#And I would have to spend even more on milk than I already do...It's unreasonable.

[loveletterworm]

i have some tendency to want to partake in literally every activity and/or topic of discussion that is theoretically possible for me to do (maybe this is normal and i am only strange for describing it like it's strange) but sadly this is not really practical to do in reality for various reasons so mostly i just have reached an olympic level in the act of lurking

[ftm2bbw]

You know, it wouldn't be unreasonable for you to get pregnant without knowing. Obviously, you'd know you've been fucked. A straight guy plowing his cock into you while telling you that you're such a good girl and your pretty titties make you look so feminine and fertile is kind of hard not to notice. But it's just one creampie, right? You always hear about people trying for a baby for a while, so you can't have gotten pregnant on the first time. Right?

In hindsight, the signs should have been obvious, but denial is a powerful thing. Stuffing yourself to the point of pain and discomfort is a pretty common occurrence, so waking up and feeling sick isn't unreasonable. Your hips ache and widen, but maybe it's just your fat redistributing itself. Your belly is already so fat and heavy, a little extra heft and firmness isn't unexpected. Being on T for so long means that you barely even notice the missed periods. And you spend so much time stimulating your tits and pumping them that then suddenly starting to make milk seems more like it was a long time coming than anything else! For nine months, you have absolutely no idea that your body is fulfilling its biological function and feminizing you from the inside out.

I haven’t had a period in years, thanks to testosterone. There’d be absolutely nothing to miss.

So of course, there’d be nothing to tip me off. All the changes - however dysphoria inducing - I could just attribute to weight gain and all the attention I pay to my tits. And I’m sure they’d be so gradual I wouldn’t even notice the extent - even when I start getting misgendered in public again. My body always tends to go through phases when getting fatter after all, what’s a few more inches on my hips or more roundness to my belly or heft to my tender breasts.

It’s so, so rare to get knocked up on testosterone. So of course it couldn’t happen to me, especially just after giving into my urges once or twice. Or okay, maybe a few times.

I may not go the whole nine months without realizing, but it would surely be far to late to do anything about it once I do notice. And it comes with an extra caveat - the sooner realize I’ve been well and truly bred, the sooner I’d have to stop my T. Assuming, of course, someone didn’t force me off it much earlier…

[every-dayiwakeup]

Steve's been on the phone for- it didn't matter!

All Billy wanted to do was cuddle with him, and Steve had the nerve to put up a hand and say, "In a minute, Muffin."

More than a minute later, and Billy's going crazy. He's pacing around in the kitchen, juggling lemons in the air (when he sees an article on snakes he ends up dropping the lemons on his head), huffing and puffing...

He knows he's being unreasonable. Billy is many things, but he's not stupid. He can't be with Steve every minute of every day. His... buddy has a life to live, and friends to see.

Billy didn't have any friends. He told himself he didn't mind, and he was almost starting to believe it.

As cliche as it sounds, his mother had been his first (and best) friend. And then she left.

Things with Steve are weird. They've slept together a few times (actually sleeping, and only hints of the other thing) and they certainly spend a lot of time together. But they haven't put a label on whatever they were yet.

Putting a label on a relationship frightened Billy. It made things all... official. Besides, Steve wouldn't want to be Billy's anything.

Damn intrusive thoughts.

He ignores reason and stomps into the living room, where Steve basically ignores him.

Fine. If all Harrington was in this for was his body, then he would simply have to milk it.

He starts with his wife beater (a weird fucking name for a shirt, and it kind of unnerved him, to be honest), taking it off slowly.

What if Steve doesn't like it?

No, no. There was only one remotely good quality about Billy, and that was his body. The rest was, quite frankly, a dumpster fire.

Next he unbuckles his belt, and begins to take off his jeans. It's a bit of a struggle, but he gets them off.

He stands before Steve in his underwear, and he clears his throat.

"What, Bills? I said- oh my lord." Steve drops the phone, and Billy jumps at the clatter it makes when it hits the floor.

Oh no. He doesn't like it. He's disappointed. He's-

"Sorry, Steve-"

Steve cups his ass cheeks and pulls him close. "This was a nice surprise."

"You were on the phone forever." Billy cringes inwardly at his voice. It sounds so unlike him.

"Sorry, Nance was just checking in. She wanted to know if I was up for going out for a movie-"

Billy is already trying to shimmy his pants up his ass, wishing he had two extra arms so he could plug his ears.

"And I told her I wasn't gonna go. That I was with you."

Billy stops mid-hop, staring at Steve.

"I'm not ashamed of people knowing that you're my boyfriend, babe." Steve's smile fades. "Unless you don't-"

Billy shakes his head immediately; how could Steve even think for a second that he wouldn't want to be in a relationship with Steve Harrington?

They're both idiots.

"I do. I'd like... to be... what you said just now," Billy says awkwardly. If Max were to see him now... she would never let him hear the end of it.

Steve's face illuminates like Joyce Byers' Christmas lights, and he kisses Billy, gripping the part of his hair that's not so close to his skull.

"The little show you put on... any reason for that, Muffin?"

"I... I wanted your attention."

"Well, you certainly have it now." Steve then frowns, and adds, "But Bills, I hope you do know... I'm not in this because I think you're hot."

Ouch.

"I-I mean not that you aren't! You're really, really gorgeous- too gorgeous for a shithole like Hawkins! I just... didn't want you to feel as though I was objectifying you. I wanted you to know I was in it for more than your body."

"What else is there?" Billy finds himself whispering, on the sudden verse of tears. Was he on his period or something? Jesus, get a grip, Hargrove!

Steve has a determined look on his face, and he replies instantly, "You're brave, you're protective, you're smart as a whip, you tell funny jokes, you're resourceful, you have a way of seeing through bullshit, you put on a front but I know you love Max more than anything-"

"Steve-"

"I'm not done! You're a good swimmer, you're good with cats, you don't cut off Robin when she goes on ramblings, you're genuine, you're dependable, you're passionate, you care deeply even if you don't always know how to show it, you stay in that house with that fucking scum because you won't let him break your little sister-"

"Like he broke me?"

Steve cups his face, wiping away the tears he didn't realize had been trickling down his cheeks. "You're not broken, Billy. I have no intention of fixing you. You aren't a fucking house, and you don't need to be fixed. You just deserve to-to have good things, and I wanna be one of those good things."

Billy smiles, sniffling. "You're the first good thing I've had in a while, Steve."

"Not the last, I assure you!" Steve says in his "King Steve" voice, hands on his hips. "So do you wanna... fool around? Or do you wanna cu-"

Billy jumps in Steve's arms, and the brunette oofs, stumbling back a little.

"Am I too-"

"I'm stronger than I look, alright? Chasing after a bunch of children and my favorite person in the world keeps me fit as a fiddle," Steve huffs, booping Billy's nose as he lies on the couch, positioning Billy right on top of him.

"Can you breathe?"

"If I weren't breathing, I would be dead, William."

"Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious."

"I heard that!"

"It's good to know your ears haven't failed you yet."

"You asshole, I'm not even that much older than you!"

"Uh huh. I saw a grey hair this morning. Didn't wanna say anything-"

"The movies are sounding really tempting right about now." Despite Steve's pouting, he grips Billy's hips tighter, letting him know: hey, I'm not going anywhere.

Billy sticks his tongue out at the landline, and snuggles deeper into the forest of hairs on Steve's chest.

Tags:

@emeraldwitches

@hardestgrove

@lovebillyhargrove

@ouizzyharringrove

@harringroveho

@geormenia

@whoringrove

@polaris-ursae

@wixterirox

@suspiciouslackofclowns

@jaethecreator

@thatawkwardlittlefangirl (welcome 🥰🥰)

@steveharringronsupport

[strawberrynamjoon]

awkwardly in love

– pairing: jeongguk & reader

– genre: college, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, fluff, humor

– word count: 20k

– summary: even if everything changed, yours and jeongguk’s friendship would always stay the same - at least you thought so. but jokes on you, cupid had other plans for the two of you, making you reconsider everything you thought you knew about your best friend of twelve years.

Disclaimer: This fic is not proof read because I was way too lazy. You’ll most likely find a few mistakes here and there, I am sorry!

When you thought of Jeongguk you felt a lot of different feeling – the first one coming to your mind was pride. Honestly, how couldn’t you proud of your friendship that has lasted for such a long time? After growing up your friendship wasn’t as close as it used to be back then, when you were still in the same class, sitting next to each other for eight hours straight every single day but you still were trying to meet whenever your schedules would allow it - Jeongguk was your top priority and you were his.

By now, there were other people both of you talked to more often though – while he’d spend his daily life with friends like Jimin and Taehyung now, you did the same with your new won friends like Namjoon. It was only a natural process, considering the fact that you were majoring in different subjects, not sharing any classes anymore. But still, you luckily managed to maintain your special friendship that, no matter how close you were with other people, no one else could ever have. And if that wasn’t something to make you proud than you wouldn’t know what could. 

Another emotion was nostalgia. Both of you had come a long way, from two children playing with mud in the backyard to two young adults, about to start their own life. The little kids that seemed to be so different back then but deep down were as similar as could be were now growing up, clinging to each other because they were afraid of what was about to come. 

You’d scoff every time you thought back to those simple days, knowing exactly how cliche it sounded when you said that things were way easier back then. But they truly were. You had nothing other to worry about than your meaningless crushes or convincing your parents to let you stay out longer than usual. Nevertheless, it was nice to think that your friendship would always savor a bit of that innocent naiveness you used to have.

Like said before, you felt a thousand different emotions when thinking of Jeongguk but not a single bad one. Well, at least until now.

“What do you mean?” you asked Jimin, who was looking at you in surprise when you stood in front of the door to his, Taehyung’s and Jeongguk’s shared dorm, “He’s where exactly?”

Panic was written over Jimin’s face, not wanting to be involved, “He left an hour ago, meeting up with a girl from tinder.”

You knew this was not Jimin’s fault and you didn’t want him to feel conflicted so you simply clenched your jaw while taking a deep breath, “This goddamn jerk.”

The blonde, and also very cute guy let out a chuckle, his head nodding in agreement, “Couldn’t have said it better. Do you want to come in and wait for him?”

Thinking about it for a second, you sighed, “How long does it usually take for him to get back?”

“You’re asking me about his stamina?” Jimin seemed amused, taking a step to the side so you could enter their dorm, “He’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Laughing, you walked inside and took off your jacket. Looking around, the living room was just as messy as Jeongguk’s room at home used to be – some things never seem to change.

“Do you want tea? A cup of coffee?” your best friend’s roommate offered, already standing in the open kitchen space, looking for a clean mug before turning around to you, raising his eyebrows, “I have some vodka too if you’d prefer that.”

“Don’t worry about me, it’s Jeongguk who should be worried,” you shrugged as you let yourself fall down on the big couch, feeling bitter.

“Don’t be too harsh on him,” Jimin replied with a chuckle while making you a coffee even though you told him he didn’t have to, “His hormones are going crazy at the moment.”

Scoffing, you shook your head in disbelief, “I thought this phase was over.”

You got your phone out, wondering if Jeongguk maybe texted you but there was nothing – so you called him.

Without having to wait long, he rejected your call.

“Oh no, you did not,” you mumbled under your breath, dialing his number again, making Jimin let out a laugh as he sat down on the couch beside you.

And once again, he rejected it.

“Let me try it,” Jimin proposed, as he called him and much to your surprise, he picked up.

“What is it?” Jeongguk asked on the other line of the phone, out of breath and sounding beyond annoyed, “Why is everyone calling me?”

Jimin laughed, “You sure sound like you’re having fun.”

“I’m trying to,” he answered and you could picture his stupid grin just by hearing the tone of his voice, “But I keep getting distracted.”

“You little piece of shit,” you took Jimin’s phone in your hand, “I didn’t deal with your stupid ass for twelve years just for this.”

First, there were a few seconds of silence, a clearly confused Jeongguk thinking hard about who that voice belonged to and why he was being screamed at.

“(Y/n)?” he asked unsure, “Why are you with Jimin? When did this happen? Are you on a date?”

“Nothing happened,” you immediately shut him down, “Except for you standing me up.”

“Oh god, shit,” was all you heard, “I completely forgot. I’ll be home in an hour or so. You can stay or I’ll come over to yours later. Whatever you prefer.”

Before you could think about what to do he interrupted your thoughts, “I am so sorry, I truly am.”

“It’s okay, I’ll keep her company until you come back,” Jimin interrupted your light discussion, “But you better hurry, I know you get jealous when we spend to much time with her.”

“That’s not true,” your best friend insisted, “No one of you could ever replace me anyway, even if you married her I would still be her number one.”

“Now you’re just overconfident,” you nagged him, “Jimin already told me your stamina isn’t the best so just hurry up and come home.”

And with that, before he could say anything else, you hung up, Jimin’s eyes growing wide, “He’ll kill me.”

Laughing, you shook your head, “Won’t let him, don’t worry. The only head that will roll today is his.”

It took Jeongguk exactly 56 minutes to come back and, judging by the sweat on his forehead, he either ran his way back or he had a wild night. And by god, you hoped it was the first one. 

Obviously, you were aware that Jeongguk was in college and that he definitely wasn’t living a prude life, neither did you, however, your sex life was about the only topic you two barely talked about.

Jogging over to the couch a moment later, your sweaty best friend embraced you in a bear hug, his arms wrapped around your neck, pushing your face onto his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, ruffling your hair, “It’ll never happen again.”

“It better won’t,” you had fight yourself out of his grip to be able to breathe, disgusted by the thought of his sweat on you, “You’re lucky Jimin was here to keep me company. “

He gave Jimin, who was just about to go to his room, a thankful smile, “Thank you, I owe you one.”

“You’re good, don’t worry about it,” Jimin almost scoffed, “Much fun, you two lovebirds.”

Rolling your eyes at his comment, you diverted your attention to Jeongguk, “Had a good time at least?”

His ears turned red in an instant, even though he wasn’t the young wallflower he used to be anymore there still was a shy side to him, “I would’ve had more fun spending the last hour with you if I am honest.”

Chuckling, you grabbed the remote next to him, ready to search for a movie to watch, “I didn’t know you’re such a playboy. Jimin told me things I certainly didn’t want to know. You better use protection, I am not ready to become an aunt yet, Guk.”

He gave you a death glare, “Don’t jinx anything, (y/n).”

Jeongguk got up to close the blinds even though it was dark outside already, making his way to the small kitchen that was part of the living room, looking into a fridge that had nothing more than an unreasonable amount of beer and one lonely bottle of milk stored inside, “How hungry are you?”

Glancing over to him, you let out a scoff, “God, I’ll force you all to go grocery shopping with me tomorrow. How are you surviving in this household?”

He laughed, shrugging his shoulders lightly, “Solely on beer as you can see.”

Walking back over to you he held two cans of beer in his hand, handing you one as he let himself fall down on the couch right beside you. It was completely dark, the TV being the only source of light in the whole room. 

You loved nights like these, only you and Jeongguk watching movies, eating, talking about anything coming to your mind - it was easy being his friend, it always has been. 

After all those years you spent together you were sure no one knew him like you did. And it was a fact that he also knew you better than any other soul walking on this earth.

While you were deciding on what to watch, your friend was on his phone about to order some pizza for the two of you. 

You were sitting with your legs crossed on the middle of the couch, Jeongguk right beside you, in a weird position somewhere between lying down and sitting, his upper body was straight, his back resting lightly against your shoulder as his legs were spread out on the couch.

“Here, it’s kinda cold,” he threw you a blanket that was lying around, not paying much attention to you as he was still looking for what food to order, mumbling, “But cover me too, don’t use it all for yourself.”

Covering both of you under the blanket, just as he instructed you to, you felt way more comfortable immediately, excited to finally spend some time with your best friend again. He still used the same cologne he always did, ever since middle school, the scent bringing you back to your teenage years every single time.

He let out a small giggle when he heard your stomach growl, “Don’t worry, food is on its way.”

“Thank god, I’m starving,” you confessed, not even being able to remember what you had for breakfast today.

“It’s not like that, by the way,” Jeongguk’s voice was quiet and your mind was trying to figure out what exactly wasn’t like what. You threw him a questioning glance, letting him know you had no idea what he meant.

“Whatever Jimin said, I’m not a playboy or anything like that,” he bit his lip nervously, making you chuckle immediately - it was almost cute to see him like that, “I just want a girlfriend.”

Wherever the sudden urge came from, Jeongguk clearly wanted to talk to you about his feelings, not knowing where to start.

It’s a rather rare experience to hear him talk about them, usually, he’s the bubbly and funny boy from next door everyone loves, no one ever saw him in a bad or thoughtful mood except for the ones closest to him.

“As if thousands of girls aren’t lining up, all waiting for their turn to impress the Jeon Jeongguk,” you playfully rolled your eyes, making him exhale a breathy laugh, “I know at least three or four girls who’d be down to make you the happiest man alive.”

Sometimes you wondered if Jeongguk wasn’t aware of his good looks - even you, as his best friend, would lie if you said you didn’t check him out before. It was still a miracle to you how the small, shy boy grew up into such a handsome young man, who not only had muscles and a flawless face but also a fitting, loving personality too. 

“You know yourself that I tried dating but I’m not very good at it,” he confessed, a pout forming on his lip.

His head was resting on your shoulder, the frustrated sigh coming from him amusing you - not that you wanted to make fun of him, it was just funny to see how he goes from a confident guy to a shy baby, “You’re good at everything you try.”

Laughing, he glanced up at you from his position, “Thanks for the ego boost.”

“Not like you need it,” you nagged him, scrunching your nose, “just don’t rush yourself, Guk.”

“What about you, though?” he suddenly changed the topic, sitting back up to look at you better, “How’s your dating life going?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you shrugged, “It’s as uninteresting as ever.”

“Nothing going on between you and Namjoon?” he playfully pinched your cheek, as if he could ever get any information out of you by acting cute, “I swear, he was flirting with you at your birthday party.”

“Never,” you gave him a death glare, not believing he brought Namjoon up again, “Even the chances of you and me falling in love are bigger than me and Namjoon ending up together.”

“You say this as if it would be super weird for us to be dating,” Jeongguk squinted his eyes at you, a bit offended by how fast you opposed to the idea. 

“We have been best friends for twelve years,” you countered, giving him a questioning glance, “If anything was supposed to happen between us, it would’ve had by now, don’t you think?”

“I agree but everyone always thinks we’re into each other anyway, so what I tried to say was that the possibility of us being a good couple probably isn’t as little as we’d think.”

Both of you had no idea why you suddenly were trying to find out how high the possibilites of you to being a strong were couple but here you were, weighing the pros and cons of a hypothetical relationship.

Giving it a short thought, he kind of had a point. You never ever before thought about what it would be like to date Jeongguk for you - of course not, there were clear lines between the two of you, no one ever even dared to think about crossing them. 

After all the years you spent together, Jeongguk was never anything else than a friend towards you, not even a single thought crossing your mind what kind of boyfriend he’d be.

“I see what you’re saying,” you admitted, deep in thoughts, “I guess it’s because we’ve been friends for so long, we already know everything about each other.”

“Exactly,” Jeongguk agreed with you once again, “We’re just so comfortable around each other and know how to deal with the other person. It’s not like I’m saying we should date but from a logical point of view, it could work. Technically.”

“In theory, yes,” you nodded, “but the possibility of me killing you because you chew way too loud is just too high for it to work out.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief, “You have very weird standards.”

You gave your best friend a warm smile, a sudden rush of appreciation coming over you, “It’s nice having you in my life, Guk.”

Immediately, he threw the same warm smile back at you, always appreciating such heartfelt moments between you even though they didn’t come around often - you obviously didn’t have to tell each other how much you cherished your friendship, the many years at each other’s side speaking for themselves, “I know, I know. Your life would be pretty boring without me.”

“Way to ruin such a pure moment,” rolling your eyes, you let out a laugh, flicking his forehead lightly, “I take it back, you’re an absolute shithead.”

Pouting, he rubbed the spot where you flicked him, “You’re so aggressive, I don’t want to date you anymore.”

Something about Jeongguk joking about you and him as more than friends made you feel excited and you instantly tried to get rid of the thought, not wanting to get caught up in such a stupid idea, especially not if that idea involves Guk. 

But deep inside, you couldn’t help but waste a few more thoughts about what it actually would be like to date your best friend, feeling immediate heat rushing to your cheeks for having such inappropriate thoughts.

“Well, good for you because that would literally never happen,” you shook your head, hoping he would stop with that nonsense.

Almost as if he knew what effect it had on you, he grinned amused, “I bet you’re thinking about it right now.”

“Just be quiet and watch a movie with me,” you begged him, obviously not wanting to continue this conversation but still feeling like you should comfort him, after all, he tried to talk about his feelings with you a few minutes ago, “Your lonely ass will find a girlfriend, don’t worry about it.”

“Will she be able to down a whole bottle of wine within fifteen minutes though?” he asked amused, referring to the many nights the two of you shared with several bottles of wine, getting drunk secretly in the back of your garden. Luckily by now, you didn’t have to do it in secret anymore, many nights ending with more emptied bottles on the tables than you’d like to admit, “If not, she’s not worth my time and attention.”

“I doubt anyone can keep up with our alcoholic asses,” you laughed, “It took years of training and acting sober in front of our parents to get to this level.”

Jeongguk joined your laughter, nodding in agreement, “I’m pretty sure they knew we were drunk of our asses each and every time.”

“What do you mean?” you asked sarcastically, “There’s no way your mother figured it out when we called her at three in the morning, asking her to pick us up because we didn’t know where we were and we both lost our shoes.” 

Jeongguk burst out into laughter one more time at the cherished memory he almost forgot, “I remember her asking me if there is something I recognize around us so she could figure out where we are and I told her the moon.”

Facepalming yourself slightly, a few giggles escaped your mouth, “God, we were so young. And sloppy.”

Your friend's arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug, “And basically glued to each other by our hips.”

Chuckling, you leaned into his hug, your head lazily resting on your best friend's chest, “No wonder our parents used to think we were in love, judging by the time we spent together.”

“I’m pretty sure they still believe that,” Jeongguk let out a sigh, “My mother still calls you her daughter-in-law whenever she talks about you.”

It was the same for you - in your parents' eyes, you were destined to marry the boy from next door ever since they first met him. Primarily because your parents got along so well, they always romanticized the idea of their children making them become an actual family but looking back at it now, you understood why they always wanted you to become a couple - it would be a good love story after all. 

Back then the two of you hated how often you got told that you would make a cute couple. By now the two of you kind of grew used to the speculations around you, not paying attention to them anymore.

“My parents still thought we were in love even when I dated Lucas,” you shook your head in disbelief.

Immediately, Jeongguk made a vomiting noise beside you, acting as if he was about to throw up, “No mention of this name in my flat.”

Laughing at his dramatic acting, you playfully boxed his side, “He wasn’t that bad, you just never gave him a chance.”

Scoffing, he acted offended, “You started walking to school with him instead of me. That was enough for me to resent him.”

You sat up, crossing your arms in front of your chest, “I can’t believe you still won’t let this go, I apologized a thousand times.” 

Breaking his act immediately, his arms were pulling you into the same side hug again as before, “I’m kidding, I could never be mad at you.”

Before he could say anything else, your playful conversation was interrupted by the doorbell, Jeongguk immediately jumping up from the couch to get your food. You never were more thankful for someone interrupting your movie nights, finally having time to gather your thoughts. 

The two of you never flirted, at least you wouldn’t consider your playful conversations flirting - everyone around you certainly thought you were flirting but you knew it was very easy to mistake your lighthearted, nagging jokes and platonic casual displays of affection every now and then. You still remember the first times you met Taehyung and Jimin, having to convince them several times that there was no romantic tension between you at all - and honestly, there wasn’t. 

Like Jeongguk said earlier, you’re just comfortable around each other because you know the other person like the back of your hand. And just because you were horny college students that sometimes felt a bit flirtatious with each other, nothing would change. You’d always be just friends. Right?

A few moments later, you and Jeongguk were shoveling pizza in your mouth as the intro of the horror movie you decided to watch was on, the first few cans of beer already emptied. He was sitting closer to you than necessary, but you knew that Jeongguk’s concept of personal space was almost nonexistent. 

“Put your goddamn phone on silent,” he whispered warningly with his eyes glued to the screen as he heard it vibrate, “Tell Namjoon that it’s my turn to spend time with you.”

You chuckled at Jeongguk’s comment, it wasn’t a big secret that he hated being disturbed while watching a movie, especially not if it was Namjoon. He liked Namjoon a lot, when you first introduced the two each other he told you over and over again that he was way too cool for you but he hated that Namjoon always disturbed you whenever you were having movie nights.

To him, movie nights were his only chance to escape the college life full of exams, stress and due dates for at least a few hours and in those few hours he wanted nothing to burst his bubble, not even a vibrating phone.

Checking your phone, you chuckled when you indeed saw Namjoon’s name on your phone. The unsatisfied glimpse from Jeongguk not going unnoticed, you decided to just put your phone on silent mode, knowing Namjoon wouldn’t mind waiting for an answer.

Halfway through the movie, you were interrupted once again by a bright light from the corridor blinding you as the door to the dorm opened.

Taehyung kicked it open, not able to use his hands like normal people would because they were currently busy, one grabbing the girl on his lips by her waist, pressing her closer than she already was, the other one vanishing in her hair, both not noticing, or maybe just not caring, that you were sitting on the couch just a few meters away.

You knew that Taehyung was doing this ever so often, rumors spread fast in your college, but it still was a weird concept to you - you’d like to claim that you knew Taehyung quite well by now, maybe would even consider him a buddy of yours and the boy had a heart out of pure gold, very emotional and clingy, not only when he was drunk. So him bringing home random girls was still something that simply did not fit in the picture you had of him but then, on the other hand, who wouldn’t want to be with a man as handsome as him?

Jeongguk and you gave each other an annoyed glance, wondering how often you had to endure this again and again.

Taehyung still didn’t notice you, his one foot trying to get rid of the shoe on the other foot, not even thinking about breaking his kiss for a second. The girl was giggling into the kiss as his hand wandered under her shirt, his fingertips tracing her sides. 

Jeongguk paused the movie and cleared his throat, making Taehyung finally break free from the kiss, shooting a coy smile towards where you were sitting, “Hey there, how was your date? 

The girl you’ve never seen before still clung to his side without even greeting you, placing kisses all over his neck while Taehyung was talking to the two of you.

“It was alright,” Jeongguk said, shrugging, “Nothing special.”

His best friend let out a knowing chuckle, “You always end up on the couch with (y/n) after your failed dates. Call me crazy but maybe it’s fate.”

“Maybe it’s called being friends with someone regardless of the gender,” Jeongguk insisted, shaking his head, “You should try it.”

“As you can see, I’m doing just fine,” he shrugged, pressing his lips back to the girl in front of him, his hands holding her face as he mumbled between their kisses, “Let’s go to my room.”

And with that, the two of them were gone, leaving Jeongguk with nothing more than a scoff, “I’m in need of a new roommate if he keeps on bringing home random girls. They always eat my cereal.”

“If you’re ever out of cereal, remember my dorm is only five minutes away and you’re always welcome.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have said that,” he warned you, “I’ll be in front of your dorm every single morning from now on. Irene will hate you because of me. And you’ll be super annoyed too, but I couldn't care less.”

He wasn’t wrong, even though Irene liked Jeongguk she hated nothing more than talking to anyone early in the mornings, you were the only exception and if you were honest, that was only because she couldn’t kick you out of your dorm, even if she wanted to. What he was wrong about though was the part of you being annoyed - you missed seeing him every single morning, sure you could never be annoyed by his company. 

“If you don’t remember, we ate cereal together every single morning before going to school for years,” once again, your trip to memory lane brought excitement to Jeongguk’s eyes, making them sparkle, “And I was never annoyed of you, ever.”

Scrunching his nose in a cute way, he nodded his head, “I bet you were annoyed when I was falling for Leah, you hated her so much and my dumbass couldn’t stop talking about her.”

You raised your eyebrows as the long lost memory came back to your mind, “Yeah, you’re right, I take it back. That was truly annoying. You were so smitten, I wanted to puke.”

Jeongguk repositioned himself, resting his head on your lap with his legs resting on the armrest of their couch, the two dark brown eyes glancing up at your face - you were sure that was the most unflattering position he could look at you from but since it was only Jeongguk you didn’t really care. 

A teasing smirk formed on his lips, “Maybe I should hit her up again, who knows what could happen.”

Even though you knew he was only saying this to piss you off, you couldn't help but fall for it, immediately giving him a death glare, “Go, eat cereals at her every morning then if you like her so much.”

Turning on the movie again, Jeongguk’s repositioned himself, his head resting in your lap, “I wouldn’t want to eat cereal with anyone else but you, (y/n).”

Your hand played with his hair, the casual affection making Jeongguk smile, “I sure hope so, I get jealous very easily.”

“I know,” he replied, his eyes glued to the screen, “But you’ll always be my favorite.”

Just as you were about to pull your hair out of your scalp, the frustration growing unbearable because you simply did not understand the text you were supposed to read for class, no matter how many times you started to read a sentence, you saw your phone lighting up, Jeongguk’s name all over it.

“Hey,” you whispered, standing up and gathering all of your things, taking the call as a sign to just stop for today, “I’m in the library, give me a second.”

As you walked out of the big library in the middle of the campus, you were shocked to see that the sun already began to set, embarrassed by how little you managed to learn in such a long amount of time. It was a nice view, the golden hour making the whole campus glow.

“What’s up, Guk?” you asked your best friend, happy to hear his voice. Ever since your movie night last weekend you didn’t manage to talk to him at all, too much on both of your schedules to even text each other. 

“I miss you,” his voice sounded whiny on the other side of the line, “What are you doing tonight?”

“Haven’t planned anything,” you admitted, your eyes still glued to the beautiful summer sky, “I thought about going to Namjoon’s to learn a bit more but my head might explode if I open those books one more time.”

“Come to the fair with us,” your best friend proposed, not giving you time to say no because he knew it’d take a bit of convincing to make you go out even though exams are coming closer, “I’ll buy you food. And drinks. And I’ll even accompany you to your next family meeting even though your family is crazy.”

At the last promise, you snorted, knowing that Jeongguk tried to avoid your family as much as possible, “You’d go through such a traumatic experience just so I’ll come to the fair with you. Sounds fishy.”

“Not fishy at all, I am just worried that you’ll drown in your study books if you don’t take a break soon,” he informed you, “You look cute. Let’s go.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean I look cute? Where are you?”

Before he answered you felt an arm wrapping around your shoulder, pulling you closer to the insane man that was your best friend, laughing at how startled you were, “We’re meeting Taehyung and his date in fifteen minutes, we have to hurry up.”

“Taehyung and his what?” you suspiciously asked your best friend, whose arm was still around your shoulder, making it harder for you to walk because you had to adjust to his pace.

Shrugging, Jeongguk you a small smile, “Taehyung and his date. They’re coming too.”

Glancing at him with your eyes squinted, you questioned him, “This sounds like a double date.”

