess I never apologized, huh?” came out of your mouth . . . you knew what you had cut out for you.

Jungkook only sat there, staring at you in confusion as if he couldn’t believe someone was apologizing to him.

And you went on. “I blamed you for what happened to me, but it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t know when to quit. I should’ve sat the game out, but I didn’t. I did this to myself, not you,” you mumbled sheepishly. One, two, three seconds of silence passed before you awkwardly touched a hand to his. “I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I’m sorry . . . for blaming you . . . hating you . . . not letting you visit me in the hospital. I’m sorry.”

He blinked in response.

You withdrew your hand.

Was he trying to make you feel awkward on purpose? You quickly cleared your throat just to fill the silence. “You would’ve been the only one to visit me anyway,” you blabbered on, trying not to seem so affected by . . . this. “Shouldn’t have turned you away for that reason alone. I’m pretty sure even the nurses would switch with each other so they didn’t have to deal with me.”

And finally, like some saving grace, Jungkook let out a clap of laughter. “You really are a brat,” he remarked with a shake of his head.

“I was lonely, OK? And miserable!” you whined, squeezing his shoulder. (Your little anxieties floated away the harder he laughed . . . and you knew things were OK.) “Plus! The food tasted like goop.”

He quirked a brow. “Goop?”

“Yep, so you—” you drilled a finger into his chest— “try not going crazy.”

“Brat.”

You shoved his chest in response, but couldn’t hide the grin on your face. “Listen . . . about the other thing . . . Tae’s understanding,” you began again. “You’ve always said that, right?”

He offered you a small, strained smile. “Not about this.”

And you nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Everything,” you mumbled with a shrug. “Tae. Jimin, too.”

Jungkook blew a raspberry. “Shit happens.”

“Well . . . my mom will be happy to know we’re finally on good terms,” you offered up, trying to lighten the mood. It also wasn’t like it was a lie either. You had yet to tell your parents that you and Jungkook were on the same team, and if your mother knew, she’d leave work just to be there to see you guys play. (What could you say? Jungkook was practically family.)

“We’re on good terms?” Jungkook questioned in response.

Oh no.

You knew where he was going with this. (You could tell by the small grin twitching at his lips.)

“We’re teammates, of course, we are,” you simply replied, trying not to give away the fact that you knew what was ahead of you.

“Are you admitting that we’re friends?” he asked immediately.

There it was.

He was going to rub this in your face.

Of course the two of you were some kind of fucked up friends, but you had yet to truly admit that, and Jungkook was going to have fun with that. (Obviously.)

“No,” you coughed out. (Like that was believable.)

He shoved a finger in your face. “You are.”

��No!” you desperately rushed out. “I’m not.”

“Oh, this is rich!” Jungkook laughed loudly, clapping his hands.

“No, Jungkook, no. Not friends. We can’t be! Our past!”

“Our past?”

You nodded vigorously, practically begging him not to put you through this embarrassment. He wanted you to admit it; to admit you were wrong and you had already done enough of that tonight.

But it seemed Jungkook had other plans entirely.

Instead of shoving it in your face that you’d admitted the two of you were friends, he simply sent you a half-grin and nodded. “Fine,” he hummed, his voice soft and smooth. “Then let’s start over . . . this time as strangers who become . . . friends.”

Oh.

You blinked.

“Fine,” you huffed, but it came out more like a dazed sigh.

With that, Jungkook kept that charming grin on his face as he held out his hand toward you. “Jeon Jungkook,” he mused, introducing himself like the two of you didn’t have a history that could fill an entire filing cabinet. “Nice to meet you.”

And you couldn’t help it: you smiled back at him, grasping his hand in yours and introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you,” you mumbled again after a second, the smile still on your face as you shook his hand.

Jungkook nodded in approval, but his hand stayed in yours and just as you gave him a look of skepticism, he tugged you into him. You let him of course. With an amused look on your face, you let him pull you into his chest, going the extra mile to swing your leg over his lap so you were straddling him. 

What could you say? You enjoyed his touch all too much.

Then you felt his lips. Similar to the kiss from before, this one was also soft. At first, it was just closed lips and nimble sighs. He pulled back after a few small pecks, seemingly content with just having you close to him.

“Sorry, it’s a ritual,” he murmured against your lips.

“That how you greet all people?” you mused, laughing through your nose.

“Of course,” he hummed as he pressed another quick kiss to your lips.

But you had always been a little insatiable . . . so, the next words to leave your mouth were: “Can you show me more of that ritual?”

All Jungkook could do was grin against the very lips that had asked him that question. He, of course, gave in to your request, pressing his lips against yours once again, softly kissing you with every atom in his body. Until . . . slowly, so slow that it was almost painful, his hands found their way to your hips and squeezed, fingers digging into you and making you crave more, more, more. You just couldn’t help yourself. He was like chocolate-covered strawberries. You couldn’t resist him, not after the long day you’d both had.

And so . . . your hands found their way into his dark locks, weaving through them as you shifted on his lap and deepened the kiss. You nibbled on his bottom lip, tugging slightly and just enough to get him to comply. His lips parted slowly and you nearly sighed in contentment, but no, instead you melded further into him, now tugging his head backward by his hair in order to lick into his mouth. You just couldn’t help it. He tasted sweet. 

It was sloppy and carnal . . . just the way you craved it to be. He only spurred you on from there. While you hummed into his mouth, biting and licking, attempting to taste more and more and more of him, he nearly whimpered under your touch. You couldn’t believe it either. Jungkook whimpering under your touch? It was almost too good to be true, and you loved it.

Craving more of this feeling, you tugged at his hair a little harder, causing him to wince . . . but this was no ordinary wince. No, the man full-on moaned. It was quiet and short, but it was still there. By now, yes, you knew one of Jungkook’s major turn-ons was getting his hair pulled, but you never got over it, and every time, you’d tug his hair just to see what kinds of sounds you could pull from him.

Sometimes (most times) he let you get away with it without a word. But sometimes . . . sometimes he bit back (and you sometimes liked to admit just how much you enjoyed that, too).

And tonight? Well, tonight, Jungkook was in the mood for biting back. 

Instead of letting you have your way with him, Jungkook weaved his fingers into your hair and pulled hard. With a muffled whimper, he pulled you just far enough away from him to press his lips to your ear. And then . . . then . . . he said words you never thought you’d ever hear fall from his silver tongue.

“Something in me wants to ruin you. Keep tempting me like that and I don’t know if I can hold back,” he muttered with a masked growl under his breath. “But . . . I don’t know if I’d ever forgive myself.”

“I would,” you rushed out, not missing a beat. Did you know what you were saying? No, but god, you just wanted him in any way. “Forgive you . . . if it meant . . . “

He pulled back so his eyes met yours. “If it meant?”

You blinked at him, eyes lidded and clouded. “That I could feel you,” you hummed as you pressed a hand against his firm chest.

His brows twitched with intrigue. “Feel me where?”

You swallowed hard. “Everywhere.”

In real time, you watched his eyes darken completely and you almost couldn’t believe it. It was the kind of thing you read about, not something to experience, and yet . . .

Jungkook was touching you a second later, and you let him. Hell, you’d let him do anything at this point. Ruining you was on the table. Perhaps that was the part of him that he liked to hide away, but you didn’t mind it. You knew you were safe in his touch. That was the only thing you knew anymore about anything.

So when the hand on your hip tightened, you let him. He pulled you in closer with his other hand, keeping it secure against the back of your head while his mouth attacked your neck. He licked a long strip from the base to just under your ear where your sweet soft lay, lapping and swirling his tongue against the sensitive skin. 

Then, he found your pulse, halting above it before grazing his teeth over it, working you up more. He continued his devious attack before he began sucking, quietly moaning into your neck as he took note of the slight gasps escaping your lips, and you were so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even realized that perhaps the two of you were going a little too far.

In fact, it didn’t hit you until you accidentally nudged your racket off the bleachers with your leg. And the sound of it clanking against the bleachers brought you out of your own mind. 

Your eyes darted to the racket . . . then . . . it set in. “Don’t mark me,” you muttered as you turned back to Jungkook.

He continued kissing your neck, but did as you said, not sucking on the skin. “You marked me first,” he breathed into your neck as his wandering hand finally found your plump ass and he couldn’t help himself. He began palming the flesh, softly humming into your neck, and making you lose your train of thought. His touch just felt so good.

Until you realized what he had said. You marked me first. And yes, he was right. Because you had. You’d accidentally left many hickeys on his neck (and all over his body) since this little thing between the two of you had begun. (What could you say? He looked pretty like that . . . and maybe there was something possessive about you . . . )

Still . . .

“Yeah, but if we both show up with hickeys—” you began, trying to find your brain with his lips still on your skin— “I think people will start to put two and two together.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you huffed, but still continued running your hands through his dark hair, refusing to leave his touch. “People are gonna think I fucked my way to the top.”

“Well, that’s simply not true,” Jungkook mumbled as he (unfortunately) leaned back, his lips leaving your neck so he could meet your eyes. “I have yet to see you fuck on top.”

You deadpanned. Of course that was where he was going with that. “You’re infuriating,” you said in monotone.

“Calm down,” he snorted, shaking his head at your expression. “I’m not marking you.”

And he was just about to continue his sloppy descent when you . . . well you . . . decided to mumble under your breath, “Well . . . “

“Oh, god, yes, honey?” he huffed out, using the one nickname that he knew you hated.

(You truly did hate it.)

You rolled your eyes at him, but nevertheless went on. “Just . . . don’t do it where people can see,” you muttered.

Jungkook only grinned, wide and toothy. “Wanna sleep in my room?” he offered up, and you knew what he meant.

A beat of silence.

(Did you even have to think about it?)

“Yeah, why not?” you hummed a second later, nodding with a small smile on your face.

(Not like you had planned on sleeping in your own room anyway.

(Duh.))

The arena looked different in the morning. Everything was a little different. For one, there was an audience, and for two, you were nervous too, but also excited? Whatever that meant. But you weren't caught trapped in your own mind for too long. As you stared out at the court, assessing the other team as well as the audience members, you felt your phone buzz in your hand. Instantly, it tore you away from the present as you opened your phone only to see a text message from none other than Jeon Jungkook. (A smile lifted onto your face as you opened the message but you refused to acknowledge that . . . part.)

Kook Ur ass looks good in that skirt

And you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, not even bothering to text back a response. Instead, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes searching for him and then . . . then you saw him. He was in uniform, except under the tee, he wore a black long-sleeve compression shirt, which you supposed was to hide the tattoos. In addition, his dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the back of his head that held most of his long locks. And you noticed that he’d taken out all of his piercings, almost making him appear like the boy you used to know three years ago. (It was an odd sense of deja vu, but . . . well . . . he still looked like . . . himself.)

You were moving toward him in an instant. Whether it was the nerves or whatever, you didn’t care about anyone else, you just needed to feel him. Maybe that would ground you. And so, you crossed the court to him, and when you did, your hands found his broad shoulders, squeezing them. And then . . . then you did something so uncharacteristically unlike you . . . and rested your forehead against his, finally allowing yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Jungkook reacted quickly to your touch, squeezing your arms as he laughed through his nose. “You alright?” he murmured, a hint of a teasing tone in his voice.

“Yeah, obviously, just . . . just feel like I’m going to puke,” you joked, because it was true. Now if it was because of nerves or excitement . . . you didn’t know. “Just normal stuff. Why do you ask?”

“You’re touching me in public,” he simply said, a hint of a grin on his face.

You blinked. Oh. Well . . . you supposed he was right . . . so you know . . . you kind of cleared your throat and backed up just an inch away from him. “Just—” you shrugged— “putting our heads together.”

Jungkook remained grinning. “Don’t be nervous,” he hummed as he squeezed your arm once more. “We’ve got this, Iris.”

You nodded. “Right.”

And you tried your best to believe him. (All the while trying to ignore the fact that touching him in public hadn’t even crossed your mind as unusual. It had felt . . . safe . . . right. 

Fuck.)

The score was eighteen to eighteen. Your side just needed to win by four more clear points. Four more points. 

This . . . this was familiar. It wasn’t like practicing with Jungkook or practicing by yourself. It reminded you of the past; a past where this could have been easy for you; where it was normal; where you wouldn’t have your heart pounding out of your chest.

You’d been here before. 

Twenty to twenty. Yurim, your college doubles partner, had been by your side back then. She had been the one who stood by you as you took that fall and lost the game. She lost it, too.

That game was both of yours to lose.

You’d let her down then. (As far as you knew she had left the badminton scene ages ago.) But you had the chance to redeem yourself.

Right now . . . now you could win this game and set things right.

Setting things right meant keeping your eye on the birdie. Obviously, the more skilled player takes the front while the other takes the back, so you stayed in your spot most of the game at the back and made a few scores, but not as many as Jungkook. He just made it look so easy . . .

He deserved this. This win should be his. And you knew you had to keep your eyes on the birdie.

The two of you had gone separate ways on a court very similar to this one. If you made those points, you could mend what had been ruined. 

A well-oiled machine you may have been but—

A whistle was blown, your thoughts cut off as you watched the other team set up the serve. And then the birdie was airborne.

Quickly, you readied yourself, fighting your present and past memories as you tried to stay focused. Eyes on the birdie. That was what you needed to do.

The birdie swirled through the air, heading straight for Jungkook, and you had no doubt he’d hit it, but as his net made contact, the birdie fumbled. The hit made the birdie fly higher into the air, and not over the net but rather backward . . . toward you.

And you acted fast.

Racing behind Jungkook, you didn’t think. One moment you were standing by like a sitting duck, then the next you had jumped off your bad leg, putting as much power into your jump as you could. Your eyes still on the birdie, you launched your arm forward toward the birdie. But it seemed Jungkook had thought the same thing, attempting to swing backward enough to hit the birdie over the net . . . however . . . the two of you acted on your own, non-cohesive thoughts and dived for the birdie, smacking your rackets together in the process and fumbling it all.

The point was not yours to claim.  But that was the least of your worries. You had been looking at the birdie, already accepting the failure. And you realized too late what was happening as your feet touched the court once again.

Because . . . well . . . your eyes had been on the birdie. They'd watched it the entire time, and you'd forgotten about paying attention to landing on your feet. And you hadn’t taken into account how close Jungkook would be, and how that might play out.

It had only been a second where you’d let yourself forget and get wrapped up in the game once again, and suddenly, it was as if you had been transported back three years. And then . . . then . . . the past repeated itself.

It'd only been a second where you forgot; the one second you'd forgotten while your attention had been on the birdie, you landed on the court, only your leg hadn't been positioned right, causing your ankle to roll, and while you had caught yourself, that didn’t matter. Jungkook was moving, too, and before either of you could react, his body knocked into yours, causing you to lose your footing as you fell backward onto the court.

In response, you tensed, waiting for the pain to seep in, waiting for your life to be ruined once again. But no pain came. Your leg was OK. Nothing had happened. And you could breathe a sigh of relief. 

The whistle blew, signifying the other team had scored a point, but your mind was still on your leg. That was what mattered to you right now. That was why you hadn’t moved from your spot on the court. That was why you had decided to ignore the world for a split second and carefully touch a hand to your hip, making sure nothing had truly happened.

Only . . . you hadn’t taken into account the fact that the rest of the world didn’t decide to ignore you.

Jungkook especially hadn’t decided to partake in any ignoring.

That much was evident as he fell beside you on the court. “Fuck, fuck, no—” you heard him instantly rush out— “Baby, fuck, your leg. I didn’t—” 

Glancing up, you watched as the shocked expression on his face turned into one of concern, and before you could interject, he called out for the ref, signaling for a timeout. The whistle was blown once again in response, clarifying that Yunis would be taking a two-minute timeout before the game was to resume. And all you could do was stare at him, trying not to burst out laughing . . . because . . . goddamn it . . . you just wanted to hug the guy.

“Koo,” you settled with instead, a small smile on your face.

But it seemed Jungkook hadn’t heard you as he whipped back to face you, his eyes wide and almost innocent. “Can you stand?” he started with as he gently touched a hand to your hip. No one had ever been so gentle with you . . . like that. “Is it—Is it OK? Pain? Any pain?”

You only blinked at him. 

His brows pinched together in concern. “You gotta talk to me? Is it shock? Fuck, are you in shock?”

And then you truly did snort.

He blinked. “ . . . What?”

With a smile slowly forming on your face, you rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine, Koo. It was just a small tumble. Nothing’s broken and nothing hurts,” you hummed. “Well . . . except my pride. I really thought I had that in the bag.”

Slowly, his face softened into relief. “Just a little hiccup. We still got this,” he said, a small smile on his face once again. “If you’ll forgive me for tripping you in the last round.”

You laughed, “I think I tripped myself on you.”

“Eh, agree to disagree,” he mused as he stood to his feet and reached out his hand toward you. “Ready to win this?”

“Yes,” you sighed in contentment as you took his hand and let him help you to your feet . . . because you really did believe you might have a chance. You just . . . you needed to trust him. He would’ve hit the birdie if you had just let him. So now . . . you needed to trust him.

Trust him, you thought as the whistle blew once again, signifying that the game was resuming. Trust him, you hummed to yourself as you got into position while you watched Jungkook secure his stance. Trust him, you believed as he glanced over his shoulder to send you a wink just as the whistle was blown once again, and the game began. And trust him you did.

Everything moved slowly then. The world was barely turning on its axis. The other team served the ball, hitting it over the net. Jungkook hit it back. Then . . . the other team attempted to hit a smash, but Jungkook was fast. One moment the birdie was flying toward the court, then the next Jungkook was diving for it. He put all his force into his legs, diving for the ground, and just in the nick of time, he smacked the birdie clear over the net, countering the other team’s shot. And as if that weren’t impressive enough, he’d made a clear . . . one that no one had been expecting.

The other team was too caught up in the potential win to be near the backcourt. Jungkook had hit the birdie, and cleared. The birdie was too fast, hitting the backcourt without a single counter.

He’d won you guys a point.

The score was nineteen to nineteen. Two more points and you’d win. You couldn’t believe it. The two of you may have actually had a chance. You just had to trust him. Yes, that seemed to be the trick. Just . . . trust him, and truly, you did.

You knew you did as you jumped for him, helping him to his feet with a grin on your face. “You did it,” you softly said with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Remind me to ice my ass when we get back,” he groaned, but somehow, someway, he still looked handsome. (And you desperately wanted to kiss him, but . . . you know . . . control yourself.)

“You good?” you asked, searching his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushed off your question with a sigh. “We got this, Rosie.” He offered up a high five, and you took him up on it, high fiving him (he enclosed his fingers around your hand a little longer than he probably should have, but whatever . . . you guys could win this).

It was your turn to serve. And with equal parts nerves and excitement in your veins, you gripped your racket tightly in your hand, gave Jungkook a small nod, and made your way to your place on the court, birdie grasped tightly in your other hand.

Everything happened too quickly from then on. You briefly heard the referee blow the whistle, signifying the resumption of the game. Then you rubbed the birdie on the side of your handle once for good luck, twice for blind hope, a third time for a chance to start over . . . before you sent it flying through the air, over the net in an almost perfect serve.

You almost blinked in shock, realizing perhaps you really had gotten a lot better. This game could be yours. It really could be. Fuck, it could be. (You tried not to grin at your thoughts.)

With careful eyes, you forced yourself back into the game and watched as the other team hit the birdie. It was heading toward Jungkook and instead of worrying; instead of racing toward it, you let him hit it, watching as he delivered another perfect clear except, this time, the other team had hit it back. Only, Jungkook was quick. He countered this too.

A few more hits were bounced back and forth, and for a second you thought Jungkook would definitely deliver a lethal smash toward the other team, resulting in a win, but no . . . this time, as the other team hit the birdie . . . it came racing toward . . . you.

You swallowed hard. That was your cue. You readied yourself, eyes on that damned birdie. It was right there, but it was high, and you realized you had been here before. This . . . this was your true test, and you wouldn’t fail it again.

So with it coming straight toward you and an odd sense of deja vu hitting you all at once, you beckoned it closer and jumped off your bad leg, putting as much power into your jump as you could. Your eyes still on the birdie, you launched your arm forward, your racket slamming into the birdie and sending it at an impeccable speed toward the other team.

Fuck, you’d hit it. Fucking hell, you really had!

Time moved slowly then. You could’ve been frozen in the air and you wouldn’t know. You just didn’t even want to take your eyes off the birdie. But memories of three years ago consumed you. This was where you’d met your end.

The match couldn’t be yours; it didn’t make sense. And defeat was right there; it still tasted just as bitter as it did three years ago. It was there on the tip of your tongue. But this wasn’t three years ago, and you were not the same person you used to be. This . . . you had rubbed the birdie against your racket three times for good luck, blind hope, and a fresh start. This was not the past, it was your fresh start.

You didn’t have to fail. And you didn’t have to win. You just had to remember.

And so as time seemed to slow down even further, you realized your eyes had been on the birdie. They'd watched it the entire time, but this time, even with the pounding in your head and the ache in your leg, you hadn’t forgotten about paying attention to landing on your feet.

The birdie would land or it wouldn’t. You’d given your all to it. You remembered that at the last second.

It'd only been a second when you finally remembered. And unlike three years ago, you landed on the court, sneakers touching the ground as you bent your knees to cushion your impact. But you didn’t dare move.

You stayed crouched on the ground, head lowered as you waited to hear what your fate had in store for you. Would it be horrified screams? Cheers? And when they cheered, would they be cheering for you?

And then you heard it: loud cheers erupting from behind you as the crowd stomped their feet on the bleachers, nearly shaking the entire arena in the process. Was it? Could it be? Had you—

No, stop. It couldn’t be. Sure, you thought maybe the two of you could win, but . . . you fully expected just to walk away from the game with a loss but a newfound love for the sport you once called your other half.

So with confusion consuming you, you finally glanced up, eyes immediately landing on Jungkook, who was already staring at you, a wide, toothy grin stretched across his face as he clapped for . . . you.

You’d been here before. That was the same look he’d given you when you’d beat him just a few months ago. That was when you first felt yourself truly care for him . . . and now . . . now it seemed you’d made him proud. Had you?

Your brows shot up in shock, your body relaxing only slightly.

Then . . . you saw it. There, on the other side of the court, laid the birdie.

That meant . . . (holy fuck!) That meant you had landed the smash. You’d made the point. You’d . . . You’d . . .

You’d . . . won.

The score was nineteen to twenty-one.

You had fucking won.

Yunis landed fourth in the tournaments. You’d won. You were moving on to the next games. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fucking fuck! Yunis would appear at another tournament. There was a possibility that your team could win it all. 

Your thoughts ran wild.

You’d won. After all these years, all the pain, the hurt, the tears, the anger . . . and you’d finally . . . won.

You couldn’t help it. The second this dawned on you, you rose to your feet and fell into Jungkook. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you held him tight, nearly letting yourself cry into his shoulder. You just . . . you couldn’t believe it. And it was all because of him.

Thank you, your hug seemed to say as you squeezed him tighter (so tight you were sure he could feel it in his soul).

Then . . . Jungkook ever so slowly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against him, and you realized the only reason this win felt like one was because of him. You hadn’t only won for yourself, but for him.

Perhaps this would get him to love badminton again. Because, truly, badminton fit into you like a hook in an eye, and you were sure Jungkook felt the same. You could only hope he did.

Let the record show that making acquaintances with the bartender in the hotel bar your team was staying at for the first round of tournaments was not how you imagined celebrating your first win after three years. It just wasn’t, and honestly, you hadn’t even expected to leave your hotel room. You expected to maybe . . . just maybe see what the minibar in your room had in stock and perhaps you’d drink a few small bottles of . . . whatever.

That had been the plan—to get mildly tipsy then head for the bathroom for a hot shower . . . but . . . somehow, someway you’d ended up taking the shower first, taking one look at the minibar, then deciding the actual bar on the main floor just might have better options. And then, well, you ended up sitting alone at the end of the bar, dressed in sweats while everyone else appeared to be dressed business casual.

You stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was embarrassing, really, but after the second drink, you stopped looking around the room and focused in on the bottom of your glass. Why was this how you decided to celebrate? You had no idea, because, truthfully, it felt a lot more like nursing an old wound than celebrating a win.

It didn’t help that your entire team was elsewhere and your own doubles partner was MIA since the court. So, really, that just left you alone in sweats at a bar with a drink in your hand that you didn’t even like.

Fifteen minutes later you decided you’d had enough. But just as you were about to stand on your feet, pay the bartender, and turn to your hotel room, something caught your eye.

Now . . . Jealousy was not something you had an issue with. You didn’t get jealous. There was no need to. You’d never had anyone to be truly jealous over. Right? Yes, obviously, duh. Obviously . . . 

But catching a glimpse of Jungkook just on the other side of the room, talking with another girl did annoy you. No, not because you were jealous, but because here you were all alone celebrating your win and he was nowhere in sight. And now . . . now you discovered he had been in the same place as you this entire time and didn’t say anything.

Were you being dramatic? Probably.

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Still . . . you continued staring, eyes narrowed and you were certain it looked as though you were trying desperately to blow his head up with just a glare. But . . . ugh! Come on, he was so—

Jungkook turned his head, his eyes locking with yours.

Your eyes widened into saucers as you quickly (too quickly) whipped back around, facing the bar once again with your drink now clutched tightly in your hand.

But you knew he’d seen you. And he knew he’d seen you.

Surely, he wouldn’t come over here, right? He was busy. Yes. He wouldn’t come over. He was—

“You have a staring problem,” a deep voice whispered from behind you.

Of course. Of course . . . Jungkook would come over.

Clearing your throat, you slowly turned to face him. “Just wondering how you bagged her,” you hummed with a small shrug as you took a sip of your drink. Yep, still the same taste. (You tried not to react to the bitter-tasting liquid.)

Jungkook ignored your jab and instead sat down on the barstool beside you, resting his elbow on the bar. “So . . . “ he trailed off, searching your eyes as he toyed with the lip ring adoring his bottom lip, “wanna come back to my room?”

You shot him an unamused look. “Is this how you treat all one-night stands?”

“Mmm, come on,” he began as he slipped the drink from your hand, taking a sip in the process, “you know I’d never ask them to stay.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, I feel so special,” you sarcastically mused. Your eyes drifted to the girl he was talking to, finding her still standing in the same spot now talking to another woman and a man. But still . . . your jealousy remained. Wait, no, not jealousy. No. “Go back to your girl. She’s waiting on you.”

Those were the words that fell from your lips the moment the fact that you could actually be . . . jealous . . . popped into your head.

Jungkook blinked, his expression faltering ever so slightly.

Then: “Alright . . .” he nodded— “have a good night, Buttercup.”

“Yep,” you breathed out, turning back to face the bar as you watched him get up and walk away out of the corner of your eye.

It was silent again. You were alone again. Until: “Can I get another one of these,” you heard yourself ask before you knew what you were doing. Why you were ordering this god-awful drink again, you had no idea, but . . . oh well . . .

Only, before the bartender could pour another one out, a hand cut in front of you, pushing the empty glass away. “That won’t be necessary,” the person said, and you instantly knew who interjected.

Turning around, your eyes fell on Jungkook for another time that night. “Kook? What?” you questioned as you watched him wave off the bartender, and sit back down in the barstool beside you.

Finally, his eyes flicked to yours, and he . . . smiled. “Told her I already had plans.”

You breathed out a laugh through your nose. “You’d choose me over somethin’ like that?” you hummed, trying to make light of the awkward situation. (At least . . . well . . . awkward to . . . you.)

“I’d choose you over everyone,” Jungkook responded without missing a beat.

And your face slowly fell into one of shock.

“So, let me ask you again . . . “ Jungkook began again while you were still in a state of shock, “wanna go back to my room?”

I’d choose you over everyone, rang through your ears again as he stared, awaiting your answer. But he couldn’t mean that, right? . . . Right?

And . . . and why did it make you feel like . . . that? Like . . . like . . . well you didn’t exactly know what it made you feel, but you did know it had done something to you. You just . . . you couldn’t put it into words, but . . . you didn’t hate it.

You didn’t hate how his words had made you feel; how he had made you feel. So, really was it a surprise that you reached forward to grasp his warm hand in your cold one? Was it really a surprise that the next few words to fall from your lips were: ‘Lead the way’?

Subtly, you, and Jungkook did not go together well. The entire walk back to the lobby, down the hall, and straight for the elevator were filled with quick steps, wandering eyes, and hands brushing (very obviously if you had to admit). Anticipation and eagerness were in the air as the two of you finally made it to the elevator.

Side by side, Jungkook pressed the upward arrow, and you watched as it lit up, the sound of the elevator gearing into action. His pinky finger brushed against yours then. It was a simple touch; one you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so caught up in the memories of the last time you’d had his body on yours (just before you’d taken the train to Busan . . . so like . . . two days ago). 

