#Ch. 9

[daily-chilchuck]

[boxofcondoms]

[sednonamoris]

hang ‘em high

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: A high stakes bank robbery forces you and John to confront exactly how close - and how far - you are from one another anymore.

Warnings: Canon-typical GUN VIOLENCE AND GORE, strong language, hostage situation, stand-off/shootout, arguments, horrible people doing horrible things, the most fucked up declaration(s) of love you’ve ever seen

Word count: 2,918

A/N: Why did the gang have to flee the West so dramatically and why did the law chase them so furiously?? Read to find out the ghost story version 🥰 (better notes on AO3 but i don’t want to spoil everything up here!!)

Series masterlist • AO3

—

“Ghost, kindly relieve these people of their valuables,” Dutch orders from behind the black bandana pulled snugly beneath his glittering eyes. 

Your own bandana hides a wild grin, all adrenaline and greed. Something savage in your eyes and the way that you move makes these smalltown folk afraid. The little of your face they do see is enough to have them emptying their pockets in short order. 

You like it.

Never do you feel more powerful than when pulling big jobs like this, ones even Dutch is in on. This bank will be emptied before the law can scramble together enough men to try you. You’ll all be gone, smoke on the wind, making off like the bandits you are. 

“Mr. M, take care of these vaults for us,” Dutch says to Arthur while holding the quaking teller at gunpoint, then jerks his head to direct John to the back entrance. The Callanders have the front of the building covered between them. 

You continue to work the cowering crowd. Sun streams in from high windows and paints them all in unforgiving noontime light. It glints off of their valuables. A woman in splotchy rouge clutches heirloom pearls to her throat for a wide-eyed, gaping moment before handing them over. A man in faded tweed tosses you his antique watch. Gold inlay. Initials etched on the inside. An older gentleman relinquishes silver cufflinks embossed with some sort of crest, faded from where they’ve been rubbed for luck over the years.

One by one you take their treasures, stuff them in your pockets ‘til they’re fit to bust, and then keep stuffing. You have no idea exactly how much it’s all worth; give you some good horseflesh and you can list off prices all day long, but this sort of work has never been your specialty. At a guess, it’s at least a hundred bucks. At the devastated, teary-eyed looks on the faces before you, you’d think it was their whole world. 

But what do these people know of the world? Of survival? 

One of the women glares up at you. She’s staunch and sturdy, middle-aged and measured. Furious in a suffering sort of way. 

“This is a hanging town,” she says. “When the sheriff gets his hands on you we’ll all watch you swing.”

You lean in, close and sudden, and kiss the barrel of your gun to the skin just beneath her dimpled chin. Her sharp inhale is barely audible over the commotion of Arthur blowing his way into the vaults in the next room.

“If you’re not careful, you won’t live to see much anything, Miss.”

Your grin grows wider for every inch she shrinks back in fear. Then, because you can’t resist, you call out to the boys on perimeter in your smuggest Van der Linde voice, asking if anyone’s seen hide or hair of this sheriff you’ve heard so much about.

The Callanders jeer their not here’s mean enough that you remember to pause and be grateful they’re on your side. You wait for a smart remark from John, raspy and rude, but none comes.

You try not to let it get to you - he’s been strange towards you ever since his return. Some days it’s like he never left, and others like there’s this vast, unknowable distance between you. This is the first big job you’ve worked together in almost two years now, and it’s not even because he wanted to; Dutch asked. 

Just as you let out a deprecating sigh and move to your next victim, the back door bursts open with a bang.

The whole of smalltown law marches in with John at gunpoint. The look in his eyes is equal parts fury and shame, and it burns when he meets the wild, cornered-animal look in yours. This isn’t supposed to happen. They aren’t supposed to even know you were here yet, let alone spring traps. Without thinking you snatch up the nearest person. Gun to their head, body covering yours, they are both hostage and shield. 

“Put the woman down,” the sheriff says, “and have everyone step out with their hands on their head.” 

His voice is thick with authority, but the light catches on beaded sweat dripping down his brow. His revolver is white-knuckled at John’s throat. 

“You first,” you sneer. “I promise, one hair on his head comes to harm and I’ll kill everyone here, starting with this bitch.” 

They all shift uncomfortably, trigger fingers itching to take the shot. They must know they’ll never beat you on the draw, and surely they can tell you mean every word. Only one man can break the stalemate, and he doesn’t leave you waiting long. 