Jeongguk stopped trying to act unsuspiciously, pouting at you, “He begged me to come with him, she didn’t want to meet up all alone with him.”

A long sigh escaped your lips, “And why didn’t you ask someone you’re actually interested in? Why do you have to pull me into this?”

“Hey,” he mumbled a bit offended, “You’re the most interesting person I know.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “You know that’s not what I mean, Guk. You could’ve asked any girl to go on a double date with. It’ll be awkward.”

Stopping, Jeongguk turned to you, making you stop to. The setting sun was a good look for him, making his brown eyes sparkle and his tanned skin glow. His long hair was shiny and you decided that you didn’t hate the idea of him growing out his hair anymore, it did look way better than you imagined it could but you wouldn’t admit it to him.

“He wanted to set me up with her friend but I really wasn’t feeling it, so I said I’ll take you,” he looked into your eyes, now he was the one sighing, “But if you don’t want to go that’s fine, I’ll just meet with them alone.”

Giving him yet another death glare in response to his pouting, you forced a smile on your lips, “I want chocolate-covered strawberries.”

Immediately the pout was replaced by a shining smile, his arm linking with yours as he continued walking, “I’ll get you as many as you want, (y/n).”

“And don’t even try to convince me going on any scary rides, I’m not as crazy as you,” you warningly joked, your best friend wearing his happiest smile making you feel just as happy. 

The walk to the fair was nice, the sunset making you feel all warm inside, you and Jeongguk catching up with each other. It reminded you of older days, back then when you’d walk home from school together on a daily. Jeongguk hated growing up just as much as you, the constant stress of university taking its toll on both of you, not even daring to think of working a nine-to-five job in a few years. That was probably one of the reasons why spending time with each other felt therapeutic - because together you could easily go back to the times when things were easy and unproblematic.

The fair was pretty crowded but you still managed to spot Taehyung and his date immediately, both of them waiting for you in front of the big entrance, talking comfortably, already a mulled wine in their hands. 

“They look good together,” Jeongguk whispered as the two of you slowly approached them and you agreed with him. 

“Not like it matters, Taehyung will probably be into someone else next week,” you shrugged.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Jeongguk said, his arm wrapped around your shoulders once again, making sure he doesn’t lose you in the crowd - you wondered if it was just your imagination or if he truly did initiate more skinship than usually, “He seems pretty smitten whenever he talks about her.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, surprised to hear that, “Taehyung’s in love, huh?”

Before Jeongguk could answer, you were interrupted by Taehyung spotting you, screaming your names like a mad man. Gesturing wildly, he told you to come over to him.

“Jeongguk, (y/n),” he hugged the two of you, “May I introduce Aleena to you?”

Aleena seemed like a sweet girl, way shorter than Taehyung but still just as fashionable as him, they looked like they came fresh out of Paris together. She was a bit overwhelmed with the situation, you could read in her expression that she wasn’t quite sure how to greet you so you decided to hug her, making her feel more comfortable immediately.

The four of you talked a bit before you started to walk around the fair - it wasn’t the biggest you’ve ever been to but it had its charm, the smell of popcorn in the air and the many flashing lights making you look around, appreciating the beauty of the view. Within the first minute on the fair, Jeongguk already decided that it was time to eat, pulling you to a small cabin on the side, Taehyung and Aleena following you. 

“Two waffles, please. One with chocolate, the other one with strawberries,” Jeongguk ordered, “Or do you want something different than strawberries?”

You didn’t expect him to actually pay for you but apparently, he was being serious about it, giving him a small nose scrunch, “Strawberries are perfect.”

Handing you your waffle only seconds later, he pinched your cheek, “You’re very easy to please. Your future boyfriend will have it very easy.”

Aleena glanced at you, confusion was written all over her face, “You’re not dating?”

Jeongguk and you let out a laugh, shaking your heads at the same time before he explained it, “No, we’re not dating.”

“Yet,” Taehyung added, “But everyone is rooting for them.”

“And with everyone, he means himself and our other roommate,” Jeongguk mocked Taehyung, playfully hitting the back of his head.

“You’d make a strong couple though,” Aleena grinned as Taehyung agreed with her, happy that they just won another member for their Fanclub.

“I told her too but she didn’t want to hear anything about it,” Jeongguk joked around, remembering you of the conversation you had last weekend, heat immediately rushing to your cheeks again. You really did your best not to think about it over the last week, doing a decent job until now that he mentioned it once again.

His arm was around your shoulder once again, giving you a teasing smile. He really had to stop with the sudden affection, it only made your head spin. The lines between him and you were always clear and you were afraid they’d start to blur if you keep joking around like that. 

Luckily, you weren’t the only one confused, judging by Taehyung’s expression, “What do you mean you told her? What did he say, (y/n)?”

Glaring at Jeongguk, he sneakily looked up to the, by now dark, sky, not answering the question for you even though he was aware of how embarrassed you were. You really didn’t want to think of the conversation and now you had to tell his best friend about it in front of him? 

“He was just joking around,” you explained to his best friend, making a mental note to kill Jeongguk as soon as you were alone for putting you in such an uncomfortable situation. 

“Joking around about what?” Taehyung asked again, wanting to know what happened.

Jeongguk was having way too much fun, taking your hand in his as if it was the most normal thing in the world, putting your linked hands in the pocket of his jeans jacket so you wouldn’t freeze, “Don’t tell him, he’s too nosy.”

Giving up, the four of you were switching to lighter topics, talking to Aleena about her major and how she met Taehyung. You were surprised by how smitten Taehyung seemed to be, a pleasant surprise of course, wondering if he actually liked her for longer than one night.

“Do you want to let go of my hand?” Jeongguk suddenly whispered for only you to hear as Taehyung and Aleena were standing in line a few meters away from you, getting ice cream. 

The way he asked felt a bit awkward and you wondered what was going on inside his head, “No, it’s okay. Just unusual for you.”

Nodding, his glance was avoiding yours, looking at the ice cream truck in front of you, “I just thought if we’d hold hands maybe they’d feel a bit more at ease and Taehyung could try holding hers too, you know?”

Playfully, you poked his side, trying to hide the fact that you almost felt a bit hurt in your pride that Jeongguk just held your hand to make it easier for his friend, “You’re pretty good at holding hands.”

Chuckling, he gave you a small wink, “Thank you, I trained hard. You’re not too bad yourself.”

Your playful banter was interrupted by the voice of a girl, calling Jeongguk’s name. The voice was shrill and loud, startling you.

Both of you looked around to the source of the owner of the voice - it belonged to a girl you’ve never seen before. As she came strutting towards you, Jeongguk let go of your hand, an unreadable expression on his face, you didn’t know if he was nervous or unsettled. 

He gave her a small smile, his hand playing with the nape of his hair, “Hi, Jennifer.”

Within seconds she hugged him, almost pushing you to the side while doing so. You wondered who she was and why you’ve never heard her name before. After she let go of Jeongguk, she looked you up and down, clearly not intending to even say hello to you. Wow, what a charming girl she was.

With her attention back to Jeongguk, she tugged a strand of hair that was hanging in his face behind his ears, chuckling, “Your hair is way too long, I told you to cut it, baby.”

Almost vomiting at the way she pronounced her nickname for him you felt the strong urge to suddenly defense the hairstyle you hated so much in the beginning yourself. Something about her was rubbing you the wrong way, most likely the fact that she seemed a bit too close to Jeongguk for the fact that he never mentioned her before. She was probably one of those girls Jimin told you about when you talked to him last weekend.

“Never, it’s a good look,” he insisted with a smirk and you could feel the awkward tension, almost feeling as if you were interrupting them. Were you the one third-wheeling right now? If so, it felt unfair to you - you were here with Jeongguk, not this random girl that you already disliked so much. God, where was Taehyung when you needed him?

“Are you coming over again tomorrow?” she asked him with an innocent expression on her face, “I miss you.”

Jeongguk shrugged, not comfortable to talk about this with her in front of you, “I haven’t decided on my Saturday plans yet, we maybe wanted to go to the cinema, right (y/n)?”

No, you never talked about this before. The cinema wasn’t mentioned once.

Before you could say a word, Taehyung was behind the two of you, wrapping one arm around each of you, “Right, we’re going to the cinema tomorrow. Who is that, Jeongguk?”

Never before were you as thankful as you were for Taehyung than right now, glad he noticed the strange atmosphere and decided to interfere.

“I’m Jennifer,” she told your friend unbothered before talking to Jeongguk again, “You can always come around after the cinema. The real fun begins at night.”

You wanted to gag at her being so intrusive, wondering what exactly Jeongguk saw in her. Of course, you’d always support him but she looked like trouble, not only for Jeongguk but also for your friendship. She intimidated you, almost feeling as if she wanted to steal Jeongguk from you - not that she could, no one could ever make come between the two of you but you still would prefer if no one even tried. 

You just had a weird feeling about her, something unsettling in your stomach when she talked to him. It made your stomach turn and your ribcage tighten. Jeongguk never made the best decision but something about her bothered you more than the past lovers Jeongguk had.

And right then, it suddenly clicked. Oh god, no. You weren’t jealous, right? No, you couldn’t be. 

Shit, maybe you were. And you wanted to blame Jeongguk for it, his stupid flirting and his sly behavior towards you over the last few weeks. And you also wanted to blame yourself, upset with you, knowing that it was absolutely inappropriate to develop a crush on Jeongguk out of all people.

You were just lonely, you told yourself, taking a deep breath, It’ll pass.

“Jennifer?” Taehyung asked Jeongguk, obviously not liking her neither, and it brought you back to reality, “Weird, you never mentioned that name once.”

You almost felt bad for Jeongguk, sitting between chairs. He didn’t want to be rude towards Jennifer but he knew as good as you and Taehyung that she was being a real bitch right now.

“A gentleman never tells,” Jennifer interjected, playing the same game as Taehyung. Aleena stood beside you by now, scoffing under her breath.

Finally, Jeongguk spoke up, deciding to put an end to the tense situation, “I’ll text you spontaneously, alright?”

Obviously unsatisfied with his short and meaningless empty promise, she gave up and hugged him, not without giving him a kiss on the cheek as she said goodbye and also not missing her chance to glare at you once again.

As soon as she was gone Taehyung hit the back of his head before walking to Aleena, casually linking his hand in hers - at least it was going good for them.

“That hurt,” he yelled at his friend, rubbing the space where he just got hit. 

“That hurt? No, what hurt was the way this girl was trying to mark you as her territory,” Taehyung insisted, shaking his head in disbelief to what he just had to see.

Jeongguk let out a long sigh, nodding in defeat, “I promise she’s usually not that bad. I don’t know what has gotten into her.”

Aleena let out a chuckle, “I think she felt a bit threatened by the pretty girl by your side.”

You didn’t even pay attention to their conversation, trapped inside your own thoughts. Somehow it was hard to swallow the fact that you thought that Jeongguk was flirting with you but then immediately let go of your hand as soon as another girl walks by. Holding his hand felt a bit too natural to you, your hands fitting a bit too well in each others’. And god, you wanted to hold it again.

When the others stopped walking, a worried Jeongguk was already staring at you but you ignored him, inspecting the Ferris wheel in front of you.

“We have to go,” Taehyung insisted, his hand still linked with Aleena’s - it was nice to see his eyes sparkling for once when he was looking at a girl, “It wouldn’t be a real fair date if we didn’t, no matter how cliche it is.”

Aleena let out a sigh, “Taehyung, I’m absolutely afraid of heights.”

Chuckling, he hugged her from the back, “You just say that so I’ll hold you.”

“If I die I will absolutely take you to hell with me,” she warned him, starting to line up for the Ferris wheel. You stood right behind them in line, their backs turned to you.

Jeongguk’s hands found your shoulders so you had no other choice than to look at him, “Will you do me the favor and accompany me?”

“I don’t know, Guk,” you told him, carefully removing his hands from your shoulders and his eyes turned soft as he heard you using your nickname, happy you weren’t mad at him, “Isn’t it a bit awkward? It’s a thing lovers do.”

Giving you a teasing smirked, he shrugged, “Why? Are you afraid I’ll make a move on you?”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at his shameless flirting. You know him well enough to be aware of the fact that he was just trying to make you let loose again and it worked but your mind still was preoccupied with the previous encounter.

“Or are you afraid that you can’t control yourself up there, all alone with me?” he added, the playful smirk on his face grew bigger and bigger, more than satisfied when he finally made you laugh even though you hit his chest while doing so.

“You’re terrible,” you glared at him, trying to stay serious but not able to hide the smile sitting in the corner of your mouth, “Now I’m definitely not going.”

He reached out to put his arm around your shoulder for a second but stopped himself, not knowing if you’d be okay with it - he noticed that you were not comfortable, “I can’t believe you’re going to make me go alone. I thought it was you and me against the world.”

“I never said that,” you insisted.

Letting out a scoff, Jeongguk gawked at you with his eyes wide open, “Excuse me, I thought it was our unspoken rule. I can’t believe you’d betray me like that.”

Shrugging, you played along, “All those years spend with you never meant anything to me.”

Holding his hand above his heart, he acted like it was hurting, a small ‘ouch’ escaping his lips. Right before you, it was Taehyung’s and Aleena’s turn to sit down, both of them mustering you with a teasing smile, Taehyung not being able to hide his sneaky comments, “Much fun. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

Jeongguk sat down in the wagon behind them, stretching out his hand, waiting for you with puppy eyes, “Please, don’t let me ride alone.”

With a long sigh, you took his hand and he rapidly pulled you close to him, making you stumble a bit, falling right into your best friend's arm, sharing an awkward hug - but it made Jeongguk happy so it was alright.

Happily, he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close to him. Normally, you’d enjoy the affection but you couldn't stop thinking about how fast he let go of your hand when Jennifer came into the picture and how much you wanted him to hold it again.

Jeongguk wasn’t stupid or blind, he has known you a bit too long to not realize what was bothering you. He also knew that he had to address it as soon as possible because otherwise, you wouldn’t stop thinking about it at all. And he wanted you to stop thinking about it asap because to him, Jennifer meant nothing. And you meant everything.

You felt terrible childish for being so affected by such a small thing. The two of you were friends too long for you to be worried about some random girl he didn’t even think was important enough to mention coming in between you. Scanning the view of the fair as the Ferris wheel slowly moved upwards, your stomach dropped and you knew it was not because you suddenly were afraid of heights.

“(Y/n)?” your best friend asked carefully, his tone sweet.

After you hummed in response, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling shy, “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

Knowing exactly what he meant but not knowing how to respond, you tried to sound as unbothered as possible, “What do you mean?”

Daring to look at you again, the apologetic expression in his eyes made weak in an instant, “About some girl thinking it would be okay to cut between us like that.”

Shrugging, you played it cool, knowing he wasn’t at fault, “It’s okay, I guess she was just trying to make sure that we’re not getting too close for her liking.”

With furrowed eyebrows, he shook his head, “If she thinks she could get between us she must be a fucking idiot.”

Laughing, you wholeheartedly agreed with him, “She wouldn’t be the first one to try.”

He gave you a nose scrunch before ruffling his hand through your hair - he knew how much you hated it when he did that but he would never stop, enjoying teasing you way too much, “But in the end, it’ll always be you and me wine-drunk on the couch, I promise.”

Pouting at the lovely words you barely hear from your best friend, you rested your head on his shoulder. He gave you a feeling of comfort like you’re home wherever he is - considering the fact that he was the main character in your childhood it was kind of true, all of your memories connected to home were filled with him, “I doubt your future wife will approve.”

You felt his head resting against yours, his voice low, “She can eat shit if she has a problem with it.”

For a second you didn’t say anything, but then you just had to ask him your burning question despite fearing the answer, “Are you and her serious?”

The way he furrowed his eyebrows said it all, “Don’t you think I would’ve told you if I was serious about someone?”

Of course, he had a point but something made you feel unsure - almost insecure. Jeongguk noticed your sudden shift in behavior, the strong urge to calm you down and make you feel better coming over him, “She’s the girl I was at last Friday when you were over. I didn’t really talk to her after that night. And I doubt I will again after tonight.”

That made you feel a bit lighter, thankful you didn’t have to deal with her again. It’s not like you didn’t want Jeongguk to be happy, you did, you just hated the thought of someone by his side that wasn’t good enough for him. It probably wasn’t fair because deep down you knew that no one would ever be good enough for the golden boy in your eyes, no one except for you.

“I can’t believe she was intimidated by someone like me,” you almost scoffed at the thought, making Jeongguk lift his head, “By me of all people.”

Jeongguk eyed you, confusion written all over his face, “Why wouldn’t she be?”

Thinking about it for a second, you shrugged, “Everyone knows we’ve been friends for years. It should be known by now that I’m not a danger to any of your girls.”

Laughing, Jeongguk shook his head in disagreement, “You’re delusional.”

Playfully, you hit his chest, a grin on your face, “Stop being so mean. Why would call me that?”

Your best friend was smiling brightly, eyes skimming over the nice view of the dark city from the top of the Ferris wheel that was currently standing still, “Because it’s true.”

One thing you always loved about Jeongguk was his smile, it sounded so cliche but it was true - to this day he somehow managed to still look like a boy whenever he was smiling, his big bunny teeth shining, the adorable laugh lines you loved so much forming in his labionasal zone and, your favorite thing about it, the smile always reaching his eyes, the wrinkles around them showing.

“Call me delusional one more time and I’ll end this friendship,” you warned him jokingly, the smile on his face only increasing more.

“I’m serious though,” he gestured, the atmosphere lighthearted again, “We talked about this before.”

Kind of being at a loss, you gave him a questioning glance, not catching on.

“Of course, girls will be intimidated by the fact that the person I’m most comfortable around is a girl,” he explained, his eyes not once looking away from yours, “Our campus is small and everyone already thinks we're dating. What do you think why no guy that knows me ever hits on you?”

It kind of made sense, yet once again Jeongguk seemed to be right and you disliked the fact that it was so logical.

He let out a laugh as he saw your mind working, realizing that he got a point, “I thought you were the clever one from us.”

Throwing a death glare at him, you shook your head, “You know literally every single guy on campus. Thanks for being such a cockblock.”

Snickering, he shrugged lightly, “Be happy, if it wasn’t for me you might have ended up on Taehyung’s endless list of random hook-ups.”

The situation between the two of you cooled down fastly again and for the rest of the evening, you could at least forget about your newest realization - at least until the two of you were standing in front of your door and the hug he gave you just felt a bit too good in your opinion. You suddenly started to hate how much he acted like a boyfriend towards you, knowing he had always been like this around you, twelve years of friendship and he always insisted on taking you home but now, that you might have started to like him it felt a bit overwhelming.

As you were in bed, trying to fall asleep you couldn’t stop picturing his stupid, proud grin as he won you a Minion plush, knowing you’d absolutely hate it, his fragrance in your nose, the way his hug felt so warm and comfortable still making you feel dense - this was getting out of hand.

You remember telling Irene that you would only drink one or two beers and nothing more and Irene agreeing with you, just wanting a girls night out again. All of this was not part of the plan - you didn’t plan to get completely wasted to a point where even holding up your own head was a challenge. 

But still, there you were, in the dorm of Irene’s boyfriend, sitting on the kitchen table with your head in your hands. It’s not like you didn’t have fun, if you were honest you might have had a bit too much fun - it was hard for you to catch a clear thought, a thousand different ones swimming around in your head. You remembered that you had to call Namjoon in the morning to tell him something but you couldn’t grasp what exactly you wanted to tell him. You thought about your last exam next week, feeling bad because you should be learning instead of trying to sober up in someone’s kitchen. 

Another thought came to your mind, making you feel like throwing up - Jeongguk. Even now when you were drunk you tried to tell yourself that you were overthinking the whole flirting going on between the two of you, blaming yourself for being too careless with your friendship.

“Hey, (y/n), are you okay?” you heard a sweet voice and were sure that you knew the voice from somewhere but couldn’t identify it, too lazy and tired to open your eyes to check who was in front of you.

“I’m alright, I guess,” you answered sloppily, forcing yourself to open one eye to see no one else than Jeongguk’s roommate Jimin in front of you, a big grin on his face - he tried hard not to laugh at your clearly fucked-up state.

“You don’t seem alright,” he laughed, sitting down on the kitchen table right next to you, his arm wrapping around your waist to support you, “Just how much did you drink?”

“Obviously too much,” you scoffed at his stupid question, making him laugh once again.

“Still as snappy as always,” he nagged you, putting your arm around his shoulder, trying to make you stand up, “Good to know you’re still the same, even completely wasted.”

“What are we doing, Jimin?” you asked him, your eyes falling shut again.

Forcing yourself to follow Jimin, you were now standing, pretty sure that if Jimin would stop supporting you you’d fall, “I’m bringing you to our dorm.”

“Why?” you glared at him, not liking the idea of leaving already, “I’m fine, I just need to sober up a bit, I promise.”

“Jeongguk will kill me if I leave you here in your current state,” Jimin insisted lovingly but stern enough to leave no room for discussions.

You rolled your eyes at the mention of your best friends’ name, not wanting to think about him, “Jeongguk can kiss my ass.”

“I’m sure he’d love that,” Jimin replied to your comment and deep inside you were thankful for him taking care of you. Usually, you could hold your liquor way better, so you had no idea why you were so out of it tonight, barely noticing anything around you.

As Jimin was carrying you inside of his dorm, Jeongguk was just stepping out of the shower and judging by the fact that it was in the middle of the night, Jimin was sure he had someone over earlier. 

“How was the party?” he heard his friend screaming from the bathroom as he sat you down on the couch. You already fell asleep in his arms - as soon as you knew you were getting home safe you started to feel tired, asking Jimin if it was okay if you closed your eyes and he let you sleep, giving you a piggyback ride back to the dorm.

“It was fine,” he answered unbothered, trying to untie your shoes as Jeongguk walked into the living room.

“Did you bring someone home?” he asked in a celebrating tone, no idea yet who the girl on his couch was.

As he came over to his friend and saw your face his jaw dropped slightly, trying to put one and one together.

“What’s going on?” he asked his friend, his voice stern, “Why were you with (y/n)?”

As if Jeongguk wasn’t upset enough already to see Jimin bring you home, completely passed out, Taehyung came out of his room, curious to what was going on.

Jimin scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, “I was just taking care of your drunk best friend, you’re welcome.”

Rolling his eyes, Jeongguk bit his lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just,” he started, looking at your figure on his couch for a second - he hated seeing you like this, “Nothing happened between you, right?”

Jimin’s eyes widened, trying not to laugh at the question he was just asked, “You think I’d make out with your girl? Seriously?”

Jeongguk threw his hands in the air, offended, “She’s not my girl.”

Both of them were distracted when they heard Taehyung facepalming himself from behind them, “Jeongguk, let’s go to the kitchen and sit down.”

Jimin and Jeongguk gave each other a questioning glance, wondering what Taehyung wanted but followed him wordlessly. 

Taehyung let out a deep and long sigh, rubbing his temple as he stared at Jeongguk who was now sitting opposite from him.

“What’s bothering you?” Jeongguk asked his closest friend, confusion written all over his face. What could be so important at three in the morning that couldn’t wait until the next day?

Scoffing, Taehyung shook his head in disbelief, “Are you completely blind?”

Still not being able to follow, Jeongguk started to get defensive, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Can you just tell me already?”

“You’re standing here in our living room, obviously upset at the thought of Jimin and (y/n) getting it on and then have the nerve to act like you’re not completely smitten for her?”

The confusion in Jeongguk’s face vanished within a second, being replaced by annoyance, “I’m not going through this with you again, Taehyung. We’ve been friends for twelve years. How often do I have to repeat that for you?”

Now, Jimin started to get involved in the discussion, taking Taehyung’s side, much to Jeongguk’s dislike, “Friends can fall in love too, you know that.”

Giving Jimin a pleading glance, as if he was begging him to take his side just for once, Jeongguk pouted, “Not her and me. It can’t happen to us.”

Taehyung was still busy rubbing his temples as if his friend was giving him the biggest headache he ever experienced, “It can and it is happening to you, please stop acting like it’s not. Guk, I see the eyes you’re making at her wherever we are.”

“And not to be like that, but that girl you’re seeing looks suspiciously similar to (y/n),” Jimin threw into the conversation and deep down Jeongguk knew he was right, he realized certain similarities between you and her too.

But Jeongguk decided to stay stubborn, afraid of his own feelings, “The thought of Jimin and (y/n) just upset me because I don’t want things to be awkward when she comes over if it wouldn’t work out.”

Neither Taehyung nor Jimin believed him for a second, “So, you’re saying if Jimin and (y/n) would be a real couple, you wouldn’t mind?”

Shrugging, he scoffed, not wanting to think about those kind of scenarios at all. It would simply be weird for his friends to date, not because he had feelings for you or anything, it just wouldn’t fit, “If he makes her happy, why not?”

Taehyung’s hand run through his hair, having to collect everything in him to not rip it out then and there. How could someone be so damn stubborn? He loved Jeongguk to death but if this boy didn’t realize he was in love sooner or later he couldn’t promise not to hurt him, “Because you have feelings for her, you absolute idiot.”

“So, what if I do?” Jeongguk’s voice suddenly became louder, not having Taehyung’s behavior anymore and Taehyung felt relieved, finally having him where he wanted, out of his constant denial, “Do you think I’d just risk my longest and closest friendship because of some stupid feelings?”

Anxious, Jeongguk looked over his shoulder to see if you were still asleep, afraid that you could hear his emotional outburst, his voice becoming quieter, “It’ll pass. Sooner or later.”

His best friend’s hand found his shoulder, squeezing it lightly, “Just don’t regret not confronting her about it someday.”

Calming down again, Jeongguk furrowed his eyebrows, “What do you mean? Why would I regret it?”

Then, Taehyung spoke the words out loud that Jeongguk was too afraid to think, “What if it doesn’t pass?”

Not wanting to deal with this idea, Jeongguk stood up from the table, excusing himself, “I’m absolutely not ready to think about that, please understand.”

Walking over to where you were sleeping, he studied you for a few seconds, a sudden wave of anxiety rushing over him. This needed to pass - he already flirted with you too much, already gave you too many hints, if you wanted him too, you would’ve reacted differently, right?

How frustrating it was for him, out of all the people his dumb self had to fall for the only person he shouldn’t be in love with. But Taehyung was right, he could deny it as much as he wanted, it was still true. And how couldn’t he fall for you, with a face like that and a personality that no one could ever compare to? 

He had to force himself to stop staring at you before he did something stupid like trying to kiss you - you looked so peaceful, the thought of not having you around hurt his heart. 

That night, Jeongguk fell asleep with you on his mind, not able to fight the feelings any longer, no idea that a few nights ago you were in your bed, dealing with the same problem.

Jeongguk got it bad for you and he hated himself for it, feeling like a complete idiot to bring feelings into this friendship.

When you woke up your head was spinning and your mouth was dry. It took you a second to come to your senses, forcing yourself to sit up on the couch you slowly recognized. Why were you at Jeongguk’s place? You don’t remember seeing him yesterday. 

Studying the room in need of anything that would make you remember last night's events a smile found its way to your face as you saw the bottle of water and aspirin on the table beside the couch, right next to it a little note.

‘Good morning you drunkard. This is for you. God knows you need it.’

Thankful for Jeongguk taking care of you, you fastly took the pill and downed the water in one go, your body feeling at least a little bit better.

The clock on the wall said it was currently ten in the morning and you wondered where everyone was - you doubt the boys would be out early on a Sunday morning.

And just as you wanted to get up and search for your best friend, he came walking right through the door, looking comfortable in his sweatpants and thick hoodie. 

“(Y/n), you were great last night,” he smirked at you as he let himself fall right to the space beside you.

“Shut up, you idiot,” you laughed at his attempt of trying to fool you.

Gasping a bit, he glanced at you with wide eyes, “You don’t remember? I had no idea you were into that stuff, I’m glad I found out though.”

There was no way he was being serious right? You cursed yourself for not being able to remember anything from last night. Normally, you wouldn’t believe Jeongguk a single word but he sounded convincing and god knows what your drunk ass did, now that you started to look at Jeongguk in another way than before.

Your stomach was turning, not wanting to believe him, “Stop fucking with me. I’m too hungover for your teasing.”

He rubbed his temples, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry to tell you but I’m serious. I didn’t know you had an underboob tattoo, when did you get that?”

If you didn’t feel sick before, you definitely did now. Running your hands through your hair you wanted to rip them out, “Don’t tell me we had sex with each other, Jeongguk. Please.”

“I can’t believe you can’t remember,” Jeongguk shook his head before a sly smile crept onto his lips, “Should I refresh your memory?”

Whining, your leg kicked him away from you, “You little shit, stop it right now and tell me you’re just kidding.”

Finally letting out the laugh he tried to hide the whole time, he rubbed the spot you just kicked him, “Do you think I’d fuck you when you’re that wasted and then let you sleep on the couch?”

You let out a relieved sigh, ready to murder your best friend, “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Jeongguk was enjoying the whole situation a bit too much for your liking, his grin glued to his face, “I’m a bit offended you think having sex with me would be that terrible.”

Your glare left him unbothered, “How do you know about my tattoo?”

In an instant, his ears turned red, “You were too drunk to change so I helped you.”

Until then you didn’t even realize that you indeed were wearing clothes that didn’t belong to you, the thought of Jeongguk seeing you almost naked making you feel embarrassed in an instant.

“I didn’t try anything, did I?” you carefully asked, fearing the answer.

He shook his head heavily, “No, no, don’t worry. You passed out as soon as Jimin brought you home.”

Jimin? That piece of information was new to you, your eyes widening in an instant again, “There was nothing between us, right?”

Chuckling at how panicked you were, Jeongguk immediately calmed you down, telling you that you should stop worrying, “He’d be dead by now if he tried anything.”

With squinted eyes, you glanced at him, “You’re acting like an overprotective brother.”

“More like a boyfriend, if you ask me,” you heard Jimin’s angelic voice from behind you, turning around to see him standing in the door, “Glad to see you’re still alive.”

Chuckling, you nodded, “Glad to see that you’re still alive too and Jeongguk didn’t kill you.”

Shrugging, a teasing smile directed towards Jeongguk was plastered on his face, “It’s not like he didn’t want to as he saw me bringing you home.”

Playfully, you poked his side, “Jealous, Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk’s face turned red, not liking the situation at all, afraid that Jimin would say anything you weren’t supposed to know, “Just be quiet and get ready, I’m taking you out to breakfast.”

Not able to hide a last teasing comment, Jimin poured himself some coffee in the kitchen, “Sounds like a date to me.”

You certainly wouldn’t mind a date with Jeongguk. What you didn’t know is that neither would he.

Were you in the mood to go to this stupid party? No. Was this reason enough to convince Namjoon to not go and just stay home instead? Absolutely not.

You were honestly still trying to recover from your hangover from last weekend, not ready to even smell alcohol again but you knew you had no choice. 

The only good thing about all of this was that you could finally see your best friend again tonight. The week was busy and even though you talked on the phone a lot you didn’t manage to meet, despite telling each other that you missed being together every single day.