It was a consistent thing. You had nothing to say for yourself. It was fun. And that simple touch had your mind reeling and your body itching to touch his.

Then, as if like clockwork, the elevator dinged, the doors slowly opening to reveal an empty area. You didn’t even have a chance to put a name to the feeling that bloomed within your chest before Jungkook took your hand in his, pulled you into the elevator, and slapped the button to his floor before he vigorously pressed the door close button.

Leaning against the elevator wall with your hands clasped behind your back, you felt yourself laugh under your breath. “You know you only have to press it once,” you hummed, brows raised as you took in his appearance with a careful look.

“What’s the point in that?” he sheepishly questioned, pressing it one more time before he approached you, leaning his hands on the rail on either side of you. His nose bumped yours, his lips just barely brushing against yours. “Hmm?”

“Unnecessary time wasted,” you murmured back, leaning just a bit closer . . . enough to press your lips against his once. 

“But then how would I get my point across?” he whispered back, pressing another kiss to your lips.

Subconsciously, your hand raised to caress his jaw. “What point?”

Jungkook grinned against your lips.

“What?” you questioned. “What point? Hmm?”

“That if this elevator does not close fast enough—” he moved to kiss your neck— “I might be tempted to fuck you here.”

Oh. You swallowed thickly. “And that’s a problem?”

Jungkook raised his head, his eyes meeting yours as that damned half-grin spread on his face again. He went to open his mouth, but finally, the elevator doors began to close, forcing the two of you to turn your attention to them, watching carefully as they closed shut and the elevator shaft began to move.

Blinking quickly, you turned back to Jungkook. He turned back to you, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Then . . . he smiled. “Not a problem now,” he murmured, and you knew there was no going back. His hands, lips, teeth, tongue were on you instantly, trying to get as close as possible that you hadn’t even noticed he’d hiked up your leg onto his hip in an attempt to get his body flush with yours. And you welcomed it all, because fuck . . . the only thing you were thinking was him, him, him.

In the heat of things, his hand snuck under your sweatshirt, the warmth of his skin providing comfort to your chilled skin. You sucked in a breath, the hand that had been on his jaw, now snaking into his dark hair, twisting and twirling the longer strands. Without thinking, you tugged a little too hard on his hair, instantly drawing a deep moan from the back of his throat. 

You stilled under his touch. Fuck. Now . . . men who were vocal were your biggest weakness. You had known this before, but he’d never sounded like . . . that. And you barely had time to process it.

One second you were frozen under his touch, then the next all you could feel was him. He took you by surprise, the hand holding your thigh up reached for your ass, tugging you into him so your lower half was completely flush with his. The fact that he was already somewhat hard, too, was impossible to ignore, and only fed into the dizzying effect he had on you. And as if him slightly grinding the bulge in his pants against your core wasn’t blissful torture enough, his other hand had snaked all the way up to cup your breast, his thumb quickly finding your perked nipple and rolling it. You jerked against him, the pleasure going straight to your core.

“No fucking bra. You’re killing me,” he murmured against your lips, his thumb still rolling slowly then quickly then slow again . . . just how you liked it. “I’ll never get over how sensitive you are.”

And you . . . well . . . you couldn’t help yourself. It was your weakness after all. One more roll, and you were reeling, core throbbing, and blood rushing to your head. You gave in, letting your body buck against his as you practically mewled into his mouth.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” he all but whined as he retracted his hand from under your shirt, and before you could question his motives, that same hand was already crawling under the hem of your sweatpants. Quickly, his fingers found your heat as he gave a groan of approval before he began to swirl the wetness around your puffy lips. 

“Kook,” you gasped into his mouth as his middle and ring fingers plunged into your core. “Can’t you just fuck me here?”

He curled his fingers in response, and you slightly arched against him. “Shh,” was all he could fathom while he plunged his fingers in and out . . . in and out . . . in and out.

One particular plunge had your pussy squelching. You didn’t know why it was so loud this time, but every time he’d fuck his fingers into you, squelching sounds followed. But before you could become embarrassed, Jungkook lowered his head to your shoulder, groaning into your neck as he paused his hand movements. 

Was he going to say something? Was he—

“Listen,” he whispered into your neck, shocking you completely moments before the grip on your thigh became lethal as he began to quickly fuck you with his fingers, loud, wet squelching sounds accompanying each pump.

And suddenly you weren’t thinking any longer. His skilled fingers were working you so well, you barely even heard how wet you were for him, you just felt this overwhelming sense of pleasure and let yourself become consumed by it. Mesmerized by your pleasure, Jungkook continued fucking you on his fingers, dragging the pads of his fingertips against the rough part of your walls as the palm of his hand applied pressure to your clit.

One particular motion had your lower stomach muscles contracting, and that was when you felt it. Gasping slightly, you managed to raise your head, shooting your hand out to latch onto the rail behind you. “Kook,” you gasped again as your brows pinched together and you tried to focus your vision. “I think—” a small whine sounding from the back of your throat cut you off— “Fuck, I think I’m going to—” 

Another whine of your own cut you off once again, and instantly, you recognized this feeling. The familiar coil building and building in your lower stomach. Only this time, it felt different—the pressure was deeper, more intense . . . like you couldn’t control it.

Your lower abdomen muscles contracted again and you knew it was coming. “Kookie,” you all but cried out as your hand grasped the forearm of the hand clutching your thigh. “I’m going to—” you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt so dry and you were so out of breath— “I’m going to fucking . . . ffffuh . . . fucking . . . squirt.”

At the sound of your words, Jungkook raised his head, lidded eyes, mouth slightly agape, and brows pinched upward, staring back at you. Quickly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. “Be good for me, yeah? Let me have it, baby,” he murmured against your lips, still not stopping his motions. “Look at me when you do. Wanna see it.” Another kiss to your lips. “Wanna see you cum.”

All you could do was nod as you tried to keep your eyes open while Jungkook backed up from you just enough to be able to see your face clearly enough. And then you felt it: the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears until it finally snapped, your release sprinkling out of you and soaking your sweatpants as this deep pleasure consumed your being in waves. You tried to fight against it, trying to keep your eyes peeled open and trained on Jungkook, but your vision was blurry and your pussy was throbbing so hard you were sure it had gotten to your head.

In the end, all you could manage was to slump against Jungkook’s buff chest while he pumped the last of your release out of your pulsating core. And once you had nothing left to give, his fingers slid out of you before he wrapped both of his arms around your spent body, chuckling slightly as you fell limp in his grasp.

“You are so loud,” he murmured after a moment’s silence as he buried his face into your hair and finally laughed, his whole chest vibrating.

“Am—” you smacked your lips together, still delirious— “not.”

Jungkook snorted. “Whatever you say, Petunia.”

“Ugh, Koo . . . “ but your words died on your tongue.

Had you been loud? Oh god . . . did you . . . you didn’t scream, did you?

Slowly, you gained back a little mobility (enough to raise your head to look him in the eyes), and asked, “Did I scream?”

Jungkook stared down at you, a wide, toothy grin spread across his face. “Only a little,” he mused, chuckling slightly at his words. “Whined a little, too. Kinda like a . . . like a little bitch.”

Your eyes blew up. “No,” you gasped in horror. “Was it really—”

The elevator dinged, drawing both of your attention to the closed doors. Wait—Fuck, you’d forgotten you were even on an elevator. The elevator must have arrived on your floor, and you two had been too caught up in each other to have even noticed . . . until now. And now . . . now you had a giant wet spot on the crotch of your sweatpants. Just your luck.

But as soon as the doors opened, Jungkook acted quickly. He bent down and wrapped his arms around your thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder. You, in utter shock (and still mildly coming down from your high), laid limp in his grasp, and let him have his way. It wasn’t until after the people boarding the elevator got on and Jungkook got off, did you realize what exactly was his plan.

“Lightweight, you know?” he chuckled lightly to the other people, and your jaw dropped.

He was painting you as a passed-out drunk. Oh, he was going to get it. (Although . . . it was a pretty good cover. (Not that you’d admit it.))

Once the two of you were finally out of earshot, you pounded on his broad back. “That was embarrassing,” you groaned, kicking your feet in the air.

“Drunk people piss their pants all the time,” he simply hummed as he continued down the hall in search of his room. “Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.”

You pounded on his back again. “I did not piss my pants,” was all you spat out.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” he mused as he brought his other hand up to deliver a hard smack to your ass. And you could only huff against him in response.

Only when he’d found his room did he put you down, slowly and safely on your feet, and you were ready, already glaring at him the second you were on solid ground again. You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed to seal the deal further.

But that only seemed to amuse Jungkook more. “What?” he hummed, raising his brows as he leaned in closer to you.

“You suck,” was all you muttered.

His eyes flicked from yours to your lips as a small grin slid onto his face. “Believe that’s your job,” he murmured as he leaned even closer to plant a kiss on your cheek. “And you’re very, very, very good at your job.”

Narrowing your eyes, you demanded, “Open the door.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he cheerily replied as he slid the room key into the slot, removing it quickly, and waiting for the green light before he swung open the door. His eyes flicked to yours then, and he nodded in the direction of the hotel room. “After you.”

But just as the two of you entered the room, flicking on the light as the door slammed shut behind you, Jungkook pulled you back into him. You stumbled slightly, but nevertheless, turned around in his arms to face him with a confused look.

He only sent a small smile in return. “I like when you’re jealous, by the way,” he remarked as he curled a piece of your hair behind your ear.

Your brows knitted together. “Jealous? I’m never jealous,” you scoffed . . . but . . . you had a sneaky suspicion you knew what he was talking about.

The corners of his lips twitched a little further. “You know . . . she was from the other team,” he went on, ignoring your words.

“Hmm?” you questioned, playing dumb when you one-hundred percent knew what he was going on about now.

Earlier. The bar. That girl he was talking to.

“That girl,” Jungkook continued. “She was just congratulating our win. So you—” he tapped your nose— “sweetheart, were jealous over nothing.”

Well . . . you supposed that explained it, but . . . but you couldn’t have him knowing that you were jealous. He already knew way too much about what went on inside your head. He could not know you were jealous of all the disgusting things to be. So, you decided to . . . you know . . . lie.

“I was not jealous,” was the brilliant response you came up with.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, trying not to break out into a wide grin yet again. “Mhm.”

You shrugged in response as if to say, Told you so.

But those words never left your lips. In fact, you rather regretted even thinking them the moment Jungkook opened up his mouth again.

“There’s no one else on my mind,” were the words he decided to reply with.

And your face slowly fell into one of shock. “What?”

That didn’t seem to faze Jungkook. His smile still remained. “It’s just you, stupid,” he whispered, his voice like a tear on a cheek—soft and . . . sweet.

Oh. You blinked. It’s just you.

And you felt yourself smile at the words. You couldn’t even help it either. It just . . . he was sweet. He really was. 

It’s just you, rang through your ears once more, and you couldn’t help it. You leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t like the others either. It was soft and sweet . . . just like his words.

Then, you pulled back, kicked off your shoes, and walked further into the room. “Nice place you got here,” you mused as you looked around the hotel room before you bent down to sift through his suitcase, pulling out a pair of his boxers. You slipped off your soaked sweatpants and underwear before you slid on the boxers and headed for his bed, plopping down on the mattress with your legs crossed and ankles under your knees.

(That was the thing: this was normal. The two of you shared clothes. (Well, you mostly stole his clothes, and then he’d end up finding you in them . . . and well . . . he wouldn’t be able to think straight for the rest of the day.)

“Thanks,” he laughed, his hands reaching for the hem of his shirt before he pulled it over his head and discarded it on the ground, “no cockroaches found yet.”

“Oh, wow, fancy,” you remarked with a look. “You rich?”

Jungkook cocked his head to the side, a dazed grin on his face. “You didn’t know? I’m a world-famous badminton star,” he said as he approached you, leaning his hands on either side of your body on the bed.

“World famous?” you tsked, clicking your tongue. “Oh, god, oh no. I’m so sorry. I had no idea I was in the presence of royalty.” You dramatically clasped your hands together and bowed to the best of your ability, surely whacking him in the face with your hair.

“OK, you little shit. C’mere,” he all but whined as he wrapped an arm around your back and pulled you down to the bed so you were laying flat on your back, looking up at him. 

Except, the look on his face was all too much for you to hold back—you laughed. You couldn’t help it. He just looked so ruffled. It made the laughter caught in your chest bubble up in your throat, and eventually you were laughing so hard you had to squeeze your eyes shut and clutch your stomach.

As the seconds ticked by, your laughter died down and your eyes slowly opened to find Jungkook still staring at you, a dopey smile on his face.

Still holding back your quiet laughs, you quirked a brow in questioning.

Jungkook only shook his head, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “I love when you laugh,” he hummed, his voice like fucking honey or something unfairly ethereal. “Strokes my ego.”

“Like you need any more stroking,” you remarked, shooting him a look.

His brows shot up. “You offering?”

And you couldn’t help it, you laughed again, but this time tried to cover it up with a roll of your eyes. “Nice try,” you scolded as you raked your hands through his hair. “Hey—” your thoughts unexpectedly switched as your hands found his hair— “can I braid your hair for the next games.”

But Jungkook was somewhere else. His eyes were on your sweatshirt as he sighed through his nose, securing his hand on your hip to move you further up the bed so he could crawl over you. And you let him, trying to ignore how the almost possessive action made your heart thump (amongst other . . . things). He now laid with one arm holding him up, his legs on either side of your body as his free hand toyed with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“I wish you were in one of my shirts,” he mumbled almost as if he were talking more to himself than to you, but you paid it no mind. (He often lost his train of thought, staring off into space . . . and you always snapped him out of it with a bubbly smile on your face. He was . . . cute.)

“Kookie,” you hummed. 

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and brown. “Hmm?”

“Can I braid your hair for the next games?”

He smiled then. “Course,” he replied before he leaned down to press his lips against yours.

“You sure do like kissing me,” you mumbled against his lips.

He nibbled on your bottom lip. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

The only response you could muster up was to press your lips against his once again, a bit firmer now. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking on it gently before you let it go and instead licked a strip along the crease of his lips. He reacted quickly to your touch, hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer and melded your tongue with his. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your sweatshirt.

A small gasp escaped you when you felt the warmth of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, sending jolts of arousal to your core.

You instantly knew what he was thinking too. Ready so soon for another round . . . but like . . . come on. Who could blame you?

Certainly not him, not now, not with you like this. “Mmm,” he hummed against your lips, his hand inching toward the hem of your sweatshirt again. “Can I take this off?”

“Mhm.”

Ever so slowly as if to savor it, Jungkook pulled your sweatshirt off you as if the two of you were watching paint dry. And finally with it off and over your head, he threw it to the ground, instantly, coming back from more, molding his bare chest against yours. “Sometimes I think you want me to cream my pants,” he remarked, shaking his head at your tits while he brought a hand up to gently roll your perked nipple with his thumb.

You laughed through your arousal, tilting your head back slightly. “You’re so stupid,” you heard yourself say in a hushed voice. It was so obvious just how much he affected you. You could hear it in your voice, and you were sure he could too.

But that only seemed to spur him on further as he sunk down lower until his face was level with your tits. He began to mouth at them, leaving sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses across your flesh. “Mmm, put something on the TV?” he mumbled into your skin moments before his tongue wrapped around your nipple and he began to suck.

“While you’re motorboating me? No thanks,” you huffed, trying to keep your cool, but Jungkook was sucking and nibbling all over your tits, making your head feel fuzzy and core a little too needy to be comfortable.

“I’ve never motorboated,” Jungkook countered as he traveled to your other breast, squeezing the flesh before he flicked his tongue repeatedly across your nipple. “Not classy.” His tongue swirled and you nearly mewled.

You swallowed hard in response instead. “Since when do you care about class?”

Then there was a hand on your face. And no, not like caressing your cheek or anything like that. Jungkook had full on just placed his abnormally large hand over your entire face . . .

“Shh, let me have a moment with my girls,” he mumbled his explanation before he went back to mouthing at your tits.

“Oh, my god,” you groaned in disgust as you flicked his hand off your face, but that didn’t cancel out the fact that his skilled tongue was sending jolt after jolt of arousal to your core with every lick.

“I’ve missed you, Samantha,” he sighed as he lightly bit one of your breasts. “Mmm, you, too, Rachel.” He moved to your other tit, swirling his tongue around your areola and sucking.

You deadpanned. “You named them.”

“You’re interrupting my threesome.”

“And you’re giving me nightmares,” you huffed as you pulled away from him, turning over on your side. You were being dramatic. Obviously. And you were doing it on purpose, because, well, you wanted his attention. (And you liked being a brat . . . sometimes. (OK, fine, you thought it was funny. Get over it.))

Jungkook knew this, too, as he let out a clap of laughter, immediately reaching for you as he wrapped an arm around your middle and tugged you into him. “No, no, baby, I’m sorry, I just wanted to piss you off,” he mumbled into your neck as he pressed kiss after kiss to your skin.

“Mhm.”

“Do you forgive me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hold back your joking grin. “If I have to,” you dramatically sighed.

“I’m a weak man, what can I say?” he remarked into your neck as his hand slowly cupped one of your breasts. And then . . . well . . . he squeezed . . . twice. “Honk. Honk.”

And you snorted. “Seriously, Jungkook?” you choked out through a laugh. He was just so . . . god you didn’t have a word . . . he was just so . . . Jungkook. “I never expected you to be this much of a boob guy.”

“Well—” he blew a raspberry— “when they look at me like that.”

“Jesus.”

“They’re like dumplings.”

That was when you looked over at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Really, your unamused look seemed to say.

“What?” He blinked, eyes wide and brown. “I love dumplings.”

“You know what I love?” you asked, turning around in his arms so your body was facing him.

He leaned forward to flick his nose against yours. “Mmm?”

You scrunched your nose. “Seeing you suffer.”

“This is what you call suffering?” Jungkook remarked, glancing between your tits and your face. And then . . . then . . . he reached out and smacked your breasts.

And you . . . well . . . all you could do was stare at him in shock. Had he really? Oh, that little—

Jungkook burst out into a fit of laughter, rolling onto his back and clutching his stomach. All the while, you stayed put, mouth still agape in shock as you blinked one, two, three times. Until he pulled you into him again, and that warmth you were so used to revisited you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he laughed into your hair, his words muffled.

And then you said something that you hadn’t even realized was on your mind until you blurted out: “Do you want to fuck them?”

Jungkook choked on his laughter.

A beat of silence.

“What?” he trailed off, and you could practically hear him blink.

But you had meant what you said, and so . . . “Do you want to fuck my tits?” you repeated again, this time craning your head to look him dead in the eyes when the words left your lips.

Jungkook rolled over, caging you in as his hand reached your face, gently brushing your hair behind your ear. “You pulling my leg?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to hold back the devilish smile that was crawling onto your face. “I know you want to . . . and I . . . wanna see you do it,” you mused, searching his face.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Narrowing his eyes at you, he asked, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Why not?” you pouted, knowing damn well he was right. You took that as your chance to lean in closer to him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Want me to say I need your cum? Hmm? Is that what you want, baby? You want to know that I’m thirsty for it?”

He swallowed hard. “Fuck. You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe a little,” you hummed with a shrug. “But I do kinda miss your cock.”

Jungkook flashed his teeth, shaking his head. “Brat,” he muttered under his breath as he reached for you again, pressing his lips against yours. 

It was hard not to let yourself be consumed by him. You enjoyed it—how his lips felt like a tear on a cheek; how his kiss always felt like remembering something you were missing. You didn’t know what it meant. You rarely knew what anything meant, but you did know you enjoyed it; you relished in it; you craved it. Truly. You craved him. All of you.

In an instant, you were on your back again, and his lips were on your neck. He was whispering sweet nothings into your skin as he made his descent to your tits, paying extra attention to the old hickey on the underside of your breast which he left there just a night ago. It was sloppy, perhaps a little carnal, but you didn’t mind. 

Jungkook leaned back up to kiss your jaw. “Want me to cum on your tits, hmm?” he asked, his voice darker now, making you nearly squeeze your thighs together. You knew what that voice meant, and god did you miss it. “Want to fucking smell like me? Show everyone who’s fucking you, huh? Want them to know it’s me? That you’re my girl?”

And you couldn’t help it; you gave in. “Please, Kookie, need it so bad,” you all but whined, knowing damn well he got off on this little bratty act of yours. “Need you to cum on my tits. Need it. So bad.”

He groaned into your neck. “You’re killing me.”

“Oh, but, Kookie, you can’t die yet,” you whined, pouting slightly. “Not until you fuck me. Pretty please?” Batting your eyelashes, you knew he was getting a kick out of this, and that . . . that was exactly why you did it.

“Yeah?” he asked as he pressed into you. His cock was digging into your hip now, making your head spin, until you could no longer ignore it.

“Mhm,” you hummed, still pouting, now with your bottom lip pushed out. “I won’t be able to breathe without it, you know?”

Jungkook grinned, shaking his head. “You’re such a little shit,” he remarked with amusement in his voice. 

“Well . . . is it working?” you asked as you leaned forward and kissed the scar on his cheek.

“You don’t need to do anything for it to work.”

You quirked a brow. “Oh?”

“Don’t act surprised, sweetheart,” he mused as he nipped at your bottom lip. “Makes you look stupid.”

That little—You cut yourself off with your own actions, because really . . . sure, you’d act like a brat, but if he thought he had the upper hand, he was dead wrong.

With that thought on your mind, you trailed your hand down his chest, soaking up his warmth as you dipped into his boxers. While maintaining eye contact, a sly grin slid onto your face as you wrapped your hand around his painfully hard cock. You felt him still under your touch, but he was cockier tonight. He recovered quickly, grinning down at you as he shoved his pants down his legs and threw them somewhere in the room, his boxers shortly following. Then . . . as if he couldn’t get any more up his own ass, he looked down at you almost expectantly, glancing between your face and his cock.

It seemed the win may have worked its magic on him as well, and even if he didn’t realize it, you could tell, and that . . . that was attractive to you.

You sucked on your teeth, trying not to give yourself away, but you were sure the moment he felt your core, he’d get that much cockier. Still, you wanted to win this . . . whatever this was, and so when your thumb brushed over the head of his cock, you watched as he tried to stifle his reaction, but you caught onto him swallowing quickly the second you squeezed. Your cunt throbbed with the desire to be filled in response. 

You wanted him in the most visceral way. But god did you love watching him wither, and the thought of continuing this little game overpowered everything else.

That very thought was your main drive. You shoved him back, perhaps a little rougher than usual, but the never faltering grin on his face showed you all that he was thinking. Playing off that, you hooked your thumbs into the band of his boxers you wore and tugged them down your legs, throwing them to the floor. And then . . . then you gave him one last look, pretending to adjust your position on the bed in an attempt to showcase your glistening core to him before you teasingly tore that away from him, closing your legs. (But you made sure to note how his eyes had lingered on your legs as if he were trying to pry them open with a look.)

“I want you to cum on my tits,” you stated boldly as you leaned back down while pressing your tits together with your hands so they were on display for his gaze. “Pretty please, Kookie?” You pouted once again, playing into that bratty act he loved so much.

“Jesus Christ,” he blurted out as he blinked one, two, three times. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe this was really happening, and that made you all the more confident in your desires.

Shimming down so your tits were level with his cock, you peered up at him moments before you took his cock in your hand and guided him. Gently, you brushed the tip of his cock over your nipples, the glide being slick and easy due to the beads of precum already leaking from the small slit. He was hard, and you could tell it was taking everything in him not to just forget all about everything else and just fuck you senseless right there. And you almost let him, but . . . this was too much fun.

“Mmm, I don’t think we have any lube, do we?” you exaggeratedly huffed. 

His thumb tapped your bottom lip, but no words left his lips; his eyes were solely trained on your tits which were already stained with his precum. But no, you were not going to spit on your tits. You had a better plan.

“Too messy, Koo,” you all but scolded, and then . . . you made sure his eyes were on your hand as you slowly made your descent to your wet heat. Your fingers made contact with your wetness, and you sighed in contentment as you dipped into your heat, pumping your fingers in and out, and relishing in the loud, lewd sounds which came from the act.

Once you were sure your hand was completely covered in your arousal, you rubbed the wetness all over your tits, making sure to cover his cock as well. In response, his cock twitched in your grip, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

“What the fuck?” he remarked in utter awe.

You smiled sweetly. “Fuck them, Kookie,” you mewled as you stared up at him. And who was he to disobey?

Slowly, Jungkook took his cock from your grasp, sliding the tip around the wetness on your chest, until he slid into place between your tits. You pressed them together tightly, creating a cushioned slit for him to fuck . . . and almost as if the warmth from your breasts enclosing around his length had shocked him out of his daze, he sighed, leaning both his hands on the bed as he began to move his hips.

“You like this, huh?” he asked, his voice raspy as his thrusts began to gain in momentum. “Like being used like this?”

“Yes, only by you,” you gasped out as he began to fuck into the slit your breasts had made solely for his cock. You let some of your spit dribble down, allowing for more lubrication.

Jungkook groaned at the sight, picking up the pace until he was nearly panting. “You’re so fucking hot,” he all but growled. “You get so fucking dumb for my cock. So fucking sexy.”

You pushed your tits together tighter, beginning to whine. “Please, I need you to cum on my tits,” you cried out. “Wanna feel you. Wanna taste it.” You didn’t know where these words were coming from, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter when you could just tell he was seconds from busting. So you did your best, squeezing your tits together as tight as you could and silently begging him to give into all of your desire.

“Fuck,” Jungkook cursed as he threw his head back and allowed himself to release a deep moan. “Just like that, baby. Squeeze your pretty tits for me.”

Normally he lasted longer, but sometimes, when he was so desperate just to feel you he blew all too easily. It was times like those that you looked forward to the most. You liked seeing him all desperate and needy like that. (What did that say about you, you didn’t know. (You also didn’t care.))

When he came in under a minute, that was when you felt the most proud, because you’d done that. You’d taken this seemingly almighty man and made him submit to you. That was what you craved, and that was what had you nearly rubbing your clit raw when he wasn’t there to fuck you into the mattress. And so, you couldn’t help it. You began to rub your thighs together, searching for relief as Jungkook’s thrusts became sloppy and his moans increased. He was practically whining now, begging you to let him cum. 

You dribbled spit onto his cock and rubbed your tits together, creating enough friction to have him gasping above you. That was when you thought he was most beautiful (well . . . there were other times, but . . . ). When he was weak enough for you to moan and whine and practically cry out for your pussy . . . that was when you thought he looked like the kinds of fallen angels you’d read about in cheesy romance novels.

“Give it to me, Kookie,” you begged, knowing that tone of voice and the use of that nickname would have him right where you wanted. And then you heard it: the tell in his voice that told you he wasn’t just close; he was less than seconds away.

In utter awe, you watched as he desperately tried to pull himself together, nearly out of breath as he pulled away, his hand instantly wrapping around his length and jerking himself off. You squeezed your tits together, continuing to watch with lidded eyes as he clenched his jaw and breathed through his pleasure. And then your mouth fell open, sticking your tongue out as if beckoning him to ruin you, and he lost it.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he all but moaned as his eyes stayed on your chest while he vigorously tugged at his length, focusing on the sensitive tip.

“Please, Kookie. Need it, baby,” you rasped out, and you knew that was it. 

Jungkook released a strained groan, his muscles tensing as ropes of his cum shot out, painting your chest. He continued to milk his cock, whining softly as the last bits of his release hit your tongue, your chin, even dripping down your nipples. And once his orgasm had passed, he leaned over you, holding himself up on the bed before he collapsed beside you, still breathing heavily.

“I think that was a dream come true,” he rushed out, completely out of breath.

You laughed, shaking your head as your fingers crawled toward your cum-stained chest. And then you did something which shocked even you. You dipped your fingers into his cum, spreading it around before you brought your finger to your lips and licked the contents completely off. Only then, with your lips wrapped around your fingers did you turn to meet Jungkook’s gaze.

Jungkook only blinked at you in shock, watching as you swallowed his cum. He swallowed hard at the act, continuing to watch as you slowly withdrew your fingers from your mouth . . . and well . . . you supposed that was his last straw.

Without warning, Jungkook reached for you. One hand found your plump ass while the other tangled in your hair as he pulled you in for a kiss. But this was no ordinary kiss. No, Jungkook didn’t bother giving you an innocent peck. Instead, he immediately licked the seam of your lips, and you parted your mouth for him. Only instead of slotting your tongues together like you expected, he wrapped his lips around your tongue, sucking the muscle like he was trying to taste himself on your tongue. And if that wasn’t enough, once he’d gotten a taste of you and him, a soft, deep noise sounded from the back of his throat.

He didn’t care about the fact that your chest was painted in his cum. In fact, you were sure that only spurred him on more as he squeezed you tighter against him while he licked and sucked into your mouth.