“Well, gentleman,” Dutch interrupts smoothly, causing every head to snap in his direction, “looks like we’re at an impasse here.”

He steps out from behind the counter with a casual sort of grace, but his pistols are pointed, ready to fire. Over the ringing in your ears you can hear Arthur bagging the last of the money, and the sound of the Callanders coming in behind you with their own guns raised. 

“My friends and I are not unreasonable,” Dutch continues. He steps slowly and deliberately backwards toward the front doors, until he’s safely behind you. Arthur follows soon after. “If you let our man go, we let your people live. Simple as that.”

“I think we both know this ain’t simple,” the sheriff says. “The West is civilized, now. If you put down your weapons and hand over the woman I’ll see to it you all get a fair trial.”

You snort a disbelieving laugh. “Way I hear, it’ll be a mighty quick one. Your little lady friend tells me the gallows ‘round these parts stay busy.” 

His gaze hardens when you mention his take on justice, and you realize this isn’t going to be an easy out. Goddamnit.

“You boys get on out of here,” you tell Dutch. Your voice is quiet, but you could hear a pin drop in this bank right now. He opens his mouth to protest, but you shake your head to cut him off. “Trust me.”

The sheriff tells them to stop, while they still can, while he’s willing to let them live, but occupied with John he’s helpless to raise his own gun, and his men can’t make one move for fear you’ll dispatch your hostage. She quakes in your arms but makes no sound. 

With a firm clasp of your shoulder in thanks, Dutch, Arthur, Mac, and Davey back their way out the front doors the sheriff was cocky enough to leave unguarded. Chalk it up to too much faith in a backdoor plan and a failure to understand just who exactly he’s dealing with; The Van der Linde Gang might have started small, but Dutch has dreams bigger than this wild, uncharted West. Bigger even than the fluttering pulse point that beats against the barrel of your gun. 

The sound of hoofbeats galloping away lets you know the boys have made their escape, and you know that now, as ever, you’ll do anything to save John. Anything. And damn the consequences. The sheriff must see it in your eyes, or the way you hold your prisoner of war, because something snaps in his demeanor. Scaffold screams open, rope swings taut, snaps.  

“I’m going to count to three,” he threatens, digging the barrel of his gun into John’s skin until he flinches, “and if that woman ain’t freed your friend here dies.”

One…

A split second of understanding is all you need. Please let him understand.

Two…

John’s grey eyes are flint sharp. You try to memorize the color just in case this goes wrong. If you didn’t know better you’d say he was doing the same. 

Three.

At the same time you squeeze the trigger, John stomps down hard on the sheriff’s foot. His wiry body twists away in time to miss the bullet, but the woman in your arms is less lucky. It’s a baptism of blood and brains. Your eardrum bursts with the gunshot. If you listen carefully, somewhere between the muted screams and pitched ringing might even be the voice of God, but you wouldn’t know the difference.

In a blink, John’s shoved himself off the sheriff and tackled you to the ground. The rest of the men to open fire. The sheriff roars for them to take you alive as you scramble to help one another to your feet and run. You stumble over yourself and the rest of the bank-goers still frozen on the ground in fear, but still you almost make it out.

Then, just as you reach the doors, blinding pain blossoms in your thigh. You fall forward on your knees and cry out in pain, a sound that stops John in his tracks. He tries to double back and half-carry you to the horses, but one moment of weakness is all it takes for the law to catch up with you. Kicking and screaming, they tackle and separate you both. Someone must hit you over the head with the butt of their gun, because all you remember is the scratchy, warped sound of John screaming your name and a world gone dark. 

—

You wake to a dull, throbbing pain in your leg. Blinking past crusted eyes and dried blood, you try to piece together the events that led to being dumped on the hard wooden floors of a one-room jailhouse. More importantly, you try to figure out where John is. It comes slower than you’d like. 

“Good,” an unfamiliar voice says, “you’re awake.”

You look up to find the sheriff lording over the cells from behind his desk. The dim lantern and late evening light cast strange shadows over the pockmarks in his face. His ginger sideburns and mustache, though impressive, do little to hide the redness of his face, burnt to a crisp from harsh living under a harsher sun. You chance a glance over to John, but his grim expression doesn’t do much to reassure you.

“I didn’t realize we had such celebrities in our midst.” He whistles lowly. “Mean Johnny Marston and the Van der Linde Ghost, formerly of New Austin. There’s quite a price on the two of you.”

“Make your point,” John says. 

