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forever-rogue · 4 years ago

Note

I got a whole 4 hours of sleep today and have to pull a 12 hour shift. So I apologize if it doesn’t make sense, I am new to the Bucky fandom!

I like the idea of his grumpy, refusing to let anyone in, be slowly ground down by reader, but teeters back and forth until reader is in some sort of trouble. Then the flood gates of vulnerability open because he was worried about them. I mean he hasn’t been with anyone since the 40s right? Would he still know how to navigate caring about someone in that way? I don’t know. It was something that has been buzzing around in my head for a week.

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: langauge, vague description of sex (minors dni!)

BUCKY MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You’d started out as neighbors - nothing more and nothing less.

Neighbors turned into causal acquaintances, fueled by your constant baking and copious amounts of goodies. Casual acquaintances turned into friends that would spend an occasional evening watching television together. Friends quickly turned into best friends that became utterly inseparable....with the occasional hook-up. You were hesitant to call it friends with benefits because that just sounded so crass. It was more like best friends with the occasional stress relief.

Stress relief. Sure that worked.

None that you wouldn’t have minded more of course. But you weren’t about to make a move on James Buchanan Barnes and ask him out on a date. No, you knew your place and his. He was physically akin to a god, mixed in with a bit of fuck boy, and yet...you loved him. You’d fallen hard and fast for the man that had gone from a mere stranger to a welcome and comfortable part of your life. But you’d never tell him that.

No, nope, hell no. Bucky surely didn’t reciprocate your feelings and you’d never been the type to make a move first.

Besides that...Bucky didn’t exactly strike you as a relationship type of guy. You’d seen him here and there with a girl or two, but it wasn’t anything serious. And since the two of you had started hooking up, you’d never noticed anyone else. And you hadn’t been with anyone else either. It was akin to a non-exclusive exclusive not-really-a-relationship relationship. Neither of you pushed it any further - you both accepted dates here and there but they never amounted to anything. Wonder why?

Unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t that Bucky didn’t want a relationship - he did. He did very much with you. But he just...there was something about being a one hundred and six year-old man that just left him confused and worried. He hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to date much and now that he had the time it reminded him of just how different things were. Dating was this weird confused jumble, but you were a clear and obvious bright spot. He had his doubts that you’d ever want anything more from him. He knew what he was - a mostly stable old man with a body that people seemed to enjoy. He made the most of that - it didn’t seem like people were interested in getting to know him much these days.

But you did - you always did. And, gods, he’d fallen hard for you - the kind of love that makes your stomach churn and heart feel like bursting and steals your breath away no matter how long it’s been. But what the fuck would you want with him? He’s a fossil with a boatload of mental trauma and even more sass and attitude.

You deserved the world and he only had himself to give. Of course, he was enough - way more than enough - but he didn't believe that.

There had been numerous occasions when you'd tried to be honest, to confess your true feelings, but you'd always managed to fall short. Every time you got close, something came up. And after the last girl you'd seen him with, you vowed to take your secret to the grave.

You had come close though - so close - especially the last time you'd hooked up.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were under Bucky, both of you naked and panting as you quickly approached your highs. He was buried deep inside you, head dropped to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nipping and biting at the delicate skin.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist in order to hold him close. One of your hands was laced together with his while the other was wrapped around his neck. There was something so perfectly harmonious about how you always were together.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, James, James, James as he kept going. It was the only time you called him anything but Bucky. As your vision had grown hazy and you felt that familiar warm start to blood your veins, you’d let your true feelings slip. It was so easy, so effortless and in the moment it just...happened.

I love you.

The declaration hung in the air as you felt your walls clamp around him and he reached his own eyes. That’s when you’d realized what you’d done. This time it was an entirely different sensation radiating throughout your bones - terror. Utter terror.

But if Bucky had heard your three little words he made no mention of them. Relief washed over you as you came to the conclusion that he was just as wrapped up in his own blissful haze that he simply hadn’t heard you. You were safe this time - but you’d have to be extra cautious from here on out.

Oh, but Bucky had heard you. Loudly and clearly. He chose to ignore your words because he was positive that he hadn’t heard you incorrectly. Surely you hadn’t meant to say that - and more importantly, it was a mistake. As much as he loved hearing those words from your pretty lips, he knew it was either an accident or a figment of his imagination.

You both pretended that nothing had happened.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Bucky rolled his eyes lightly as he watched his phone light up with a call from Sam. He was half tempted to ignore it but decided to answer anyway; he was bored and the call might lead to something to do. You’d normally be hanging out with him on a Friday night, but his calls and texts had gone unanswered.

“Hey man,” Bucky picked up the call and walked into the kitchen to grab a beer, “what’s up?”

“You need to get to the hospital,” Sam was speaking so quickly that it all came out in a single slew of words as Bucky’s brows knitted together.

“I know I don’t have a lot going on this Friday night, but I think I’m okay,” he snorted as he opened the bottle and took a swig.

“No, no, no,” Sam interrupted by almost whispering your name, “there’s been an accident. She was hurt and taken to the ER. I was on the phone with her when it happened - just come. Now.”

Bucky didn’t even wait for Sam to finish before he dropped the beer and ran out the door. His whole body felt like it was growing numb and the only thing on his mind was you. You couldn't be hurt...you just couldn’t. Bucky couldn’t imagine any sort of reality in which you weren’t there.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as he ran into the hospital, seeking out the emergency room, he was asking about you. He looked probably just as crazy as he felt as he was nervously directed to your room. He almost jogged down the hall and into your small space. Sam stood at the end of your bed, looking down at you with a concerned expression.

“What the hell happened?” Bucky could barely bring himself to look at you as you laid on the small bed, looking so helpless and fragile. You were sleeping, sedated from lots of heavy drugs, but hooked up to several beeping machines. Your arm was in a cast already, bruises and contusions and cuts littered every bit of your skin that he could see. His heart plummeted into his stomach.

“She was crossing the street and got hit by a car that didn’t slow down enough in time,” Sam’s heavy was heavy as he rubbed at his tired, “I heard it all happen, Buck. It was terrible - but she’s strong. She’s going to be okay. No internal damage, luckily, but she’s going to be in a lot of pain for a while. The arm’s broken.”

“Jesus,” Bucky sighed as Sam nodded.

“I called her parents and they’ll be here soon. She’s just sleeping but hopefully will wake up soon.”

“Okay,” Bucky took a hesitant step closer.

“She asked for you,” Sam hadn’t been sure if he should have confessed that little part or not, “when they were bringing her in. Kept repeating your name. You should just tell her, you know. She’s obvious she feels the same. Don’t be idiots.”

“Thanks,” Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically as the two men shared a quick laugh before Sam hugged him, “I’ll stay here if you want to go. You’ve done a lot already. Thank you for calling me.”

“I got you man,” Sam gave him a half smile, “call me if you need anything at all...or if anything happens.”

“Goodbye.”

As soon as his friend left, Bucky came over to you, his fingers grazing the side of the small, horrid looking bed. He was going to help you however you needed it for however long it would take till you were better and out of pain. If he had the choice, he wouldn’t ever leave your side again.

This whole time he’d been so dumb, so silly. He should have just told you how he left - a long time ago and gotten over himself. A heavy sigh escaped him as you pulled up the uncomfortable plastic chair and took a seat next to you.

He gently, ever so delicately reached for the hand that was in the cast and held it in his. It almost made him laugh with how much smaller your hand was than his. They fit perfectly together.

He watched the steady rise and fall of your chest as you slept, wondering when you’d wake up. He hoped soon - so he could finally tell you all of those unspoken words.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“James?” a croaky, dry voice met his ears as his tired eyes snapped open. He blinked a few times to adjust his vision before focusing on you. You were looking back at him with a tired, sleepy little smile on your features. You looked beautiful, so damn beautiful, despite the blues and purples painting your skin, “what are you doing here?”

He must have fallen asleep at some point during the night. He was still holding your hand. He beamed back at you, “hi pretty girl. Sam called me and told me what happened. I came right over.”

“I’m anything but pretty right now,” you laughed lightly but quickly grimaced at the pain, “how long have you been here?”

“Since yesterday evening,” he confessed quickly, “I didn’t want to leave - wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh Bucky,” there was that saccharine little smile on your face. The same one he loved so much, “you didn’t have to. I...I really fucked up movie night, huh?”

“I’m in love with you.”

He finally got those damn words out before he could change his mind or think too much about it. Your face immediately lit up with a grin as you searched his cerulean eyes.

“Do you mean it?” you asked softly as he nodded, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks.

“Of course.”

“I love you too, Bucky,” you replied, giving his hand a tight squeeze, “I’m in love with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he whispered as he leaned closer to you, “because I’m not going anywhere, pretty girl. Not now, not ever.”

“I don’t want you to, Bucky,” you promised, “I want you with me always.”

“That sounds perfect to me.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Marvel Taglist (add yourself to a taglist here!)(strike-through means I couldn’t tag you)

@qhbr2013 @greeneyedblondie44 @april-showers-and-flowers @softboiipascal @im-an-adult-ish @patzammit @niki-xie @xxlovingfandomsxx @startrekkingaroundasgard @welcometothepedroverse @actual-spawn-of-satan @punkerthanpascal @lazybeeches @someday-when-you-leave-me @justgivemethekeys @salome-c @rosiefridayrogersunday @neptunesglow @artsymaddie @haildoodles @amneris21 @star017 @irepostthingsiwanttoseelater @its–fandom–darling @ayamenimthiriel @alyispunk @djarinbarnes @edencherries @ashamed23 @sunsetskywalkerr @nikkixostan @spookispunk @cable-kenobi @hrtsgetbrkn @ironicfoxes @iilwjbb @cc13723things @thenormreedus @gooddaykate

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years ago

Text

Hayloft p.3

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts…)

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, death, abuse, and sexual assault (depictions of none, though)

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: I am so sorry for how long this took to publish! Work and school have been CRAZY!

Citation: (This is absolutely cited incorrectly but the poem included was found at this link!) https://rememberingthesixties.wordpress.com/2014/11/15/love-poems

Read the Previous Chapters!

Part 1 Part 2

_________________________________

“No! No! No! I ain’t got time for this today!” You groaned, twisting your key in the ignition only to hear the engine struggle to turn over. You were already running late to work, thanks to you misplacing your shoes, purse, and keys all on the same morning. When it was really only just you, your dad, and Arvin living in your home, it was ridiculous to be losing things as often as you did. It’s not like they were touching them. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was some gremlin that lived in the linen closet and hid your things to make life more difficult.

Of course, your car wouldn’t work either. What a fantastic beginning to the day.

You weren’t even sure what could be wrong with the car. It had worked just fine yesterday. There was no reason for it to suddenly fall apart on you. But alas, after several minutes of trying to start the car and checking what basic things you knew about under the hood to no avail, you gave out a groan of anger, “Damnit!”

With an angry kick of your old tire, you stomped back into the house. “Everythin' okay?” Arvin asked from the dining room table, where he sat eating a plate of toast and eggs.

“I was already running late this morning and now my stupid car won’t start,” you grumbled, throwing your purse onto the open chair and taking the phone off the receiver on the wall with more aggression than you intended. You were spinning the dial and putting in the phone number to the diner you worked at.

Arvin leaned forward in his seat, “I can take a look at it for you, if you’d like.”

“That would be great if you’re willing to but-” You began to answer but you stopped abruptly and held up a finger to him when a voice answered on the phone.

“Molly’s Diner. How can I help ya?” A woman’s voice that you recognized as your coworker Charlene asked from the other side.

“Hey, Charlene?” You asked, shooting Arvin an apologetic look for the sudden interruption. She sounded surprised to hear your greeting on the other end.

“Where you at, girl?” She questioned, the ambient wound of the busy diner in the background.

You leaned against the wall, gripping the phone with both hands, “I know I’m late! I’m sorry! My car broke down and I don’t think I can make it-”

“I can give you a ride if you need.” Arvin offered quiet enough for Charlene to not hear him on the other end but you perked up.

“Wait, hang on-” You interrupted Charlene just as she began to respond, “I can actually get a ride in.” You mouthed a sincere thank you to Arvin while holding onto the phone with both hands, feeling a slight glimmer of hope in your otherwise crappy day.

“You know what? Don’t even worry about it. You’re already so late just take the day off and get your car fixed. Just be here tomorrow, alright?” You could almost hear the way Charlene’s hand was waving dismissively from the other end of the phone.

You sighed in relief, “Thank you so much. I’ll make it up to you!” After a few brief goodbyes, you hung the phone up on the receiver.

Arvin stood up and placed his plate in the sink, “So are you needin’ a ride to work?”

You shook your head, “No, Charlene said to just take the day off ‘n get the car fixed. Thank you, though. It really is sweet of you to offer.”

Arvin only shrugged, “C’mon, after all you done for me, givin’ you a ride into town really ain’t much at all. I’d still be more than happy to take a look under your hood if you’d like.”

You blushed and tried to suppress the immature giggles that threatened to slip out at the way he worded his offer. His face visibly paled and began to stumble over his words, “‘m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to come out like that! I didn’t mean take a look under your… erm. I ain’t too good with my words sometimes. Forgive me.”

You laughed outright now, stepping forward and trying to pull his nervously fidgeting arms down, “It’s okay! You’re fine! You’re fine! I would love it if you looked under my hood.” You teased, overexaggerating the way you emphasized his words, throwing them back at him.

He rolled his eyes at you, an embarrassed smile pulling the corner of his lips upwards, before looking back down at you. It was then that you realized just how close you and Arvin were, your fingers still loosely touching his forearms where they had fallen. You looked up into his eyes - those soulful brown eyes - and found yourself wanting to know everything that they’d seen.

That familiar heat rose to your cheeks and you pulled your hands back, running them up and down the white apron you wore over teal uniform, “Well, um, I’m gonna go get changed outta this if I ain’t gotta wear it for work and then I can help you out with the car?”

Arvin’s hands found their way to his pockets and he nodded in understanding.

You had changed into a pair of jeans with a buttoned up blouse before jogging out front to find Arvin already bent over the exposed inner workings of your car. “How’s it lookin’?” You asked, slowing to a pace until you reached the car. You landed beside him, hands falling on the dirty metal as you leaned over to see the mechanics. He fiddled with a few things here and there, things that you didn’t quite understand. You were good with the basics of fixing your car. You could change the oil and fix a flat but when it came to the more complicated stuff, you were a little less well-versed.

He leaned back and wiped his greasy hands on each other, “I think I have the problem pinpointed. ‘M gonna need to head into town and get a part but it’s not a hard fix at all.”

“Thank you so much for doin’ this. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You took a few steps back as Arvin lowered the hood, letting it fall the last few inches with a heavy thud.

“Yeah, well I’m happy I can finally be some help ‘round here to you.”

You rolled your eyes, following Arvin back to the house, “Please, you are plenty of help ‘round here. More help than I’ve gotten in years.”

Arvin gave you a knowing tight-lipped smile and nodded once the two of you made it through the front door. He didn’t say anything for a moment but there was a silent understanding. “You need anything while I’m out?” He asked, changing the subject.

You shook your head, “No, I’m alright. Thank you though.”

It was rare that you actually had time to yourself. While Arvin was gone, you found yourself wandering around confused for a short while until the buzzing silence wore on your ears. You sat on the couch and pulled the radio over closer to you on the coffee table, looking over your shoulder as if someone would catch you at any moment.

This was one of your secrets that you held close to you, knowing your father would make fun of you if he ever found out. Moon River had been a favorite radio program of yours since you discovered it while tuning through the stations a year back. It was full of romantic poetry and slow beautiful music. Everything you dreamt about but knew you could never have, not while you were stuck here at least. But a girl could dream.

“Tonight’s love poem is written by Betty Hayes Albright. We hope you enjoy.

They tell me not to write of love

but what else can I write –

when love is in my heart and soul

and mind both day and night?

“You’re just too young and you can’t know

of love,” (does anyone?)

“you can’t profess such knowledge –

stick to verse and pun.”

They tell me that, and say love poems

are worn out through and through

but I can’t agree with them,

for me love is brand new.

Feelings in me can’t stay down,

my love for him I can’t ignore,

somehow it’s got to be expressed,

“I’ve got no lock upon my door.”

To those who stick to subjects

of the sky and stars, of joy and pain

I write my poems of love because

my heart’s love-blood shall never drain.

Perhaps they too shall love again.”

You sighed as it came to an end and you couldn’t help but see Arvin’s face in your mind’s eye. Love had always felt like something you could only dream of. It was a “one day when I get out of here” thought, not something you saw yourself obtaining for a long time, if ever. Now with Arvin… well you weren’t sure if you could call it love but it sure as hell was the closest thing to it you’d experienced.

Since the words were spoken, they kept swirling around your head: “When love is in my heart and soul; and mind both day and night.” Since his arrival two months ago, Arvin had been that very subject on your mind almost constantly. He was the first face you hoped to see every morning and the last one you wanted to see before bed. Your entire mood lit up every time he walked into the room, even when you were stressed from work or your father. It hadn’t been hard for you to realize that he became the lighthouse in the rocky ocean, promising solace and providing light in the storm that could be your life at times. It was hard to not fall for that.

"Never heard that one before." You whipped around in a panicked start to see Arvin standing in the foyer. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

You shook your head and tucked your hair behind your ears, "No, no, you're fine. You read a lot of poetry?" You watched Arvin shake his head and walk into the room. He stopped on the other side of the couch and you climbed up, placing your knees on the cushions and leaning over the back of the couch to look up at him.

"I don't like poetry all that much, at least the ones we read in high school… but I like that one." He looked down at where his hand gripped the back of the couch and his weight shifted on his feet.

Your eyes fell to his hands in an attempt to hide the blush that crept up on your cheeks that really had no place being there. "Yeah… me too. It reminds me that there is real love out there in the world."

A silence settled over the room as your eyes anxiously dragged up Arvin’s body till they settled on his eyes but you found yourself unable to hold his gaze. "I, erm, I got the part I need for your car." He took a step back and lifted the hand that wasn't on the couch, tossing the metal mechanism in his hand.

"Oh," you pressed yourself away from the couch and moved back to stand, "thank you for runnin’ all the way out into town."

He gave you a small smile and a nod, “It’s my pleasure. I’m gonna go see if this fixes the problem.”

***

"That should be it," Arvin slammed the hood back down and wiped his hands on his jeans. "We should take her for a drive to see if she's runnin' alright now."

You nodded, "Alright. Hop in." You took the keys from your pocket and gestured to the passenger seat. Arvin climbed in and you slid into the driver's seat, turning the key. This time, the engine started up without a problem. A big smile spread across your face, "You're a miracle worker, you know that?"

Arvin shook his head, "I ain't no miracle worker. Just good with fixin' things I s'pose."

Your feet were on the brake and the clutch when you shifted into first gear and began to peel out down the long dirt driveway. You stopped at the road and looked both ways, trying to decide which way to go. You looked to your right, the road into town, and then to the left, the way to that field that was oh so special to you. You began to gnaw at your lower lip.

Did you want to show Arvin? That little clearing by the creek had been your secret getaway since you’d discovered it three years ago. You never told anybody about it and you’d never seen anyone else there when you went so, as far as you were concerned, it was yours. Your special hide away, your paradise, your escape. But since his arrival, Arvin had become just that as well.

“You alright?” He questioned, looking over at you with a vaguely concerned expression.

You looked over at him, a nervous twist to your lips, “Can I show you somewhere special?” Perhaps it was an odd question to ask, though you hadn’t thought it was until you saw the curious and somewhat confused look dawn on Arvin’s face. Nevertheless, he nodded and, with a smile, you turned left towards the field.

It was a short but otherwise successful, trouble-free drive. You slowed down and pulled off to the side of the road into the dirt shoulder. “Where are we?” Arvin asked, looking around and seeing nothing but tall grass and trees.

With an impish smile, you turned off the ignition and looked towards him, “You’ll see. C’mon!” You threw your door open and walked around the front of the car towards the passenger’s side, hanging on the passenger door when Arvin finally opened the door to exit the vehicle.

He followed you to the edge of the brush where you walked as if you knew it like home. With minimal effort, you found the overgrown path and pulled him along behind you. The road disappeared behind the two of you as you wandered beyond the tree line, tall birch trees creating a maze that you knew by heart. The path was short and you navigated it with a sixth sense until you led Arvin to a small field. There was an imperfect circle of wild grasses beside a stream that seemingly appeared from nowhere but you knew it was that time of year when the snow started melting off the mountains. Bundles of wildflowers grew mixed in the grass. Just along the bank of the crystal clear creek water was a large dogwood tree with vibrant white flowers.

“Wow…” Arvin breathed out in amazement as he tried to take in the beauty of the place.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” You asked with a smile, the wonder in his brown eyes warming your heart. You were glad that he seemed to appreciate it as much as you did.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as your heart welled with happiness at his stunned reaction. He stepped in a slow circle, taking in the beautiful scenery. “It’s beautiful.”

“This is sorta my… escape from reality, I guess you could call it. I come here and I’m suddenly in a different world away from all the bullshit of life.” You reached down to run your fingers through the soft blades of grass. Arvin smirked and you looked up at him with a short breathy laugh, “What?”

He shook his head and looked down, hands buried in his pockets as always, “I think that’s the first time I ever heard you curse.”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t do it very often. My daddy would always yell at me tellin’ me how un-ladylike it was to say bad words. Told me it made me sound ugly. I think his exact words were ‘a dirty mouth makes a dirty woman.’” Your voice dropped to mock your father.

Arvin spoke plainly, “Your pa needs to treat you better.”

You gave him a sad knowing smile and looked down at the ground, “It wasn’t always like this, y’know? I think that’s the saddest part.”

“What you mean?” Arvin asked.

You sat down on the grass, feeling the soft blades press against your skin as you sat back on your hands. Arvin followed suit, finding a comfortable spot beside you and waiting for you to continue. “When my momma was alive, he hardly ever drank. Wasn’t nothing like he is now. I think that’s the only reason I’ve put up with as much as I have. I hate seeing this miserable shell of the man I once knew but I also know that a real father wouldn’t have let himself fall into this pit - or at least stay down there long enough to practically leave his daughter to fend for herself. I just always hoped that maybe one day he’d pull through and… y’know… be my dad again.”

You laid back on the ground and stared up at the sky. The clouds passed by, white and weightless, pure and unaffected by the troubles of this world. You envied them. The way they floated along, either bringing shade and beauty to the sky or raging unapologetic storms, with no constraints as to where they could float and how they could behave… it made you wish you could be a cloud.

Arvin was silent, unsure of how to respond. He wanted to offer words of support and encouragement but he never had been too good with words. He hadn’t really been taught to talk about problems. His daddy had taught him to finish them with his fists. Finally, he sighed, looking out across the field, “I understand. I felt the same way ‘bout my daddy.”

You perched up on your elbows, “Really?”

He nodded and looked down at his leg, which he was slowly rolling side to side just to keep fidgeting in some way, “Yeah… he, uh, he changed into a totally different man after my mama died.”

You looked up at him but you could see he was trying to avoid your eyes. You rested a gentle hand on his knee, “‘M sorry, Arvin. I had no idea.”

He shook his head, “Nah, don’t be. It’s been a long time.”

“D-do you mind if I ask what happened?” You cautiously inquired but quickly added, “Of course, it’s fine if not. You just… you don’t talk much ‘bout yourself.”

Arvin took a deep breath in, “My mama died when I was ‘bout ten. Cancer took her. My daddy tried everythin’ to keep her alive but when it didn’t work… he killed ‘imself too.”

This time you were unsure of how to respond, stunned by the new information you’d just learned. “I-I’m so sorry,” you breathed out in disbelief. For some reason, you had never thought that perhaps Arvin could have had a similar childhood experience to you, like losing your mothers, but your heart went out to him.

“It took a long time for me to understand why he did what he did but I finally realized that he just loved my mama so much that he couldn’t bear to be away from her.”

“He should’ve loved you enough to stay for you.” Before you could stop yourself, the stunning but honest words slipped from your lips. You damn near stopped breathing when you realized what you said, “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright.” Arvin had been stunned by the words that came out of your mouth but he knew damn well they were only a vocalization of a thought he had had almost every day since the day his father put a bullet in his head. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I hadn’t thought the same thing before.”

A heavy silence weighed over the two of you that was only relieved by a cool breeze. “So what happened to your mama?” Arvin asked.

Your face twisted, “Labor complications. She was pregnant with my little sister. When she went into labor, things just went really wrong. She lost too much blood ‘n died. The baby died too. I think it was just too much loss at once for my daddy to handle.”

“That’s too much loss to make a child deal with on her own,” Arvin commented the same way you had earlier.

You shrugged, wavering your head from side to side. Like he’d said, you would be lying if you said you hadn’t had the same thought. “Looks like we got a lot in common.” You chuckled sadly, “I feel like I lost everyone who ever loved me. My mom, my sister, my grandparents, my dad...” Another silence settled and you waved the thought away, pushing yourself to sit up, “‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to make this all sad.”

Arvin shook his head, “You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for.” He paused, hesitant to continue. He hadn’t talked to anybody about what happened back in Coal Creek and Knockemstiff but something was strongly compelling him to. Maybe it was a bad idea to continue but he did, “I had a sister once too.”

Your mouth fell slightly in surprise and you let out a heavy breath, “You did?” The use of the words had and did instead are have and do were not lost on you and you couldn’t help but wonder what had happened.

Arvin swallowed hard and nodded, “Yeah… she, uh, she got into some trouble with this no good preacher that came into town. She was just so lonely, reminds me a lot o' you, but when he saw that and he took advantage of her. Took everythin’ he wanted and when she got into trouble he just told her she was crazy.” He paused for a moment, the memories of his sister flowing through his head, “Found her hangin’ in the shed.”

You were dumbfounded by the story you’d just been told. Anger and sadness were clear in Arvin’s voice despite his attempt to hold on, though you had a feeling that just the way he had been telling you about it meant that he had shared more of himself than he ever intended to . You struggled to wrap your brain around the tragedy he had just shared. “What’s her name?” You finally asked after a few moments of silence.

Arvin looked out across the field again and then back at you, “Lenora.”

“Lenora,” you repeated, “That’s a pretty name.” Arvin only nodded wordlessly. Again, another pause before you continued, “You said it was some preacher that got her in trouble? What happened with that? I mean, you knew? Didn’t anyone else? Is he in jail or somethin’?”

The man tensed up next to you and shot a look towards you that was sharper than one he’d ever given you before. You shrank back ever so slightly, taken off guard by his response to your seemingly simple question. “‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to-”

“Ain’t nobody woulda believed my Lenora if she told ‘em. You know how people see women who got babies ‘n no husband. Especially since he was the preacher…” he trailed off and you were desperate to see the memories that played behind his big brown eyes, “He ain’t gonna hurt nobody no more.”

Your brows knitted together, trying to decipher what that meant. Did he go to jail? Was he fired? Was his reputation ruined? You prayed whatever justice he got was fit for something so atrocious.

"I'm sorry you lost your sister."

"I'm sorry you lost yours too."

After a long silence, Arvin laid back beside you, his body grazing your arm as he lowered himself. The two of you rested beside each other in this new understanding of each other. As you struggled to keep your attention on the sky, your eyes frequently straying from the vast blue expanse overhead to the beautiful man to your right, you couldn't help but wonder if by some insane fantasy maybe he'd be struggling to keep his eyes off of you in the same way.

"Let's talk about somethin' less depressing," you prompted, "How 'bout girlfriends? You ever had one of those?"

Arvin’s chest rose and fell heavily as he sighed, "I ain't never had much time for a girlfriend. Didn't much like anybody in my hometown anyways. Don't think nobody liked me much neither."

You rolled your eyes and audibly scoffed, "I find it hard to believe you didn't have girls bangin' down your door for a date. You're tellin' me you ain't never went out on a single date?"

He shook his head, "Nope. I mean I kissed a girl or two back when I was younger but I never had no time for datin'. Always workin' or helpin' my grandma or keepin' Lenora safe."

You rolled over onto your side and looked down at him curiously, "Where you from anyways?"

Arvin was hesitant to answer, you could see it plain as day, though you couldn't figure why. Finally, he answered, "Lived with my mama and daddy in Knockemstiff but moved to Coal Creek with my grandma after they died."