It might be delusional of you but you felt like Jeongguk’s behavior towards you changed since last weekend. Of course, you might just misinterpret the situation but somehow he seemed to be more clingy, maybe even a bit more affectionate. Not that you were complaining.

“No way,” Namjoon shook his head heavily as you asked him to just turn around even though you were already in front of the big entrance to the house the party was going on in, “We’re going, it’s the last big party this term and attending it is mandatory.”

The sky only turned dark about twenty minutes ago and somehow, the whole garden already was full of red cups and people making out in the corners. How cliche.

As you entered the door, the hallway was already filled with tons of people, most of them you’ve never seen before - if you were honest, you weren’t even sure who this house belonged to and you preferred smaller gatherings with close friends to get drunk but if it made Namjoon happy, you’d certainly try your best fo have fun.

“You know how we’re going to do it, right?” Namjoon asked you for the hundredth time today, “As soon as we see Lia you call her over, start a conversation and then leave us alone because you have to look for Jeongguk.”

Amused, you nodded, “Namjoon, we’ve gone over this so often, I probably will remember the plan until the day I die.”

He chuckled, a bit too excited, “I’m just nervous.”

It warmed your heart to see him so giddy, if anyone of your friends deserved to fall in love it was Namjoon, “I’m pretty sure she likes you too. I see the way she eyes you in class. I’ll include this little story in my speech at your wedding.”

“Kim Lia,” he thought about it for a small second, “Sounds good to me.”

The two of you were on your way to the kitchen, both needing booze to get into the right mood - and luckily, the kitchen was way less crowded than the living room that was currently used as the main floor.

“What about you, though, Jeon (y/n). Like the sound of it?”

Scoffing loudly, you poured some liquor into one of the red cups, “Don’t even make me think about it, it’ll only complicate things.”

“The only thing complicating anything is the two of you not wanting to admit you have the hots for each other,” Namjoon kept bugging you with this topic for weeks now - just like everyone around you, “Everyone notices it except for you.”

“Stop it,” you almost yelled at him, knowing he won’t shut up about it, “Do you want me to help you with Lia or not?”

Immediately shutting up, he gave you an innocent smile and filled his cup up too, clinking it with yours, “Cheers.”

After fastly downing your first mixture of Whiskey and Coke, you filled your cup up again, ready to go into the battlefield of a dancefloor in the living room, on a mission to get Namjoon laid. 

The two of you were still too sober, compared to the other people dancing around you but it wasn’t awkward at all - you enjoyed Namjoon’s company, always. You were more worried about the time you had to leave his side because he needed some alone time with his crush. 

You caught yourself looking around for Jeongguk, your eyes scanning the whole room and your search didn’t go unnoticed, Namjoon giving you a skeptic glance before coming down to your ear, his voice almost screaming because otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to understand him over the loud music, “We all know who I’m looking for but I bet you’re looking for a man with long hair with a charming aura and dreamy eyes?”

Rolling your eyes you hated how accurate that was, “I’m not in love with him, Namjoon.”

The expression on his face showed that he wasn’t believing you for a single second, “I talked to Taehyung last week. He said that Jeongguk is just as desperately in love with you, so just go for it.”

Butterflies came flying to your stomach and you wanted to kill each and every one of them, still not used to the fact that you saw Jeongguk as more than a friend. You weren’t denying it anymore, at least not to yourself, but that didn’t change the fact that you disliked it so much. 

You disliked nothing more than how much you wanted Jeongguk to hold you, kiss you, like you back. Actually, there was one thing you disliked even more: the fact, that you weren’t sure if Jeongguk thought similar of you or not, his mixed signals making you go insane slowly.

“What do you mean, you and Taehyung talked about it?” you asked him sharply, not believing the betrayal.

Your friend put his hands in the air, pleading not guilty, “He came to me and asked about your thoughts on Jeongguk.”

Throwing your head back in frustration, you whined, “And let me guess, you told Tae that I like Jeongguk?”

Amused at your misery, he let out a laugh, “Of course, I would never lie to someone, you know that.”

“I’m going to murder you, Kim Namjoon,” you warned him through gritted teeth but before you could actually act on your anger, his eyes grew wide.

“Lia, she’s coming towards us,” he sounded like he was about to faint and you told him to breathe, deciding that you could still kill him later.

It took only about three minutes until you were unnecessary to the conversation, excusing yourself to leave and barely getting a response because Namjoon and Lia were so immersed in their conversation, they almost didn’t notice you were saying something. Good for them.

But where were you supposed to go now? You studied the room, hoping to find anyone you could cling on, preferably Jeongguk or Irene but neither of them were around. 

A few seconds later, you found your second-best option: Taehyung, Aleena and Jimin, standing on a tall table, a bottle of booze in the middle. They welcomed you with big hugs and your mood lifted in an instant. It was nice seeing Taehyung and Aleena were still together, all the other girls around probably disappointed that they weren’t the ones who were able to tame Taehyung.

“Looking stunning as always,” Jimin gave you a small wink as he eyes you from up and down, the harmless compliment boosting your ego immediately.

Taehyung let out a sigh, joking as he hugged you, “Stop flirting with your mate’s girl, Jimin. We’ve been over this.” 

“Not flirting,” Jimin chuckled.

“Also, not your mate’s girl,” you replied to Taehyung’s comment.

Filling your empty cup with booze for you, he shook his head, “How is living in delulu-land going for you?”

Deciding to ignore Taehyung’s snarky remark, you thanked him for the drink and downed it with them, ready to have a fun night. Maybe Namjoon was right and the evening was not going to be as bad as you thought it would be.

Still, there was one burning question in the back of your mind, “Where is Jeongguk by the way? Isn’t he here yet?”

Jimin and Taehyung gave each other a short glance, you were not able to read it but they were definitely communicating with their eyes before Jimin answered you, “We came together but lost him on the way.”

Deciding, not to be too nosy about it you accepted their answer without questioning it, “You’ll have to deal with me then until he finds me, I’m sorry.”

Luckily they didn’t seem to mind. It was nice to know that Jeongguk’s friends were so welcoming and warm towards you, almost as if you have been in their friend group since forever. 

It didn’t take long for Aleena and you to bond over the girl you both hate and share a class with, happy to hear that you weren’t the only one who disliked her.

“She’s not all that bad,” Jimin dared to interrupt your gossip, only to gain a disapproving glance form Aleena.

“You just want to get into her pants,” Taehyung argued, “Even I agree that she’s kind of annoying.”

Aleena high-fived her boyfriend, making Jimin roll his eyes.

“You’re just taking your girlfriend’s side,” Jimin teased his friend lovingly, “You were so much more fun when you were still single.”

But you didn’t pay attention to their bickering anymore, not being able to focus on anything, busy feeling your heart break into pieces slowly and painfully as your eyes found Jeongguk on the other side of the room.

Your breathing became heavy and standing was difficult because of how dizzy you felt, your stomach turning around, leaving you feel like you were about to puke from the sight you were currently eyeing. This couldn’t be true. But no matter how often you blinked, as soon as you opened your eyes you saw the same sight again and again.

Time was passing slower, almost in slow-motion as you noticed Jeongguk walking inside, his hair all over the place, fingers busy fumbling on the upper button of the white button-up he was wearing. He looked as handsome as ever but sweaty, no one else but the girl you met at the fair walking inside behind him, you didn’t even want to think of her name. 

Your heart sting as you thought back to the night you met her, remembering Jeongguk’s words, telling you not to worry about her. 

You tried to concentrate on yourself, your hands were shaking, not sure if it was because of the anger or sadness building up inside of you, probably a mixture of both, your legs feeling wobblier by each second. You felt weak. You felt tired. 

And that is why you don’t fall in love with your best friend - to protect yourself from that exact feeling.

If you could, you would vanish right now, not wanting to exist anymore to avoid feeling like this, not sure if anything ever hurt you the way this sight did right now. You felt stupid, a wave of self-hate coming over you for being so naive to even think that a small part of him could like you back. 

The two of you were friends, nothing more. It was always like that, why would it change suddenly?

In that moment, you didn’t notice anything around you, everything else irrelevant, almost as if time stopped completely - gulping, you realized that you and Jeongguk could never go back to what you used to have because you were stupid enough to bring feelings into this.

Just as you thought it couldn’t get worse his eyes met yours, already starring at him and you were sure your eyes were filled with pain. He noticed immediately, his expression almost pleading you to let him explain, pain was written all over his features - as soon as he spotted you he seemed sorrowful, gloomy, even worried but you were sure in comparison to you, he still would look happy.

He knew what was going on.

The longer your eyes focused on each other, the more uncomfortable you felt - but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, the thoughts of what had just happened between them haunting you. Even if you knew he did nothing wrong, he wasn’t yours after all, you wanted to cry as soon as the thought filled up your mind.

Someone’s hands held your shoulders, making you snap back to reality as you realized that Jimin tried to make you look away, the torture on your face not going by unnoticed by him.

Not able to say what you were thinking, Taehyung got a hang of what was going on, spotting Jeongguk on the other side of the room, Jennifer right by his side, also slowly understanding what, or better said who, Jeongguk was starring at, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“This asshole,” you heard Taehyung mumble under his breath, thankful for hearing him say that, “I’ll kill him.”

It felt like you were glued to the floor, not able to say anything because tears were building in your eyes, making you feel even more pathetic. But as soon as you saw Jeongguk strutting towards you, his pained expression becoming more intense by each second you knew you had to act quick.

You had two options: Staying right where you are and risking crying in front of everyone or fleeing to cry in peace on the toilet. You glanced at Taehyung, panic in your eyes as you decided to go with the second option, “Please, stop him from coming after me, I need a second.”

And with that you were turning around, fast pace towards the nearest restroom you could find, locking the door behind you. 

Breathing in, breathing out. And in, and out again. Repeating this over and over until you calmed down, proud of yourself for not crying.

Jeongguk didn’t owe you anything, he did nothing wrong, he only playfully flirted with you every now and then, platonic and you let it get to your head. He could sleep with whoever he wanted. It was not worth ruining your friendship.

You tried to tell yourself those facts over and over again until you started to actually believe them. Knowing that Taehyung could only keep him away from you for so long, you felt pressured to pull yourself together. What were you even supposed to say once Jeongguk found you? He had no idea that you liked him and now was certainly not the time to tell him. 

The first knock on the bathroom door made you freeze in your spot. Another deep breath, calming yourself down a bit.

“Please, let me in,” the voice of your best friend sounded desperate over the muffled music you could hear blasting from the living room.

Knowing, it would be stupid to ignore him because in the end, you had to open the door for him sooner and later and it would only get more awkward the longer you waited, you opened it for him, a relieved sigh escaping his mouth as soon as he saw you.

In a rush, he came in and closed the door behind you - he still was worried, his wrinkled forehead giving him away. Standing right before you, he held your arms in his hands, making you look at him, “I know this sounds like such a douchebag sentence but you have to believe me, it’s not what it looks like and I can explain.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Guk,” your voice luckily didn’t betray you and you were impressed with how cool you sounded, as if you didn’t just almost lost your mind. But you meant it, it was the truth - he didn’t have to explain it to you, “you literally don’t owe me anything, don’t worry.”

Biting his lip, he shook his head, “I owe you everything and I am worrying.”

His eyes were starring into yours as if he was searching for something in them and before you knew what was happening, he wrapped his arms around you, embracing you tightly. His hands pressed your head against his chest, lightly caressing your hair, “Can we please go to my dorm?”

“Why?” you asked quietly, not knowing what exactly was going on. Jeongguk’s reaction to your reaction confused you even more and you wondered just how weird this evening could possibly get.

“Please,” he just whispered, begging you to come with him - so you agreed and without exchanging another word, the two of you were on your way out, ignoring everyone else as you were leaving.

“Don’t you want to say goodbye?” you asked him carefully, almost afraid of the way he was rushing you. What in the world was going on?

Shaking his head once again, he handed you his jacket as soon as you were stepping outside, telling you to wear it even though his dorm luckily was only a five-minute walk away, “It’s okay, I’ll see them at home later.”

Not able to keep up with his fast steps, you held onto his arm to slow him down and he immediately walked slower, letting you keep up with him.

“We didn’t have sex,” he blurted out, the whole situation seemingly stressing him out even more than you. Under any other circumstances, you probably would’ve chuckled at his nervousness but you still felt too tense, your heart heavy as if it could just fall out any second.

Gulping, your eyes were glued to the stars in the sky, afraid to look into his eyes, “It wouldn’t have been the first time, it’s alright.”

It didn’t feel alright to you but it had to be.

“It wouldn’t be alright,” he insisted and you were too tired to think about how exactly he meant that, just wanting this day to be over, “I wanted to talk to her to end things, ask Taehyung, I told him about ending it today. But then she tried to change my mind and started to touch me, that’s why my hair looked like that and she tried to undress me but I told her I’m not interested in her.”

If it was any other guy you probably would think he was just lying, the typical excuses coming out of his mind - but he wasn’t any guy. He was your best friend and you were certain he never lied to you before, except last weekend when he tried to convince you you had sex, and even if he tried to you’d look right through it.

The two of you were standing in front of his dorm now as he was opening the front door for you, “Can you trust me?”

God, if you’d ever tell someone this story they’d think you’re the most naive girl walking on this earth but the man next to you wasn’t only your crush, no, he was also by your side since your childhood days so how couldn’t you trust him.

“I’ll always trust you,” you sighed, “But why are you telling me all this?”

Jeongguk turned on the lights in his living room, mustering you - he seemed to be a bit more relaxed by now, his eyes still burning with questions and a certain neediness but way less pained. As you noticed the deep breath he was taking, you decided to the same.

“Go to my room, okay?” he asked you, chewing on the inside of his cheek, another typical sign of nervousness for him, “I need to call Taehyung, they are probably searching for us. But I’ll be right back and talk to you, promise.” 

Doing as you were told, you walked over to his room, feeling surprisingly fine. You finally had a free minute to think about the overwhelming events of the last thirty minutes - almost embarrassed at how you jumped to conclusions when you saw Jeongguk and Jennifer, you were still relieved that they didn’t have sex. It didn’t matter if he didn’t feel the same way as you did but at least he wasn’t serious about that terrible girl.

What you were still feeling uneasy about though was the weird behavior of your best friend.

It only took him about half a minute until he entered his room, his ears red once again, showing you that he was struggling with his shyness.

“You noticed it too, right?” Jeongguk confronted you as soon as he looked at you, biting his lips, his handsome face full of worries once again. 

Afraid that you might misunderstand the situation, you gulped, “Can you be a bit more specific?”

Your best friend inhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face, his whole body tensing. He needed a moment to clear his thoughts, afraid to say the wrong thing but you were willing to give him all the time he needed. 

If this conversation was going to way you thought it was, he had every reason to be nervous, your ribcage felt tight and as if it could rip any second so you could only imagine what your best friend felt like right now, being the one addressing the whole situation. But then, on the other hand, judging your reaction earlier it wasn’t too hard to notice that you had feelings for him.

“There’s a difference in how we act around each other, right?” your best friend finally said, choosing his words very carefully on purpose so he could always play it cool if you rejected him. His ears were red and in any other situation you’d nag him about it but you knew it was inappropriate right now, “The way we talk and the way we touch each other. Even the way we look at each other. Is that just me?”

His last question was filled with sorrow, almost pain even. Jeongguk hated the thought of fucking up your friendship just as much as you, so for him to finally address the tension between you was very brave of him, something you wouldn’t have dared.

The whole situation felt awkward, you wanted it to be over as soon as possible, afraid that saying one wrong thing might end your friendship forever - you were aware that nothing would break your friendship that easily but just the thought of romantic feelings between the two of you was making you anxious. You liked Jeongguk, you wanted to be around him more than usual, you found yourself staring at his lips and his arms and think of him differently - all the signs were clear, you were falling for your best friend, no matter how often you told yourself you were not and you were just lonely. 

You liked Jeongguk - and apparently, he was going through something similar with you too.

“It’s not just you,” you finally manage to answer his question, your voice sounding weak and almost not like yours, “I noticed it too.”

The man on the bed beside you shifted his glance from his feet right to your face after hearing your words, his cheeks red and you were sure so were yours. 

"Thank god,” he mumbled under his breath, relaxing immediately, “I’m going to say something now and it might sound insane but I have to tell you.”

Nodding, your heart beat unbelievably fast, hoping to hear the words you wanted to hear so badly out of his mouth.

“I don’t give a fuck about Jennifer,” he started, the mention of her name making you feel bitter for a short second, “I don’t like her. I like you. It’s bad and stupid but I do.”

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle, beyond excited to finally know about the feelings of the man standing in front of you, “It is bad and stupid. But I feel the same.”

He let out a scoff as if he couldn’t believe you were having such a conversation, shaking his head a bit confused, “This feels so awkward.”

You chuckled, thankful that he put your feelings into words, “I guess that is what happens when friends suddenly get caught up in another.”

He let himself fall backward, right onto his bed, staring at his ceiling. His hand ran through his hair as he let out the hundredth sigh for today, “I can’t believe we like each other.”

You threw him a glare, rolling your eyes before sarcastically adding, “Don’t be too happy about it.”

A pout formed on his lips, trying to look cute, “That’s not how I meant it, you know that.”

“Well, how did you mean it then?” you asked, a bit hurt at his frustration. It’s not like you thought it was ideal that you two fancied each other but it also wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened.

Your best friend moved his hand towards your wrist, as if he wanted to grab it but then stopped himself - only to then grab it nevertheless, pulling you to lay down beside him carefully.

There you were, next to your best friend, figuring out how to go on from here. Your face was turned to look into his, his hand still holding onto your wrist. His hair was messy, hanging in front of his eyes. No question, you preferred this tension over the one that was still hanging in the air about half an hour ago and you couldn’t be more thrilled to finally have him next to you, knowing that your feelings weren’t just one-sided but you never thought about how awkward it would be to finally shift from platonic to actually romantic.

“What do we do now?” he asked, biting his lip but then giving you a helpless laugh, “I’m sorry, I’m nervous about all of this.”

It was at least nice that the two of you could talk openly, even though it was a very weird and unfamiliar situation to both of you, at least you could be honest with each other, not afraid of showing your true feelings.

“How much do you like me?” you asked him, trying to decide on where to go from here. It was such an uncomfortable question to answer but you needed to know, not sure how exactly he felt about you.

He let out a breathy laugh, a shy smirk on his face, “I’ll get flustered talking about it.”

His smile immediately made you relax, smiling back at him, “I’m just trying to figure out if we should act on all of this or just try to ignore it, hoping it’ll go away.”

Jeongguk closed his eyes, not daring to look at you while confessing what he thought, his voice nothing more than a mumble, “I think it’s a bit too much for me to just ignore it. Let’s just say in my head we already told our parents about us.”

Chuckling, the sudden rush of wanting to kiss him overcame you but you stopped yourself - you knew how terrible he was at talking about his feelings, so him saying this must be a big step for him. To reassure him that he had nothing to worry about, you freed your wrist from his grip to interlock your finger with his.

“But if you want to just stay friends I’ll obviously be fine with it, our friendship is way more important than anything and if you feel-”, Jeongguk started to ramble, the pace of his talking become faster by ever word.

“No, that’s not it,” you interrupted him, trying to explain what worried you, “I’m just afraid to lose you.”

Nodding, his thumb drew small circles on the back of your hand, “Do you think I’m not? That’s the risky part about all of this.”

“I tried to trick myself into thinking we’re just friends but I truly want you, Guk,” the words felt risky as they left your lips as if he didn’t just admit he liked you too, the ball in his court now again.

“Good,” his eyes were sparkling and his leg intertwined with yours, his touch burning on you skin, “I don’t think I could go back to being just friends. I will always see you as something more.”

You wanted to hear those words over and over again, hard to believe the unbelievable outcome of this messy night.

“Can you picture that?” you asked him, “You and I, together.”

Jeongguk nodded immediately, not even needing a second to think about your question, “I told you before, I think we could be a strong couple. The possibility was always there.”

“So, it’s settled?” 

He let out a laugh, nodding again, “Do you wanna shake hands to seal the deal or what do we do now?”

Joining his laughter, you shook your head in amusement, “We suck at this.”

“I promise we’ll get better at this over time,” Jeongguk was glowing now, happy, his aura as positive as always. He opened his arms, reaching for your body, giving you a small smirk, “Should we try cuddling?”

You almost snorted at the awkward proposal but didn’t have to let him ask you twice so within seconds your head was resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around you tightly. His heartbeat was surprisingly fast, thank god you weren’t the only one nervous about all of this.

He smelled as amazing as ever and the dim lights in his room were making you feel like you were in heaven even though the whole situation was still feeling a bit odd. You loved the way his arms felt wrapped around you though, definitely wanting to get used to that feeling.

“This is so weird,” you laughed into his chest and you could feel it vibrating when he joined your laughter, “but I like it.”

“Me too,” his voice was soft now, a bit more confident as he carefully played with your hair. It was helpful that you weren’t looking at each other right now, you were sure you’d be as red as a tomato if you had to face him.

For a second, the two of you were just laying there, enjoying each other’s presence in silence, too anxious to say something. It wasn’t as awkward anymore even though you were afraid to move - as soon as you would only a muscle he’d react to it for sure.

But luckily, he moved first, sitting up on his bed and glancing at you, a helpless expression on his face, “I have a suggestion to make.”

“I’m listening,” you reassured him, still lying in his bed, too comfortable to get up as the exhaustion from earlier was brushing off on you.

“I’ll fix us something to eat while you search through Netflix,” he started, waiting for an answer before he continued.

“So far so good,” you gave him two thumbs up, ready to here the rest of suggestion.

“We could try to perfect this whole cuddling thing too if you want to,” he then suggested shyly.

Chuckling at how cute he was, you nodded, “God knows we need some more practice.”

“And as soon as you’re comfortable enough, we could try to talk about all of this,” he gestured between the two of you, “I know it’s weird but I really want to work this out.”

Sitting up and grabbing his remote from the nightstand, you agreed with him, “We’re on the same page, I promise.”

Hearing that from you was enough to boost his confidence a bit, knowing that the awkward tension between you would vanish in no time, once you figured out all the smaller details. 

You watched him as he was walking towards his door, admiring him in a whole new way - Jeongguk was handsome, an impressive body and a face straight from heaven. Of course, you knew all of that before but now that you could finally let those thoughts into your head without feeling weird about them you realized just how much you liked him. You think that those feelings for him might have developed a long time ago, you just never dared to pay attention to them before.

A rush of excitement came over you, looking forward to the new route ahead of the two of you - you’d figure all of this out, you two always did. All the new things you could explore together, as a couple - you couldn’t wait.

Just as he was about to open the door to take care of the food he turned around again, “Do you maybe want some clothes?”

You almost forgot that you were still in your dress, suddenly realizing how uncomfortable it was. 

“Not like I mind having you in my bed in such a pretty dress but it looks pretty uncomfortable,” he explained before you could say anything, a smirk appearing on his lips, “And I bet you’d look good in my clothes.”

“You’re shamelessly flirting, Jeongguk,” you shouted out, both, amused and flustered by his not so subtle attempt.

Defensive, he threw his hands up in the air, “Hey, that’s just what lovers do.”

Lovers. How nice this word sounded when it came out of the right person’s mouth. Before you could agree or deny, he was already rummaging through his wardrobe, searching for clothes you could wear. 

Not even ten minutes later you were back in Jeongguk’s bed, wearing a white oversized shirt and blue boxer shorts with little Maki’s printed on them, your hair in a messy bun while you were scrolling through Netflix, cuddled under Guk’s blanket.

Studying his room, you realized that you barely ever spent time in it, something that was about to change. Usually, the two of you would always chill in the living room because it was bigger, so his room was pretty uncommon to you. It was a bit messy, just like his room back home, except for his desk that was filled with the most expensive gaming utensils, glowing in all possible imaginary LED colors that existed.

A framed picture of the two of you caught your attention, decorating the shelf above his computer. It was one of your favorite pictures, both of you completely wasted, posing in a shopping cart. A warm feeling crept up on you after you realized that this was actually the only framed picture in his whole room.  

The door opened, a big bowl of amazing smelling popcorn in one of his hands, and two big candles in the other one, “Ready to get comfortable?”

You let out a laugh at the sudden use of candles, “You never turned on candles around me before, is this an update?”

Setting down the bowl of popcorn on your lap and getting out a lighter to turn the candles on, he nodded, “I never wanted to impress you before.”

“You don’t have to try to impress me, Jeongguk,” you promised him, “but you’re doing quite a good job at it.”

“Move,” he pointed to the bed without saying anything else about the candles, “I wanna sit behind you if that’s alright.”

Moving a bit more towards the middle of the bed, you waited for him to sit behind you, his legs wrapping around you within seconds, your back leaned back against his chest. You put some of your blanket over him as he got comfortable.

Luckily, this felt less awkward than just twenty minutes ago and you were beyond thankful for it. 

A few seconds later Jeongguk was done positioning himself behind you, his arm wrapped around your stomach, drawing little circles on your exposed skin where your shirt rose up. 

“Is this okay?” he asked unsure, his breath tickling your ear, giving you goosebumps in an instant. 

It was more than okay, you felt secure and safe and at home - a bit surprised too at how easy all of this seemed.

“It’s nice,” your voice was satisfied, your eyes closed as you enjoyed the feeling of being held by him, “I could fall asleep immediately.”

His lips were on your ear, giving it a light peck, goosebumps forming on your body in an instant, “Don’t you dare.”

The whisper made you shiver and you could feel Jeongguk’s grin without having to look at him, happy he had that effect on you. 

About an hour into the movie you were watching, Jeongguk suddenly grabbed the remote and paused it - as you turned your head around to see what he was doing, the boy already looked at you, a concentrated glance on his face.

“What?” you asked him laughing, wondering what was happening.

Shrugging, his hand ran through your hair, eyes full of admiration, “You’re pretty cute. Did I ever tell you?”

Flustered, you playfully hit his chest, “Stop, Guk. You’re making me blush.”

The smile on his face was calm, his eyes not once leaving yours, “You are. Your mum must be proud of the beautiful woman you became.”

Not being used to hearing those kinds of compliments out of Jeongguk’s mouth your face turned red, “If you don’t stop right now, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

Breaking his loving stare he let out a laugh, nodding understandingly, “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. But you’ll have to get used to it. I won’t hold back anymore.”

“Better not promise anything you can’t keep,” you warned him.

After looking at you for a little longer he stood up out of nowhere, reaching for your hand to help you get up too, “Let’s go and make a warm cup of tea.”

Not knowing where his sudden proposal came from you agreed nevertheless, holding his hand as you walked over to the kitchen, your head leaning against his shoulder. 

“What kind of tea do you want?” he asked you, opening a cupboard with a small variety of different kind of teas.

Before you could choose one yourself, Jeongguk let out a small chuckle, “Stupid question, I know you want strawberry tea anyway, right?”

It was almost heartwarming how automatic Jeongguk started to boil the water, preparing your tea, a domestic feeling you wanted to never go away again.

You were leaning against the counter, just watching him as his eyes met yours, a sly smile on his face when he came closer to you, his hands finding your waist, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just enjoying the view,” you replied as his right hand cupped your cheek and he came closer once again, his hip connected with yours. Jeongguk seemed taller than usual, it might be the fact that he never stood in front of you like this before but you swear, he never was as tall as today.

“I’ve made you tea before, it’s not like this is a new view for you.”

Agreeing, you nodded your head, “I know but you’ve never made tea as my boyfriend before.”

His forehead leaned against yours as his hand wandered down from your cheek, over your shoulder, softly caressing your arm until it found your hand, linking his fingers with yours before he slowly came closer, both of you anticipating what was about to happen, “Your boyfriend, I like the sound of it.”

Jeongguk’s lips were now just above yours, the thought of the little distance left between you being gone in a few seconds sent butterflies to your stomach.

His scent was already enough to make you feel dizzy, not to mention the burning touch of his hands on your skin or the way his leg found its way between your legs. But all of those things faded into the background as you could finally feel his lips on yours, the soft pressure making your knees feel weak and your heart beat faster.

It started out slow and careful, both of you enjoying the slow approach of seeing how far you could go. His second hand wandered upwards from your hip under your shirt towards your waist, his thumb drawing small circles on your skin.

The kiss started to deepen a few seconds later and the fact that you could feel Jeongguk smiling into the kiss made you want him even more. If only you would have known that kissing him felt this good you had kissed him way sooner.

Your hand played with the nape of his neck, trying to pull him even closer to you as he kissed you with more passion, more pressure, more neediness. His second hand found your waist, carefully pulling you upwards, motioning you to let him lift you up to sit on the counter - and of course, you let him.

So there you were, in the middle of the night, heavily making out with Jeon Jeongguk between your legs, both of his hands busy with your thighs as he freed his lips from yours, just to pepper kisses along your jawline, down your neck right until his lips reached the top of your breasts, both of you not caring about the tea he just made a few minutes ago anymore.

Throwing your head back with closed eyes you enjoyed the feeling of Jeongguk’s attention on your chest a bit too much, not to talk about how you slowly felt his hand moving to the inside of your thighs, slipping them under his pair of boxer shorts you were wearing sneakily.

It all felt too good, afraid of how good this night would actually still become - at least until you both suddenly froze in your place, realizing that your friends suddenly were standing in the room, just coming home from the party the two of you were at earlier.

Eyes wide open, both of you stared at the three of them, all of them staring back at you with wide smirks on their lips.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you heard Taehyung mumble under his breath, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice, “Did we interrupt something?”

Jimin chuckled, “We clearly did.”

Of course, they wouldn’t let you go that easily after all they were known for being a pain in the ass. 

“Let’s go to my room before they start asking questions,” Jeongguk fastly told you, lifting you up from the counter once again, this time to help you get down.

But Taehyung already had other plans, the shit-eating grin on his face not fading at all, “Not so fast. How did that happen? We expected a lot but not that.”

Now, Taehyung’s girlfriend joined the conversation, “Baby, give them some space. God knows they need some alone time.”

Not letting the two of you get away so easily, Taehyung sat down on the kitchen table, gesturing you to join him, “First I want to know what happened after you left the party.”

Jeongguk threw you an apologetic glance, a small pout on his lips, making you chuckle.

“Guess we have to wait for a bit longer,” you whispered to him as you made your way over to the table.

Nodding, he let out a soft sigh, “Luckily we have all the time of the world.”

After waiting for twelve years you could definitely wait for another hour or two to finally start a new chapter of your life - and boy, were you excited for that chapter.

if you read until here, i wanna say thank you and i hope you enjoyed it. i barely write fics this long so sorry if it is a bit unstructed, i’m still learning! ♥

[ohbeaby]

So the all of the boys we have met really are just rich. The only one who isn’t is probably Mammon but even he is only in debt due to some of his strange spending habits.

So this is just a silly little thought about how the boys might react to an MC who isn’t very rich at all and has habits to save money.

Clothes:

While they all take decent care of their clothes they also tend to just throw them out if a hole is made or a stain appears. Belphie might keep his longer out of sheer laziness but it’s not like he’s trying to fix any of the issues with his clothes he’s just too lazy to go get more.