He flashes his teeth in a double-edged smile. “When I got to this town it was lawless - open murder in the streets, people acting like savages. A disgrace. I’ve brought order here and I intend to keep it. The only reason the two of you are alive right now is because you’re worth more that way. Once I wire the capitol, we’re all gonna watch you swing for what you’ve done.” 

 John opens his mouth to say something nasty, but you warn him off with a glare. In your experience, there’s nothing more immovable - or dangerous - than a principled man. 

It takes only an hour more for the sun to finish setting. You sit in painful silence up until the moment the sheriff closes the jailhouse door behind him and locks it, promising he’ll be back at first light with news of your impending execution. You doubt he’s even made it down the steps before John starts in on you. Faster than you can respond he starts firing accusations like what the hell was all that, and were you trying to get killed back there, and can’t believe they shot you, and can’t believe we’re still alive, and then, finally, can’t believe you killed that woman like that.

“Really?” you say, and the bitterness in your voice surprises even you. Your wound aches. You want to scratch your skin off. You stare at him like none of this is true. “You want to go down this road?” 

“Matter fact, I do.” Mean Johnny Marston bares his teeth, hackles raised and ready for a fight. “Since when do we kill innocent people in cold blood? Ain’t we s’posed to be better than that?”

You laugh. It’s a harsh, terrible sound. “We’re all killers, or have you forgotten?”

“My memory’s just fine. But Jesus, Ghost, she was unarmed!”

“That sheriff sure weren’t! In fact, I recall his gun was held right at your empty head after you let yourself get caught!” you volley back, and his face shutters closed. “Sure I killed her. I’d kill her all over again. You look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t, if I was the one he’d got. Tell me you’d spare a stranger to watch me die.”

“Fuck you.” There’s a savage kind of hate in his eyes and his voice as he says it.

Your chest heaves with emotions too wild and strong to restrain. “Fuck you, Marston.”  

 After everything, how could he think you’d let him die like that? Right and wrong are pretty ideas, but you’ve always known that the moment John’s life is in jeopardy you’ll dig your own way to Hell and drag everyone down with you. No amount of distance, time, or estrangement will change that. Not ever. 

The two of you sit in that charged, vicious silence for what could be minutes or hours. You should be sleeping, or at least resting, but you just sit on opposite ends of your cells and glare at each other. 

“How’s the leg?” John finally asks.

You look away. “Not infected yet.” 

“...Good.” 

—

The second day in that jail is infinitely worse than the first. The sheriff comes swanning in before the first fragile rays of light make it through the lone window of the building. He doesn’t have his telegraph yet, but the second he does you’re dead, he cheerfully reminds you. 

Time scrapes by at an excruciating pace between the lack of food and water and the parade of townspeople that come through to stare at the spectacle of two infamous gunslingers caught in their smalltown cells. Your head splits with a headache that only worsens as they leer and jeer and spit on you from the other side of cast iron bars. Your leg is worse today, too. It’s hard to mask while the sheriff and his deputies circle like vultures, but you don’t dare show weakness. 

Neither you nor John opens your mouth to speak until night once more has fallen, and you’re alone in the moonlit dark.

“You sure that thing ain’t infected?” he asks. 

You peek under the dirty strips of torn clothing you’ve used as a makeshift bandage and grimace. “It ain’t infected, but it sure ain’t pretty. Could use Ms. Grimshaw right about now.”

“I’m sure Arthur ‘n Dutch will bust us out soon.” He doesn’t sound sure. “But Ghost, listen, if they can’t get us out, I want you to know—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off with a wave of your hand. “You don’t have to understand why I did it, just know I’ve got your back. Always.”

“Sure,” his voice cracks on the word. “And I’ve got yours.”

You let out a wistful sigh, ignoring the uncomfortable, embarrassed flush crawling up his collar. “Us together used to be easy as breathing. Feels like all we do now is fight or pretend there’s nothin’ to fight about.”

“I don’t like fightin’ you,” he says. “I think we’re just…”

“Just what?”

“Scared. ‘Least I am,” he finally admits. “I don’t think things will ever be the same as they used to. Different could be good, though. Maybe. If you wanted to try.”

“Yeah?”

He shrugs, trying and failing to act casual. 

Your answering smile is a fragile, hopeful thing. “I think I’d like that.”