Mentally, you wracked your mental map for any memory of those towns but found none. "I don't think I ever heard of those," you commented, lying back down.

Arvin stretched his arm up and readjusted his cap, "Not many people have unless you're from near there. Just some small towns you'd drive right through and never even notice. Knockemstiff is near Meade, Ohio."

"Oh!" You exclaimed in realization, "I heard of that one!" You giggled. You didn't live anywhere near there but you'd heard the name at least from a friend whose family was from Meade.

"What about you?" He asked.

You began tracing light patterns on your stomach with your finger, "What about me? You know where I'm from."

"You ever had a boyfriend?"

You kept your eyes staring straight up. “I tried datin’ a few boys back in high school but nothing too serious. They didn’t seem to like me much,” you admitted with a shrug. At the time, it had bothered you a little that you seemed to have a hard time finding a boyfriend but now you saw that it was better this way. Younger you had spent night after night praying for a knight in shining armor that would come and whisk you away to some beautiful new life. All they had done was run for the hills because they didn’t want to deal with your daddy… not that you could blame them. You’d learned not to depend on anybody for anything, certainly not some boy to make your life better. You’d have to do that yourself.

“I think it would be impossible for somebody not to like you.” Arvin said quietly but with no ounce of dishonesty.

You rolled your eyes and rolled over to look at him, “Your just sayin’ that.” Despite the fact you swore to yourself he was only joking, blood rushed to your cheeks.

Arvin’s head turned in the crook of his arm to make eye contact with you, “I like you.”

The sweetly joking smile you had on your face fell in shock. “W-what?” You stuttered less than gracefully.

“I mean it. I like you… a lot.” After your pause, his heart fell but he didn’t need you knowing that, “You ain’t gotta say it back.”

“I like you too,” you admitted quickly before Arvin could continue to doubt himself anymore but when you looked over at him, you could see that momentary flash of doubt in his eyes. You could almost hear his thoughts behind those big brown orbs: Nah, you’re just sayin’ that. So you decided to beat him to it, “I really do.”

A warm breeze couldn’t dispel the thickness that had been created in the air between you two as you both looked at each other, trying to decipher what the other was thinking and what on Earth you were supposed to do next. Neither of you were well experienced when it came to love or romance or whatnot but experience wasn’t needed to feel some higher power, call it God or the universe, pulling the two of you together.

You weren’t quite sure when you and Arvin had started to inch your lips closer to each others’ but when they finally met in a gentle experimental kiss, it was as if fireworks had gone off. Your heart swelled with an emotion that could only be described as longing. Breathing stopped as if the feather-light touch of his lips on yours had knocked the air out of your lungs and you found yourself unable to catch it.

Both you and Arvin were hesitant to pull back and neither of you did until there was no air left in your lungs. It was one of those kisses that left you less. Breathless, speechless, thoughtless. Just less. And yet somehow more. A part of you that you had denied being empty for so long felt like it was now filled by Arvin and, perhaps that was too much credit to give for simply saying he liked you and sharing a mindblowing kiss with you, but damn.

“I-I-I uh…” You tried to stammer out something that would be fitting but there were no words.

“You ain’t gotta say nothin’.” Arvin reached over and gently brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into your face, “But I’ll be damned if I let you go without tellin’ you you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You reached up and covered his large hand with your own, twisting your wrist so that your fingers would interlock with his, “Who ever said you gotta let me go?

__________________

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foreveralwaysanauthor · 3 years ago

Text

Glory and Gore (Epilogue)

May 7, 2022

They say that nothing is worse than a story with no end. I suppose it's a good thing that the story is over now, isn't it?

Sending your child into the arena is one of the hardest things in life, any parent who has had to send in a tribute would tell you that. My grandfather raised me and he had told me that a long time ago. When my husband and I got married, we swore that we would never let our child go into the arena. Life had other plans, though, and our daughter, on the day of her last reaping, volunteered for a family friend. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it.

Soon enough, my husband and I took up our mentor mantles and brought our only baby into the Capitol. She had been there many times before because the majority of the Capitol and, subsequently, President Harmon, wanted to see her as she grow up. To her, it was second nature to blend into the craziness of the Capitol. We showed her off at the parade, talked her up to every possible sponsor, and encouraged her to befriend the kids from District 6 before sending her into the arena.

I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the Sixty-second Hunger Games. On the very first day, I watched my daughter sneak around the arena like a little fox, picking up weapons and tools before hiding herself away. We ended up using quite a bit of sponsor money on the first day, sending her some food and a blowtorch she had asked for. The next day, she teamed up with the kids from District 6 despite claiming she couldn’t stand the boy. It didn’t take much for the three of them to form a close bond, which I think everyone on our side of things was rooting for.

The three of them were brilliant together. They made bombs, threw flaming cocktails at the Careers, and the boy from District 6 made his first kill on the fifth day to which my daughter and the other girl comforted him as best they could. I even sent him a message through the earbuds my husband and I had created for him, telling him to find the souls of millions. He seemed confused, but I could only hope, at the time, that they would eventually go to the bookshop. Day six came and went with an odd team-up and the little girl from District 6 earned a cannon. By the evening of the seventh day, the only remaining Careers had died. My daughter and the boy from District 6 received their cannons just after midnight on the eighth day of the Hunger Games.

Much to everyone’s confusion, though, the Capitol announced that the boy from District 6 would not be crowned as Victor as, although he had died last, he was not the one they found alive inside the arena. Before they could cut the cameras, Caesar Flickerman pointed out that the blue-tipped hair moving slowly across the floor could only belong to the tiny girl from District 6 who had been pronounced dead a day or so prior. She hadn’t been visible on any cameras for a few days so, while everyone assumed the Gamemakers were right and she was dead, it was probably just something the Capitol said to cover their asses until they could kill her off quietly in the arena. I suppose it didn’t work out as well as they had hoped as the child was almost always with my daughter or the boy from her district. The Capitol then had to admit, publicly, that the little girl was, in fact, still alive. They claimed that her tracker must have malfunctioned and that they would be investigating as soon as they had taken it out of her.

The announcement took place while the girl was in recovery, telling the people of Panem not to worry and that the tracker chip had not only been incorrectly placed, but when the electricity failed for a moment in the bookshop, it was because the girl was electrocuted and her tracker completely disengaged, announcing her death. Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. The ladder she had been climbing down, had a series of strong magnets that were there to keep the ladder held to the walls. The magnets, however, were also strong enough to interact with the tracker software, draining the battery and rendering it useless. All you would need was about a minute or so of exposure. I would know. I worked on those trackers ages ago. The technology is pretty old.

The little girl had been unresponsive, but alive on the floor of the bookshop when they recovered her. She must have been attempting to get to the entrance of the tunnel when she passed out. She takes a few days to recover which is far less time than what both my husband and I had spent in there when we had won our own Games. When she finally takes the stage for her interview and crowning ceremony, she looks as breakable as a porcelain doll; like a single word said the wrong way could shatter her into a million pieces.

She acts perfectly innocent but appears to be on the verge of tears at all times - a wide-eyed little girl who had no clue that her friends in the arena had died. When asked by Caesar if she knew about what had happened with her tracker, she claimed one of the doctors told her it had drained when she was electrocuted. Ah, so the Capitol was feeding the victor lies since they have no idea what really happened. Fair enough.

When President Harmon takes the stage and crowns her, he smiles and tells her something to which she smiles in return and says something that I assume is her thanking him. My husband and I don’t get the chance to speak with her at the Victory Banquet, but that’s fine. I knew we’d talk to her eventually. We would talk to her soon enough. Before our return home to District 3, I noticed that the light on the microphone stand I used to talk to the boy from District 6 was now lit. Since the end of the Games, it had been off.

I decided to see if maybe it had intercepted a broadcast from another district, but instead, I heard a voice saying, “-s this frequency still in use? If anyone is listening out there, please respond. Over.”

I quickly press the button on the base of the microphone and said, “Mickie? Honey, is that you?”

There is a pause of dead air for a brief moment before, “Mom?”

“Hi, baby,” I say as I feel relief begin washing over me. “I take it you found the tunnel.”

There’s another silence before she says, “We did.” I don’t have to wonder who the other person in the “we” is. It must be her friend from District 6. “Was this your doing?”

I shake my head, but say, “Not all of it, but your dad and I did have a hand in it. That doesn’t matter right now. Where are you? We’ll arrange for a pickup.”

“We got out of the tunnel yesterday and it led us into a torn down, old building so we went across the street to this little building that’s pretty secure. The sign is all run over with vines and stuff, but I think it says Cross-something Park,” she says and I hear her walking around. “I think it’s Crossroads Park, but I don’t know where that is. There’s a circle outside that Miles says is a parking lot and there are no district numbers on any of the signs, but I have the coordinates from the tunnel if that helps.”

She gives me the coordinates and I write them down before telling her that the two of them will have to wait until we get home for us to arrange for them to be picked up. We talk for a while before I tell her that we’ll be home soon and that I love her. She returns the sentiment before telling us they’ll stay put and see us soon.

As soon as I finished with the call, I told Brady what had happened. We’d been holding out hope that they’d found the way out of the arena, but we couldn’t be sure as their fog machines were pretty strong and all of the camera focus had been on the girl from District 6 and the argument between the two kids from District 1. All it took for Brady to collapse was me saying, “We found her.” I wasn’t far behind when he started crying.

Most of our time on the train ride home was spent listening to Makana and the boy from District 6 - who I now knew as Miles - talk. He sounded excited to see his family again and the two of them talk about nearly every member in their respective families and districts when we listen to them between meals. As Brady and I are now the only ones on the train, everything apart from listening to the children chatter over the headset is too quiet for our tastes.

We arrive back in District 3 the next day and are greeted by friends and family alike. Brady’s family come to our home in Victor’s Village, comforting us and telling us that they were there if we need anything. We don’t tell them yet. The family friend that Makana volunteered for, Vivien O’Brian, comes to visit and, after we get her to a point where she’s no longer blubbering apologies to us, we let her know that all is well with us and we let her in on our little secret before telling her to keep it to herself. She doesn’t seem to take our word at face value, but promises us she’d keep it a secret regardless.

That night, after the last of our visitors go home for the night, we set up our communication area in our workspace - the basement. The next day, we get in contact with some of the people in our district that we know are a part of the rebellion. They aren’t hard to find as our district has always been the rebellious type and they make it quite well-known. We give them the coordinates our daughter gave us and ask them to bring both of them to us until we can find a way to bring the boy to his home district.

On their way through to District 6 two days later, the little victor and her entourage make a stop in our district to fuel up the train. We greet them at the station and the first one to come off the train is the girl who won the year before - Lela. She’s a sweet girl and, according to her brother, has had a rough time adjusting since her Hunger Games. Her eyes are dull when she greets us, but so are her older brother’s. They both believe they’ve lost a boy that was like their brother, it can’t be easy for them. However, with the handful of Peacekeepers at the station and the cameras on the train that are, no doubt, pointing our way, we don’t get the chance to tell the two of them what we know. If they’d had the time to visit our home, we could have told them. The only thing we had told them before the Hunger Games was that there was a plan in the works to get Makana and Miles out. They had no way of knowing if the two of them were alive or not and, given how distraught they both appear to be, I have to assume they have no clue.

The stylist that once took care of Miles doesn’t move much once she’s off the train. She’s talking on a Capitol cell phone with someone, keeping her voice down as best she can while attempting to keep her emotions in check. I can make out a few words here and there and, from the sound of things, she’s talking to a friend about Miles’ death. Whoever is on the other end seems to share her pain when I find I’m able to hear crying coming not only from the blonde stylist, but from her phone as well. I’ll have to remind myself to add the stylist to the list of people I intend on telling at some point.

The little girl, Kona, comes off the train with her stylist to stretch her legs and, when she sees us, she comes over and gives me and my husband a hug. We talk for a while and, before they leave, she gives me a goodbye hug in which she wraps her arms around my neck before hurriedly whispering into my ear, “Mick and Miles are alive. I saw them escape and nobody believes me.”

I hum in acknowledgment and, when she backs away, I run a hand over her hair and nod to her, saying, “I know, sweetie. It’s going to be very hard, but we’ll get through it.”

She nods and does her best to look upset before taking a hand offered to her by her stylist and following him and the other stylist back onto the train. The little blonde spares me one last look before the door closes again and I can see in her eyes that she hopes I believe her. Of course, I do. After all, I know they’re alive. The train leaves and we head home, stopping at the market on the way back so we can have some fresh food in the house when the children arrive.

The armored vehicles that arrive in our area the next morning bring in supplies from the eastern side of the district. They supply us with some more tech from the other side of the district and pick up our finished pieces that will be delivered to Districts 8 and 6, our southern and northern neighbors. In the afternoon, we receive word over the radio from our rebel friends that they’ve picked up Makana and Miles and are on their way back to the district. They hope to arrive during the night, so we stay up until they do.

To throw off any suspicion, they bring back some hunted game, some artifacts of the old world, and some items to buy the Peacekeepers’ silences. They’re easy to bribe and always have been. As I said, rebellion runs deep in our district and almost all of the Peacekeepers have been here long enough to know better than to try fighting it off.

They send us a location to pick them up from as delivering them to our home would be too obvious and we head out as soon as we can. We meet in an old research facility that now sits in an unused part of the district and, once the two are released from the crates they’d been hiding inside, Makana comes running to us as though she hadn’t seen us in years while the boy stands off to the side, looking around the area warily.

Brady and I help the two of them return to our home and, once we’re inside, they both seem to relax. Makana shows Miles around the house before showing him the room he can stay in and leaving him to his devices so she can take a shower. Miles returns downstairs after taking a quick shower for himself and stands awkwardly until we tell him he can sit wherever he chooses. I bring out the medical kit from the bathroom and begin patching him up on the couch. It takes him a while to speak, but, when he does, all he asks about is his family.

“Do you think they know?” he asks quietly. “My family, I mean?”

“Kona has told them, yes,” I say, “but she claims they don’t believe her.”

“How can I go home if they think I’m dead?” he asks.

I place my hand on his and smile. “We will find a way, Miles, don’t worry.”

He nods and, after eating dinner with us, he retires to his room. When I go upstairs to wish both him and Makana a good night, he’s got his earbuds in - the ones we gifted him before the Games - and is trying desperately to contact his family, begging them to answer his calls.

“You know,” I say, making him jump. I didn’t mean to startle him. “If you want, we can try a broader connection tomorrow. We can access all of the victor headsets remotely from our basement.”

“Do you think they’ll answer?” he asks. “I’ve been trying for hours now.”

I sigh and make my way across the room, sitting on his bed with him. “Each district has a type of jammer that blocks certain signals. Those earbuds might not be strong enough to break through the wall. If we can find a solid connection through the wall, we could end up connecting to them.”

He nods slowly before saying, “I know you’re trying to help, but I didn’t understand a word you just said.”

I chuckle and say, “That’s alright. Just know that we’ll try to figure out a way to get them to answer tomorrow.”

Miles takes in a deep breath and sighs it out before nodding. A silence takes up the air between us and, as I turn to leave the room, he stops me. “You aren’t going to ask me what happened in the Games?”

The corner of my mouth tilts upward as I say, “I would know, better than anyone, what it’s like to be in there. Unless you want to say something or you feel the need to talk it all out, I won’t push you.”

He nods slowly, thoughtfully. “Um, before you go, I have a few questions to ask, if- if that’s okay?”

I let out a breath of laughter before nodding. “You don’t have to ask if you can ask me a question,” I say as I make my way back inside his room and lean against the dresser. “What’s on your mind, Miles?”

“In the arena,” he begins, picking at the skin around his nails as he does, “I heard a lady talking to me, telling me to go to a place where we could meet a million souls. Was that you or Lela or Carrie or…?”

“It was me,” I reply with a smile. “Don’t worry.”

“Did we find it?” he asks. "The place with a million souls?

“You made it out, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you did,” I confirm. “It was the bookstore. Next question?”

“Oh, right,” he says, glancing around the room until he remembers what he was going to ask. “What were those numbers by the ladder for?”

I give him a noise of understanding. “The people that created the tunnel for you to escape out of put them there. They’re the coordinates for where the tunnel ends. I knew that, if my daughter somehow made it out, she was sure to have it written somewhere, so I told them to leave it somewhere she would have seen it.”

He takes a minute to soak in the information before saying, “So, that was the only way you guys would’ve found us?”

“No,” I say. “We knew the rebels had it written somewhere. It wouldn’t have been too hard for us to find.”

Miles nods once again before sighing, “I wish I was home with my family. I want them to know I’m okay, you know?”

“I know,” I say in response. “You know, they stopped at the station the other day to fuel up the train for the last stretch of the trip and they all seemed pretty upset. I don’t think any of them, apart from Kona, believe you made it out.”

Miles looks upset for a moment before a horrified look flashes in his eyes and they widen as he says, “Before the Games, I told Butchy that, if I died, it would be on him.”

“Miles,” I say gently as I make my way over to him and place a hand on his arm, “I doubt he’s taken it to heart.”

“He would,” Miles claims adamantly, anxiously running his hands through his hair. “He absolutely would. I can’t believe I told him that! I was just so pissed at him that I just- it just happened, you know? I didn’t mean it.”

“You can tell him that when we talk to him tomorrow, yeah?” I suggest. “You can apologize and make everything right again.”

He meets my gaze and slowly begins to relax again. “Really?”

This poor boy has been through so much in the last few weeks and yet he’s caring more for others than he is about himself. I smile and say, “Of course.”

That seems to be enough to reassure him. Before long, we wish each other a good night and I leave the room, making my way to my daughter’s room before going downstairs to the basement and beginning as much work as I can. Brady joins me after an hour or so and, together, we begin searching for a signal from District 6. The district is the largest in size and population with fifty-two active hubs people live in and, with an average of five different frequencies for each hub, Brady and I realize we may be here all night.

Most of the frequencies are filled with dead air which is common, but we do hear a few stations for Peacekeepers and some that we assume are for the rebels as they talk about rioting. Eventually, we hear a young boy’s voice say, “Come on, Miles, answer already.”

I quickly turn on the microphone and say, “Who is this?”

There’s a short, shocked shriek followed by silence and then I hear, “I don’t know! It’s some lady,” followed by another boy’s voice saying, “Maybe it’s that girl he was with.” There’s a pause of silence before the first voice says, “Who are you?”

“My name is McKenzie Birch,” I reply. Brady watches me cautiously in the hopes that this isn’t some sort of trap for rebels. “I’m a victor from District 3 and the mother of Makana Birch. She was a tribute this year. Who are you?”

The boy’s voice gets distant as he tells the other boy, “It’s the girl’s mom.” He comes close again and says, “I’m Royce Murphy. My brother, Miles, volunteered for me. Are you looking for your daughter?”

“No,” I reply, “I was actually looking for someone who knew Miles.”

“Really?” the boy, Royce, asks. “Why?”

How do you break this kind of news to a child? I look to Brady and he shrugs before whispering to me that I should see what they think happened to their brother. It’s worth a shot. “Would it be alright if I asked you a question first?”

“Uh, sure? I guess so,” he says.

“What do you think happened in the arena? To your brother, I mean.”

“Everyone else says that Miles and your daughter, Makana, died, but we don’t think so.” I hear him scoff and I can just imagine the boy rolling his eyes before saying, “Our brother Butchy keeps trying to encourage us to act like nothing’s changed. Sometimes it feels like he’s telling us that Miles is dead and we need to move on and get over it, but I know for a fact that we would feel if he was dead, which we don’t. Miles promised me and Ben that he would come back to us, and he never breaks a promise to us.”

“Who is Ben?” I ask.

“Oh, um, that would be Bentley. He’s our younger brother,” he replies. “He’s here too, you know. Benny, say hi.”

I hear the other voice from before say a very quiet, “Hi, Miles’ friend’s mom,” and I greet him all the same. “Well,” I begin, “let me be the first to tell you both that you’re right. Your brother is alive.”

“He is?” the younger brother, Bentley, asks excitedly before being hushed by his brother.

Royce asks, “Where is he?”

“Here in District 3,” I reply, “He’s upstairs, actually, catching up on some sleep.”

“Can we come visit him?” Bentley asks.

“How are we supposed to get to District 3, Benny?” Royce questions. “We have no way of getting there and I’m not about to hide inside Butchy and Lela’s suitcases when they go on the Victory Tour with Kona.”

“That’s a few months away,” Bentley says. “I don’t want to wait that long anyway.”

“Boys,” I interrupt. Once they’re quiet, I continue, “We can’t bring you here just yet, but we can let you talk to your brother tomorrow when he’s awake, if that’s alright?”

“How about the day after?” Royce offers. “We have school tomorrow, and, in the afternoon, we’re moving our stuff into Butchy and Lela’s place. Mayor Fairbrook is allowing them to take us in.”

Brady and I turn to each other in confusion before I ask, “What about your parents?”

“They died a few years ago in a fire at their workshop,” Royce responds. “Miles has taken care of us ever since, but Butchy and Lela have always been like our siblings so the mayor said they could take us in if they wanted to since Miles is apparently dead.”

We talk to the boys for a little while before telling them to get some sleep and that we’d talk to them tomorrow when they were done moving things into Butchy and Lela’s house. When they end the call, I quickly scribble out the frequency number on a piece of paper and tape it to the wall. We go upstairs to our room and get a few hours of sleep before the town clock chimes, alerting us that it’s six in the morning.

Brady turns on the television while I make breakfast as he has a habit of setting things on fire and we wait for the two teenagers to come downstairs. However, we don’t get much time to relax. From the kitchen, I hear Caesar Flickerman state that President Harmon has arrived in District 2 this morning on his trip to visit each of the districts and their victors for a day. Apparently, he had started yesterday in District 1, but we were so busy with everything else that we didn’t hear the announcement. That means we have a day to hide everything in our home that isn’t Capitol issue.

Most of the items in our house are things that came with the house, but certain rooms such as the basement workplace and the office space have been converted into things that we use every day. Our old office is now where we keep our works-in-progress for things such as the earbuds we’ve just recently given to the victors of different districts and some upgraded technology that nobody else has yet. The basement was supposed to be a storage room, not a workplace. Now, we have to hide what we can before the president’s arrival.

Once Makana and Miles are awake and have eaten, they begin helping us hide things inside a storage room off of the basement. By the end of the day, everyone is exhausted and we make sure all of the rooms are presentable before going to sleep. The next morning is chaos. Makana and Miles take a blanket to sit on in the storage room while they wait for the president to be done with his visits and we head off to the train station to greet him when he arrives. Mayor Cabel takes President Harmon on a quick tour of the hub we live in and the president tells us and the other previous victors that he will be visiting us later on in the day. When we arrive home again, we let the kids know what happened and give them something to eat before going back upstairs and watching some shows.

By the time the president comes to visit us, it’s already getting pretty late. He comes inside and takes a seat on the couch across from us before sending his guards to stand outside the room, out of earshot. “Before anything else,” he says to us, “I must ask you how you’re faring. I know the death of a loved one, especially that of your only child, must be difficult.”

“Every day is a new kind of struggle,” Brady replies and I place a hand on his. “I can’t bring myself to go inside her room anymore.”

The president hums and sips his coffee. “I would have bet good money on her victory. She was something special to everyone in the Capitol, as you are, no doubt, aware.”

“She was special to all of us as well,” I say softly.

A brief silence falls over the room and it remains until the president speaks, “Now, I’m afraid we must bring up the more serious matters.” When we nod, he says, “The Capitol is buzzing with rumors, as usual around this time of year, but even I fear these rumors may, in fact, hold some weight.”

I shrug and say, “I haven’t heard any rumors. What are they?”

President Harmon places his cup down on the coffee table and replies, “Some believe that, given there were no bodies to recover, there may be a couple of escapees from the arena. That there was some form of rebel plan to sneak out the tributes who were most likely to win. Some speculate they went through the arena’s catacombs while others believe there is a secret tunnel somewhere inside the arena.”

“Are you here to suggest that my baby girl, the one I watched die just a few days ago, has been taken by the rebels?” I ask snarkily.

Brady’s hand turns under mine and squeezes as he says, “Makana would never do that, President Harmon. She’s far too loyal to the Capitol to even think about doing that sort of thing.”

She’s not very loyal at all to the Capitol. Makana is a smart girl and knows just how deeply her father and I are involved with the other rebels. It isn’t hard for us to imagine that she will want to join the rebellion at some point. She would be a great asset to them.

“Oh, no,” the president says in response, waving a hand to brush off our concerns. “No, I am fully aware of her devotion to our country. I am merely saying that you should keep an eye out as the arena is not too far from here. Believe me when I say that I will give the same speech to the victors of Districts 6.”

I don’t believe him for a second.

He moves forward in his seat and leans forward a bit. “Some among my advisors believe we should go after these potential runaways-”

“Would you kill them?” I interrupt before quickly apologizing. “The idea of my baby being alive is farfetched, I know, but I can’t help wanting to keep her alive if she is.”

The president takes another sip of his coffee and sets it aside again. “I am a father myself, McKenzie, as you know. My daughter, Juliet, was in charge of the clothing for the boy from District 1 this year. I have no way of understanding how difficult this must be for you as I have not lost my child, but I know how strong the desire to keep them safe can be.”

I can only feel myself getting more irritated with the man despite how eerily kind he’s being to us. “I’m sure you can understand that, if she is to be found alive, we would want to see her before she’s taken off to be punished or killed.” Brady’s grip on my hand tightens to stop me from continuing and, for once, I listen to him.

A smirk appears on President Harmon’s face and he shakes his head, leaning in closer to us before saying softly, “I suppose it would be quite reassuring to you if I were to say that I find it would be pointless to spend all that money on searching for them when we have already crowned a Victor.”

“You don’t plan on looking for them at all?” Brady questions. “What if they’re alive and the rebels have them? Or what if they’re hiding out between districts?”

“I doubt they’re with the rebels as they would have already announced to all of Panem that they did.” The president sighs before saying, “If they are between districts, which I highly doubt, then it would only be a matter of time before they stumbled into one and would be turned in by Peacekeepers.”

Ha! Not if they came to this district.

“And what if they’re already in a district and haven’t been turned in?” I ask hesitantly. “What if the Peacekeepers never found them and they’re just living among the people.”

President Harmon takes a deep breath and smiles. “If they can keep themselves a secret from the rest of the country, I’ll give them kudos.” At our shared look of surprise, he continues, “It would only garner more rumors, more scandal, and less trust coming from not only the people in the districts, but the Capitol citizens as well.”

“So, if they were found alive, you’d let them live?” Brady questions. “Why not make a show of them?”

“If the people find out that some tributes were brazen enough to find a way out of the arena, whether it be through a tunnel or the catacombs,” the president begins, “there will be riots in the district, fighting in the streets, and people killing their kin for no reason. As president, naturally, I don’t want any of that.”

“You’re right,” I say with a slow nod of agreement. “It would only inspire chaos. Especially if you take into account that, if there was a way out of the arena, it had to have been put there by the Gamemakers. After all, how else could it possibly get there?”

“Precisely,” President Harmon agrees with that smirk I want nothing more than to slap off his face.

“I see where you’re coming from,” Brady says as I feel him begin to relax beside me again. “If you were to hunt them down and kill them on television, not only would everyone involved have to admit there was a serious fault in the system with the trackers, but they would also have to publicly explain what happened in the arena and why a few tributes never actually died.”

“Now you’re beginning to think like me,” President Harmon says with a sense of pride in his voice. “All of that would only inspire the sparks of rebellion to ignite.”

“It would be better that, if the kids are found alive,” I state, “they live a quiet life in their district without letting any of the other districts know about it as it would only cause more problems for you. Am I getting this right?”

“Right on the nose,” he replies. “I have already informed your mayor that, if these children are found, they are free to go back to their districts under one condition - no telling anyone outside of their district.”

“And that’s it?” I question. “They get to go home and be free?”

“I am not heartless, unlike my predecessor,” President Harmon replies. “As you said, the Gamemakers left an opening for them to leave through if they were smart enough and, if anything, they are the ones who should be punished, not the children.”