MC probably has a small sewing kit and some tricks to get stains out of just about any fabric. The brothers try to throw clothes away and Mc swoops in your save the lightly used fabric from the garbage. They also have a small collection of patches and fabric strips that they give to Levi if he needs extra material for his cosplays. All the saved clothes get returned to the brothers who are very confused as to how the holes all got patched up and WHY MC would bother patching them.

This spills over into Purgatory Hall when MC learns Solomon keeps ruining his clothes in different disasters. The issue is the word disaster clearly has different meanings to everyone because MC just about loses it when they learn that the “disastrous” state of his clothes is just some tears and some small spots where a potion spilled.

All the boys confront MC at some point about why they keep fixing their clothes and MC just explains that they find it wasteful to throw the fabrics away when they could easily be repaired and maintained. They’re all mildly impressed but don’t say anything, though there is a distinct lack of clothes being thrown away after everything is done and some even come to MC for repairs.

Food/Soaps/Jewelry/Bedding:

So when MC first got there no one really paid attention to what they were buying for themselves. The brothers simply didn’t care because it’s just some human. As they get to know MC more though they start to pay attention and realize that MC isn’t exactly buying the highest quality in anything. I imagine Lucifer might be the first to actually say something.

MC: I think I want to get some hot coco.

Lucifer: Yes that doesn’t sound nice. Some milk and cream with coco powder- What are you doing?

MC: *holding up a box of instant hot coco* This is what I usually get. Just add some hot water and it’s okay.

Lucifer: *internally screaming at how terrible that sounds compared to what he was imagining* Do you...not know how to make hot coco?

MC: *laughing* Oh I know! It’s just more expensive than this.

Lucifer makes sure to accompany them on their grocery shopping trips and tries to get them to be a bit more open to buying more expensive cuts of meat or cheeses. He just wants them to enjoy some of the nicer things they feel comfortable indulging in.

Asmodeous probably has a heart attack when he realizes MC is just buying the most affordable shampoos and body washes. Poor boy isn’t able to comprehend that MC doesn’t want to drop 100’s of dollars on soaps.

Asmo: But look at how many harsh chemicals are in there MC! Your poor hair isn’t going to feel healthy at all!

MC: I mean...it gets my hair clean yeah? So it’s fine.

Asmo: At least get a body scrub! They help make your skin feel so soft!

MC: Is there one not quite as expensive? The one in your hand is a bit more than I expected.

Asmo: ...I don’t know what’s in the cheaper ones though. They probably don’t have as much moisturizer.

MC: Soooo I don’t need it?

Asmo: *screeching because he doesn’t know how to convey what the issue is*

Asmo takes time to find more affordable products that at least have a similar quality to his high end taste. He doesn’t like it but he does know he can’t force MC to buy the products he would normally use.

Mammon is VERY confused when MC is looking at jewelry of some kind but it’s like glass or shiny plastic instead of actual crystals or diamonds.

MC: Oh these charms are cool! Look there’s a crow!

Mammon: I mean...I guess? They aren’t real crystals or anything though. Looks like hard plastic.

MC: Eh? Why does that matter? *laughing* I’m just window shopping anyways.

Mammon: Window shopping?

MC: You know? When you’re just looking around but not actually going to buy?

Mammon: But if you want it why not just get it?

MC: These charms are each more expensive than my average meal! I can’t just drop that kind of money on little trinkets!

He’s probably the most understanding about all of it since he gets not having money. The realization that MC doesn’t actively seek out anything remotely expensive turns him to trying to save up more money to get them nice things.

Leviathan is probably the one to make MC the most uncomfortable with his spending habits. He is known to spend egregious amounts of money on things that don’t have an actual function aside from just being part of a collection. MC on the other hand will buy little knock off things like key chains or stickers because they don’t want to spend so much on the official merchandise but they still like whatever show or game it is. MC also knows how to make their own cosplays and repurpose things for props and accessories.

MC: *showing Leviathan some cute little charm from Pokemon or something* I love this one it’s so cute. I wanted to get the set but that was quite a bit more!

Leviathan: *sees it and knows immediately that it’s knock off and not even close to official merch* The colors aren’t even close! Look it doesn’t even look like the original character!

MC: I mean it’s pretty close. Maybe it’s just hard to make that color?

Levi: Why not just get the official merch?? It’s much better quality

MC: But the official is ten times more expensive. I think this looks close enough.

Levi: ...okay look I THINK I have an extra set with that character in it.

MC: ...extra set??

Levi: Well I buy more than one so I can sell them later.

MC: More than one??????

Leviathan makes it a goal of his to get MC whatever merch he can for their interests. He doesn’t like the idea that MC just settles for lower quality stuff just because they don’t think they should buy it. This is HIS Henry after all, only the best quality for them.

Satan also struggles hard trying to understand MCs spending habits. He prefers to get new books when he can as he doesn’t like the idea of buying a used book that someone ruined (ie. the corners have small bends or there’s a pencil mark in them, he has high standards for his books lol). The only exception he has is older books that are limited quantity. He gets frustrated when he sees MC carrying books around that look like they’ve been through hell and back in his eyes. He initially thinks MC is the one ruining their own books.

Satan: Really? The semester started a week ago and your books already look this bad?

MC: Bad? I thought I got a good deal on them.

Satan: Well when you bend the corners like that of course they look bad. Is that a coffee stain? Really?

MC: What? We haven’t even gotten to these sections yet. I’m not sure what you’re issue with my books is.

Satan: Well why are the pages all bent here of you haven’t gotten to these sections yet? Are you just incapable of taking care of your stuff?

MC: Maybe it was the previous owner? I take care of my stuff, don’t even try and pull that card.

Satan: ...previous owner? Like you’ve just gone and bought a used book? Why?

MC: Well actually it’s a rental, it was cheaper than-

Satan: RENTAL?!

Satan then insists that he buys MC all new books despite their protests. He isn’t going to sit around and let them use older books if it can be helped though he does start to understand why MC doesn’t mind used books when they show them places with discounted or even free textbooks and PDFs. It’s kind of handy to not have to pay a large sum for a physical copy when he can just have a free PDF of an older version on his laptop.

Beelzebub starts questioning what the humans habits are when he takes them shopping in place of Lucifer and sees them picking up instant noodles and coffee. He may be willing to eat almost anything but even he knows that stuff doesn’t taste the best and can’t be the healthiest for them.

Beelzebub: What about this brand? It’s got those little veggies in it.

MC: But it’s three times the price. I can just chop up some chives and put it in this for cheaper.

Beel: Why does the price matter?

MC: I don’t like spending too much if I can help it. Oh! They have frozen pizzas!

Beel: *increasingly concerned about the humans poor eating habits*

Beel probably starts taking them out to restaurants more or trying to rope them into cooking with him. He isn’t sure if they just don’t know what good food looks like or what their deal is so he’s just going to try and show them and hope they get the hint. He does avoid eating anything healthy they bought, like yogurts or frozen fruit.

Belphegor. King of sleep. Ruler of comfort. The one you know KNOWS how to take a good nap. He is absolutely pissed when he sees MCs room for the first time, most importantly their bed. The pillows look awful and the sheets are the cheapest ones you can get at the store. He confronts his brothers about the humans poor sleeping arrangements to which they all say “it’s what they chose when they first got here.”

Belphie: No. Unacceptable. Throw it away.

MC: You’re being ridiculous, I’m not throwing my pillows away.

Belphie: They don’t even have a shape they’re so flat! You have no comfort standards!

MC: My bed is comfy!

Belphie: The only comfortable part is the mattress which is also the only thing you didn’t choose.

MC: What’s wrong with the rest of it?!

Belphie: Those sheets are scratchy, the blanket is thinner than a piece of paper, those pillows look sadder than a kicked puppy, do I really need to go on?

MC: You’re being completely unreasonable.

Belphie drags Asmo and Mammon to the store to get MC a whole new bed set and even insists on getting them a new mattress. MC gets barred from their room for a few days until everything is set up. Belphie cares, he just wants MC to be comfortable, it’s important to him that MC sleeps well.

Overall I think the boys will learn to be a little more accepting of MCs habits. They also become increasingly more aware of how much richer they are than them and try to make MC as comfortable as they can.

[worldwidemochiguy]

Good Girl (MFEU Yandere! Taehyung)

...

“Ah, I see. You don’t want to be my Princess anymore then, hmm?” 

“Taehyung, I-”

“Listen, Y/n. I have been patient with you, even when you were being unreasonable. But this is the last straw. You don’t want to talk to me? You don’t want to see me? Fine. You won’t have to.”

...

MFEU masterlist

General masterlist

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, mental manipulation, mentions of abstaining from eating/self harm through starvation so be v careful if you’re sensitive to that <3

Word Count: 2.4K

a/n: this is a bit dark for the mfeu lol. this is kinda rushed bc i wanted to put something out, also i highkey hate the photo collage thing but c’est la vie i guess lmao

Good Girl

You are having a bad day.

This morning, you woke up to an empty bed, the lingering warmth on Taehyung’s side having already dissipated by the time your sleep-crusted eyes cracked open. He had only left to have a shower, of course, but that didn’t stop the jolt of fear and insecurity you experienced in his absence.

Since the day seemed determined to ruin itself for you, when you tried to cook breakfast to cheer yourself up, you burned the eggs. They were the last eggs in the fridge, and you let out a silent scream of frustration before settling for a bowl of dissatisfying cereal. When Taehyung asked why the two of you weren’t having a proper breakfast like you usually did, you had snapped at him.

Actually snapped at him. 

He recoiled, and the widening space between you lapsed into silence as he gave you the opportunity to apologise. You knew you should, but the words refused to come, and your tongue felt as unusable as lead. You kept your eyes on your Kellogg flakes slowly disintegrating into milk as Taehyung stiffly left the table, off to get dressed for work. 

 Which led you to now, with Taehyung standing expectantly by the front door, frowning at your still pyjama-clad self. 

“Baby, you have to get ready. You know how I like to be punctual.”

You petulantly keep your eyes on the pool of tepid milk in your bowl.

“Baby,” Taehyung repeats, impatience creeping into his tone. “You have to get ready now, or I’ll just go without you.” 

“Then just go without me.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you see Taehyung’s mouth fall open. You know his threat was empty. You have practically never forgone spending the day at work with him, and even in the exceptional circumstance that you do, you always have a reason. Not that you don’t have a reason now: You’re feeling bratty. 

“Why are you behaving like this, Princess?” Taehyung sounds shocked, as if he can barely believe what you’ve done. You scowl — you’ve barely done anything, you’ve just been a bit short with him. Given his own changeable mood, he of all people should be able to understand. 

“I’m not behaving like anything. I just don’t feel like going with you today. Is that alright? Or will you just take me against my will? It’s not like you haven’t done that before.” 

Silence.

Taehyung slams the door as he goes, leaving you to stew in a nauseating mixture of twisted satisfaction and remorse. 

You deliberately go to bed before Taehyung comes back, forgoing dinner just to spite him. How can he just expect you to come with him every day, just to sit in an office and wait for when he comes to give you attention? It’s not fair. When the door opens signalling Taehyung’s return, you shut your eyes and breathe deeply, mimicking sleep. 

Taehyung pauses in the entry to your bedroom. Part of you hopes that he can tell you aren’t asleep, almost like you want him to know that you’re intentionally faking it just to avoid him. Another, quieter part of you wants to go up to him and hug him, and apologise for being so unreasonable. You ignore the cold fist of guilt forming in your empty stomach.

When Taehyung slips into bed beside you, he gathers you into his arms like he always does, like he wants to be gentle with you, like an apology. You shift away from him, rolling to the other side of the bed with a sleepy murmur of protest. He doesn’t try to touch you again. 

You tell yourself you aren’t disappointed.

Getting out of bed after a sleepless night is never pleasant. You know Taehyung didn’t have a restful time either, tossing and turning all through the night, like he couldn’t sleep without feeling your presence, safe in his arms. Sometimes, he would tentatively reach to your side, and you would always shift away, even though your heart tugged uncomfortably beneath your ribs for every added inch between the two of you. 

You utter an unspoken apology to his shoulder blades — his back was now turned to you after he eventually gave up and rolled over — and then left to get in the shower.

You stay in there, waiting as the mirrors fog, and your fingers prune, and your skin becomes flushed from the heat — the water is just a touch too hot, verging on painful— but still you wait. As soon as you hear the door slam again, you get out, wrapping yourself in a robe you know is Taehyung’s (but he isn’t here so it doesn’t matter).

You drift into the kitchen, seeing the remnants Taehyung left after a morning without you. A half-drunk coffee cup — he only ever drinks coffee when he’s stressed, or sleep-deprived, or both — no empty plates in sight — he doesn’t eat when he’s worried about something, a habit you’ve been trying to break him out of and yet… look at you, being the very cause of his worry. 

Your fingers itch to take the used cup and wash it out, placing it back neatly where it belongs, but you refrain. You can’t let yourself interact with anything Taehyung has touched, lest he view it as a concession. You don’t even know why you’re doing this, but it’s easier to carry on antagonising him than it is to apologise, and explain that you don’t even have a valid reason for upsetting him in the first place. 

It’s ironic, you complained about being bored of waiting around for him and doing nothing at his office, but you’re doing the exact same thing at home. You can’t focus on anything, flitting from unfulfilling task to unfulfilling task, trying to keep the guilt and foolish acknowledgements at bay. 

You take the time to prepare yourself a meal, but throw it out once you realise you’ve made enough for two, just like you always do nowadays. 

The phone Taehyung bought for emergencies, just in case you ever needed him and he wasn’t there, rested temptingly on the counter. Taehyung must have taken it out and put it there for you. God, even when you are being so unreasonable, he still only wants what is best for you.

You don’t call him, even though you want to, even though you regret it, even though the thought of him sitting all alone in his office makes you cry. 

Taehyung comes home to a silent apartment. You are sitting on the couch, and you deliberately don’t look up when he enters. 

“Princess,” 

You don’t look up.

“Baby,” 

You reach over to grab the remote, and start idly scrolling through TV channels, despite knowing there’s nothing on that you want to watch.

“Y/n.” 

He hasn’t called you that since the day you met him. He never calls you that. You look up, and your suddenly fearful eyes meet Taehyung’s stern, unforgiving gaze. 

“Ah, I see. You don’t want to be my Princess anymore then, hmm?” His words are sharp, and they cut deeper than anything you would’ve thought Taehyung would say, even at his angriest. 

“Taehyung, I-”

“Listen, Y/n.” He cuts you off with a harsh emphasis on your name, and you fail to suppress a whimper. Why didn’t you just apologise when you had the chance? You never even wanted this in the first place. 

“I have been patient with you, even when you were being unreasonable. But this is the last straw. You don’t want to talk to me? You don’t want to see me? Fine. You won’t have to.”

“Taehyung, wait-” You scramble to your feet, frantic as you watch him dump bags of groceries on the floor that you hadn’t previously noticed.

“There’s enough food here to keep you going for a week. You have all you need, you won’t need to leave the apartment.” He informed you tonelessly, ignoring your distraught face. 

“Taehyung, why- where are you going?”  

“Away. I’ll be gone for a week. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“No! I don’t want you to go! Don’t go!” You wail, coming over to clutch at his overcoat. He softens for a second, and his hands come up to grasp your wrists gently.

“You don’t want me to go?” 

A sob crawls up your throat.

“No.”

His grip around your wrists tightens, just as his eyes harden again.

“Too bad. You can’t keep me against my will. You were very clear about the strong moral objections you have to that, after all.” 

He slams the door as he leaves just like he did this morning, but this time it’s you on the other side, slumping against it and sliding down to the floor, sobbing as you hear the lock click from the other side. You can’t even go after him. He has just abandoned you. 

……

The first day, you try to make a special lunch to cheer yourself up. You make Taehyung’s favourite meal, and part of you expects him to come swanning through the door with a bright, excited grin, grateful that you took the time to make it especially for him. But he doesn’t.

The meal you worked so hard on tastes like ash in your mouth, and you end up going to bed, leaving it practically untouched. You try to sleep, but find that you can’t without the reassuring weight of Taehyung enclosing you, keeping you safe. 

By the third day, you’ve given up trying to function like a normal human being. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you barely remember to blink. Your throat is painfully dry, but maybe that’s a good thing, because otherwise you know you’d be calling out his name in the vain hope that he might somehow hear it and come back to you.

On the fifth day, the phone rings.

You move with more urgency than you have had all week, scrambling to get to the phone. You fall over furniture in your haste, and don’t even take the time to register the pain because you’re so worried that the ringing will stop and you’ll be alone in silence again. You can’t bear the deathly silence of the apartment without him in it. 

“Taehyung,” You try to say when you wrench the phone to your ear so hard you hit the side of your face, but your voice is so hoarse from misuse and mistreatment that it comes out as a croak.

“Baby?” Taehyung’s worried voice crackles over the line, and you sob in relief.

“Taehyung!” You cry, before pouring out an incomprehensible litany of apologies and pleas for him to return. You have surpassed any remaining vestiges of pride. You need him here. Now. 

“Whoa, whoa, baby, slow down.” Taehyung tries to soothe you, and you fall silent straight away. You’re desperate to convey how much you need him here right now, but you wouldn’t dare to disobey one of his orders. 

“Do you want me to come back?”

“Yes,” You blurt out, tears becoming evident in your voice. 

“Are you sure? I thought you were mad at me…” Taehyung trails off in discontent, and you fumble to reassure him.

“No, no, I’m not mad at you. I never was! I was just…stupid. I was being a brat. Please, please, come back, please.”

“Hmm,” Taehyung deliberates, as if weighing the options, “I did say I would be gone for a whole week… do you really need me that badly?”

“Yes!” You wail down the phone, crumpling in on yourself in despair, “I need you! I need you here right now, Tae! Please! Please, I promise I’ll never be bad again. I promise. I’m sorry.” 

“You promise you’ll never be bad again? Ever?” Taehyung repeats doubtfully. 

“Yes!” You nod fervently, despite knowing he has no way of seeing you. “Yes, I’ll be good from now on. I’ll be perfect, just like you deserve. Will you come back? Please?”

You wait with bated breath as he hesitates. He has to come back, surely you’ve convinced him, surely he’ll realise how much you need-

The phone line cuts off. You pull away to see the phone flash with a damning message:

The caller has hung up. Would you like to call back?

The phone tumbles out of your hand as you collapse to the floor. Oh God, Taehyung isn’t coming back, he doesn’t want you, he doesn’t need you like you need him, you aren’t good enough-

You are so deep into hysteria that you don’t even feel the arms wrapping around you, slowly rocking you back and forth comfortingly. As soon as you register the other person, you instinctively try to fling them off you. 

“No! Only Taehyung’s allowed to touch me! Only Taehyung, only Taehyung… only…”

Your words dissolve as reality crashes over you: Taehyung doesn’t want to touch you anymore. He doesn’t want you. 

“Well that’s not true, baby. You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted.” A deep voice utters from behind you. Wait…

You spin around so violently you fall from your squatted position onto your hands and knees. There, crouched on the floor in front of you, is Taehyung. You don’t waste a second, flinging yourself at him. He catches you with ease and crushes your body into his embrace, pressing kisses over any part of you he can reach while you curl into his body weakly, like an animal in search of warmth.

“Oh, baby.” He sighs, beholding your pathetic state. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I had to leave you. I didn’t want to. It was agony every second I was away from you, watching you waste away like that… I never want to do it again. You’ll never make me do this again, right?”

“No, never!” You proclaim fervently as he sweeps you up, “I’ll never do it again. Don’t want you to go. Don’t go. Please.”

He gently pries your curled fist from his sleeve and intertwines his fingers with it, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“I won’t go, baby. I’ll never leave again. As long as you’re a good little girl for me, I’ll never leave you alone, even for a second. Does that sound good, baby?”

You think back over the hellish eternity of the past five days. Loneliness, helplessness, isolation. You never want to feel like that again.

“Yes, Taehyung. Never leave me alone, please. I need you to survive.”

His lips curl into a triumphant smile. The punishment has worked just like he planned.

“Good girl.”  

[ibijau]

part 4 of the Nomad Nie AU // On AO3

Lan Xichen spends more time with his husband

There was a deep frown on Khan Mingjue’s face as he stared down at his brother. Huaisang tried to babble a little to ease the tension, but the Khan snapped at his brother, silencing him and starting to scold him. To Lan Xichen, Mingjue looked fearsome and angry, but very quickly Huaisang relaxed totally in spite of his brother’s scowling, and even seemed to tease him a little. That seemed a very unwise move, considering what Meng Yao had said about the man’s temper, but Huaisang didn’t appear to care.

Lan Xichen, for his part, cared very much, and shivered when the Khan’s attention turned to him and said a few things to him in a milder tone than he’d used on his brother.

“Mingjue says, Zichen good here?” Huaisang helpfully translated. “Says, Huaisang not good, you tell Mingjue, Mingjue help. Make Huaisang good. Brother funny like that,” he added in a whiny tone, sticking out his tongue at Mingjue who rolled his eyes.

Surprised to hear the Khan be so considerate, Lan Xichen couldn’t help a soft gasp. So far, he’d been under the impression that Mingjue didn’t particularly like him, and was even annoyed by his brother’s caprice to marry a stranger. It could have been that Mingjue was just polite of course, or that it was customary to say these things to a new person entering the family, but Lan Xichen still felt grateful.

It was still early to have an opinion on anything, but aside from that earlier incident with the milk, and a few nasty glares thrown his way the day before, Lan Xichen found that things weren’t going too awful so far. Hopefully that would continue even after he’d lost Huaisang’s favour, as Meng Yao was so sure he would.

“I am doing quite well so far,” Lan Xichen sincerely replied. “This one humbly thanks the Khan for his consideration.” he paused, and almost laughed at the confusion on Huaisang's face. “I say thank you,” he translated. “Here is good.”

Huaisang smiled upon hearing that, and passed on the message to his brother who nodded sternly. The two brothers then started chatting. Lan Xichen tried his best to listen and see if he could understand anything. After a little bit he heard Meng Yao’s name be mentioned by Huaisang, and instantly Khan Mingjue’s attitude changed. His expression darkened, his voice rose in anger.

“Menyao,” he spat in a tone that made that name sound like an insult, before going back to scolding his brother. 

This time, Huaisang was a little less flippant about it, though he still rolled his eyes a few times. When that tirade was over, Mingjue’s attitude returned to normal. He exchanged a few more words with his brother, patted Huaisang’s shoulder right on his bruise (though he did not react), did the same to Lan Xichen, and left the ger.

As soon as they were alone Huaisang winced, and started rubbing his shoulder. He sat down still massaging the bruise, muttering under his breath.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Lan Xichen mumbled, sitting next to him. “I didn’t mean… I was just a little scared last night. You understand? Scared? Fear?”

His hand stilling on his shoulder, Huaisang stared at him with round eyes.

“Zichen scared Huaisang?” He gasped, before bursting out in laughter when Lan Xichen meekly nodded.

For a few minutes, Huaisang kept laughing and laughing until he could hardly breathe and he was crying. Every time he seemed about to calm down he just had to look at Lan Xichen, and his hilarity would regain full strength. At first Lan Xichen was a little upset that his honesty was not treated with more seriousness, but by the time Huaisang finally calmed down for good, Lan Xichen was just worried that his husband might die from laughing too hard.

“Zichen not scared Huaisang,” Huaisang said at last, still fighting a few last giggles. “Scared Huaisang… funny. Who scared? Look!” Huaisang insisted, gesturing at himself. “What scared? Zichen strong, Zichen not scared.”

Lan Xichen’s hands clenched into fists over his knees, grasping the fabric of his robes. He supposed it was a relief that Huaisang didn’t seem aware he held power beyond physical strength, which he could have used to force others to bend to his will. A power he had already used on Lan Xichen, or else they wouldn’t be married at all, so it wasn’t unreasonable to wonder if he might do it again.

In a way, the fact that Huaisang seemed unaware might make things worse, Lan Xichen felt. If he really was just a little innocent and careless, then that made him unpredictable. Somehow, that made the bitterness of Meng Yao justified, if he had perhaps trusted too much the cheer of Huaisang, only to be hurt by the power that young man didn’t know he had.

Even right then, Huaisang seemed blissfully unaware of Lan Xichen’s mood. It ought to have been upsetting to find him so blind, but at the same time it was obvious that Huaisang meant well. Having recovered from his hilarity, he was now preparing a place for Lan Xichen to catch some more sleep, since he was supposed to be tired, and also served him something to drink before resting. It really was rather sweet, and Lan Xichen accepted it all. He drank what was offered to him, and went to lay down on the pelts, Huaisang watching him the whole time.

Maybe things would turn out fine, Lan Xichen thought while closing his eyes, as long as he remembered to be careful.

-

Lan Xichen hadn’t meant to actually fall asleep, and yet he woke up after some time had passed, hungry but better rested than before. He’d passed out so fast the night before, but he hadn’t slept very well, fearful of what might happen to him. Now though, he found himself somewhat relaxed as he opened his eyes and watched Huaisang work on some bits of leather. 

Busy and focused on a task, his husband looked a little less frivolous than he had so far. In his half asleep state, Lan Xichen even found himself thinking that Huaisang was quite handsome. He’d noticed from the start that the young man wasn’t ugly of course, but up until then, he would at best have just called him pretty, because his smile and careless attitude made him look somewhat soft. But now Lan Xichen could see there was a sharpness to his jaw, a certain shape to his cheekbone, and his eyes had sharper angles than he had thought.

Being this handsome, with such an easy-going personality, and a brother than powerful, it was really odd that Huaisang wasn’t already married. Surely someone should have laid eyes on him and decided already that he’d be a good match for them. Or if his personality was treated as a drawback, then he should still have been considered for political matches of some sorts. Lan Xichen knew that his own father and uncle had been thinking of finding him someone after this expedition, hopefully either the daughter of rich merchants to have more funds, or that of a scholar to gain some respectability. If he could be offered up for a match, then why wasn’t the brother of a Khan also thrown on the marriage market?

That trail of thought was interrupted when Huaisang, lifting his gaze from his work, noticed that Lan Xichen was awake. In a second his features lost their edge, and he rushed to bring his husband some food. This time, it was a pastry filled with meat that was just barely warm. Huaisang, through intense gesturing, apologised that it wasn’t hot anymore, but Lan Xichen enjoyed it all the same. Eating so much meat was starting to make him feel a little unwell, but hopefully he’d get used to it after a while.

While they were having lunch together, a figure appeared at the door of the ger, hovering there uncertainly until Huaisang noticed and rushed to meet Meng Yao. The young man appeared anxious, as if knew he shouldn't have been there. He only relaxed a little when he glanced over Huaisang’s shoulder and Lan Xichen smiled at him. Meng Yao immediately smiled back, until Huaisang started chattering about something, forcing Meng Yao's attention back to him. Whatever they were talking about didn't seem to please Meng Yao. A few times he mentioned Khan Mingjue, only for Huaisang to dismiss his concerns each time until Meng Yao gave in. 

"Huaisang wants me to accompany the two of you this afternoon," he explained, following Huaisang inside the ger to sit near Lan Xichen. "He wants me to act as a traductor until you learn the language, even though he knows very well that I don't have as much free time as he does."

"If it's too much of a bother, you can tell him no from me,” Lan Xichen offered.

Meng Yao shook his head, looking quite disheartened.

"Lan gongzi is kind, but it's pointless. Huaisang is the sort who can't take no for an answer, he'll just insist until he gets his way. It's fine, I'll run around so I still do my chore… and I suppose I can't complain. I certainly have missed having someone to talk to."

Lan Xichen nodded. In the midst of so much uncertainty, he remained grateful to have one person to rely on. It had to have been so hard for Meng Yao to be alone among strangers, Lan Xichen could only pity him and hope his company would make things easier in the future.

For now, it was agreed they would go out as soon as Lan Xichen was done eating, so he quickly finished his pastry, put some order to himself, and they could go out.

Huaisang, with help from Meng Yao, explained that normally, it was rare for so many clans to be gathered together like this. The reason so many people were present was to celebrate the anniversary of a great victory, many centuries before. Great games were organised every year, unless a war prevented it, and lasted for a few days. Lan Xichen had joined in near the end of that celebration, so he wouldn’t get to see a lot, at least not that time. The main events were a horse race, a wrestling competition, and an archery contest, but there were also other entertainments such as dancing, and demonstrations of tricks by the most skilled horse riders and archers.

For the race, it was too late, as it had happened on the first two days, but Huaisang promised that Lan Xichen would enjoy it next year, and he’d get to help with training the racing horses until then. It was clearly a topic that Huaisang was quite excited about, and he admitted that he’d taken part a few times when he was much younger, though he’d had to stop very early on. Lan Xichen had the distinct impression that Meng Yao rather gave up on trying to give a full translation of Huaisang’s ramblings at one point. His new friend clearly didn’t care about horses nearly as much as his husband did.

In the absence of a race, they instead went to see the wrestling competition. It was obvious that Huaisang didn’t enjoy that nearly as much as he did the race. He still did his best to explain the rules, and seemed very happy whenever Lan Xichen asked a question about what was happening.

Lan Xichen’s curiosity wasn’t just a matter of politeness. Such games were miles away from the sort of entertainments he enjoyed at home, so he wanted to understand what might be fun about them. In the end he wasn’t sure he enjoyed even watching, but it was still interesting, especially when they got to see Khan Mingjue competing.

The Khan was truly a force of nature, and he knew how to handle any type of opponent. He easily won every match they saw him in, overpowering men of every size and strength. He seemed pleased at first when he noticed that Huaisang and Lan Xichen had come to watch, but lost any good humour when he spotted Meng Yao with them. As for Meng Yao, he absolutely refused to look toward the Khan and instead kept leaning toward Lan Xichen to explain the rules of the competition, or who this or that man was. 

The longer the three of them stayed, the angrier Khan Mingjue appeared to be. It got to the point that even Huaisang noticed, and suggested they go check the preparation for the archery contest that would occur soon. The men's contest had happened the day before Lan Xichen had arrived, Meng Yao explained, but he insisted seeing the women shoot was also very impressive.

“I won’t be seeing it,” he lamented. “It’s time to milk the mares again, and then I’ll have to help check on the goats and the cattle. By the time I’m done with that, it’ll probably be night… and then you’ll surely be with the Khan, so it’s best if I keep my distance. Enjoy this, Lan gongzi, and I’ll see you again later.”

Left alone, Huaisang and Lan Xichen watched him go. A silence fell between them, caused on Lan Xichen’s part by the knowledge that talking had just become impossibly hard again. Huaisang looked a little sad as well, but got over it quickly and grabbed his husband’s sleeve to guide him toward a spot where they would have a good view of the archers.

"Khan Mingjue doesn't like Meng Yao?" Lan Xichen asked after a moment. 

Huaisang grimaced and shook his head. 

"Why not?" Lan Xichen insisted. 

His husband's grimace deepened, and he made a few helpless gestures. 