In a tiny cell in a little town in the newly settled American West you shrug the weight of lost time off your shoulders and meet John Marston all over again. He tells you what he got up to during that missing year. You share the same - minus the letters, of course. He tells tall tales of all the jobs he’s been on since his return, ones he wanted to ask you on but never could. You reenact your most recent experience selling stolen horses with Sean, complete with accents, and laugh until your sides are sore. 

It finally feels like you’re friends again. It feels like coming home. 

—

You wake from a nap the next afternoon to strangled cries and the thud of bodies hitting floorboards. 

“Word on the street is you two are meant for the hangman’s noose,” Dutch says. There’s a warning and a thank you in his dark eyes when they meet yours.

“Pair of fools, pullin’ a stunt like that,” Arthur gripes from behind his bandana. 

Dutch crouches and snags the keys off the sheriff’s belt before tossing them to him. Both cells are open in moments.  

You limp over the sheriff’s fallen body towards the back door where Dutch waits with the horses. John pauses. Arthur tells him to hurry but John shakes his head, crouches low to pick up the sheriff’s holstered gun, and shoots the unconscious man point-blank with it. 

“What the hell, Marston!” Arthur seethes. “You want the whole damn town to kill us?”

John ignores him completely, joining you at the door and then helping you onto your horse like he hadn’t just done the very thing he damned you for earlier. His face is freckled with blood. The revolver in his hand reflects red. Even the slate grey of his eyes hold a bloodstained promise:

You and him. Forever. Always. And damn the cost.

[chinchintatap]

he's just so (twirls hair) (kicks feet in the air) (dreamy sigh) (drawing lil hearts around his name) (whispered 'babygirl')

[brainfuzzz]

Old Truths Ch. 9 "Freedom Part 4"

Yep, another Crocodile learns that he's Luffy's mother fic because why not? Also, I'm making him the Snake Princess before Hancock because I'm already in Crocomom hell so why not pile on more to it, right? Expect a reunion with Dragon as Crocodile goes on a journey for the truth and eventually finds peace. ~!!!POTENTIAL TIGGER WARNING!!!~ So, I don't actually know if this really needs a trigger warning, but I'd rather be safe than anything. This chapter has some angst surrounding growing up poor with a neglectful parent and trauma. I put a * at the start and end of that content. Or you could skip the chapter all together. I'll put a quick gist of everything that happened at the end notes if you want to skip.

When he first woke up in that dark room, the children had pushed themselves against the back wall, trying to put as much distance between them and Crocodile. Afraid that he would be just as cruel as every other adult they’ve come across since being taken. Crocodile didn’t know how to react at first. He could only stare, refusing to accept what he was seeing. The cuffs around his wrists rub his skin raw as he carefully pushes himself against a wall, wincing at his shoulder.

            “It’s alright,” he says without thinking. He’s never been a kid person. Kids are loud, messy, needy things that he has never had the patience for in the past. But sitting in this dark damp room, staring at fifteen tear stained eyes, he’s overwhelmed with a feeling that he’s never felt before. A feeling so strong that deep down to his core he knows that he will not let anything happen to these children. He has to stop and correct his face into a gentler expression before saying, “I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

            Those simple words were all it took for most of the children to run forward and throw their arms around him. The other’s stay put. Their trust in adults wouldn’t be so easily given. Not after what they’ve been through. In their eyes he can’t help but see a bit of himself. He had been the same way at their age. It had been his own mother that taught him to be that way. To be wary of anyone the world says is trustworthy.

*

He never had a relationship with his mother. Despite being raised by the woman, he barely knew her. Apparently, she had been a mighty warrior, but other than that? Nothing. Before Crocodile was born, she was part of the Kuja Pirate crew and was said to be completely devoted to the Snake Empress. But Crocodile never got to see that side of her. By the time Crocodile was born, that adventurous, fearless woman had been turned into a silent recluse. A woman happy to spend her days smoking a pipe while staring out at the horizon. Crocodile can still see her in his mind, her dark hair spilling over the top of her chair with muddy boots lazily propped on their balcony railing. Never saying a word unless to tell him to go and fetch more tobacco or to ask when dinner was ready.  