There’s a silence as we process what we’ve been told. The president fills his coffee cup and adds some cream to it, taking a sip before placing it down again. A few minutes pass before I finally ask, “So, what will keep the districts from saying anything?”

“The districts involved will get special grants in exchange for silence,” he says with a sigh. “All they would need is to send me word that the children are following their one rule and I will allow them to remain alive.”

“Money has always been a good motivator,” Brady says in a huff.

“That it has, Brady,” President Harmon says with a slow nod. “That it has.” He pauses to take a long swig of his coffee before saying, “I have a good feeling that this conversation will remain a secret from anyone outside of this house. Am I right?”

“You are,” Brady and I reply quietly.

“Good.” He finishes off the last of his coffee and wishes us both a good rest of our evening before standing, making his way past us and toward the door. Once he’s gone and we hear the car he arrived in pull away and take off down the street, we tell the children the coast is clear and they come out of the basement, asking what we talked about and what will happen to them. We explain to them what went down and, at first, neither of them wanted to believe it, but after quite a bit of convincing, they began accepting it.

After we begin settling down and the adrenaline of the president’s sudden visit begins to wear off, we begin rearranging the house again so it returns to what it used to look like. Once the basement is mostly set up again, we bring the kids down there to help out with moving the heavier stuff. In the meantime, I set up the microphones and everything else we need before tuning in to the frequency Miles’ brothers had used two days prior.

Instantly, I hear talking coming from the speakers. “-chy, you’ve gotta believe us!” Miles turns to me with wide eyes from where he’s helping Brady set things back up. He knows it’s his brother talking. “We talked to your girlfriend’s mom and they’re alive.”

“Kiddo,” a different, deeper voice sighs as Miles makes his way over to me, “as much as I want nothing more than to believe you, you’ve been trying for over an hour. Why don’t we just stop for the night?”

“She promised,” the youngest brother - Bentley, if I remember correctly - insists firmly. “You don’t make promises you can’t keep, right? Can we just give it a few more minutes, please?”

There’s a sigh, but before the person says anything else, I turn the microphone on and begin talking. “This is McKenzie Birch. Am I talking with Miles Murphy’s brothers?”

“You are!” Royce exclaims quickly. “See, we told you guys!”

“Told who what?” I ask. We don’t need more people listening in if it isn’t necessary.

“Oh,” Royce says, “Butchy and Lela, are here. Is Miles there? Can we talk to him?”

I turn my seat and stand from it, gesturing for Miles to take the now empty chair before showing him what to press in order to answer. He pushes the button on the base of the microphone, smirks, and says, “I don’t know, can you?”

“Miley!” the brothers screech into the microphone.

“Hey, guys,” Miles says with a smile. He takes in a deep, shaky breath before saying, “You have no idea how nice it is to hear you again.”

“Miles?” a girl’s voice asks quietly. It must be Lela, the girl they mentioned. “Is it really you?”

“Hey, Lays,” Miles greets. “How’s my favorite sister?”

There’s a choked laugh from the other side of the line before she says, “I’m your only sister.”

I turn my attention toward Makana as Miles talks with his younger brothers and Lela, finding her not far from where Miles is sitting, staring at the radio in anticipation. She’s waiting for her boyfriend to come on, no doubt. She’s been wanting to talk to him.

Finally, his voice comes over the radio, sounding impossibly strained. “Miles, are you okay?”

“Apart from how shredded my shoulder blade feels, I’m fine, Butch,” Miles replies. “It’s nice to hear you again, big guy. How are you holding up?”

Butchy takes a minute to respond and it’s no wonder why. “Well, everything was pretty shitty until just a minute ago.”

There’s a pair of matching ‘Ooh!’s from the radio which makes Miles smile as he says, “Sounds like someone’s going to have to put another dollar in that swear jar.”

“There’s enough money in there to buy all of District 12 at this point,” Royce jokes before Butchy kindly tells him to shut up.

“When are you coming home?” Bentley asks.

“I don’t know, baby,” Miles says. “President Harmon is making stops in every district for a day. He stopped here today and he’ll be over there in a few days. From the sound of it, he doesn’t know we’re here, but he thinks we might be alive.”

“We?” Lela questions.

Makana steps forward and Miles leans away from the microphone so she can say, “Yes, we.”

“Mick?” Butchy asks.

“Hey there, handsome,” she replies with a grin.

As both of them begin talking with the group on the other end of the call, Brady and I make our way upstairs to give them some privacy. A few hours go by before they emerge, talking and laughing like the children they were meant to be. They both don’t stay up for long before saying goodnight and heading upstairs. Brady and I follow them not long after and decide that, in the morning, we would get ahold of someone who could help us smuggle Miles back to his home district after President Harmon is done there.

The next day, we tell the mayor what happened, just as President Harmon told us to. Makana receives some papers with our district’s seal stamped in electric green and a matching bracelet that Mayor Cabel instructs her to keep on if she plans on going anywhere, but we can all assume it won’t be necessary after more people see her around. All Makana can talk about afterward is how amazing it feels to be home and that it will feel nice to finally be allowed to roam around her home district again. I can’t say that I don’t feel the same way.

A few days go by and, by the end of the next week, we are in the back of a vehicle, on the way to District 6. Miles prattles off to us about what kind of vehicle it is, how wild it feels to be inside one of the things he’s helped build, and just about anything to keep us all distracted from how quiet the ride would be if he stopped talking. It’s a welcome distraction from the bumpiness of the overgrown roads and the silence of the vehicle. By the time we arrive in an abandoned hub of District 6, the sun has already set and I’m sure we’ve been jostled around enough to cause bruising up and down our arms and legs.

Miles doesn’t seem to mind it though as, once the vehicle is almost to a stop, he flings the door open and jumps from it, running toward where his family is waiting. When the rest of us step out, I realize there’s quite a crowd present. Butchy, whom I’ve met before, is standing off to the side with a smile as Miles embraces two young boys who must be Royce and Bentley. A blonde boy with a big smile is there and, although I don’t know his name, I’m aware he was a stylist for the Games. Lela isn’t the only girl present as the little girl who had won the Games, Kona, is there, bouncing excitedly as she chants something that sounds like ‘I told you so!’ while an older blonde girl is just watching as Miles makes his way through everyone else’s embraces.

By the time he gets to her, though, he’s been squeezed so much that I’m sure, if any of them got any tighter, he’d begin turning purple. Miles smiles at her and she returns it, telling him, “I told you that you’d make it out.”

Miles nods with a quick breath of laughter. “You did. I believe I promised you an ice cream date, though.”

“You did,” the girl says, draping her arms over his shoulders. “A big bucket of it.”

“With little cherries, right?”

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “Of course, we can add cherries. We can put whatever you want on it.”

Brady puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close with a smile as we watch the young couples interact with each other. After a while, we decide to follow the younger group back to the mayor’s house and, once we get there, the mayor’s son and dog greet us. He seems to know Royce and allows the group to go inside while we wait outside with Makana. We wait for a while and, before the hour is up, Miles and his family reappear with notarized paperwork stating that Miles is cleared to go through the district as he normally would. The District 6 seal is bright red on the pages and Miles is now wearing a red bracelet he says the mayor told him the same thing our mayor told Makana.

We offer to take the group out for dinner, which they agree to, and Butchy shows us to a place where they’ve always loved going. It’s a restaurant on the water that outskirts the hub they live in. The restaurant is fairly busy and everyone inside seems to take instant notice when Miles appears in the doorway. Some let out cheers while a few members of the wait staff and some patrons look on in shock and horror. It takes a bit of convincing for everyone in the building to finally quiet down and, once they do, we make our way through the swarming crowd to a booth in the far back of the restaurant.

The members of our group that live in this area get their usual food and drinks delivered while the rest of us order for the first time. We settle in our seats and talk for a while, comparing and contrasting our districts and talking about what happened in the Games. Before our food can come out, the door slams open and a tall man who looks like he could throw a person with ease comes rushing through the building like a man on a mission. Miles quickly stands from his seat, but doesn’t get the chance to even say anything before he’s lifted off the floor in the bigger man’s arms.

Miles says something to the guy from over his shoulder and the man sets him down with an apologetic smile and a quick, “Sorry, man.”

“It’s cool, Lugnut,” Miles says with a smile as he rubs at his healing shoulder. “It’s good to see you too.”

The man, Lugnut, I suppose, seems to just notice the rest of us and begins greeting familiar faces before turning to the rest of us and saying, “Hello, strangers.” He turns back to Miles and insists, “Let me pay for you guys.”

“Lugnut,” Miles sighs with a smile and a shake of his head, “I can’t ask you to-”

“You’re not asking,” Lugnut says, smirking, “and I’m not either. I’m offering politely before I just go over and pay regardless of what you say. You’re back from the dead, Miles. Let me pay for your first celebration back.”

Miles hesitates before asking, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Lugnut assures.

Miles sighs and gives a resigned nod. “Alright then. Thank you.”

“Of course,” the man says, lightly punching Miles’ good arm before taking off.

After our food arrives and we eat until our plates are nearly clean, Miles gets up and claims he’ll return shortly. In the meantime, we chat with the rest of the group and discuss what our plans are for the next few days. Brady, Makana, and I will probably go home soon while the rest of the group plans to either stay here in District 6 or return to the Capitol. Miles returns after a while and sits in his spot next to his stylist, Carrie. A few minutes go by before a giant bowl of ice cream is placed before us and I can count at least ten differently flavored scoops on my side of the top layer alone.

“What is that?” Brady asks as a couple of the others begin pointing out their favorites.

“Big Momma’s Meltdown!” Kona says excitedly.

“It’s got each of their ice cream flavors in one mountain,” Miles explains with a grin. “There are fifty-two flavors, one for each hub in District 6.”

It is a mountain, but that seems to be an understatement. Two canisters of whipped cream are brought over with a jar of cherries and several napkins that have long spoons wrapped inside. Most of the group jump right in, piling in spoonfuls of whatever they care to eat while Brady and I, along with the two stylists, watch in some form of amazement. Before too long, we’re all digging into the mountain, pulling out spoonfuls of our favorites, and trying flavors we’ve never seen or heard before. By the time we’ve all had our fill, the massive mountain of sweet treats has become nothing more than a melted pile of mush in the bottom of the glass dish.

Once our time in the restaurant is over, we follow the group to Victor’s Village where they’ve offered us a room for the night until we can arrange for us to be picked up in the morning. We aren’t, technically, supposed to go between districts without alerting the mayor of the district, so we’ll lay low in their home for now. Kona wishes our group a goodnight before retiring to her family’s new house in the village, leaving three of us with the two stylists, the other two victors, Miles, and his brothers. Butchy shows Makana where she’ll be staying, Tanner follows Lela down the hall, the two young boys retire to their room upstairs, and, before they go their separate ways, I see Carrie and Miles sharing a short kiss at the bottom of the stairs.

Butchy returns to us and shows us where we’ll be staying in the meantime and, when we finally decide to retire for the night, I can’t help but feel that this is how things are supposed to be. For some reason, it just feels right to have such a large family full of different personalities under one roof. It feels as though we’ve gained more children, more family, in our lives than I ever thought would be possible for us. As I drift off, I have one last, fleeting thought. Sending my daughter into the arena was the hardest thing I have ever done, but the outcome of it couldn’t be more perfect.

#Glory and Gore

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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The Crocodile's Dilemma: In Which Helen exploits Michael's Labor, Michael suffers an un-identity crisis, and unpaid internships should be illegal

It’s tough being a teenage embodiment of the Spiral. Your boss/wine aunt figure Helen’s a Tory, your inattentive cousin figure Mike Crew keeps attending philosophy classes and day drinking, and you’re pretty sure that this internship doesn’t have any dental. At least it’s good job experience for your future career in...being evil? But do you even want to be evil?

This small story is technically part of my Roleswap AU, but I specifically wrote it so that no knowledge is required. Still, if you’re wondering why Michael’s an eighteen(ish) year old, Mike Crew’s an Avatar of the Spiral, and everybody is obsessed with Melanie King, check it out. Still, no need. Rest under the cut.

Maybe Helen was right.

Not that Helen was ever strictly right, much as Helen was never wrong, but Michael just had to be doing this whole fear demon thing incorrectly. If someone had explained the whole fear demon thing to them two years ago (“Okay, so it’s like you’re the semi-sentient appendage of an extradimensional force of evil that has to consume trauma relentlessly in order to propagate its own debatable existence, also you’re nonbinary now, no those things are not strictly related, probably”), then they would have called them crazy. Which, of course, they were, but that wasn’t the point. So long as the point existed. So long as anything -

An essential theorem within quantum physics was the quantum Zeno effect.

Simply put, it was the fact that a quantum state would decay if left alone, but does not decay under continuous observation. Even observing the results after the photon is produced leads to collapsing the wave function and loading a back-history as shown by delayed choice quantum eraser. If something was seen, it no longer existed; if something persisted unperceived, it would exist as long as it liked.

So it was explained to Michael by the physics professor he was torturing that day. Michael had trapped the man in the physics building of his university, lured in by one too many late nights in his office and the persistent sense that his life was going nowhere meaningful. After a few classes spent sitting in on his Physics 101 class, maintaining constant and forever eye contact, Michael had eventually tricked the man into giving a persistent and ongoing physics lecture to an empty classroom, desperately trying to explain the inexplicable to a college freshman who did not care. Truly miserable, yet ultimately harmless - Michael’s favorite kind of trick.

But, despite themself, Michael grew interested. They didn’t understand any of what the man was talking about, but that was all of the fun. Understanding ruined the magic of things; broke down the beauty of the universe into cogs and gears. No thanks. They could tell that it bothered the professor, that he said so much and yet knew nothing. That there was so much he would never know, and that he wasn’t so smart after all. How would any of his colleagues respect him?

“So photons degrade if they’re observed?” Michael asked one day, after...some period of time. They had raised their hand and everything, they were so proud of themself. Uni was just like secondary school after all. “Is that true of people too?”

The professor had sweated, deeply uncomfortable with Michael as a person and as a non-euclidean concept. “No - no, not at all. Humans are much more than photons -”

Michael grinned. It wasn’t quite right. “Are you sure?”

The professor sweated harder. “I - no, I’m not. But humans are constantly observed by - by the universe, or something.”

Michael grinned sharper. “Are you sure? Are you being observed right now? Are you sure?”

And the professor was not sure, not anymore, and the fragment of this man’s reality collapsed.

Well, Michael thought to themself, slipping out of an improbable yellow door, that’s another Statement for the Magnus Institute. Not that they would read it.

****

“Now, remember this - the first step to being a successful Avatar is presentation!”

Michael squinted at Helen dubiously. “I thought we were fear demons?”

Helen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two sharp knife fingers. It looked as if it hurt quite a bit, but Michael reasoned that they had probably gone through the fifth dimension. “This is the stupidest dimension - fine, fine! Fear demons, then. It is absolutely vital that we conduct our business with style, grace, and the slightest sprinkling of pizazz!”

Just for the flourish, Helen twirled her fingers, and a faint shower of confetti came raining down from the ceiling. Michael sneezed.

“I thought it was vital that we harvest fear and trauma from people to propagate our cursed existence,” Michael said.

Helen’s eyebrow twitched. “More than two things can be vital, Michael. Please pay attention. Now, as a demonstration, I’d like you to take a gander at that man over there.”

Obediently, Michael looked across the bar. They were sitting on barstools in a high-class pub, because Helen knew her worth and never settled for anything less, with glass counters and lots of private booths. But all pubs had their sad men drinking alone, and this one was no exception.

This man wasn’t sullen and slow like a lot of them. He was wearing a nice suit and thin tie, looking straight out of Canary Wharf. Michael silently agreed with Helen’s choice - they took eat the rich very seriously, and also literally. He also seemed a little jumped up on something, with shaking hands and erratic eyes.

“He looks happy,” Michael observed. “Think it’s his birthday?”

“He’s on cocaine, Michael,” Helen said flatly. “Cocaine. We are at a posh bar, and he is currently doing a line off his watch.”

Oh! Michael suddenly felt very uncool. They had never been one of those people in secondary school who did cocaine. They hadn’t been cool. “I knew that,” Michael bluffed. “What are we going to do to him?”

“Take the teenager as your intern, they said,” Helen groused, “it’s investing in the future, they said, it’ll stop them from eating you when they grow up, they said.” She sighed, jabbing a finger at the now very obviously coked up man who was staring at the bottles behind the bartender as if they were whispering secrets of the universe into his ear. Helen liked that one. “Use your intuition. Find a good angle to squeeze. What are his weaknesses to exploit?”

Oh, Michael knew how to do this. They shifted vibrations just a bit, dropping out of what Michael liked to call the ‘mild’ spectrum into the ‘spicy’ spectrum. They were distantly aware of a patron’s glass shattering.

They squinted at the man, picking out his little fears and insecurities like Dionysus picking grapes. Maybe. Michael had gotten a C in English, but they were somewhat cognizant of the Spiral munching heavily on Bacchanalia. Sometimes they felt like some of those children who spoke in tongues and claimed to be from a past life. That had also been the Spiral.

“He owns a Nintendo NES,” Michael said confidently, absolutely sure that this was important. Helen groaned. “His house is painted white, and his girlfriend does tax fraud.”

“Something relevant?” Helen hinted desperately.

Michael just squinted at her. “Relevant to what?”

“...good point. But something useful, please.”

Picky. Michael scowled, but gave the man another good gander. “He only remembers faint details of his father’s face, and he worries that his recollections aren’t accurate,” Michael proclaimed finally.

Helen clapped, delighted, as Michael took a careful sip of their water, turning it into fizzy water. She took a sip of her own wine, turning it into champagne. Or maybe just sparkling unreality? “Wonderful. Now, how should we play this? Insert a false father into his life, completely separate from his recollections, or is that a bit too Stranger? I suppose we could do some good old-fashioned gaslighting, but sometimes that’s just a bit too Melanie, if you catch my drift -”

“Are you jealous that the Archive girls are better at gaslighting than you are?”

“Shut it, kid,” Helen hissed, before taking a long drag of her champagne. “My vote is that we convince him to top off his coke bender with some LSD. Then he hallucinates - oh, he hallucinates that he’s in a mental institution, that’s a good one -”

“Why don’t we shift everything thirty cm to the right?” Michael asked brightly.

Helen squinted at them. They beamed back.

“You are so bad at this,” Helen said.

Michael would have felt crushed if Helen didn’t express this sentiment roughly once per lunar cycle, contrariwise. As it was, they bore the criticism with a stiff upper lip. Helen had her way of harvesting fear from unsuspecting humans, and Michael had theirs. “Look, Helen, you’re being uncreative! We don’t have to traumatize people every single time.”

Helen squinted further. “We’re personifications of deceit. We eat trauma.”

“No, we eat confusion,” Michael pointed out patiently. “Look at it this way. If you give someone one really terrible experience, then they repress it for the rest of their lives and consider it a brush with Hell. One and done, see? But if you minorly inconvenience them for a really long time, then they’ll never be able to break out of it. They’ll feel as if something’s wrong, but they’ll never know it. You can keep the game going for years that way!”

The idea was very good. Michael had been working on it for a while. Truth be told, Michael felt bad traumatizing people outright and making them scream and cry and everything. They always felt as if they were doing something wrong by making other people’s existences a living nightmare. Michael much preferred rigging a corn maze so you were stuck in it for days inside the maze but only an hour outside. It was funner, and much more confusing.

But Helen just pursed her lips and stared Michael up and down, making them squirm awkwardly on their barstool. Finally, as if she was delivering a life sentence, she imperiously said, “Well, we all have our different styles, I suppose! It would be quite boring if we were both exactly the same.” Michael nodded vigorously at this, and Helen held up a scaly claw. “But! You’re my intern, which means that you’re learning from the master here. So shut up and let me teach you how to ruin lives.”

“Yes, boss,” Michael said miserably.

Helen tsked, but she patted them on the head anyway. It tasted like batteries. “Honestly, kid. A literal bleeding heart’s fun for the whole family, but a metaphorical bleeding heart will get you nowhere in life. You can’t exist as you are and feel bad for them. It ruins the point. It’s a paradox.”

“I thought we liked paradoxes, though?”

Helen shrugged, downing the rest of her wine. “Rules for thee but not for me, honey. But I’m a good boss and drunken aunt figure, so I’ll appease you today. Now come on, let’s convince this bar to vote for Brexit.”

They did. It was quite fun after all, tricking a roomful of people into doing something actively against their own interests. But something about the whole thing left a strange taste in Michael’s mouth: not the good kind of strange, or the bad kind of strange that was also good. Just strange, and undeniable, and something that couldn’t be exploited at all.

****

Maybe Helen was right.

Michael was a bad fear demon of the Spiral and Infinite Twisting and That Is Not What It Is and The Twisted Door, etc, etc, All Fear Its Name, etc etc all Hail, because they didn’t always like how their internal monologue could no longer be described through common language. Words and images and understandings were nothing but approximations for Michael now, and sometimes it was frustrating existing outside the boundaries of understanding. Which, of course, was the point, so long as the point existed, so long as anything existed -

It wasn’t always easy. Still, nobody ever got what they wanted if they weren’t willing to put the effort in. The adult world and labouring under capitalism wasn’t easy for anybody. That was what Mum had always said. Who was Michael to complain about their 9-5? Or 24/24? Or infinite/infinite? Or nothing/nothing? Or -

Was it too much to ask to have a linear thought once in a while?

Helen wouldn’t understand. There were only two other approximations of concepts that Michael knew, and Helen would hardly be any help. The other “person” would probably be a better sounding board, but there was the fact that he was kind of pretentious. Still, it was better than nothing. Well, it was nothing, but only in the sense that everything was - argh!

A yellow door appeared in a nondescript basement, and Michael appeared with it. They melted out of the “wood”, taking a second to check their outfit for this apparition - a nice vintage 50s dress with a painstaking stitch that reminded one of the oppressive nature of housewifery, nice. They elongated their curly blonde hair from a roguish mop into a nice little shag and melted into the crowd.

It must have been a passing period, because Michael was buffeted to and fro by tall white men wearing backpacks and shorter white girls hoisting strangely identical water bottles. Somewhere Northern, Michael decided, likely private and small. Not that it strictly mattered, but it helped to solidify their grip in reality a bit if they had some idea. They already knew geography was purposeless and a distraction from the real issues, like shrimp, but occasionally it could be useful. Helen had been careful to impart the central tenet of existence as a non-euclidean concept in undefinable space in the twenty seventh dimension: location, location, location!

It was obviously the Philosophy Department, because all philosophy classes were held in old basements built in the ‘60s in identical hallways. For kicks, Michael turned all of the school hallways inwards and sent them in a mobius strip, and changed all of the door numbers into a headache. The key to enjoying your job was to take initiative in the workplace environment and to just have fun with it!

Michael found themselves in front of a door identical to all of the others, with fake laminated wood, and they decided to go in. The universe had guided them to this door for a reason, and who were they to reject its call?

The small classroom was like most other small, private colleges in unpopular departments that nobody cared about. Lots of single person desks - Michael snapped their fingers and turned them all into left-handed desks - complete with a smartboard and a teacher’s podium. It was already half-full, so Michael carefully slid into a chair in the back and pretended that they had been there all along. A student wandered close, convinced that this was her seat, but Michael successfully convinced her that a different seat near the front was hers, prompting an impromptu game of musical chairs that sent ripples through the otherwise sedate classroom.

There was a blond student already sitting in the front, flipping through a spiral notebook and clicking a pen in no particular pattern. He was wearing a pea coat, jeans, and his hair was weirdly perfect. Michael wished they had a notebook. Was this what you did in university? They had never had the opportunity to go.

Actually, they had never quite graduated secondary - three months away from graduation, actually. It probably wasn’t all that important. You didn’t really need a diploma to become a trauma eating fear demon. Was there a university of eating fear? That would be funny. What would the classes be in, ‘Enforcing the Powerlessness of Capitalism 101’? What was the difference between that and a Business major?

Maybe Business majors were the real fear demons, Michael thought grandly. It was a good thought, they would have to remember to tell it to Melanie later. Melanie would approve. Hadn’t Tim been a business major? Yeah, in that case she would definitely approve.

The student sitting in the front seemed to have finally noticed the game of musical chairs, and as the professor started clearing their throat and announcing something unimportant to the class, he turned around to find Michael sitting in the back of the class. They waved cheerfully. The student scowled.

‘What are you doing here!’, the guy mouthed angrily.

‘Hi Mike!’ Michael mouthed back.

‘Go away!’ Mike mouthed back.

‘But I’m going to eat your teacher :(‘ Michael mouthed back. They didn’t actually frown.

‘ >:(!’, Mike Crew mouthed back, also without changing his facial expression.

This was probably why Mike wasn’t Michael’s biggest fan. Which was a pity, because Michael thought Mike was really cool. He had the coolest name, for one. But shorter, and snappier. Mike was the kind of name girls would call you at clubs. Michael was what, like, your Mum would say as she yelled at you to clean up your room before her book club girls came over. Why were they girls? They were, like, fifty.

Mike Crew was an Avatar of the Spiral completely unwillingly. Chosen as a child and chased throughout his life by an improbably long lasting Lichtenberg scar, he had eventually succumbed to the inevitable and transformed into an even more improbable man. Personally, Michael found it strange that ‘inevitable’ and ‘Spiral’ was in the same sentence, but - well, it had to be everything at one point. Even a melting clock was right once an endless twilight.

Strangest of all, Mike Crew was a philosophy major. The class, of course, was a high level philosophy course. Mike Crew had been in uni - well, a while - and he tended not to waste his time with the boring shit anymore. Michael listened with interest as the professor dived into the lecture.

Two minutes in, Mike subtly gathered his things and slipped into the conveniently empty chair next to Michael. He was still glaring at them, as Michael tried their best to look innocent and cute. The effect was a little ruined by the inherent maliciousness of Michael’s pores, but they liked to think it was the thought that counted.

“To continue our conversation on the topic of paradoxes,” the professor began, “I’d like to introduce a few thought experiments for your consideration as a class. I’ll mention the concept, and then allow you to break into pairs to discuss them.”

Mike leaned into Michael’s ear. “We were discussing Descartes!”

“But isn’t this more interesting?” Michael asked.

“If you give my professor a mental breakdown we’re going to fall behind on the syllabus!”

“The first paradox I’d like to bring to your attention is the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” The professor flipped to a new slide, which helpfully had a big crocodile on it. Michael admired it. They had seen a crocodile at the zoo once. “Similar to the liar’s paradox, the premise states that a crocodile, who has stolen a child, promises the parent that his or her child will be returned if and only if he or she correctly predicts what the crocodile will do next. The outcome is fairly obvious if the parent states that the crocodile will return the child, but the crocodile faces a dilemma if the parent states that the crocodile will not return the child. No matter the outcome, the crocodile is made a liar: if the crocodile decides to not give back the child then the statement proves to be true, and he ought to return the child, thereby making it false. Whatever the outcome, he still violates his terms.”

Michael raised their hand. Mike forcibly lowered their hand.

“If I give your professor a mental breakdown then you’ll have extra time for the test,” Michael whispered back. Mike seriously considered this notion.

“The next paradox is slightly related,” the professor continued. “The Infinite Hotel Paradox.” Michael’s face stretched into a grin as Mike Crew groaned. “It is demonstrated that a fully occupied hotel with infinitely many rooms may still accommodate additional guests, even infinitely many of them, and this process may be repeated infinitely often. This is what we call a veridical paradox: it leads to a counter-intuitive result that is provably true. Therefore -”

“Okay, yeah,” Mike Crew said, slumping in his seat. “You can eat him, this guy is just begging for it.”

“Yay!” Michael went in for the hug, before Mike pushed them away. Michael’s quest for a cool big brother failed yet again. “Do you want to call the -”

“They’re your hallways,” Mike said, persnickety as always. Maybe he was just jealous that he wasn’t a hallway?

Michael raised their hand, patiently waiting for the professor to call on them. He stumbled in the middle of his lecture, adjusting his thick glasses.

“Uh, yes, Miss -”

“You no longer understand gender,” Michael said pleasantly, as they always did whenever they were misgendered. It was an understandable mistake, so they didn’t do it maliciously. Frankly, they just thought it was healthy. Everyone should not understand false things. “Professor, I have a question about the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” They waited for the professor to nod, somewhat confused. “How do you know that didn’t really happen?”