"Things," he sighed. "Before, friends. Now, brother say, no talk Menyao. I no talk." Huaisang paused, and laughed. "Brother sees, no talk Menyao," he corrected. "Brother no see, talk Menyao."

Lan Xichen smiled, relieved to hear this. Although he hadn't known him very long, he quite liked Meng Yao already, so it pained him to see him so miserable. It had also worried him to hear that his new husband was a fickle person, but it seemed Meng Yao had just misunderstood the situation. If there was a problem here, Mingjue was the cause rather than Huaisang. 

The rest of the afternoon passed without further problems. Just as Meng Yao had predicted, seeing the Nie women shoot was far more impressive than Lan Xichen would have expected. He personally enjoyed archery well enough, and practiced it at home whenever he had some free time. Aside from his brother, he didn’t know anyone better than himself, and usually came on top of whatever friendly competition he entered. Watching this contest, he found himself half wishing he could have entered, just to enjoy performing among such skilled people. However different the nomads were, it was a relief to realise there was a least of game they might share.

After the archery contest, there was a banquet, much like the night before, but one held in a different ger this time. It was, once again, much noisier and animated than what Lan Xichen was used to, and combined with the heavy food and the many emotions of the last few days, he soon found himself nodding off. Huaisang tried to tease him a little about that, but ultimately whispered a few words to his brother who bid them good night and allowed them to return to their own ger.

Feeling a little more comfortable this time, Lan Xichen removed his outer layers of clothing to prepare for bed. He hald suspected that he’d slept so badly the night before partly because the wedding clothes had been too warm. He only remembered why he’d kept those clothes on when he sat on the pelts used as bedding and noticed the way Huaisang stared at him. Just like the night before, there was hunger in his husband’s eyes, perhaps even more so than before now that Lan Xichen had revealed a little more of himself. 

For a second, Lan Xichen tensed, fearing that Huaisang would try something again. When his husband leaned closer, Lan Xichen raised his arm at the level of his chest, ready to defend himself. Huaisang looked at him in surprise, his eyes flickering to Lan Xichen's lips, but eventually pulled back. 

"Zichen not like…" he mumbled sadly, gesturing at his own mouth. "Ah…" He sighed, then made himself smile again, patting his husband's shoulder. "Zichen good. Not like, good. I not ask. Good ?" 

Feeling a little awkward, Lan Xichen nodded. He wasn’t sure how much he trusted that promise, but at least for the time being, he would take that. All that mattered was his safety.

So he laid down, covered himself with fur and turned his back to his husband, refusing to wonder whether he did or didn’t want Huaisang to kiss him anyway.

[august-unhinged]

Routine

Setting: modern day, unspecified Alpine university town Genre & tone: some kind of evil unhealthy romance-porn. Tone is light with dark undertones, and ditches the light halfway in. Themes: desperate approval-seeking, power imbalance, student/professor, established relationship Content: transmasc main character, m/m Kinks: servitude, rope bondage, forced orgasms, noncon, forced anal sex, praise and degradation, sadism/emotional sadism, masochism/emotional masochism, forced cheating Content warnings: Noncon. Painful sex. Unsafe kink practices. Power imbalance. Manipulative/abusive relationship. Trans person as the victim, cis men as the enactors of violence.

Word count is ~10k, there’s 3k words of setup. If you want to skip straight to the porn, scroll until you see the paragraph starting in bold.

Killian’s alarm rings every morning at seven. It rings, and he hates it with every fibre of his being for a moment before he comes to and realises where he is. It really is a blessing, he reminds himself every morning. Killian wakes up on a cramped campbed that ruins his posture, simultaneously cold and sweaty on the mornings when the mountain chill threatens at the window panes, and feels nothing but gratitude for his surroundings. The pale beauty of the alpine city sprawling below them is breathtaking, but it’s the house he’s in that really gives him pause. Because he wakes in Felix’s office. On a roll-out mattress behind the Professor’s desk. At the feet of his master, even unconscious.

He has this thought process in the time it takes for him to reach over and turn off his alarm. It used to take him ten minutes to snap out of the daze - but he quickly learned that Felix doesn’t tolerate daydreaming. Killian mutters the Lord’s Prayer as he pulls on his slippers; he’s grateful for rising another morning and for where he’s risen. He pads softly into the kitchen, floorboards becoming tile under his feet as he steps into the day’s routine.

Today is slightly different, though. Killian’s heart’s trilling in his chest, resistant to his efforts to not get his hopes up again. The past couple of months had been a litany of scattered anniversaries. There was the first time Killian had been to one of Felix’s parties, the first time Felix had read one of Killian’s papers (and said it was ‘fine’!), the first time they sat and smoked and got unreasonably high until dawn broke the clouds while Killian listened adoringly to Felix’s every word. None of these were tangible, though - hardly an accepted marker of the progression of a relationship, either. But a year ago today was when Felix casually handed Killian a key to his apartment alongside a vague explanation that it would just be easier for Killian to be able to come and go as he pleased, rather than having to interrupt Felix’s day whenever he needed something. It was an offhanded exchange that still made Killian’s heart flutter for weeks after. He is hyper-aware of the gift in his possession at all times. No matter where he keeps the key it seems to burn through layers of fabric, the cool metal branding his skin in a hopeless reminder that Killian belongs.

He sets the water to boil and sits at the counter to go through Felix’s diary. Chapter review at 11 - a pushback of a pushback, but Killian is still bracing himself for an early morning announcement that Felix has something far more important to do. Donors’ lunch at 1pm, where Killian will be ever-presently taking notes. And lectures in the afternoon. Killian always memorises Felix’s diary a week in advance but looking at it with the kettle quietly rumbling in the background always frames his day with a sense of purpose. He pencils in some notes under the donor’s lunch - names and how to remember them, jokes not to make so they’ll still give us lots of money - Felix can’t possibly be expected to remember it all. Killian puts the diary on the left of the breakfast tray so Felix can read it while he eats, fills a glass with orange juice so it won’t be too cold to drink by the time he brings it through. The kettle’s finished boiling and he fills the cafetière - a spoonful and a half of the good stuff, which sits on the shelf in front of Killian’s instant. He drops two slices of granary in the toaster and hunts for a knife.

Routine.

He thrives on it.

That being said, he’s changing it up a little today - as the coffee steeps, he steams the milk in an attempt to recreate something he saw in one of the local coffee shops Felix hates but Killian secretly enjoys. He’s in his own head, dancing to an imperceptible tune, trying to figure out how to pour it right to get the shape on top of the coffee-

And the toast pops up. Killian jumps, spilling the milk on the counter, the floor, and himself. ‘Fuck.’ The cup now contains nondescript beige liquid and a smattering of foam - it’s hopeless to begin to contemplate starting another, because Killian always times breakfast perfectly to-

Felix’s alarm starts ringing insistently, and with a heavy sigh Killian marmalades the toast, piles everything onto the tray slightly more haphazardly than usual, and brings it to Felix.

Killian misses when he could watch Felix at peace. By the time Felix is awake and Killian comes to greet him, the Professor’s face has already settled into the practiced disdain that morning brings him. ‘Morning,’ Killian calls as he opens the door with his elbow, doing his quick inhale-and-hold-it in case there’s a pretty twink in Felix’s bed.

There’s not. And breathe.

Killian sets the tray down on the bedside table and stays silent, waiting. Felix appraises the tray with a cool gaze.

‘Killian,’ he says, with enough leeway in his tone for Killian’s heart to begin pounding. ‘You know I take my first coffee of the morning black.’ He’s reproachful, less sympathetic and more pitying.

‘Quite right, Professor,’ come the automatic words as Killian picks up the cup and returns to the kitchen to start the whole tedious process again. Even tediousness has a special significance here, though. Everything Killian does, he does it for Felix.

Killian has felt even more in a daze than usual today. By the time he gets back to Felix’s place, he’s frustrated with himself. He made a fool out of himself in the chapter review, nodding along but not really listening, which became apparent after one particularly unforgiving stretch of silence where Killian was supposed to be talking. ‘We may as well leave it there, then,’ Felix had said, his tone final. They broke half an hour early.

Killian doesn’t want to go home. The simplicity of the phrase is enough to make him stop in his tracks halfway up the cobbled hill to the apartment. When did it become ‘home’? It technically isn’t - Killian still pays rent to a student-sized cardboard box twenty minutes from campus, where he returns in shifts to wash his clothes and pick up mail. But he hasn’t spent a night there since Felix gave him the key a year ago. It feels alien to sleep alone in his flat, surrounded neither by the familiar leather-and-papers scent of Felix’s office, nor the comforting knowledge that Professor is breathing quietly in the next room. The idea that he’s still sleeping in the old flat and that this was all a terrible fever dream wakes Killian up at least once a week. Killian shakes his head fiercely, as though to shake all unwanted thoughts out of his brain. He’s being ungrateful. If he’s reluctant to go to Felix’s because he’s made a tit of himself, well… he shouldn’t have made a tit of himself. He shrugs. Simple enough. Killian continues up the hill and ignores the part inside him that implores him to turn away.

It’s dark by the time Killian unlocks the door - on his walk there the streetlamps were just beginning to flicker on, breaking the dusky early-evening monotone. To his surprise, when he gets there, lights are on in the apartment. He had been expecting to be alone this evening. It’s useless to try and quash the hope that Felix has remembered, that he’s planned something, so Killian reluctantly allows himself to foster the damaging expectation that Felix would ever consider the relationship worth commemorating.

‘Hello?’ Killian calls towards the bedroom light, uncertain. The door opens and Felix steps out. He’s still in the suit he’d been wearing at work but his hair, usually tightly pushed back, is now falling in front of his face and his glasses are tucked into his jacket pocket. With the warm glow of the soft bedroom lighting behind him, filtering through the salt-and-pepper strands around his head and bringing out the warm hazel in his eyes, he looks divinely formed.

‘You’re back earlier than anticipated,’ Felix replies disapprovingly.

‘I could say the same about you,’ Killian says, attempting to be jovial. He drops his satchel by the door and bends to untie his laces.

‘I was hoping you’d spend the evening going over what we discussed earlier today.’ Killian worries at his lip.

‘I did this afternoon, Felix. It just took less time than I expected.’

‘Ah. Possibly because you spent our meeting daydreaming?’

Killian might be a silly romantic, but it gives him butterflies when Felix uses the first person plural when it’s just them in the room. It makes Killian feel like he’s a part of something worthwhile. Something bigger. ‘You’re doing it again.’

‘I’m sorry, Felix,’ Killian sighs. ‘I’m having an off day.’

‘Well, you won’t be able to afford that luxury in the future, Killian. So I suppose it’s best you have your “off days” now.’

This is Felix telling Killian he’s forgiven. He’s crossing to the kitchen now, busying himself with something Killian can’t figure out. There are cupboards that are functionally Killian’s to use, and Felix is inexplicably looking in them. ‘There’s marking on the desk, by the way. I need it before noon tomorrow.’ Killian grimaces internally.

‘Right - do you mind if I start later? I need to eat. Sorry.’ In the bustle of the donor’s lunch and the ever-present need for notetaking, he’d completely forgotten to eat and was now uncomfortably ravenous.

Felix tuts impatiently, as though at a slow child. ‘I’m cooking tonight, Killian. You have thirty-three papers to mark. Off you go.’

‘Oh. Right, okay. Yeah, I’ll just go and… do that.’ Killian hides the surprise in his voice as he answers but allows the confusion to stay on his face. It’s not that Felix can’t cook, it’s just that he has at least two meals out a week anyway, and it’s easier to delegate now Killian lives with him. Killian’s heart is fluttering again. He leaves the office door open a crack and crosses to the record player in the corner before he starts working on the papers. Well-practiced, he squats in front of the vinyl cabinet below the record player and slides out the fifth from the left - a jazz recording, one of Felix’s favourites. Reverently, he lifts the lid on the record player and sets the album A-side up, gently placing the needle onto the record’s outermost rim. The volume is already at the perfect setting for Felix to have it as background music, and Killian holds his breath.

No complaints from the kitchen.

For the first time that day, he allows himself to smile.

Dinner is gnocchi, brown butter, and sage. Killian scarfs it down, utterly and blissfully unaware of himself until the moment he drops his fork onto the plate and Felix clears his throat. For reference, Felix is less than a third of the way through his plate by this point. ‘Keeping your head firmly in the clouds is hungry work, I see,’ Felix gently mocks, and Killian laughs - breathy and embarrassing.

‘Hah, yeah, funny how that is, isn’t it,’ are all the words that tumble from his mouth before he reminds himself how to keep it shut. ‘How was your day?’

‘The lunch was frightfully tedious - it’s a constant source of horror to me that I must attend lunch after lunch to explain why the arts are worth funding ad nauseam. They’re trying to frame knowledge as a business, Killian, through the structures of client and customer and value for money - it’s reprehensible. To be frank, anyone who requires an explanation as to why the pursuit of knowledge is man’s only truly selfless act is not someone with whom I would engage anywhere other than a business lunch. Hopefully they won’t bother us for at least another year.’

Killian has been nodding furiously along the entire time - there’s just something about hearing Felix talk, in memorising every modulation in pitch and tone, that’s more relaxing to Killian than almost anything else in the world. ‘Write that down, by the way.’

‘About the pursuit of knowledge?’

‘That’s the one. Good boy.’ Felix always says these things so casually, like he doesn’t know what it does to Killian - namely, his mouth gets dry, his heart starts pounding, and a powerful ripple of heat shocks through his body. Felix is carrying on like he doesn’t know or care, though. He’s looking across at Killian’s notebook - full to bursting with Felix’s wit and opinions. ‘I am rather astute, aren’t I,’ Felix muses aloud - more to himself than Killian, really.

‘You really are, Professor,’ Killian murmurs, awestruck. He’s noting down what Felix has said in a half-daze.

‘Is that blue ink, Killian?’ Felix asks sharply, and Killian’s face contorts very briefly into a frown.

‘It is. I’m sorry, I can’t find my black pen for the life of me.’

‘Blue ink is for degenerates,’ Felix sighs, fixing Killian with a particularly withering look. But we are degenerates. Killian bites back the reply, hoping Felix can’t make out the defiance in his eyes. ‘You’d best carry on with your marking,’ Felix says pointedly, and Killian understands. He’s been dismissed.

By the time Killian emerges from the office it’s gone ten and his brain is exhausted. He’s done just under half the essays - more thoroughly than he needed to, probably - only relenting when his eyes started losing focus. Killian knows he’s tired when it takes him five minutes to piece together one sentence from the sea of quoted Greek and tiny little numbers, and is grateful that he’s forced himself to stop. As he stands to head through to the kitchen, he’s faintly aware of his head spinning, of every bone in his body grumbling. But beneath that, there’s an uncomfortable tension - a pulling together of muscles, a rush of connection at each synapse. His mind might be tired, but his body is very much awake.

He lets his breath out in an angry little huff and decides to have a bath, hoping to soak out of his skin any intention of not falling straight to sleep. The coldness of the kitchen tile radiates through his socks, grounding him to the present despite the discomfort as he gets ready to soak. Pre-bath rituals complete with some green tea now steeping in his favourite mug, he heads to the bathroom. There’s a window by the bath that overlooks the capital, high up enough that Killian can bathe without accidentally causing indecent exposure. He loves looking down at the city while wrapped in silky bathwater, dreaming about the thousands of lives bustling in the streets below.

Killian’s so wrapped up in himself, taking his time getting the water temperature right before putting the plug in, finding his favourite lavender bubble bath, that he doesn’t notice Felix’s presence until the Professor knocks on the bathroom door. Killian nearly jumps out of his skin, dropping the lavender bottle in the bath in the process. ‘Oh, shit.’ He laments.

‘...Are you quite alright in there?’

‘Yeah,’ Killian responds as he hurries to unlock the door, wiping wet hands on his shirt. He turns away from Felix once the Professor’s been let in, immediately dropping to the floor to mop up the splashed water with the bath mat.‘Yeah, I was just gonna grab a bath, then I dropped the bottle in and the lid’s still on but the water went everywhere, so right now I just need to-‘

‘You’ve been very clumsy today, haven’t you, Killian?’ Felix interrupts. It’s not really a question. Killian’s frantic movements slow, stutter, then halt entirely. He knows the tone and he nods, still kneeling, eyes on the slowly filling bath. ‘First the coffee, now this.’ Killian holds his breath as Felix sits on the edge of the bath and - after a moment that feels eternal - tangles his hand in Killian’s hair. Felix’s hand settles there, fingers pressing comfortingly against Killian’s scalp, and he can’t help but whine and lean into the touch. ‘What are we going to do with you?’ Felix murmurs. Again, not really a question. Felix already knows exactly what he’s going to do. He just knows how to tease Killian, press his buttons, work him up with anticipation. ‘Shower, and then join me in bed.’ Felix decides. Killian can’t help but find the affectionate tone under the imperative (or at least, he believes it’s there, and that makes it true enough for him). ‘I have a surprise for you. Tonight is a special occasion, after all.’ Felix gives Killian’s hair a short, sharp tug - a nonverbal reminder to hurry up - and leaves.

Killian whines helplessly again, all thumbs as he reaches into the bath to drain the water, heart thudding exponentially faster while he contemplates what Felix could possibly have for him. He can’t help but ponder the implication - that Felix has remembered, that he wants to show Killian he cares. His knees weaken under him. Absolutely pathetic, he chastises himself. For the next ten minutes, he concentrates on meticulously cleaning himself. He wants to make himself as perfect as possible, a blank canvas for Felix to ruin as he pleases. An involuntary shiver ripples through his body. He loves knowing that Felix has been planning something. That he’s been sitting contemplating new ways to get inside Killian’s mind, under his skin, and touch the raw nerves that he finds there until Killian is almost driven mad with it. The fact that Killian is important enough for Felix to even spend time considering this… surprise, whatever it is, is perhaps the greatest gift of all.

Killian shuts the water off. The sudden silence makes him hyper-aware of his short, trembling breaths. He reaches towards the bathroom cabinet where he had carefully laid his cross after taking it off, but his hand falters. He’s aware of how ridiculous this sounds - how ridiculous Felix would find it - but he wants whatever’s going to happen to be between Felix and himself only. There’s some things that he’s allowed to keep secret, he thinks.

Wrapping himself in a fluffy towel, Killian steals softly across the kitchen floor to Felix’s bedroom. Light spills under the door, which is open ajar - but Killian still feels the need to knock. The space he and Felix share may well be as much his as Felix’s, but the Professor’s bedroom still feels strangely off-limits. Killian doesn’t go in alone. And even when Felix is in there, permission is required to enter.

‘Come in and close the door behind you,’ Killian hears from beyond the door, and follows suit immediately. It’s only once he’s heard the click of the door closing and they’re fully alone together that he looks over at the bed. Felix sits on top of the covers, reading. He puts the book down, takes his glasses off, and appraises Killian slowly. There are two items to his right; a familiar length of black rope, and an unfamiliar box - also black, understated and nondescript. Killian waits for Felix’s permission to sit, which is granted by a wave of the hand. He sits on the opposite corner of the bed to Felix, legs tucked under himself, determined not to wither under Felix’s gaze. ‘Well?’ Felix prompts. Killian is tongue-tied, and can only look helplessly at his Professor as his face reddens - embarrassed at not figuring out what Felix wanted quickly enough. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Felix asks softly, and the tension in Killian’s chest dissipates into something manageable.

‘Y-yes, of course. Sorry,’ he mumbles, inching closer to what he can now be sure is the surprise. He’s slightly taken aback by the weight of the box as he picks it up, and his breath catches in his throat as he lifts the lid to reveal its cargo.

It’s a wand. The head is soft black silicone, perfectly smooth and about the size of Killian’s fist - the body tapers down into a dial and cordless end. The light below the dial is green; it’s fully charged. Killian tries to swallow but his mouth is suddenly dry. He settles instead for an audibly shaky intake of breath before he looks up at Felix.

The smirk on Felix’s face is maddeningly attractive, the upturn of his lip a promise that he knows exactly what to do with Killian’s new toy. ‘Thank you,’ Killian breathes.

‘You haven’t even begun to thank me,’ Felix responds, quick as ever - Killian wishes he had his notebook, because that one was good. He feels heat melting in his abdomen, a dangerous current pulling down at the simultaneous promise-threat. ‘Tell me, have you ever used one of these before?’ Killian shakes his head silently, still in awe. It’s true that he’s never even touched a wand before, but Killian had seen one used on someone else - the unforgiving hardness pressed against writhing and desperate flesh. A flush delicately creeps his way up his neck and across the tips of his ears. ‘It seems as though you know what to expect, though,’ Felix continues, tone low and dangerous. ‘I was going to allow you to feel it on your hand first, but now I see no reason to delay ourselves any further.’

‘I-I think that’s wise, Professor,’ Killian stammers, so desperate to ingratiate himself to the man who now holds the instrument of Killian’s pleasure-torture.

‘Oh, you think it’s wise, do you?’ There it is - the low growl, almost imperceptible, giving away Felix’s quiet affront. ‘Come here, boy.’

Killian crawls across the bed and, when he’s close enough, resists the urge to fall to his knees at Felix’s feet in supplication. It’s wise to start begging for mercy now, while he still has most of his faculties. Felix cuts his train of thought short as he twists his hand into Killian’s hair, tugging sharply to lift Killian’s head. ‘I don’t need to know what you think, Killian. That’s not what I have you here for.’ The slap round the face Killian gets for his actions is almost gentle - there’s a stolen moment of a caress that Felix gives Killian’s cheek after his hand has made contact with it.

‘Yes, Professor.’ Felix pushes him away and instead reaches for the rope. There’s a moment of untethered panic Killian feels in his chest at the loss of contact which takes most of his energy to quell.

‘Take that towel off,’ Felix orders offhandedly. On shaky legs, Killian stands, and lets the towel fall on the carpet below. Out of the corner of his eye, Felix watches. The soft curve of Killian’s thighs is only magnified by the gentle dusting of hair along the contours of his body. There’s some that gathers on his chest, an expanse of pale skin disrupted by two pink scars. The surrounding skin there is so sensitive - Felix can drive Killian mad by just tracing his fingers up and down the incisions. Felix looks away as Killian moves to get back on the bed. ‘Don’t leave it on the floor,’ he says in a practiced exasperated tone. Killian bends to pick it up and Felix allows himself a rare smile of appreciation. The boy’s skin is still slightly damp from the shower - the way the light catches the beads of water is rather appealing. Felix has finished unraveling the rope by now. Killian sits cross-legged on the bed, awaiting direction. ‘Come here,’ Felix says softly, and Killian crawls towards him, presenting his wrists to be tied. He knows the score and order of things by now; Felix is nothing if not methodical.

But tonight, as Killian should have guessed, is different. Felix frowns. ‘No, turn around. Hands behind your back.’ Killian does so, and feels Felix tug at his hands, pulling his arms into an uncomfortable shape for a moment. He winces just as Felix lets go, and the relief from the discomfort makes the throbbing he feels between his legs whenever Felix touches him all the sweeter. ‘Put them together.’

‘What?’

‘Palms together. Like you’re praying.’

Killian struggles for a moment - Felix’s hands are gripped just above each of his elbows, holding his upper arms firmly in place as the young man flounders in his grip. He can sense the Professor becoming more impatient with each passing second he fails to do what is asked of him, and just as he hears the click of Felix’s tongue preparing to tut, his fingertips press together in a prayer-like pose. His little fingers jut uncomfortably between the base of his shoulder blades, and he gasps out when Felix removes his hands from his upper arms and forces his palms together.

‘There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’

Killian is trying to summon the will to say that it was, actually, and if this is meant to be fun he has several complaints, when he feels the rope around his wrists. Ah, shit. He tries to see the bright side; at least he can relax his muscles a little when Felix is done. Felix is tying him meticulously, spending much longer than usual, and Killian bites his lip whenever he feels the rope tug tightly against his skin. Felix announces that he has finished the tie by pushing Killian face-down onto the bed. It takes Killian aback somewhat, and he is about to move reflexively when he feels Felix’s hand on the small of his back. The discomfort from the rope is still there, but the longer he lies there with his arms aching, the more the pain is accompanied by another sensation under his skin. Deeper, in his belly and between his legs, and warmer, the heat in him building steadily. Felix gives Killian’s arm a tug, and the rope bites deliciously when he does. Killian cries out softly.

‘Oh, bless.’

Felix’s voice is dripping with condescension. Two of his fingers trace up Killian’s thigh and begin to rub his t-dick lazily. Killian whines, pushing his hips back against Felix’s fingers. He can feel himself throbbing and hard under Felix’s touch already. When they’re out together, Felix need only brush his hand against the small of Killian’s back a handful of times before he’s desperate for him; Killian has felt this need since Felix told him to come to bed. He’s just been waiting for Felix’s sign that he ought to express it. So conditioned, like a good pet ought to be. Felix hums in approval when he sees the wetness dripping down towards Killian’s cock, where the Professor’s fingers still circle tightly.

‘This is why I can never get rid of you, darling boy. It would simply be too much effort to train someone else as thoroughly as I’ve trained you.’ Killian moans at that; a deep sound barely muffled by the pillow, and he feels another gush of wetness between his legs as his pussy flutters and tightens. ‘Oh dear. I do underestimate the effect that statements like that have on you, don’t I, dearest?’

Killian writhes, incoherent mumbles dropping from his mouth at the terms of endearment Felix is lavishing on him. The writhing sends pain shooting from his arms, still tightly bound behind him, but Killian relaxes into the discomfort. ‘I think you’re ready now,’ Felix murmurs, and Killian feels something pressing against his dick, soft but unyielding, curved, and his brain is still processing this new information when Felix turns it on.

The wand is soft at first, but the vibrations go deep, shaking Killian’s core as he eagerly pushes back against the instrument, grinding his pussy happily against the wand’s head. He feels the hand Felix had been touching him with on the back of his thigh, wiping it clean before settling it on the small of his back again.

‘Good boy,’ Felix mutters, and Killian tries to turn to look at him but finds the weight of his own shoulder keeping his face in the pillows. He has a sense of something - Felix’s voice, just for a moment, has dropped from the cadence and tone he uses to praise and into something else, something more calculating. But just as Killian begins to consider this train of thought, there is a click - and then two - as Felix turns the wand up and up again, and Killian bites down against the pillow as moans shudder through his body. The best way he can describe the wand’s sensation is insistent - it ripples through him continuously, and though Felix is shifting it around every so often there is not one moment where the feeling is dampened, not one second of respite from the feedback loop being created between Killian’s legs. Killian has stopped grinding against it because he doesn’t need to, but his hips have started stuttering of their own accord, jumping every so often and snapping back down against the toy.

He is dripping, the wetness collecting in a small pool between his knees on the duvet and serving to make the wand glide against him more easily. Felix has stopped moving it and is just holding it there, right underneath the head of his dick, so that with every involuntary movement of Killian’s body he is pressing the most sensitive part of himself against it. This causes him to flinch, which causes his arms to pull away from one another, which causes the ropes to dig harder into his skin, which causes Killian to whimper and his dick to throb, which means for a moment the wand is that much stronger against him.

‘You’re in quite the predicament, aren’t you. I’m amazed you haven’t come yet, dear.’

Twisting his head as far as he can, Killian grits out: ‘you haven’t - given me permission - Professor.’ The thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. He has learned control of his body, an extension of Felix’s command over him, and it comes so naturally to him now it is difficult to even consider breaking out of it.

‘Oh, of course. Such a good little thing, aren’t you? Go on, why don’t you come for me.’ Felix says it so offhandedly as he turns the toy’s intensity up once more, and Killian keens loudly. Just the act of receiving permission changes so much in an instant; he had been fighting, and now he relaxes into the way the vibrations rumble through him. Felix wants this, he thinks to himself. Felix wants me to make a mess of myself like the stupid little toy I am. He moans loudly, and Felix’s hand lifts from Killian’s back and twists into his hair. ‘I’m thinking of doing this to you more often, you know,’ the Professor mutters, and the feeling of his soft breath against Killian’s ear has his hips desperately grinding down against the toy again. ‘You’re so needy, it’d be far easier for me to force an orgasm out of you every so often to keep you at bay. So you can focus on your true purpose.’

Killian feels tears of gratitude gather at the corners of his eyes. The sensation is building in him now - he can feel it deep inside him, the desperate contracting of his pussy as more of his slick floods out of it, the sliding and shifting of his cock against the strong vibrations of the machine pressed unyielding against him. ‘That’s right,’ Felix coos, petting the back of Killian’s hair. ‘Really savour this one, darling. I understand the more of them I force you to have, the more unpleasant it is for you.’

With a surprised, choked gasp, Killian comes, his legs closing around the toy and frantically pushing it up against himself as his dick throbs and pulses. His pussy tightens, desperate for something to fill it as the orgasm rips through him. He is moaning into the pillow, thrusting down until his cock becomes too sensitive to bear it, at which point there is a groan followed by a long silence, and then higher, whimpering cries until Felix shuts the toy off.

He leaves it where it is pressed against Killian’s cock, though. As he slowly returns to Earth, Killian notes the burn in his shoulder muscles, waiting to feel Felix’s cool hands on the knots, to slowly untie him. But in his post-orgasmic state, Killian is completely pliant and does not struggle, let alone immediately process it, when Felix starts to wrap rope around his ankles. After several seconds utterly silent, Killian twists his head and asks, ‘what you doin’?’

Felix slaps the top of his thigh enough to sting. ‘What are you doing, Professor.’

‘S-sorry, Professor… what are you doing, Professor? What’d you mean about, uh… about forcing me to have… to have more…’

‘Well, it is a special occasion.’ Killian’s heart blooms in his chest. ‘I wanted you to have something to occupy you while I’m gone.’

The tie between Killian’s ankles is finished with a sharp tug, and the Professor moves onto something on his thighs. But Killian’s mind is singularly focused now, his heart floundering against his ribs, his face creased in a deep frown as he tries to figure out what the Professor could mean.

‘While… you’re gone, Professor?’

‘It’s my daughter’s birthday.’ Felix replies simply, before gripping Killian’s shoulder to turn him over, one hand holding the unfinished tie in place as he does so. Killian’s eyes blearily focus on Felix, whose attention is solely on the rope. Killian shakes his head.

‘N-no, it would’ve been in your diary… I would’ve seen…’

The Professor looks up at him at that.

‘That diary is for my work engagements, and personal engagements that happen to overlap with my academic ones. I only tell you what I need you to know, Killian, and I’m sure you’ll understand that I don’t need the assistance of a postgraduate barely out of his Master’s to remember my child’s birthday.’ Felix’s gaze is cool as he looks at Killian. Calm. He’s just stating facts, Killian reassures himself. This is what he’s like. Tears, again, at his eyes, but hotter this time. He can feel his face burning. Felix looks back down.

‘Her mother took her to dinner this year, but Yvette’s invited me to join her and her husband for drinks, hence the late hour. I’ve got no morning tutorials tomorrow; I doubt there would be any harm done.’ Killian nods. Felix didn’t have to volunteer that information, and it would have been no right of Killian’s to ask, but he wanted Killian to know. Felix is so thoughtful, even at times like this. But still…

‘Perhaps I could- you might need- in case you say anything noteworthy-’

Felix chuckles to himself. Killian hates when he does that. Like he’s too stupid to even be in on the joke. But there’s a reason, he reminds himself, always a reason.