He spent his entire childhood staring at the back of her head, trying to get a response—any response—out of her. One day he had been practicing his archery when one of his arrows went a little too far off course into the jungle. While trying to retrieve it, he had slipped and scrapped his knee against a rock. It wasn’t a normal scrape; it had cut deep into his skin, exposing tender flesh. Not knowing what to do, he went to his mother, crying and begging for her help. He had grabbed her bony arm, shaking it helplessly while wailing in pain. He can still remember the way it felt as the blood spilled down his calf, dripping on their old splintery floor. Even with her child pleading for help while in excruciating pain, still, she didn’t turn to him. Instead, she lifted her pipe to her thin dry lips and blew out a steady stream of smoke. The pain in his leg became overshadowed by the overwhelming ache that came with the realization that there was nothing he could do or say to make her turn to him. She would never open her arms and hold him the way other mothers did to their daughters. She would never smile and give encouraging words when his self-doubt started to get the best of him. He knew then that the day he would wake up to find her happy and finally well enough to be a mother, would never come.

 Crocodile had stopped going to his mother after that. Stopped telling her about his day despite knowing she would never respond or even nod to his words. Stopped asking if she was feeling well or if she was hungry. Stopped trying to bridge the never ending gap that separated them. After that moment he became crushingly aware of just how quiet and empty their home was. Without him filling the space with pointless chatter, that silence ate away at him until, without realizing, he was slowly becoming a recluse too.

He had tried dressing the wound himself. His trembling hands fumbling with the handmade ointment he concocted out of the plants from the nearby jungle. He remembers dabbing at the wound, struggling to see properly through fat heavy tears before ultimately giving up and wrapping it with a few strips of an old shirt he used as bandages. He spent the next few days trying to ignore the overwhelming pain in his leg until it started to smell, and a neighbor woman forced him to go to the doctor. The doctor had scolded him when she discovered his infected wound. Apparently, the homemade bandages he used weren’t clean and only made the wound worse. He had quietly apologized and sat motionless for the rest of the visit, trying not to flinch with every touch.

When he had tried to leave after being treated, the doctor stopped him, refusing to let him leave until his mother came and picked him up. She sent someone to fetch his mother and told him to stay in the waiting room. Crocodile had been unable to tell her that his mother would never come, the words stuck in his throat. So instead, he sat in the waiting room and read through the few books she had laying out. Eventually a few girls his age sat across from him. They swung their legs as they spoke to each other, glancing in his direction from time to time.

Eventually he heard one whisper, “Why is she so dirty?”

Crocodile’s heart had practically stopped. He stared down at his clothes, the dirt stains and tears suddenly becoming obvious for the first time. The girl next to her nudged her, “Look at her leg. She probably just fell and got dirty.”

Crocodile had breathed a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for this girl. It wasn’t true of course. That was how he always looked back then. As the day crawled by, eventually the doors to the waiting room opened and to his complete surprise, in stepped his mother. Everyone in the room had stared at her, some shocked, others silently disgusted. Crocodile’s heart dropped to his stomach. Never in a million years did he expect her to actually come. But there she was, with her greasy hair draped over her shoulders, frizzy and tangled from never being washed or brushed, her clothes covered in stains and holes, her sunken face and already sharp features making her look practically ancient. It had been so long since Crocodile had actually seen his mother’s face that he was unable to do anything but stare in shock. That is until, the girls across from him had turned to each other, both wide eyed, the corners of their mouths quirking into smirks as one snorted, “Oh.”

“Let’s go.” His mother’s voice was like gravel from her constant smoking. Her glassed over hooded eyes trained on a spot in the room, never turning in his direction. Even then, she was refusing to look at him. He wanted to leap from his chair and run. Run out of that room, run to the edge of the island, and jump on a ship that would take him far away. So far that he could start over, live another life. A life where he would never be looked at and hear that awful, Oh, ever again.

But he didn’t do that. Instead, he hastily slid from his chair and limped out of the office, desperate to get away from the prying eyes. The doctor had been standing in a doorway, watching. She wouldn’t let Crocodile leave because she had wanted his mother to help him walk home. Instead, his mother walked slowly behind him, making her own child limp helplessly out of the office. Crocodile’s face flushed red with hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

When he finally managed to limp home, he had thrown himself down on his bed. A bed that consisted of a single old child mattress that he was quickly outgrowing. He pulled the old dated sheets over his head and let himself cry. He remembers covering his mouth trying to muffle his choked sobs as tears dripped down his nose soaking the old mattress. His leg throbbed with pain, but he didn’t care. His mother walked through their tiny dilapidated house and reclaimed her spot in her chair. He hears her rummaging in her tin box where she kept her tobacco, then she cursed.

“Hey,” his mother coughed, “go get me more tobacco.”