It was carnal, messy, sloppy. It was almost sin. And when he finally pulled back, both of you now equally covered in his release, all he did was send you one of those half-grins.

“Wanna shower?” he offered. “Kitty cat’s hungry I think.” His eyes flicked down to your neglected core, and you nearly laughed in his face.

Instead, you nodded, completely dazed. Even from the look on your face, it was clear you didn’t know much. That was obvious. But . . . there was one thing you knew for sure: Jungkook would always surprise you.

Hours later, you were awoken by the sunlight peeking into the room through the blinds. Rubbing your eyes, you shuffled backward, finding that Jungkook was still there. You smiled to yourself, nuzzling further into him as you found his arm wrapped around your middle, and quickly clasped your hand around his, bringing it to your chest to cradle.

Jungkook stirred then, laughing under his breath. “Hi, baby,” he murmured, his morning voice nearly making you squeeze your eyes shut. (It really was unfair how attractive this man was. Jesus.)

But . . . then your dreams snuck back in. That was part of the reason you’d woken up. Your dreams had haunted you. Because you knew he was hiding something and your mind had made the worst of it.

Yesterday, you supposed, after the tournament, he disappeared, and he hadn’t told you where he’d gone. That . . . that had your mind wandering even in your sleep.

So you really couldn’t stop yourself when you mumbled out, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mmm.”

“Where’d you go last night?” you let yourself ask, swallowing hard. “After the court, where’d you go?”

A beat of silence.

He hadn’t been expecting that, but . . . He’d let you in, right? After all this time . . . he trusted you, too, right?

But another beat of silence passed and you began to wonder. Then you began to worry. And then . . . then you began to feel stupid.

But just as you were about to pull away and apologize for going too far, Jungkook pulled you closer. “My room,” he began as he nuzzled his face further into the crook of your neck. “I couldn’t breathe. Everything was . . . blurry . . . dizzy.”

You blinked. “Panic attack.”

And he nodded against your skin. “I had to be alone.”

The thing was: you weren’t unfamiliar with panic attacks. You hadn’t had many in your life, but during those three years . . . everything had gotten worse. You knew how it felt when . . . that happened, and you knew what it did to people. 

“That’s OK,” you found yourself saying before you even knew it.

Jungkook raised his head. “You think that’s OK?”

You nodded, because it was. It truly was.

“If that’s what makes you feel safe . . . then yes, I think that’s OK,” you mumbled, restating your thoughts. “But . . . if you don’t want to be alone . . . if you don’t want to do it alone . . . I have nothing to do. Come find me.” You glanced behind you, eyes finding his in the dark.

And then . . . then he smiled. “I’d like that,” he hummed, his voice like honey. “But—”

“I know,” you cut him off with a gentle hand to his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me why. Just . . . if you need someone . . . I can be someone.” You dropped your hand, letting it fall to his arm. “By the way . . . I’m sorry for being a bitch yesterday—”

“Eh, used to it,” Jungkook muttered with a shrug.

Pursing your lips, you shot him a look you knew he wouldn’t see. “I was just jealous,” you finally admitted, because, really, who were you kidding?

And Jungkook didn’t rub it in your face this time. Instead, he simply smiled and hummed, “I know. I like it when you get like that for me.”

Your brows twitched. Fuck, did he ever have an effect on you.

Almost as if he knew this, too, that was when he kissed you. You hadn’t been expecting it, so the startled hum which left your lips was totally called for. However, the laugh he allowed himself to make was not. (Not like you minded with his lips on yours.)

And then neither of you were thinking and nothing else mattered. You didn’t exactly know how you got there either, but you supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was just so warm and his kiss was just so addicting and well . . . his dick was hard and digging into your thigh.

How could you ignore that? And how could he?

It was almost comedic how quickly the two of you responded to each other. He pushed and you pulled. Like a fish hook in an eye, you knew your body would be craving his in an instant (perhaps it never stopped).

“This OK?” he asked against your lips, slightly out of breath.

All you could do was nod. “Need you,” you murmured against his lips, an almost silent plea. It was vulnerable. Perhaps more vulnerable than you meant for it to sound, but it was true. You needed him, and right now, you needed to feel him in the most visceral way you could.

The world blurred. Time morphed together, moving slowly as he sighed into your mouth and you reached for his hand, pulling him between your legs. He graciously accepted your offer, slipping his hand under the pair of boxers you’d stolen from him after your shower, and pumping his fingers into your core while he swallowed your soft moans. Lewd, wet sounds filled the room as the world continued to blur and blur into pleasure, and bliss, and him.

And only after he’d made you cum on his fingers did he move your thigh to rest on his, allowing enough room for him to easily slip into your still pulsing core. It was true; he fit into you like a hook in an eye. The two of you had always melded together, and you did now. But it wasn’t what you were used to. Sure, the two of you would fuck slow, fast, rough, or soft, but this . . . this was a different kind of softness. It was the kind you had only experienced with him once—the first time you’d had sex all those months ago.

It was vulnerable. And you weren’t used to it. But you reveled in it all the same, losing yourself in every deep thrust. Like an odd sense of deja vu, you knew you’d felt this before. He fucked you slow, never soft, but always deep. He was everywhere, consuming you moan by moan, and you never wanted it to end. 

As you struggled not to moan loud enough to wake the people in the room next over, you glanced down, and that was when you saw it. You could have sworn that as his cock hit the deepest parts of you, a small bulge showed. Gently, you sighed out a moan as you pressed a hand on your lower abdomen, pressing down and that was when you felt it: his cock hitting deep inside you again and again and again.

Until you couldn’t take it any longer, you grabbed Jungkook’s hand and placed it against your lower stomach. “Feel,” you rasped out, keeping your hand over his while he thrust again and again.

When he felt it; when he felt his cock creating that bulge inside of you, he lost it. He buried his face into your neck, whispering how much he wanted to have you in every way, telling you how beautiful you were, and how much he wished he could fuck you forever.

And then:

Need you, you heard your own voice whisper as he gently bit into your neck, groaning softly while he shot his thick ropes of cum into your begging pussy. Need you, you acknowledged as his skilled thumb brought you to another orgasm that night all the while he stayed sheathed inside of your warm heat. Need you, you felt as he pulled out, immediately reaching for you once again as he brought you into his body, strong arms wrapped tightly around you.

Your own voice haunted you while Jungkook fell into sleep once again. But you just couldn't get it off your mind. Why had your words entered your mind then?

Why, why why? But you already knew why. You knew because you had been battling it for a while now. 

This entire time, you had wondered why you couldn’t give up on him. At first, you thought it was because you cared about him and needed to help him. You thought he needed you, but . . . while that was true; while he did fit into you like a hook in an eye . . . you knew you needed him more than he ever needed you.

That . . . that was why you couldn’t leave him alone. And fuck . . . did that ever scare the shit out of you.

When the two of you awoke for the second time that day, you knew what was ahead of you. A long day of traveling back to the training center, which meant leaving Busan.

That went well, but then the night came and as you made it into the living area of the girls’ dorm, all of your team members awaited you. They wanted to go out and celebrate Yunis’s win at the bar, which . . . you went along with, against your wishes.

Luckily . . . Jungkook was going, but . . . He had been sitting at the bar alone for half the night, and you felt less like a person and more like another cog in the wheel as you were forced to sit with your teammates instead of your partner.

But the thing that was bothering you that night was . . . Being who you were, what you had accomplished by the end of your senior year of college, and everything in between, you’d like to say you still remembered how it felt to win. But the truth was: you’d forgotten it entirely.

As the years had passed and you’d watched old teammates of yours make it farther than you ever probably would be able to again, the electric surge victory sent through your veins had slowly diminished into an afterthought. And you never thought you’d get the chance to taste that euphoric feeling again, at least not for a few more years if you were being generous. You’d never expected to end up here—winning by Jeon Jungkook’s side, and you certainly didn’t expect to owe it all to him. But there you were: standing in the middle of the very same bar you’d visited with the rest of the team at the beginning of your contract. A beer was clasped in your hand with a small smile on your face as the rest of the team conversed amongst each other, going on and on about the winning shot you had made which landed your team amongst the winning teams progressing into the next stage of the tournaments.

Yet . . . something felt off.

You didn’t feel like you’d won anything. You had. When you’d watched the birdie slam on the floor, the whistle blaring in your ears as you looked around to be met with a wide, toothy grin from your doubles partner . . . you had felt that victory. When you had thought of nothing else other than to hug Jungkook to commemorate your win . . . that was when you felt like you had actually won something.

But this . . . this didn’t feel good. It felt like nothing. And you knew exactly why.

Now . . . you didn’t want to celebrate with them. You wanted to clink your beers together in cheers with . . . him.

As your teammates loudly spoke over each other, your eyes flicked to the open bar just across the room. There sat Jeon Jungkook alone at the bar, hunched over his drink as he inspected the small tattoos on his hands. And long were the days that you would just let this happen.

“Kook!” you called out, not missing a beat.

Jungkook lifted his head in confusion, his eyes meeting yours. Why were you calling him? That was raging through his head, and you knew it, too. And perhaps it was the liquid courage, but for once, you didn’t care what your teammates thought of the two of you. Jungkook was not going to spend the night moping at a bar, instead of celebrating both your wins by your side. So . . . you waved him over (Naturally). 

And Jungkook, albeit a little hesitantly, followed your command in an instant. Slowly, he approached the rest of the team, which had quieted down now since your sudden request. Whatever. You didn’t care. You wanted him beside you. That was all.

“While I do love taking all the credit, I really can’t this time,” you began as you reached for Jungkook, tugging him in by the bicep. “I’m not the one we should be celebrating.”

Once again, his eyes met yours, brows twitching at your words. And you didn’t break eye contact. You weren’t sure if you could.

“Jungkook’s the reason we won yesterday,” you continued, that small smile still on your face. “He’s the reason I didn’t entirely suck. We should be celebrating him.”

Not once did you look away from him and not once did he look away from you. It was like the others didn’t matter. This was your win, not theirs.

The silence which met your ears confirmed this notion. You were OK with that. You were sure Jungkook was too.

Why, one might ask?

Because Jungkook had that stupid, (almost charming) small smile on his face. And you couldn’t help but offer up one of your own. This was both your win. 

Funny how times had changed . . . Funny . . . indeed.

“Well . . . “ someone began a second later, tearing you from your own mind, “I’ll drink to that.”

Only when you finally met the others’ eyes did you realize it was Hoseok who had offered up this proclamation of peace, practically waving around a white flag while he raised his beer toward Jungkook. And for a moment you thought maybe things would actually change. Maybe Jungkook would start to sit with the rest of the team instead of opting to stay in his dorm or sitting alone at the bar drowning his sorrows. Maybe things would be better now. Maybe this was his justice as much as it was yours.

Then . . . you noticed something. . . . When you glanced back at Jungkook, his eyes didn’t meet yours. No, they weren’t on you at all. Instead, he was looking Hoseok’s way with his brows raised in shock and a small, genuine smile twitching at the corners of his lips. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe it . . . like he’d have to pinch himself soon to make sure he wasn’t dreaming this all up. But that wasn’t what you had noticed.

Jungkook was looking at Hoseok. Not his chin or his forehead or the table . . . no, he was looking him in the eyes . . . like . . . like he could see him. But . . . ?

Everyone just has this big X over their face. I can’t see them . . . even if I wanted to, Jungkook’s voice filtered in through your ears as you recalled the memory. He’d told you he couldn’t see people. It made him anxious. Instead, big X’s covered everyone’s faces. 

And yet . . . he was looking at Hoseok. He could see Hoseok.

Only then did you realize what had happened. Hoseok’s words, metaphorically raising a white flag in surrender, had snuck through the barrier Jungkook had built up so high. Even if this didn’t last, even if . . . even if it didn’t, it did now. 

Jungkook could see Hoseok just like he could see you.

Perhaps, eventually, he’d allow himself to see everyone again, even those he wasn’t too fond of. Perhaps he’d let himself look people in the eyes . . . to see the world again instead of staring at his shoes while he walked with his head down. Perhaps this was how he’d define his own justice. Perhaps, you thought as your gaze lightened and your smile grew.

Until . . . a loud clap of laughter erupted from beside you, and you felt your heart falter. Your head turned only to see the image of Wooshik leaning back in his chair with a shot of soju on hand. His gaze was lazy, barely able to keep his eyes open as he grinned up at the two of you, and yet . . . it felt oddly threatening.

Maybe he was just drunk . . . but: “This is bullshit,” he all but hissed as he swigged back the shot before he dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Fucking bullshit.”

“Wooshik,” Hoseok warned, “not today.”

Wooshik lazily swung his head in his direction. “Not today?” he questioned. “Why do we have to sit here and applaud him? When do we get to voice the fact that this shit—” he slammed a fist onto the table— “isn’t fair? Hmm?”

“We won, didn’t we?” Hoseok bargained. “Jungkook put us on the map again.”

“So that means we what? Roll out the red carpet?” Wooshik slurred. “You know what he did. We’re the ones working our asses off every day all day and we still get slammed by Coach, and Jungkook here gets to drink himself to the brink of death, not show up for weeks, then somehow he’s still paid the most out of all of us. That sound fair? That sound like something we should be celebrating?”

Hoseok crossed his arms over his chest and began to open his mouth to retort, but you beat him to it. “He gets paid more because he’s good,” you muttered, voice low and dry. “Win a match, then bitch about it.”

“Did he tell you what happened?” Wooshik instantly spat. “Hmm? Did he tell you why he’s here? Why the all star isn’t halfway to the Olympics right now?”

You blinked at him, because that was all you could do. Because, yes, Jungkook had told you something. He’d told you something bad had happened, something that ultimately had to do with Taehyung, but he hadn’t told you what. It was a falling out. That was what you knew, but the way Wooshik was looking at you, his brows pinched together and an odd, almost pained look in his eyes told you it was something so much worse than a falling out.

“Whatever it is—” you began, wetting your lips— “I’m sure it can wait. You give him shit the rest of the season. It won’t kill you to can sit down and fuck off for an hour.”

Should you have said that? No . . . but . . . whatever. Screw protecting your image. It didn’t matter right now.

“This is—” Wooshik cut himself off with a scoff.

And you went on. “It’s what?” you all but mocked, tilting your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes in scrutiny.

But before either of you could go on, a hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you back from the man. You turned, briefly, only enough to see Jungkook right behind you with a warning look on his face. “Let it be,” he muttered, his eyes solely on you. “It’s not worth it.”

Let it be. You swallowed, hesitantly. It’s not worth it.

No . . . no . . . you couldn’t believe that. Whether you liked it or not, Jungkook had quickly become something of a comfort to you, and fuck . . . fuck (!) you cared about him. Seeing this happen . . . seeing everyone treat him like shit infuriated you. You couldn’t let this happen, not when . . . not when you could do something.

It’s not worth it, he’d said, but yes . . . yes it was. It was worth it to you. He was. Jungkook was worth it to you, and you’d be damned if Wooshik walked away from this the winner.

“Kook’s a better person than I am, Wooshik,” you mumbled, still locking eyes with Jungkook before you turned to meet Wooshik’s harsh gaze. “He gets us on the map, and you’re complaining? I just think you’re a little pathetic.” You sent him a fake pout, fully aware of just how immature you were acting, but you didn’t care. 

Enough of kissing their asses. Enough of trying to be someone you weren’t. He didn’t get to win this. Not now. Not like this.

Wooshik only scoffed. “You’re just gonna let her make a fool of herself for you?” he asked, but his eyes weren’t on you . . . they were on Jungkook.

But Jungkook remained silent. 

And then: “It should’ve been you on that bridge,” Wooshik practically whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe those words had fallen from his lips.

Jungkook’s face fell, his world falling as yours crumbled into confusion. You wanted to question him, but Wooshik interrupted your thoughts.

“Do you not get it? You don’t deserve this, he does, but you took that from him,” he declared, his voice gaining in octaves as he went on. “You should’ve gone through with it months ago . . . Everyone . . . would’ve been better off without you.”

“Kook, what’s he talking about?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, because you knew the answer. You were sure you had for a while now.

“He paralyzed his friend,” Wooshik confirmed your thoughts for you.

Then . . . the world truly did fall then, at least for you. You felt it all at once.

While the world fell, all the pieces came together. Wooshik had been the one to threaten Jungkook that day on the track. Wooshik knew Jimin . . . he knew Taehyung. He had been the one you’d heard on the phone with Jimin . . . the one who had stressed over Taehyung’s condition. Only then, you had no idea what Taehyung’s condition entailed or how he’d gotten it. And now . . . now you knew the boy who’d practically been like Jungkook’s brother (meaning another menace in your life that you had begrudgingly dealt with) . . . that boy had endured an injury which led to the suffering of his career.

And it was all because of Jungkook? But . . . but . . . no. That couldn’t be. Jungkook would never do that to anyone, let alone Taehyung.

Softness ran through Jungkook’s veins. He’d always been too kind, which you’d realized a little too late. Even when you were kids, he’d never dared to squash the clover mites which infested your porch’s exterior. He found it cruel, while you had never given a second thought to it. To you, they were just tiny meaningless bugs that left a pigmented red smear when squashed. But to him . . . to him they were . . . small friends. 

Bug boy, you’d used to call him, and he’d always try to hide how his ears would flush red at the name. That little boy who cared for even the smallest of creatures couldn’t have done . . . this? 

Because, well, there were not a lot of things you knew about life. You used to think you knew the world like the back of your palm. But that was just false confidence. You knew nothing. You barely knew yourself, but . . . but you knew . . . him.

If there was one thing you knew, it was Jungkook, and he would never even think to do this to a friend, especially Taehyung. There had to be something missing. This was not the truth. It couldn’t be. 

“He’s learning how to walk again, meanwhile JK here’s winning tournaments. That seem fair?” you heard Wooshik hiss again, his words more slurred now as he went on, but all you could think was how invigorating it would feel to sock him right in the jaw. But that wasn’t the only thing you’d faced that night. No, what truly had the world crashing down around you was the words Wooshik had spoken before.

You should’ve gone through with it months ago. And that look on his face. It was like he knew just how bitter those words felt in his mouth the second he’d spoken them. Everyone . . . would’ve been better off without you.

You knew what that meant, but you didn’t want to believe it. You knew what that meant. Twist the knife, you wanted to say. That would hurt less, because you realized that if Jungkook had decided to go through with . . . it . . . there would have been no way to prevent it. He had no one. He had been alone.

So . . . you twisted the metaphorical knife wedged in your chest cavity a little more. You probably wouldn’t have even known. Twist the knife. Twist the knife. Twist the knife. You probably would’ve found out through your mother. Twist the knife . . . And there would’ve been nothing you could do about it. Jungkook would have just been . . . gone.

The little boy who refused to squash the clover mites; the little boy who cared for even the smallest of creatures; the little boy who had loved . . . everything . . . would have just been gone. And here was Wooshik taunting him for it in front of everyone.

That . . . that made the wildfire spread within you, and you didn’t give a shit about anything anymore. Something snapped in you. Something bad. Dark. “By which you mean he should kill himself?”

Everything was loud and silent at the same time. It was almost deafening the way everyone’s faces fell. It was almost as if they hadn’t expected those words to come from your lips . . . like saying the truth was something . . . unheard of.

You supposed the truth was a little darker . . . a little harsher than most would expect. But it was something you were familiar with. You don’t become embolized and lose your dream in one day and not think about things like . . . that. No, sometimes you even wonder what it would be like. If things would be better, but you never go through with it. And if someone were to taunt you for it? In front of people? Well . . . you weren’t just going to sit there.

Because, yeah, maybe Jungkook had never liked to squash the harmless, little clover mites, but you were forgetting one very small, very important detail. You had never shied away from squashing the little things. In fact, you often went out of your way to squash as many as you could find.

That was the difference between the two of you; the difference between you ruining your own career and Jungkook moving on; the difference between a child who chooses peace and one who seeks out rage. And a child born of wrath you had always been. It was time you stopped running from that. You used to squash every little clover mite you came into contact with, and Wooshik was no exception.

“Well?” you finally continued once, in rage, you found your voice again. 

Wooshik shifted awkwardly in his spot. “I didn’t say that,” he muttered before he cleared his throat.

But you had never been a fan of cowards. “Really?” You tilted your head to the side, narrowing your eyes at his figure. “You sure?”

“Listen—”

“Ah,” you clicked your tongue, pointer finger raised to your lips as if to quiet him down. And when you spoke again, your voice was as quiet as a whistle in the wind. “My turn.”

It was immature, you were sure, but you didn’t care. You were burning. Your skin felt ablaze with heat and you were sure your nails were breaking through the surface of your palm from clenching your hands into too tight of fists. But you didn’t care.

Your mother had always told you, Be kind. You’ll catch more flies with honey, than vinegar. But what if you didn’t want to catch them? What if you’d rather see them swatted? . . . You’d take your chances with the vinegar. 

That sentiment was solidified as you asked, your voice calm, almost eerily too calm, “What’s your name? Last name, I mean.”

Wooshik narrowed his eyes in skepticism. “Hwang.”

“Noted.”

“What?” Wooshik scoffed, raising a brow. “Thinking of reporting me?”

And you nearly rolled your eyes. But a hand securing around your arm brought you back to the present. And you realized who it was . . . 

“Come on,” Jungkook mumbled close to your ear. His voice was soft just like his touch, but he should’ve known better. You weren’t meant for soft things. A well-oiled machine. That was what you were. You were made of metal and bolts; you were cold . . . rough . . . worn.

Tearing your arm out of his grasp, the cold welcomed you back with open arms. “No, Kook,” you heard yourself say before you realized you were saying it, and then you realized it was too late. Your mouth wasn’t your own anymore. Your words belonged to the machine you had let yourself become, and you welcomed this just as the cold had welcomed you. “Hwang Wooshik, you’re a piece of shit. No, no . . . all of you are. You sit here and ridicule him—” you gestured toward Jungkook— “and for what? Have any of you actually asked him what happened? Do you even know the full story or have you made his life shit just to feel better about yourselves? I get it. We’re a shitty team. No one wants to be here, so why not? Right? Did you ever think why this team is shit? Hmm?”

Nothing. And then . . . Wooshik only scoffed. Typical.

But you were beyond dealing with this. “And you—” your eyes focused back on Wooshik— “you have no value, not even a soul,” you bit out through gritted teeth, fists still clenched as tightly as you could, and you had no intention of letting up. If he wanted the truth . . . then fine . . . you’d serve it to him on a silver platter. “All I see . . . is a bag of skin . . . a pile of bones. It’s pathetic how meaningless your life is. You bitch and moan, bitch and moan, bitch and moan, and yet, you have nothing to show for it except for a rotten mouth and a limp dick. You wanna show off? Wanna feel like a man? Go on . . . do it . . . but remember this moment. Remember just how meaningless you actually are . . . on this team . . . in the world . . . to yourself. Remember all the cells in your body splitting for nothing . . . just to make a worthless piece of fucking shit.”  Your brows raised, beckoning him. “Hmm? Don’t you get it now? You’re nothing.”

The world stilled. It was quiet, too quiet.

You didn’t dare look at anyone else, not even Jungkook. You couldn’t. And then you heard it: a heartbeat pounding in your ears. But it wasn’t yours. You could have sworn it was Wooshik’s or maybe it had been one of your other teammates. It didn’t matter. Your words had shocked them . . . maybe scared them.

Wooshik sucked in a breath first. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he questioned, and it was like you were seven years old again, being excluded from after-school plans with your friends. But you didn’t have much time to dwell on the past before Wooshik glanced between you and Jungkook, a look of realization crossing his face as he let out a breathy laugh. “Oh . . . I see . . . “

And you knew he’d discovered the truth between you and Jungkook. But honestly? You didn’t care. 

Good, you couldn’t help but think. That didn’t matter right now. Nothing did except this . . . 

Not that Wooshik had caught onto that. No, instead, the man had found his motive and gone with it. “Word of advice . . . he’s not the good guy,” he murmured to you, only making the wildfire within you burn brighter.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. “And you are?”

“I don’t run from the shit I do, and then cry wolf on top of a bridge,” Wooshik went on, but you were past listening. You could barely hear him. “I would’ve gone through with it. Maybe then that would set things right—”

But he never finished his sentence. No . . . you didn’t let him.

For a second time that night, something snapped within you, and you couldn’t contain it. Like a glass too full of water, your rage spilled over, and before you realized what you were doing, you pulled back your hand to gain momentum and then launched it forward, connecting your knuckles with Wooshik’s nose.

Wooshik stumbled backward, catching himself on his chair so as to not collide with the floor, while he clutched his nose in his hand. And you stood above him, hands still clenched into fists as you watched the man grovel and groan. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, an odd sense of fear mixed with bewilderment in his gaze. You realized for a second time that night, you’d shocked him. Perhaps you’d even scared him.

Be kind. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, your mother used to tell you. But you had never been fond of flies, and you had never quite liked Hwang Wooshik, either, so fuck that.

Still, Wooshik felt the need to ask, “What the fuck are you doing?”

And you only shrugged. “Whatever I want. Just like you,” you spat moments before you made an attempt to grab at his collar, but something pulled you back.

Once again, a hand wrapped around your arm, but instead of giving you the option to pull away, the person pulled you into their chest, securing an arm around your waist to ground you. . . . You instantly knew it was Jungkook (from the odd sense of peace you felt at his touch . . . but don’t tell him that).

“Take a walk,” he muttered in your ear for only you to hear, the command instilling dread within you. 

“Kook,” you whispered, but couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. All you could look at was Wooshik and his now bleeding nose.

“Go,” was all Jungkook said. And only then did you gain enough courage to look at the rest of your teammates. They stared back at you with equal parts shock and fear . . . and you knew you’d fucked up. Again.

That was all it took before you pulled away from Jungkook’s embrace, listened to his words for once, and walked out of the bar into the cold before you swatted one too many flies before the sun rose. And while you didn’t regret it . . . you knew you’d done it now. You knew you’d gone too far. 

All you could do now was squeeze your eyes shut, hoping this was some sick nightmare as you waited in the cold to probably (ultimately) be scolded by your doubles partner. That was what was ahead of you, and while you did feel guilty (you supposed), you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

A well-oiled machine. That was what you were. That was what you had been trained to become. You weren’t supposed to care about other people, and you wouldn’t let yourself. But you couldn’t let him talk to Jungkook like that. No, not to him. Not in front of you.

Jungkook used to refuse to squash the clover mites on your porch, while you sought them out. That was the difference between the two of you, and you’d be damned if some no-name on this shitty, D-list team told you otherwise. 

He was soft, not you. Give all the unlucky shit to you. You could handle it.

If Wooshik wanted to hate someone, to blame someone . . . then he could blame you. 

You supposed that was what you had done tonight: ruined yourself to save Jungkook like you should’ve done all those years ago instead of ruining the both of you. (Although . . . not like you’d tell him that. You couldn’t. This was too much. Too raw.) And worst of all . . . you knew you’d do it again.

You realized that as you waited in the cold for who knew how long. It could’ve been two minutes or twenty. You hadn’t noticed. You hadn’t cared . . . after all, well-oiled machines didn’t get cold.

Only once you finally opened your eyes to see the cold around you, did you hear the bell above the bar door jingle, signaling that Jungkook was now behind you, no doubt angry with you for your little outburst. And all you could think was fuck, fuck, fuck. You’d crossed the line again, as you always did, but you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize. Not for this. 

And so, you found yourself muttering, “If you expect me to apologize, I won't. He doesn’t get to do that. Not to you. Not in front of me.”

But as soon as you had begun to turn around to finally face him, Jungkook didn’t greet you with furrowed brows and a scowl on his face. No, instead, you could only blink once before he was falling into you, his hands caressing the sides of your face moments before his lips met yours. There was no heat behind it either, no rushing, no nothing, just . . . just bliss. His lips met yours, his touch putting out the fire raging within you, and it was like you could finally breathe again. He kissed you as if that was all he could do; as if it were all he wanted to do.

Only then, when you realized he wasn’t going to rip himself from your body as if you’d scorched him, did you finally embrace him. Your hands found their way to his shirt, bunching the fabric as you pulled him closer and felt yourself succumb little by little to him. You didn’t even care if anyone saw you. It didn’t matter. Nothing did when he was near.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days before the two of you pulled away, and you leaned your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. The point was: you didn’t even care just how out of breath you had become. You would’ve sooner passed out than let him go, and perhaps that meant more than what you were willing to admit, but you did know it meant something, you just weren’t exactly sure what. But you barely had time to dwell on those thoughts before Jungkook pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and tugging you into his chest. And you let him.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled into your hair, laughing slightly under his breath. 

You’re an idiot, you repeated in your head, and a smile slowly twitched on your face, because you knew what he really meant. Thank you, his hug seemed to say, and you knew it to be true. And all you could do was melt against him, wrapping your arms around his waist as your eyes fluttered closed and a content sigh left your lips. You squeezed him tighter, realizing perhaps maybe you’d needed this hug more than him. In a way, you supposed you had always needed this—to be hugged so deeply it comforted your soul.