‘You think my daughter would appreciate my turning up to her birthday celebrations with my pet whore?’

Killian lets out one shameful sob as his hips jump under Felix’s hands. Felix tuts. ‘Be still, boy. You’re meant to enjoy this.’

Killian cranes his neck up to see what Felix is actually doing. The tie is nearly finished; the toy is now held firmly against Killian’s cock by his own legs, pulled up to sit flush against him by ties that sit above his hips. He is trapped. ‘Felix, what-’

‘I had a look at those papers you marked before I came in to see you. The last handful are sloppy, Killian, and I couldn’t have you trying to mark any more when you’re clearly exhausted and in need of… something.’ Felix’s gaze drops pointedly to the wet spot on the duvet. ‘This will keep you busy, stop you from moping while I’m out and, most importantly, keep you from attempting to finish off the rest of those papers even more pitifully than before. Also,’ and it is at this point that Felix leans over him, and Killian can see how hard he is, his cock straining against his suit trousers, ‘I rather like the idea of you tied up like this, waiting for me to come home.’ He flicks the toy on again, and Killian whimpers.

‘But Felix-’ the older man gives him a sharp look, and Killian corrects himself, ‘Professor, won’t I be… what if it’s too much?’

‘It will run out of battery,’ the Professor responds airily, ‘eventually.’ He pulls at Killian’s shoulder again until the boy is laid on his side, and turns the toy up higher until Killian is gasping for breath, his sensitive cock pulsing already with the onslaught of sensation. Killian feels his muscles throb again as the Professor releases his grip on Killian’s shoulder. ‘Remember to keep wiggling your fingers, dear. I did make that quite tight.’

Killian opens his mouth to thank the Professor for his advice, thank him for going out of his way to do all this to save Killian from himself, to tell him to enjoy his night, but is cut off by the sound of a ringing phone from Felix’s jacket. Felix waves an impatient hand at Killian, having sensed he was going to speak, and picks it up.

‘Hello? Yes, darling, I’m almost there… traffic’s bloody awful, I’m afraid. Taxi driver’s absolutely not helping. He’s not getting a tip.’ He shares a laugh, Killian presumes, with his daughter, and he’d be pleased to see him so happy if it weren’t for the insistent buzzing between his legs, the pressure building before Felix has even left. Felix hangs up. ‘What was it you were going to say?’ Killian swallows.

‘How old is she?’

‘Yvette? She’s twenty-seven today, not that it’s any of your business.’

‘Of course, Professor. I’m sorry.’

Felix sighs.

‘You are pitiful, Killian.’ He turns the wand up one last time and goes to leave. ‘Have fun.’

Killian drops his head to the bed and starts to moan and shudder, relaxing once again into the sensation, trying to ignore the weight in his chest and the anxiety clawing at his stomach and the restless ache in his bound arms. Stopping in the door, Felix takes one look back at him, pale skin turned red and purple between the black ropes, body shifting and rippling under the onslaught, sighs, and turns off the light.

The bedroom door clicks shut, then the front door, the locks fall into place, and Killian is left alone with only the weak light of the toy between his legs to illuminate him.

He sobs his way through his next orgasm, which turns to screams as the toy doesn’t stop, the intensity felt so much more keenly in his tragic and post-orgasmic state. The boy has the decency to bite the pillow under his head as the toy rips them out of him, again and again, and all he can think of is Felix, and what the lesson here may be, and the fact that he’s four years younger than his daughter, that Felix is easily old enough to be his father, but that Felix has never remembered his birthday. When he thinks of this he comes hard and angry, tearing at the pillow with his teeth, and growling and sobbing until - mercifully - the fucking thing dies.

Killian cannot count the orgasms forced from him, but he can feel the number in his pelvic muscles, aching from the shuddering desperate motions he’d been making for hours. His arms and shoulders burn but he has run out of tears, so he sobs dry and resigned into the pillow until he falls into some kind of sleep.

The sleep is not restful; Killian only gets a few minutes at a time, sometimes half an hour, before he shifts unconsciously and sends a pain searing down his spine or his arms. Whenever he wakes, he tries to remember to wiggle his fingers. They’re tingly. He has just dropped off again when he’s woken by keys jingling, and his eyes light up. Felix is home. He hears footsteps crossing the threshold, but they’re heavy, heavier than Felix’s. Christ, he thinks, Felix has brought some musclebound twunk home. Killian lets out a sigh, waiting for the telltale click of Felix’s footsteps. The light clicks on, the front door closes. Still only one set of footsteps in the house, and if he strains his neck, Killian can make out a shadow under the door. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he turns to bite the pillow again to stay as silent as possible. Whimpers of fear are already rising in him, his sleep-deprived mind dragging forward nightmare scenarios to play with the panic.

The footsteps are getting closer. He screws his eyes shut. Tries to will himself out of existence. The door handle turns, and the door swings open. Orange bursts in front of his eyelids as the light switch clicks on, and Killian hears a sharp inhale and a long exhale. Hyperventilating, he scrambles to look; at some point in the night he fell forwards, and he struggles around on the bed to flip over and see this intruder. His thrashing around is useless, and soon he feels broad, warm hands lifting him onto his back. Killian squints up against the bright light, and is shocked to see that he… recognises this man. The man is physically imposing, tall and wide, with the weathered-muscle shoulders of someone past their physical prime but so set in himself that the structures of strength remain, stubborn against the greying stubble on the man’s jaw and the soft curve of his belly. His eyes are dark and glint down at Killian with menace, with glee.

It takes him a second to place, but no, this is-

‘Josef…’ Killian says. The bouncer at the fancy bar downtown where Felix tends to host his… parties. He turns a blind eye to a lot, provided Felix tips him generously at the end of each semester. ‘What are you doing in m- in Felix’s house? Why do you have the keys?’ His mind already begins to run through the infinite horrible possibilities - that the security guard, tired of his job, maybe, had snapped, assaulted Felix and had come here to find what valuables he could before fleeing the country. Maybe he was here to kidnap Killian. Maybe-

‘Felix sends his apologies,’ the man laughs, grinning down at Killian’s bound and aching body. ‘He was just about to head back to you when this kid walked in - exactly his type. Like you, y’know, but… kinda skinnier.’ He tilts his head. ‘Less tired-looking. Had to ID him and all. Anyway, the prof was fretting about you being here, all…’ he gestures to Killian’s predicament. ‘So I told him I’d come back here and take care of you. As a favour. He was very grateful.’ He smiles. Killian feels sick, and tries to concentrate on what Josef said - that Felix was worried about him. It warms his heart a little. But Josef still hasn’t taken his hands off him.

‘I refuse to believe he allowed this,’ Killian stammers, trying indignantly to struggle out of Josef’s grip. ‘He told me he’d be back. He told me he was coming home.’

‘Well, he told me to take his keys and get you out of this. Just in time, too. You’re looking pretty rough back there.’ Now that he mentions it, Killian has to admit that his arms are fucking killing him. Josef reaches into a drawer in the side table, and Killian thinks of protesting before he sees a familiar flash of silver. ‘Right where he said they’d be,’ he says to Killian, holding the safety scissors aloft. ‘Now do you believe me?’ Killian wavers still. ‘Look, you can say no if you want, but Felix looked pretty determined to fuck that guy.’

Killian imagines what this boy looks like. If he knows Felix, Killian doubts he’s over twenty. Probably exactly like him, a fresher wandering about and exploring, waiting for someone to take pity. His lip curls into a small sneer. Not exactly like him, though. Because Felix had said he was indispensable. That he could never get rid of him. He turns to Josef.

‘Then cut me free, please.’

Josef obliges, flipping Killian back over and making short work of the intricate ties binding Killian’s arms together. He hisses in pain as the movement and feeling return to his forearms, his wrists, his fingers, and he allows them to fall uselessly to his sides. Josef then turns his attention to the rope around Killian’s hips and between his legs, and pulls the toy out from between Killian’s thighs. Killian winces when he pulls it away, the head of his cock still so sensitive, the wand making a soft sound as it is pulled from the wetness between Killian’s legs. Last to go are the ties on his ankles. Killian shifts, intending to move, before noticing that Josef is still straddling him at the knees. The man’s body weight shifts up until he is astride Killian’s ass. Had he missed some rope? Killian flexes his arms; no, nothing still wrapped around him, no reason for him to… 

He feels a rough hand caress his back. ‘It’s so close to the end of the semester, right… Felix said he thought I should take my own bonus tonight.’ Killian’s blood runs cold.

‘H…’ the sound dies on his tongue, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘He wouldn’t.’

‘But he did, darlin’.’ Killian feels something pressing against the crack of his ass, clad in jeans, rough against his soft skin. ‘Now, listen, I’ve helped you out here. Think I deserve a little something in return.’

Christ, Killian thinks, and his mind jumps to his cross - still where he left it on the bathroom shelf. He is alone in this place. And so he tries, really tries, to fight. But he���s so tired. He’s had less than an hour of sleep, his arms are useless, all pins and needles when he tries to force them to move, and he aches between his legs. He tries to kick Josef, bringing his heels up to catch the man in the back, but the bouncer catches his foot easily and twists it as Killian yelps.

‘Yeah, I thought so… see, I was thinkin’ about not lettin’ you out first first, then I took one look at you and knew, even untied, you’d be too weak to stop it from happening.’

Killian hears the sick metallic crunch of a zipper. Josef moves back between his legs, one strong hand on each of Killian’s thighs. And Killian feels himself leaning into the touch. Felix so rarely touches him like this. His hands always feel so dispassionate, but Josef’s…

No. No, this is wrong; Felix can’t have meant for Josef to do this. They’ve never talked about it. Killian shakes his head. ‘Stop.’ He mumbles.

Josef pushes his legs apart. Killian tenses in fear at the sensation of the fat head of Josef’s cock rubbing against his hole. ‘What’s that?’

‘Stop it.’

‘Ah, you’re all wet still… gotta thank Felix for gettin’ you ready like that. I can just slide right in.’

He does, and Killian lets out a choked cry. ‘Stop it,’ he tries to insist, wriggling pitifully, but the movement just makes Josef groan as he fills Killian’s pussy with his thick cock, forcing the boy’s legs apart farther to gaze down at the way the boy’s hole is swallowing him.

‘You know, fr’a boy who’s tryna tell me you don’t want it, you’re taking my cock awful well,’ he sneers, and Killian winces as the zipper brushes his cock with every thrust the man makes inside of him, but he doesn’t reply.

‘Aw, silent treatment, is it? Tha’s alright. Don’t need you to talk. Just need you to keep your legs open.’ His thrusts are rough and hard, and Killian’s body shifts and rocks with every movement. Killian’s head is turned to one side. He imagines it’s Felix fucking him like this. But Felix’s touches are so different; his hands are cool, smaller than Josef’s, and he rarely holds Killian down like Josef is. He’s usually pinching, scratching, slapping, pulling Killian’s hair; a constant onslaught of attack, physical and often verbal, always designed to make Killian arch his back in a more pleasing way, or take him deeper, or moan differently.

‘Felix…’ Killian whispers, eyes closed, pretending.

‘No,’ says Josef as he rolls his hips hard against the boy beneath him. ‘Don’t do that,’ he says between breaths. ‘Impolite.’ One of his hands moves from its place on Killian’s thigh, round to his front, groping and feeling for his dick. Killian tries to remain impassive, but can’t hide the way he jumps, gripping Josef’s cock tighter as his thumb presses down against the sensitive flesh. ‘You’re here.’ Josef mutters. He starts rubbing Killian’s cock in time with his thrusts. ‘Right here. With me.’ The man’s insistent toying with his cock combined with the rough thrusts into him begins to drag small moans and whimpers out of Killian. He whines helplessly every time Josef bottoms out inside him, a pathetic little mewl that he hates to admit sounds, ever so slightly, like he is enjoying this.

‘Yeah, fuck,’ Josef murmurs, and Killian thinks he’s talking to himself at first. ‘Said you’d be like this. Said it wouldn’t take you- long- to warm up to me.’

‘No he didn’t,’ Killian insists desperately, but Josef’s cock fills him so deeply for a moment that his last word is drawn into a whine. Josef laughs again. His laugh is crackly, a smoker’s chuckle, a laugh that Killian had come to appreciate over time. Not now, though. Not any more.

‘Yeah, he did. Talks to me ‘bout you. Tells me you’re a whore.’ Killian feels Josef’s elbow at the top of his spine as the man puts more of his weight onto him, leaving himself freer to thrust up harder into him. Every inch of the man’s dick ebbs and fuels the ache in Killian’s pussy at once, and his eyes squeeze shut as the man’s nicotine-laced breath tickles his earlobe. ‘Said he’s been thinkin’- ‘bout doing this - fr’a while. Whorin’ you out. Teachin’ you your place.’

Killian’s pussy spasms around Josef’s cock.

‘Like fucking clockwork.’

That’s what makes Killian lose it. How dare he? How dare he have the audacity to say these things, to assume he knows Killian, knows him like Felix does? He twists and wriggles, and the burst of adrenaline combined with the surprise of it allows him to struggle off Josef’s cock and up the bed slightly. There is a silence from behind him, before Josef grabs his hair and pulls his head upwards. Killian yelps in fear. Jesus, did he really think this would be enough?

‘Oh, you stupid bitch.’ Josef throws him back down on the bed, hard enough to make the frame shudder. Breathing heavily, he pushes Killian’s legs further apart.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Killian stammers.

‘Shut it. Need an incentive to keep still? I’ll give you a fucking incentive.’ Josef positions his cock, still dripping with Killian’s wetness, at Killian’s asshole. ‘Whore. Felix said you didn’t have it in you to fight. That you’d agree to it soon as I told you he allowed it. Didn’t say anything about having to teach you a fucking lesson.’

Killian begins to shake his head frantically. It’s rare that Felix fucks his ass, and Killian secretly relishes it because it’s one of the only times Felix really is careful with him. ‘Please don’t. It won’t go in. It won’t, I’m not ready, I don’t know where the lube is.’

‘Keep your fucking mouth shut, boy,’ Josef says, twisting his hand in Killian’s hair tighter as he grunts and pushes the slick head of his cock against Killian’s ass again. He’s pushing and pushing, and Killian is still, breathing fast like a frightened animal. Josef has his elbow screwed against Killian’s spine. There is no escaping it. He just has to wait until Josef realises he can’t fuck him like this. But Josef is still pushing, holding his cock with his free hand, forcing and forcing against the first tight ring of muscle until-

Killian howls in pain. He feels something give, and Josef’s cock, thick enough to have made his pussy feel stretched, sore, bruised, slides into his ass. Josef shoves Killian’s face down into the pillow, forearm on the back of his neck as Killian screams and sobs at the feeling, so alien, tearing through him. His arms are still weak but they are flailing in an attempt to grip onto anything as some kind of tether. He finds the bedpost and grips for dear life. Josef settles himself inside Killian and just as the pain starts to ebb away, Josef begins to move.

It does not feel like Killian remembered it. Josef is so big, and the slow burn of the stretch and endorphins from the pain are morphing into some kind of pleasurable haze, with the punctuation of a loud, low groan from the man on top of him. Josef lets himself fall onto Killian, keeping him still through the weight of muscle and flesh alone, as his cock pumps in and out of him. His stubble scratches Killian’s back. Killian is somewhat aware that he is still crying.

‘Shh, don’t cry,’ Josef mutters, and Killian lets out a moan-whimper at the sensation of Josef’s cock filling and stretching him completely once again. ‘Fuck, so tight. So good. See, you are good, aren’t you. You know how to be good.’

‘Mm-hmm,’ Killian whines.

‘Felix knows what’s best for you, see,’ Josef mutters, and Killian can smell the whiskey on his breath now he’s so close. ‘Wouldn’t’ve sent me here if he din’t know there was somethin’ I could give you.’

His hand slides beneath Killian’s body again, and Killian allows it.

‘Yeah, tha’s it. G’na make you come, baby boy,’ and Killian cringes at the pet name even as his cock twitches under Josef’s fingers. ‘G’na make you come before I fill you up.’

Panic sets in again.

‘Please don’t come in me,’ Killian whispers, ‘please, Felix will be angry.’

‘Shh, shh,’ Josef mutters. He is moving slower than when he was fucking Killian’s pussy, but there’s more weight behind his thrusts, and Killian feels each one ripple through him. There is some deep satisfaction in the way Josef’s cock stretches him open. Killian thinks about how he will look in the morning, hole puffy and abused, dripping with another man’s cum. He hates the sick thrill it gives him to know that Felix will see that. It runs down the back of his neck like a hot knife, and he doesn’t know if the sensation is driven by arousal or fear.

‘I’m gonna come in you, pretty boy.’ His rough fingers rub side-to-side over Killian’s throbbing cock. ‘Gonna fill you up like a whore. Felix must’ve known I’d do that to you. And he knows what you need, don’t he?’

Killian nods. He can’t not.

‘You just lie there n’take it, pretty whore. Take it for Felix.’

Killian allows himself, for a moment, to really think about Felix’s responsibility in all this. He thinks about how, yes, Felix has known Josef for a very long time and, yes, is probably able to make some fairly astute guesses as to what Josef might do to whatever poor thing he was burying himself in. And Felix has decided he needs this.

‘I need this,’ Killian murmurs to himself as Josef thrusts into him. ‘I need this.’ It becomes louder, and Josef nods.

‘Tha’s it. Good boy,’ he mutters approvingly, still stroking Killian’s cock.

‘Need to be good for him,’ says Killian, pressing his hips down into Josef’s hand. The feeling of Josef stretching and fucking his ass open is mixing with the sparks of pleasure Killian feels when Josef’s fingers brush his cock. Mouth open, Killian is panting, arching his back to meet Josef’s thrusts, letting the man rub his cock until he is moaning underneath him.

‘Faster,’ Killian pleads. ‘Harder.’ He’s not even sure what he’s asking for but Josef picks the pace of his thrusts up. Their skin slaps together as Josef grunts in exertion, burying himself in Killian’s ass over and over, forcing the boy’s tight hole open around him. Josef shifts his hand, sliding his fingers into Killian’s wet pussy and pressing the base of his callused palm against Killian’s cock. His movements are imprecise but consistent, his rough hand dragging over Killian’s dick as his thick fingers rub insistently at Killian’s g-spot. Killian can feel himself trapped, Josef’s fingers crowding into his pussy, Josef’s cock pounding into his hole, and all that weight pressed down to force Killian to grind his desperate cock against Josef’s open hand. Killian feels his muscles starting to tense erratically. His pussy clenches around Josef’s fingers.

He needs this.

‘I need you to come in me,’ Killian whimpers.

‘Not till you do first, baby boy.’

Killian thinks of how proud Felix will be of him when he finds out how well he took Josef’s cock, and comes all over Josef’s hand with a shuddering cry. His cock spasms and pulses, he feels his pussy and ass tighten desperately and spasmodically, and he hears Josef groan behind him as that - apparently - is what has pushed him over the edge. Killian feels his ass fill with cum, warm and thick, deep inside him.

Killian muses that he and Felix have never come at the same time as Josef collapses onto him.

He is dimly aware, some time later, of the man pulling out and getting off him, walking away and running the shower in the bathroom. His eyelids are heavy, and he knows sleep is about to take him. Killian smiles softly, thinking about Felix coming home the next morning. Maybe he’ll bring breakfast from the pastry shop they stop at sometimes. He’ll forgive Killian, he’s sure.

‘One minute,’ Felix says to the impressionable young gentleman with whom he’s spent the night and sunrise. ‘I just have to take care of something in the apartment.’ Leaving the boy in the hall, he steps into his home. It reeks of sex. The bedroom door is open, as are some of the kitchen cupboards. Josef had made his way here, he notes with a smile. Peering around the bedroom door, he sees Killian fast asleep, naked, ass in the air, cum dripping down his leg. He frowns. He didn’t recall giving Josef permission to do that. Well, Killian should have known better than to just allow him. They’ll be having words later, Felix imagines. He tears a sheet of notepaper out of one of Killian’s books - there are a few lines of uninspiring poetry tarnishing the page, so he draws a line through them and writes a note below. The black biro block capitals read: ‘Out for breakfast. Lunch seminar as per usual. Do try to turn up somewhat presentably. Professor.’

Replacing the pen in his blazer pocket, Felix grabs his umbrella from the coat rack - the weather is pitiful today - and slips back out of the front door to his young friend. ‘Thank you for waiting, dear boy,’ he murmurs. The boy grins at him. His teeth are crooked. Felix internally sighs.

Killian’s alarm rings at seven. It takes him longer to wake up, as it’s slightly muted through the bedroom wall. But when he does, he wakes aching and alone, eyes blurred and burning with sleep, and cold, so cold, from the mountain air.

[hardkinkbardkink]

anon asked: Can’t remember if i sent this earlier but I loved the milking and overstimulation fic!!! What if Geralt accidentally(or rather purposely) overdosed Jaskier to a point where he produces sooo much come it’s painful and Geralt has to actually milk him properly in fear of his balls actually exploding or his cock just leaking constantly for the next days at it’s pushed out of his testicles slowly from the backed up spunk. It takes the entire night and he only discovers how genuinely backed up the the bard is when it actually starts dripping out of his urethra, Jaskier sobbing from humiliation through it all. Preferably in a verse where the original fic didn’t happen.

***

Geralt would like to think he’s a man of reason.

And while it would be unreasonable to pass on a contract so lucrative, it would be equally unreasonable to botch it, when all he has to do is–

Well, what is it, if not a cautionary experiment?

The baroness’ coin would keep them fed for months, and all for a small vial of a virility potion only a little more powerful than the ones bought at the apothecary.

Well. Threefold as powerful, if prepared correctly.

It’s a dangerous game, Geralt knows. Human bodies are fickle–and death from a sore cock or burst bollocks is not preferable in the nobler circles. Or so it had been explained to him.

Good thing, then, that Geralt has a noble of his own to aid in perfecting the recipe.

Perhaps he should be concerned by how easily Jaskier takes the bottle when it’s handed to him, or by the trust in his eyes when he swallows it in one go, without bothering to inquire about its contents. Gods, how did the bard manage to keep himself alive for so long?

Geralt mumbles something about a deathwish, but he’s in no position to complain, really. He casts Axii, just to be safe; just so Jaskier doesn’t disrupt the trial needlessly.

The potion’s effects are more or less immediate.

Pliant and quiet, Jaskier lets him undo his trousers–a surprisingly sensible pair, thick grey wool with only a faint pattern–and take out his stiffening cock. He gives it a measured stroke. Calm. Methodical. Collected.

It takes Jaskier a while to come, and Geralt watches in fascination as his balls swell, grow taut and heavy and tempting when he reaches to cup them in his palm. He keeps a firm grip on Jaskier’s cock, strokes him hard and fast, captivated by the sheer, naked want on the bard’s face, even if his eyes remain blissfully absent.

Jaskier’s body bows as he spends all over himself for a long, pleasing moment.

Geralt deems the volume of his release satisfactory and tucks his twitching cock back into his breeches.

***

“Geralt–”

Jaskier stops abruptly, though Geralt fills in the rest of the question.

“Drink less water,” he says off-handedly as he slows Roach to a halt.

“Uh-huh.”

Geralt watches his bard sprint between the trees.

It’s not an issue of hydration, Geralt knows. Jaskier’s been sneaking off every half-hour, limping slightly but in a rush to find some seclusion. He comes back lighter on his feet; flushed and dishevelled and smelling of spend.

The potion, it seems, lasts longer than Geralt anticipated.

It’s a strange temptation that overcomes him, to deny Jaskier the privacy. Cite some non-specified dangers and make him walk beside Roach without a chance to sort out his body. For no reason other than his burning curiosity.

A strange temptation indeed, and one Geralt finds himself succumbing to, just a half-hour later.

“Stay,” he growls when Jaskier makes to retreat.

It stops him in his tracks, one palm already–unconsciously–cupped around his crotch. Jaskier turns a bright pink and slowly pulls his hand back, as though to pretend it never was there.

“W–what? Geralt, I–”

“If you need a piss, do it here. I don’t want you wandering the woods alone.”

And Jaskier huffs his outrage, stutters on an insult. Walks, resigned, slower and slower until he’s dragging his feet more than lifting them. Sweat beads on his temple.

Geralt takes pity on the man, eventually, though not completely.

“Don’t walk anywhere,” Geralt says when he’d near-finished setting up their camp beneath a thick canopy of leaves.

“But I need–”

He cocks an eyebrow and revels in the desperation written all over Jaskier’s cute little face.

Jaskier squirms and shifts, unable to find a comfortable position on the rock he’s occupying. His frustrated whimpers make Geralt want to pull his dick out, truth be told, but he stays still and unbothered, setting about sharpening his silver dagger just to have something to do.

A sharp gasp from Jaskier makes him whip his head around lightning-fast. And then he catches the scent.

It’s not overwhelming, not like it would be if Jaskier spent in his breeches, but it’s–

Intriguing.

Jaskier sits, frozen, shaking hands gripping his thighs, and the look on his face is in equal parts that of confusion and terror.

Geralt walks to him, urging himself to go slow and not pounce on the man like he so furiously wants to. He kneels next to Jaskier and watches, hypnotised, as a wet spot grows so very slowly at the front of his trousers.

His hands are suddenly too big, too clunky as he tries to slip the delicate buttons open. Jaskier doesn’t move to stop him when Geralt pushes the breeches down, along with his wet smallclothes, and–

“Fuck.”

Geralt’s mouth waters at the display before him; Jaskier’s soft prick resting against his thigh, spend leaking steadily from the tip, because there's so much it can’t fit inside his body, gods, fuck.

“How does it feel?” he breathes. A muscle jumps in Jaskier’s thigh.

“Hurts,” Jaskier chokes out, sounding close to tears. “It all hurts, Geralt, I’m so full, please–”

He can’t help staring as Jaskier’s cock drools sluggishly, dripping more and more. It’s the most erotic thing Geralt’s ever seen.

He aims for gentle, when he pulls Jaskier’s knees apart and slides between them. When he lifts Jaskier’s prick up and away to expose his beautifully swollen balls, reddened and so deliciously close to bursting. Geralt touches them cautiously and shivers at Jaskier’s throaty moan. His cock spurts out more come.

“I can’t take it, I’m–please, Geralt, f-feels like I’m gonna explode–”

Geralt groans and dives in to mouth hungrily at the taut skin of Jaskier’s sack. It’s feverishly hot against his lips, smooth and perfect and he reaches to tug at Jaskier’s cock, too desperate, too sloppy.

“Come on,” Geralt says, voice rough with need, muffled in Jaskier’s taint. “Come for me, Jaskier.”

It’s a heady sensation, feeling Jaskier’s balls throb and empty, his seed getting all over Geralt’s hand, wetting it copiously.

“Fuck, Geralt, Geralt–”

He doesn’t stop stroking, the glide eased by Jaskier’s release. He tries to fit one of the swollen balls into his mouth, finding them too big and tender still, judging by the way Jaskier whines above him.

Geralt moves to suck instead at the head of his prick, soaked in thick, unnaturally sweet spend, sensitive and pulsing against Geralt’s tongue.

“’s too much, gods, Geralt–”

Except for him it’s not enough, and he swallows greedily around the cock in his mouth, taking it deeper until his nose is buried in the tidy-trimmed hair at the base. Deeper, until he can slither the tip of his tongue down to lap at Jaskier’s balls.

Jaskier tears at his hair, his fingers frantically digging into Geralt’s scalp, but it only makes Geralt want it more, bob his head faster, drool cooling sticky on his chin.

When Jaskier spasms and spills down his throat, Geralt thinks he could come just from that.

Jaskier sways and nearly falls. Geralt grabs a fistful of doublet, keeps the bard upright and his mouth firmly around Jaskier’s twitching cock.

“Please–Geralt, please,” Jaskier whines, and Geralt ruts his hips into the air, craving friction.

It takes another trembling, writhing release before Geralt pulls away, half-delirious, drunk on the taste and the raw, scraped feeling in his throat.

Jaskier sobs, a wretched thing, and bats weakly at Geralt’s forehead. He looks–fuck, Geralt’s never seen him like this, face a splotchy red, glistening with tears, chest heaving. His prick can’t stay hard anymore, but Geralt knows he’s not done yet, even as he tries to squeeze his legs together.

“Stop, stop, gods, I–I can’t go anymore, I can’t.” He sucks in a wet breath, bringing a careful hand to cover his softening cock.

It’d be easy to put Jaskier under Axii, get him off over and over until the potion’s burned through–

It’s also easy to yank Jaskier’s doublet open, off, away; unbutton the ridiculous lacey shirt underneath; tangle Jaskier’s hands behind his back, secure them in place with his own garment. And maybe Jaskier is too weak to break free, or maybe he doesn’t really want to.

But he lets Geralt put his mouth back on that twitching, wet cock.

Geralt feels like he’d had a full meal by the time Jaskier screams his final release, breath seemingly stuck in his heaving lungs.

“Ge-eralt, ’s–enough, please.”

It’s the despair in Jaskier’s bright eyes as he says it–whines it, more like–that has Geralt pulling away and tucking him lovingly back into his trousers.

Jaskier collapses onto the bedroll and drifts into a deep, calm sleep, and Geralt brings himself off quickly and brutally, thinking about how much of the potion he can slip into Jaskier’s waterskin.

[hardkinkbadkink]

Can’t remember if i sent this earlier but I loved the milking and overstimulation fic!!! What if Geralt accidentally(or rather purposely) overdosed Jaskier to a point where he produces sooo much come it’s painful and Geralt has to actually milk him properly in fear of his balls actually exploding or his cock just leaking constantly for the next days at it’s pushed out of his testicles slowly from the backed up spunk. It takes the entire night and he only discovers how genuinely backed up the (1)

the bard is when it actually starts dripping out of his urethra, Jaskier sobbing from humiliation through it all. Preferably in a verse where the original fic didn’t happen.

hnghh this was fucking Fun tbh i have nothing more to say other than i enjoyed this prompt immensely

***

Geralt would like to think he's a man of reason.

And while it would be unreasonable to pass on a contract so lucrative, it would be equally unreasonable to botch it, when all he has to do is--

Well, what is it, if not a cautionary experiment?

The baroness' coin would keep them fed for months, and all for a small vial of a virility potion only a little more powerful than the ones bought at the apothecary.

Well. Threefold as powerful, if prepared correctly.

It's a dangerous game, Geralt knows. Human bodies are fickle--and death from a sore cock or burst bollocks is not preferable in the nobler circles. Or so it had been explained to him.

Good thing, then, that Geralt has a noble of his own to aid in perfecting the recipe.

Perhaps he should be concerned by how easily Jaskier takes the bottle when it's handed to him, or by the trust in his eyes when he swallows it in one go, without bothering to inquire about its contents. Gods, how did the bard manage to keep himself alive for so long?

Geralt mumbles something about a deathwish, but he's in no position to complain, really. He casts Axii, just to be safe; just so Jaskier doesn't disrupt the trial needlessly.