Crocodile sniffed, struggling to swallow the knot in his throat before saying, “I can’t… walk…”

His mother had cursed again, angrier this time, before getting up and stomping across the room and slamming the door behind her, shaking the house. Eventually he pulled the sheet down from his face and sat up. He stared at his clothes. They were hand-me-downs, given to him from some local women. They never fit properly, and every piece of clothing had some form of hole or set in stain that no amount of washing could get out. He reached for the little nook by his bed where he kept books, homework, and everything else he owned. He pulled out a small hand mirror that had a crack going down the center. Staring at his reflection he noticed for the first time just how much he resembled his mother. He pressed his lips together, desperately trying to hold back tears. His face was just as sunken in as hers, his features sharp and unpleasing to the eye. His dark hair was just as greasy, his face was smudged with dirt and the sauce from breakfast, and to top it all off, his body was covered in a thin layer of dirt.

The mirror shook as his whole body trembled. He decided then that he would never be like his mother. That no one would ever be able to look at them and go, oh. As if this was all he could ever be. His clothes would never have holes in them, and he would make sure he never smelled. He would sacrifice meals if it meant being able to free himself from a life of dirt and silence.

Once his leg healed enough to walk on, he made his way to the river to bathe every morning and then again at night. There were public hot springs that the rest of the village used, but he couldn’t make it that far. Even when his leg healed, he couldn’t get himself to go bathe with the rest of the village. The weight of their stares too heavy to bear. He saved money by buying a cheaper brand of tobacco for his mother and stuffing it into a box of her usual brand. When going to get food he would shove some extra cash into the spine of his favorite book and use whatever that was left to buy groceries. This meant he would go with little to nothing to eat some days. He had to give it all to his mother, otherwise she might realize what he was doing and stop it. Not because she would be worried for his health but because it would make her angry to know she hasn’t been smoking her expensive tobacco.

Whatever money he was able to steal, he used to buy soap, new clothes, and detergent. For the first time in his entire life, he was wearing clean clothes, his hair shined not from grease but from being clean. His skin was smooth and fresh with a light scent of flowers. Sure, he was hungry most of the time, his ribs becoming a little too noticeable, but he didn’t care. Because for the first time in his life, he had been so proud of himself. He no longer shirked away from mirrors or kept his head down when walking through the streets. He wore clothes that he picked out himself! Brand new clothes, never worn by anyone else. For the first time, he was proud of who he was.

But in the end, none of that mattered. The damage had already been done. The kids at school had already made up their minds about him and were contempt to keep him at arm’s length. At one point, a girl spread a rumor that he had lice which only cemented everyone’s opinions, despite it not being true and him being the cleanest he’s ever been. Even the clothes he had been so proud of, wasn’t enough to sway them into friendship. While all of the other kids wore similar shawls and little loincloths, leaving most of their skin exposed, he had picked out clothes that nearly covered every inch of his body. He wore pants that hid his bruised and scarred legs and a shirt that didn’t expose his stomach or chest. These clothes made him feel good inside, but to the other girls, it was just another reason why he didn’t belong.

 And it wasn’t just the kids. When he tried being friendly to teachers or elders like all the other girls, they would always have this look on their face. As if they couldn’t understand why this strange child was speaking to them. The ease of conversation when other children went up to them, excited to share whatever news they had, would vanish the moment he opened his mouth. So, he stopped trying to reach out to the adults too. And just like back home, when he stopped trying to initiate conversation, desperately trying to form a connection, he realized that even there his life was surrounded by suffocating silence.

Despite all this, he couldn’t give up school. As much as he hated the mocking from the other kids and the teachers never taking his side, he couldn’t stop going. At school he could read books about the outside world. He could find an escape and get lost in a story. His favorites were the stories about pirates. He would sneak a book home and read under candlelight while his mother passed out on her mattress pressed against the wall across the room from his. He would imagine himself as a pirate captain on the wide open seas. In his head he wore the finest clothing, had fine dining every night, and never worried about money ever again. He found a picture of a pirate in one of his books. Everything about him was different from the people from Amazon Lily. From the way he dressed all the way to his male anatomy. When Crocodile would fall asleep dreaming of becoming a pirate, he never saw himself like the women in Amazon Lily, instead he always pictured himself looking like that pirate.

One day, after arriving at school and going straight for the library, he found nearly all the books gone. Every book containing life from the outside world had vanished. He had torn through the few books that were left. They were all about plant life, fighting styles, and things like that. Anything that had even mentioned a man was torn from the pages or written over. He had been frantic, horrified to find his one escape gone.