You’re welcome, your hug seemed to say, but you knew what it actually meant . . . thank you.

Once again, you smiled, perhaps a little wider now. That is what you had wanted to tell him. Thank you. Thank you for being there. Just . . . thank you.

You would like to make one thing clear: you did not have a fondness for many things. For instance, you hated when random people on the internet adapted an instrumental version of a song that, to be honest, did not need adapting. You hated the rain. Now . . . you knew most people didn’t particularly like the rain . . . but you hated it. It always had a way of making your skin itch, leaving you uncomfortable and irritated. It was unnecessary . . . really (OK, fine, maybe not unnecessary, but, ugh, whatever!).

Now . . . obviously you absolutely despised losing. That much was evident . . . sure.

But most of all, you hated the vulnerability which came with falling short of victory. You hated how your shoulders fell, the self-hatred seeping in and consuming you as soon as you realized you had either gone too far or not far enough.

You supposed that was how it had always been. You supposed you had always been a competitive child. You supposed the fact that it hurt more to lose a match than breaking up with your first boyfriend . . . was normal for a child who had been born into competition after competition.

Of course you never actually expected to fail. That wasn’t in your blood. Failing wasn’t on the table, so when you did, it hit you ten times harder. And you always ended up doing the same thing over and over again: locking yourself in your room until the sting became easier to manage.

That was what had happened in your childhood, and that was what had happened three years ago. You’d locked yourself in that hospital room, ignoring the world, pushing people away. You’d learned to live with yourself, and you learned to hate yourself. (Perhaps it was easy to find that hatred within yourself because it had always been there.)

You supposed that was why you had taken to reading so kindly. (Sure, you had put up a fight, claiming you did not and would not like books, but, well, your heart kind of beat for it now. A part of you craved it. And that part of you followed you everywhere.)

The writings you’d memorized all those years ago stayed in your head and every once in a while, you’d remember something you’d read. And every time, it’d bring you a sense of something. Comfort, maybe? Acceptance? Understanding? You weren’t entirely sure, but it did bring you something you couldn’t push away. And that night, the night Wooshik had pushed a little too far, revealing who he was, you were also reminded who you were: an angry child who had forced herself to grow up too soon.

You knew that was what you were. You knew you were angry and crude and all things not pleasant or kind. You couldn’t give anything up. You couldn’t let anything just be. . . .You knew your heart was cold and you were more machine parts than bone.

A burnt child loves the fire, Lord Henry claimed in The Picture of Dorian Gray. (Your love for the Classics had begun there within that book (peculiar considering your previous distaste for literature . . . but well . . . you had no excuse).) You supposed the reason why you’d taken so fiercely to this small, almost minuscule quote had to do with the fact that you couldn’t understand it. And you hated being in the dark about anything.

The original saying was supposed to be: A burnt child dreads the fire. And yet . . . 

That was what you couldn’t understand. You couldn’t understand why there was a need for the reverse. The saying was wrong. A burnt child should dread the fire, they shouldn’t run to it.

So . . . why? Why did the child Lord Henry speak of . . . crave the fire?

Only then did you come to the conclusion. 

As soon as your fist had collided with Wooshik’s face and you saw the look everyone had given you, the answer washed over you: there was a difference between these two children. While one who has been hurt; who has been burnt by the fire will avoid it at all costs for the rest of their lives, the other will seek it out . . . perhaps even crave it.

That was why you had punched Wooshik. A burnt child loves the fire.

The day of the incident . . . that was the day the fire had scorned you and instead of taking refuge with those who cared . . . you pushed them away. Because it was easier to be angry. It was easier to feel sorry for yourself rather than to accept help.

Because accepting help meant you had failed. It meant you were weak. It meant you were not the person you had prided yourself on for years and years and years . . . It meant laying to rest the person you used to be and truth be told you missed her more than you missed feeling . . . warm . . . real. But how much did you miss her now? That was a question you had yet to answer.

Yeah, you missed the cheers as you won match after match. You missed the glorious high which came after a win. You missed team bonding and everything badminton used to be. But you didn’t miss the stress, the pressure . . . the anger. And that was the thing . . . you’d won once again after so many years and yet . . . you didn’t feel stressed to practice until your feet bled. There was still stress . . . of course, but it wasn’t consuming. 

You realized you’d never actually celebrated a win before. You were always looking looking looking into the future, too caught up in it all to just . . . breathe. But now . . . now . . . now all you wanted to do was sure . . . celebrate, but rather . . . celebrate with your doubles partner.

So really . . . did you miss the girl you used to be? Perhaps a little in the sense that when you grow older, nostalgia only gets worse. But you didn’t want to be her.

You wished someone could tell you what that all meant . . . Were you still considered a burnt child? Did you still love the fire? Did you dread it? Or . . . were you somewhere in between?

You only wished someone could help you make sense of it all. You wished someone would put a guiding hand on your shoulder and tell you who you were, because . . . really you had no clue. 

Perhaps you’d been clueless all your life. Perhaps you would always be.

A warm hand wrapping around your wrist brought you out of your own mind. And you realized where you were.

It was the present, not the past as much as you’d spent thinking about it. Most likely a half hour after you’d punched Wooshik in the nose, changing the entire trajectory of your team. The atmosphere of Jungkook’s room surrounded you as you sat on the edge of the bed, right leg crossed over the left while he tended to your cut knuckles from said punch to Wooshik’s face.

His hand was warm as it always was, and you were sure he must have winced at how cold yours had been to the touch, but you weren’t even certain if he was paying attention to that at all. No, it seemed as you took your first glance at Jungkook’s face since he’d kissed you earlier that night . . . that he was entirely focused on the task at hand.  And truly, it was almost impossible to not notice just how meticulous Jungkook was to even the smallest of cuts on your knuckles, dabbing each and every one with a washcloth. He remained focused, his brows sat low as his eyes remained focused on your hand while his lips were pursed into an almost cute (?) pout. 

But you couldn’t help but catch sight of the muscle which ticked in his jaw. Something was on his mind. No, no, he was angry. Yes, that was it. His jaw always twitched when he’d get frustrated about something. And well . . . you had never been one to keep your mouth shut.

“I thought you weren’t mad at me,” you stated almost too abruptly, nearly startling the silence itself.

Jungkook paused, but didn’t look up to meet your gaze. “I’m not,” was all he muttered before he resumed his task.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re quiet,” you said as you poked him in the chest with your non-injured hand. “You’re never quiet. I actually have a hard time shutting you up.”

“Well.”

“Well, what?” you went on, knowing damn well if you pressed enough he’d cave. “If you’re mad just say it.”

He only replied with a hiss of your name. A warning (one you wouldn’t listen to).

“Kook—” you nudged his chest once again— “speak.”

For a brief second, he shot you a look. “You’re just—!” But his words quickly died on his tongue the moment he made eye contact with you. He seemed to search for something within your gaze before his brows twitched, his eyes falling to your injured hand as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize you got . . . hurt.”

Your gaze softened then. “It’s just a scrape,” you tried to reassure but you had never been good at comfort.

Jungkook only shook his head. “But it shouldn’t be anything,” he muttered as he began to dry off your knuckles. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.”

“I know. Fuck, OK . . . I know,” he continued muttering without making eye contact as he quickly but carefully bandaged your hand. But even once he was done, he did not let go of your hand. If anything . . . he pulled it closer. “I just . . . I didn’t realize that—I just . . . I don’t want you to get hurt for me. You’re not invincible, OK?” 

“And you are?”

His eyes closed. “Come on . . . ”

“Why can you take it but I can’t?”

Jungkook breathed out through his nose, and then he was looking at you. But now there was a different tinge in his eyes. Now it was like he was hiding something . . . like he didn’t want you to really see what was going on inside his mind, and you had a sick feeling it had something to do with what Wooshik had said at the bar. And then he spoke, “Because I don’t want you to. It’s my bullshit. I don’t want you to get caught up in it.”

You realized exactly what he was doing. You had been right. He was trying to keep a distance from you, trying to keep you out, trying to protect you from . . . something. But as you had been so cruelly reminded, you were a burnt child . . . and you craved the fire. 

That was it. As a child, you had sought out the clover mites just to see them paint the rocks red as you squished them. That had been fun for you. You’d always craved the fire, you supposed . . . just in different doses. And a child who learned this way of living never backed down . . . never cowered, you faced it . . . welcomed it. And you sure as hell weren’t backing down from this. You refused to leave him alone . . . because Jungkook had never even dared to squash the clover mites . . . he’d wanted to save them . . . protect them, and someone like that did not deserve to carry whatever this was on his shoulders. 

Burned children could recognize each other . . . but he still had time to decide if he’d run from the fire or chase it, and you would try everything in yourself to not let him join you. Not now; not when you knew his heart. Not when you knew Jeon Jungkook, if given the chance, would still never, not even once, squash a clover mite for the fun of it.

That was exactly why you found yourself claiming: “I already am.”

He squeezed your hand tighter as his face fell further. “I don’t need you to fight for me,” he all but whispered.

But you had never been a good listener. You’d always acted first, thought later. Some would call it a flaw. You sure would, but you didn’t care. 

So you listened to the first thought that popped into your head, standing to your feet as you curled your joined hands into your chest. “I know . . . but it’s what I do,” you found yourself saying. “I can’t help it. I’ve tried to change, Kook. I’ve tried to be gentle. I’ve tried to speak quietly. I’ve tried not to be . . . all the things that I am, but it never works. It just feels like I’m pretending.” And as you confessed, you couldn’t help but scoff a laugh at your words. “I’m not a gentle person. I’m loud and blunt and maybe even a little cruel . . . and now you’ve made me care about you.”

You’ve made me care about you, your words rang throughout your ears, and you realized that was the truth. You did care about him. Perhaps more than you cared about most things. And it was clear your words had affected Jungkook, too. His features softened, his brows lifting slightly as his eyes rounded and his mouth parted only just barely.

You’ve made me care about you, you were sure was ringing through his ears. And you knew this, too, because he didn’t bother to tease you or shoot you that half-grin of his. No, he just stared, trying to digest your words.

It seemed no one had ever shown him this. No one had ever tried to get through to him, and you knew that well. You knew how it felt to push everyone away, secretly hoping someone would want to break through the barriers you’d put up. 

Burned children could recognize each other, and you knew exactly how Jungkook felt. Years and years of dealing with everything on your own is debilitating. You couldn’t imagine being forced into this isolation. You knew what it felt like to lose everything . . . and you could see on his face that he knew that feeling well, too.

It made you feel worthless. Stupid. Useless. It was almost gut-wrenching how much it made you feel like nothing. And, god, you were tired of being nothing. You were sure Jungkook was tired, too.

So as you went on, a slight smile on your face, your eyes had begun to water. You’d never been much of a crier, but you couldn’t help it. “Don’t you get it?” you mumbled, your voice quieter now. “I care about you more than I should. You made me. You made me fucking care about you, so you don’t get to sit here, give me whiplash, and expect me not to defend you.” You couldn’t help but let a small tear slip, because, truly, you really did care about him. “I don’t care about a lot of people, and maybe that’s sociopathic, narcissistic, whatever! I don’t care . . . but I refuse to let you put up with this, deal with this, endure this . . . alone.”

Jungkook blinked quickly, but remained silent as he chewed on his inner cheek.

“I’m in this,” you went on, squeezing his hand tighter. “Whether you like it or not . . . I . . . am . . . not . . . leaving. Got it?”

But something was preventing Jungkook from nodding at your words. He only just stood, refusing to make eye contact with you. And then, he tilted his head, his eyes on the ceiling as he mumbled, his words strained, “I don’t want to hurt you, too.” He tugged his hand from yours then and you fought the urge to grasp his hand right back.

“You won’t,” you muttered instead, eyes still trained on your now empty hand.

“You don’t get it,” Jungkook whispered in response as he stared at his own hands, almost in disbelief or astonishment. “Everything I touch . . . it’s like . . . it’s like things come to die at my hands.” 

You were at a loss for words in response, because you knew that feeling. You were sure you had thought those exact same words. You were sure a part of you still believed that about yourself.

And while you mentally rotated through the things you were supposed to say, Jungkook went on, “I can’t let you all the way in. I would never forgive myself if—“

But he never had the chance to finish the sentence. No, it seemed his body wouldn’t let him. His words tangled around his tongue, and finally, you glanced his way, finding his eyes were now glossy and he was forcing himself to keep his gaze trained on the wall behind you, careful not to blink and let the tears spill.

Jungkook believed things came to die at his hands. He believed he deserved . . . this. And yet . . . how could he be so wrong? You knew him. It didn’t matter what Wooshik or your other teammates said. You knew him. You’d grown up with him. You’d watched him throw tantrum after tantrum after every clover mite you’d squashed just to tease him.

He would never do the things that had been said. And he certainly didn’t deserve to feel like . . . this. That was your driving force. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand, and brought it to your face. Slowly, you cupped your cheek with the palm of his hand, your hand covering his before you whispered, “Did the world end?”

His eyes were on you now, warming you just with one look. “No,” he softly mumbled as his thumb grazed your cheek.

He’s sweet, you couldn’t help but think as your brows twitched at his gentle action. Then, slowly, you took that same hand and brought it to your chest, laying it just above where your heart would beat deep inside.

“Oh, look, my heart’s still beating,” you said lightly, a little more pep in your voice in an attempt to get that smile on his face again. “The world will not end and nothing will happen to me at your hands . . . OK?”

His fingers flexed on your chest. “I can’t.”

“Jungkook,” was all you could whisper, an almost silent plea as you squeezed his fingers.

He brought his other hand up to your cheek and took a step forward. “Baby . . . ” he all but begged as he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours.

Tilting your head up enough to brush your nose against his, you welcomed his embrace. “Please,” you found yourself mumbling. “I’m not going to run. You won’t lose me.”

And truly, you did mean every word.

You didn’t care for the fire or the fight or anything like that. You just . . . fuck . . . you wanted him to be alright. That was what you wanted. You didn’t know why or how it happened, but it did.

That was what you wanted, and you had never been one to back down from anything. So you meant it. You weren’t going anywhere. And as the silence consumed you two, you stayed by his side, proving your words to be true. Jungkook seemed to catch onto this, too, as his words changed . . . 

“But I will disappoint you,” he mumbled instead of his previous sentiments.

But who would think that would scare you off? You were all kinds of disappointing. It didn’t matter. “So? People are disappointing. It’s what makes us human,” you found yourself speaking your thoughts. “Can we just . . . carry your bullshit . . . together?”

Jungkook remained unmoving for a mere moment before he withdrew from you. For a second you thought he’d leave you hanging once again. For a second, you thought he’d locked himself away like he had months ago. But instead, he moved away from you, the cold replacing where his warmth had been as he sat down on the edge of his bed . . . and you knew what that meant.

He was letting you in. Fully. Completely. Finally.

You met him at the bed, folding your leg under yourself as you sat down facing him. A part of you wanted to reach for his hand, but you couldn’t. Something was stopping you from reaching out to grasp him, so you sat in silence, carefully taking in his features from the small scar on his cheek to the tiny mole under his bottom lip.

It must have been minutes of you just taking in his features while the silence danced around the two of you. Perhaps it went on for even longer. But you didn’t mind it. You wouldn’t run from this . . . from him.

And finally, that was when you didn’t necessarily reach for his hand, but you did rest your hand on his knee, providing as much reassurance as you knew how. You could only hope he knew what your touch meant. You could only hope he could feel . . . you.

His eyes found yours the next second, and you knew he could. He could feel you just as you could feel him. He could see you. He could see you. He could see you. That had to mean something. It seemed it did as Jungkook carefully placed his hand over yours and squeezed. Then . . . then he offered a small, strained smile before he sucked in a sharp breath, slowly exhaling . . . and then . . . then he spoke.

“It was last year . . . around January,” he began, his voice careful, calculated, quiet.

And you scooted closer, listening intently.

“We’d made it onto the national team,” he continued, keeping his eyes on your locked hands. “Taehyung, Jimin, and I . . . but it was tough. The days were long. And I wanted to . . . I don’t fucking know live a little. And there was a bar just outside the center and I . . . wanted to go. I dragged Taehyung with me. He didn’t want to leave. We weren’t supposed to leave. But I was cocky and an idiot and I wanted to get drunk before the games the next morning like we used to. So he caved . . . He snuck out for me . . . because of me. We went, we drank, until we decided it was time to go back before Coach found out. But . . . we were still drunk . . . “

As his words died on his tongue, Jungkook averted his gaze from your hands, instead focusing on the wall in front of him. But his eyes kept moving, shaking back and forth as his brain raced with thoughts of the past. 

A burnt child dreads the fire, you thought. Was this his fire?

Your thoughts remained unanswered as Jungkook continued. “There’s a bridge that leads to the nationals’ center,” he mumbled, almost hesitant about his words. “It’s small, but passes over a lake.” He cupped his other hand around his chin as he rested his elbow on his thigh. His eyes fluttered closed a second later. “It was January . . . the coldest night of the year . . . and we had to pass over it to get back to the dorms. We had to—fuck.”

The hand on his chin immediately covered his face, his thumb and pointer finger rubbing his eyes. You didn’t want to guess what had happened. You didn’t want to think of the worst, but . . . You remembered the night you caught Jungkook on the bridge, staring out at the water. You remembered the look on his face; the look you knew all too well. And you remembered wondering what had happened to him.

Now . . . now it seemed something had happened on a bridge similar to the one you’d found him on. It seemed on his drunk walk home, the bridge he’d have to pass over to get back to the dorms reminded him of the past. And you both knew how sickly haunting the past could be.

You couldn’t help it. Instantly, your other hand reached to cover your joined hands. 

“It was so fucking cold that night. I know it was, but I can’t remember it. I was too fucking drunk to be cold. I was too drunk to notice the water under the bridge was frozen solid . . . but not . . . not all the way through,” he went on, his voice weaker now. “It wasn’t—It wasn’t frozen all the way through.”

It wasn’t frozen all the way through. Your brows furrowed. Wait—

“When Taehyung drinks . . . he does stupid shit. Everyone knows that. I knew that,” Jungkook was muttering now, practically cursing himself. “I knew that.” He beat on his chest once as he shook his head in disbelief.

When Taehyung drinks, he does stupid shit. Did that mean . . . ?

“He wanted to—” he cut his words off with a curse. “He wanted to walk across the wooden railing to see . . . I don’t know . . . I don’t fucking know what he was trying to do but he was drunk and I was too. I was too drunk to realize what was going on. Fuck, I even encouraged him to do it. I put money on it. I fucking bet him if he could walk across the railing, I’d give him ten dollars. Can you fucking believe that?”

Jungkook turned to meet your gaze briefly then, and only then did you realize something. His eyes were glossy . . . and he was sniffling. He was crying. And suddenly, you knew where this was going.

Your brows pinched together in concern as you silently begged him to see that you weren’t leaving. No, no . . . you were scooting closer. You weren’t leaving, you were staying.

Jungkook nodded in response as if he knew what you had been trying to tell him, and then . . . then he continued. “And of course he did it,” he all but laughed, but it came out as more of a pathetic scoff. “He even made it to the end, but we were joking around, laughing about it, and he . . . he lost his balance. He must have stepped on something . . . or . . . or . . . I don’t know, but he . . . he slipped.”

He slipped. No. Your eyes shut tightly as you pulled your bottom lip under your teeth. No.

“He slipped and all I heard was his body smack the ice. And then I heard water . . . “ Jungkook trailed off, his words angry, hurt, and strained. “He fell . . . . and the ice broke. . . . It wasn’t supposed to break. But it broke and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t see him. It was just ice and water and black. Everything was so fucking dark and I couldn’t see him . . . so I jumped in after him . . . and I still couldn’t fucking find him. And—And when I did . . . when I finally pulled him out, I thought he was dead. But I brought him back. I brought him back and he was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be fucking fine.”

Only then did you open your eyes . . . and when you did, you saw the Jungkook that had been trapped under barrier after barrier for a year now. He sat before you, shaking his head at his memories as a few tears slipped down his flushed cheeks. And you let them fall, not because you wanted to, but because you needed him to know that it was OK for you to see him . . . let go. So you remained silent, listening to his shaky breaths until he was ready to speak again. And when he did, you stared only at him with your hands interlocked with one of his.

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, still shaking his head in denial (?), anger (?) . . . maybe grief as a whole (?). “His back was fucked up, but we both just thought it was sore from the fall. He couldn’t really walk, so I had to help him back to the center . . . I knew it wasn’t good . . . but . . . “ he trailed off, his brows twitching. “He didn’t want to go to the hospital. I kept telling him we had to just in case. Just in case there was something wrong. But he was scared. Scared he’d get kicked off the team if they knew we snuck out to drink. So we went back, I helped him get dry, changed his clothes . . . then we went to sleep.” 

He blinked. A few more tears fell.

Sucking in a breath, he mumbled as he shakily exhaled, “A few hours later he’s waking me up telling me he can’t feel his legs. Something didn’t feel right. I tried pricking his legs, pinching, anything . . . but he couldn’t feel it.” 

You squeezed his hand tighter. You couldn’t imagine . . . 

Jungkook wiped his cheeks, his eyes, even his nose, finally taking a deep breath to calm himself down. “Everything happened so fast after that. I told Coach. Tae was rushed to the hospital,” he said, his voice more stable now. “Surgery after surgery after surgery later. He slipped into a coma . . . and when he woke up, they . . . said physical therapy and rest would be all he’d need before he could get back to playing . . . but only one leg gained back some motility. The other . . . just never improved. Something to do with a nerve . . . his spinal cord. Whatever . . . his leg was shot. They said he missed the window, and getting back to even sixty percent would be impossible.”

Fuck. You couldn’t imagine how Tae or Jungkook felt. Having your entire life just taken away from you like that was worse than dying you were sure of it . . . and having to watch someone you cared about go through that . . . You couldn’t imagine.

“Just like that his career was over as well as any chance of having a normal life again,” Jungkook scoffed at his own words. “All because I forced him to go get drunk with me. It was my fault. I should’ve known. Maybe if I had called the hospital . . . told Coach . . . maybe then . . maybe he could’ve been OK. Fuck.”

His words circled around in your head for a moment longer. It was my fault. I forced him. It was my fault. It was my fault. It was my fault.

But . . . Wait—

Your brows scrunched together in confusion. This . . . this is what Jungkook thought would make him a disappointment. This is what had him blaming himself, hating himself . . . ?

Jungkook believed he had done this to Taehyung. But . . . but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an awful thing that happened to both of them . . . and Jungkook blamed himself for it.

No . . . no . . . it couldn’t be. This was what he thought you’d hate him for. 

A burnt child loved the fire, indeed. They let themselves become consumed by it, condemned to it, tortured by it, and for what? 

Why did Jungkook have to suffer for something that was not his fault?

Fuck. You didn’t know what to do. You weren’t good at this. You barely even knew how to be a person, how could you help him when he thought his friend’s demise was all his fault? 

Shit . . . and you had blamed him for what had happened to you. You had added to this. You had . . . No, no, no, no. You didn’t know what to do.

You couldn’t believe what all this guilt, this blame, this hatred had done to him. You couldn’t imagine . . . and you couldn’t contain your emotions. Your eyes were watering now. No, you couldn’t let them. Not now. Not when you were supposed to be comforting him.

Jungkook didn’t seem to notice the turmoil raging on inside your head as he was only looking at the floor. “He couldn’t forgive me after that,” he went on, his voice quieter now once again. “Everyone turned away from me then. I had to leave the team. I knew I did. There was no going back after everyone found out that I was the reason he was out there that night. I lost everything, and it was all my fault.”

It was all my fault, ringed through your ears. Your heart ached for him, but you couldn’t cry now. Not now. 

You had no trouble holding back your emotions your entire fucking life so why was it so hard now? Why were you having trouble holding back these tears? You didn’t know, but you didn’t care. You had to keep a calm composure. You had to try. And try you did. 

“I would’ve left the badminton scene entirely, but . . . my parents,” Jungkook managed to finish up with a heavy sigh. “Their restaurant wasn’t doing well. It still isn’t. They need this money. I only joined Yunis to help them. All my money goes to them. I only keep what I need, the rest is theirs.”

And suddenly it all made sense with those final words from him. Jungkook blamed himself for what had happened to Taehyung.

He didn’t feel worthy enough to continue his career knowing Taehyung’s was over, but he had to . . . because he was a good son. He had always been a good son. That you had known. But you hadn’t known their business was in trouble. You hadn’t known, and you had been such an asshole to him.

He had to be here. That was why he was here. He had to be. For his parents. Not for fame or even himself, but for them. He was a good son. He was a good person. And everyone . . . even you . . . had failed him.

Then . . . you remembered something else that Wooshik had said, and you almost let a small sob escape your sealed lips. You never imagined you could feel this way. You’d always been cold. You’d always just been a burnt child, relishing in the fire; a well-oiled machine with human parts. You weren’t meant to feel like . . . this. So why did your chest hurt so fucking much? Why couldn’t you breathe when you remembered what Wooshik had said to him?

You should’ve gone through with it months ago. Everyone would’ve been better off without you.

Then . . . you began to wonder. Had Jungkook really? Had he tried to end everything . . . And you could have sworn you felt the metal encasing your heart had begun to shrink, squeezing the muscle in a painful ache. How could Wooshik have said that knowing . . . 

“Wooshik,” you heard yourself say before you knew what you were doing, “he said . . . “

“I know,” was all Jungkook could sigh. “He was friends with Tae and Jimin. This was his team. That’s why he’s so pissed I’m here, because I knew we’d be on the same team. But Coach . . . he knew who I was too and to him it didn’t matter who did what when to who. The only thing that mattered was that I was good. I was going to come out of the nationals team with gold medals and he knew that. So he offered me a lot of money . . . and I joined for my parents, otherwise, I’d be back in Busan.”

But you didn’t give a shit what Wooshik’s deal was. No, you wanted to know why he would say such a thing. Why he—

You stopped yourself from thinking, immediately speaking the words before you even thought then, “Why did Wooshik say you should’ve gone through with . . . with um . . . “

“Killing myself?”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as your eyes shut. Wetting your lips, you gained the courage to say, “Yes.”

But the silence met your reply.

It wasn’t something anybody talked about. People just kind of danced around the subject, trying not to say the actual words, and you supposed even you were guilty of this. But no one prepares you for this kind of shit. No one sits you down and tells you how to deal with this. You didn’t know how to deal with anything. 

When you were in recovery, you had the same thoughts. You wondered if it would make things better, but you knew it wouldn’t. You knew it wouldn’t make anything better. You’d just be gone, leaving pain behind, and that was not what you wanted. 

You hoped Jungkook had realized this, too. But the silence still remained. Until . . .

“I . . . “ he began, stumbling over his words. Then: “A few weeks before you came . . . I couldn’t take it. I did something horrible and came out of it completely fine. I wanted to make things right. I wanted to pay for what I did to him. And . . . and I wanted everything to just . . . stop. It hurt so fucking much. Every day I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t want to eat. Most days the only thing in my system was alcohol. I stopped looking at everyone, stopped being able to see them shortly after that and everything just became so . . . loud . . . and . . . and lonely, too. I guess—I guess I wanted it to be quiet . . . silent? I wanted time to stop just for a minute so I could breathe and then it would be fine. I could make myself be fine if I could just stop everything . . . just for a second.”

A beat of silence once again. And then he spoke, “I found the tallest bridge I could find here and I tried to jump . . . but . . . my mom called to say goodnight . . . and I realized I couldn’t go through with it, not when they still needed the money. I figured give it one more day . . . if I get fired then I’ll know.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “And Wooshik?”

“We’re dormmates. I slipped up when I was drunk, told him I was going to off myself,” he said through a sigh, his shoulders sinking. “Fucking stupid.”

There was the silence again. He was finished. That was what had happened to him and that was why he was here. The boy who cared even for the smallest of creatures had endured and endured and endured. How was that fair?

Jungkook used to cry for the clover mites when you’d squash them, and yet, here he was, carrying the world on his shoulders. Was he even allowed to breathe? Could he? Or was that peace stolen from him, too?

He thought he was a bad person. He thought he deserved this. He thought---How could he think that?

He was still the same Bug Boy you knew as a kid. He didn’t deserve this. He was a good son; a good friend. He was a good fucking person.

And the world had made him believe otherwise.

Everyone . . . everyone had failed him.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him this without feeling the lump in your throat rise and rise and rise. You would cry if you spoke, and this wasn’t fucking about you. 

This was about him. You couldn’t be selfish.

You just needed a moment to calm yourself.

But a moment you weren’t given as Jungkook whispered, “You’re silent. You get it now, don’t you?”

He thought . . . 

No. No. No. No.