The professor blinked lethargically at them. “It’s a thought experiment. It’s not real, it’s just an idea proposed by philosophers to represent -”

“What makes you so sure?” Michael asked cheerfully. “Crocodiles eat babies. Or dingoes. I think I read a story about this happening in Australia, didn’t you?”

“I - I suppose I did, yes -”

“We wouldn’t talk about it if it didn’t really happen.” Michael felt their voice fall into a rising lilt, like an attractive song that was played to a concert hall but heard only by you. They were distantly aware of Mike lulling the rest of the students into their own hazy daze: aware enough to be confused, but trapped in their seats and the fog of misunderstandings. “Fiction isn’t real. Reality is real. But a thought experiment is in between, isn’t it? Something that strains the boundaries of reality, that proves the fundamental concepts of life, told through a framework of an intrinsic lie. A paradox is a lie telling the truth. You are a truth speaker telling only lies. What you know isn’t so much as anything at all, is it? What do you really know, anyway?”

“One of us tells only the truth and the other tells only lies,” Mike Crew called out, bored. But his eyes were shining in endless refraction, infinite rooms holding infinite guests. “But is it really a lie if you had mistaken it for the truth? What lies are you living, Dr. Young?”

Dr. Young was stammering, eyes swimming, and Michael didn’t dare to break eye contact. It was a delicate spell they wove, but Michael wasn’t so bad at bringing this simmer to a boil. Cooking was about improvisation, and Michael had always been great at that.

“If your life is a lie,” Michael breathed, “then are you really alive?”

It was clear, when it happened: the professor started inhaling deep, deeper breaths, chest wracking with heaves. His eyes rolled up in his head, he clutched at his chest, and he finally slumped down on the floor. He twitched, jerking slightly, and he would continue jerking. At which point the students would become aware, and they’d call an ambulance for him, and he would be perfectly alright in the end. If a little mentally scarred.

“Damn,” Mike Crew said, almost impressed, as both he and Michael stood up. He shoved his pens in a backpack, glad to be free of his examination for another week. “What’d you do to him?”

“Made him think he was dead,” Michael said serenely. “He thought his heart had stopped beating so he had a panic attack. He’s going to have to make an appointment with a psychiatrist but he probably should anyway, work’s very stressful for him.”

“Guess I have the rest of the hour off,” Mike sighed, as he held the door open for Michael so they could slip out of the back of the classroom. It was yellow, and a little strange. “Want to grab a pint with me at the campus pub?” He paused a beat. “Wait, are you even old enough to drink?”

“I’m as old as eternity and reborn every second.” Michael paused a beat. “But I was eighteen last time I checked, and I’ll probably be eighteen for a while, so yes?”

“Great, let’s roll. I need a drink.”

****

Mike’s uni’s pub (Michael had asked the name of the uni but the information had, unfortunately, been lost in next Tuesday, so they’ll know then) was the exact opposite of the high class pub Helen had taken them to. Instead of glassy, shiny, and chromey, Mike’s pub looked strongly as if very many people had puked in it and the staff had tackled the problem somewhat half-heartedly. Michael enjoyed the sight of the puke existing in all points in time simultaneously, giving it a sort of weird yellow-ish shine. Actually, maybe all puke had that yellowish sheen?

When they asked Mike about it as they hopped up on the bar, he just sighed. He flagged the bartender down for a pint, and when the bartender squinted dubiously at Michael they revelled into the micro-confusion of ambiguous ages. Micro-feeding? Like mini muffins?

“Helen made a mistake hiring you. She’s stuck us with a perpetual teenager.”

“I’m as much a teenager as you are a uni student,” Michael said pointedly.

“I’m not an embodiment of the It Is What It Isn’t Is,” Mike said, oddly aggressively. “I’m just a normal Avatar.”

“Fear demon.”

“Melanie King isn’t always right and I don’t know why everyone thinks she is.” Big words from an honored Special Guest on her show. There were many in the fear demon community who would kill for the honor. It was a good thing she hated intruders in her Archives - otherwise they’d never leave. “But I’m no different from - that douche Peter Lukas or that stoner Elias Bouchard or that btich Annabelle, okay? I’m just a guy. Who eats trauma. Plenty of guys do that.”

“Very good denial of reality!” Michael approved. “Normally Helen tells me to go further into denying reality as a concept, though.”

“God, you hallway people are impossible to have a normal conversation with.” Mike huffed, clearly not as irritated as his words would imply. Michael also approved of the incongruity. “I’m assuming that you’re here for absolutely no reason and that you have no idea why or how you ended up at my uni.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, I am here for a reason.” At Mike’s extreme surprise, they hurriedly clarified, “Not with any goal, meaning, or intention in mind! But I just wanted to talk about something to someone who wasn’t technically another facet of my meaningless whole. Helen and I are as index and ring fingers on the same hand, but we don’t really get each other sometimes, you know?”

“Does that make you the pinky finger?”

“I actually had a hypothetical for you.” At Mike’s nod, Michael snagged a napkin from the stack on the sticky bar and began creasing it, somewhat anxiously. “Let’s say, hypothetically, you were a teenagerish nongendered sentient hallway intern who happens to eat trauma.”

“This isn’t much of a hypothetical,” Mike said flatly.

“I’m a hypothetical person. And I’m only a person hypothetically.” Michael started making little folds in the napkin, twisting it up into a strange origami. “So, let’s say, hypothetically, that this person - their name is Michael - enjoyed being them. It wasn’t always fun, and sometimes they kind of missed the world making sense, or at least not making sense in a familiar way. And sometimes Michael got tired of being a sentient hallway and wanted to finish secondary. And maybe even sometimes Michael grows sad that both their parents were eaten by their new boss, who is kind of a Tory! But that’s all fine. Michael’s probably happier like this than they ever were even when they did have parents.”

Mike Crew stared at them a little, slowly sipping his pint.

Michael hunched their shoulders, and folded up the napkin further and further. They had read somewhere that any piece of paper can only be folded seven times. They folded the napkin seven times, then eight, then nine, then ten. That was something nice about the way things were now, they supposed: no rules, absolute freedom. Only rules, no freedom. That was what Dr. Yung would call a paradox. “But maybe the worst part about this new job is that Michael doesn’t really like hurting people. Sometimes it’s fun to randomly make people very upset, and you always kind of end up doing it anyway, but after a while Michael feels kind of bad about it. Michael likes doing other things better, like making terrible roundabouts and rearranging the pages of books. Maybe they even like reading books. They like reading comic books backwards, from the last page to the first, so every panel is a surprise.”

“There’s lots of ways to be a fear demon,” Mike pointed out, almost gently. Maybe only because he could relate. “Look at me. I’m not feeding off anyone. Just myself.”

“But I like the way I do it,” Michael said, frustrated. “Helen keeps trying to get me to do it the way she does it, but the point is that we aren’t the same. What’s the point in having two of us if both our viewpoints are the same? We’re different in every way, but we’re the same being. I just want to be the Spiral the way I want. Not the way Helen wants.” Their voice lowered, almost unwilling to say what they were about to say. “Not the way the Spiral wants.”

Mike stared at them for a long time, slowly sipping his beer, and Michael focused their efforts on forcing this improbable napkin into something that could be beautiful. A lotus flower? A mobius strip? Or should they just let it happen as it happens, and see what form it decided to take?

Finally, Mike said, “You are the Spiral.”

“Then why am I always disagreeing with it?” Michael asked miserably.

“Why are you, Helen, and the Spiral always disagreeing?” Mike pointed out. “Maybe that’s the point. So much as anything’s a point. Isn’t it the most perfect paradox of all, to split yourself into portions that are always disagreeing and bickering? Maybe everything you’re feeling is on purpose. I mean, it’s kind of improbable that you’re feeling at all, right?”

“I retained a lot of humanity,” Michael said. “Maybe a bit too much, actually?”

“Right.” Mike nodded decisively. “Then that’s the appeal. A human mind will always strain against its confines. It will always want different, want the same, want the old and the new and the perpetual and the fleeting and the eternity and the moment. What’s more nonsensical than a human? What’s more contradictory than human nature?” A dark shadow passed over his face, just for a second. “The Spiral kidnaps us and turns us into it. One part of our minds is entrenched in its eternity, and another part is always screaming in agony. But predominantly we are the unholy mixture of human and Entity, oil forced into water. It’s so intrinsically horrifying and wrong that we just get used to it. We are both demon and human, and so we’re neither, and so we’re both. Isn’t it weird, Michael, that unlike so many other Avatars, none of us want to be here?”

“You’re a very philosophical person,” Michael said diplomatically.

“Thanks, I think too much about my lot in life.” Mike Crew sighed, slumping on his barstool and knocking back more of his pint. “I wish you and Helen would stop showing up in my life so often. When you aren’t around, I can almost pretend I’m a person.”

“That’s why we show up,” Michael felt obligated to point out.

“Yeah, I know,” Mike said glumly. “I always know. I can’t stop knowing.”

There was nothing Michael could say or do that fixed this, or that could make Mike feel better. They understood, just a little - that nostalgia for a kinder time. But maybe it was more that Mike never had those halcyon, innocent days. He had lived life since childhood in aching knowledge that his days were numbered. Maybe that’s why Mike was allowed to live life as a human even now: his human life was just as confusing and isolated as his afterlife, and that when fear stained every second of his life there was no point in ceasing it.

Maybe Michael couldn’t keep their human life because they had been happy. At the very least, they had been ignorant. That was one thing the Spiral could not abide: ignorance.

These days, Michael knew everything. They knew everything so, so much.

So, in lieu of comforting falsehoods, Michael offered Mike Crew a slightest sliver of truth. They passed Mike the little piece of origami that they had made, and let Mike cradle it in his large and smooth hands.

The origami had no shape. It wasn’t folded into anything. It was just a meaningless amalgamation of points, corners, and creased paper. It didn’t look like anything at all.

“See?” Michael pointed out. “It’s a bear.”

Mike Crew smiled weakly. “Looks like a sea goat to me.”

There was something beautiful in ambiguity. When something was nothing, it could be everything at once. That was rather Michael’s favorite thing about it.

“I think it’s a self-portrait,” Michael decided.

And that, at least, was as true as anything else.

***

Michael wandered their hallways.

On some level, they were pretty much perpetually doing that. Even as one facet of them talked with Michael in a campus pub, even as another helped Helen convince a high class pub into voting Brexit, even as they traumatized a physics professor, they wandered these hallways.

Make no mistake: everything in this story has/will/is happened/happening simultaneously.

Of course, on another level Michael was literally their hallways, and thus they were not so much wandering as existing. Pulsating, one could say. Even twisting, if one would be so bold.

There was a mirror, in the hallway. Not a funhouse mirror - although Michael did enjoy popping out from those and scaring Nikola - but just a mirror. Gilded around the edges, ornate with swirling curlicues. You could see yourself in it. You could see a lot of yourself in it. It wasn’t what you had always looked like, not really, but you just had the sense that this was what you really looked like. Maybe you had always looked like this, and everybody was just too polite to tell you. Were you really a brunette? This mirror had to be right. You had been a blonde all along. Nobody had told you. They were laughing at you. They were laughing -

But this was Michael, and Michael’s, and nothing in here could harm them. It was even comforting. They looked at themselves in the mirror, and saw themselves same as ever. Or not same as ever. They were still Michael, so far as Michael was Michael.

Shortish. Blondey. Raggedy hair. Curled as much as anything’s curled. Fun clothing that they really enjoyed. Tall shoes, because they liked feeling tall. Similar dimensions to the golden number. Non linear, but who’s counting? It was what they typically looked like.

But, just for a second, Michael even fooled themselves. They saw someone in the mirror that they were not, someone who they had never been, someone who they never will be. Someone different.

Michael, just like everyone else, couldn’t stop themselves from reaching out. Come back. Come back! Let me touch you, let me be you! Michael’s fingers brushed the shiny glass, and the world tilted sideways, and Michael fell into where the sidewalk ended.

They emerged, or maybe they had always been, inside a bedroom. It was a nice little suburban bedroom. It had a peaked ceiling and a window seat. The walls were a soft, navy blue. There was a young person, lying on the shag carpet, leafing through a book. Big headphones were over their ears, and they were bopping along to music. Disco.

Michael stood, an intruder into a familiar space, and watched the stranger. Their throat felt oddly tight, and their eyes felt strangely hot. The stranger was smiling faintly, flipping the pages of their book somewhat mindlessly. They were reading it for school. Flatland. It was just an assignment, but it was really fucking them up. It was making them think about all of these things that they didn’t normally, in new dimensions. It was really cool. All of their friends were just reading the Sparknotes, but they really wanted to talk about it with someone.

This, of course, had happened. It will happen in the future. It was happening now, as Michael watched the scene with an electric sadness. It would never happen, because the Spiral had never been here, and never would be, and always was.

A knock echoed on the door, several sharp raps. Michael didn’t notice, legs swinging to the music.

The knock on the door hit louder. “Michael!” A voice echoed from behind it. “Michael, are you ready to go?”

Michael reached up and slid off their headphones, without looking up from their book. “Coming!” They called back. “Be right there!”

The Spiral watched Michael, who hummed absentmindedly as the door knocked again. Dad was downstairs, making sure the gas was off and shutting off the lights. Mum was knocking, knocking, knocking, on a door that was and will always be wood.

“Have you packed yet?” Mum called.

“Sure I have!” Michael yelled back, glancing at the empty suitcase on the bed and the messy pile of clothes right next to it. They pushed themselves up, flipping the book shut and rising to their feet. “Be right out!”

“Hurry up,” Mum called, as the Spiral mouthed the words along with her. “We’re going to be late!”

The Bermudas aren’t going anywhere, Michael thought spitefully. They stuffed their clothes haphazardly in a suitcase, took far more care to pack their laptop and DS, and shoved Flatland in a side pocket of their backpack.

When Michael slung on his backpack, unfolded the handle from their suitcase, they were not even looking at the door they left through. They were entirely focused on managing the unruly suitcase, and walked straight through the crazed yellow door.

Of course, Michael walked out. Slightly stranger, a little better, a lot worse. Exactly the same. They were back in their hallways again, fresh from their little suburban bedroom and the child exiting one world and entering one quite different. Maybe one part of that child would always be in that bedroom, another part in these hallways, and another part always caught in that doorway and the transition.

Simultaneously, in all points in time, Mum knocked on that wood door, and Michael never let her inside. Simultaneously, at all points in time, Michael watched it all happen.

They hadn’t expected it to be so comforting. At all moments in time, in a little corner of their heart, Mum knocked on their door. If the Spiral lived in your soul and beat your heart, it was easy to find the beauty in it - the magnificence of eternity, and the joy in the moment. Mum was with them - literally, as he was pretty sure Helen was still digesting her. Maybe nothing was ever truly over - just over there.

Michael stuck their hands in their pockets, whistling a jaunty tune that highly resembled the Shepherd’s Tone. Their hallways pulsated comfortingly, and Michael carefully toed off their platform shoes and eyed down the infinite hallways. No rugs for a while.

Maybe Michael, Mike Crew, and Helen should get together more often. Just the three of them. They would drive each other batty. It would be a lot of fun.

Michael set off running down the hallway, and skidded on their socks down the hardwood floor, whooping in joy as they skidded endlessly towards eternity.

#my writing #the magnus archives #tma #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fanfic #michael the distortion #helen the distortion #michael #helen #michael shelley #helen richardson #mike crew #the distortion #the spiral #Michael views their life as an embodiment of terror and unreality as roughly equivelant to capitalism #Helen is kind of regretting hiring this kid but it's probably the only thing stopping them from eating her #Mike Crew really really really hates his fear cousins #i had to open a lot of wikipedia pages for this so you're welcome

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votederpycausemufins · 4 years ago

Text

I’m back, but you still not see much for a few days. there’s still some stuff for me to finish up and i need to move back home.

@petrichormeraki and @helleborusangel (come back angel. I have given thee helsmits)

The_Grifter joined the world.

<The_Grifter> alright, I’m looking for Grian, Tommy, Xannes and also Xisuma

<The_Grifter> I also wouldn’t mind seeing Mumbo~

<FalseSymmetry> Who are you?

<TangoTek> Are you someone from Tommy’s old server?

<The_Grifter> Nope! :3

<The_Grifter> Hmm, looks like only Tommy and Xisuma are here.

<The_Grifter> Oh well, good enough!

<TommyInnit> Why are you here?

<The_Grifter> Dadza’s threatening Sense if I don’t figure out what happened to Theseus.

<NPG> So… not killing me?

<The_Grifter> :3

<NPG> WM if you see this i’m going to try finding you!

PerfectSense joined the world

<The_Grifter> :O

<The_Grifter> Guess I don’t need to do shit now

<PerfectSense> No you do. I’m cursed

<The_Grifter> >:O

<TommyInnit> Bitch, I’m the only one allowed to curse here!

<The_Grifter> Not anymore!

<The_Grifter> Wait

<PerfectSense> Prof has them

<The_Grifter> Awww I can’t wait to see how much fun they have

<ImpulseSV> Does anyone know what’s going on?

<Docm77> Nope

<StressMonster> Sorry luv

<TommyInnit> I unfortunately do. Those are hels… people. What do you call them?

<Renthedog> Helsmits

<TommyInnit> got it. Well, Grian and Mumbo versions

<Renthedog> I thought NPG was that?

<The_Grifter> fuck no he isn’t. He stole my spot!

<TommyInnit> The other helsmits locked Grifter away because they couldn’t deal with him

<Iskall85> Oh dear

Fundy came out of the room behind Grum. “I’m so sorry. I was just turning him back on to check him out and he just sort of… did this.” He gestured to Grumbot, who was currently just staring at Grian.

“I need to know how to make a portal to bzzt. Bzzt is still revived incorrectly and bzzt says his revival is important for Grum.” Grumbot spoke, making the others look around slightly confused.

“Do we need to find a way to remove that too?” Fundy asked. “Doesn’t sound like your kid exactly.”

“I see. I shouldn’t have been saying it that way then.” Grumbot replied, nodding in acknowledgment. “While I’m sorry for the confusion, I still need a portal to bzzt.”

“Grum, you’re having your words come out wrong again.” Mumbo said, moving closer to the bot. “We can’t quite tell where you want a portal to.”

“I see. I was unaware that was still happening. I’ll see if I can fix it later. Does a portal home work?”

“You want to go back to Hermitcraft?” Grian asked, and Grumbot nodded. “Alright, I can do that if you can answer why you’ve been using the name Eyes.”

Though it was implied before, Grian actually saying Eyes was Grumbot still surprised people. Grumbot also didn’t answer the question immediately and the screen changed to a loading circle, which just changed the surprise to worry.

Mumbo looked to Grian, who seemed to have the most knowledge of what was going on. Grian seemed to realize what the look was, and answered. “It looks like the boys are also Watchers.”

Heads suddenly snapped in Grian’s direction and questions started being flung at him about how it was possible and what that meant. He tried to get everyone to calm down and explained he would try his best to answer later, but they didn’t stop until Grumbot spoke again. “I used it so that when helping, my presence would be seen as someone else by the admin Dream. That seems to also be the reasoning behind the names being censored.”

“Seems to be?” Grian asked, eyes narrowed. Jrum seemed fine for now, but he was still skeptical about Grumbot and their Watcher powers.

For a moment, Grumbot seemed to be buffering again. “That is the reason for it. I apologize for the error in wording there.”

Grian still seemed skeptical and grabbed Mumbo, pulling him over to a corner to talk. “You’re sure you got everything out of there?”

“Everything we could get out of there. There were a few files that wouldn’t move over. But Fundy and I also discovered that their wiring has changed on its own.”

Grian paused, thinking that over. “I want to get the boys home so we have what we need to repair them, but I’m still worried about what would happen with Grum. And because of that we would need to keep a close eye on him, but Jrum needs us more right now.”

“I’m sure the others would be glad to watch over him, especially if EX comes back with us because I’m sure Xisuma will have his hands full with everything else that’s been going on.”

“I’m not so sure that will be enough. I mean, you’ve seen how I’ve gotten when I’m using too much of my Watcher powers.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true. But at the very least, it doesn’t look like he knows how to do much yet. I mean, he is asking for you to make a way out instead of just leaving himself.”

“I guess that’s true. But what if they can’t handle it?” Grian asked, but Mumbo just gave him a deadpan look.

“Grian. We’ve dealt with you.”

“I know, I know. But this could be like me, but with the energy of a kid.”

“We’ve also dealt with Jrum.”

“But this is like-”

Mumbo put his hands on Grian’s shoulders. “We are hermits, Grian. We’ve dealt with some crazy things even before you showed up. Sure you’ve made it crazier, but you can’t count us out just like that.”

Grian sighed. “I know. I’m just worried.”

“I know, I am too. But I doubt the worst thing that could happen actually will. I’m sure the other hermits will do fine if anything happens. Grum just wants to help out Tommy. We’ll probably have to come back here anyway when that happens, so we won’t be gone too long and can see how things go.”

Grian nodded. “Okay, but just us for and EX if he wants to come.”

Mumbo nodded, and the two of them went back over to the group. “Alright Grum, we can take you to Tommy, but we’ll probably need to come back here.”

“Will we bring Tommy back with us on our return?” Grumbot asked, tilting their head slightly with the question.

“That depends on if Tommy wants to come back.” Grian answered, but Grumbot didn’t like that answer.

“I will not return here if he does not also return. I will need to stay with him.”

“And why do you need to do that?”

Grumbot started buffering again, taking much more time than before. “That cannot be safely discussed as Dream may try to impede what is needed.”

“Well he isn’t around anymore. I saw him disappear with the other version of Tommy.” Tubbo spoke up.

“You are correct. The admin Dream is not here. But his absence does not change things.”

Grian tried to say something more, but Mumbo stopped him. “Grum’s obviously still dealing with whatever happened. He probably is just scared to trust anyone right now. Don’t hold it against him.”

“Alright, fine. Well, we’re going to leave for a bit with the boys before coming back, so you don’t need to follow.” Grian explained, but then turned to Xannes. “Unless you want to come along, because I honestly wouldn’t mind having someone like you around in case something…”

“Alright fine, but I might not stay too long. I do have things I need to deal with back in Helscraft based on what I heard from Tommy.”

“That’s perfectly fine.”

Jrumbot left the world

Grumbot_System left the world

MumboJumbo left the world

EvilXisuma left the world

Grian left the world

D̵̳̿̊͑ͅr̸̻̀̊e̷͓̹̘͝á̸͋̃m̸̡̙͇̘̫̈́̇͘ joined the world

Nightmare joined the world

TheseusMC joined the world

The moment they got back, Grian got a message from Tommy.

<TommyInnit> come to my place NOW

<Grian> Which one? What’s wrong? We already know about you having a respawn problem

<TommyInnit> The one I stole from you.

<The_Grifter> And I’m apparently what’s wrong!

<Grian> HOW

<MumboJumbo> Excuse me?!

<The_Grifter> :3

“Alright, I guess we definitely need to see Tommy now.” Grian grumbled. He didn’t know what they were going to be dealing with, so he teleported them nearby, though forgetting Xannes, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Jrum half hid behind Mumbo while Grumbot didn’t do much in the way of hiding, standing slightly behind and to the side of Grian. The avian held a sword in one hand and readied magic in the other hand before breaking down the door. “Tommy! We’re here!”

Tommy poked his head out from the tunnel. “Hey.” He waved, shocking the group other than Grumbot with his appearance.

“Tommy, are you okay? You’re all… grey.”

“Well, I’m not entirely a gho-” He started to speak, but a blur of green suddenly came by and grabbed Jrum.

“Oh look at him! He’s just like Grifect!” Grifter held up Jrum into the air, who was now struggling.

“Hey!” Grian tried to take Jrum away. “Put him down! And is that my old knight tunic?!”

Grifter put Jrum down. “Okay fine. And yeah, looked too much like NPG for my liking and his clothes are sort of built in, so I raided your wardrobe and now this is mine!”

“You can’t just steal my things!” Grian crossed his arms before picking Jrum up.

“I can and I did! Besides, looks great on me. I’m never taking it off! Though if someone else wants to-”

“Oh no he’s just as bad as Sense.”

Grifter pouted. “Oh like you’re in a position to complain. Sense and I had to wait a whole season because you two couldn’t just get busy sooner.”

“Can you fucking stop?” Tommy asked. “They’re less likely to help if you piss them off.”

Mumbo looked at Tommy, then to Grifter. “Why do you need our help exactly?”

“Because Sense is kinda cursed until I help Dadza because Theseus is missing and he likes Theseus most.”

“He was in Tommy’s old world for a bit, but he left while we were there.”

Grifter groaned. “Uh, yeah, I know that part. He left and came back already but apparently he left again but this time it wasn’t on purpose and Dad’s pissed. And it really fucking sucks because I’ve already been without Sense for so long and we only got to kiss before this shitty curse got put on him.”

“Don’t you-”

“I have standards with children in the room. Don’t worry about that.” Grifter rolled his eyes. “Now, finding Theseus. What do you all know?”

“What I know is that I first must look at Bzzt.” Grumbot spoke up, getting Grifter’s attention.

“Wait wait wait wait. Are they also a Watcher like you?” Grifter asked Grian, who shrugged. “Oh I can’t wait to tell Sense! He’ll love it! Assuming our kids are the same.”

“Wait, you have kids?” Mumbo asked, confused.

Grifter rolled his eyes and groaned. “Duh, that’s what I was talking about before dumbass.”

Grumbot looked between Grifter and the others before pushing past the helsmit to get to Tommy. Tommy tried to say something but was stopped as Grumbot put their hand on his mouth to silence him before looking him over. “I see. This seems to be simple enough to fix. We are just missing a necessary item. The only problem is the item is not with u-me so we will need to find the admin Dream who should have it in his possession.”

“No, I don’t want you getting near that green bitch again.” Tommy said, grabbing Grumbot’s wrist as they tried to walk off. “He already screwed you up before and you still seem kinda off.”

If Grumbot currently had an expressive face, they would have frowned. “But he is the only one with the book in his possession. And the person he got it from is constantly referred to as being dead, so I cannot go to them.”

“Book?”

“There is supposed to be a resurrection book. Such a book is normally used within the hels dimension, but the admin Dream altered the world in such a way that the book becomes necessary in certain deaths. It is likely that is something Theseus was after when trying to get the admin Dream.”

“Oh! That’s good to know!” Grifter smiled. “That should help out with finding Theseus. Anyway, I guess we need to find this Dream person.”

“The admin Dream was taken away by Theseus and has not been seen since as they were sent to the hels dimension by Console.”

“Alright, who’s that?”

Grumbot immediately started buffering, making Grifter raise an eyebrow and look at Grian and Mumbo, who didn’t have an answer for him. Tommy had a similar reaction, though it was more concerned, and he moved closer to Grumbot, who suddenly stopped buffering. “I’m sorry. What were we talking about again?”

“Ugh, whatever. Can you find Theseus or not?” Grifter asked, crossing his arms.

“Potentially, yes. It seems that my programs are less inhibited than before and I can access my information, especially if Theseus has a political ranking.”

Grifter groaned. “Ugh, I don’t know if he does. Sense would though. I’m going to go get him!” Grifter started running into the minecart tunnel. “Seesee! You need to tell me things about bitch boy!”

The group waited for Grifter to return. Jrum complained a little about wanting to go home, which led to Grian leaving with Jrum. Mumbo wanted to stay behind, but Jrum also wanted him around and Tommy said he could watch Grumbot, so the redstoner left as well.

“So Grum, what have you been up to?” Tommy asked, regretting the question when it just caused Grumbot to start buffering. “You alright in there?”

When the robot stopped, they answered Tommy’s question. “I have been living with the admin Dream for the span of around two months. He has been getting assistance from C-me through the form of a console.”

“Yeah, I mostly knew that part. But that’s what he made you do. Is there anything you’ve been up to yourself?”

“Not by myself, no.” Grumbot quickly answered, which while Tommy didn’t like the answer, it at the very least didn’t have a negative effect on the robot.

“So, obviously I fucking died. What exactly is the problem?”