The potion's effects are more or less immediate.

Pliant and quiet, Jaskier lets him undo his trousers--a surprisingly sensible pair, thick grey wool with only a faint pattern--and take out his stiffening cock. He gives it a measured stroke. Calm. Methodical. Collected.

It takes Jaskier a while to come, and Geralt watches in fascination as his balls swell, grow taut and heavy and tempting when he reaches to cup them in his palm. He keeps a firm grip on Jaskier's cock, strokes him hard and fast, captivated by the sheer, naked want on the bard's face, even if his eyes remain blissfully absent.

Jaskier's body bows as he spends all over himself for a long, pleasing moment.

Geralt deems the volume of his release satisfactory and tucks his twitching cock back into his breeches.

***

"Geralt--"

Jaskier stops abruptly, though Geralt fills in the rest of the question.

"Drink less water," he says off-handedly as he slows Roach to a halt.

"Uh-huh."

Geralt watches his bard sprint between the trees.

It's not an issue of hydration, Geralt knows. Jaskier's been sneaking off every half-hour, limping slightly but in a rush to find some seclusion. He comes back lighter on his feet; flushed and dishevelled and smelling of spend.

The potion, it seems, lasts longer than Geralt anticipated.

It's a strange temptation that overcomes him, to deny Jaskier the privacy. Cite some non-specified dangers and make him walk beside Roach without a chance to sort out his body. For no reason other than his burning curiosity.

A strange temptation indeed, and one Geralt finds himself succumbing to, just a half-hour later.

"Stay," he growls when Jaskier makes to retreat.

It stops him in his tracks, one palm already--unconsciously--cupped around his crotch. Jaskier turns a bright pink and slowly pulls his hand back, as though to pretend it never was there.

"W--what? Geralt, I--"

"If you need a piss, do it here. I don't want you wandering the woods alone."

And Jaskier huffs his outrage, stutters on an insult. Walks, resigned, slower and slower until he's dragging his feet more than lifting them. Sweat beads on his temple.

Geralt takes pity on the man, eventually, though not completely.

"Don't walk anywhere," Geralt says when he'd near-finished setting up their camp beneath a thick canopy of leaves.

"But I need--"

He cocks an eyebrow and revels in the desperation written all over Jaskier's cute little face.

Jaskier squirms and shifts, unable to find a comfortable position on the rock he's occupying. His frustrated whimpers make Geralt want to pull his dick out, truth be told, but he stays still and unbothered, setting about sharpening his silver dagger just to have something to do.

A sharp gasp from Jaskier makes him whip his head around lightning-fast. And then he catches the scent.

It's not overwhelming, not like it would be if Jaskier spent in his breeches, but it's--

Intriguing.

Jaskier sits, frozen, shaking hands gripping his thighs, and the look on his face is in equal parts that of confusion and terror.

Geralt walks to him, urging himself to go slow and not pounce on the man like he so furiously wants to. He kneels next to Jaskier and watches, hypnotised, as a wet spot grows so very slowly at the front of his trousers.

His hands are suddenly too big, too clunky as he tries to slip the delicate buttons open. Jaskier doesn't move to stop him when Geralt pushes the breeches down, along with his wet smallclothes, and--

"Fuck."

Geralt's mouth waters at the display before him; Jaskier's soft prick resting against his thigh, spend leaking steadily from the tip, because there's so much it can't fit inside his body, gods, fuck.

"How does it feel?" he breathes. A muscle jumps in Jaskier's thigh.

"Hurts," Jaskier chokes out, sounding close to tears. "It all hurts, Geralt, I'm so full, please--"

He can't help staring as Jaskier's cock drools sluggishly, dripping more and more. It's the most erotic thing Geralt's ever seen.

He aims for gentle, when he pulls Jaskier's knees apart and slides between them. When he lifts Jaskier's prick up and away to expose his beautifully swollen balls, reddened and so deliciously close to bursting. Geralt touches them cautiously and shivers at Jaskier's throaty moan. His cock spurts out more come.

"I can't take it, I'm--please, Geralt, f-feels like I'm gonna explode--"

Geralt groans and dives in to mouth hungrily at the taut skin of Jaskier's sack. It's feverishly hot against his lips, smooth and perfect and he reaches to tug at Jaskier's cock, too desperate, too sloppy.

"Come on," Geralt says, voice rough with need, muffled in Jaskier's taint. "Come for me, Jaskier."

It's a heady sensation, feeling Jaskier's balls throb and empty, his seed getting all over Geralt's hand, wetting it copiously.

"Fuck, Geralt, Geralt--"

He doesn't stop stroking, the glide eased by Jaskier's release. He tries to fit one of the swollen balls into his mouth, finding them too big and tender still, judging by the way Jaskier whines above him.

Geralt moves to suck instead at the head of his prick, soaked in thick, unnaturally sweet spend, sensitive and pulsing against Geralt's tongue.

"'s too much, gods, Geralt--"

Except for him it's not enough, and he swallows greedily around the cock in his mouth, taking it deeper until his nose is buried in the tidy-trimmed hair at the base. Deeper, until he can slither the tip of his tongue down to lap at Jaskier's balls.

Jaskier tears at his hair, his fingers frantically digging into Geralt's scalp, but it only makes Geralt want it more, bob his head faster, drool cooling sticky on his chin.

When Jaskier spasms and spills down his throat, Geralt thinks he could come just from that.

Jaskier sways and nearly falls. Geralt grabs a fistful of doublet, keeps the bard upright and his mouth firmly around Jaskier's twitching cock.

"Please--Geralt, please," Jaskier whines, and Geralt ruts his hips into the air, craving friction.

It takes another trembling, writhing release before Geralt pulls away, half-delirious, drunk on the taste and the raw, scraped feeling in his throat.

Jaskier sobs, a wretched thing, and bats weakly at Geralt's forehead. He looks--fuck, Geralt's never seen him like this, face a splotchy red, glistening with tears, chest heaving. His prick can't stay hard anymore, but Geralt knows he's not done yet, even as he tries to squeeze his legs together.

"Stop, stop, gods, I--I can't go anymore, I can't." He sucks in a wet breath, bringing a careful hand to cover his softening cock.

It'd be easy to put Jaskier under Axii, get him off over and over until the potion's burned through--

It's also easy to yank Jaskier's doublet open, off, away; unbutton the ridiculous lacey shirt underneath; tangle Jaskier's hands behind his back, secure them in place with his own garment. And maybe Jaskier is too weak to break free, or maybe he doesn't really want to.

But he lets Geralt put his mouth back on that twitching, wet cock.

Geralt feels like he'd had a full meal by the time Jaskier screams his final release, breath seemingly stuck in his heaving lungs.

"Ge-eralt, 's--enough, please."

It's the despair in Jaskier's bright eyes as he says it--whines it, more like--that has Geralt pulling away and tucking him lovingly back into his trousers.

Jaskier collapses onto the bedroll and drifts into a deep, calm sleep, and Geralt brings himself off quickly and brutally, thinking about how much of the potion he can slip into Jaskier's waterskin.

[tinytony-snack]

Pancakes and Henley shirts

[A/B/O, superhusbands, cute, funny, established relationship, mpreg]

+

“Good morning,” Bucky yawned as he entered the kitchen of the communal floor. If Steve wasn’t busy glaring at his pancakes, he would’ve told Bucky to cover his damn mouth. He growled thought, a deep sound that would’ve made anyone else turning back on the spot.

“I doubt it,” he muffled, having his mouth filled in with his breakfast. He was eating his usual huge number of pancakes, bacon and a spinach omelette, but instead of having a quiet breakfast, he was devouring the food as if they attacked him personally.

Bucky stopped, and a quick glance at his friend was enough to imagine how Steve’s morning went. “I should’ve known better than saying something as controversial as good morning,”

Steve grunted in response, a deep sound that came out of his throat, and stabbed an innocent piece of bacon. They stayed quiet for a while, Bucky poured himself some Cap’n Crunch cereal and milk in a bowl and sat at the kitchen’s aisle in front of his friend. Steve was fuming, and stabbing, and swallowing without chewing a pile of innocent pancakes.

Bucky cracked first, and after a heavy sigh he let down the spoon and glared at Steve.

“Clint said you didn’t say a word to him when he was here earlier, and something about killer vibes,”

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise, and a strong sense of guilt made the last bite more difficult to swallow. His rumbles eased, becoming a background noise.

“I didn’t notice he was here,” he admitted, lowering his gaze.

“Yeah, he figured. What’s going on Stevie?” Bucky had an inquisitor gaze, the kind that brought Steve’s memory back of almost a century.

Bucky was improving day after day, and they were all getting used to his presence in the tower. For Steve, it meant getting re-used to his ways of doing, and trying to keep separate what he remembered about his best friend and the person he became. They were two different people, even if Bucky had full control of his mental faculties again, years and years under HYDRA influence changed him at his very core level.

“Tony kicked me out from our bedroom last night,” he said, making a vague gesture with his hand — something he took from his husband — and talking like it wasn’t a big deal.

Bucky didn’t buy it and continued staring at him suspiciously.

“I asked him if I could wash him, a proper bath with scented salts and all the products he likes, and he,” Steve rumbled in distress again, filling his cheeks with all the food he could.

For a moment, he thought Bucky was smiling at him, a sweet and amused grin, but it went away quickly as he appeared.

“He got upset, accusing me to not liking him as before, that I only want to touch his-” That time Bucky interrupted him, with a screech of the spoon against the bowl.

“-belly,” Steve finished, glaring at his friend. “Next thing I know, he’s pushing me out of our bedroom, growling at me and yelling that I didn’t want him anymore, I was only interested in the baby,” three stabs followed his words, and his mouth was full again. His body required an incredible amount of food when he had to deal with Tony’s sudden mood swings and is pregnancy logic.

“And you haven’t seen him since?” Bucky sounded genuinely surprised: he hadn’t been around for so long, but enough to notice that whenever there was Tony, Steve was nearby. Their attachment even increased after the Omega got pregnant.

Steve shook his head twice, and with a sad sigh he got up to get more food. Twenty-first century made him an emotional eater, he coped drowning everything in maple syrup.

“I made breakfast before leaving this morning, hoping to eat it with him and settling his doubts, or, or fixing whatever I did wrong when I asked for a bath. He ate before I came back,” and that’s what really made him miserable: after a whole night alone, his Omega still avoided him during the day.

Maybe he really hurt Tony, he wasn’t only being over-dramatic or throwing a tantrum for his hormones out of whack. Steve had been patient during the past weeks, always support his Omega during the pregnancy: he prepared in time, he did all the lectures - and made Tony at least listen to him reading them - and asked JARVIS to find useful information on internet. There was too much trash over there.

Last night, the Omega caught him off guards: he didn’t expect to be accused of losing interest in the most brilliant, breathtaking, handsome man on the entire planet. The thought kept him awake all night, and he hoped breakfast would’ve been a chance to clarify, to remember Tony he loved him above anything else.

“Did you take off your shirt?” Bucky asked, bringing Steve back to the real world. He stopped with the fork mid-air, his lips already parted to take in the next enormous bite. He probably looked like a fool, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed, but he couldn’t process what he heard.

“Are you joking?” Steve let out another growl, a warning that resounded in the room. Bucky provoked his instincts by joking about his expecting Omega, and about the fight they had, as weird as it could sound. The other Alpha didn’t wince, he shrugged and dunk the spoon in the milk, while pouring more Cap’n Crunch.

“It works with Sam ‘n Clint,” he spoke while chewing, and it wasn’t pretty. A memory soothed Steve’s spirit: Bucky used to lose his charm when there were only the two of them.

“What?” He sounded hopeless. He needed all the help he could get to make Tony happy again. Tony’s anger was bad for both of them: his Omega was on edge, he was feeling the need to hide from his Alpha, and Steve couldn’t take care of his lovely Omega.

“Just take off your shirt and enjoy the show,”

Steve rolled his eyes up, and Bucky pointed the spoon toward him.

“Hey, how come after seventy years I’m still teaching you how to court pretty Omegas?” He sounded a lot accusatory for Steve’s likings, with the pointy spoon in his direction.

“And after seventy years, I’m still ignoring you,” he answered, very mature. His best friend had the ability to make him sound like a sixteen-year-old again.

They finished their breakfast in peace, Steve still focused on attacking the food and Bucky looking at him with a wry grin plastered on his face, sometimes chuckling and shaking his head, as if Steve was definitely beyond help.

+

After breakfast, Steve joined Sam in the gym, and actually asked for suggestions. Sam’s moral compass often led him to a solution; he trusted Bucky with all his life, but they still had very different ideas about relationships.

In fact, Bucky had joined Sam and Clint, who were already mates, after having experienced the free life twenty-first century allowed, while he had had his eyes only on Tony since he fell from a wormhole in the battle of New York.

After Sam finished laughing at him for being both dramatic idiots - Steve didn’t get upset anymore, he was quite used to it and limited to roll his eyes - he tried for real to help a friend in need.

Talking with him and releasing some frustration against two punching bags, made him recover sufficient calm to confront his Omega. He stopped for a shower first: Tony didn’t like when he showed sweaty in his lab, and the Omega’s mad already. Better not to make it any harder.

He sighed of relief when his passcode opened the tinted glass door: Tony threatened him more than once to change it without letting his Alpha know, and Steve thought, that time, he could’ve done that for real.

“Tony?” He announced himself, looking around to find the genius.

Tony was working on a 3D holographic model of an iron man boot and he didn’t turn around to face Steve, he acknowledged his Alpha’s presence only by stiffing for a second.

“Can we talk?” Steve asked, hoping to get a real answer. He stepped nearby, sitting on a swivel chair and leaning forward. He didn’t want to impose on his Omega, hence being on a lower height than him usually helped.

“What, you wanna ask if I’ve slept and eaten enough for the baby’s health?” He sounded strongly bitter. What would’ve been so terrible about that, anyway?

He knew Tony cared about their child as much as himself and was trying to quit bad habits like not eating enough, or not getting enough sleep, because he was too focused on something else.

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but Tony cut him off.

“Don’t waste your time here, I did, I did. I slept all night and ate everything you left, and I also watched a documentary about giving births, Jarvis will confirm it. It was disgusting, by the way. The documentary, not the food. Now that I think about it, also the food wasn’t that good. Clint had to remove every little piece of mango from my fruit salad. Why did you put it, were you trying to poison me?” A rush of words hit Steve, leaving him disoriented and confused. Tony was talking and moving agitated, and the growls Steve was hearing weren’t a good sign either.

“Wait, Omega wait. Of course I wasn’t trying to poison you. Since when you don’t like mangoes? You made me buy one just the other day,” it wasn’t the first time Tony was being unreasonable, and his pregnancy hormones made it worse.

“Can’t I change my mind? I bet you wouldn’t hold it against your child!” He yelled in Steve’s face, who was looking more worried second after second.

“I’m not holding anything against you, I didn’t even bring it up! Why do you think everything I say is only about our child?” He resisted the urge to stand up and to physically make Tony listen to him. He would never hurt his Omega, but someone needed to get him out from his own head.

“’Cause it’s true! I know when you said I love you, in reality you mean the baby. I don’t matter anymore, and you’ll get rid of me eventually,” that only left Steve with the most ridiculously baffled expression, with open wide mouth and eyes.

He was about to talk back, and standing up just to make a point, but arguing with Tony exhausted him and it wasn’t good for the Omega too. He didn’t want to spend another night alone, and not being able to look at Tony in the morning, wandering around with the cutest sleepy head and making grabbing hands toward him until Steve put a mug of hot coffee under his nose. Well, it hadn’t been coffee since the Omega got pregnant, but they didn’t talk about it.

Forgetting everything Sam said only half an hour earlier, Steve stood up carefully, without meaning to appear authoritative. He unbuttoned the three buttons of his gray Henley shirt, after which he removed it in a slow motion. Tony and his growls froze, and it was his turn to look stunned and bewildered.

“Huh, oh. You’re... You had...” He waved with his hands in Steve’s chest direction. “There are muscles,” He had his mouth wide open and was gasping for hair, without stopping his hands which were creating imaginary shapes in the air at Steve’s abs height.

That was new for Steve: he knew very well Tony could ramble disconnected words for minutes when he was nervous, but he was never wordless. Steve couldn’t remember a time when Tony had to search for words, instead of having a million of them already on the tip of his tongue, ready to talk a mile a minute.

He didn’t look upset anymore, and that was very positive, therefore Steve decided to use that as an opportunity to make peace. Since Tony was remaining still, except for his hands and mouth, he closed the distance and took Tony’s wrists, yanking slightly to make his Omega pressing his fingers against his own chest.

Tony’s scent instantly surrounded them, sweet and yet powerful, leaving Steve amazed. It was the scent of a pregnant Omega: it smelled like fresh, beautiful flowers, with something of warm and tantalizing brought about by his arousal.

His Omega was excited, and Steve released a low rumble of approval from his chest.

“O-oh,” Tony stammered, stroking him over his pectorals and down to the abdomen, following the marked lines of his muscles. “God, you’re gorgeous,” a purr from the Omega, vibrating though his body and curling the edge of the words.

The purrs increased as Tony pressed his faced in the middle of his chest and inhaled deeply. “Alpha,” he moaned around the word, melting like the sweet, perfect Omega he was.

Steve couldn’t believe Bucky’s questionable method worked, for that reason he took a few seconds before reacting. He had his Omega completely relaxed against him, his delicious scent was filling his nose and he could sense a rush of Tony’s wet slick pooling between his thighs. Fuck, he could already feel the delicious taste on his tongue.

He let go of Tony’s wrists and embraced him with an arm, lifting his chin up with the other hand, forcing him to look up. Tony’s eyes were lost in the haze of pleasure, his vision was blurred, softening at the edges.

Steve’s smile was soft then, sweetened by Tony’s cute expression and loud purrs. “You okay sweet thing?” He asked softly, bumping their noses together affectionately.

The Omega buried his face again in Steve’s neck and nodded, still stroking his fingers over the Alpha’s muscles. “’m fine,” words muffled by his position, but Steve already knew it, anyway. “You smell good,” he mewled, stroking his lips against Steve’s skin, making the Alpha groan, his eyes falling shut.

Steve tried to ignore the tightness in his pants; as badly as he wanted to bend his Omega over the nearest surface and resume the previous night activities, for the sake of his marriage he forced himself to settle. Bucky’s method was dangerous, having Tony’s pliant in his arms was making him forget he had somewhat hurt his Omega.

The Alpha allowed himself only a deep breath of Tony’s hot scent, rumbling deep in his chest, a coaxing sound that had his Omega purring in response.

“You smell incredible,” he stated breathlessly. He was overwhelmed by how good the Omega smelled, and his hands, both on Tony’s back hugging him tight, twitched to grab two handfuls of his swell ass.

“Wanna tell me why you were mad?” He nuzzled his nose in the Omega’s hair, stroking his back and shoulders gently.

Tony circled Steve’s neck with both arms, and looked at him directly in the eyes, for real that time. Steve waited, gaze awed by the beautiful face he was observing, and the Omega stuck out his lips, closing his eyes and leaning forward.

He was demanding a kiss, and Steve huffed a laugh, but he wasn’t really laughing, it was full of fondness as he gave Tony what was due him. “Cute Omega”, he whispered, kissing him carefully, cupping his jaw gently, his thumb brushing over his cheek.

Tony’s answer was to purr again, knowing how he affected the Alpha. But Steve needed answers and growled back with a bit of a warning. The Omega pouted, so adorably the Alpha had to resist kissing him again.

“The baby gets all your attention, you never look at me anymore. You- You’ll grow tired of me, bored.”

“That’s not true, I always look at you,” Steve said seriously.

“Only at my belly,” he pouted more, and moved his gaze away.

“At you,” Steve’s voice was final, leaving no room for confusion or misunderstanding. He cupped Tony’s cheeks, gently, he didn’t force the Omega to look back at him but he did, and Steve kissed him on the lips. Tony wrinkled his nose but kissed his Alpha anyway, digging his fingers in Steve’s biceps and using them as a lift when he raised on tiptoes.

The kiss lasted long that time; they kept it chaste, soft lips moving across each other’s with a light caress, every little movement expressing every bit of love they had for each other. It was an amazingly big amount, and they felt it all. Tony tilted his head back, and the Alpha growled possessively at how perfect his Omega was, at how he tasted so good, all for him.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” Steve breathed the words on Tony’s lips, eyes half-open and fingers laced in dark, short hairs. “I’m still trying to figure out how to make you understand...”

“What?” Tony asked, blinking slowly. Steady purrs were vibrating from his throat.

“How amazing you are. Brilliant, the bravest person I’ve ever known. Too reckless for your own good, and it scares the hell out of me, but that’s how you are. Kind, funny, and so so very smart. You’re the only person who knew how to help me understand a world I could hardly recognize. I know I don’t talk about it, but it was bad before you. For me, it was terrible, I had lost everyone and everything I knew,” he had to stop for a second, just admiring the view.

Tony’s hazel eyes were wide open, liquid and wet at the edges. He wasn’t pouting anymore but his lips were still curled, as if he was keeping them still. He was. Tony’s lips always trembled a little when he was emotional, and it was another detail Steve loved about him.

“Are you gonna proposing again?” Tony’s throat sounded dry. Typical of him, joking at the worst possible time.

Steve chuckled, shook his head and pressed his lips on his Omega’s forehead, keeping them there. “Silly Omega, I would propose to you every day”

He heard a soft gasp from Tony, then strong arms circling his waist, and the profile of the Omega hiding below his chin. He fit there so well, the first time it happened it made Steve stop searching for a sense of belonging; he found his home.

“How could I ever be bored with you? I want to spend every day taking care of you, baby or not on the way. You’re the one I love, the one I want to grow old with, laughing at terrible jokes and worrying for your life every time you put yourself in danger to save others,”

Steve hugged Tony back as tightly as he could, straighten himself and lifting the Omega up with one smooth movement. Tony instinctively wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist as he did, without even a flinch, and still with his face hid in the Alpha’s neck.

“You’ve planned dis,” a sigh from the Omega, who sniffled. “You’ve planned to make me cry,” another sigh as he went on with his accuses.

Steve’s smile was big and bright, the kind that only Tony could make him do. He started moving slowly, the weight of his Omega was almost non-existent but in real he didn’t have a place in mind where to go. He just wanted to keep hugging Tony, soothing him with feather-light kisses on his cheek and gentle rumbles.

“Yes, I did. I’m a master strategist, I’ve planned to get you mad just to make you remember how good I am at removing shirts and do declarations of love,” he joked too, easing the atmosphere.

A wet giggle escaped from Tony, and his entire body shook because he was trying to not laugh. A fist bumped Steve’s shoulder, lightly but firm.

“You’re good at removing shirts,” the Omega confirmed.

“Are there any chances we can keep it between the two of us?”

“Not one, mister Rogers,” more giggles followed the words. Steve couldn’t blame him, Bucky’s method worked, eventually.

“What if I’ll bribe you, mister Rogers?” He asked affectionately. They both changed their last names after the wedding, and the complete version was Stark-Rogers, but every variant was like honey for his ears.

“... What kind of bribe?” The Omega asked after a moment, sounding amused and pretty interested.

They left the lab while talking; Tony was leaving a trail of delicate kisses on Steve’s neck and jaw, sometimes rubbing his nose against his skin to scent him. Steve was just gladly enjoying all those sweet attentions and couldn’t wait to reach their floors to reciprocate.

“Hum, I’m thinking about cheeseburgers and ice cream for lunch. How does it sound?”

“Shit, it sounds good,” and the keen Tony made, Steve could only consider it as lascivious. Maybe Steve was getting lunch earlier that day, a tasteful, trembling and moaning lunch.

[poughkeepsies]

haPpy birThDay mOm

Here, @letsgobethegoodguys, have this horribly written and paced garbage fire as a gift.

_________________________________

“Only you, man.”

“Wha’?” The arm draping over his still slightly feverish skin lifted, revealing the sweaty, unshaven face of Sam Winchester beneath. 

“This is literally the first year for as long as I can remember that nothing is actively trying to eat us on your birthday. And what do you do? Catch the flu. I swear it’s almost like you don’t want to eat the cake I slaved over for you.” 

“If it follows any of the same health guidelines as that ‘Elvis’ burger you’ve been trying to get me to eat, then I’m sure I don’t,” he followed, sitting up with a grunt. “And this isn’t even that bad, we can still do whatever it was you had planned.” 

The words, coupled with the sight of his little brother looking like a character straight out of The Walking Dead, made him crack a grin. It was unreasonably adorable of his brother to have the muscle coordination of a puppet with its strings cut and still be so eager to do whatever Dean wanted, a fact that he will forever take to his grave. 

The poor bastard hadn’t even lasted a day after their last hunt last week, one that Dean himself had planned to be their last until after Sam’s birthday. With the seemingly never-ending string of trouble that followed them around, this was the first year where everything seemed to have finally settled down. Jody, Donna, and the girls were fine, Cas was fine, and there were no exceptionally evil forces waiting on the horizon. Even Mom was back, even if she was spending her second chance at life seemingly everywhere but with them. They hadn’t had a chance like this to just shut everything down and celebrate for years now, and Dean would be damned if he let it go to waste. 

Or that was the plan until Sam got the flu out of nowhere and Dean spent the rest of the week playing worried nursemaid with his half-conscious brother.  

“Yeah, no. You’re not getting out of that bed for anything other than your whizzer until I’ve personally cleared you. I’m Dr. Sexy M.d. now.” 

“I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth in that order or otherwise ever again, or so help me God I will bring Amara back and have her kill both of us.”

It was funny, how his brother could go from adorable and eager to an annoying pain the ass in the span of a second. “Dude, for the last time, delirious and bitchy is not a good look on you. Or anyone, for that matter.” 

“I’m gonna pass out so I don’t have to stay in this conversation. Wake me up when it’s time for us to go.” 

That was not happening. Even if Sam could hold up a conversation, that didn’t mean he was ready for the night out Dean had planned. Bars and girls were the extents of Dean’s experience with anything resembling a party, but right now, that would be enough to throw Sam back in bed for another week. 

On second thought, Sam probably wouldn’t even enjoy those things anyway. Sure, Dean liked to prod and pretend, but he was well aware of how his and his brother’s definitions of “fun” differed. 

In a fit of inspiration, he hurried to get out the door. 

“Yeah, not happening. Goodnight, bitch.” 

Neither the pillow nor the closing of the door could mute the exasperated “jerk” that sounded in his wake.  

Two hours, and one and a half trips to the store (“How did I forget the milk?! I only went to the store in the first place to get the milk! Son of a-”) later, Dean pried open the bunker door, only to find the sleeping, suspiciously clean, and well-dressed form of his brother waiting below in the War Room. He cursed softly and hurried down the stairs, immediately knowing the idiot’s well intentions. It took a single echo of his step on the War Room floor to jolt Sam awake so fast, he only just managed not to fall out of his chair. 

“-wake, I’m awake!” he claimed, sounding the exact opposite. Dean huffed, settling the bags down on the floor and making his way toward his brother.

“Oh good, then you can explain why you’re still trying to go rogue.” 

“De’, you know you’re not actually a doctor, right? You just watch one on TV.” The mix of his congested nose and clearly still sore throat did nothing for the stubborn air he was aiming for. 

“Well, you don’t even do that, so you don’t get to talk. Now go on,” he emphasized with a nudge to stand and a gentle shove toward the bedrooms, “Go put on something comfortable and pick a movie, we’re dining in tonight.” 

The moment Sam nodded his disgruntled acquiescence and started walking back, he was already scrambling to the kitchen to prepare. 

Twenty minutes later found Sam and Dean Winchester both half-sitting, half-laying down on Sam’s bed, plates of homemade chocolate cake in hand and looking the picture of annoyed-contentment. 

“It’s your turn.” 

“Nope.” 

“It’s your turn. You and I both know it is your turn.”

“Oh no, last time was my turn, which is why I got up and then had to watch The Princess Bride for the thousandth time, and now by law, you have to get up and put on what I want.” 

“Who made this law?”

“Whoever made up the idea of turns, how the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Oh my bad, you act like such a know-it-all all the time I just assumed.” 

“Just for that, we’re watching Forensic Files reruns next.”

“Alright, Samantha, no need to rub in your weird serial killer fetish.” 

Getting up with an unintelligible grumble, Dean made his way to the tv stand and put in the DVD from Sam’s old collection. They probably could have been using Netflix this entire time, everything seemed to be on there these days, but it was a fit of nostalgia that prompted them to go searching through the old collection, movies and tv shows that they’d acquired over the years and watched together hundreds of times as their form of downtime. Each of these disks held a rare memory of almost perfect normalcy, of more often than not two brothers almost sprawled over each other and bickering meaninglessly. 

Turning back, it was clear that no matter what Sam kept insisting, he was still sick and tiring out fast. It was only a few minutes after the show started and Dean settled back in his spot when Sam’s head dipped tiredly into the dip of his shoulder. Moving with earned ease, Dean instinctually slipped his arm behind his brothers back, turning him even more toward himself and settling back against the headboard, content to be used as a pillow for the rest of the night. He pressed a dry kiss to his brother’s scalp, whispering a soft “Happy birthday. Goodnight, Bitch” into the shaggy hair. 

This time, there was no reply. 

(And no hunts for another week either. What, was Dean supposed to somehow magically take care of his brother and not get sick himself? Heck off.)

[nickgerlich]

Eyes On You

Marketers have been watching consumers in their native habitat for more than 60 years now. It’s one thing to have sales data, but it’s so much better if you could couple those data points to observed behavior. Neighborhood Goods, a new concept store in Plano TX, is testing in-store cameras that can track individual paths through the store, and then link to actual purchases made. Along the way, analysts will be able to see how shoppers interacted with the products.

After all, it’s not always just about what sold, but also what did not sell, how long you spent in the store, your path through the store, and more. As Marketers like to think, more data are better than less data. Just think of the possibilities of future audience-of-one advertising!

Sixty years ago, the best that Marketers could do though was simply watch through two-way mirrors overlooking a grocery store. Humans would watch humans, and take notes of where they seemed to reach for products (face level really is the obvious best place for your product to be shelved), how long they pondered, whether they looked at an end cap display, etc.

But these data collections were feeble at best, highly suspect at worst, and limited to only the shoppers they tracked. It would have taken an army of viewers to watch everyone in the store, a true one-on-one effort.

In 2006, a company began testing shopping carts that were RFID-enabled, which allowed them to track movements within the store. It could detect how long a shopper lingered at a display, which aisles they perused and which they did not, and ultimately what was in the basket at check-out.

Even these were limited in that you could not keep an eye on the consumer. You knew where the cart was, but if the shopper is like me, the cart may sit for long periods while the shopper runs off to grab things. I can be random like that.

More recently, the Amazon Go store in test market features grab-and-go, with no check-out lines and no payments. The app-driven shopping experience uses an array of sensors to not only follow your footsteps, but also what you put in your basket. Just walk out the front door, as if you were a shoplifter. It’s a great push toward frictionless shopping, but still does not consider the visual aspect.