And suddenly, you couldn’t stop yourself. You glanced his way with glossy eyes and a quivering bottom lip. “No, no, I don’t,” you muttered, your voice hoarse. “If anything I don’t get it at all.”

Jungkook only blinked.

You swallowed hard. “Koo, it was not your fault.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

Fuck. That look. He looked so . . . lost.

And you couldn’t contain yourself any longer. The floodgates open, tears trickling down your cheeks. “How could you have known what would happen?” you questioned, trying to choke back a sob. “What happened to Taehyung is awful and heartbreaking, but . . . it was no one’s fault, let alone yours. You didn’t know he’d slip. You didn’t know he’d hit the ice. You didn’t know he’d fall. You didn’t know he’d get hurt . . . and you certainly wouldn’t ever hurt him. It was not your fault. I’m so fucking sorry you’ve been carrying this for so long . . . that—that you were made to believe you did . . . this.”

“But . . . I’m the reason he lost his—”

“No, no, you’re not,” you quickly cut him off. “Nobody could have predicted this would’ve happened. Had it been the other way around, would you blame him?”

Jungkook remained silent but slowly shook his head.

Brows raising in relief, you nodded. “No, because no one is at fault,” you told him quietly. “It was a horrible thing that happened to someone you cared about. Hurt people hurt people . . . and when people are hurt . . . they want to blame others. Doesn’t make it right. Doesn’t make it fair . . . but it does happen.” Looking down, you remembered what you had done to him, too. “I know . . . I know because I did it to you. It was never your fault what happened to me . . . and it wasn’t your fault what happened to Tae.”

His eyes softened at your words. Nobody had ever told him that before, you were sure of it, and that made another tear slip down your cheek. He’d been so alone.

That was why he looked so lost; why he ran; why he locked himself away because he thought he was supposed to be alone.

You wished you could take back all the feuds you had; all the times you’d pushed him away. You wished you could go back to the day in the hospital when he texted you. You wished instead of blocking him and refusing to see him, you had just accepted the food and allowed him to sit down at the edge of your bed. Maybe then things could have been different.

But you couldn’t go back to the past, no matter how much you wanted to.

He was here now, and he was looking at you with those eyes you had grown to care about. Big and brown and searching. He was always searching for anything. And you wanted to give him all the answers. But you knew nothing.

You were a sorry excuse for an adult. You were barely a person. How could you know anything? The truth was: you couldn’t, but you did know one thing . . . you knew him.

His bottom lip quivered as he continued to search your eyes. “I want to believe you, but it hurts so much,” he whispered as if it were a sin.

“I know,” you weakly mumbled.

And suddenly you weren’t thinking anymore. No, instead, you took one last glance at his glossy eyes, and fell into him. You swung a leg over him, adjusting yourself on his lap as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and brought him into an embrace. One of your hands slowly snaked into his long, dark locks, massaging his scalp as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Jungkook remained shocked, his hands hovering in the air, but you didn’t care. He needed this. You knew him and you knew he needed this just like you had needed it years ago. Instead of pulling back, you continued stroking his hair and rubbing his back all the while you tried to hide the tears slipping down your cheeks and soaking his shirt.

Then . . . something happened.

In the midst of your embrace, Jungkook slowly wrapped his arms around your body, one hand spreading out along your neck while the other caressed your back. He brought you closer to him with one motion, until he was holding you back so tightly you were sure your soul had touched his even for the briefest of seconds.

He quickly buried his face into your neck, while his grip on you never faltered. “It hurts so fucking much . . . and it feels like this all the time,” he choked out through a strained sob. “It hurts. It just fucking hurts, and the alcohol isn’t helping anymore. I don’t know what to do.” His sobs came quicker now as he shook in your embrace, and you couldn’t help but cry for him as well. “I don’t know what to do. Fuck, I’m not OK. I’m not OK.”

“I know,” you whispered against his skin, trying to keep your voice steady. “I know, baby.” You pressed a kiss against his skin. It was innocent. It was sweetness. It was what he needed. “You don’t have to do this on your own anymore. I promise, Koo.”

And all Jungkook could do was nod.

“I’m as stubborn as a mule,” you reiterated, sniffling slightly. “I’m not leaving. OK? I know this—look—” you gently pulled back enough to place your hands on either side of his face. It was just enough to get him to look at you; just enough to let him know you meant every word— “I know how this feels. Hopelessness, worthlessness, anger, hatred. I know it all . . . and I know more than anyone that this is something no one should have to go through alone. I pushed everyone away. OK? When I was at my worst, I made people leave me until I had no one, and I can tell you right now that decision . . . it broke me.” You shook your head, another tear falling. “I don’t want to be broken, and I know you don’t want to be either.”

But his eyes were elsewhere. They were trained on the tear as it trickled down your cheek. “You’re crying,” he all but sobbed as he brought a finger to your cheek, catching the fallen tear. “I don’t—”

“Will you let me?” you found yourself asking, because maybe your tears weren’t selfish. Maybe . . . maybe they weren’t tears of anything other than . . . just tears. “Let me cry . . . for you. Let me carry this with you. I’m not scared of a lot of things, and I’m certainly not scared of this or you.”

His eyes stayed round and wide, still searching. And then . . . then he began to nod, and you couldn’t help but offer him a small smile.

“Good,” you hummed as you attempted to dry your eyes, but Jungkook beat you to it, wiping your cheeks clean of tears with the end of his sweatshirt sleeve. “Now . . . how about I lock the door so that fucker can sleep on the couch, and you and me sleep this shit off, hmm?”

“Can we watch a movie?” he questioned quietly.

You fought a grin. “Can I pick it?”

“Mmm, no.”

“Then, no.”

“Buttercup, don’t break my heart,” he whined, his voice slightly nasally from his now stuffy nose. His eyes were still red-rimmed and you were sure yours were too, but neither of you cared.

Hell, you couldn’t help but give a small laugh. “What are you on about?”

“You’ve never heard that song?”

You quirked a brow.

“Why do you build me up?” he began to sing, purposely doing it off-key (because yes, he had an annoyingly good voice). “Build me up.” His voice changed octaves, and you laughed in response, shaking your head at his antics. That only spurred him on. “Buttercup, baby, just to let me down?” He pointed at you. “Your turn.”

“Kook, I don’t know the words,” you giggled.

“Context clues,” he hummed. “Come on. Why do you build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to—”

“Let me down?” you whispered in a sing-song voice.

“There it is,” he cheered, nodding his head with a wide grin on his face, but the red-rimmed eyes still remained, reminding the both of you of . . . everything.

But that was OK.

You both would be alright. 

“I’m supposed to be cheering you up, not the other way around,” you mumbled as you toyed with the longer strands of his dark hair at the nape of his neck.

“I hate seeing you cry,” was all Jungkook said, a small smile still on his face.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“You know . . . “ Jungkook began again.

Your eyes locked on his; this time you were the one searching.

“I really like being your friend,” he mumbled before he tucked his bottom lip under his teeth.

A smile found its way onto your face. It was warm. It was pure. It was what you both needed. “I really like being your friend, too,” you agreed softly.

And perhaps, truly, in some weird, obscure way, the two of you had met again as strangers who became friends. Perhaps this time you would stay friends.

.

.

.

taglist:

@hrts4kook , @taehyungs-chopsticks , @loomipee , @st3ft0n3s , @callmenada , @neg-l3ct , @dawn33 , @illegurlbangtan , @jeonsdetails , @rihabaxl , @yoongipost , @jjk1iscoming , @miumiugurl , @sadgirlroo , @lucwithbangtan , @iamsisuu , @shanelleeex , @beonim , @sherlynxx , @fairy1919 , @purplewhales , @bloopkook , @ggukcanim , @bloodline1632 , @jungkooksseuphoria , @tea4sykes , @mugiwaraelly , @darkuni63 , @jalexad , @lpgirl2324 , @fairy-jaykay , @h0tvillainap0logist , @stuffy16 , @keniicastillo , @yoongukie-ff , @seesawe , @chocolatesublimesoul , @yopjm , @jeonlovescoffee , @xmirvamx , @jk-190811 , @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase , @vminkookgf , @werxyz , @tornparts , @aprilspring , @kswr1d , @jimilter , @02010802 , @sunsetnamjin​ , @lonekittycat , @moonchild1 , @hanamgi , @yoongslast , @heronstairsxd

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

Masterlist || candlewaxandp0lar0ids

OTHERS

Ao3 profile

How to Leave Comments on Fanfiction (Advice Post)

BTS

★ Namjoon

↳ Lazy Day // fluff. domestic!AU, established relationship. 549 words

★ Jin

↳ Don't Go Baking My Heart // fluff. bakery!AU, strangers to lovers. 14.7k.

You fall in love with Kim Seokjin’s bakery after wandering into it to take advantage of the post-Valentine’s Day discount on the chocolates. Maybe it’s the owner’s bad jokes, maybe it’s the other regulars, maybe it’s the delicious pastries. Or maybe there’s something more that keeps you coming back to that shop.

★ J-Hope

↳ For the First Time (What's Past is Past) // fluff, light angst, smut. neighbors!AU, strangers to lovers. 15.7k

After your eight years relationship comes to a brutal end, you don’t really see yourself getting back into dating — ever, probably. And then, your new neighbor who has the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen needs to borrow a corkscrew, and you don’t realize it just yet, but your resolve doesn’t stand a chance.

★ Jimin

↳ Fly to my room // fluff. college!AU. 1k

↳ good for you // PWP, smut. friends with benefits!AU. 2.9k

★ Jungkook

↳ I Don't Like a Gold Rush // fluff. college!AU, strangers to lovers. 17.3k

Jungkook is the golden boy, an excellent student, the star of you college’s football team. Rumor has it, there’s simply nothing he can’t do. The same cannot be said about you, but you’ve never had an issue with that. You’re happy with your small group of friends and your lack of talent in sports. And then, Jin befriends Jungkook, and you find yourself spending a lot of time with him. Before you know it, you’ve taken an interest in him — and you’re sure you shouldn’t. There’s no way this can end well for you… right?

↳ if i can never give you peace // series. angst, eventual smut. mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn. in progress.

It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed. Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine. Until he comes back.

0 · 1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · Interlude · 6 · 7 · 8 · 9 ·

STRAY KIDS

★ Bang Chan

↳ all your friends are so cool, you go out every night // smut. college!AU, friends with benefits!AU, jealousy. 5k.

↳ hoodie season // tooth-rotting fluff. established relationship AU. 1.4k.

★ Lee Know

↳ when he sees me // smut, fluff, angst. neighbors!AU. 13.3k. in progress.

Interacting with others has never been easy for you, whether it is talking to them or, worse, flirting with them. As a result, relationships, but also any form of sexual interactions have always eluded you. You had no reason to think that was going to change anytime soon. And then your hot neighbor’s cat shows up in your apartment, and you think that things just might change. Even if it’s only on one front.

↳ kinda wanna throw my phone across the room // fluff. college!AU, coffee shop!AU, strangers to lovers, jealousy. 4.9k

★ Changbin

↳ wanna be you so bad // angst? college!AU, academic rivals!AU, jealousy. 4.3k

★ Hyunjin

↳ you're so gorgeous it makes me so mad // PWP, smut. college!AU, established relationship. 4.4k

↳ comparison is killing me slowly // hurt/comfort, smut. college!AU, established relationship, jealousy. 5.2k. same couple as you're so gorgeous it makes me so mad.

★ Han

↳ i'm so sick of myself // fluff, angst. college!AU, friends to lovers. 4.2k

↳ something's waiting now to pounce // angst, light horror, thriller. high school!AU, slasher!AU, friends to lovers. 6.3k.

★ Felix

↳ felix navidad // fluff, angst. christmas evel!au, strangers to lovers. 16.4k

You keep seeing Felix around. First he falls in your courtyard on Christmas Eve, then you see him hiding chocolate eggs in a park, and then he appears on the staircase behind your apartment, in the middle of the night. It’s unusual, and you have no idea what it means. What you do know, though, is that you’re absolutely fascinated by him, who he is, and the light and joy he seems to bring with him everywhere he goes. Even if you have no idea who or what he is, all that you want is to find out more — and get to spend a little more time with him.

↳ rather be anyone else // angst. college!AU, friends to lovers, jealousy. 3.7k

↳ wouldn't you like to see something strange? // angst, suggestive. urban fantasy, roommates!AU. 4k.

★ Seungmin

↳ i think i think too much // fluff, suggestive. college!AU, established relationship, jealousy. 3.7k

↳ everybody make a scene // fluff, angst (both light). coworkers!AU, convenience store!AU, friends to lovers. 4k

★ I.N.

↳ all i see are girls too good to be true // fluff, light angst. college!AU, idiots to lovers, jealousy. 3.9k

↳ take a chance and roll the dice // fluff. coworkers!AU, bar!AU. 3.7k

[openphrase123]

What's your workflow for planning and then executing a long-term project, like the massive fics you write?

this is how i do fanfics And also original stuff and it's how i've been writing for like ten years (your mileage may vary though i think long project planning is a different kind of beast depending on the person.

also this is the same process as i have for making other media too but obviously with the language tweaked to fit the media (like this is how i plan and execute my game, too!)

have a scene or concept haunt me so thoroughly that i write a short speculative piece about it. if you get here and it's good but can't get past the next step, that's a sign it's meant to be a cool oneshot instead of something multichaptered

decide why i'm making it. what question am i trying to answer, what themes am i trying to explore?

write 2-3 chapters of it freeform style, not caring about where these scenes are going or how they flow into each other (for things that aren't fics, this can just be like. a small section of what it Is). if you're not feeling it here this is a sign to make the scope smaller and make the piece as short as you can tolerate it for. if you are feeling it, this is where you're figuring out the overall tone and style of how the wider work is going to go

figure out the ending. write the ending scene now if you have to. you can change it later but you need to know generally where you want to go

make an outline. how many sections do i need to get from the opening scene to the ending scene? what happens in each chapter?

for ME and how i post, if this is a fanfiction, write at least 25% of it before posting a single thing. or if nothing else write 3 weeks of updates.

start posting

vibe and write at least 3 weeks in advance. if you need a break you need a break. it's free fanfiction, people get it.

now, some creators will be like "whatever you write, take out 10% of it to be economical" this is the modern writer's equivalent of the devil talking. you need the fluff. you need the downtime. you need the epilogue. slow your fucking stories down. let people marinate in them. yeah if you're writing something short form or in a specific format you might need to take stuff out but if you're writing fanfiction or a novel or a game and there's no limit on how long it is. don't worry about spending a couple pages dicking around. every piece of human media from the dawn of time has had interludes, B plots, long meandering pieces of fluff... it makes the parts where the story Hits really stand out. inutile's tragic moments wouldn't be as effective if there weren't fun jokes or levity interspersed in between

that said you need to know when to stop adding shit. only put things in that you think you have a reasonable time to address fully and completely. you will learn this the hard way one day and i cannot teach this or stop you from making this mistake. i learned this mistake writing homestuck fanfiction when i was 13. but in my defense it's really easy to go overboard with homestuck fanfiction

panic because i'm like 90% of the way through and tired of it and start doubting whether the story was ever good at all and if this was wasted time

finish it. celebrate. wait like two months

reread my own work and say "this is sick as hell"

(if this is original work, this is where you start editing it. this is a different beast. i will not elaborate here. fanfiction is for fun and is at the same level as my original fiction drafts. on a rewrite everything will be more polished and purposeful)

repeat forever and ever as long as there are stories to tell

also. this one is just me because it's how my brain works. but ideally i work on two/three longform projects at once, so that when i get tired of working on one my brain will go "ooh shiny" and latch onto one of the other ones effortlessly. if you have adhd this will either work for you perfectly or it will ruin your life

[satuguro]

✧˖°. SCREAM M. LIST

𐙚 ── ETHAN LANDRY

SFW.

20/20 VISION

s. you have no gag reflex, ethan tells a sex joke, and ethan takes a leap of faith.

c. based off of see you again by tyler the creator ft. kali uchis, best friends to lovers, mutual pining. jealousy, emetophobia, fluff

NSFW.

PUT ON A SHOW!

s. ethan really needs to stop thinking about you during his private sessions.

c. porn star au, anal play, toys, voyeurism, sub! ethan, mommy kink, degradation/praise, dacryphilia, reader is mean, this is filthy i mean it, brief mention of porn star! chad

SPIT ON IT

s. ethan just really likes getting eaten out.

c. sub! ethan, dom! reader, anal play, analingus, mommy kink, degradation/praise, dacryphilia, begging, mild impact play

KEEP IT DOWN LOW

s. ethan needs to stop talking to chad and start paying attention to you.

c. mild degradation, spit, oral (m. receiving), exhibitionism, sub! ethan, mild mommy kink

A LEARNING EXPERIENCE

s. chad teaches you and ethan how to pleasure each other.

c. dom! chad, inexperienced! switch! reader, inexperienced! sub! ethan, mild daddy/mommy kink, oral, dacryphilia, choking, degradation/praise, cum swapping (?), spit, mxm

MORE FUN WITH THREE!

s. nsfw/sfw head canons about dating ethan and chad.

c. (sfw) domesticity, slight angst, comfort, overall fluff; (nsfw) daddy/mommy kink, degradation, praise

SERIES.

TO FAULT A NET

you live a different life under a mask. known as the infamous black cat, you live a peaceful life of burglary and theft at night, and an equally peaceful life in blackmore university. but when a red and blue hero tries to stop you on another one of your heists, you find yourself making a deal with him to get him off your back; find and apprehend the ghostface killer, and you never have to see spider-man again.

c. spider-man! ethan landry, black cat! reader, enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, gore, blood, murder, death, sexual/suggestive content

act i ── [ keep your friends close ]

act ii ── [ a question of morality ]

act iii ── [ curiosity and the cat ]

act iv ── [ reap what you sow ]

act v ── [ he is what he hides ]

epilogue ── [ ... and keep your enemies closer ]

↳ RELATED WORKS

INTERLUDE I: SOMETHING ABOUT YOU

s. while being at a party to protect your friends, you meet an unexpected visitor.

c. fluff, pining

WITHIN THE ALLEYS

s. nsfw hcs for spider-man! ethan landry and black cat! reader

c. degradation/praise, angry sex, masked sex, exhibitionism, switch! reader, switch! ethan, dumbification

BLUE MONDAY [ HIATUS ]

richie landry has gotten away with everything. his brother, ethan knows this first hand after suspecting him of a murder that occurred in their hometown years ago. stumbling across a dead body in his brother's room with you only makes ethan even more confident in his goal; kill his brother, stop the murders.

act i ── [ a helping hand ]

act ii ── [ unwillingly bound ]

act iii ── [ knowing, wanting ]

𐙚 ── CHAD MEEKS-MARTIN

NSFW.

A LEARNING EXPERIENCE

s. chad teaches you and ethan how to pleasure each other.

c. dom! chad, inexperienced! switch! reader, inexperienced! sub! ethan, mild daddy/mommy kink, oral, dacryphilia, choking, degradation/praise, cum swapping, spit, mxm

MORE FUN WITH THREE!

s. nsfw/sfw head canons about dating ethan and chad.

c. (sfw) domesticity, slight angst, comfort, overall fluff; (nsfw) daddy/mommy kink, degradation, praise

© ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO SATUGURO. do not steal, repost, plagiarize, translate, or use my work for anything.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 41 – FRIENDSHIP

RHODEY & TONY

Emergency Contact by whumphoarder

Pairing: Rhodey & Tony Rating: G Words: 4,042 Tags: MIT Era, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Tony

Summary: It’s not that James disliked his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot. Or, in which fifteen-year-old college freshman Tony Stark needs a ride to the ER and James Rhodes is too responsible for his own good.

Reasons why I love it: This fic feels incredibly real to me – like, if Tony and Rhodey were real people, this is how their friendship would've started. I love that we get to see the beginnings of Rhodey's affection for Tony and that they have this sort of brotherly dynamic between them. It's amazing, and I hope you go and read it for yourself!

Deposit Security by Reioka

Pairing: Rhodey & Tony Rating: G Words: 3,366 Tags: Mentions of Abuse, MIT Era, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Tony's always been a little weirdo. Jim likes him anyway.

Reasons why I love it: Rhodey is so patient and kind with Tony, is really great to see. And I loved that glimpse into Rhodey's family life and how Rhodey's mom practically adopts Tony on the spot. It's super sweet, even though Tony's struggle breaks my heart. This fic is amazing, and you should definitely read it!

fly so free (smile down on all you see) by orphan_account

Pairing: Rhodey & Tony, Tony & Peter Rating: G Words: 2,041 Tags: Domestic Fluff, Italian Tony, Tony Acting as Peter's Parental Figure

Summary: Rhodes finds a file in FRIDAY’s databases titled “Tony, Face It: He’s Got You Wrapped Around His Little Finger”, created by someone called May Parker. Of course, he investigates.

Reasons why I love it: The last line of this fic always makes me grin like an idiot. I really love the way FRIDAY teases Rhodey here, their dialogue is super fun. And of course, I'm always a sucker for Irondad, so Tony and Peter being adorable together makes me beyond happy. You should give this one a read, it's wonderful!

Don't Overthink It by Potrix

Pairing: Rhodey & Tony, Bucky/Tony Rating: T Words: 1,883 Tags: Protective Rhodey, Misunderstandings, First Kiss

Summary: Now, Jim is about as straight as a person can be—tested a couple of times by drunkenly making out with his best friend, which Tony loves to bring up whenever it’s really inappropriate to do so—but he has no problem admitting that, objectively speaking, Barnes is an attractive guy. He’s got that whole gruff, frowny, bad boy thing a lot of people are into going on, but whenever he actually does smile, it’s devastating. One time, Jim had seen a girl on the street do a double-take and nearly walk into a magazine stand after Barnes had smiled at one of Tony’s dumb jokes. Or, alternatively; Rhodey means well, meddles, and actually sort-of-kind-of ends up helping in the end.

Reasons why I love it: Aaah, meddling Rhodey, my beloved! His concern for Tony's well-being is so sweet, and I love how he has Tony's back without ever intending to mention it to him. Also, the background Winteriron romance is adorable, they're such dorks in love. Please go and check this one out if you haven't, it's amazing!

Interlude by icarus_chained

Pairing: Rhodey & Tony, Natasha & Tony Rating: G Words: 1,830 Tags: Fluff, Team Dynamics, Rest

Summary: After 48 hours of drawn out global action on behalf of the Avengers and SHIELD, Tony and Rhodey come aboard the Helicarrier for debrief and downtime. People are tired and frazzled, and slighly more unguarded than usual.

Reasons why I love it: This is such a sweet look at the team behind closed doors. I especially loved the banter between Rhodey, Tony and Fury, and how this truly feels like a deleted post-battle scene. Plus, that little sincere Rhodey-Tony moment at the end there made me super happy. I love this one, and I bet you will too!

[killerlookz]

writing prompts / and or titles except they're just lyrics from songs i like

not really a sincere prompt list and honestly more for my own keeping, but hey if anyone wants to take them go right ahead! songs linked for spotify ^_^

Angst/Hurt:

i know someday you'll have a beautiful life, i know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky, but why can't it be mine? black- pearl jam

"day by day, i'm slowly replaced in your picture frames, a brand new face on your pillowcase." white noise- pvris

"since i've been gone, i hear you've been crying, you cry a thousand tears, darling don't despair" blood and tears- danzig

"i'm different with you, you're better than what im used to." mumble- whirr

"i get on the train and i just stand about now that i don't think of you." black star- radiohead

"let me go you can't hold on to ghosts." girls just want to have fun- bladee

"don't sink in me with your dog teeth." god's country- ethel cain

"see you're just wasted and thinking about the past again, darling you'll be okay." hold on 'til may- pierce the veil

"i've got his ache inside my heart, i know that it's you, what should i do now that i know that we're doomed?" ghost- sky ferreria

"my dear take what you want from me, i'll give you anything, just don't leave me on my own." my dear- new years day

"she's got a boyfriend anyway." sex- the 1975

"i guess i needed you more than i thought, but you don't think i'll feel it too." are you in the mood?- bay faction

Fluff/Comfort

"can you leave me breathless? make me wonder why i ache for your love?" sunspot- dottie

"in a moment nothing's wrong, no stress no worries, i'd stay forever if i could." i'd stay forever- whither

"good men die too, so i'd rather be with you." crush- ethel cain

"you can do no wrong, in my eyes." hearing damage- thom yorke

"everything is doomed, and nothing will be spared, but i love you, honeybear." i love you, honeybear- father john misty

"the end is unknown but i think i'm ready as long as you're with me, being as in love with you as i am." angels- the xx

"if you follow me, i will follow you to the unknown." apollo 13- the tears

"anything to make you smile, it is the better side of me to admire." no one's gonna love you- band of horses

"you'll always be my favorite obsession, i'm so sorry for confessing and i don't want to wait cause you know i feel the same." my obsession- pale waves

"at night i pray to god you're good to me, i want your bliss on bliss, a little company." bliss- yung lean

"on and on, like you were my first love, we could just runaway- not tell anybody." striptease- car wash

Smut

"why don't you show me the little bit of spine you've been saving for his mattress?i only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me." dance, dance- fall out boy

"go on give me one more taste, can't tell you how much i love the strain." show me the real you- moodring

"her lipstick stays like acid rain, resolving away my sense of restraint." wasp- motionless in white

"now to calm me, take me around again, don't pull over, this time won't you please drive faster." passenger- deftones

"not really into kisses leading into nothing." kiss land- the weeknd

"baby if it feels good, then it can't be bad." gibson girl- ethel cain

"i miss the way you say my name, the way you bend, the way you break, your makeup running down your face, the way you fuck, the way you taste." the death of peace of mind- bad omens

"i want it dirty with the lights on, filthy, vile, and obscene, i wanna show you what a bitch i can be." hatefuck- motionless in white

"you say you're a good girl, i say you're a liar. how could such a good girl love a vampire? kisses aren't enough, i want to bite through you." your favorite dress- lil peep/lil tracy

"scratching counter top is was screaming, my back arched like a cat, my position couldn't stop, you were hitting it." stargirl interlude- the weeknd/lana del rey

"i want to make a movie, so let's star in it together." this is hardcore- pulp

"you're so sweet; your smile, your pussy, and your bones. you're on fire you move me like music with your style." MX- deftones

Dark

"he is the lamb, she is the slaughter." sic transit gloria... fade out- brand new

"say that the night sing alone, and if there's a god then i'm letting him go, all for you." chemical kids and mechanical brides- pierce the veil

"i love you so madly like sadie make, but i'm just a crazy bitch, crying in the kitchen to tammy wynette." tammy faye- nicole dollanganger

"and so he gets to die a saint, but she will always be a whore." the foundations of decay- my chemical romance

"i would die for you, i've been dying just to feel you by my side, to know that you're mine." #1 crush- garbage

"i fantasize about open wounds, allowing time just to dream them through.. rage is the itch im not scratching, i guess i'm over reacting." rolling out the red carpet- hail the sun

"now i can't see your face, i suffocate. because you're not around, i suffocate." suffocate- deer death

"i liked having hurt, so send the pain below, where i need it." send the pain below- chevelle

"call an optimist she's turing blue, such a lovely color for you." blue- a perfect circle

okay that's all for now if i think of more ill make anotha one!

[sparklepocalypse]

Is it okay to send the ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ask for three fics I adore?

Late Bloomer (the world building! mwah!)

Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come (such a sucker for Arthur in fics and this one hung the moon)

Single Sad-Sack Seeking Same (this fluff ate my heart with its charm)

Challenge ac-freaking-cepted -- I will absolutely word vomit some director's commentary about all three of these fics!

Since a good portion of this is going under a jump to spare folks a scroll: send me director's commentary requests on my fics! Other fics I've already rambled about for this ask game:

When I Met You (I Could Not Speak)

If We're Caught in a Wave (I Will Carry You Over)

Creative Differences

Let's start with Late Bloomer, which I was calling "unhinged Omegaverse" basically right up until I published it. This fic was born out of a really lively discussion in January with @duchessdepolignaca03 and @zwiazdziarka that spiraled into omegaverse tropes that do and don't scratch the brain nicely. One trope that we all sort of landed on as not great is the idea that a male omega is automatically hyperfeminized.

So then I decided -- well if there's one character in any fandom who's going to say, "fuck your secondary sex characteristic norms," it's probably Alex Claremont-Diaz. This percolated in my brain for a bit and eventually spawned a sort of reverse ugly duckling fic where Alex presents as an omega well after his peers and, therefore, also after he goes through puberty. Then he finds love in alpha Henry, who's also not the stereotypical brick shithouse alpha.

I knew I needed some sort of conflict because I didn't just want this to be porn (although it got super porny), so I decided the American medical system was just as terrible in the AU as it is in real life, and that America is just as terrible to omegas in this AU as it is to AFAB folks in real life. For example, the heat meds concept was inspired by the various forms of hormonal birth control on the market that are all intended to be taken by AFAB folks.