“The world you came from and ended up dying in had some issues. Your revival should have been straightforward, but there was an issue due to the admin Dream’s influence on the world.”

Tommy paused, Grumbot had been saying that a lot. “You know you can just call him Dream. We know he’s the admin.”

“But what if I were talking about-” Grumbot started, but then their screen briefly featured an egg of all things before buffering again. Tommy’s eyes widened, and he was pretty sure he knew the issue. Dream was still doing something to Grumbot, so Grian and Mumbo needed to know as soon as possible.

Tommy jumped up from where he was sitting, rushing to get to the mansion, forgetting he couldn’t leave until he crashed into the invisible barrier keeping him in. He cursed a bit before stomping back over next to Grumbot, sitting down and crossing his arms. He grumbled a bit more, but then he was suddenly aware of Grum pulling himself into Tommy’s lap and curling up there. “Hey, you doing alright?” He asked, and Grum just clung to his shirt tightly.

“No.” Grum spoke in such a broken sounding voice that it hurt Tommy just to hear. “I’m sc-scared. I d-don’t care wh-what he s-says. I w-want to stay here.”

Tommy knows he’s not the best and helping out with trauma. He can barely deal with his own sometimes. But he knows that right now he’s the only one here and Grum is currently clinging to him. “Are you talking about Dream?” He asks in a quiet voice, taking a moment to make sure Grifter hasn’t returned with Sense before blocking up the tunnel, at least for now.

Grum shakes his head. “No… it… I d-don’t know. I th-think I’m br-broken. O-or I’ve b-been broken… Th-they were j-just supposed to be in th-the box. Th-they were s-supposed to stay th-there.”

“What are you talking about?” Tommy asked, and Grum clung tighter to his shirt.

“I’m the o-older brother… I c-can’t be doing this…”

Tommy pulled Grum away from him to look at his face. He was glad to see that it was its normal mustachey self, but he didn’t dwell on that for too long. “Bitch, your dad is my older brother and he has issues all the time. If he can do it while also being an adult and having kids, you can do it as a kid. Got that?”

Grum didn’t quite look convinced, but nodded. A moment later, his programs list was being shown on his screen. “P-please don’t t-tell my dads y-yet, o-okay?”

Tommy nodded and looked at them. There were a number of programs, but they were all grouped into folders with different names. Names Tommy recognized from before. They were the names That had been in the book he found. For a moment he tried to look in his inventory for the book before realizing it was probably back in the SMP, making him curse.

He regretted cursing, because just as he did, Grum’s programs went away and he started crying again. “No, Grum, I wasn’t upset at yo- ah fuck… whatever, come here. ‘Least no one is around to see my manly image being destroyed.” Grum started hugging Tommy again, a small laugh coming out at the teen’s comment.

“Alright! We’re ba- Where’d everyone go?” Grifter said as he broke through the barrier Tommy had put up. “Oh, is it only you?”

“Grum’s here too, bitch.” Tommy replied with a bored look, gesturing to the bot in his lap.

“I see. Well Sense has information!”

Beside Grifter, Sense was there. “Yeah, he was Emperor of Helscraft unfortunately.”

“Oh yeah, he was, wasn’t he.” Tommy nodded, getting a glare from Grifter.

“You let me leave even though you knew?!”

“Grum wouldn’t let me talk, so I couldn’t answer. Sorry about that.” Tommy responded, though he didn’t seem all that sorry with the smile on his face.

“Ugh, alright, now let the kid do his thing so we can get out of here and break this curse on Sense.”

Grum started trembling a bit, and Tommy was worried the kid was going to tear his shirt with how tight he was grabbing it. “I c-can’t. I d-don’t want to.”

“I don’t care what you want. I want what I want. But if you need a little push…” Grifter was handed some TNT from Sense, whose mustache twisted in a smile. “It looks like your friend is trapped in his home, but what happens if there’s no more home to be trapped in, hmm?”

“Oi! Don’t you fucking try that bitch!”

“Then give me the information I want!”

“He doesn’t have to give it up if he doesn’t want to!”

As Tommy argued with the helsmits, Grum cried a bit, still trembling, but then he stopped and his screen changed back to the symbol of a broken portal. “I will need a diamond first.”

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #tommyinnit #hels!grian #hels!Mumbo #grian #watcher!grian #grian xelqua #avian!Grian #grumbot #itsfundy #jrumbot #evil xisuma

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yoon-bug · 4 years ago

Text

The IKEA Test (M) | KSJ

pairing: seokjin x reader

genre: established relationship au || smut, fluff

word count: 9.1k

summary: One review on IKEA’s website called the BRIMNES bed frame the leading cause of divorce due to its difficult assembly. You and Seokjin had laughed when you read it. Now, you weren’t so sure.

warnings: dom!seokjin, sub!reader, sir kink, use of slut/whore, dirty talk, spanking, but spanking with a belt 😳, impact play, oral (f receiving), orgasm control, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected sex, hair pulling, IKEA-induced frustration, non-sexual talk of pegs and holes, seokjin ultimately being Best Boyfriend Material™

notes: inspired by how I’ve never felt more grateful to be single than when I had to assemble some IKEA furniture. I promise I’m not getting commission from IKEA for product placement.

When you had told Hoseok that you wouldn’t be able to hang out this weekend because you and Seokjin had plans to assemble your new bed frame, he had laughed at you and said that it was nice to have known the pair of you as a couple.

You had taken his joke in stride and laughed with him, knowing that for any couple to truly go the distance, they would need to pass the IKEA test: make it through an IKEA store and assemble an IKEA product without breaking up.

You and Seokjin had passed the first part of the IKEA test with flying colors. You both had easily agreed to purchase the BRIMNES storage bed, liking how the drawers underneath the bed would help you maximize the space in your bedroom. Although, your easy decision might have more to do with the fact that you had simply ordered your bed frame online rather than spending a whole afternoon in IKEA.

All that was left was for you to actually assemble the bed frame. Surely the two of you could do that.

Or so you had thought.

But now, you were only moments away from ripping up the all but useless instructions to shreds before doing the same to your boyfriend.

“Why are you working on the drawers?” you asked through clenched teeth, the instruction booklet crinkling in your hands as your grip on it grew even tighter. “That’s the literal last step!”

“I think the last step is to break this bed in properly,” Seokjin teased.

“There’s not going to be a bed to break in if we don’t follow the instructions,” you snapped, your frustration growing when he only shrugged. “We’re supposed to start with the bed rails.”

He nodded his head in that wishy-washy way that drove you crazy, the way that said you might be right but that ultimately it didn’t matter.

“We’re gonna have to put the drawers together eventually. Might as well just do it now. And it’s so much easier than dealing with all of this.” He gestured to the stacks of wood laid on the floor around your bedroom.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. You then forced yourself to loosen your grip on the instructions.

Earlier, the two of you had just barely managed to avoid an argument when you had insisted on counting and sorting all of the screws, bolts, and pegs before starting to actually assemble anything over Seokjin’s objections that you could just do so as you went. Disagreeing with him about the drawers would only heighten tensions even further.

It was just a bed frame. No need to start a fight over a bed frame.

“Fine,” you agreed stiffly and as much as it pained you, you flipped to the last pages of the instruction booklet.

But as you started to read through the instructions for the drawers — or rather look at the pictures of instructions since there were no words — Seokjin continued to move ahead and try to assemble them without waiting for you to finish doing so.

“Can you just wait until I finish reading the instructions?” you asked, but your tone had it coming out as a demand rather than a question. Hearing how it sounded, you tacked on a quick, “Please.”

He looked up at you with a raised eyebrow at how forced your “please” was and you gave him a tight smile in return.

“Why don’t you read the instructions and then tell me what to do,” he suggested. “I know how much you love to do that.”

His own eyes widened at the passive-aggressive remark that had slipped out and he paused his attempt to shove a wooden peg into one of the holes to look at you nervously. It seemed both of you realized that you were coming close to failing the IKEA test and you hadn’t even started to assemble the bulk of the bed frame.

Trying to push through the awkward tension, you cleared your throat and set down the instructions in front of you. You then reached for a drawer front and its corresponding bolts that needed to be inserted into the holes on the back. Following your lead, he returned to his own drawer.

“Why did we have to get such a difficult bed anyway? There are so many pieces,” he whined.

“Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now,” you sighed, internally agreeing with him. If you had known it would be so complicated, you might have just settled for a regular bed frame and put plastic storage bins underneath it.

As you stuck the final bolt into the back of the drawer face, you let yourself revel in the accomplishment you felt from completing such a small task. With so much still left ahead of you, every win mattered.

You glanced over at Seokjin as you leaned forward to grab the drawer’s side panel from the pile in front of you and froze when you saw him trying to shove a peg into the hole where the bolt belonged.

“Stop. You’re putting a peg into a screw hole,” you told him, reaching out to correct him only for him to move the drawer face away from your grasp.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he grinned, but otherwise ignored you as he continued to try and push the small wooden piece into the wrong hole.

“I’m serious. You’re gonna break something,” you said, but it only seemed to urge him on.

“What am I gonna break? The hole?” he scoffed and you grabbed the instructions to show him the diagram, pointing to where the drawing clearly showed a bolt was supposed to go into the hole where he was currently trying to shove the peg.

“Just look!”

With a roll of his eyes so exaggerated that you were surprised they didn’t fall out of his head, he finally looked at the page in front of him, continuing to mindlessly try and insert the peg into the hole as he did so. His brow furrowed as he looked over the diagram and you could see the realization dawn on him that you were right.

“Oh.”

Unfortunately, just as he saw that he was doing it incorrectly, the peg finally slipped into the hole.

“Shit,” he muttered. He quickly tried to remove it, only to find that it was stuck.

“Seokjin!” you cried and it took every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from wadding up the instructions and throwing them (along with the drawer face in front of you) at his head.

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” he assured you, his voice tense as he continued to unsuccessfully pull on the peg. Clearly, things were not fine.

“It’s not fine! We can’t just buy a replacement part if you break the drawer!” you snapped. He grumbled something under his breath and you decided it was easier to ignore it altogether. You stood up and walked over to the toolbox that was sitting on your dresser, rifling through it until you found the pliers you were looking for.

“Here,” you said, your tone icy as you thrust them out for him to take. “Use these.”

“I don’t need pliers,” he waved you off and your grip on them grew tighter. He stubbornly continued to tug on the peg, now trying to twist it and hope it would loosen. “Don’t worry. You know that I’m an expert at pulling out.”

His playful words were undercut by both the frustration on his face and the way he let go of the peg to run an aggravated hand through his shaggy hair.

“Can’t you ever take anything seriously?” you asked, your voice rising in volume and your patience on the verge of snapping.

“Can’t you stop taking everything seriously?” he bit back, his own patience seeming to run almost as thin. “It’s just a fucking bed frame.”

“Exactly. It’s just a bed frame and I can’t even trust you to do that.” You crossed your arms over your chest in displeasure. “I didn’t sign up to be your nanny.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you seem to really get off on being so controlling.” Your jaw dropped at the insult. “I mean, can you stop being so uptight for five minutes or will you collapse the moment you pull that stick out of your ass?”

Your grip on the pliers still in your hand was now so tight that your fingers were starting to hurt.

“Oh, I’m sorry—” you began with narrowed eyes, only to be cut off when he gave a dramatic gasp.

“You know how to say sorry?!”

“—I’m sorry that I’m too busy being the only adult in the relationship to have any sort of fun,” you continued, raising your voice to be heard over him. “If it wasn’t for that stick up my ass, then there would be no one to make sure that our rent wasn’t late or that our bills were getting paid or that we weren’t investing our money in some multi-level marketing scheme!”

“Hey! How was I supposed to know that Complete Citchen Classics wasn’t a legitimate company?” he asked, acting like you had taken a low blow.

You tossed your hands up in exasperation.

“Fucking Google! That’s how you were supposed to know. Or maybe it’s that they spelled ‘kitchen’ with a ‘c’!”

Pride seemingly wounded from being reminded of how easily he had almost been conned, he went back to forcefully trying to pull out the peg with a scowl.

“Will you just use the pliers?!” you shouted, shaking them furiously in your hand.

“I don’t need — Oh. Oops.”

His eyes moved back and forth from the broken wooden piece in his fingers to the hole where the other half of the broken piece was still stuck — only now there was no longer anything sticking out for you to get a grip on to remove the piece.

It was strange. It was like all of your emotions and frustrations had melted away into pure white. You had never felt this sense of calm before. But as you watched him try to use his nails to pull what was left of the wooden piece from the hole, you realized that it wasn’t calmness.

It was anger so intense that it eclipsed even your own ability to comprehend it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!" you yelled.

He at least had the decency to look embarrassed, but it did little to soothe your temper. In fact, you felt like if you were in the same room as him any longer then you might have an aneurysm.

“For fuck’s sake, I should have just assembled it myself!” you snapped as you stormed out of the bedroom, throwing the pliers back in the toolbox as you passed it.

The empty IKEA boxes in the living room only stoked your furor the second you caught sight of them. You hurried out of the apartment, grabbing your purse and keys as you went before slamming the door behind you as loudly as you could.

You ended up at your neighborhood movie theatre, mindlessly scrolling through the automated kiosk in front of you to find the movie with the longest running time. You sighed in relief when you saw that there was one that was almost three hours long. From the picture of the movie poster on the screen, it seemed to be some sort of action epic.

Perfect. Maybe watching a bunch of cars and planes exploding for the next three hours would be the perfect outlet for your anger. Satisfied with your decision, you bought a ticket for the showing that was about to start.

You paused as you began to put away your credit card. After a moment, you bought a second ticket for the next showing as well. Six hours of some dumb action movie should be enough to get Seokjin’s idiocy off your mind.

That and the largest tub of popcorn they sold at the concessions stand. You frowned at the long line, knowing you would miss the beginning of the movie, before realizing that you would just catch it during the second showing.

When you finally did quietly slip into the theatre and your seat, you almost immediately found yourself grateful for the mindlessness of the plot. It fully satisfied your need for something that didn’t require you to think any deeper than wondering how the nameless hero would escape capture yet again.

And when the film ended and the next showing began, the thin plot allowed you the opportunity to reflect back on your argument with Seokjin with a cooler head.

It was rare for the two of you to fight, although that was more due to his easygoing nature rather than how harmonious you were as a couple.

You knew you were difficult to be in a relationship with. You were as strong-willed and assertive in your personal life as you were in your professional life. And while your ambitious nature and need for perfection had led to you graduating law school at the top of your class and now one of the leading junior associates at your law firm, it hadn’t been great for your past relationships.

Your exes tended to share the same reasons for why they were breaking up with you: you were too high-strung, you didn’t know how to let loose, you obsessed over every little thing.

Which was why when Seokjin came along, you were surprised by just how well the two of you seemed to fit. He was your exact opposite, but that was what seemed to work.

He was almost never bothered by all the things about you that had driven away other men. When you were too serious, he would crack a cheesy joke. When you needed something to be done a certain way, he let you do it. When you grew frustrated, he was there to calm you.

As you continued down this train of thought, you could feel guilt to bubble up in the pit of your stomach. For all of the times that he had accommodated your demands, could you say the same about yourself? How often were you the one willing to compromise?

Would it really have killed you to just have been more patient with Seokjin, to have tried to explain things more calmly? You ignored the petty voice in the back of your head screaming “yes”. While you still thought that you were right about how to assemble the bed, there had been no need to lose your temper. He was right; it was just a bed frame.

Your thoughts turned to what he could have done once you stormed out. Was he pissed at you? Was he going to try and put the bed together on his own to spite you? Was he happy you were gone? Was he finally starting to rethink whether he could handle spending the rest of his life with someone so controlling?

Your sense of guilt only grew when you came to the conclusion that none of those hypotheticals were probably true. He was probably waiting patiently at home for you and would reassure you that things were fine the moment you stepped through the door. The thought made your heart ache. You didn’t deserve him.

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try and hang onto him.

By the time the end credits began to roll, you decided that you were ready to return home with your tail tucked beneath your legs. And if you decided to stop on the way home and pick up dinner from Seokjin’s favorite restaurant to help sweeten your apology then who could blame you.

As you inserted your keys into the lock of the front door, you couldn’t help but think that even the sound of the lock turning was remorseful to your ears. Your guilty conscience was really eating away at you. But as you opened the door and entered the apartment, you froze in shock.

The living room that had been filled with IKEA boxes when you left was now surprisingly empty. It was as spotless as it had been before the bed frame from hell had arrived. It was amazing what just that alone did for easing your anxiety about your fight with Seokjin.

Shaking away your awe, you entered the apartment and softly shut the door behind you. You were slipping off your shoes and hanging up your purse when you noticed something else that was missing — your boyfriend. You set the bag of takeaway on the kitchen counter and that’s when you heard the faint sound of him humming coming from further into the apartment.

Slowly, you made your way towards the bedroom and once you were standing in the open doorway, you gasped in surprise at the sight before you.

Where you had left stacks of wooden furniture pieces and piles of screws and bolts around the room, there was now a fully-assembled bed frame, complete with the mattress placed on top and an almost perfectly made bed as Seokjin placed the final remaining pillow at the head of it.

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of your gasp and gave you an unbothered smile.

“Hey, you’re back,” he greeted as he gave the duvet one last tug to straighten it before standing fully and placing his hands on his waist, looking at the sight of the fully-assembled bed frame and perfectly made bed with pride.

“The bed…” you trailed off, walking towards him to stand at his side.

“Yeah! It looks great, doesn’t it?”

You could only nod dumbly, your mouth still hanging open slightly in disbelief.

“But…the drawer front? The broken peg?”

He turned to you with a mischievous grin before reaching out to grab onto your hips and tug you close. Your hands instinctively came up to rest on his biceps as you continued to stare in wonder at the bed.

“Well, you see, I happen to have this really, really smart girlfriend and she suggested a pair of pliers. It took some digging, but I was able to pull out the peg.” You turned your head away from the bed to look up at him with an amused smile. “In fact, she’s so smart she made us count out all the pieces beforehand so that we knew there were a couple of extra pegs.”

You giggled softly.

“Wow, she sounds like a real catch,” you teased in return and his grin grew wider.

“Oh, you can’t even imagine.”

You shook your head in disbelief before smiling back at him, your affection for him written clearly across your features.

“I can’t believe you put this whole thing together by yourself,” you said and he threw his head back with a characteristically loud laugh.

“Oh, I didn’t,” he finally replied, the humor still present in his voice, and your brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Huh?”

“I just hired someone from TaskRabbit to do it for us. We should have just done that from the beginning,” he told you and this time it was your turn to laugh.

You were sure there were stars in your eyes as you looked up at him, there always were when he managed to take you by surprise. You brought your hand up to fondly brush his hair from his forehead.

“Who knew my boyfriend was so smart?” you grinned and he laughed in return.

“Shh. Don’t tell anyone. It’s our secret,” he whispered.

He then leaned forward to give you a gentle kiss and you smiled against his lips. But when he pulled back, your small smile turned slightly sad as you thought back on the things you had said to him in the heat of the moment and how, even despite your argument, Seokjin had welcomed you back home with open arms and his usual smile.

“I’m sorry for getting so mad,” you said. “You were right. It was just a bed frame. There was no need to lose my temper.”

“I’m sorry, too. I should have listened to you.”

You gave him a small shake of your head, wordlessly assuring him that it was fine.

“I need to stop obsessing over every little thing,” you sighed. “I need to let things go.”

But then he reminded you all over again why you loved him when he just shrugged with a good-natured smile.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. You can obsess over the little things. That’s who you are.”

“But you—”

“And I’ll get over it because that’s who I am,” he interrupted and you felt your heart bursting with love for him at his words. His expression then turned slightly more serious, wanting you to know he was sincere in what he said next.

“What you think of as ‘obsessing over the little things,’ I just see as part of how driven you are. I love that you don’t settle for taking shortcuts and or letting things that are done half-assed slide,” he explained. “I love it because I’m the opposite. I love that being around you means that I can be who I am because you’re always there to make sure that we do better when we’re together.”

His words meant so much to you that you could feel the way your eyes were prickling with the threat of tears. Always observant, he gave you a sweet kiss before any tears could fully form. When he pulled away, the smile you loved so much was on his lips.

“If all of that means we have a fight when we’re doing what must literally be the most frustrating task on the planet, then I think it’s worth it.”

You raked your fingers through his hair lovingly. You really had found not just the perfect man, but the perfect man for you.

“I love you,” you said and he smiled at you.

“I love you, too,” he replied before bringing his plush lips down to meet yours. He then tugged you even closer as you buried your hands deeply into his soft hair. The kiss grew more heated as he parted your lips with his tongue to slide against yours, causing you to moan softly into his mouth.

You were so lost in his soft lips that you almost missed the way his hand was snaking up your body to gently but firmly wrap his fingers around your throat — almost. He broke the kiss and his hold on you kept you from instinctively trying to close the gap.

When your eyelids fluttered open, you couldn’t help but rub your legs together at the look on his face. Gone was your playful and always understanding boyfriend. In his place was a man who expected absolute submission and had zero patience for any form of disobedience.

“I know you’re sorry,” he started, his voice low and you were sure that your pupils must have been blown wide with how turned on you already were. “But you know that I can’t let you get away with talking to me like that in here, baby girl.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed out. When he gave your throat a slow squeeze, you let out a small whimper.

“What’s your safeword, baby?” he asked and the question alone had you ready to cream your underwear. If you didn’t know where this night was going before, you sure did now.

“Strawberry,” you whispered and he gave you an approving smile.

“Good girl,” he said and just that simple praise over something so small was enough to have your chest swelling with pride. But any remaining trace of gentleness on his features quickly disappeared along with his next words. “Strip.”

He stepped back from you to watch and you made quick work of pulling off your shirt, your bra not far behind. Your jeans and underwear joined the small pile of clothing off to the side so that you were standing completely bare in front of him. You clasped your hands behind your back and dropped your chin to your chest, your stance radiating the submission that Seokjin expected in the bedroom.

You could feel his eyes raking over your nude figure and you quickly snuffed out the urge to lift your gaze to meet his. Doing so would break one of his rules and when it came to the bedroom, you followed his every order — without question.

The silence between you stretched on as he continued to look at you without making a move. Every second that passed had the wetness between your legs growing to the point that you were sure your inner thighs would be shining when you finally parted them. Your nipples had hardened from a combination of the room’s cool temperature and the way Seokjin was staring at you.

Fuck. You were so turned on and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Turn around,” he ordered. “Hands on the bed.”

You immediately did as you were told. You turned your back to him and leaned forward to place your hands on the mattress. Even through the haze of your arousal, you couldn’t help but note how good the new bed frame looked. You would have to make sure to tell Seokjin.

Of course, now was not the time to do so. You were brought fully back to the moment when you heard him slowly approaching you. You were sure you made quite the sight for him with the way your back arched, presenting your ass to him perfectly.

His footsteps came to a stop right behind you. Your fingers gripped onto the duvet tightly in anticipation of his next move. After what felt like an eternity, but couldn’t have been longer than a minute, you heard him shifting. It took every ounce of your self-control to keep from glancing over your shoulder to see what he was doing. You couldn’t help but slightly jump when you felt him finally drag a fingertip down the back of your thigh and you realized that he had knelt down behind you. He let out a dark chuckle at your reaction.

“Open.”

You followed his one-word command and widened your stance, exposing your pussy to him fully. From the sudden chill on your inner thighs, you knew that your earlier assumption about how wet you were was correct. And it was something that Seokjin easily caught now that he was eye-level with your most intimate parts.

“Damn, you’re dripping already,” he remarked and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’ve barely even laid a finger on you and you’re already this wet.”

Suddenly, his thumbs were on either side of your folds and spreading them apart to give him an even better view of your wetness straight from the source.

“I wonder what they would say,” he mused, his tone so casual that it was like you were having a discussion over Sunday brunch and he wasn’t only a foot away from having his face buried in your pussy.

“All those men who get so scared of you in the courtroom, all those men at your law firm, all those men who were too insecure to be in a relationship with you. What would they say if they could see you like this — bent over and begging to take your punishment?”

Your breathing sped up and your walls fluttered around nothing at his words and from his chuckle, neither escaped him. The small puff of air he let out hit your slick folds and you bit back a gasp.

“They all think of you as this strong-headed woman who always needs to be in control. They don’t know that all it takes is a firm hand to turn you into such a needy slut.” As if to emphasize his point, he shifted one of his thumbs to brush lightly against your clit and you couldn’t hold back your soft whimper at the sensation.

But just that barely perceptible noise was enough to break one of his rules — remain silent unless spoken to. Your punishment came swiftly when his light touch on your clit was replaced by his fingers roughly pinching it. You gripped tightly onto the duvet and bit down on your lip to keep from letting out another sound.

After a few moments, he pinched your clit even harder, testing your obedience. Seemingly satisfied when you remained quiet, he let go. You exhaled with relief as you felt the blood rushing back to the small bundle of nerves, along with another sharp wave of arousal.

“See? A firm hand.”

Nothing escaped Seokjin’s eye.

Both of his hands fell away from your folds and you heard him stand up, followed by the telltale sound of his belt buckle as he undid it. The fwip-fwip of his belt sliding through the belt loops of his jeans had your breathing speeding up.

You knew what was coming.

Once it was free, you could hear the way the leather stretched as he toyed with it, folding it over in his hands. And then he brought the strip of leather right up to the globes of your ass and just held it there.

“How many do you think you deserve, baby girl?” he finally asked, but it was very clearly a question that he already had the answer to.

“However many you think I’ve earned, sir,” you replied, your voice rough with both disuse and desire.

He rewarded your answer by trailing the belt down your ass to brush over the sodden folds of your cunt and your eyes fluttered shut at the stimulation. You wanted so badly to join him in rubbing against the belt but stayed motionless. After giving you just the barest taste of pleasure, he dragged the belt back up to your ass and you felt your face heat at the slick trail of your arousal left in its wake.

“I think twenty should do the trick,” he said and your eyes widened. While twenty wasn’t an unheard-of number when it came to his punishments, it was certainly more than you were expecting. You wondered if his pride was still wounded from you having brought up the pyramid scheme. “Do you think you can take it like a good little slut?”

“Yes, sir,” you murmured breathlessly. He began to gently but firmly swat the belt against your ass, preparing your skin for the punishment that was imminent.

“Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

You released your death grip on the duvet to do as he ordered and you gave your hands a quick shake as you climbed onto the bed to help encourage the circulation back into your fingers before you bent back over onto your hands. Once you were in position, he gave your ass another few slightly harder smacks.

“I’ll even count them for you,” he offered, like he was doing you a favor when in actuality, you knew that he was the one truly enjoyed being able to count each and every strike.

“Thank you, sir.”

The belt paused its swatting and fell away from your skin, the wordless signal that he was about to begin.

And then the room was filled with a loud crack! as he brought the belt back down on your left asscheek. You sharply inhaled and squeezed your eyes shut at the pain, but refrained from letting out any further noise that would have invited Seokjin’s ire.

“One,” he counted as he ran the palm of his free hand against the smarting skin to soothe it and you took a deep breath.

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” Your voice was clear, making sure he heard every word.

Your other cheek was next and you bit down hard on your lip when the smack came.

“Two.”

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?”

When the third crack! came, you couldn’t help but jerk your hips away.

“Three.”

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?”

The smacks continued and with each one, your reactions grew less controlled as you warred between pain, arousal, the instinct to avoid the cause of the pain, the hunger for the pleasure that followed the pain, and the burning desire to be good for Seokjin. After each and every one, he would rub the reddening skin to prepare you for the next.

“Ten.”

By this point, his free hand was holding onto your waist to keep you from writhing away from the belt. Every hit hurt so good and your head was spinning from the white-hot arousal that had been clouding your mind from the first smack.

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” you asked through clenched teeth as tears began to blur your vision.

The next one was particularly harsh and you were unable to hold back a whimper. As soon as it left you, you wanted to kick yourself for breaking his rule so easily. You were better than that. You were better for him than that.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to add another one for that,” he sighed, the disappointment clear in his tone and dropped your head as you felt a tear escape the corner of your eye. You wanted to be good for him. “Good little sluts take their punishment quietly. Disobedient whores don’t. Which one are you going to be, baby girl?”