But Neighborhood Goods takes observation to an entirely new level, providing complete scrutiny of shoppers with all of the data one could ever want. And to lure shoppers in, there’s access to a unique array of goods that are normally only available online. 

Privacy advocates will no doubt howl about this, arguing that we should be able to shop without fear of our every move being observed. Of course, what they are forgetting is that the store is on private property, and our presence there is completely volitional. We are implicitly exchanging our information (e.g., how we shop, what we buy, etc.) in exchange for their product array, prices, etc.

If you don’t think that Amazon doesn’t already have a wealth of personal shopping information already collected, you have been living in a cave. The marketer in me loves this. It’s not that I want more advertising aimed at me. It’s that I want better advertising aimed at me. I want ads that are relevant to my wants and needs, my interests and likes. If a store discovers that I spend time checking out and ultimately buying a product like Oatly oat milk, then I am good with highly targeted ads trying to sell me not only Oatly, but other vegan products as well. That’s far better than seeing ads for regular cow’s milk, which I do not consume.

If it all feels like you have stepped into the novel 1984, you may very well be right. You know what? I’m OK with it. This is just the next logical step in Marketing, as we have long been giving up our data anyway. Even in the 1990s when many of us were using personal checks to pay for our groceries, the store had a lengthy file on what we bought. Amazon has been compiling data since its launch in 1995. Any store with a rewards program has done similarly. Adding cameras to the environment is not unreasonable.

Go ahead. Watch me. Film me. Maybe I will entertain you, but more likely than not, I will give you perfect consumer information. I gladly offer it to you in trade for better shopping experiences in the future.

Dr “Film At 11“ Gerlich

Audio Blog: https://soundcloud.com/nickgerlich/eyes-on-you

[imsickoftheseshadows]

London - A Short Story.

Harping did not define the emotion I experienced, for several months, after Axel had left me. 

Of course, Axel was not the only man I had pined for; in fact, there was Jack, the other musician who had flown across the Atlantic at summer’s close; there was Tim, a film professor at my university, and Enrique, a South American artist who had told me he was possessed by the devil. But Axel, the New York singer and delicatessen owner, had been special – He was thirty-five, six-foot three, and rail thin, with a vague Williamsburg air that was pretentious enough to clot a Californian cocktail. His first record, evocative of Blade Runner’s score, was perpetually spinning in my bedroom. He was a frequent collaborator with James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem, who I had admired twice as much as Axel, though had little fantasies about (I will admit I had developed crushes on several of my favorite artists, though James was lower on the totem pole aesthetically than someone of Axel’s caliber).

This recollection isn’t about Axel, but I cannot tell this story without him.

My twenty-first year had proven uneventful – I still spent too much time in collegiate cafes, scrolling through online-dating profiles, and reflecting on whether or not I would ever be ready to leave my comfortably suburban dwellings. I sensed a trace of finality about this season. It was my last autumn enrolled in university, and I would be deciding whether to pursue a professorial path, or obtain stability between the walls of a cubicle. My distraction, Axel, visited biyearly, when we would meet either at The Standard or The Roosevelt, and I would make the pilgrimage to Los Angeles. Already half a year had passed, and Axel was not to return until the following January.

My town was in its final stretch of Indian Summer on this particular evening – The saffron sun unfurled the paper night, brittle and arid. I settled into my bedroom, arrested by the mushroom clouds of milk enveloping my black tea. Halloween was a fortnight away, though I would be spending it in class. I thought about Axel regularly, simultaneously a daydream and a diversion, envisaging the perpetual cigarette dangling from his mouth. Tonight, he weighed heavy in my mind. I picked up my phone, and began to stalk his social media.

Nothing remarkable, I thought, as I peered at his posts. One of Axel’s newest videos, a capture of him expertly playing with a Moog synthesizer, had an entrancing, obscure comment. My ex-girlfriend told me she hates music. The commenter was familiar. I tapped on his thumbnail. The eyes, mass of ginger hair, and Cheshire grin, were reminiscent of Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange. His profile betrayed him. Beneath his portrait was the name of his band, which I instantly recognized as the English musicians who had scored my first break-up, and had several alternative hits in the US. Lovehurt, I recalled, and began to murmur the lyrics. I thought nothing more of it, and decided to follow him.

I returned to my homepage, and began to think of getting ready for bed. A silent banner flashed across my screen -- GeorgeGibson has followed you. I reclined, falling betwixt my pillows, and held my phone over my head.

No harm in liking a few of his photos – Is three years ago too far? I sensed my desperation. I was in bed, fully-clothed, and it was nearing midnight. My tea had gone cold, and my cat was fast asleep at the foot of my bed. George was sensationally attractive, though I couldn’t imagine being so ambitious as to write to him.

My phone vibrated with another notification.

Hello Madame, it read, in the form of a direct message. I hesitated to respond. Is this really happening? I rolled over onto my belly. Where are you from, I typed. It’s quite late here.

I live in London, he replied. Have you ever been?

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

We corresponded via WhatsApp over the course of two months – He sent me music; I responded with poetry. Facetime became our preferred mode of communication, though the time difference made it difficult to coordinate our video chats. I began to fear that our contact would eventually taper off, especially when my boredom seemed so conclusively quelled. I blocked Axel, in case George ever asked about us.

I’ve never left the country, I wrote, but I’ve always wanted to see England.

He had spoken of the prospect of me visiting him in prior conversations – I conjured up possible stories to tell my family, if I hypothetically, unexpectedly set off for London. We’re still strangers, I thought. Constant correspondences or not – But when will I ever have the chance to take a trip like this again?

I basked in this quaint fantasy by making an appointment to apply for a passport. No harm in having one of these on hand. I drove down to Orange County, two hours south of my house, to retrieve a copy of my birth certificate. My passport arrived within two weeks. Tickets to London were unreasonably cheap, though I had heard London in January was brutal. I wavered between fiction and reality – George, the famed musician, and George, the friend I had made, so eager to take me to the stationary shops with Italian stamps from the 1970s. I checked plane tickets daily, and told George I was on the verge of making a life-altering purchase.

Know I can only spend a couple of days with you, Taylor, he typed. My band will murder me if I’m away from our recording session for more than a weekend.

I was at my local café, alternating between sips of black coffee and bites of an overcooked frittata. My bangs had grown long enough to tuck behind my ears – I nervously fingered each strand, calculating my response. Christmas was to come and go, as though the seasons had become perpetually stagnant. It could rain for days, and the sky would still be a blaze of azure at dusk.

It doesn’t matter, I answered. The tickets are mine, and I arrive three weeks from today.

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

I feigned connectivity issues. I silenced all notifications, and then turned on Airplane Mode. I wanted to be certain – I wanted to be confident that not a single person, even those I had entrusted with my private line, would contact me for the next five days. LAX was bustling with people, and I was anxious to remain remote until we were tens of thousands of feet above the technicolor skyline. I had no idea that there was one terminal for all departing international flights. I wore three sweaters to lighten my carry-on, and arrived six hours before my flight.

My parents did not know I was leaving until I boarded the plane. My mother sobbed when she found out, and I consoled her by stating I would phone her the second I landed. I didn’t. My story was simple: I was off to London for a girl’s trip with one of my best friends from high school. It was a spontaneous, last-minute decision that we decided we had to do before graduating college.

George was concerned. How could you not tell your parents, he had written, moments before I boarded the plane. My story was partially true – It was spontaneous, as in, I would have never left America if I hadn’t felt compelled to conduct a transatlantic, pseudo-love affair. George had urged me, and now my departure was met with cool reserve. I started to question my mental state. I ordered three glasses of wine, one after the other, upon takeoff. 

I touched down in London around 10 in the morning, and the ground had been veiled by impenetrable clouds, as though I had fallen into heaven – all was in reverse. I noted the specks of cars lining the roads in the opposite direction; the silver buildings and the lush foliage. The tarmac was barely visible from my window, but the jet bridge was clear – and on the other side would be a man and a city, and he was to be my tour guide for the first two days.

Before dealing with border control, I hurried to the airport’s restroom. No toilet seat covers. I caught a glimpse of my reflection -- Perspiration ruined my hair and the little makeup I had applied. Fortunately, I had a spare pair of hoop earrings in my purse, but my complexion remained ghastly. I rushed through the border, anxious in line. I quickly handed over my unblemished passport to the border control officer.

“Who do you know here?” I paused, searching for the answer in the lines of my arrival card.

“It’s a friend – An Internet friend, whom I will be checking into the Hilton in Islington with.”

The officers, an elderly man and towering woman, exchanged dubious glances. They asked for more information. I acquiesced, thrusted my return ticket in their faces, and after several minutes, was allowed through.

The escalator was in sight, and I began to sense an onset of anxiety – I am in a foreign country, about to check-in to my first hotel. I stumbled over my carmine suitcase as I approached the exit; my luggage matched my tired eyes. The heels I had worn so well in Los Angeles were unfit for cobblestone streets, and I clumsily found him, in the front of the crowd, with a ticket for the Heathrow Express in his right hand. 

We embraced, and upon contact, my visage colored damask rose. 

He was five-foot-eleven, and wore a brown bomber jacket with black leather boots. He pursed his lips, full and heavenly, while I stared, in awe. George was cool in a European sense – He owned boots, and trainers, and foreign vintage labels, but was a minimalist and adored neutral colorways. His accent, crisp and clipped, was warm, and I instantly wondered what it would be like to miss him after only two days.

He took my luggage with his left hand, and we dashed toward the train.

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

We arrived at the Hilton in a black cab. He upgraded my room. We made love for an hour, and I thought I was going to faint.

“I want to take you around Islington,” he whispered. 

Morning had bled into afternoon, and we were languorous, lazy and lounging. I happily obliged, sensing the ghost of passion about my being. I changed into a dress, and reapplied my eyeliner, but remained equal parts self-conscious and jet-lagged. Does he find me as attractive as he did online? It was frivolous to question this, though my mind was tainted with uncertain thoughts. He put on his trousers, then laced up his boots. My parka, bought at a discount, was colossal for my frame. He smiled endearingly, and we took the elevator to the lobby.

I was clumsy against cobblestone, my ankles buckling beneath me – George caught me twice, and kissed me with each fall. We arrived at a bijou cocktail lounge in Clerkenwell, which appeared to be a repurposed home – the corridor led into segregated rooms, with hundreds of vintage books along each wall. We both had whiskey – This will wake you up. I quietly quaffed my drink, while he took apathetic sips of his. He grasped my hand.

“It’s so lovely that you’re here,” he paused, studying my expression. “Are you feeling okay?”

I was drowsy, disengaged, and enamored. The stained-glass windows could not hide the somber skies, yet I gazed at each cloud lovingly. Everything was perfect.

He took me to another lounge, and then to the British Film Institute, where I imbibed a glass of Malbec in the café. A Hot Chip song boomed through the stereo, and he reminisced the time that he played at a festival with them. Alt-J played next, and he discussed his disdain. I finished my drink and wandered toward the gift shop, where I searched for obscure British DVDs, blissfully unaware that they were region 2 locked (until arriving home). I hung onto his every recommendation, as a schoolgirl would a handsome instructor. I chose Jean-Luc Godard cinema critiques and Stanley Kubrick’s photo book. He picked up a copy of Caligula.

By nightfall, we had arrived at our final bar, which was two-stories, with the bottom floor having been fashioned from a basement. A beautiful woman in a blue beret was reading Proust by the entrance, and he commented on the pretentiousness of the lounge. We went back to the hotel shortly after, as my exhaustion had faded into delirium.

I woke up around 2 am. I noticed that he had spilt tears of wine; red vino, according to the bottle, a Tempranillo. I think I had it in Echo Park one lonely summer ago. The crisp, white sheets were speckled with blood. He turned over, noticing that I was awake – He kissed me, and I realized that I was ravenous, for the first time since leaving Los Angeles. 

He went to buy us a kebab, England’s guiltiest pleasure (I found this out much later). He left the BBC on, and the reporter was exploring Donald Trump’s ascension to the presidency. Not here. I changed the channel, and absentmindedly flipped past an Amy Winehouse documentary. I began to thumb through my newly acquired Jean-Luc Godard book, then sifted through the treasures of the day.

By the second chapter, the door swung open, and George appeared, grinning, with a fistful of candy and two kebabs. I pulled the covers over my head as he fell into bed next to me; devouring the kebab, popping open a can of Coca Cola. He unfastened his duffel bag, and revealed bags of chips not sold in America. I clasped the delicacies close to my heart, and dissected the Reese’s Pieces bar.

“You don’t understand,” I laughed. “This is a novelty to me!”

We finished our respective dinners, and slept until noon.

Our room was littered with candy-wrappers and wine bottles; our ardent affair had been in view of several landmarks – the London Eye was in sight, and Big Ben was covered in scaffolding.

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

The following day, George showed me his favorite stationary store, Present & Correct. He bought a stamp book, and then promptly lost it at the second scarlet pub we went to. We began our afternoon at a café, where everyone drank their coffee black and from a French press. The coffee was rich enough that creamer was unnecessary – I tasted it slowly, for pleasure, and because I knew he would be leaving at midnight. We went back to the British Film Institute, and he explained a music project he conducted, where he had recorded the sounds of London, while I examined other books from more obscure directors. I kept forgetting that I listened to his music for a number of years before knowing who he was. He stopped speaking for a moment, and shyly reached for my hand.

“George,” I paused. “Do you really have to leave tonight?”

He waited, appearing distraught. “I want you to come be with me in the summer. Can you do that?”

We sauntered to another pub, each one more grandiose than the last. I began to drink out of apprehension, dissolving my worry with each swallow. I wasn’t sure if he noticed – If he did, he didn’t seem to mind. I grew bored of the pub; I grew exhausted of our reservations. I remained awestruck, which translated into perceivable uneasiness, and called for medicinal drinking.

We stopped in Charing Cross, London, after mindlessly walking through the city. He stopped to show me his old apartment, which was built beneath one of the many cobblestone streets. I was two glasses of wine in, and twice as lecherous. He took me to Foyles, knowing such bookstores had fallen out of popularity in America. I bought a book on witchcraft, a Gustav Klimt novel (solely because of a chapter titled “Klimt’s Women”), and an autobiography entitled Art Sex Music (a friend I met later would call this his curriculum vitae) at George’s urging. I didn’t want to forget my fleeting emotions, nor him. I knew our time together was rapidly dissipating. The sky had blackened, as had my mood, though the wine began to enhance my synthetic insouciance.

George chose an Italian restaurant – Why not beans on toast? I knew nothing of British cuisine, and trusted his selection. We sat next to a heat lamp outdoors, in the frigid night, as there were no seats left inside. I peeled off my homely parka, even though I was cold, to remind him of desire. We caroused some more, and I embarrassed myself with comments of a dramatically wretched past – A lack of female friendship, men in power that had plagued my adolescence, and inappropriate commentary on my familial ties. He politely beamed the entire way through, even as I mistakenly slurped my pasta, and messily consumed a slice of his pork pizza. I poured the remainder of the Tempranillo into my glass, and asked him again to stay.

I was not immune to the social anxiety I faced at home – Abroad, I was aware of my unpalatable Californian accent and absence of fashionable clothing. I became hyper-conscious of my unnaturally stiff disposition. He was understanding, but courteously, clinically so. I knew I would be infatuated with him for months after our transatlantic love affair -- I silently wondered if he would ever tell Axel about a young, nameless brunette girl from Los Angeles, who flew across the Atlantic Ocean to make love to him.

He walked me back to the hotel, as I half-smiled and asked him to be with me one final time.

“We’re never going to see each other again.” I spoke with finality.

“I know we will. I’m coming to Los Angeles soon, don’t cry.”

As soon as the door slammed shut, I undressed, filled the bathtub, then mourned my solitude – a constant sob ebbed and flowed. I wrote, incomprehensibly, in my sanguine, store-bought moleskin journal. I took my phone off airplane mode. I sent him a thank you note, fully understanding that I would never see him again. Several moments passed, and twenty text messages from my family came through. I turned on the BBC, and stayed up all night. I became pragmatic at the break of dawn.

I texted my friends, those of which who had known of my secret trip, and then fell into fits of laughter, for two reasons:

I had no idea why I was crying at the Hilton, in a double bed, and God, I had gotten stupidly wine-drunk.

[gosecretscribbles]

Brothers

This is a Mob Psycho 100 fanfic.  It’s part of Attic AU, an AU of phantomrose96's AU "A Breach of Trust". (Go read it, it's awesome.) In the Attic AU, Mob was kidnapped by the spirit Mogami. Reigen tried to stop Mogami but was captured, too. After a year, Reigen finally exorcised him and rescued Mob.

This part happens after Mob and Reigen have escaped, and they're still adjusting to normalcy. Ritsu feels a bit jealous that Reigen's spending time with his brother. He tries to spend time with Mob and struggles with feeling selfish and jealous. Mob finally gets him to talk about it.

Ritsu heard something break, followed by a small cry.  He jumped up from the couch and hurried down the hall.

Mob was standing in the middle of his old – no, his real bedroom, slightly crouched and panicked-looking.  Weird light fizzed and glittered sharply in the air around him.  Reigen was standing in front of Mob, talking with his usual dry assurance.

“– could've gone better,” Reigen said, not even glancing at the shattered cup at their feet.  “Just breathe, kid.  You got this.”

Ritsu watched from the doorway.  He'd never actually seen Mob's barrier, but he could guess that that was what made the bubble of nasty light around his brother.  Reigen couched Mob through controlling his breathing and focusing on using his powers for something small, like putting the cup back together.  After a minute, the barrier sizzled away.

Mob picked up the cup.  “I've never broken anything with the barrier,” he said shakily.  “Is it – getting stronger?”

“Probably.” Reigen shrugged.  “But so're you.  You've already broken the hypnosis.  You've kept your barrier shut off for, what, like ten hours now?”

Mob nodded, still looking at the cup.

“Aw, c'mon.”  Reigen planted a hand on Mob's head and ruffled his hair. “I keep tellin' you, kid, focus on the positive.  You're way stronger than you think you are.”

Ritsu's gut tightened, and before he knew it he was stepping into the room. “Hi, Nii-san.”

Mob looked up and smiled.  “Ritsu.  Sorry, did we disturb you?”

“No, no...”  Ritsu noticed Reigen had taken his hand from Mob's head, but he was still standing pretty close.  Like they were family or something.  “Let's go to the corner store,” he said suddenly.

Mob tensed.  “I – but just now, the barrier –”

“Just go already.”  Reigen gave Mob a gentle push.  “We've been practicing forever.  You could use the break.  And I could use the time to satisfy some customers.”  Reigen had opened an online consulting service to build up his savings again.  It saved travel and office expenses, and it was much safer than working in person, especially while his health still wasn't back to normal.  “Hurry up already, I've got a clientele base to build.”

Mob still looked anxious.  “I don't –”

“Just for a few minutes?” Ritsu asked, stepping forward.  “Look – there's no barrier around you at all.  Plus, we could even get milk...”

Five minutes later, Ritsu and Mob were walking out the door.  Mob had on a heavy sweater – he was still pretty thin from his diet of soup, and he got chills easily.  

“They sell flavored milk at the store now,” Ritsu said, as they started to walk.  “I know you like regular milk, but they have strawberry and chocolate milk now, too.  I guess Yamada-san finally caved to peer pressure.  I mean the vending machines at school have had flavored milk for ages.  I've never actually tried it, though.  I always bring a lunch from home...”

Mob looked around as Ritsu talked.  Anything that moved, anything that was brightly colored, the people, the cars, even a plane overhead – Mob acted like he was seeing it for the first time.  No, more like he was reunited with them, like a family he was greeting with his eyes. He glanced at Ritsu, too, but never for very long.  

Ritsu kept talking, but his stomach was hurting a little.  First Reigen. Now everything else.  After five years it was like he still didn't have his brother back.

No, no, that's stupid.  And it's not fair to Nii-san.  Focus on what Nii-san needs, don't be selfish.

They reached the store.  Mob, predictably, asked for a quart of regular milk.  Ritsu didn't feel much like drinking, but for the sake of politeness he got a soda.  A popular brand – he didn't actually look at the name.  He paid for their purchases, grateful that Yamada-san was so engrossed in her novels that she didn't ask Mob awkward questions.

On the way back, Ritsu noticed that Mob was starting to look a bit flushed.  His eyes were still bright, like he was trying to drink it all in, but he was getting overwhelmed with stimulation.  

“Maybe we could sit for a minute,” Ritsu suggested.  

Mob made a small noise of agreement.

So Ritsu guided them to a small grassy lawn that bordered a local business building.  It was supposed to be a lunch space, he guessed, because there were a few concrete tables and a bench at the edge of the lawn, and a fancy-looking fountain in the middle.  

They took the bench and opened their drinks, watching the passers-by. Ritsu noticed his brother sat a little away from him.  He knew Mob was probably just worried about the barrier, but it stung a little. He tried to ignore it.  

“Nice day for it,” Ritsu said instead, glancing at Mob.  

Mob was looking up into the branches of a nearby tree, his quart of milk resting forgotten on his knee.

“Nii-san?”

“Yes.”  Mob turned.

The look in his eyes made Ritsu flinch.  “What's wrong?” he asked.  “If something's bothering you, you can talk to me.”

Mob smiled slightly.  “I know, Otouto.  You always tell me that.”

“Well, it's still true.  You can talk to me about anything.”

Mob stayed quiet, still looking at Ritsu.  

“What?” he gave a chuckle.  “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.  I'm just happy that I get to look at you.”

Ritsu's eyes stung.  He swallowed.  

“I admire you,” Mob continued.  “You're so smart, Ritsu.  Mom and Dad told me.  Are you going to run for President of the Student Council next year?  I think you could do it, Ritsu.”

“I-I don't know.”  He'd lied to his parents about joining so he could search for Mob after school.  “I might just run for a lower office.  Work up to it.”

Mob nodded.  “You're always confident and self-controlled.  I think you'd be amazing at whatever office you chose.  If I get to go back to school, I'd support you.”

“'If'?” Ritsu repeated.  He realized they'd never actually talked about Mob going to back to school.  It seemed ludicrous, somehow, to think that after five years of loss things could just – snap back to normal.  

Mob was still looking at him, his dark eyes meeting Ritsu's. “Otouto...do you think you could help me with my studies?  I was only average at school, and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Teach me, too,” Ritsu blurted.

Mob blinked.  “Eh?”

Ritsu thrust out his hand.  Nine perfect spheres of water rose out of the fountain, clear and smooth as glass.  They began to spin, first in place, then orbiting the fountain, until finally they burst apart into a mist so fine that a rainbow appeared in the air, shimmering like a silk scarf.

Mob leaned forward in awe.  “Ritsu!  That was you?”

“My powers awakened a while ago,” Ritsu said, lightly rubbing his wrist.  “I met this guy from another school – he's psychic, too. He was sort of teaching me, but mostly I think he just hung around to mess with me.  Anyway, Nii-san, could you teach me how to use them like you?”

Mob was smiling – a small smile, but the biggest one Ritsu had seen yet.  “Ritsu, you're incredible!  Do you mean you learned the water trick on your own?”

Ritsu grinned.  “Sort of.”

Mob stood up.  “Let's ask Reigen if he'll teach you, too!”

The mention of Reigen made him stiffen.  Ritsu opened his mouth to protest – then caught himself.  Reigen was the one who had rescued Mob, and the only one who had helped him with the barrier.  Ritsu was being selfish wanting to keep him away from Mob.  If it meant spending time with his brother, Ritsu could handle sharing him with Reigen.  

He stood up.  “Alright, let's go back.”  

“Ritsu...?”

He'd had already gone a few steps.  When he turned back, Mob hadn't followed.  “C'mon, don't you want to ask Reigen for lessons?”

Mob looked concerned.  “Ritsu, what's wrong?”

Aside from the fact that I'm being completely selfish, jealous, and unreasonable?

He hesitated too long.  Mob reached out very slowly and took the corner of Ritsu's sleeve between two fingers.  Ritsu looked down in shock.  Mob didn't touching because he was always afraid the barrier would hurt them.  

“You can talk to me,” Mob said.

“I just really missed you,” Ritsu said quietly.  His throat was tight.  “I don't really know you anymore.  Reigen does.  But I don't.”

Mob was silent for a moment.  “Ritsu...do you remember how to play Ichi?”

“What?”

“Ichi,” Mob repeated, smiling.  “The card game.  From when you were little.  Sometimes, when I won several games in a row, you teased me and said I was using my powers to cheat.”

Ritsu half-smiled.  “I remember.”

“Let's play it again.  Just us.”

“Really?”

Agh, I sound like a little kid, he thought.  But at the moment he didn't much care.

Mob nodded.  “ I forgot most of the rules, though.”

“I can teach you,” Ritsu said, smiling.

Mob smiled back.  “I know, Ritsu.  Let's go home.”

[seoftheart]

saturday breakfasts // jaehyun

plot: There’s something that attracts you towards Jaehyun – be it his good looks, his wits, or just how nice his breakfasts smell when he eats on the terrace next to your kitchen window.

category: fluff + failed comedy + college/neighbour au

words: 1359

The chirping of the birds outside mixes with the clamour of the busy streets surrounding your block of flats. You wake up to the growling of your stomach and look around. Round your bedroom, cardboard boxes of pizza, plastic instant ramen cups and cans of Cola are piled and mixed with worn clothes and college books and notes you’ve been earnestly taking. You rub your eyes - the sun has long ago risen and now shines brightly through window of your room.

It is Saturday. Saturday, as in the day of the week after Friday and before Sunday. Saturday, as in the sixth day of the week. Saturday, as in the day you don’t go to college and the day you spend doing absolutely nothing. You lazily exit your bed and make your way to the kitchen. The sink is littered with a bunch of dirty dishes and but you ignore the sight as you are already reaching to open the fridge. It is empty. Well, it is not empty, it has a bottle of milk and a few eggs, but nothing more than that.

You frown. “Eggs.”

If you applied for a dorm at the campus, you wouldn’t have to concern yourself with what to eat every day as you’d be offered food at the cafeteria. However, you thought it would be easier living on your own. That didn’t work out quite the way you wanted it to be, though. For the past two weeks you’ve been eating nothing but cheap ramen and eggs, excluding a few nights you could afford to order a pizza. Boiled eggs, fried eggs, omelette, poached eggs, scrambled eggs, egg sandwich, egg in a basket, Chinese steamed eggs, Gyeranppang. If anything, college has taught you how to prepare eggs in 100 different ways. Take that, Y/N.

Suddenly comes a noise from the flat next door and your stomach growls in response. Music is not the most wanted thing you want to hear right now. You’re starving and all you want is to do is eat something – anything – but with no eggs involved. The beeping of a microwave interrupts the music, but the song then gets only louder, live vocals now present as well.

“I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was,” you hear him sing the Pokemon theme, “To catch them all is my real test, to train them is my cause!” It’d be fine if he just sang the lyrics, but your neighbour seems to include the backup vocals, guitar riffs and drums throughout the whole bridge as well. If there was no wall between the two of you, you are sure you would be able to see him head-banging and throwing Pokemon balls at inanimate objects as well.

Your neighbour, Jung Jaehyun, is more or less your classmate on a few optional classes you chose to attend just because you needed more points for a scholarship, but you never really talked as you never needed to. Or maybe because you’ve always had this urge to avoid him at all costs (be it because he sometimes seemed a bit intimidating or because you managed to fall face first right in front of him). Either way, you don’t feel like having anything to do with Jaehyun. However, there was always this one thing that always attracted you towards him, and that is (even though you never wanted to admit) the smell of his breakfast when he decides to eat on the terrace next to your kitchen window. Your stomach growls once again and you curse to yourself.

The next thing you know, you’re at Jaehyun’s front door – dressed in the first thing you found on the floor that looked fairly decent to wear when meeting your loud neighbour. Well, maybe your socks don’t match, but it’s not like he’ll see them, anyway. You’re just going there to quickly ask him for a little favour, nothing more.

“I’m sorry, but can you turn the volume down a little bit?” you smile, trying to look as friendly as you can in your hungry state, “I can’t starve in peace.”

You notice a faint blush forming on his cheeks, and he laughs awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Maybe I’d let it go if you played a bit of Chopin or Debussy,” you lean against the doorframe and chuckle, “Or any other music, really. I hear that same song every day over and over again thanks to my best friend.”

“Maybe if you dropped by sometime, you could give me some music recommendations,” he retorts, with a certain glint in his eyes and a smile playing on his lips.

You’re not sure what that is supposed to mean exactly, but you realise it’s either him trying to be friendly or failing at flirting with you. Either way, you find him quite nice, despite having unreasonable disliking for him after he saw you in your worst state.

Jaehyun chuckles, “Perhaps we can eat something while we’re at it, too.”

The young man’s flat is not much different than yours. When you look at it, they’re almost identical, but his is way brighter and way cleaner. You can easily move around the flat like you have been living there for as long as you could remember, but that only confuses Jaehyun.

“My place is similarly arranged, that’s why,” you defend yourself, even without him asking anything. He just smiles and you proceed to the small living room. Your sight is met with a piano, and it leaves you genuinely surprised because there is no way a college student could afford to have such a thing in their flat. He must be damn rich.

Jaehyun seems to notice your curiosity and puts a hand on your shoulder. “The previous occupant of this flat bought this piano, but didn’t want to bring it with him when he moved out. That’s why I have a piano in my humble suite.”

Oh. You feel a bit bad for judging him before knowing anything. You laugh sheepishly, “Can you play it?”

“I’m majoring music,” he gives you a cheeky smile, “Of course I can.”

You feel a rush of blood go to your cheeks and a funny laugh escapes your lips. It is not like you knew he was majoring in music, and it is not like you’ve ever seen him at college when passing by the place occupied by music majors, for god’s sake - he was taking Chemistry classes with you! Though, there certainly were clues you could’ve picked up that would tell you he was into music, now that you think about it. His singing off-tune, for example. You can’t help but snicker.

“The horrible singing you heard was unintentional,” Jaehyun quickly adds, as if he can read your thoughts.

“Right,” you laugh, hiding your mouth with the back of your hand, “And I’m Adriana Lima then.”

Jaehyun looks like he’s thinking about something for a bit, his lips getting pouty and a dimple protruding on his cheek. Then he says, still pensive, “I’m not sure who she is, but I’m quite sure she can’t be prettier.”

Another wave of heat comes to your cheeks and you feel light dizziness in your head. You’re eager to make a nice comeback to that and continue that little flirting the two of you got there, but your empty bowels beat you to it with a loud rumbling sound that fills the entire room. You try to brush it off, because there sure is no way you could embarrass yourself more than this. “Well, that growl sure was unintentional.”

“Right,” he laughs now, his deep voice ringing throughout the flat, “And I’m a god then. Come on, let’s have some late breakfast first?”

You only nod your head to his suggestion and follow him to the tiny kitchen where all the delicious cooking he eats on his terrace comes from. You can’t help but notice how broad and well-built his shoulders are. Maybe you don’t know about others, but to you, he sure looks like a god. A god who cooks well, at that.