The other two fics under the jump!

Moving on to Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come! This is hands down my favorite thing I've written, and I'm so proud of it. This was originally supposed to be a cute little ficlet which probably would've only included the scene from Henry's early childhood, wherein he wishes for a best friend and finds one in a shrub on the Kensington Palace grounds.

However, Mother Nature had other plans: we got hit by a bomb cyclone on the day I started writing this, and then we lost power for a solid week. For the first couple of days of the power outage, I was charging my iPad with my car, and then we got hold of a generator so I was charging my iPad with that, and it's probably the only reason I remained relatively sane.

Once I got past the scene where Henry is eight and Alex is seven, I found myself adding more interludes as Henry grew up, and knew that Arthur would have to be a large part of it. Henry canonically thinks his dad hung the moon, so I had to make him the best dad ever.

Alex developing a bond with Arthur wasn't something I ever set out to write, but it naturally happened as I continued working on the story. It allowed Alex to understand the depth of Henry's grief and feel it for himself, which made a world of difference in how things ended.

Finally, Single Sad-Sack Seeking Same: this was my "oh shit, Valentine's Day is this week" fic. And, listen. I'm really bad at fluff, generally speaking. I need there to be a depth of emotion in my writing that I can't really access when it's just fluff, so I knew I'd have to make either Henry or Alex go through it.

Which is, of course, why the fic starts with Alex losing his coffee and getting soaked by NYC winter road slush, and then delves into the hardships faced by the clients from the LGBTQ+ youth center with whom both he and Henry work.

Really, my favorite part of this wasn't Henry and Alex themselves, but Pez doing his best Billy Porter and fabulous godmothering these two idiots into love.

[thepaintedlady00]

Nightshade

Chapter 19 | Chapter 21

Chapter 20: Interlude - The Saint

TW: some fluff, our idiots are reflecting on their big feelings, Lena remembers the important thing she was supposed to be doing last chapter, angst, shouting, lots of blame getting passed around and everyone's sayin shit they don't mean, cruel words, grief, flashbacks, heartwarming advice, and reassurance, big hugs and make ups. I'm SO sorry that this chapter (and next) are so late! Life just got absolutely insane and I had to restructure and rewrite a ton of this chapter so it kept getting put off. But, she's here! I'm still not 100% happy with it, but I'm not gonna let my perfectionism rob y'all of a chapter for another month! Chapter 21 should be following tomorrow or the day after if life decided to let me breathe for five minutes! Thank y'all so much for your patience! Enjoy!

Jack Harrow was a man of many talents. He could throw a punch that would send his opponent to the floor like they'd been hit by a goddamn bus. He could take a hit too, straight to the face like it was nothing. He was an artist at cutting hair and taking care of stray animals as well as stray kids. He was a decent singer with a surprisingly smooth voice - a fact you'd never know about him if you'd only heard the slew of curses he knew. And Jack was quite the cook, in his mind at least.

Jack Harrow was a man of many talents. He was a fighter, a barman, a son, a lover, a father, and then he was dead.

It didn't hurt in the end, and it was quick enough that he hadn't caused too much hassle for those around him. He'd felt it coming, that quiet cold that seemed to numb him, and so he'd watched his beautiful daughter dote on him one last time, talking at length about how his boys would be there soon with a movie for him to watch. Ghostbusters. His favorite. Jack waited until Ozzy came - he'd wanted to wait for his boy too, but deep down, he knew there wasn't time for that - so, giving the man he loved one last kiss before the cold really hit him, Jack accepted his fate.

He forced his stiff fingers to uncurl around his jacket, holding it out to his baby with a smile. "Keep an eye on this for me?" She started to protest. "Just for a bit."

She slid it on, a smile on her lips as he nodded at her. "Badasses get the jacket."

"That they do." He was going to miss that smile. "Hey, badass, mind running to the cafeteria and grabbing me some gruel?"

"Course," she answered, pressing a kiss to his head. "Be right back."

The cold had numbered his limbs by the time she'd vanished. Jack could hardly even feel Ozzy's hand in his anymore. With all that strength, he squeezed Oz's hand and looked up at him with tearful eyes and wheezing breaths. His love instantly started trying to fix it. "What do you need? I can… I… I'll call in one of the nurses."

"Ain't nothin' they can do now." Jack smiled. "I love you, Oz. I've always loved you."

The man shushed him, hands shifting from holding his to pressing the call button on his bed. "Don't. Don't you dare start talking like that."

Jack just continued. "Tell the boys… Tell them… Tell all of them I love ‘em. Keep 'em safe for me, especially our girl."

"Jack-"

He squeezed harder. "You'll tell them, won't you?"

All Ozzy could do was nod, sniffling as he fought the tears in his eyes. "Nurse! NURSE!"

Death is different for everyone. It's one of the few cosmic laws that never bends but always greets you with warmth. As Jack Harrow closed his eyes, letting the cold take him entirely, the last thing he felt was the love of his life touching him. As Jack died, the sound of the hospital machines faded, replaced by the sounds of the alley between The Ring and Ozzy's Pub. 

He could smell the old leather and the cigarettes and the booze, but more importantly, Jack could feel the warmth of Ozzy tucked beneath his arm. They sat together in their little alley - their little pocket between two opposing worlds - and they just existed. Together. Like it was always meant to be.

Jack Harrow was a man of many talents. And, in the grand scheme of things, one could say he was quite good at dying.

*

I always loved the early morning. The soft glow of the rising sun over the city made everything shine. It made everything and everyone look so clean and happy. New York City was chaotic, loud, and demanding, but somehow, those mornings always felt peaceful.

The faint smell of the food trucks by my apartment was usually what woke me each morning. It was almost always hot dogs or a bagel cart or two, but today, it was Chinese food. Today it was the distant sounds of the city - sounds that were familiar but also new - and the very abrupt lick to the underside of my foot by a scratchy cat tongue.

Fleeing the wet tongue, I curled into the solid warmth that was wrapped around me. I opened my eyes, blinking until the haze cleared from my vision, revealing the soft face and gentle ocean eyes staring down at me. Jake.

Even as my head throbbed, the memories of last night swirling through my mind and bringing me a feeling of bliss, I smiled. My eyes drifted closed again, savoring the feeling of his arms around me, his hands caressing my skin, the softness of his bed, and the light smell of his cologne. When I opened my eyes again, he was smiling too - that thin one, the tiniest hint of genuine joy that he almost never let me, or anyone, see. "Hi." 

Jake laughed, a low, still tired sound that made my heart skip a beat. "Hi." He lifted his hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and his smile widened, not smug, proud, or teasing… Real as he repeated the word. "Hi."

I couldn't help but giggle. The blissful feeling quickly shifted into an odd but good feeling. As I moved my hand to cup his cheek, idly tapping my fingers against his skin, I realized what it was. I was happy. I was happy with Jake. Closing my eyes again, letting myself lean into that feeling, holding onto it for as long as I could, I pressed my lips to his.

We'd shared a lot of kisses. Lustful and heated, harsh and demanding, soft and meaningful. This one was one I hadn't expected. It was a kiss that held a touch of sleep and dreams, a gentle, patient, and simple thing. This was a lover's kiss, an embrace in soft blankets, and surrounded by that sunrise glow that I loved so much. When it was over, and I was met with his adoring gaze, all I could do was whisper that simple word again. "Hi."

"How's your head feeling?" He asked, seeming to shake himself of whatever vulnerable, tired thoughts he'd been thinking. The usual flirtatious gleam returned to his eyes as he lifted his fingers to my temple, pressing lightly. "Figured you'd have one hell of a hangover."

"It's not that bad," I assured him. In this light, I could see the slight flush on his cheeks. In this light, it was very hard to remind myself that this was my friend Jake and not my lover. "Sorry about that, by the way."

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders or trying to as best he could while lying on his side. "Don't worry about it, princess. You're a pretty fun drunk."

Rolling my eyes, I scoffed at him. "You're just saying that 'cause I basically threw myself at you."

"That did give me quite the ego boost," he admitted with a grin. "But, it was a good night."

With my cheek pressed against his pillow and the feel of his arms around me, I smiled. "It was a really good night."

I could see the way he instantly wanted to respond with something witty and smug, but Jake forced the sides of his mouth down and nodded. "So… I… What now?"

"You seem flustered." Grinning ear to ear, I sat up in exaggerated shock. With a fake gasp, I looked down at him. "Am I your first?"

Jake laughed, carefully sitting up and unintentionally - or very intentionally - pulling me into his chest. "Don't let it go to your head, princess."

"So I am your first. That's cute of you."

"I've had plenty of women spend the night," he finally replied. "I'm just not used to them staying for breakfast the next day."

Bumping our noses together, I used the swell of pride and elation to fuel my teasing. "What makes you think I'm staying for breakfast?"

His brows rose as his hands settled on my hips. "You're still here, aren't you?"

"Oh, come on, pretty boy! You gotta ask me properly."

Normally, Jake would have resisted a little, but today, he just nodded. "Lena, would you like to stay for breakfast?"

I hummed, pretending to think it over when really I just liked hearing him ask me to stay. "I'd love to."

For a second - one incredibly long and intimate second - it seemed like Jake was going to kiss me. A kiss that we both knew would unravel whatever tiny thread of self-control both of us still possessed on the ever-growing desire to lose ourselves in each other. His hands squeezed my hips, and then he carefully pushed me back and slid off his bed. "I, uh, don't know what I have that's edible."

Ignoring the slight burn of disappointment that filled my chest, I inched closer to the edge of the bed. Whisky emerged from the pile of blankets and slid into my lap, purring as I scratched his chin. "Got stuff for shitty eggs?"

"Careful, my version of shitty eggs is actually shitty."

"If I can survive Patrick's attempt at eggs, I'm sure I can survive yours," I assured him, carefully moving Whisky off my lap to stand up. Jake's gaze instantly drifted, eyes lazily rolling down my body. My heart stammered, and my face felt hot. Stupid, I told myself. He'd seen me naked before, and here I was, getting flustered by his eyes. With a soft clearing of my throat, I gestured towards the bathroom. "I'm gonna get dressed."

Jake nodded, scratching the back of his head and turning to his kitchen. "You can shower if you need to. What's mine is yours."

The words sent a shiver up my spine. What's mine is yours. It was platonic. It was him being a good friend. No matter what I told myself, the weight of what I felt… Of what I knew, he felt too, made it impossible to keep those words from meaning too much. "Thanks."

The bathroom provided me with a moment of privacy - a moment I used to stare at myself in the mirror, or rather stare at the new marks that littered my skin. I carefully touched each hickey and faded bite mark, my mind remembering how they all got there.

It had been a long time since I'd seen my neck constantly covered in love bites. One-night stands usually didn't leave any lasting marks, and Sam had always been too gentle to bite. Jake was different, though. He touched me like he was desperate… Starved. He was rough, but in a way that made me feel completely and utterly wanted. The energy Jake brought to intimate moments was electric, addictive, and attentive. I never knew what to expect with him, yet I always knew I would enjoy myself.

I always knew I was safe.

There, in Jake's bathroom, staring at myself in his mirror, I let myself fall. I wanted to be with him. Not just in some wild night of impulsive pleasure… But in everything else. I wanted to sleep in his bed with him. I wanted to eat whatever shitty breakfast he cooked up in the morning. I wanted to play with the cat. I wanted to hold his hand and kiss him without sneaking off. I wanted Jake. Every part of him.

With a deep breath, I let that fuzzy feeling consume me. I put my pants and shoes on, stuffing my shirt in Jake's dirty laundry hamper in favor of wearing his t-shirt for a little longer. Then I combed my fingers through my unruly hair and pointed at myself in that mirror. "You're gonna talk to him. You're gonna be honest, and you're gonna talk to him!"

Once I emerged from the bathroom, now filled with a determined fuzzy feeling, I made my way to the kitchen, where Jake was still shirtless, rummaging through his cupboards. Adorable, I thought with a happy smile. Now or never… My fingers tingled as the slightly nervous but still good feeling really started to take root in my chest.  Jake smiled at me before he turned and opened his fridge. "I don't think I've got any eggs. Or… Well, anything really."

"I'm sure a man of your talents can figure something out." I caught his smirk before I ducked my head back down and nervously fished my phone out of my bag, a last-ditch effort to prolong the conversation we both knew was well overdue. "We could always go out somewhere too. I'm not picky."

The first thing I noticed as I turned my phone back on was the insane amount of missed calls and messages. What the fuck? The second thing I noticed was the time and the date.

9:10. November 20th.

My heart stopped, and all the good fuzzy feelings drained from my body. All that nervous excitement about breakfast… About the conversation I'd planned to have with Jake… All of it was replaced by a deep, dark guilt. No… I tried to deny it. That can't be… it… With trembling fingers, I opened the messages.

Hey, we just got here. You and Oz running late? Peter.

Bring a think of that whisky dad liked. Patrick.

Are you on your way?

Lee, where are you?

It's been an hour. Are you and Ozzy alright?

Missed call.

Missed call.

Lena, answer your phone.

Missed call.

Lena?

Missed call.

Lena.

Lena.

Lena.

"Lena?"

"Oh god," I mumbled as my eyes stung. My hands locked around the damn phone. How the fuck did I forget? Why… Why wasn't I there?

Jake closed his fridge door, making me jump and look up at him in shock. His eyebrows furrowed, those blue eyes dancing over my face with concern. "Hey, you okay?"

And then it all came crashing down. The reason I'd forgotten about the family visit… The reason I'd forgotten to keep an eye on the time… The reason I'd forgotten the anniversary of my father's death. Jake. I'd been with Jake. I'd gotten so lost in him and that feeling of safety, warmth, and fun.

"I forgot," I whimpered. Seeing the confusion play on his face, I reached forward grabbed my bag, and turned to leave. "I… forgot."

"What?" He asked, head tilting as he moved closer. "Lena, wait!"

My feet didn't stop, not as Jake called out after me as I hurried down the stairs and out the front door, not as the harsh wave of passing bodies swept me into the crowd of people, and not when the tears started to spill down my cheeks.

Crying silently in a crowded place was a talent, one I'd mastered years ago, but it never felt any better than it did to cry loudly in silence. In both scenarios, you're alone. In both scenarios, your only choice is to keep walking forward. The tears weren't even the worst part. The guilt that now consumed my chest was smothering… Forcing my body into an old state of panicked breathlessness.

I'd forgotten about the anniversary of my dad's death… I'd forgotten about everything else. Everything except Jake and that fuzzy, warm, stupid feeling that I got whenever I was with him. Last night, a night that was supposed to be solemn and focused on the life my father led, was instead made all about me. 

It was a good night. I closed my eyes for a moment, hints of those feelings simmering inside me as I continued to walk. It was such a good night. Too good of a night. The sounds of the city faded away, replaced by the faint but steady noise of a flatlined heart.

Dad's leather jacket cocooned around me as I carried the small tray of food up from the cafeteria. The smell of his strong cologne made the sterile hospital less frightening and made me feel safe. Dad was here. Nothing bad was gonna happen.

Ozzy stood outside the door, a cold, void look on his face as he stared into the distance. I knew what that look meant… I'd looked that way before. But, there, with that leather jacket and that idiotic sense of hope, I refused to acknowledge it. Oz pulled himself out of it as I neared, moving to stop me with a gentle hand. "They ask you to wait outside?"

"Lena… He…" A sob tore through Ozzy's throat as he shook his head. "He's gone."

A forced laugh filled my lungs as I shook my head, ignoring the way I instantly knew he was telling the truth. Ignoring the way I knew in my bones, my dad was dead. "No. No, he's fine. I was just with him."

Oz's face tightened with pain. "Oh, my girl…"

"I was just with him," I repeated as my hands went numb and tears started to fill my eyes. "I…"

I brushed past him and walked forward to the door, where everything faded at the sight of my father lying on the hospital bed. His eyes were closed, chest exposed, and covered with those paddles as the doctors shouted at each other. My hands went numb, the tray falling from my grip as the sight of that flat green line forced my brain to acknowledge what had happened.

My dad was dead. "No." I bit out, desperate fear and bitter anger digging up more memories… Forcing me to relive another loss. "Dad…" I could feel phantom blood on my hands and hear echoes of the gunshot. I could see lifeless eyes looking up at me. "Get up."

Ozzy's arms wound around me as my quiet words turned into desperate and harsh sobs. "I've got you, my girl."

"Dad, please get up!" I screamed, pounding on the door the doctors had closed. "Get up!"

I still need you, I wanted to tell him. We all need you. 

There on the hospital floor, Ozzy held me tight as I fell apart. That day, I walked out of the hospital with nothing left of my dad… Just that leather jacket.

I knew my feet would carry me home. But what I didn't know was just what to expect when I got there. The Ring was closed, the lights off, and no one moved around the gym as I went to the back door and entered. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that made every part of me want to run away.

When I opened the apartment door, Patrick was the first one I noticed. He held a hammer, using it to fix one of the cabinet doors, as he glared at me. Peter stood up from his seat, his entire face draining of worry as he gave me a quick hug. "Where the hell were you? We were scared shitless thinking you were in trouble."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, dropping my bag onto the edge of the table. "I'm sorry. I… I just lost track of the time and…"

Patrick's face remained cold and hardened as he set his tools down and turned. "Where were you?"

Peter recognized that look. He recognized that feeling of static fire that filled the air between us. He'd felt it a hundred times by now… Felt it right before Patrick and I fought. "Pat…"

"No." His voice sent my hair standing on end. Every fiber of my being instantly reminded of that fucking penthouse… Of the way, Patrick was bigger than me… Stronger than me… Of the way, in moments like this, he reminded me of Tony. "Where were you, Lena?"

My heart pounded, the voice saying the words twisted. Half my brother and half him. Anger curled inside me. The ugliest… Deepest anger. "What does it fucking matter?"

Patrick's hand slammed down onto the table. "What was so goddamn important that you forgot about our dad?"

"It's none of your fucking business!"

"Like hell it isn't!" Peter was on his feet now, standing between us, eyes closed and tears pouring down his cheeks. "FUCKING TELL ME!"

"I DON'T OWE YOU A GODDAMN THING!" I screamed.

Patrick's eyes were wide. They were filled with his own traumatic past… With his own anger that was just as ugly and deep as mine. "You're so fucking selfish." Stop. "Nothing fucking matters to you." Shut up. "Not me. Not Oz. Not Pete. Not even our fucking dad."

All my anger boiled over, and my mouth opened, speaking the words I knew would strike deepest. "He isn't even your dad! You aren't even part of the family!"

Patrick didn't skip a beat in returning the sentiment. "I'm more part of this family than you are. You were hardly even here, and when you were, everyone couldn't stand you!"

Peter shoved us both back. "Stop! Both of you!"

"We all would've been better off if you'd never come back."

My heart stopped. My vision blurred as Tony's words echoed in my mind. "All you offer anyone is problems, stress… Trouble. They're all better off without you. And you know it."

Tears were shimmering in both our eyes as the reality of what we'd said dawned on us. I could see regret in Patrick's eyes… I could see that he hadn't meant the words he said… Just as he could see I hadn't meant mine. But we said nothing. Stuck in our hurt and our pride. Peter's voice was nothing but a dull background noise as I grabbed my bag and left the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

Hands trembling and my breath trapped in my chest, I walked, now unsure of where my feet would take me. I couldn't go home. I couldn't go to Jake. I was alone. And maybe I deserved to be.

I wandered the streets for what felt like hours before I finally stopped in front of the rundown hotel. Sliding through the hole in the fence and carefully maneuvered around the glass to stand at the bar. The smooth wood felt cold beneath my fingers as they sought out the neatly carved initials at the edge. J.H. Good ol Jack Harrow. The man… The father I'd forgotten about on the one day set aside to remember him properly.

Maybe it was stupid to be so distraught over one day, but the ache remained all the same. No matter what I told myself, I still felt horrible. Guilty. Selfish. Years of self-loathing and years of being told I was nothing but a selfish waste of space caught up with me. 

My dad had been the first to make me believe I was something. He was the first person that loved me, even when I was at my lowest. And I'd forgotten him. Deep down, I knew he wouldn't be mad at me for it. But that knowledge only seemed to make me feel worse.

Howard called and texted a few times as my shift start came and went, but all I could do was stare at the phone. The silence was one filled with ghosts, and I was content to sit there and wallow in the memory of them all. But, glass crunched beneath someone's shoe, forcing me to turn.

Mr. Hiragana bowed slowly, eyes taking in the damaged space for a moment before he came to stand beside me. "Apologies, I did not intend to startle you."

"It's alright," I told him. "I… What are you doing here?"

"I came with some inspectors to get a better idea of what needed to be done to turn this place into a restaurant worthy of your name." He smiled, head turning slightly to the three other people now roaming about the rubble. "I intended to call you, but it seems that is no longer necessary."

Moving to leave, I answered, "I can go if you need the place to yourself."

Mr. Hiragana chuckled and shook his head. "That is hardly necessary. Besides, it's been a long time since we've sat at a bar together and spoke."

I laughed halfheartedly. "It has been a while."

"You seem troubled," he said quietly. "Is there anything I can do?"

Shaking my head, I blinked back tears. "No. I… This is my own mistake. One I'll have to fix myself."

"Mistakes are often the stones that lead to better paths." He smiled, leaning in as if it were some secret. "That is why we must make so many in our short lives."

"What if the mistake is a really big one?"

"Then the end destination will surely be a beautiful one." He looked at the bar, eyes scanning the surrounding area with a humble nod. "This is the place your father chose, is it not?"

My fingers curled around the chain link fence as I stared between the metal at the grand building in front of me. Even with the missing windows and broken glass, I couldn't look away from the gorgeous place as it shimmered in the sunlight. "It's beautiful."

"This dump?" Dad replied, earning a swift elbow from Ozzy. "I mean… Yeah… Beautiful."

Turning, I looked up at him. "Are they gonna make it into something new?"

Dad shrugged, looking at the abandoned hotel. "They'll probably tear it down and build a parking lot."

"What?"

Oz shook his head. "He doesn't know that for sure, dear."

"Why are you so invested in some trash hotel anyway?"

Looking back, I shrugged. "I dunno. I just… Like it."

Dad bent down, scooping me up and lifting me over the fence. "Let's go check it out then!"

"Dad!"

"Jack!"

As I landed on my feet now on the opposite side of the fence, I looked up at the two older men as my dad saddled the fence, ready to join me. He extended a hand to Ozzy and winked. "Oh, come on, Oz. It'll be fun!"

Ozzy shook his head but climbed over with us. "You two are troublemakers!"

The building was full of old posters and sleeping bags from whoever had been squatting here, but all I saw was the chandelier and the crown molding. Potential. "Wow! Can you imagine what it looked like before?"

"That's boring," Dad insisted. "What do you see it as in your head?"

"A restaurant," I answered with a smile. "My restaurant."

Ozzy gave Dad a look before he bent over and asked, "Do you really enjoy that sort of thing?"

"What sort of thing?"

"The cookin' your aunt always has you doin'." Dad patted my head. "That whole restaurant she's stuffed you in."

I thought for a moment, reflecting on the conflicting feelings of Aunt Maddie's harshness and the actual cooking. "I like to cook. It's simple. I… I don't have to think about anything else."

With a nod, Dad smiled again. "A restaurant then. Yours. What you gonna call it?"

"Nishikigoi."

Ozzy laughed. "In English, dear."

"It's the word for koi fish." I scratched my head. "At least, I think it is. That's what the big fish said last time."

"Should I be worried about all this fish talk?" Dad asked, hoisting me up. "You're not gonna turn into some seabass, are ya?"

Giggling, I shook my head. "Not in this life."

Dad nodded to the elevator doors, urging Oxygen to follow us. "Come on, let's see if these work."

"Jack, no!" Ozzy hollered.

I nodded, sadly staring at the initials. "Yeah, it is."

"It is a very good place. Full of positive energy. I will take great joy in seeing you and your colleagues bring out its full potential." Mr. Hiragana bowed his head, settling a hand over my dad's initials in the wood. "He would as well."

"I miss him." Tears finally rolled down my cheeks. "I miss him so much, and yet… I find myself forgetting him. His smile. His voice. The way he laughed."

The old man frowned. "Death takes the spirit. Time takes the body. But memory is something we hold inside us through even the darkest of times." His hand took hold of mine. "A love that deep never leaves us, not even in death. It is impossible for you to have forgotten him."

"How?"

"You carry him with you. His smile is your smile. His voice is your voice. His laugh is your laugh. Your father left you with everything you would ever need to remember him by."

I wiped the tears from my eyes and cleared my throat, bowing my head to him. "Thank you, my friend."

"It is always an honor to offer you my advice, little fish."

"Well, since we're both here, why don't I show you around?"

He smiled, taking my arm and walking with me as I led him through the old hotel. Mr. Hiragana listened to all the ideas I'd saved up for what we could do with it all. For an hour, the crushing weight of the guilt and the pain lessened. With the input of the man I'd met so long ago at a bar in Tokyo, it felt like my dad was standing beside me, arm draped over my shoulder, making his usual witty remarks.

Once I'd talked his ear off and the inspectors had finished, I bowed my head and bid Mr. Hiragana farewell. Back on the other side of the fence, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and finally checked the messages that had been steadily buzzing the last hour. My heart nearly stopped at the sight of four missed calls from Peter. One from Patrick and one from Jake. It all came back in a large wave that doused all Mr. Hiragana's words of wisdom.

Please answer the phone, Lee.

You know he didn't mean it.

Just… Be safe. Call someone, please?

Peter's messages made my throat clench. Guilt and pain and that stupid bitter sting of anger still sitting in my chest.

The next message was from Jake. It was short and simple and surprisingly not dripping with frustration or anger, which only made the guilt burn hotter. Hey, I just wanted to check-in. Sorry about earlier, if I said something or… You know. Call me if you need anything.

I leaned against the chain link fence in front of the hotel, pressing my hand to my still-aching head and desperately trying not to cry. The phone buzzed in my hand.

You sick or something? Scott.

Pull yourself together, I told myself quickly, replying to the cook's message. Or something. It's been a day.

Sounds shitty. Wanna talk about it or something?

Nope. I texted back quickly. I ran into Mr. Hiragana and his inspectors, though.

How'd that go?

Good. He approved all the plans and is contacting his guys to get it started.

Before he could reply, I shoved the phone in my pocket and started walking. Among the crowds of people and their constant idle noise, I could think clearly. My feet carried me, familiar with every path and, deep down, knowing exactly where to go even when I didn't. I wanted to go home. Wanted to curl up in that old, lumpy bed and disappear. But Patrick's voice still harshly rang in the back of my mind. 

I wiped the wetness from my eyes, scolding myself for nearly crying once again, and shook my head. Home wasn't an option right now. So, I kept walking. Walking and listening and avoiding… All the things I used to be so good at.

The orange hues of the setting sun painted Nana's diner in a golden glow. The tiny little building looked almost heaven-sent as I made my way across the street and through the front door. It was busy tonight. Tables full of bodies happily conversing and enjoying their meals as the old Arabic woman looked up over the counter and sadly smiled at me.

Nana opened her arms wide and swept me up into her embrace, kissing my head and lovingly smoothing her hands over my hair. "Oh, Habibi, how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," I answered, though I knew she'd hear the crack in my voice.

Pulling me back, she stroked my cheeks and swept me into a seat. "Sit, beautiful girl. Abdul and I will make you dinner."

As I sat in the noise of Nana's diner, I watched the people that came and went. Families, friends, lovers… There was no shortage of deep forged bonds staring back at me tonight. A great joke that made it impossible for me to forget what I'd missed and the angry words Patrick and I had exchanged. Nana served my food, setting the various plates down around me. "Have you seen Ozzy?"

She shook her head, then suddenly asked, "How was your night? I know it's a difficult day for all of you, but hopefully, your visit made it better."

I clenched my jaw, tears stinging in my eyes. Salt in the wound. I knew Nana didn't mean to remind me of my monumental fuck up. I knew she asked because she cared, but what was I supposed to say? It was amazing. I spent the whole night with Jake and completely forgot that it was the anniversary of Dad's death, so missed the family visit to his grave, and now everyone hates me. So I just shrugged. "It was okay."

Nana saw through me in an instant and gently set a hand on my head. "What is that brain of yours thinking?"

A hundred lies came to mind, each one just as likely to shift her focus as the last, but I said none of them. I was tired. So tired. "Am I a monster Nana?"

"What?" The old woman questioned, dropping to her knees in front of me. Her hand cupped my cheek as she shook her head. "You are no such thing! Not my silly, thoughtful, bright, good Lena!"

"What if all that's just a lie… A facade to hide what I really am?" Years built in my eyes as I averted my gaze. "What if no one really knows me?"