“I’ll be a good little slut, sir,” you quickly answered, sniffling softly with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. M-may I please have another?”

Unable to see him, you missed his satisfied grin at your eager submission. You could be as strong-willed as you wanted in your relationship and he would always go along with it because he knew that in the bedroom, he had your total and complete submission.

Crack!

“Twelve.”

The tears continued to fall and your pussy continued to drip.

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?”

When you reached sixteen, your hands gave out beneath you and you fell to your elbows. You were panting heavily and sweat was beading your temples. It looked like you had just finished running a marathon.

Crack!

“Seventeen.”

“Thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” you asked through your tears. Only four more. You could handle four more. Your ass felt like it was on fire. You could only imagine how red it had turned and you wondered if any marks would be left behind. God, you hoped so.

Crack!

It took everything in you to hold in your scream as the belt landed on the as of yet untouched backs of your upper thighs.

“Eighteen.”

“T-thank you, sir. Please may I have another?” you whimpered.

The next two came in quick succession, one on each cheek, rushing you onto the last smack before you could register the pain between nineteen and twenty. And when the final crack! came, it was the most brutal one yet.

“Your last one, baby girl,” he told you before bringing the belt down and you could hear how slightly winded he sounded. It seemed he was more affected than he would have you believe.

Crack!

You couldn’t hold back a cry as the leather came down with a hard smack where your ass met your upper thighs, and consequently, right across your soaked folds.

“Twenty-one,” you heard through the pain and even as distracted as you were by your painfully stinging skin, your response was automatic.

“T-thank you, sir. P-please m-may I have another?” you sobbed, burying your tear-stained face in the duvet.

“Shhh, baby girl,” he said, his voice fractionally softer as he rubbed your lower back. “You took your punishment so well.”

“B-but I was bad. I broke the rule,” you sniffled through your tears, remembering the way you had cried out at the last hit. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He looked down at your prostrated form and grinned at how well-behaved you were for him. He had been planning to be merciful and let that last one slide.

“Are you asking for another one, baby girl?”

You eagerly nodded your head against the mattress.

“G-good little sluts take their punishment quietly. I’ll be good for you, sir. I p-promise,” you pleaded and he felt like the luckiest man on earth to have you on your knees and begging him to be spanked.

Crack!

The hit left you breathless and you were thankful because in doing so, it also left you silent.

“Twenty-two.”

You heard him drop the belt to the floor, signaling that your punishment was truly over.

“Th-thank you, sir,” you whimpered.

“You’re such a good little slut,” he told you as he soothed the tender and heated skin of your ass with both of his hands. “Always such a good girl for me.”

You preened beneath him at the praise.

“Do you know what good little sluts get?” he asked and hope flared in your chest. One of his hands slowly began to trail down your asscheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles against your skin as he did so. “They get rewarded.”

He emphasized his words by swiping his thumb in one long stroke from your clit to your entrance and you gasped as you clutched the duvet between your fingers. After being so on edge during your punishment, that one drop of pleasure had the walls of your pussy clenching tightly around nothing.

“Well, baby girl?” he asked and you could feel his breath right against your soaked folds. “Are you ready for your reward?”

He moved his hands to the backs of your thighs and pushed them further apart, granting him better access to your cunt.

“Yes, sir,” you answered, and then suddenly his pillowy lips were wrapped around your clit, giving the swollen bundle of nerves a harsh suck that had you seeing stars. Your resulting moan complied with Seokjin’s second rule — silence unless spoken to during your punishments and anything but silence during your rewards.

His tongue flicked against your clit before he gave your folds a long lick from top to bottom, dipping inside your entrance as he went. And then his lips were back on your clit, the obscene sucking sound filling your bedroom and turning you on further.

You began to instinctively rock your hips back and forth to meet his heavenly tongue but were held in place by the tight grip he had on your thighs. As usual, you were at the mercy of his generosity.

But from the way he alternated perfectly between harsh sucks and light flicks, he seemed to be in a very generous mood and it wasn’t long before you were on the verge of your climax.

“P-please sir, can I come?” you asked breathlessly and you hoped that tonight his generosity extended to your orgasms. It would be far from the first time that he had brought you right to the edge only to leave you hanging.

He hummed around your clit, pleased that you remembered to ask — although really, how could you ever forget? The first and only time that you had come without his permission, he had forced out so many orgasms from you that you were afraid your clit was going to go numb forever from the excruciating pleasure. You had been sure to never let it happen again.

“Come, baby girl,” he said and the words were like music to your ears.

The knot that had slowly been tightening since before the first hit of his belt to your ass rapidly untwisted and overwhelming pleasure coursed through your body. Your toes curled into the soles of your feet and your eyes screwed tightly shut as you moaned loudly. The empty walls of your cunt spasmed and Seokjin had a front-row seat to the sight. He continued to flick your clit with his tongue, milking your orgasm for all it was worth.

Finally, when the pleasure began to recede and the ability to speak came back to you, you remembered your manners.

“Th-thank you, sir,” you panted.

But he ignored you and went right back to sucking your clit, somehow managing to do so even harsher than before. The oversensitivity was immediate and you tried to pull your hips away from his lips with a cry, but the moment he felt you trying to wiggle away, his hold on your thighs grew tighter and you were sure his fingers would leave bruises.

“Please, sir,” you cried, burying your face back into the duvet.

Your plea fell on deaf ears because he continued to torment your clit with his sinful lips and tongue. Soon, the oversensitivity began to be eclipsed by a bubbling sense of pleasure in the pit of your stomach. Behind your eyelids, your eyes rolled backward. Seokjin’s grip on you was no longer to keep you from pulling away, but was now to keep you from grinding back onto his face.

He released one of your thighs and dragged his fingertips upwards until they were at the top of your left asscheek. He then scratched his blunt fingernails down your reddened and tender skin. You screamed and the pleasure was so intense and immediate It was like he had physically dragged you right to the precipe of your next orgasm.

“P-please let me come, sir,” you begged, your voice nothing but a high-pitched whine. “Pl-please, sir. Please!”

“Come.”

The tension in your body snapped and you moaned loudly at the intense pleasure that was now blinding your vision. You could feel the way your walls were fluttering helplessly as you came. Seokjin’s hold on your thighs was the only thing keeping you from collapsing onto your stomach. He continued to lick at your clit, but he was doing so much gentler than earlier. These were licks intended to help you through your orgasm rather than prepare you for your next one.

As you eventually came down from your high, his tongue against your pussy slowed until it stopped altogether. He then placed a kiss to the cheek of your ass, relishing your sharp inhale of pain at the sensation.

You opened your mouth to thank him, but found that the words wouldn’t leave you until you cleared your throat.

“Thank you, sir,” you whispered, turning your head to the side to rest your cheek and temple on the mattress as your breathing slowly began to return to something resembling normal.

“You’re welcome, baby girl,” he said. Your eyelids fluttered open and from the corner of your eye, you could see him standing up behind you.

You flinched away from him when you felt him trace a finger over your swollen clit and through your slick folds. He gave you a gentle but firm swat to one of your asscheeks in response to your movement. You sharply inhaled, but otherwise stayed perfectly still and silent.

“You have no idea how good you look like this, with your ass red and your cum dripping down your thighs,” he mused. “And you’re all mine.”

Suddenly and without warning, he sank two fingers deep into your pussy and you cried out loudly at the intrusion. You turned your head back to bury your face into the mattress as your fingernails scratched uselessly at the duvet. He then began to lazily pump his fingers in and out of you and your arousal began to build all over again.

It was only encouraged along when he curled his fingers expertly to rub right against the spot along your walls that he was intimately familiar with. Before the pleasure could grow too much, he slid his fingers out of you fully and you mewled pathetically at the loss.

But your disappointment was shortlived because only a few moments later, you felt both of his hands grab tightly onto your hips and yank your lower-half backward to meet his crotch. You tried to jerk away from him with a pained gasp when the aching skin of your ass rubbed against the rough fabric of his jeans.

He was quick to shush you gently and slowly pulled your hips back into him, taking his time to ease you into the sensation. After letting you settle into the stinging pain, he ground his crotch against your ass and even through the sharp hiss you let out, you were still able to recognize the feeling of his hard cock through the denim.

“You feel that, baby girl?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly tense as he continued to grind against you and you whimpered in response. “Feel how hard I am for you?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed and he shifted his hold on you so that he was now rubbing his cock right up against your once-again aching cunt, making you moan softly.

“Do you think you’ve earned my cock yet?” Another thrust of his hips and another moan from your lips.

“Yes, sir. Please, sir,” you moaned.

“I think so, too. You’ve been a good girl for me,” he agreed and your heart soared at his words. He let go of your hips and then you heard the sound of his zipper. After a few more moments, one hand was back on your hip, holding you still as he used the other to guide the fat head of his cock to your cunt. “You took your punishment well and you made sure to ask for permission before coming. You’re always such a good little slut.”

He slid his cock along your drenched folds, leisurely circling the head around your clit and you gave another loud moan into the mattress before he dragged it back to your entrance. Very slowly, he inserted the bulbous tip of his cock until it was just barely inside of your warm and silky walls.

He gave you just a moment to grow accustomed to the stretch before he buried his thick cock fully into your depths with one smooth thrust that speared apart your walls and had you wailing beneath him. He groaned behind you and his grip tightened on your hips. With his thighs pressed right against your ass, you could still feel the rough fabric of his jeans and it only heightened your pleasure to know that he was still fully dressed while you were a naked mess before him.

“Th-thank you, sir,” you gasped, tears forming again in the corner of your eyes at the stretch and he chuckled.

“Such a good little slut,” he groaned, unable to completely hide how affected he was by the way your cunt was clenching around him. He then withdrew his length until only the head of his cock was left inside of you before entering you with another hard thrust that had you sliding an inch or two forward on the bed.

He easily tugged you back into him. He then released one of your hips and buried his free hand in your hair, wrapping his fist around your strands and yanking them so that you were forced back onto your hands, your head pulled back until the base your skull was pressed between your shoulders.

Now that you were in his desired position, he began a punishing rhythm. His cock pounded into you with each thrust and you keened loudly every time his cock split you apart. He was burying himself so deeply that you could practically feel him in the back of your throat. You were tempted to drop your head forward, only for him to sharply tug your hair to keep you from doing so every time you tried.

The bedroom was filled with the wet sounds of his fat cock sliding in and out your dripping pussy, the slapping of skin against skin, and your loud and high-pitched moans as he managed to hit every single spot inside your cunt perfectly.

“Just remember, baby girl,” he warned, his pace not faltering once as he spoke. “You might be the boss outside of the bedroom, but who do you answer to in here?”

“Y-you, sir,” you answered without hesitation through your pleasure. With every thrust, his hips slammed into your tender ass and the stinging pain it caused helped push you closer and closer toward your third orgasm of the night.

“Who owns this pussy?” he asked.

“You do, sir,” you whimpered, the possessive question causing your cunt to clench hard around him.

“Louder,” he hissed, giving your hair another harsh yank and a particularly brutal thrust.

“You! My pussy is yours!” you screamed and he suddenly let go of your hair to bring the palm of his hand down hard against your ass. But you knew that this spank wasn’t to punish you — it was to satisfy him.

With nothing left to keep you up, you collapsed forward once again, your fingers clutching desperately onto the duvet as your nipples rubbed back and forth against the fabric as he continued to pound into you.

“That’s right,” he groaned. “Your pussy is mine. You’re my little slut. You’re only good for me, aren’t you?”

“O-only you,” you gasped and your answer was enough to earn you your next reward because his fingers were suddenly on your clit. It was so sudden and combined so perfectly with the sensation of his cock dragging along your walls, that you found your orgasm almost thrust upon you.

The only thing keeping you from tumbling right over the edge and headfirst into pure white-hot pleasure were Seokjin’s rules that were ingrained into you.

“C-coming! P-please, sir!” you screamed.

“Come,” he grunted and you wailed.

Ecstacy rushed through your body and your vision turned white beath your tightly-shut eyelids. Your pussy began to spasm hard around his cock as his pace never faltered. Your earlier orgasms were nowhere near as strong as this one — they never were when you weren’t coming around him.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groaned, but even his words were only an afterthought on the edge of your consciousness as your body jerked wildly beneath him and he removed his fingers from your clit to wrap both hands around your hips so that he could continue to pound into you uninterrupted.

His thrusts were beginning to turn wild, the rhythm growing rushed, a sign that he was close.

“Fuck, your pussy’s perfect, baby girl,” he panted as you continued to clench around him, your orgasm still coursing through your body. “You’re so good for me. Only good for me. Love it when you come. Fucking perfect.”

His mouth was running, his tight control slipping just slightly as his own orgasm was in sight. After another few rough thrusts later, the aftershocks of your climax still had your walls spasming around him torturously for each one, he slid out of you. No longer supporting your hips, your lower body collapsed as well, your stomach falling to rest on your thighs. The wet sound of his own hand pumping his cock filled the room and it was soon followed by a loud groan and you felt him coming across the heated skin of your ass and lower back in spurts.

You heard him panting heavily and it matched your own breathing, which you were still struggling to regulate as your orgasm subsided. You slowly opened your eyes as the world righted itself and your racing heart finally began to slow down so that it no longer felt like it was about to jump out of your chest.

If you had had the energy, you would have jumped when you felt Seokjin’s finger trailing through the streaks of his cum across your skin. He let out a low whistle as he did so.

“Damn, you look good like this,” he hummed. You turned your head to the side to rest your cheek on the mattress and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pulling his shirt over his head before you felt him using it to gently and carefully wipe away his cum. “I told you I was an expert at pulling out.”

His call back to his dumb joke from your earlier fight made you smile and you couldn’t hold in an exhausted giggle. Once your skin was fully cleaned, he dropped his shirt to the floor to join the other articles of discarded clothing before leaning down and pressing two soft kisses to your ass — one on each cheek.

You smiled at the gesture before he climbed onto the bed and dropped onto his back, his knees hanging off the side of the bed and his feet planted on the floor. He then tightly pulled you into his side, his arm slung securely across your shoulders. You buried your face in the side of his neck, the sweaty strands of his growing hair brushing against your nose and you happily sighed as you deeply breathed in his scent.

“I fucking love you,” he said, releasing his own sigh of contentment as his fingers traced imaginary patterns on your upper arm. “You’re a queen among women.”

You laughed at the compliment that was characteristically Seokjin.

“I love you, too,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his neck as you curled up tighter into his side. Your thumb rubbed slow circles on his skin where your hand rested on his firm chest.

A peaceful silence settled over the two of you as you enjoyed the shared intimacy between you. But as your thoughts began to wander, a frown formed on your lips.

“We didn’t pass the IKEA test,” you pouted, breaking the stillness of the moment.

“What are you talking about?” he asked through a yawn. “The bed’s assembled and we’re still together. We passed.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t assemble it,” you insisted and he blew a raspberry in response.

“That’s a technicality.”

“But—”

“Just go with it,” he said, cutting you off before you could continue to argue and you closed your mouth.

“Ok. We passed the test,” you conceded with a smile and he gave your shoulders an affectionate squeeze.

As you nuzzled your face into his neck, your nose twitched at the way his lengthy strands ticked your face.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you mused and he sighed at the observation.

“I know. I need to cut it,” he said and your reply was immediate, the demand clear in your tone.

“Don’t you dare touch it,” you told him and he let out an amused huff.

“Yes, boss.”

#seokjin smut #seokjin fluff #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfic #mine #the ikea test

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motherofwoofers · 4 years ago

Text

A Very Verfound Christmas

This is my gift to @verfound for the LBSC Secret Santa 2020 -Extravaganza! This it a Teen rated fic for some implied thoughts, and the ability to keep up with vague clues!

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Here’s the thing-

When he’d woken up this morning, he had every intention of celebrating a short work day and another successful year of endless toy making. After all, it was Christmas Eve. Work. Watch the sleigh launch. Rock out in one of the Jingle Halls. Join the rest of the elves in bringing in the Christmas Dawn. Then sleep the entirety of Christmas Day.

As he had the last seventy odd years.

But as of five seconds ago, he was pretty sure he didn’t even remember his own name, let alone what he was doing later tonight, or even what he needed help with-

“What?” Luka blinked rapidly, before clearing his voice. Bright blue eyes blinked back.

“Do you need help with those?” Liquid sugar rolled off her tongue, he was certain of it. There was no other feasible way for her voice to be so sweet and melodic. Liquid sugar from pink glossed lips.

Those?

It took him a moment before his mind snapped back into action. Those.

Those were a pallet of last minute dolls that had been assembled and programmed incorrectly. Which, in reality wasn’t even in his department of toy making. They were his green haired absentee best friend’s. A certain friend who had slapped his ass, clocked off early, and dashed, leaving him to try to figure out how to get an entire pallet of singing ice queen dolls fixed, wrapped, and loaded onto the sleigh before launch.

Except, he really didn’t mind all of a sudden.

“I’m, uh, looking to drop these off with the doll repair department. Except I don’t even remotely know where that is,” he tried to drop his best grin at the end, and bit back a goofy grin when her face lit up red.

“Oh,” bright blue eyes blinked again, “this is the art department.” He watched as a small frown turned down her sweet lips, a furrow forming between her soft dark brows. His heart pounded in his chest painfully as a full pout took over the elf’s face. Then just as quickly, her face was lighting up, eyes wide. “Hold on one second! Stay right there! I think I can help.” The raven haired girl disappeared behind the door he had just knocked on, door shutting with a loud click in his face before his attention was drawn to the loud whirring around the corner.

Pulling the pallet of dolls along, he followed the sound to see a large bay door opening, as well as a sight he’d never let his mind forget.

Back lit by the shop lights behind her, the elf stood before him, hands triumphantly placed on her hips as she grinned at him. Curvy. Petite. And dressed in something he was pretty sure wasn’t the usual uniform. Because if it was, he was switching departments immediately.

Red and white striped stockings ran the length of her legs, a hint of creamy skin revealed where garters kept them in place, before disappearing beneath a red tutu flared out just enough to test the boundaries of cute and oh. A black vest trimmed in glitter wrapped her frame like a second skin, dipping dangerously low in the front. A view he knew would become increasingly distracting the closer he stood to her. He could just make out the twin coat tails attached in the back to round out her look.

Oh, sweet candy canes.

A sculpted arm waved him forward, “Come on in. I’m Marinette by the way.”

He was fairly certain he’d left his jaw on the floor, a good meter behind him, when he tried to respond, “Luka. Luka Couffaine.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Luka Couffaine,” she giggled, leading him further into the shop. Smooth, Couffaine.

Most of the machines and monitor screens were quiet, though some of the holo displays still had their most recent projects lit up and rotating. Lights were slowly kicking back on as they moved towards what looked like a small carpeted studio area, sectioned off from the immense space with a curved control panel. Then there was the color. It was everywhere, on everything. The control panel itself looked as if someone had gone crazy with spray paint and glitter glue. An extreme contrast to his department, where most of the spaces were walled off and smaller, but cozy and themed.

Two different ways to keep inspiration high.

“Go ahead and bring them over here so I can see what we’re dealing with,” Marinette pointed towards an empty space near a work table. As he powered the hover units down on the hand truck, effectively parking the dolls, he became aware of one very specific thing:

The Couffaines definitely had a pixie kink.

Marinette stepped out of heels he hadn't even been aware she was wearing, until she went from chin height to his chest.

And just as she had dropped in height, so did his eyes. Beaming blue eyes, determined pink lips, and --ffff the swell of her chest, emphasized by the matching red bra he could just barely see peeking from beneath. Being tall was both a blessing and a curse. When it came to which one it was right now, he was fairly certain his name was dropping rapidly from the Nice List.

Tearing his eyes away, Luka shifted his attention back to the original problem at hand.

“The doll is dressed in her sister’s attire, and to top it off the music department loaded it with the wrong song. This is the first movie’s song, and not the recent release.” He lifted the platinum haired doll, easily sliding her from the plastic twists they’d been forced to switch too. A small hand reached out to take the doll from his hand, before it was meticulously examining the fabrics. He would’ve expected the petite elf’s hands to be soft and smooth, but they were nearly as strong and callused as his own.

“I think we can fix this. How long do we have before launch?” She swivelled away quickly, setting a few things into motion as she took control. A holoscreen popped up from the control panel, before she flicked it up into the air to hover a few meters off the ground. The countdown to launch was displayed in bright red numbers. “Oh good, we’ve got five minutes until launch. Plenty of time.”

“Plenty of time?” He questioned, a bit disbelieving. Granted, it was a decent amount of time, but how in the world were they going to get it done. “I don’t know anything about dolls. I work in sound effects.”

“They essentially just need their outfits updated, which I can do. And the correct song recorded over their music chip, which you can do.” She was already pulling the dolls free from their boxes, while simultaneously preparing the work space before her.

“Amazing,” he breathed to himself. “I don’t know how to record songs onto these, though.”

“Don’t worry! We used to fix stuff all the time in my old department. You know those toys where the voice doesn’t sound like the actual character? That’s because it’s an elf,” she whispered, even though it was just the two of them. “They’ve got a small recording studio in here, we just need to get the right song track set up and you’ll sing over it. And don’t worry, the program will alter your voice, no talent needed!”

She made it all seem so simple.

He stood there for a moment watching her move about, removing clothes from the dolls, sourcing different fabrics, and selecting different re-hue pens.

All he had planned on doing was dropping them off, and now here he was, fixing them.

But there was definitely nowhere else he’d rather be than where he was right now.

Wandering over to the recording studio on the other side of the control panel, he flicked through a few of the screens that hummed to life, but found it hard to keep his eyes from drifting.

“Your outfit is pretty cute. Were you going to one of the parties or a date?” He watched out of the corner of his eye to avoid facing her directly. But he wished he had when he saw the beautiful rosy color from earlier spread across her cheeks and bloom all the way to the tips of her elegantly pointed ears. “I hope I didn’t ruin any of your plans.”

A tiny squeaked, “Thank you,” came long before the rest of her response. “No date. A celebration actually. I don’t normally dress sooo…..” she waved her hands at her body.

“Oh?” The audio track he needed began to play loudly in the speakers around him, blaring out high notes neither of them were prepared for. Marinette nearly fell from the stool she’d placed herself on, naked doll and hue-pens flying, as he scrambled to turn it down. “Sorry!”

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” Her hands were waving him off as she went in search of her things, dropping onto her hands and knees. He could see her crawling around underneath the control panel, skirt bobbing dangerously. Pale skin flashed, and the bare curve of her rear came into view for a moment’s breath, before her skirt dipped to cover her once more.

“I’m definitely on the naughty list,” he muttered. Taking a moment to himself, Luka closed his eyes and dropped into the swivel chair behind him, swivelling slowly. Think about something else. Anything else.

“Are you kidding me? After we fix this fiasco right before launch, we are going on the Nice list for sure. I would know!” Luka stopped spinning to find Marinette settled on her stool and working on the dolls once more.

“There’s no way you’ve ever been on the Naughty List.”

Mischievous blue eyes looked over at him, sending his heart fluttering once more, before she grinned. “I’ve been on the Naughty List.”

He sat up in his seat, intrigue pulling him to full attention. With an impatient flick of his wrist, the screen between them flew off to the right, taking the lyrics with it.

“Do tell.”

“Wellll, I got in trouble for a little breaking and entering and theft of personal property,” he watched her lips roll between her teeth as she tried to keep up her nonchalant facade. He blinked, surprised none the less.

“Hardcore,” he grinned, thoroughly satisfied when her face flamed up again.

“I didn’t keep it!” She squeaked out and he couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of his chest.

“I believe you,” he winked. Her blush deepened, and she swivelled away to hide the way she bit into her lip. Damn did that feel good.

Pulling the lyrics back in front of him, he set about analyzing the song and tune, easily working silently in the space with her. He took a quick glance at the countdown, and breathed a sigh of relief when it read five minutes ‘til launch still.

Positioning the microphone in front of his face, he lost himself in the song. Testing out his ability to reach with his vocals, muscles he didn’t get the chance to use as frequently as his other band members.

“Wow.”

Luka looked up to find Marinette only a few paces away, clutching a full arms worth of redesigned dolls. The amazement on her face, brought blood rushing to his own cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and poured more focus than necessary into saving the music file.

“You’re beautiful-- I-- I mean your voice is beautiful! I didn’t know you could actually sing,” she was setting the dolls down and moving closer, the smell of sweet baked goods surrounding her and intoxicating his senses.

“Well, these dolls look like they should be on collector’s shelves.” He lifted one of the ice queens up, marvelling at Marinette’s ability to not only change the entire outfit but make it better than the original. He followed her lead as she sent the dolls through a reprogramming shoot, catching them at the end to repackage them. “You didn’t learn those skills from the mass production team.”

The smile on her face caught his attention. The way it lifted her cheeks, set light to her eyes. She pulled the doll from his fingers, and he realized he’d been staring.

“No. I actually learned on my own. It’s a hobby of mine- making clothes. So doing it in miniature wasn’t too hard.” The machines around him were shutting down as he realized she had already finished packing everything away. Not to be the worst helper around, he carried most of the boxes back to the pallet. “Your voice. It really is amazing, you know.” She turned to him brightly as he powered the hover units back on, and the hand truck lifted from the ground. “You remind me of one of my favorite performers! Jolly Stone!”

“I love Jolly Stone! I’m actually in a band, we’re performing later tonight. If you’d like, you could come watch us perform. We’re not famous or anything. Just my sister and two of our friends.”

“Oh. That sounds fun, but I’ve got my party right after this! Which actually-” she glanced at the countdown- ”I’m late for! It’s five minutes ‘til launch!” He watched her devolve into panic, frantically searching for her things. She looped a scarf around her neck, slipping her arms into a long coat that fell past her skirt. Standing on one leg, she attempted to put her heels on, before tipping forward. With speed he wasn’t aware he’d possessed, he leapt forward catching her in his arms before she could take a spill onto the floor.

Sugar plum fairies were going to be dancing in his dreams tonight.

Delectably sweet smelling, and tantalizingly light in his arms. He found himself molding her small frame to his body as he lifted her to her feet. Those bright blues caught him again, and parted lips begged for him to lean in. Painfully he let his hands drift away from her body once he was sure she was steady, and immediately he wished he hadn’t.

Her next attempt was far more successful, and even still he offered his arm to her as they left the art department. When her hand slipped around his elbow to secure herself, he let the smile show on his face. Then let the grin take over, when Marinette dipped her face down, blush rising up her ear tips.

“I don’t wear heels often. I’m a total klutz, I should’ve known better.” He frowned at her self admonishment, but kept any comments to himself. “I just thought they went so well with my outfit. Plus I wanted to look cute for my party.”

“Right, this party. You said it was a celebration and you’re late?”

“Oh, yes! My old coworkers and friends are throwing me a party for my promotion. I’m actually from district South 12th. I was, um, going through some things. Naughty List and all,” an embarrassed giggle slipped free, but she continued on. “So, when I saw a management position pop up in South 10th’s Art Department, I applied for it. Today was my first day.”

“First of all, congratulations on the promotion. Second, I’m sorry to hear you were going through some things, but I’m not sorry that it led you here. Otherwise I’m not sure I would’ve met you.” He gave her a small bump with his arm, but made sure to keep a tight grip on her hand just in case.

“Me too.” And when he glanced down she was smiling brightly to herself.

“So after we drop these off at Wrappings, I could walk you to your party if you’d like? I have to meet my sister in South 12th anyways.”

“Does your sister work in South 12th?”

“Yeah, she’s in the music department though. Not art, so not sure you’d know her.” As they came around the corner, they found themselves in line with the other last minute toy deliverers.

“I actually have friends in music!” Luka watched as her face scrunched up in thought, nose wiggling adorably. “Hmmm, Couffaine.... Wait a second!” She turned to him, eyes searching his face, furrow finding her brows. “Juleka’s last name used to be Couffaine. Are you related to her?”

And this was the moment when Luka realized that the whole Christmas-Magic-works-in-mysterious-ways thing his mother always claimed, was in fact, real.

“That’s my sister,” he chuckled, watching the excited surprise on her face.

“She never mentioned having a hot brother!” The loud gasp, before she slapped a pale hand over her mouth made him laugh harder. “I mean… she never mentioned having a brother,” she sputtered.