“They don’t want us reading those books anymore.” A girl had said. Crocodile had stared at her, trying to fight back frustrated tears. She tilted her head, letting her perfectly silky hair fall over her shoulder. “They’re worried more girls might turn out like you.”

Crocodile didn’t plan on attacking her. It just happened. One moment she was standing over him, grinning down, enjoying his pain. The next, he was on top of her, swinging punch after punch. Her once glossy blonde hair was now matted with dirt from the library floor and her picture perfect face now a bruised mess with a bloody busted nose. It had taken a teacher to get him off her. When he had successfully been dragged away, he took in the faces of his other classmates. They had never looked at him with anything other than annoyance or disgust. But now they were looking at him with a new expression. Fear.

The years went by pretty fast after that. That little stunt in the library hadn’t awarded him any new friends, but it did change the dynamic between him and the others. Now they were more hesitant to speak badly about him. At least to his face. They still hated him, made fun of him behind his back, but at least now he didn’t have to hear it every single day. He still stole from his mother, determined to stay clean and neat despite no one else caring. When his body started growing and changing, the body dysmorphia came back with a vengeance. He had once felt proud of how he looked and the way he dressed. But now? With his breasts poking under his shirt, his hips and shoulders somehow being too wide and narrow at the same time, they no longer fit him the way he wanted them to. And just like before, he found himself avoiding mirrors.

When he was old enough, he decided to focus all his energy on training. Learning how to shoot a bow and arrow, hand to hand combat, learning and mastering haki, all of this would become his new escape. He’d like to say he was able to build a relationship with his trainer, like all the others did, but he didn’t. She was more willing than others to work with him, but she made sure to never cross that line from trainer to potential mentor or friend. Crocodile didn’t care. By that point he was used to not being close to anyone. When the day finally came for the tryouts for the Kuja Pirates, he had stopped himself in the doorway of the house. His mother, still in her chair but now with greying hair hanging over the back, smoking her pipe, never turning away from the horizon.

“I’m trying out for the Kuja Pirates… mom.” His voice had sounded so strange. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to her. But this was a huge milestone for him. This had been what he was working towards. It should have provoked some form of response out of her. From the few stories he had gathered about his mother, being part of the Kuja Pirates had been what she was proud of most. But it still didn’t surprise him when she didn’t move. He had lingered in the doorway, the heavy silence gnawing at his chest, before turning away and closing the door.

There was to be a tournament to see who the Kuja Pirates would recruit for their crew. Crocodile had been waiting for this moment almost his entire life. he would be picked to join their crew, leave the island, and the first chance he got, he would sneak off, never to be heard from again. He would leave this place behind once and for all. But that’s not what happened. At the time, Granny Nyon had been standing in as a temporary Empress after the last one died of a mysterious illness. When the tournament was over and Crocodile stood the victor, she decided then that he would become the next Empress.

Those that didn’t know him, cheered out of excitement. And those that did, stared in complete horror. Crocodile had been speechless. His heart pounded so hard against his chest it felt like it would burst out at any moment. He doesn’t remember much after that. He only remembers standing in the palace, Granny Nyon at his side, speaking excitedly about his new responsibilities and everything that would be expected of him. Then he had turned to a room filled with people, all staring directly at him, waiting for him to speak.

It was all too much. He had spent his entire life wanting someone, anyone to look at him without something other than annoyance or disgust and now that he does, all he wants to do is run away, crawl into a hole and seal it up. His voice caught in his throat, only able to make incomprehensible noises.

Granny Nyon had clapped her hands and said, “She’s too happy to speak!”

The women had cooed and awed while Crocodile struggled to breathe. His quiet world was now filled with unrelenting noise. It seemed like people popped in and out of his chambers whenever they pleased. When he was able to get a moment of peace, there was always someone waiting nearby ready to drag him back to the spotlight. And they touched him. They touched his hair, his face, his clothes. He felt like everywhere he turned, someone was reaching out to touch him. He hated every second of it.

*

So now, as children cling desperately to him, it takes everything for Crocodile to not recoil in disgust. To not shove them away or cringe when their sticky hands grab his arms or wrap around his waist. He stays still because if he moves, it will be away from the children. He cannot allow himself to become another disappointing adult to children in dire need of help. He swallows, trying not to wince when a child hits his wounded shoulder and carefully opens his chained hands, letting a little boy rest his head onto his palms. The boy’s hair is damp and matted with sweat. He’s so young, probably only a year old. How could they take someone so young and for what purpose?