Nana's grip was gentle but firm as she forced me to look at her. "You listen to me. You are our Lena. My Lena. I have known you since you were in diapers. I have known you through your best and your worst. And I have loved you every moment." She smiled, that kind and gentle smile that warmed my heart a little. "You are no monster. No matter what that pesky brain of yours says."

All I could do was nod into her hands and sink into her warm, spiced embrace. The vicious thoughts - thoughts that Patrick's words had been true… That my mother had been right about me - quieted as Nana whispered her prayer into my hair. After a while, Abdul brought me plates of food, but I wasn't hungry. 

While I played with my food, the diner door opened, and Ozzy quietly walked inside. Nana let out a relieved breath and nodded in my direction. "You talk some sense into her, Oswald."

"Course I will." 

"Make sure she eats!"

He made his way to me, smiling sadly as he sat down. "You weren't at the grave last night."

"Rumor is you weren't either," I retorted with much more bite than intended.

He nodded, looking at his hands. "I wasn't."

After a moment of quiet between us, I asked, "Did you forget?"

His answer had the potential to ease my guilt. It didn't, though. Ozzy shook his head. "I remembered. Too much. Opened that damn box of loss and couldn't bring myself to do anything." He looked back up at me, eyes watery as he waited for my own truth to be spoken aloud.

"I forgot," I whispered. "I… I got distracted, and I…" Pressing my eyes shut as tight as I could, I scoffed at myself. "I had a good night."

Ozzy nodded, standing up and glancing over his shoulder at Nana. "I think it's time we both make amends. Take a bite of that food, or she'll be giving us both a good smack with her magazines." I did as he asked. "Good, now come on, dear."

Gathering my things, I followed him. "Where are we going?"

"To visit with the one person that can absolve us of our guilt."

The cab ride was quiet but not the kind I'd expected. I didn't feel at peace, and I didn't feel guilty. Instead, I was filled with an alarming sense of nothingness. I was filled with a dreaded sensation that had haunted me after I left the hospital. 

The graveyard was even more quiet. It was the revenant kind, though, the kind that made every step on dried leaves echo in the now chilly night air and dance among the dead. Both of us stopped in front of the worn tombstone, lined with fresh flowers and a few soggy cards. Patrick and Peter's gifts, no doubt. Ozzy sat down first, and I followed.

The ground was slightly wet, but neither of us cared as we looked at the name carved into the stone. There were so many things I wanted to say now that I was here, but it felt like each word was stuck in my throat. Ozzy didn't seem to have the same problem. He sighed, reaching out to touch the stone. "Hey, you big oaf. It's been a while." I could hear the sorrow in his voice. "Sorry I'm late. Don't worry, Patrick already gave me hell for it. Boy was downright hostile to me, and maybe I deserved it… The point is, I'm sorry. I just missed you so much that the thought of having to face the facts again was too much for me yesterday. I'm here now, though, and that's what matters."

Silence retook the graveyard. It was my turn to speak, and yet I had nothing. Ozzy's warm hand settled on my knee as I swallowed, separately trying to free the words in my throat. "He would've understood, you know."

"I know."

"Your dad loved you. More than anything. And there is nothing you could have done, now or then, to change that."

Shaking my head, I sobbed. "I forgot about him."

Ozzy's hand squeezed. "You didn't forget him, Lena. That's not possible, and we both know it."

"I-"

"You had a good night. You did things that made you happy… That made you forget about the pain and the sadness that his death stained that day with." With a chuckle, Ozzy shook his head. "You're allowed to live your life, love. He would've preferred it that way."

Looking into his misty eyes, I sniffled. "I know but… Why do I still feel so horrible?"

"Because death is hard." He closed his eyes and sighed. "It's angry and bitter and hard. Remembering or forgetting, it feels the same. So, feel it. Feel the pain and the anger. Feel the joy and the love. Feel it and then try to let it go. Try to let him go. That's all we can do while we exist in this world without him."

"Were you able to do that?" I asked. "Let him go?"

Oz shook his head. "No. I think in order to really do that, I need to find something to fill the home he left behind. And that… It's a very big hole." Turning to look at me, he smiled. "But you found something to do that. Or… Someone I should say."

Jake. "What makes you say that?"

"You let yourself let go. You let yourself feel and forget."

"I never really realized it back then, but I was really lucky," I finally said, tears still streaming down my cheeks. "Most people grow up with just one awesome dad… Sometimes, not even that. But I…" Looking up at him with a smile, I held his hand tighter. "I got two really good, really amazing dads."

He pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, and the two of us cried together. My fingers curled into his jacket as I whispered to him, "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, my dear girl." When he finally pulled away, wiping his nose, he stood, nodding to the tombstone. "I'll give the two of you a moment."

Once the sound of his footsteps faded, I sighed, watching my breath rise in the cold air. "Hey, old man. It's been a while... Too long." I stared at his name engraved in the stone, trying to picture his face instead. "I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday, I was... Things got..." I looked down at my jeans, picking at a loose string of fabric. The same jeans I'd been wearing yesterday. "So, there's this boy. He's a complete idiot and just the biggest asshole you'd ever meet. Seriously, he gives Patrick a run for his money sometimes." I laughed to myself, imagining that look he'd give me, telling me to keep going. "But, he makes me feel a lot of things. Good things. He... He makes me feel like I'm normal. Like I'm just me and that... That's beautiful. That I'm beautiful."

My chilled fingers brushed some dirt off his headstone. "He makes me forget, too. Sometimes when I'm with him, it feels like time doesn't exist." I glanced over my shoulder at Ozzy, who stood on the path waiting. "Is that how you felt with Oz? That warm, safe, forgetting? Is it normal to be so... Captivated by someone?"

With a sigh, I settled into my seat in the damp grass. This would be the moment he told me something very profound, something only he could come up with. But, now, all that I could hear was the wind in the trees. Next would come the incessant prying. Dad would want every detail, so, like it was some cosmic secret, I whispered, "His name's Jake, and I think you would've really liked him."

Once I'd finished and pressed my hand to his grave, I felt the weight lift off me. Gone. Truly gone this time. "Bye, Dad. I love you."

Ozzy placed his arm around my shoulder and kissed my head. "Ready to go?"

My eyes cast to the opposite side of the graveyard. "Actually… Would you mind if we visited someone else?"

"Of course not, my dear," he answered, turning down the path toward the person he knew I spoke of.

Clumps of hair swirled along the floor as the door opened. Rada froze in the doorway and looked at the scene with wide eyes. "Lisus."

With blurred vision, I turned my head and looked at her. "I cut it off… oh, oh god, I cut it all off!" My fingers dug into my scalp as the weightlessness of my impulsive rebellion faded, replaced now by terror. "They love my long hair. Tony… He hates short hair! They're going to be so mad I made myself look uglier!"

The maid's lips thinned as she tossed her supplies on the counter and quickly made her way to my side. I flinched as she raised her hand to my cheek, gently attempting to wipe away some of the smudges of charcoal. "How long has it been since you slept Lyubov?"

"I can't sleep," I replied quietly. "They said I needed to finish my pieces for the gala… I'm not good enough… They-"

"None of this," she interrupted, helping me to my feet and leading me up the stairs to the washroom. "Let us get you cleaned up and fix that beautiful hair, hmm?

Rada bathed me, using a soft sponge to clean the paint and charcoal off my face and hands and washing my butchered hair. She quietly assessed the damage and helped wrap me in a warm robe. She lovingly brushed through my hair, finding a pair of scissors and carefully, meticulously cutting to even it out. After a moment, she said, "Repeat after me. Ya krasivaya."

"Ya krasivaya." My voice was shaking from the effort it took to keep my tears at bay.

Rada nodded, smiling at me through the mirror. "Good. Now, ya sil'nyy."

"Ya sil'nyy." 

"Ya lyubim."

"Ta lyubim."

"Mne uzhe dostatochno."

"Mne uzhe dostatochno."

Smiling at me, she smoothed her hands over the now even, short bob. "There, beautiful as always."

"He's going to hate it…" I swallowed a lump in my throat. "I'm so stupid…"

Clicking her tongue, she shushed me. "Do you hate it?"

I looked in the mirror, examining the short, black hair. "I… I miss the red."

She wiped the tears from my eyes and kissed my head. "Then we'll let the red grow back out. You go rest now, Lyubov."

Shaking my head, I tried to protest. "I have to-"

"I will clean up the mess," Rada interrupted, shaking her brush at me. "And then I will pick out your pieces for your show."

"Rada-"

"My Lena," she whispered, taking hold of my face. "My sweet girl… Rest. Let Rada handle everything else."

As she turned to leave, I asked, "What did the words mean?"

Shaking her head, she clicked her tongue. "You'll understand them soon."

I am beautiful.

I am strong.

I am loved.

I am already enough.

With a deep breath, I looked down at the modest stone that marked her grave.  I pressed a kiss to the tombstone. "Ya lyublyu tebya, mama."

*

Home felt far better than it ever had as I entered the gym through the alley door. I let my fingers trail along the pictures on the wall and headed upstairs to the apartment, finally ready to face Patrick and make amends to both my brothers. When I opened the apartment door, all the noise on the other side died. Patrick stood, holding the garbage can, while Peter sat at the table next to Dom. And Jake stood off to the side, half leaning against my bedroom door. 

I wondered why they were here as I dropped my bag on the ground by the door. "I-"

Patrick practically threw the garbage can back into the corner as he twisted around the table and slammed into me. His arms held me tightly to him as if it were the most important thing he could ever do. "You know I didn't mean any of it, right?" He asked, his voice nearly turning into sobs. "I didn't mean it."

I buried my head into his neck. "I know. I didn't mean it either."

Patrick held me tighter. "I know."

We didn't move for a few minutes, both of us breathing heavy sighs of relief at the unspoken but heard apologies. My big brother pulled away first, taking my head in his large hands and blinking away tears. "I love you, little sister."

With a sniffling laugh, I replied, "I love you too, big brother."

Dom made his way past us, wordlessly offering me a pat on the head. Peter hugged me, kissing my head softly. "Don't disappear like that again. Please."

"I won't."

Eventually the two of them followed Dom downstairs to lock the doors, leaving Jake and I alone in the apartment. "Hi," I mumbled, slightly afraid he'd be pissed at me.

Jake breathed a sound of relief? "Hi."

"I'm sorry about earlier…" I started, cursing my eyes as they once again filled with tears. "I shouldn't have run out on you I-"

"Stop," he said, not harshly or loudly… Definite and soft. "You…" His jaw clenched for a second, a far-off look threatening to fill his eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for."

He didn't hate me. I wanted to sob. "They told you then?"

For a moment, he looked scared, and worried as he stumbled on his words for a second. "What?"

"My brothers. I'm guessing they told you about yesterday? About it being the anniversary of our dad's death."

"That's why you were… I'm sorry. I didn't know."

I shook my head, quickly shushing him. "It's not your fault. I could have canceled."

"Why didn't you?" He asked, the vulnerability from this morning sinking into his voice.

Shrugging I smiled at him. "I wanted to be with you."

Without another word, Jake stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. This hug felt heavier… Deeper than the others. Jake held me so tightly that for a moment, I wondered if he was trying to consume me or mold us into one being. His hands cradled my head and back so gently, like I was a freshly plucked flower. It was odd and yet comforting.

Normally, I hated deep hugs. They felt too much like sorrow and pity and everything I didn't want to feel. But Jake's hug was different. It was soft and warm. Safe. I found myself melting into his arms, curling into him - seeking out that feeling that he just radiated.

"I missed you today," I found myself admitting against his skin.

Jake chuckled. "I missed you too, princess."

I pulled my head back, staring into his eyes. "You can stay here tonight if you want to."

"It is getting late," he replied, a tiny hint of teasing.

Laughing, I nodded. "I'd hate for you to get your ass kicked trying to get home."

He smirked. "We both know how easy it is for me to get my ass kicked."

"Come on," I said, gently pulling him into my bedroom.

We undressed in comfortable silence, both our eyes lingering on the other person's body in an odd, almost reverent way. As Jake climbed into the bed, situating himself under the yellow covers, leaving plenty of room for me to join him, I tossed our clothes in my chair and quickly ran a brush through my hair. The lumpy mattress felt better than ever as I sank into Jake’s side, instantly curling into him.

His hands gently massaged my shoulders as he inhaled my hair and looked down at me. I could see something, a feeling or a question, swimming in his eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

“I just… I didn’t make you feel… obligated to stay last night, did I?”

I sat up slightly, touching his cheek and shaking my head. “No! I stayed because I wanted to stay, Jake.”

Nodding, he swallowed. “You just seemed unsure before all the fun.”

“I mean… I guess was a bit… Nervous,” I admitted sheepishly.

His mood lightened as he chuckled. "Nervous about seeing me? I'm flattered."

"Not about that, jackass. Just… I…" With a sigh, I closed my eyes and shook my head, curling into him more. "I was just nervous that you were expecting it to be different."

Jake's fingers idly combed through my hair as he hummed, throat vibrating against my forehead. "I didn't really have any expectations."

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I asked the question that could be a horrible thing to bring up. "Why did you tell Simone we were going on a date then?"

He pulled back, brows furrowed and confusion clear on his face. "I didn't tell Simone we were doing anything yesterday. Why would you think that?"

"I swung by the restaurant before meeting you. She told me I looked cute and not to be nervous because you were good at this sort of thing. Then she assured me she could keep our date a secret."

Jake's genuine confusion only grew. "I…" He paused and shook his head. "I'll talk to her about it. Sorry if that made you feel-"

Covering his mouth with my fingers, I smiled at him. "I didn't feel obligated to do anything. I wanted to. I just… I'm not very good at this."

His laugh vibrated through my fingers as he gently pulled them off his lips. "It's hard to imagine anything you're not good at."

"I assure you, I'm horrible at a lot of things."

"Name one."

"This," I answered smugly, relaxing my head back on his pillow.

Jake rolled his eyes, arms tightening around me. "You seem pretty good at it to me."

Our breaths mingled together, noses brushing ever so slightly. "Well, you're biased, so what you think doesn't count."

A soft silence filled the apartment. The hum of all that had happened… All that we both had come to feel and realize over the past few weeks slowly building. I could feel the question building up in my chest, burning… Pleading for me to let it out. It was only a matter of time before I blurted it all out. Jake just happened to beat me to it. "So… What… What is this?"

I felt all the air leave my lungs as I stared back at those eyes. This was a chance for us to both acknowledge whatever it was we were… What we wanted. It was a chance I wanted to take more than anything, but the words that stumbled out were not what I'd planned. "I thought you hated labels."

God dammit. Jake smirked and shrugged his shoulder. "Normally, I do. But, this isn't normal… Is it?"

"No, it's not."

"We don't have to have this conversation right now," he said, tiredly. "Raincheck?"

“Raincheck.”

That talk could happen tomorrow. But now, all I wanted was to get lost in the moment. Peaceful and safe and tired.  "Jake?" I quietly asked, determined to rid myself of that one last question that was still tugging lightly at the back of my mind.

"Yeah, princess?"

"If my brothers didn't tell you about dad… Why were you already here when I got back?"

He was quiet for a moment, so quiet I almost thought he’d fallen asleep already, but then his chest dipped heavily. "I was worried about you, so I showed up to ask if they'd seen you. Then you walked in."

I giggled, my heart practically doing summersaults in my chest at the soft admittance of his worry for me. "I do have amazing timing, don't I?"

Jake pressed his lips to my head, a simple, intimate act that made my eyes close and everything inside me still. “Yeah. You really do."

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Go Ahead And Cry (Eff Being Friends Interlude)

Eff Being Friends Interlude

Ex!Steve Rogers x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci” Bucky x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci”

Summary:

Some time has passed but the wound from letting Steve go is still fresh. Everyone is trying to navigate the shift in their own way. With the return of Loki & Thor for the annual Halloween party, buried emotions resurface. Maybe another lesson is in order for America’s Golden boy?

Warnings:

18+ MDNI, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Gods and Goddesses, Exes, Voyeurism, Halloween

Notes:

Hello Heathens! Thanks to “Cry” by Benson Boone (link in lyrics used), I felt compelled to write a little interlude for Eff Being friends as I continue work on the next installment. Steve still has some pain to go through before the groveling starts.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Banner by @cafekitsune

I always did enjoy Midgard in what was known as “Fall”. Being able to blend in during the so-called Spooky Season was always a treat. Allowing me a chance to let my darkness stretch its legs and play. 

This year, I must admit that the wickedness that resides within me has reached a new height. 

After all that jealousy and bruised ego business with Steven that happened over the summer; my claws have a newfound taste for blood it would seem. And while Bucky more than satiates my thirst. I must admit that feasting upon the agony of a man torn apart by his own misdeeds, unwilling to accept fault in his own demise, tastes all the sweeter.

From across the room, a crowd of partygoers between us, I can feel the tension and envy radiating off of America's Golden Boy. Even clad in furs and leather like the hunters of old I can see the stiffness of his shoulders and clenching of his jaw. As Bucky returns with a fresh drink in hand, I observe as Steve's eyes take on that narrowed jealous glare they’ve grown accustomed to.

Sure, it's not present all the time. But it has been making a reappearance as of late. Come to think of it, once Thor & Loki showed up, the glare became almost permanent. Has this man learned nothing?

I can't get physical with him because this place is packed with mortals and well we mustn't spook them. Now providing entertainment on the other hand. That's just enough to make it sting while I remind him of his failure.

I can't help the smug smile that makes itself known as I ponder on my plan of action.

“That face looks like trouble. What are you cooking up in that dangerous mind of yours?” Bucky whispers in my ear.

“Nothing special. It's practically harmless. I said I'd be on my best behavior and I intend to keep my word.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Don't you trust me Wolfie?”

“With my life.”

“As you should. Now if you'd please excuse me, I need to find Tony.” My eyes quickly scan the crowd. Finding him and his smoking jacket rather quickly. “Tony! I have a quick question…”

In the heart of the dimly lit ballroom, where the shadows dance and laughter intertwines with the whispers of the night, I emerge from the crowd. 

Draped in a slinky black dress that clings to my curvaceous form, I move among the party goers with an otherworldly grace. The long black locks escaping from my messy updo, cascade like dark waterfalls down my exposed back. My amber-colored eyes flicker with intensity, captivating the crowd as they glimmer like molten gold against the backdrop of swirling costumes and flickering candles.

As I make my way onto the makeshift stage, a hush falls over the room. With a nod to the band they begin to play a soulful tune.

I tried to hide it through the silence while I played along I'm welling up behind my eyelids when I'm holding on To the rage, so badly, I hate it And I wish that all of-

“Nah, nah, nah, that doesn't feel right” I turn to the guitarist, “Maybe, uh, speed it up.” The drummer beats out a steady rhythm. “Yeah, that's nice.”

I really hate the way you think that you can get away By blaming all your stupid problems on your mental state I'm tired of burnt-out lies, ooh You think you know me, but you hardly even know yourself I'd bite my tongue and let you think I only wish you well I don't, I know you know it, ooh   And I'm tired of letting someone get the best of me, so go ahead and- Cry, cry Go ahead and ruin someone else's life Cry, cry Go bug somebody else, so I can sleep at night

My voice, seductive and haunting, wraps around the audience like the silken threads of a spider's web. Echoing the enchanting call of a siren from ancient tales, as they lured wayward souls into the depths of the ocean. Each note is dripped with emotion. A potent blend of pain and rage I direct at Steven, who stands among the revelers, caught in the web of my melodious spell. 

The air thickens with tension as I unleashed the raw power of my deep buried heartache through song. Weaving a tale of betrayal and longing that resonates within the depths of every soul present.

Mmm, you're more narcissistic than anybody in Hollywood You're not a misfit, don't keep sayin' you're misunderstood I'm tired, oh, I'm so tired, ooh   And maybe you're the honest type And it's been me the whole damn time I should really try to calm my mind and see things from your side   Or, maybe you can Cry, cry

The crowd sways, entranced by my haunting melody, as I transform the party into a realm where heartbreak and beauty intertwine. Making even the darkest of spaces shimmer with an enchanting light.

Go ahead and ruin someone else's life Cry, cry Go bug somebody else, so I can sleep at night Cry, cry Go ahead and ruin someone else's life Cry, cry And I'm tired of letting someone get the best of me, so go ahead and- Cry, cry Go ahead and ruin someone else's-

As the song promptly ends, I lock eyes with Steven’s ocean blues. The jealousy and rage seem to have been replaced with longing and hurt. A pain that matches my own. Feeling rather exposed and vulnerable, I quickly flick my wrist with a flourish and disappear from the stage. Reappearing in a darkened corner occupied by the God of Mischief himself.

“If you sang any longer I was sure these mortals would have broken into war amongst themselves or an orgy. Dont know which one I would have enjoyed more.”

“Please, there was no way I was emitting that much power. I have a strong grasp on my magic. I just made them feel a little amped up. What they do with that energy is up to them.”

“As much as I enjoy your company, who are you hiding from my dear? I doubt it's your soul bonded.”

“I’m not hiding. Just taking a moment to breathe.”

Loki eyes my form from head to toe.

“I must admit, you look rather fetching this evening. And without the hint of a glamour. How lovely.”

“That’s the best part of this holiday. I get to just be me and mortals compliment me on it. It’s great for the ego. Hurts a bit on the soul if I’m honest.”

“I’m sure the Captain plays a part in that more than these mere mortals.”

“How so?”

“You have your soul bonded back, which should make you feel whole once more but you’re not.”

“I love that I get to have Bucky out in the open. It healed a good part of me.”

“Yes, but not enough. Remember, I know you inside and out my sweet. You may not have branded him, but the captain left his mark on your soul. That piece is tainted now and you have no idea what to do with it.”

“I have to agree with Loki on this one, Doll.” Bucky, having quietly made his way over, makes his presence known. Placing a kiss to my shoulder as he hugs me from behind.

“Using your costume to your advantage I see. Blending in with the shadows. Keeping watch like a Sentry of old.”

“Nice deflection.”

“I’ll make note of your observations and sort them at a later date. Can we just enjoy the night, please?” I turn in his arms, reaching up and ghosting my fingers along his sharp jaw. 

“Of course.”

“Good, because I need you to help me dispel all these pesky mixed emotions and pent up energy.” I grab on to his hood and pull his mouth down to mine. The kiss is deep and emotional. Letting him know without words, my need for him to help me correct this turn the night has taken. 

Pulling apart he leans forward and places a kiss to my forehead. It’s all the acknowledgement I need to know he will take care of me. With my hand held securely in his metal one, he leads us out to the private patio that is currently unoccupied.

“Steve, you look so tense. Let me help you out.” Sharon declares before placing her hands on his shoulders and beginning to massage them.

She has been trying to get and keep Steve’s attention all night and he can no longer take it. He shrugs her off, removing her grip from his body.

“I need some air.”

Rushing off he heads out to the private patio.  Where he stumbles upon Bucky and I sharing a moment. 

I’m against the wall, a joint between my fingers, while Bucky leans over me with one hand on the wall. The other is currently under my dress thanks to its high slit. As I inhale, filling my lungs with the potent medicine only mother nature can provide, Bucky slides two thick fingers inside me. Filling me up all the same. 

I hold in the moan for as long as I can. Eyes closed as I let the ganja settle in deep. Opening my eyes I am met with Bucky’s smoldering gaze as his fingers play along my sweet spots. Taking me right to the edge as he teases my g spot. 

Running purely on instinct I pull him down to me and give in to the pleasure. Shotgunning my hit with a kiss. Sharing my high with my White Wolf. My quiet moans fill the air as I come apart on his fingers.

Unable to look away from the sensual display in front of him, Steve moves into the shadows. He’s sure I’m aware of his presence, but I seem not to care.

I don’t. 

With eyes beginning to glaze over, Bucky withdraws his fingers from within me. They glisten with the essence of my slick. After a playful inspection he places them in his mouth and licks them clean. Pressing his forehead to mine as my taste coats his tongue.

“We seem to have an audience. Should we take this inside?”

“No. If he wants to torture himself by watching us together, so be it.”

With a kiss to the chin and a devilish smile I silently drop to my knees. I undo his belt and zipper, gazing up into his eyes as he remains leaned over me, looking for permission to continue on.

“I am so very green right now.”

With a chuckle I reach into his pants and pull him out. His thickness is making my mouth water as a pearl of precum leaks from his tip. My tongue traces the same path until his head is perched between my lips. Without a second thought, I open my mouth and take him to the back of my throat. Only satisfied once I feel the hair along his pelvis tickling my nose.

His head tilts back and his right hand fists itself in my hair. Using me as an anchor to keep himself upright.

Steve can’t deny how watching his best friend and ex lover together is affecting him. The leather pants he adorned for this costume have grown uncomfortably tight the more his body reacts. As if on autopilot, he reaches down, untying his pants and pulling the front down enough to release his throbbing cock.

Holding the base with his left hand he spits into his right and begins stroking himself. Keeping pace with the bobbing of my head as I please Bucky with my talented tongue.

Time stands still as I am down on my knees. Mind focused on giving my partner the most pleasure my mouth can provide. Earning myself a growly moan accompanied by a salty treat deposited on my tongue as a reward for a job well done.

I rise up, back to standing. A satisfied grin on my face and a belly full of Bucky. His metal hand wraps around my throat and I am pulled into a deep kiss. 

“I wanted to come inside you, Goddess mine. You took that away from me.” He growls.

“I’m sorry.” I tease. “I just couldn't help myself. You just taste so damn good. I wanted a belly full.” 

“You’re going to pay for that later when we get home.” 

“Promise?” 

He pins me to the wall with his hips. “Promise. Now zip me up so we can head back inside. You still owe me a dance.”

I quickly zip him back up. Making him presentable once more. 

With a slap to my ass he sets us on our way back into the party. Before we reach the threshold I can’t help but open my mouth.

“I hope you enjoyed the show Steven. Don’t take too long to clean up.”

I’ll never tire of the energy lust filled gyrating bodies create. It’s like a sweet ambrosia filling my veins, invigorating me with every sway of my own hips. I must thank whoever requested Ed Sheeran's “Shape Of You”. I’m practically drunk off of my own magic from the surge.

Bucky has me held tightly to his front as my body undulates and moves with the sensuous beat. His hardened member is holding court betwixt my ample bottom, as he reminds me of what his hips do so well.

As the heat level rises; the dancefloors' movements begin to straddle the line between sexy and obscene. I’m unsure if this is my doing or not as my magic does have the capability to lower one's inhibitions. Nevertheless it is not of my concern at the moment. 

I can feel the unmistakable tingle along my spine of eyes on me, as I raise my arms up to wrap around the back of Bucky’s neck. He leans down, raining kisses along my shoulders until he reaches my ear.

“You noticed our little voyeur, haven’t you?”

“I sense the eyes, but have not sought out the face. But it seems as though you may already know who they belong to.”

“So do you. His eyes rarely stray from you these days. Even when he is trying to be discreet.”

“Didn’t he get enough of an eyeful earlier out on the patio. I left him breathing after all.”

“So cruel. He must have hurt you deeper than I thought.”

“Don’t. He chose this path, not me. Were his actions different the outcome could have been all the sweeter.”

“Still dreaming of starting that Harem I see.” He chuckles.

“It’s the least a goddess, such as I, deserves.” I sigh. “One day. For now you are more than enough to satiate my needs. Body and soul.”

“So no Thor or Loki?”

“Don’t go that far. That would be a waste of godly talents and I can’t have that now can I?”

Having made his way back indoors. A rosy hue to his cheeks from his loss of control. Steve's eyes remain glued to the dancefloor. Focused on the movements of Bucky and I’s bodies as his mind wanders back to a simpler time.

“I figured you would have just waved your hand and magically applied your makeup.”

“I could, but I rather enjoy the methodical process of donning one's war paint.”

“I’m not complaining. Especially when it leaves you in this lingerie for longer. You're making my trousers very uncomfortable at the moment. Might have to rectify that.”

“And how do you intend to do that? We need to be downstairs in 15 minutes.”

“You can sit on my cock. Keep it nice and warm while you finish dolling yourself up.”

I quirk my brow at him in the mirror.

“Show me how hard you are and I’ll deem if it's worthy enough to sit upon.”

He unzips his slacks and pulls out his rock hard length. It’s already dripping with precum.

“Alright. Come have a seat. I’m not taking my panties off though so you’ll have to pull them aside and maneuver me yourself.”

“With pleasure.”

He sits on the velvet bench behind me. Placing a kiss to my lower back as he moves the gusset of my thong to the side. Holding onto it with his thumb as he lowers me down onto his waiting cock.

He groans when my ass meets his pelvis. “Perfect fit.”

“Good. Now let me finish up.”

He can’t keep his hands to himself as I try and navigate applying my lip liner while filling so full. As he grazes my lace covered nipples my pussy gives an involuntary squeeze to his girth. The next thing I know, Steve is standing up and bending me over the vanity.