“Of course she wouldn’t. I’m lame in her book.” Externally he was playing it cool, but internally he was pretty sure his insides were about ready to burst. The most amazingly adorable and badass elf he had ever met thought he was hot.

A Wrappings coordinator waved them towards a platform to leave their pallet on, and Luka took the opportunity to calm his excitement, so that he didn’t look like a giddy cherub when he sauntered back to her side.

“You know, Jueka was going to my party. And I’m not sure if you had any other plans, but if you have time before your performance… you could come celebrate with us. It’s not just a coworkers thing. But if you don’t want to or don’t have time, I totally understand. It is last second after all, and you barely know me-”

“Marinette.” Her lips clamped closed suddenly, and those eyes he was beginning to truly lose himself too, watched him.

“I would love to go to your party with you. My performance isn’t until right before the Christmas Dawn. I’ve got all night.” He slid his hands into his pockets, to keep them from reaching out to hold her again. The expressions crossing her face were a mixture of excitement and worry, but he kept his thoughts and limbs to himself while she worked out whatever was on her mind.

“Do.. do you have a date for Christmas Dawn?” So quiet, hesitant.

“Not unless my Ma counts,” he winked, heart beginning to pound again.

“Would you like to be mine?” YES. “I- I mean my date?” That too.

“I would love to be yours, Marinette- your date.” Pulling his hand free from his pocket, he offered it to her. She slipped her small hand into his without hesitation, smile setting her face aglow.

“Shall we?”

#Lukanette endgame #lukanette fluff #Luka and Marinette are Santa's Elves #This was too much fun to write #motherwoof writes

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honeycashmere · 5 years ago

Text

Love On The Brain

Warnings: Smut, face fucking, a little rough, angsty, a little possessive side to Chris

Summary: You ever been in a relationship where both you and your boyfriend have an attitude but love each other like crazy and sort of break up almost all the time only to make up all the time with some freaky sex? Yeah me too. Chris breaks up with unnamed ofc, a young feisty women. Her mind debates as she thinks of the time she was better on her own. After a stormy confrontation at her house she realizes a couple things...

Note: I posted this on my AO3 acct (@ goodonesgo) on August 14, 2017

It has been eight months since Chris broke up with me and within those eight months I found out, he began dating some no-name actress he was working with. He said it was because I was “too busy” and that going the distance would be “too hard right now” … Really? Real love is about sacrifices. I had to stand my ground which I’m sure no one he’s ever dated has done. I had to stand up for myself but I slightly bashed him in the process. Stating that I didn’t want to take a five month break to not do anything with my career like him. Yup I threw the shade. I mean I was a savage, not trying to be degrading just simply stating the facts. I was Miss Petty but what did he expect? I could’ve said worse. What little I said was enough to infuriated him. We knew how to push each other’s buttons when we wanted to.

Not only that but he knew what he was getting himself into. I’m working hard so hard right now to have stable future and to take care of my family for life. Money doesn’t just grow on trees. I mean, they do but they go through a lot to get into my pocket. I couldn’t stop my life and jump whenever he said jump. I know what you’re thinking, I sound like those crazy ambitious women who wear the balls in the relationship but that’s not the case at all. Yes it’s true, I want a long lasting career but in a relationship I want to take the back seat. I want to be taken care of because I spend a lot of time taking care of everyone in my life. Chris had brought so much happiness into my life and some stress when we broke up. I wish he was just more understanding. Maybe it was our age difference.

Every time I try to convince myself that I am not better on my own. That maybe just maybe I really do need someone to rely on, the world shows me something. Whether it was an ex friend’s true colors or another loser I had fallen for. The universe gives me signs. I’m better on my own. It was all unfair. Because if he were in my shoes and our relationship had to take the back seat so he could achieve his goals and dreams than I would of supported it. Instead he dumped me and within four months started dating his co-star on a new movie.

I had just finished a movie and headed home to my little place in LA. I was going to hang out with friends and possibly have a spa day tomorrow. After having to fly for over six hours, all I wanted was a pizza and a Netflix binge. It was 2 o’clock in the afternoon and I was already in my oversized t-shirt and shorts. I couldn’t be happier though. Sounds lame right? Honestly it is going to be the perfect Saturday evening with no interrupt-

Brrrp Brrrp

Shit. I forgot to turn off my phone. I quickly glanced down and saw his name. I feel myself freeze. We haven’t talked in months. What does he want?

Hey can we talk? Heard you were in town. This was 20 minutes ago.

The last text message said: I’m outside. 2 minutes ago.

I can’t believe this mother- I look out my window to see his car in my drive way. I went to open my door and muttered, “What the fuck?” as I saw Chris get out of his car. I stood in front of my door way, definitely dressed incorrectly to entertain a uninvited guest. “What do you want?” “No hello?” he brushed the back of his head with his finger tips looking timid as ever but then noticed my outfit or lack there of. He started looking me up and down.

(Just imagine Chris showing up to your house looking like THIS.)

“Hello. What do you want?” I repeated, this time trying not to sound too brash. He stood there tall, his hands tucked into his jean pockets, the fabric of his shirt tightened in right places, making his muscles visible even hidden under… Shit. I need to stop. “I just wanted to talk to you. It will be short,” he said probably trying to reassure my already suspicious thoughts. “Can I come inside?”

“Hmm short talks don’t usually mean an invitation inside someone’s house.” I couldn’t stop myself. I was always a smart ass which is why Chris liked me in the first place. I broke face. I slightly laughed after my own comment, letting him know it was kind of okay to come into my house. I’ll probably regret it later.

“I thought you hated me,” he said, taking a look around my house. “I’m just trying to be polite. Now tell me why you came here.”

Chris paused as he looked at a picture sitting on my bookshelf causing him to sigh. It was a picture of us and his family at Disney World. He stayed silent, looking at our photo. Probably remember the story behind it, filling his mind with nostalgia. Which he loved by the way. I interrupted his thoughts by casually saying, “I haven’t been home in months. I didn’t take anything down yet.”

He turned his head and looked at me. “That’s actually why I wanted to see you, I wanted to talk to you about everything. Life has been crazy.” I felt like I knew where this was heading. I couldn’t let him charm me. “You can’t do this,” I said crossing my arms. “You can’t end it the way you ended it and expect me to be your shoulder to lean on. We can’t be friends.” By the look on Chris’s face I could tell he was offended. “That’s kind of harsh.”

“Breaking up with me and dating someone you worked very closely with… Someone you told me ‘not to worry about’… is kind of harsh.” I knew that had to hurt a pinch if not a slap but it was the truth. When I found out… I couldn’t believe it. All my friends tried to convince me it was a ‘rebound’ girl but I knew better… He stared at me in disbelief that I went there. “Sooooo we can’t be friends?” His voice went up in protest.

“No, we can’t,” I said firmly. I began walking towards the front door. I was ready to open it and hopefully get him out of my house. Chris took a deep breath trying to calm his frustration with me. “After everything we’ve been through… I wanted to say I’m sorry. I made a mistake... We broke up already.” “I don’t see how that changes anything.” What does he expect me to do? Just pretend this didn’t happen?

“She isn’t you.”

I visibly roll my eyes at him. Did he really just- I can’t. Did he really just say that? My annoyance grew. I could feel the heat of my frustration grow within me. “Yeah okay but you did what you did, and it doesn’t change anything.” “Can’t you forgive me?!” Chris asked genuinely.

“It’s not that easy.” I can hear the sudden raise in my voice. I tried to calm it. I took a deep breathe and reached for my next word. "You made me feel really bad... for being driven. You know that’s who I am. I want a successful career before a family. I’m young and you made me feel bad for wanting what I want. Then you dated that bitch.”

“Yeah and you made me feel bad for wanting to spend time with my family and taking a break.” He returned the attitude.

There was a moment of silence. I mustered up the courage and walked towards him. “It’s over, I don’t even know why you’re still here. This doesn’t change the fact that you broke us up.” I whispered. I felt both of his hands grip my arms firmly. “But I want to fix this. I want this. I should of been more understanding. You were right, you told me from the beginning what you wanted and I stupidly thought otherwise.”

He reached for the back of my neck pulling me into his kiss. I gasp and try to fight it but I can feel myself wanting his lips against mine. A feeling of passion I missed. The smell of his cologne, his firm muscular body, even the touch of the fabric on his shirt made me want this all back. My body began relaxing, getting familiar with his again. The heat coming off our bodies. Come on, stop. I hear my internal voice say. I forced myself to pull away from his strong grip.

“You can’t do this,” my voice cracks. Oh god. I really didn’t mean to sound so vulnerable.

“I only love you,” he said.

I looked away from his gaze. I knew I still wanted Chris. What I didn’t know is if I’d be able to take him back that easily. But he left me high from one kiss, like inhaling the first puff of thick smoke. “I don’t know what you do to me,” I say desperately.

Within a second I was pulled into him by his strong arms again. He rested his forehead against mine, breathing me in, and holding me so tightly I couldn’t even push him away if I tried. I looked up, staring at those blue eyes that usually hid when he was hurt but they were as visible as ever.

“Please,” he whispered. I should of said “leave” or “go“ but all I could get out was, “Fuck.” His lips crashed into mine and my body was lifted into his arms. He carried me from my living room to my bedroom, it all felt so familiar to me. Chris laid me on to my bed, quickly climbing on top of me.

“You’re mine.” He face turns into a determined expression with a small smirk creeping.

“Wow,” I rolled my eyes and laughed at him only making him chuckle. His hand pulled away my shirt, throwing the fabric on to the floor, exposing my skin. He started running his fingers up my side which made me tingle surprisingly.

“You think I’m kidding?” He smirked, his voice became low. “You belong to me.”

I couldn’t help but grin. He did charm me again with his delicious determination. “Then fucking prove it,” I said.

Chris kept that smirk on his face, scooting lower, pulling my bottoms off so more skin would be exposed. He kissed my thigh. I felt his finger hooked my panties, pulling them off of me quickly. The urgency to feel his touch was overwhelming. I lifted myself up using my elbows to watch what he would do next. One hand caressed up my body towards my mouth. He let two of his fingers slip into my mouth, letting me suck and lick them. Moistening them as began kissing my other thigh.

Chris slightly caressed my opening before slipping his two wet fingers inside of me. He didn’t even wait for my to response, they were fully inside of me and I gasped at the feeling. I couldn’t even remember the last time we've touched. He moved his face closer to my clit. I could feel the heat from his breath on my skin. How I wanted him to fuck me soon… instead his tongue found it’s way to my clit causing me to let out a moan.

I tilt my head back enjoying the pleasure he was giving me. How I wanted him to leave, how I wanted him to stay. He knew what to do to drive me crazy… He worked fingers in and out of me. I could tell from his sensual movements that he was determined to make me cum. I felt another finger find it’s way inside me and I looked up at him in shock. I was enjoying the stretch. I orgasmed so fast. Panting, moaning uncontrollably, and then I laid there flat enjoying my endorphins as I was wildly aroused awaiting his next step. I watched him quickly remove his clothes. Chris came up to my face hovering over me with a satisfied boyish smirk. He gave me a quick kiss too.

My orgasm was so good I was ready to please him as well. “I want you to fuck my face.” His eye widen at his smirk got bigger. “And then I want you to fuck me.”

Chris eagerly stood on my bed as I sat up on my knees. His cock was already erect. Right in front of me. I look up at him smiling giving his head a lick before taking him in my mouth. I felt his hands already on my head guiding me before he started thrusting into my mouth. His pace was steady and my mouth became messy. All my moisture coating his cock as he fucked my face and some of it dripped out of my mouth. He would stop sometimes only to let me catch my breath but I was ready. I was ready to be fucked. I grab his hands from my head, moving them away as I laid on the bed on my stomach, turning my head to look up at him. I arched my back a little, letting my ass stick up a bit.

Chris came down, grabbing my cheeks and massaging them with his strong hands even giving them a kiss. “God I’ve missed this. Your ass is so beautiful,” he gazed at it before giving it a nice slap causing me grin because I loved the mixture of pleasure and a little pain. Het got behind me, rubbing the tip against my entrance before sliding into me where we both moaned experiencing our mutual pleasure. I keep my eyes on Chris as he begins thrusting deeply in and out of me. His lips pressed against my shoulder. He steadied his breathing making sure as he thrusted in and out of me that I really felt him. My body almost forgot how good his cock felt. It would even feel more incredible if I was on top of him.

“Get off,” I said. Chris looked confused but did as so. “Lay down baby.” He complied liking my change in mood. I give him a kiss before getting on him reverse cowgirl style. I knew he would enjoy the view since his hands touched my ass as soon as I slid down on him. I began grinding on him really letting his hard cock hit me in the right spot. From the feeling of Chris’s hands gripping my skin to his pleasurable groans I could tell he was enjoying it too. I throw my head back really riding him, taking my time to build my orgasm. God it felt so good. I could feel Chris’s hands slap my ass cheeks again. I knew he was close and being patient with me. Enjoying the work I was putting in until I felt him sit up, grabbing me on top of him. My back to his chest, my legs spread and his legs bent. He began thrusting into me, his fingers finding their way to my clit as he began to rub but he gets impulsive again. He changes the script and flips me over so I’m on my stomach. He pulls me up so my back is arched and our bodies reconnect as he starts thrusting harder into me. My hands grip the sheets, my mouth bites the pillow as I’m being fucked roughly by him. One of his hands pushed my head into the pillow with the grip of my hair and the other hand wondered my body. I feel him reach for my clit wanting to make sure I cam before him and when I did I screamed in orgasmic bliss. I laid completely flat, ready to pass out in that moment but Chris wasn’t quit done.

I look back at him, completely flustered with a happy grin. I could see in his eyes his concentration and steady pace. His chest was pounding and turning red. His body was glistening from sweat, his muscles were looking so… tight. I felt myself more turned on than before. “Fuck me harder. I want to feel you cum.”

Chris made eyes at me. Smirking at my directions but he did so. He. Fucked. Me. So. Hard. Thrusting into me as if he were going to physically nail me to the bed. I felt his cock reach so deeply inside of me and out of me a hundred times causing me whimper. He gripped my hair a little tighter with his last few thrust as he came. He immediately fell next to me on the bed and laid there in silence for a while as we caught out breaths.

“I’m so fucked,” I said. “What’s wrong?” “No, I’ve been sooooo fucked,” I said while attempting to get up. I wanted to clean myself up and probably take a shower but Chris bursts out laughing and pulled me into his chest. He kept me there tightly which was probably a good thing cause I start to feel how sore I was going to be in the morning. “Does this count as break up sex?” I wanted to know.

“No, because we aren’t breaking up this time,” he said. “Whoa, you think it’ll be that easy?” I looked up at him amused. “Well your heart is connected to mine,” Chris said with the most satisfied silly grin. “Oh cornball. Don’t think it’ll be that easy. You think one good fuck is enough?” Chris chuckled. “How about a few more fucks then?” He pulled my face closer to him, giving me the most passionate kiss. It was all so easy for me to fall for him again within a matter of moments. “Who’s gonna fuck you like me?” I gasped, slapping his chest. Who does he think he is?

“Oh by the way, people don’t belong to me,” I said running my hands over his arm. My fingertips feeling the veins that ran up his arms. “I don’t care. You’re mine. That ass... is mine.” I burst out laughing, grabbing the pillow behind my head to hit him. “Get over yourself.” I tried to hit him more a few times but he gripped his arms around me even tighter.

If there was such a thing called “Dick Whipped” that is what I am.

#chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x ofc #chris evans one shot #chris evans fic #chris evans x reader

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hollyxqx · 4 years ago

Text

LOVER, LEAVER // JIMIN // 05

↪ PAIRING: Reader/Park Jimin (initially reader/Jungkook) ↪ SUMMARY: There’s only so much cheating you can take from your boyfriend when he’s on tour before you take matters in to your own hands. ↪ WORD COUNT: 8.3k

↪ WARNINGS: mentions of addiction/drugs, alcohol abuse, there’s FLUFF people can you believe it, jimin is a slight rich bitch in this lol, a baby is born, slight smut

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | FINAL

Jimin very kindly and patiently lets you vent your concerns about Jungkook to him. You know you're rambling, you know it's not Jimin's duty to listen to fret over your ex-boyfriend but he does anyway, and without complaint. Jimin merely holds you tightly, nodding and offering encouraging agreement when needed. He cares about Jungkook too and you know your worries are shared.

Your eyes spill with tears and he wipes them away without question. How are you so lucky to have someone as understanding as him? Jimin doesn't protest or tell you to stop; instead he tells you he appreciates how compassionate you are. When you're finished with your tirade you thank him over and over again until he shushes you with a kiss.

The sofa you're curled up on with him creaks as he stands, reluctantly pulling away from you. He returns after a few moments with some tea for you both and it's so kind it makes your heart ache. You accept it from him with a mumbled thank you.

Taehyung, a former stranger turned roommate of three days, enters your apartment as you set your cup back down. Jimin peers over his shoulder as Taehyung removes his outdoor clothing and shoes. He stiffens beside you. The arrangement is still new and you can sense there is something going on inside Jimin's head. Taehyung waves and shouts hello to you both upon seeing on the sofa before disappearing inside the kitchen.

Taehyung is a video editor for a local news station and works absurd hours, you've noticed. In the short time you've lived together your paths have only crossed a handful of times.

You return his greeting with feigned cheerfulness and look back to Jimin, his lips press together in a stern line. "What?" You ask, sensing his hesitancy. To your confusion, he looks uncomfortable.

"Nothing." He shakes his head dismissively and looks away. His own tea is still untouched.

"Wanna stay over tonight?" You ask after another sip of tea. Jimin nods, eyes anywhere but you.

Jimin heads straight for your bedroom after that, obviously expecting you to follow. It's late and he wants to retire to bed you assume. However you head in to the kitchen to catch up with your new house mate. Taehyung is nice, thoughtful and so far, a good person to share a living space with. Although the only other boy you've ever lived with was Jungkook so you don't have much room for comparison.

"How was work?" You ask casually, leaning against the doorframe. Taehyung eats like a horse and he's already biting into a cereal bar whilst stacking a mountain of ingredients atop the counter.

"Good!" He mumbles, catching some of the food that spills out of his mouth as he tries to smile. He swallows. "How are you?"

"Fine. Jimin's here by the way. Do you mind if he stays overnight?" You ask. Jimin has never stayed over while Taehyung has been home and you don't want to be disrespectful.

"He's your boyfriend of course not." Taehyung shrugs, kicking the fridge shut with his foot. You eye his potential meal and wonder how he remains so slim. He must work out a ton. "I've got noise cancelling headphones." He flashes you a boxy grin over his shoulder as he begins to prep his food.

"He's not my - He's not..." You stammer quietly, blushing at the comment. Jimin and you have made nothing official. If Taehyung senses your awkwardness he says nothing. "We're not animals Taehyung, we'll be quiet. I just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Appreciate it, roomie. You guys heading to bed? Can I watch the big TV?" He asks.

"It's all yours roomie." You laugh a little. "Goodnight."

Taehyung bids you goodnight and you head to your own bedroom, where Jimin is waiting. When you enter inside he's standing with his back to you, shirtless as he undoes his belt. The sound of the door opening he doesn't even turn to face you, merely continues getting ready for bed.

"Just wanted to let Tae know you're spending the night." You murmur as you pace over, ghosting a gentle hand against his skin.

"Oh, ok." He responds quietly.

"I'm working tomorrow, so we're going to have to get up early." You sigh.

"That's fine."

"Can I wear this to bed?" You ask hopefully, picking up Jimin's discarded tee. It smells like his cologne, it's comforting. He nods. You notice he's still acting rather stiff and unusual but you're not sure why. "Thanks Jiminie."

He slips under the duvet first, while you crawl in behind him, wearing nothing but his shirt and a thong. He lies on his back, one arm behind his head. You reach across him to flick the bedside lamp off. Even in the moonlight you can see a worried expression twisting his beautiful features.

"There's something on your mind." You state, just above a whisper. You rest your head against his warm chest and loosely throw and arm across his waist. Normally he'd nuzzle into you but his position remains unchanged.

"It's nothing." You're not sure if he even convinces himself, voice thick and quiet, something heavy underlying his words.

"You can talk to me, about anything." You assure. There's a palpable tension weighing in the room as Jimin hesitates. You can feel the tension in his body, muscles constricting slightly underneath you. He inhales as if he's about to speak but lets out a long breath instead. "Is it Jungkook? Have I been going on too much about him?"

"No." Jimin is quick to firmly interject. "No." He repeats, softer. "It's Taehyung."

Surely you hear him incorrectly. "Taehyung?" You repeat incredulously, propping yourself up to see his face, hoping this is some kind of joke. It's so absurd you almost want to laugh.

He looks at you with a frown. "Yes. It's stupid. It's nothing. Nevermind."

You soften at his words. "Your feelings are not nothing to me, Jimin."

He runs a distressed hand through his long locks. "I'm being jealous and irrational. I hate it."

"Of Taehyung? Why does Tae of all people make you jealous? I just sat and cried about my ex boyfriend to you!" You tease, hoping to at least coax a little smile from him. It doesn't work.

"Well, look how me and you got started..." He trails off, almost if he knows how awful that thought is to voice aloud.

"Jimin," You're wounded, a visceral sting within your ribcage. "Don't throw that in my face. That's not fair."

“I’m sorry! That came out weird.” He groans, frustrated at the sight of your hurt expression.

“You don’t trust me.” You point out.

He shakes his head. “I do. I told you I’m being irrational.”

“Then what’s the big deal with Taehyung?! Tell me and I can make you feel better. There is literally zero reason to feel jealousy towards my roommate.”

He seems reluctant to explain, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes locked with yours. “I know how this story ends.” He sighs. You raise a brow at him. “He’s a nice guy, you’re a nice girl. You’ll get really close, you’ll hang out all the time since you live together, then one day you and I will have a big argument, and who will be around to pick up the pieces? Taehyung.”

“- Jimin,”

“ - Who are you going to bitch about me to when you’re mad? Taehyung. He’s single right? What will stop him from making a move on you? And if you’re mad at me you might let him. Look what happened with -” He cuts himself short but you both know the word ‘Jungkook’ was about to slip out.

He looks away guiltily.

You nod quietly absorbing the information. It’s understandable, albeit borderline crazy, that Jimin feels this way. He’s not perfect, he has insecurities like everyone else but there’s two things you have gathered from this conversation. One; Jimin is a lot more sensitive than you first thought and two; he isn’t as easy going about Jungkook as he appears.

“I understand why you would think that.” You want to be assuring but your voice sounds so small. You know there is no real defence for your infidelity. Jimin looks worried, anticipating what you’ll say next. “I do think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, I’ll be honest.”

“I know. I’m just scared.” He admits.

That takes you by surprise. “Scared of what?”

“Of losing you. Again.”

“Again?”

“This is so embarrassing,” He laughs a little but it’s humourless. “All I do is make myself look more pathetic huh? It’s no secret I’ve liked you since the day we met.”

“That doesn’t make you pathetic, jiminie.” You squeeze his hand affectionately. “It’s sweet.”

“But I’d lost you to Kook, and then when I finally had you, even though it wasn’t how I imagined, you told me you didn’t want me.”

“That’s not strictly true.” You chastise.

“You know what I mean.” He reaches out to cup your face, a delicate thumb rests on the apples of your cheek. “Things are going well now. I don’t want a repeat of history.”

“I would never do anything behind your back. You’re not Jungkook, and I’m not that person anymore.” Your words are firm, because they’re true and you mean them wholeheartedly.

“If you’re not happy. Ever, about anything, tell me.” Jimin murmurs as he pulls you close for a kiss.

“I promise I will. It’s different this time,” You whisper against his lips.

***

From: Kim Namjoon Hoseok found Jungkook. He’s fine, unhurt, just drunk and kind of emotional. He’s holing up @ Hoseok’s place until the trial date.

No news is definitely not good news when it comes to Jungkook, so even though this information is hard to hear you’re glad he is at least safe. Hoseok has always been the most responsible one out of Jungkook’s circle of friends. You know he’s likely there against his will but maybe thats for the best.

From: Y/N Thank you for letting me know. Namjoon be really careful, he’s probably going to be having withdrawal. He’s been shooting up. I don’t know what but keep his phone away from him and make sure Hoseok has his doctor’s number.

From: Kim Namjoon I know. I noticed the track marks too. Ill tell hoeseok and keep you updated.

Your head is pounding as you flop back against the pillow, tossing your phone somewhere on the bed. Jimin is sleeping soundly beside you and you wish to join him again but you know your alarm is going to ring in thirty minutes anyway. You doubt you’d get much rest in that time.

The early hours of the morning are always where you do your best overthinking. You wonder if Jungkook would have ended up on this path if it wasn’t for you. It’s likely. Maybe you just accelerated it. Maybe his lifestyle is the real culprit here. Maybe it was his fate all along.

As you stare blankly into the blue early morning hue of the room all you can hope is that this will be a turning point for everyone, especially Jungkook.

***

It’s on what you anticipate to be a regular boring Thursday when you receive two shocking pieces of news, almost within a few minutes of one another.

Firstly, the most recent job interview you had attended (for a role that seemed too good to be true, but Jimin convinced you to go anyway and on shaky, unprepared legs you went.) had left a very eager voicemail for you while you’d been waiting tables. Your hands shook as you played and replayed the message. You almost thought you were imagining the praise they were giving you.

They wanted you. Not for the role you initially applied for but as an assistant to one of their mid level designers. It was probably better for you anyway and you returned the call to accept the offer immediately.

The second call comes from Namjoon of all people and it’s with your heart thundering in your chest you answer, fearing the worst.

His voice is equal parts breathless and terrified, as if he’s walking very quickly somewhere. After getting him to slow down eventually you’re able to understand the message he’s trying to convey. Hyerin is in labour. It’s still a week and a half before her due date so the news definitely comes as a surprise.

You let out a long sigh of relief. It’s happy news.

He informs you that it’s still early stages, they’re at the hospital however so you know the baby is going to be here soon. It feels surreal and you’re not even the person who is going to be a parent in a few hours. Namjoon promises to call you as soon as he can (Hyerin’s request) and you shoo him off the phone so you can call Jimin.

“It’s been a wild day and it’s not even lunchtime yet.” Jimin laughs once you relay the news. “I’m so happy for you butterfly. You’ve worked so hard.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face at his sincerity. “Wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” And that’s the truth.

***

Jimin arranges a celebratory dinner in your honour later that evening. He implores you to wear something nice and you can hear the glint of mischief in his voice. “Promise me nothing too upmarket or expensive Jimin.” You warn but he just laughs and assures you be ready for him to pick you up later.

You slip on a nice dress that’s slit dangerously high up on your thigh and some heels, a lot more chic than you normally would wear for a date with Jimin. His initial reaction when you swing open the front door makes you feel beautiful.

He looks dapper himself, dressed in an extremely well tailored suit, the top few buttons exposing the jewellery around his neck. He looks every bit the successful artist he is.

Several times in the car you ask him where he’s taking you but Jimin remains coy and cryptic, shushing you with a knowing smile. You’re paying attention to the route he’s taking but you’re unfamiliar with the area you’re in. Eventually the car comes to a stop in front of a high end japanese restaurant.

“Huh.” You hum, eyes raking the building as he opens the car door for you. “I love Japanese food.”

“I know, I remembered.” Jimin grins tapping the side of his temple while extending an arm for you. You grip on to the crook of his elbow. “This place is the next best thing to actually going to Japan.”

After being seated on the upper level of the restaurant, a private table in the corner with an incredible view of the city you can’t help but feel out of your depth. “Can you tell I don’t normally come to places like this?” You joke.

“Of course not.” He smiles.

“I would have been happy wherever we went, y’know. Even if it was Subway”

“I know,” He playfully rolls his eyes. “I recently sold one of my paintings at auction and made more money than I ever have in my career. Let me treat my favorite lady Next time you can treat me to a meatball sub.”

“Deal.”

“Any word from Namjoon or Hyerin?” He asks, taking a sip of the crimson liquid in his glass.

“No,” You sigh. “I’m excited for them! They don’t even know what sex the baby is.”

“I bet it’s a girl.” Jimin smiles.

“No, it’s a boy. I can feel it. You can tell by the shape of the bump.”

Jimin quirks a questioning brow at you. “Sorry, Doctor Y/N. I forgot about your expertise for a moment.” He says sarcastically.

“Apology accepted.” You play along.

“Let’s make a bet. If it’s a girl, I win. If it’s a boy, you win.”

“What’s at stake?” You question.

“If I win…” He pauses for a moment in thought. “You have to model for me.”

“For a painting?”

“Or a drawing.” He shrugs.

“And if I’m right?” You pry.

“You can say I told you so as much as you want.” He replies and you roll your eyes. It’s hardly a fair bet.

“No, if i'm correct you have to watch whatever movie I want for the next month.”

“Fine. Cruel but fair.”

“Deal!”

As expected the meal is wonderful, and you feel spoiled beyond belief, especially when Jimin toasts to you with a glass of probably the most expensive wine you’ve ever had. After dinner, instead of returning to the car he links your fingers together and pulls you in the opposite direction, citing he needs to walk off the glass of wine he had before he drives anywhere.

Jimin guides you to a nearby river that you can’t remember the name of. At night it’s lit up beautifully, the twinkling lights of the cityscape behind it only adding to the view. The weather is almost perfect and you feel utterly content.

He cages your body with his as he stands behind you, arms looping around your waist, hugging your body tightly to his. “I had such a nice time with you, butterfly.” He murmurs against your neck, before placing a few open mouthed kisses against your skin. A dreamy sigh escapes your parted lips. “Mmm, you smell so good.”

“Thank you for tonight Jimin. It was perfect.” You twist in his arms until you’re chest to chest. His eyes sparkle, reflecting the scenery behind you. His eyes lock with yours as if you’re the only thing in the universe.

Soft lips brush against yours as you cling tightly to him. Jimin’s hands slide underneath your jacket touching the bare skin of your back. He moans quietly into the kiss. “Fuck, I want to take you home.”

“Want you to take me home.” You smirk, raking your hands down his chest. He bites his lip.

“I have a gift for you first though.”

“Jimin,” You whine. “You’ve done more than enough for me.”

“Never.” He teases, stealing a few more kisses from you.

By the time you’re back at the car, Jimin is sober enough to drive and grinning like a cheshire cat. You eye him with a quirked brow. He unlocks the car with a chirp before striding to the trunk and popping it open. “Why do you look like you’re up to something?”

“Me?” He feigns innocence, clutching dramatically at his chest as if you’ve hurt him deeply. “Get in the car.” He instructs, sensing your hesitation.

You hold his playful stare for a moment before giving in and climbing into the passenger side.

The car obstructs most of the view, so you can’t see what he’s up to, although it doesn’t stop you from trying. Only a moment later he’s sliding into the driver’s side, a large pastel pink, flat rectangle box in one hand. You don’t miss the black lace bow holding the gift together. You know exactly what it’s contents are.

“Jimin…”

“For you.” He gives you a sly smile as he hands over the box.

Carefully you unwrap the packaging, revealing some of the most beautiful lingerie you’ve ever seen. “Oh my god.” You gasp. “This is…wow. Oh my god! It’s Agent Provocateur for crying out loud! It’s stunning. You must be broke after tonight.”

He laughs while you ramble on about how stunning the lacy garment is. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You lean across the console pecking Jimin enthusiastically several times on the cheek.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He says gently. “I love seeing you happy.”

“I’m assuming the intention is for me to wear this...for you?” You suggest with a smirk.

“I said no such thing.”

“So, essentially. This is a gift for Jimin. I haven’t forgotten about your little lingerie kink.”

His blush is noticeable even in the dim streetlight. “Lingerie on you.” He corrects. “You don’t have to wear it for me. I just know you like that sort of thing.”

“How did you even know what size I am?” You query.

“Um,” Jimin, scratches the back of his neck and laughs at himself. “I may have checked the tags on your underwear.”

“Ah. sneaky.” You tease, kissing him once more. “Take me to your place before I beg you to fuck me right here, right now.”

Jimin’s eyes widen in surprise, wondering whether you're being serious or not, no doubt. But he listens anyway and does as you ask, turning the key in the ignition before peeling out of the parking space.

***

Several hours later, as you’re both about to turn in for the night, you receive the text you have eagerly been anticipating the entire day. Hyerin has given birth to a healthy, baby girl.

You nudge Jimin who is on the verge of sleep beside you, spent from the evening, heavy eyelids blinking slowly as he struggles to stay awake. “Hmm?” He mumbles

“It’s a baby girl. Look.”

It takes a minute to register in his mind exactly what you’re talking about before his eyes shoot open, mouth formed in a perfect ‘o’. You thrust your phone screen towards him, a picture of the newborn on display. “Cute.” He yawns.

“Isn’t she?” You hum in agreement, smiling down at the image. “She looks like Hyerin.”

“She’s only a few hours old, she doesn’t look like anyone yet.” Jimin laughs.

“Look at her eyes and tell me that’s not Hyerin!” You defend.

“Are we just going to pretend I didn’t win the bet?” He reminds you, pulling you close to him as soon as you put your phone away. “You owe me, butterfly.”

You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, feeling safe and secure. You can’t help but smile into his skin. “Just let me know when and where you want me.”

“How about this weekend?” He suggests, stroking your hair. “At my studio?”

“Sounds perfect.”

***

It’s only a few days later you find yourself, along with Jimin, at Namjoon and Hyerin’s apartment. Excitement bubbles in your chest at the prospect of meeting their new arrival. You’ve never really been crazy about children, however something about having witnessed the growth of this infant since day one has created a special connection with her.

“Here she is,” Hyerin gives you an exhausted smile, handing the bundle of yellow blankets over to you. The tiny face of a newborn peeking out from underneath, dark hair poking out at the top of the blankets. She seems impossibly tiny. Gently you cradle her, carefully because she looks so fragile and new you can’t quite believe it.

“Nice to meet you beautiful girl.” You coo, unable to stop a wide smile from forming on your face. Jimin sits next to you, an arm slung over the back of the couch, leaning forward so he can see her too. “It’s Auntie y/n.”

She blinks up at you owlishly and it’s amazing to you how intently she’s focusing on your face. You don’t even know if someone her age can register a face yet but it still feels magical.

“I think she recognises your voice.” Hyerin points out, smiling at the pair of you. “She’s heard it enough over the past few months.”

“Is that even possible?” You blink in surprise.

“According to some of the stuff I’ve read, yeah.” Hyerin nods.

“Does she have a name yet?” Jimin asks, eyes never leaving the baby.

“We’re still not sure,” Namjoon answers. “We were thinking Yeona, maybe.”

“It means beautiful baby. Or heart of gold.” Hyerin laughs. “It fits, no?”

“Definitely.” You breathe. “Hello Yeona.” You sing-song to see if she reacts, but she merely yawns earning a laugh from the room. “Message received, pretty girl.”

Her eyes start to flutter shut and you place the pacifier Hyerin hands to you into her small mouth. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep in your arms while you rock her gently.

“You’re stuck with her now, y/n.” Namjoon laughs. “It’s not good to wake a sleeping baby, you know. Sit tight so Hyerin and I can go nap for four hours.”

“Joonie!” Hyerin scolds with a laugh. He was only joking of course.

“No offense, but both of you look like you could use it.” Jimin quips.

“You’re telling me,” Namjoon groans. “She sleeps a lot at the moment, but honestly, i’m just in a constant state of worry for her wellbeing. 24/7. I haven’t relaxed even for a second in days”

“Me too.” Hyerin agrees. “Top that off with my recovery from the birth and I feel like a zombie.”

“It’ll be worth it.” You say sincerely. Namjoon and Hyerin share a look, the kind of secret exchange two people in love would have. It brings you so much happiness to see them thriving together. Silence falls between the four of you but it isn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Everyone is at ease.

A vibrating sound buzzes, followed by a shrill ring, interrupting the peace. Your phone is ringing from your handbag that sits at your feet. “Ah, I can’t get that. Jimin can you see who it is? It might be work, I don’t want to miss another call from them.”

Jimin reaches for your cellphone and his face falls at the caller id. He says nothing, merely showing you the screen that reads ‘Jeon Jungkook incoming call’. He hasn’t contacted you directly once since the breakup. A knot forms in the pit of your stomach. This can’t be good.

“I’ll call them back later.” You tell Jimin with a shake of your head. You don’t want to be the person that ruins this evening. Tactfully picking up on your tone, he silences the call before slipping his phone back into your bag.

***

Hyerin is putting the baby down for the night whilst Namjoon, you and Jimin have some coffee. Finally having your arms back to yourself you check your phone, only to feel horrified at the sheer amount of notifications. All from Jungkook.

“I need to go make a call,” You announce standing up. Jimin looks at you, worry flashing in his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

You don’t wait for a response, choosing to instead quickly slip out the front door and into the hallway of their complex, shutting it quietly behind you. You press Jungkook’s name on your call list and wait.

It rings out, before going to voicemail. You try again.

And again.

And again until he answers on the seventh call. “Baaabyy.” He’s drunk and barely coherent. “I’m outside your apartment. Let me in.”

Fuck.

“Jungkook, I’m not home right now.” You say firmly, praying that Taehyung isn’t home either. He shouldn’t have to deal with this, it’s not what he signed up for when he agreed to be your roommate.

“Where are you? Are you at Jimin’s place?” He spits.

“No I’m with Namjoon and Hyerin.” You sigh. “I’m on my way home though. Where is Hoseok?”

“Hoseok tried to lock me up like a fucking prisoner. I don’t give a fuck where he is.”

Exasperated, you pinch the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger, inhaling a deep breath. It’s frustrating to remain calm with someone who is so clearly self sabotaging. “Kook, I’m gonna come get you okay. Will you wait for me?”

“Of course baby. I’ll be - “ He hiccups. “Right here.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” You warn. “I won’t be long.”

You hurry back inside to find Jimin and Namjoon laughing about something, but as soon as their eyes land on you it dies away. “Is everything okay?” Jimin is quick to ask.

“We have to go.” You reply bluntly, cutting straight to the chase. “Jungkook is wasted, hanging outside my apartment, begging to be let in.”

“Christ.” Namjoon groans. “Where was Hoseok? He was keeping an eye on him. Apparently he was completely sober the last few days!”

“I don’t know but I can’t leave Jungkook wandering around shit-faced like that.” You share his frustration. “I’m sorry Namjoon. Tell Hyerin I’m sorry and I’ll call her later.”

Namjoon can only nod as you and Jimin scramble your things together and rush out the door.

***

Taehyung texts you on the drive over. You breathe a sigh of small relief when you realise he’s at work and won’t be home until the small hours of the morning. Still, you don’t intend to risk your living situation so Jimin agrees that the best course of action is to take Jungkook to his place. Jimin lives alone, it’s the easiest option.

“Should I come with you? Or do you want me to wait here?” Jimin asks as he parks the car.

“Stay here for now. I think he might get angry if he sees you.” You head hurts already at the prospect of dealing with that drama. Jimin gives you a solemn look before giving you the okay.

Walking up the stairs and down the hallway to your apartment, your stomach twists with dread, anticipating the condition you might find Jungkook in. You take a deep breath as you round the final corner. Thankfully, it’s not as bad as you had expected.

Jungkook, adorned in his trademark all black outfit, sits on the floor. His back is pressed flush against the wall opposite your front door. A hood covers most of his face and his arms are crossed on his chest, legs sprawled out in front of him. He almost looks like he’s sleeping.

“Jungkook?” You ask gently, crouching down beside him. He stirs slightly. You push the hood off his face and brush some of his long hair away from his eyes. “Kookie.” You repeat.

His eyes slowly flutter open and it takes a few seconds for him to focus on you. “Baby.” He grins lopsidedly, fumbling to hold you. It’s an awkward embrace given that you're not in the right position for a hug right now.

“Do you want to stand up for me?” You’re unsure how to approach telling him he’s going to Jimin’s, so for right now trepidation and caution is key. Jungkook nods. He slings an arm around your shoulder, while you slide one around his waist, letting him lean on your for support.

“Are we going inside now?” He mumbles. “...m’tired.”

“We can’t, My roommate is home.” You lie.

“Roommate?” Jungkook frowns. “Jimin?”

“Taehyung.” You correct.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Come on, my car is downstairs, we’re going somewhere else.” You avoid his question, and he seems momentarily satisfied with your answer. “Let’s walk to the elevator.”

He doesn’t remove his arm from your shoulders as you make your way out of the building. “Are you mad at me baby?” He asks, slumping against you in the elevator.

“No. I’m not.” It’s the truth, you’re not angry. Above anything and everything you’re concerned for him.

Jimin spots you walking out the building and immediately springs up and out of the driver's seat to help you. He appears at the side of the car, opening the door to the backseat. “I’m not going anywhere with him.” Jungkook snarls, pointing obnoxiously at Jimin.

“Kookie, kookie, please - “ You beg.

“NO! You’ll take me to Hoseok’s or rehab. No.” He yells.

“I promise we won’t, Jungkook.” Jimin assures him quietly. “You can just crash at my apartment. We won’t tell Hoseok if you don’t want us to.”

Jungkook looks down cautiously at you, as if he can gauge whether Jimin is serious or not by your expression. He sways a little as he stands. “Baby girl,” he sighs dramatically. “I don’t want to go.”

“Please,” You say quietly. “I don’t want to leave you by yourself right now.”

“You want me?” He asks, his intoxicated brain clearly misinterpreting your words. That’s not exactly what you meant but if it will get him in the car and on the way to safety you’ll agree to almost anything.

“Of course. Come get in.”

He hesitates for a minute, but lets you bundle him in the car anyway. As you go to close the door, he grabs your wrist. “Noooo,” He whines. “Sit in the back with me.”

“Jungk - “

“Sit with me or I’m not going.”

You exchange a glance with Jimin who looks unhappy but nods, encouraging you to just continue playing along. When you slip into your side, Jungkook hastily and roughly pulls you into the middle of the backseat, then wraps his arms around you.

“Jungkook,” You warn, attempting to push his arms away.

“You said you’d sit with me.” He pouts, burying his face into your neck. You sigh, accepting defeat, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ to Jimin when your eyes meet in the rear view mirror. He shakes his head ‘don’t worry’ he mouths back.

Jungkook soon falls asleep on your shoulder. His grip on you slackens a little. Using this as an opportunity you slowly roll one sleeve up his arm. In the light of the passing street lamps it’s hard to tell but there doesn’t appear to be any track marks. From his behaviour tonight he didn’t seem high; only inebriated. A threadbare silver lining, you suppose.

By the time all three of you have made it inside of Jimin’s apartment, Jungkook is just about completely blacked out. Together you and Jimin place him on the sofa. Jimin has a luxury corner couch so it’s basically like a small bed anyway. You help him out of his shoes while Jimin fetches some water and a bucket, knowing Jungkook’s tendendancy for vomiting after alcohol.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook sounds emotional, but you know it’s the liquor talking. You perch on the side of the couch beside him.

“It’s alright.” You say kindly. “Why did you drink so much tonight?”

“I’m not allowed to do drugs, so may as well get drunk.” He grumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

You shake your head at his ridiculous logic. It’s quiet as you wait for Jimin to return, and by the time he has Jungkook is once again unconscious. As if by muscle memory from having done it so many times before, you make sure he’s laying on his side, so he doesn’t die if he vomits in his sleep.

Jimin sets down the bucket and water next to Jungkook. “Thank you.” Your voice is hoarse.

It’s silent as you head to Jimin’s bedroom together. Emotionally you feel drained. How long does this pattern with Jungkook have to repeat before something changes? Inevitably it will take its toll. Not just on Jungkook himself, not just your relationship, but every one in your social group. It hurts to see Jungkook so out of control. He always used to be so outgoing. So free. So happy.

Robotically you go through the motions of your bedtime routine, as does Jimin. Without asking, you grab his shirt to wear to bed. You finish changing before him and watch as he rakes through a drawer, pulling on a pair of pyjama pants.

You’re so lucky to have him. After everything you’ve put him through, he’s been nothing but supportive. It’s so different to how you felt about Jungkook. That all consuming passion you and Jungkook had burns bright but fades quickly. How you feel about Jimin has been a slow, steady burn. It feels authentic. Stable. Real.

“Jimin.” You begin quietly.

“Hm?” He climbs into bed next to you. “Are you okay?”

“I just wanted you to know, you’re an amazing person for doing this tonight. I don’t know many people who would go to the lengths you have for Jungkook, or for me.” You breathe, suddenly feeling very nervous. He squeezes you a little tighter. “I love you Jimin.”

“Uh - “ He pulls away, looking flustered and immediately your stomach drops. Maybe he has changed his mind.

“Oh god! I’m sorry, I stupidly just assumed you’d still be in the same place as before, and I know i’ve kept you waiting for so long. Fuck, Jimin, I’m sorry, really - “

He silences your overthinking with a press of his lips against yours. “I love you too.”

Jimin is smiling now, his big eyes almost closed with how hard he’s grinning.

“It’s a weird time to say it huh?” You laugh, kissing him again. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you as much as I do at this moment.” You hide your face against his chest, feeling shy from your admission. His chest vibrates as he chuckles.

“I love you, I love you so much butterfly.”

“I love you. We took a long route to get here, but I’m glad we did.”

“Does this mean we’re together now? Officially? I overheard you panic when Taehyung referred to me as your boyfriend.” Jimin teases. You were not aware he heard that.

“Yes. I’m all yours.” You smile into his shirt.

He kisses the top of your head. You fall asleep in his embrace not long afterwards.

***

The digital bedside clock reads 5:03am when you jolt awake. Unsure of what startled you, you listen carefully for a noise but all that can be heard is your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears with Jimin’s soft breathing in the background.

You roll over as best you can because he’s still clinging to you (although your positions have changed) even in slumber. You press a kiss to his cheek, watching him fondly for a few moments. His perfect mouth is parted slightly and his hair is adorably messy.

Suddenly you recall Jungkook passed out in the living room. Not that you forgot about him per say, you were just distracted by Jimin for a moment. Quietly you tip toe out of the bedroom and down the hall.

Jungkook is still in almost exactly the same position as he was when you left him several hours ago. As silently as you can you sit down next to him, just to make sure he’s okay. Evidently he’s not as deep asleep as you’d presumed because his eyes flutter open at the weight of your body sinking down on to the couch.

“y/n.” He croaks at the sight of you. “Where am I? Is this your place?” He coughs a few times, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

You forgot he had never been to Jimin’s new apartment. Jimin had moved after everything went down. No wonder the surroundings were unfamiliar. He probably didn’t remember much from the previous night either.

“This is Jimin’s apartment.” For some reason you feel guilty admitting that. “Are you thirsty? Can I get you anything?”

“What?” He sits up on his elbows, looking around the room. “Did he move?” You nod. “Oh…”

“Do you remember much from last night?” You ask nervously.

“Ahhh, kind of,” He looks embarrassed, eyes darting away. “I remember wanting to see you. Going to your house. Vaguely remember hugging you in the car. That’s about it.”

“Where was Hoseok? Last I heard you were staying with him. Namjoon said you were sober.”

“Hobi’s girlfriend broke her ankle so he took her to hospital. I snuck out, even though I promised Hobi I wouldn’t.” Jungkook has the decency to look ashamed. “I am sober….I was at least. I haven’t done drugs in a long time. I guess I just got cabin fever.”

“That’s understandable,” You sigh. “You shouldn’t drink if you get in such a state. What if you had driven again!? How did you even make it to my apartment last night?”

“Walked.” He shrugs.

“Jungkook.” You hide your face behind your palms when you feel the tears begin to burn in your eyes. He doesn’t say anything. You feel him shuffle a little and then wrap his arms around you in a hug.

“Don’t cry.” He whispers.

“I can’t keep doing this. You need to get help.” You choke back a sob. “Why won’t you?”

His hold on you tightens. “I’m scared. I’m ashamed. I’m supposed to be a fun, party guy. Not an addict.”

Gently you push him away. “There is nothing wrong with needing help Jungkook. From the outside, it appears as if you desperately need it. What can I say to convince you?”

“I…”

“I’ll do anything. I’ll drive you anywhere, Jimin will drive you anywhere. God knows Hoseok, Namjoon and Yoongi will do anything for you. Take you to AA meetings, therapy, anything. Just tell me what, Jungkook, and I’ll do it.”

“Will everyone think less of me? Will you think less of me?” He asks quietly, taking you aback. “You hate me now. I was awful to you when we were together.”

“No. If anything I’d think more highly of you. It’s infinitely more difficult to take control than it is to lose it.” A lone tear escapes. “In regards to us? We weren’t compatible Kookie, but I loved you very much.”

“I still love you. I think I always will. I’m sorry I fucked up.”

“It’s done. There’s nothing we can do about the past. I’m sorry too. Obviously I care about you, which is why I’m trying my best to help.”

Jungkook nods slowly, processing everything you’ve just explained.

“I’ll do it.” He says with certainty.

“Jungkook,” You desperately want to get your hopes up, he sounds so sure.

“If you help me.”

“Of course.”

“Jimin won’t mind? I know you’re together now.” He asks. Jungkook doesn’t look angry, or even hurt. It’s worse. He looks sad.

“Jimin loves you Jungkook, regardless of everything that’s transpired. I know he won’t mind.”

“Okay.” He replies quietly.

“Stay here for the rest of the day. I’ll make you food, and we can figure out what is the right help for you. I know you felt pressured before but we’ll find what is best for you. You don’t have to do anything against your will. Sound good?” You ask.

“Thank you.” He mumbles meekly.

“It’s still early. Get some sleep.” You give him a small smile before you stand up and leave.

***

Once you return to the privacy of Jimin’s room, you get back into bed. Your boyfriend rouses at the sound of the door clicking shut, which you’re thankful for because you would feel guilty waking him. “Hey beautiful.” He says sleepily. “Where’d you go?”

“I was checking on Jungkook.” You explain. “We need to help him Jimin.”

“I know.” He sits up a little in bed, yawning.

“He promised he would take this seriously. Only if I help him.” You pause, waiting for a negative reaction but Jimin is merely patient, waiting for you to continue. “I told him we all would as long as he stays here today. He might be more receptive to help if we do it more...casually? I think he felt like a hostage at Hoseoks.”

“That’s fine. He can stay here as long as he wants. I hate seeing him like he was last night. He acts like a completely different person when he’s drinking.”

You’re instantly reminded of the physical fight the two men had had, knowing there was no way it would have occurred if Jungkook had been sober. Maybe that’s why Jimin seemed to have forgiven him so quickly.

Lacing your hands with Jimin, you squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Thank you.”

***

Jimin has the tact to remain elusive around the apartment in the following hours. It’s a smart idea to alleviate any tension that his presence may create. You shower first, throwing a hoodie of his and some shorts on before going to see Jungkook. Having spent many nights with Jimin you’re familiar with his morning routine, which is why you’re able to deduce that he’s deliberately taking a long time.

“Can I borrow your phone charger?” Is the first thing Jungkook asks you as you stride into the living room. “My phone died.”

You give him your charger, along with a cup of coffee and sit yourself down beside him. As his phone turns on you can hear the many notifications go off, god knows who he had been calling and texting last night. “How are you feeling?”

“Fuckin’ hungover.” He grimaces. “Where’s Jimin?”

“Shower.”

“Is he pissed off?” Jungkook peers at you over the rim of his coffee mug. His hands are trembling from the after affects of the alcohol.

“No. He’s worried. Everyone is.” You answer truthfully. A few moments of slightly stiff silence pass. You have no idea what is going through Jungkook’s mind at the moment. He’s frowning. “You know, when you attend your trial, if you’re in AA or anything similar it will make you look genuinely remorseful in front of the judge.”

“I am genuinely remorseful.” He mutters. “It’s not as easy as people think just to stop drinking. It’s been my lifestyle for so long now. How am I supposed to tour if I’m sober?!”

The question is rhetorical but you answer anyway. “Lots of rockstars do, you know. If you get treatment you’ll develop coping mechanisms to deal with all of that.”

He makes an agreeable sound but still appears rather skeptical.

After a lengthy discussion (which Jimin awkwardly interrupts to offer food), you manage to convince Jungkook to at least look at AA meetings with you. You promise someone will go with him to everyone one, not to babysit but to be supportive. He’s not allowed to drive at the moment so you surmise having a friend with him would be better than taking a taxi.

Jimin joins you both a little bit later with said promised food, Jungkook calls Hobi to let him know he’s safe. Even though the phone is not on speaker you can hear Hoseok yell. Jungkook simply rolls his eyes.

After he’s eaten Jungkook announces he’s going to leave and head back to Hoseoks. You want him to text you when he’s there (you’re not sure if you even believe him) but you know any amount of pressure right now when he’s this fragile could ruin everything.

The goodbye is awkward, it’s to be expected. He thanks you both, lingers for a moment and then he’s gone. He assured you both that he would text when he is going to go for his first meeting. You really hope he does.

***

Jimin makes sure not to let you forget your promise to model for him. Although the situation with Jungkook left the two of you feeling slightly off kilter for the rest of Saturday, by lunch time Sunday his lingering touches and innuendos leave little to the imagination. He kisses your neck as you’re making food, whispering: “Want to go to my studio? I believe you owe me.”

“Now?” You smile dreamily, leaning into his touch.

“We can eat first, if you want.” He nips the skin at the junction of your neck before running his tongue over the flesh and beginning to suckle. It’s going to leave a bruise, which you absolutely cannot have the day before starting a new job.

“Jimin,” You complain, pushing him off you. “I’ve got work tomorrow, I can’t go in there looking like some horny teenager who let her boyfriend play vampire on their neck.”

“Sorry.” He snickers. “I was thinking some hickeys might look pretty when I paint you. You know most live models are nude...”

“I knew this was a ploy to get me naked.” You smirk, wiping the knife you were using to cut fruit on a dishtowel. It gets tossed in the sink, leaving you hands free to spin in his arms and face him.

“Kind of,” He grins. “But I also really want my muse to model for me.”

“Naked?”

“If you’re comfortable.” His fingers begin to unbutton the oversize plaid shirt of his you’re wearing (stolen of course), until you’re exposed all the way to your navel. Plush lips travel down from your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You shiver feeling his saliva meet the cool air. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I think your body is art, y/n. Every inch of it.”

You gasp when he yanks down the cups of your bra, taking a nipple in his mouth. He repeats this on your other breast before gently sucking a bruise on the skin next to it. After a minute or two he pulls away to assess his work with a smirk.

“Jimin,” You pant as your hands fly to grip the counter behind you. He’s barely done anything and you’re already weak for him. “You can’t leave a mark anywhere someone might see.”

“Unless you’re going to work without clothes on, these are just for my eyes only sweetheart.” More buttons are undone as Jimin kneels on the floor before you, grasping your hips in his hands. His mouth trails to the flesh right above your hip bone where he works on forming another lovebite. “Is this turning you on, butterfly?” He asks breathlessly.

Jimin’s big eyes meet yours as he looks up to confirm what he already knows is true. When you don’t answer immediately, he strokes a thumb over your quickly dampening panties, right where your swollen clit would be underneath. “Y-yeah.” You manage to choke out.

“Mhm,” Jimin carries on rubbing you as he resumes sucking a hickey slightly above the mark he just made. After one particular harsh suck and a nip with his teeth you jolt with pleasure. “I can feel how wet you are through your panties.”

“It feels so good.” You almost whimper. “I want more. Take my underwear off.”

“No.” He bites his lip, holding back a devilish look.

“Jimin, please.” You whine. It’s not like him to tease you. “Please.”

“Nuh uh.” He shakes his head. “You’re going to be a good girl for me first.” He punctuates his words by increasing the pressure.

“I am being good.” You breath hitches when he stops. “Jimin.”

“I meant, be good and model for me.” He stands up, kissing you teasingly on the lips. “Get dressed, we are going to my studio.”

a/n: if anyone is curious, THIS is what I imagined Jimin’s apartment to be like. THIS is what i imagined the lingerie gift as. (i’m a really visual person & always love it when other writers include stuff like this). p.s the next chapter is one of the smuttiest things ive ever written oh lawd. prepare yourselves.

p.p.s the next chapter is the end :(

MASTERLIST

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