He pulls his hips back and slams them forward. Setting a quick and fast pace as he rearranges my insides. I am overwhelmed by the pleasure he is giving my body. Using me like his own personal cock sleeve. Before I know it his fingers are circling my clit and I am coming undone.

The pulsing of my walls around him sets Steve off. With a gasp and a whimper he unloads deep inside me.

Laying a kiss between my shoulder blades, he pulls out. Maneuvering my thong back in place as our eyes meet in the mirror.

"Be a good girl and keep that warm for me.” He grins. “I want you thinking all about me as my cum slowly leaks out of you all night while we party it up with our friends."

“You haven't moved from this spot in a minute. How ya holding up man?”

Sam’s voice breaks the memory and slams Steve back to the present.

"Fucking miserable. Not only did I chase my girl away, but it was right into the arms of my best friend."

"Technically he had her first."

Steve’s glare in Sam’s direction could melt ice.

"I'm just saying. And isn't she still hooking up with the demigods too?"

"Guess so. I wouldn’t know. I just wonder, was I not enough for her?"

"You know it's not like that man. I think you were too possessive of her while having the freedom to explore the things and people you wanted to. Without giving her the respect to do the same."

"That's bullshit."

"Is it? You essentially kept her from a chosen soulmate because they didn't want to run the risk of hurting you just by bringing up their past. You made your choice man."

"But what if I made the wrong one?"

"Then you have some tough decisions and talks ahead of you."

With a slap of encouragement to the shoulder, Sam walks over to a smiling Nat, leaving Steve to his thoughts once more.

[greenapricot]

2023 fic year in review

Doing my 2023 fic year in review in February bc that's how things are going in 2024 so far.

Total number of fic: 5 (1 still in progress)

Total word count: 24,217

Fandoms written in: Lewis (3), Endeavour (1), Our Flag Means Death (1)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? Less. Though I didn't really have any specific expectations about quantity, just that I wanted to write things I enjoyed writing regardless of the reception, as opposed to past years when I was fixated on the idea of writing a certain amount of fic per month. 2023 felt much more relaxed writing-wise and I'm also about halfway through a super self-indulgent fic that is probably going to end up being around 20k and I'm very pleased with that.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? The Names of All the Winds (Lewis, James/Robbie, magical realism au, alternate meeting). The aforementioned fic that's half done. I am having so much fun reliving my own holiday on Lake Garda by sending slightly alternate universe Robbie and James there and also writing magical realism which I hadn't done in a while.

Did you take any writing risks this year? I wouldn't call it a risk exactly, but Patterns Unfamiliar (Lewis, James/Robbie, hurt/comfort) was a fun challenge. My writing is usually very visual and it was interesting to have to describe what was happening in the story when the POV character was in complete darkness.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? Finish TNoAtW, which I'm actively working on and hope to manage by the end of March.

And I've said this the last two years running, but I really do want to finish the sequel to Lead me wild to your dark roads my Lewis/Shetland xover (currently titled The last place we left off). I did do a fair amount of work on it before I entered the fic challenge that spawned TNoAtW, and wrote a good portion of the Shetland fic interlude that I've realized needs to go between the two stories. So both of those are next in line after TNoAtW.

Then there's the Blackbeard's Building & Renovation fic idea that was spawned in discord, in which Ed is a builder and Stede an interior decorator (each with their own crews) and they are both hired to work on the same house at the same time. Some kind of OFMD/Grand Designs-ish fusion. And, as ever, those three Lewis casefics that are mostly plotted and not anywhere close to completion.

Most popular story of the year? One thing at a time (Lewis, James/Robbie). It was spring, I had allergies, so I wrote a fic in which James had allergies. It seems to resonate with folks :D

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Nothing like poetry (Endeavour, post-s6 Ronnie Box angst). It has the least number of comments and kudos, but I don't actually think it's under-appreciated. Ronnie Box ruminating on the terrible mess his life is post-s6 is just very niche.

Most fun story to write: TNoAtW for all the reasons I mentioned above and adding my own photos to it. And it remains fun.

Most unintentionally telling story: I should probably make up another question to go here bc I never have a good answer for this, but The Most Remarkable Thing (OFMD, Ed/Stede, domestic fluff) was basically me putting my love of gardening and living a quiet life in the woods into fic form.

Biggest disappointment: I wouldn't say it was a disappointment, but I really did think I was going to finish the Lead me wild sequel in 2023. I think I'll finally finish it in 2024 though (this time for sure).

Biggest surprise: TNoAtW growing into what looks like it will be the third longest fic I've ever written.

Tagging people just for the fun of it (no pressure though): @bryndeavour, @thankyouforbeingsowrong, @vita-s-west, @mcgstarroar, @mr-iskender, @ronniebox

[luneshallshine]

✂ instructions unclear. (2) | android!san

ღ instructions unclear. (did you mean, "fall in love" ?)

july 10th, 2122

while walking home from work one day, you stumble upon an android from the world up-top, a world you were sure you would never be able to experience. once he opens his eyes, you become his master.

f!reader, fluff, minor angst, learning to love, detroit become human and ff7 references, attempts at humor

ღ word count: 1.3k

ღ taglist : @layzfeelit @ihatemynewbangs @fireheaurt @acciocriativity

CHAPTERS: ONE THREE INTERLUDE FOUR

ღ CHAPTER TWO: SWITCHING GEARS (PROTECT YOURSELF)

a question loomed on your mind, ever since san dropped into your life, you couldn't help but feel as though san didn't belong in your life.

two weeks had passed since the first night, and you were slowly incorporating san into your life, you had gotten him a job at the restaurant you worked at. you had made him grow his hair enough to be able to cover the led ring.

"san, make sure you never show your led, who knows what would happen if anyone found you weren't human," you told him sternly as the two of you walked to the job interview.

"understood master," he replied, a small smile on his face.

he followed your route diligently, and you watched people's heads turn as they noticed the new man by your side.

"y/n! hey, good to see you again, who's the new guy?" a voice rang out from a café that turned into a bar at night.

you looked towards it to see your longtime friend, wooyoung, smiling at you and san.

"wooyoung! this is san, san this is wooyoung, he and i have been friends since we were kids," you introduced the two, watching as san bowed and how wooyoung paused his routine to bow back.

"looks like seventh heaven still has to open right? well we've got a job interview to go to, i don't want to bother you any longer wooyoung, we can swing by later," you spoke, watching as wooyoung's gaze lingered on san a tad bit longer than you had expected.

"a-ah okay! see you two, stay safe, i've heard that some monsters have been popping up more in these parts, don't stay out too late," he said, waving good-bye.

"monsters..?" san spoke for the first time since seeing wooyoung, and the android had a sense of concern in his voice.

"ah yes, didn't y/n tell you? the slums are littered with dangerous creatures that we call monsters because they're 100% aggressive, hopefully you don't run into one. i wouldn't want your experience to be spoiled," wooyoung said.

san hummed in acknowledgement, and went back to your side, walking with you as you and wooyoung waved good-bye to each other. you told him about your workplace, the regulars, your coworkers, and your dead-beat boss.

"my boss sucks, that's for sure, but the people that cluster at the restaurant make it all worth it. we're all struggling to make it, and none of us would leave another out to dry," you spoke, fondness dripping from your voice.

san smiled as he watched your eyes light up as you described your regulars.

"there's barret, he's an older man but not too old, he's got a real cute daughter named marlene, such a bright girl too. ah! there's also a woman named kara, her daughter alice is also really really cute, when both kara and barret are there, the whole restaurant gets a bit brighter," you rambled, san listening diligently.

before the two of you knew it, you were there. your boss was all tidied up in his nicest shirt, clearly excited for a new worker to terrorize. he smiled as you sat san down and walked away so san could be interviewed in private. you walked into the kitchen to say hello to your coworkers getting ready to open.

"not working today?" your coworker, seonghwa, asked.

"not today, just came to bring the new guy for his interview," you replied, watching as seonghwa became a bit downtrodden at your absence.

"oh well, if you ever want to work, you know we need you," he spoke, smiling softly at you.

"thank you seonghwa," you said, walking around to greet your other coworkers.

"y/n! i thought today was your day off, why are you here?" your senior, yunho, exclaimed, engulfing you in a sweet hug.

you re-explained why, and yunho nodded in acknowledgement.

"ahh okay, i wanna meet 'em now! is he older? younger?" yunho asked eagerly, and you had wished you'd planned farther ahead.

"he's the same age as you yunho, maybe a bit younger."

different from the world up-top, the slums didn't care about proof of identity, if you had working hands and legs, you were good enough. you, yunho, and seonghwa all hung around for a bit, catching up about the different shit you guys have seen around. after what felt like hours, the kitchen door swung open and your boss walked in with the biggest smile on his face.

"welcome your new coworker, san! i don't know where you found someone like him y/n, but frankly i don't even care! he's perfect, ah right, san, when can you start?"

"i only want to work when.. y/n.. is working," san spoke, hesitating to say your name.

"that's alright! so you'll start tomorrow, y/n, you're on training duty. don't disappoint," your boss said, turning around and leaving, probably to go smoke outback.

"nice to meet you san! i'm jeong yunho," yunho said, and san smiled in response.

"i'm park seonghwa," seonghwa said bluntly, a small scowl forming on his handsome face.

san didn't falter, and only smiled brighter.

"looking forward to working with you both!" san replied, bowing deeply.

on the walk home, you noticed that it had gotten a bit dark, you and san did spend a lot of time fucking around at the restaurant, and now it was getting too dark. you walked towards seventh heaven, basking in the nighttime ambience, not noticing how san was on guard the whole time. as your ears picked up the sound of the guest of the night at seventh heaven, san's picked a strange rustling noise from an alleyway. before anything happened, san pushed towards seventh heaven, yelling at you to go inside.

"go inside, now, master!" san yelled, shoving you into the light of the now-bar.

"san?! what's going on?!" you yelled.

"wooyoung! make sure y/n does not leave your sight, i mean it."

"g-got it!" wooyoung replied, sprinting from behind the counter to you.

something in san's voice told you that you had to listen to him.

"come on y/n, let's go, tonight we have jongho singing for us, i have a weird feeling that san will be okay," wooyoung spoke, his arms securely wrapped around you.

you could only nod and watch as san disappeared off into the darkness.

"come out. i know you're there, you thought i wouldn't be able to sense you?"

san took a few careful steps, his eyes scanning his surroundings quickly and effectively.

"okay, you caught me. i just wanted to see how you were, you did disappear without a trace," a voice replied.

a scowl appeared on his face, this person was so familiar, and yet he couldn't pinpoint where he knew them from.

"come on my dear brother, aren't we twins? why would you hide from me?"

"don't hurt her," san spoke, sensing the malice.

a deep chuckle echoed throughout the alleyway.

"i would never dream of hurting that girl! however, an android with memory issues..., how funny. i guess you did turn out to be the defective one, our master still wants you however, san."

the figure took a hard right swing, and san dodged with ease. he felt his system switch gears, and a harsh instinct washed over him.

protect yourself.

protect her.

win.

"over my dead body."

the sound of jongho's angelic voice had been lulling you to sleep, you watched as wooyoung got ready to close up shop, hesitating to turn off the lights.

"y/n, you want a drink before you go?" wooyoung offered, the bar not yet closed.

"not today, i want to see san sober," you replied, your feet swinging with anxiety.

wooyoung patted your head and went back to closing up, heavy footsteps drowned out jongho's voice. you looked up to see san, his clothes a little bit ripped but no clear injuries. he was walking back to you, and you sprung up and into his arms.

"i'm okay.. y/n," he spoke, hugging you back.

"what happened?" you asked, watching as he smiled.

"i can tell you when we get home, but let's just say i ran into a monster."

who was that?? oh my, i'm so curious...

if you want to be added to the taglist, you can always ask me directly :)

ღ lune

[babystrcandy]

interlude | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: tlo!jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, fwb, fluff word count: 2.9K chapter summary: When Jungkook was little, he used to wish on shooting stars that he'd hear a bell when he met his soulmate. warnings/notes: this is part of my the lucky one jk series; it does not need to be read in order to understand the fic, it's just an extra pov from jk, no smut but i'm leaving this as 18+ because of the topics discussed, typos probably, explicit language, abuse of alcohol mentioned, your name references/inspo, descriptions of anxiety, depression, mental illness, trichotillomania (pulling out of hair: in this case eyelashes), just a lil look into jk's brain, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter four 1/2: interlude ( ← previous | next → )  

BECOMING SOMEONE HAD NEVER truly been on Jeon Jungkook’s radar. He was born to two loving parents who adored each other as much as they loved him. They weren’t exactly poor or rich, they were just owners of another small restaurant on the streets of Busan, selling mostly chicken that young Jungkook would normally take to school for lunch when it wouldn’t sell.

That was supposed to be his legacy, and he was fine with that. He quite liked helping his mother in the kitchen and packaging the orders.

It wasn’t like they’d sat him down and told him he’d be forced to sell chicken all his life once he got older. No, actually, his mother had always told him to shoot for the stars. He could be anything he wanted as long as he was a good person at the end of the day.

And Jungkook had lived by that.

So becoming someone to him never meant becoming someone great . . . it just meant becoming someone kind.

Until he discovered badminton. You, his mother’s best friend’s daughter, and consequently his best friend since birth, also discovered badminton at the same time. And the both of you . . . the both of you discovered that badminton could be your chance at becoming someone . . . great.

You had taken quite a liking to this fact. You’d been the first to buy all the equipment and when Jungkook said he wasn’t that interested . . . you used all your saved-up birthday money to buy him equipment of his own. (You knew he was just lying anyway. You knew the Jeons didn’t have enough to buy Jungkook his very own racket . . . so you took matters into your own hands. He knew now that was the day he’d developed a crush on you. (A small, childhood crush of course, but still a crush he always remembered.)

He’d never wanted it as much as you, though, and he knew that. He used to think that he did. He used to think that making it to the Olympics would be a dream come true, but even now, after everything, he wasn’t sure if that had ever been true.

Jungkook had loved badminton . . . but he’d been gradually falling out of love with it for years now. But one small fact made it hard for him to admit this: he was good; no . . . he might have been one of the best.

He supposed that was why the little feud with you had started in the first place. He had never really cared about the sport, whereas you had always cared too much, and so his careless actions, yet ever so gracious, results managed to always get under your skin.

And of course, he’d find it funny, mostly because you scrunched your nose in this cute way when you were angry.

(He didn’t like to admit it, but he’d always used to challenge you just to show off to you. Now . . . not in a cruel way . . . but rather, he did it to try to impress you. Yeah . . . it had never really worked out in his favor.)

But he never really minded your attitude toward him. He knew the two of you were some weird kind of friends, and he liked that. He liked having you near him, just like he had liked having Taehyung and Jimin close.

He’d never really liked anyone else . . . (He didn’t realize why until later in life.)

So, yeah, there you had it . . . Jeon Jungkook had the chance to become someone great, but he’d never wanted to be that. He’d just wanted to be kind like his mother had wished him to be. But things didn’t work out that way; Life . . . didn’t work out that way, and in becoming someone great . . . he’d become something he wasn’t proud of.

And that was true . . .

. . . becoming someone had never been on Jeon Jungkook’s radar until he’d turned into someone he barely recognized; until he’d become a ghost of his old self. He hadn’t realized he’d been becoming this . . . person all his life; that it hadn’t started after the incident; that it’d started even when he was a kid.

Because you see, Jungkook had been pulling and plucking at his eyelashes since the sixth grade when he started developing his . . . issues. Like when he’d wake in the morning with his heart racing and his stomach churning, creating a nervous sickness deep inside of him all because he had to attend school. (He’d go all day with that feeling taking over his body. Eventually, he just kind of got used to always having this tight feeling constricting his lungs unless he pretended to fall ill and call his mother to come to pick him up from school.) Or when he’d be left with no choice other than to talk to his peers because that's what you're supposed to do when you're growing up: make friends.

And he’d hide this by putting on a personality. He’d make himself big, loud, and unmissable so no one could ever make him feel small. He’d make fun of himself, make himself seem more approachable, more well-rounded, and less easy to offend. Because if he made himself seem stupid; if he made himself seem laid back . . . no one would think to judge him.

Of course, that didn’t always work. Sometimes people became too comfortable with him. Sometimes so comfortable they’d say things about him to his face, thinking he wouldn’t mind. And while he did make it seem like he didn’t care . . . he did, and hearing those things from people he called friends made him wonder if anyone actually liked him.

That only made him feel more alone.

So he had friends, yes, but none of them ever really knew him because . . . well . . . that had always made him . . . freak out.

And the thing they don't tell you about anxiety: there is no give and take; it just takes and takes and takes.

. . .

He used to think once he got older, these nerves would die down, but he just became scared of new things. He knew how to hide his nerves more now, but storming off toward a bar or disappearing for days on end only worked so much. No matter what he’d always find himself right back at square one . . . He’d sit down by himself, pulling at the ends of his eyelashes because it'd be the only thing he knew that would calm him down.

The funny thing about that was the fact that he used to get compliments about how long his eyelashes were when he was younger (mostly from his mother, followed by her pinching his cheeks but you know . . . ). He didn't even notice just how quickly these compliments stopped once his strange little addiction kicked in. Now in their place were broken lashes and small gaps at the tails of his eyes.

Until the small anxiety tic grew into something so much more . . .

Even as he grew, he never truly learned how to deal with the tight feeling in his chest that would consume him when he got even slightly overwhelmed, and that seemingly small habit never left his side. Like some sick vice, the urge to pluck and pull and pick at his body, at his chapped lips, at his eyelashes, and even the tails of his eyebrows, never went away. They only got worse.

It wasn't until the incident that his strange habit developed into something more gruesome. And this new habit he had developed couldn't be hidden with a silly little white lie. No, this he couldn't hide, because of the simple fact that there was no way he could make things right with his friends, with his teammates, with Tae or even himself. There was no way he could hide just how badly he wished he could take Tae’s place. There was no way anyone could look at him the same again, especially as his tiny habits turned into day-long benders filled with booze and drunk walks back to the dorm. He couldn’t hide the smell of alcohol on his breath no matter how many times he scrubbed at his teeth.

The feeling of numbing everything; of just being able to forget . . . would still stick, and the urge to do it again and again and again would remain because that was the thing about anxiety: it only knew how to take and take and take.

He’d tried to stop a few times before it got worse. He’d tried to quiet the urge and just let it be . . . but he never could, not when he was reminded of what he had done every day.

And the thing was: Jungkook knew he never truly believed he would stop. He had wanted to. Trust him, he wanted to believe that he had actually been getting better, that he wouldn't need the booze and the euphoria which came from numbing the pain inside him. But he always knew he’d give in. He knew his memories would seep back in. They always had.

The past had a way of sneaking up on Jeon Jungkook, and his anxiety only fed on it.

He’d thought he’d left everything behind him. He thought he could live in this sick limbo, forever dotting the line between madness and numbness. Truly, he really thought he could, and he almost did.

Until he saw you again.

He remembered he had walked into that bar all those months again, expecting nothing but another drink in his hand, but there you were, a scowl on your face and a furrowed brow. And suddenly, it was as if he had been transported three years back.

The past was looking him right in the face, and he couldn’t cross it out. He couldn’t put an X on your face and pretend not to know you. He couldn’t pretend to not remember. He couldn’t erase those years. He couldn't erase you.

So he sat down right in front of you, and then he saw it. He’d seen how nervous you had been, trying to make yourself blend in with the group. He’d seen just how different you had become in just three years. And then he saw you bite your fingernails, taking note of the dried blood.

You had an anxious tic, too.

And he wondered if you understood how all this felt.

He wished he could say what his plan was after that, but truth be told: he had no idea. He just remembered touching your hand once and he couldn’t stay away. He supposed a part of him . . . perhaps the part of him stuck in the past couldn’t let a part of you go. And, sure, he wasn’t sure what that all meant but it did mean something . . . and he trusted it.

He still trusted that gut feeling as he brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing them to clear the sleep from the corners. Dropping his hand, he finally took the time to focus his eyesight, squinting in the dark as he turned his head to the side, finding none other than you sound asleep with your mouth slightly agape as you snored softly.

Then . . . you let one loud snore out, and he couldn’t help it: his grin grew so wide, his eyes crinkling as he silently laughed.

You were a snorer. A loud one at that.

This was something he’d keep to himself.

You’d never admit it if he told you. So he’d keep this to himself. It was something he knew about you that would stay a secret, and that in itself had him attempting to reach for you, but he found that your hand was already clutched tightly around his thumb, stopping him from moving entirely.

With a small smile on his face, he gently pulled the hand wrapped around his thumb, slowly moving you into his arms. Luckily, you were a heavy sleeper, so when he’d finally tucked you into his chest, his chin resting on the crown of your head, you were still snoring into his skin without even stirring in the slightest.

And finally, he could breathe a sigh of relief.

But for what? he still pondered.

And then it hit him.

He’d recognized that look on your face, the nail-biting, your demeanor . . . He recognized it because he knew it well. That look, those feelings, the habits . . . he’d borne those, too. He still did.

Perhaps he had issues with letting the past go. Or perhaps he felt a sense of familiarity with you.

Or maybe he believed in you more than he believed in himself.

And then it clicked.

Jungkook wasn’t exactly a fan of parties. In college, he’d attend them for the sake of his team, perhaps even help throw them, but he’d always find himself standing near Taehyung or Jimin, trying to pass the time before he could crawl into his bed. So . . . when his social battery would drain out . . . Jungkook liked to watch movies.

All kinds of movies . . . sometimes shows. He liked anime and dramas. Hated Pulp Fiction and most sitcoms (mostly because he thought they were trying too hard to be funny half the time). But he didn’t mind romance movies. In fact, he preferred to watch them. He didn’t really find the point in watching something if there wasn’t at least one well-written romance.

He loved love, although it had never really worked out for him, but he still believed in it. His parents had shown him that.

Call him a hopeless romantic, he didn’t care. That was what he was.

He liked thinking that everything would work out the way it was supposed to. It made his anxiety subside enough to let him breathe, although most days he lost sight of that. Most days he lost sight of everything.

But . . . he never truly lost sight of you . . .

Anyway . . .

One of his favorite go-to movies when things would get . . . too much . . . as a kid was Your Name. He loved the art, he loved the plot, the characters . . . everything. He loved the fact that despite it all, a soul connection would always be a soul connection.

When he was little he’d even wished upon shooting stars that he’d hear bells when he found his soulmate. But no bells ever rang, and Jungkook grew up. He realized no bells would ever ring, and that was OK. (He still had just an ounce of hope . . . not that he’d admit that.)

Now . . . OK . . . maybe he was going a little overboard. He’d realized now that perhaps soulmates didn’t exactly exist. Maybe two people just happen to find each other and fit into each other, but where was the fun in that? (Fine, he was getting off track. Fine.))

Soulmates didn’t have to exist. Jungkook could admit that.

But every once in a while, two people find each other and maybe no bells ring and there’s no red string tying them together . . . but . . . they meet and everything else doesn’t seem that scary as long as that person is standing beside them. Maybe that was Jungkook’s fucked up version of love, but he believed in that. Maybe it wasn’t exactly what you’d call fate . . . but it was . . . something . . .

And for a second, as he toyed with your hair, he wondered if you believed in soulmates. That only made him grin, because of course not! You didn’t believe in soulmates, he knew that.

You believed in people.

You believed in . . . him . . .

Jungkook slowly blinked. He knew that now.

He wasn’t exactly sure what that all meant . . . but . . . but you’d sat there and you’d listened to everything that had happened to him . . . and you’d understood. You’d understood him and you’d looked him right in the eyes and told him he wasn’t alone. And fuck . . . he’d believed you.

Maybe it would take a lot longer for him to accept everything you had said, but he did know one thing: you would be there.

And he . . . he wanted to be there for you.

He felt . . . that.

He felt it all.

At the time, he had wondered what he should call this feeling. He’d almost forced himself to stay up half the night with you snoring in his arms while he tried to find the right word, desperately mauling over countless explanations after explanations . . . until . . . well . . .

As Jungkook closed his eyes, squeezing you a little tighter, and breathing in your scent, he realized what he had been trying to ignore ever since he saw you again at the bar all those months ago. He realized why it had always been your opinion that mattered to him the most; why he didn't mind putting on matching froggy headbands with you and doing face masks while just letting the world . . . be; why he could never forget you; why he’d always searched for you in everything . . . even in how he’d dress. He realized why it had always been you; why he would always choose you no matter what over and over again.

And then he realized why that all occurred.

Jungkook loved you.

Wait—

Fuck!

He loved you. He loved you. Holy fuck, he fucking loved you! And fucking hell, he was sure he always had.

He realized this wasn’t just a feeling. There were no bells, and no bells were needed. He couldn’t find a red string tying the two of you together, and he didn’t care to search. He knew this wasn’t just a feeling. No, it was . . . love.

And for a second time that night, he wondered what you believed in . . . and if it included him at all . . .

taglist:

@hrts4kook , @taehyungs-chopsticks , @loomipee , @st3ft0n3s , @callmenada , @neg-l3ct , @dawn33 , @illegurlbangtan , @jeonsdetails , @rihabaxl , @yoongipost , @jjk1iscoming , @miumiugurl , @sadgirlroo , @lucwithbangtan , @iamsisuu , @shanelleeex , @beonim , @sherlynxx , @fairy1919 , @purplewhales , @bloopkook , @ggukcanim , @bloodline1632 , @jungkooksseuphoria , @tea4sykes , @mugiwaraelly , @darkuni63 , @jalexad , @lpgirl2324 , @fairy-jaykay , @h0tvillainap0logist , @stuffy16 , @keniicastillo , @yoongukie-ff , @seesawe , @chocolatesublimesoul , @yopjm , @jeonlovescoffee , @xmirvamx , @jk-190811 , @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase , @vminkookgf , @werxyz , @tornparts , @aprilspring , @kswr1d , @jimilter , @02010802 , @sunsetnamjin​ , @lonekittycat , @moonchild1 , @hanamgi , @yoongslast , @heronstairsxd @pointofviewyugyeom

[hum--hallelujah]

built this life and now it's mine - Fab Four fluff + jetpoison* (platonic or romantic, up to interpretation) (for @caffeineecold)

-

Kobra got the jukebox in the corner working two days ago and Jet's just returned from a run that nearly killed him but also scored them a crate of real booze — not the shitty moonshine brewed in the Zones that everyone pretends they like even though it tastes like the inside of the boot that gave bootlegging its name, real stuff.

Party's already sloppy drunk, sitting at the counter, and Jet doesn't usually let himself get this tipsy. Kobra and Ghoul sit in the corner next to the jukebox, picking out tunes and passing back and forth a bottle of champagne, of all things. For being a sandpup, Ghoul has expensive tastes.

Something bass-heavy is playing when Party slips from the stool and nearly topples over. Jet's reflexes are sluggish, but he manages to slide from his own seat and catch Poison. Party's pissed at him for nearly dying, again, and Jet expects a shove and dark look, but that's not what he gets. Instead, Poison leans into him, fitting them so naturally together that it's almost frightening.

"Y'okay?" Jet asks quietly into Party's hair.

"Dance with me, Star?"

Jet blinks, shocked. This is the last thing he expected. But he's just drunk enough, inhibitions just low enough, and he always crumbles when Pois calls him Star. Nobody else really ever does. "Sure," he finds himself saying, and Pois curls even more against him, their hands finding their places without even looking. It's too easy to sway back and forth together, in some facsimile of dance that's really just more an excuse for the comfort of touch that they both need, to the lilting gravelly guitars playing through the jukebox speakers.

The track skips and Kobra thumps the side of the box to get it playing again, a rising guitar interlude without words. Poison's head is nested against Jet's jaw, red hair filling his entire field of vision. On an impulse he doesn't resist for once, probably due to how tipsy he is, he presses his lips to Poison's temple.

"I'm sorry, sunshine," he whispers. "Fuck, Poison, I love you. Not the way... you want me to, probably, but I do. I love you so much." His eye is wide and staring, a little bit desperate. There's no other way he can say it.

"Don't leave me," mumbles Poison softly into the skin of his neck. The song is different now, something softer. "My Star..."

Jet closes his eye. "I'm not trying to," he says.

Poison sniffs, still swaying to the new tempo of this song. "Try harder."

Pois probably won't remember this in the morning. Kobra and Ghoul will give them weird looks, like they've completely lost it, and Jet will know why. Heck, they're giving them weird looks now, over the top of a champagne bottle and between smirking giggling asides to each otherm But Party is too drunk to retain much. They won't ever talk about it, except maybe when it comes up in an argument they force everyone to hear. You said you wouldn't leave me, you said you love me. I don't care how it is I just want you to love me whatever way you can.

The future is unfolding in front of them in so many ways. But right now it's just two friends, irresponsibly drunk and folded into each other.