            Crocodile stays completely still, trying not to let his uncomfortableness scare off the children. Suddenly, the ship rocks, causing everyone to lose balance as the sound of clashing forces explodes in the distance. When there’s another much louder clash, it’s much closer and causes a stronger lurch of the ship. Some of the children scream while latching themselves even tighter to Crocodile. Even some of the more cautious kids are now inching closer.

            “What is that?” A girl asks. She’s a giant but still noticeably young. She’s sitting across from Crocodile, her knees hugged tightly to her chest. Her right eye is covered with a bandage. A recent wound. Crocodile gently wiggles himself free of the children and stands. He tilts his head, trying to pinpoint where the fight is coming from when their ship is hit again, sending Crocodile flying against a wall. He pushes himself back, groaning slightly at the intense pain shooting down his spine and up his neck.

            “Alright,” he says, sweat starts to bead down his forehead. The pain in his shoulder is intensifying. He stares at his shackles. He won’t be able to help them like this. He looks to the room and says, “Stand back.”

            They do as he says, giving him enough room to coat his arms with haki and break himself free. He lifts his hands to his collar before the giant girl grabs his wrist, stopping him.

            “Don’t, it’ll explode if you try and take it off!” she warns with the shake of her head.

            Crocodile sighs with an understanding nod. “Of course it will.”

            There’s another crash from outside the room, this time much louder. When he can make out muffled voices on the other side of the door, he turns to the children.

            “I’m going to take your cuffs off, okay? It won’t hurt but you can’t move.” He explains, hoping it comes out gentle enough to not be frightening but firm enough for them to understand the severity of the situation. They look scared but don’t protest. One by one, Crocodile breaks them free of their chains. He can’t do anything about the collars. He’ll have to hope and pray he can think of something when they get out of here.

            Something cold rushes over Crocodile’s feet. He looks down to see water rushing in from under the door. As he frees the last child, water begins to seep through the ceiling, dripping on their heads. The children are frantic now, some trying to climb up his legs to avoid the water, others still pressing themselves to walls unable to escape. Water pours down onto Crocodile’s head, making his hair fall into his face. He swallows an angry growl while trying to push his hair from his face and keep himself from tripping on the clingy children.

            He stops, takes a deep breath, and reaches down to gently move a child so he can walk towards the door. Someone is definitely on the other side. It could be marines. It could be Dragon. He shakes that thought away. No point getting his hopes up. Either way, if they stay in this room much longer, they’ll all drown.

            “Everyone, back up.” Crocodile instructs. They do as he asks. Crocodile steps back before kicking the door. It rattles and shakes from his kick but doesn’t budge. He does it again but still, nothing. He grits his teeth, preparing himself for an even stronger kick before delivering the blow and watching the door fly off its hinges. He freezes when he sees a man in a yellow suit and marine coat standing in front of him. The man doesn’t move, momentarily frozen in shock. Crocodile turns his eyes to another man, standing past the marine. Dragon.

            He hadn’t actually expected to see him or thought that he would actually come. But here he is with his dark wild hair dripping wet, his tall sturdy frame tense from battle. Crocodile watches his glare slowly shift into something lighter. Into relief. He struggles to understand why Dragon would be here. Is he relieved to see him? Then Crocodile blinks, realizing as he turns back to the room that, no, he’s relieved to see the children, alive and safe. The reason why he was here in the first place. Crocodile buries the familiar feeling of disappointment deep down and puts all his energy into getting these kids out.

            “Let’s move!” he says, breaking the kids from their terrified trance. The giant girl steps out first, her eyes locked on the two terrifying men standing in the rising water. Crocodile swallows and forces his voice to soften, “Help me lift them through that opening.”

            Crocodile points to the gaping hole in the ceiling. Water pours in from the heavy rain, collecting on the floor, steadily rising. He hates to ask her for help. She’s just as terrified as the others but with his wounded arm he knows he won’t be able to lift all of them up that high. While they work together to lift the children up, Crocodile realizes that the marine has a beam of light building on his fist. So far, he and Dragon haven’t moved. He curses, gritting his teeth while bending down to scoop the last three children in his arms. His shoulder throbs with pain but he manages to jump through the ceiling. The rain is coming down even harder than he was expecting. He glances back down at Dragon and the marine. They are both staring at him, still stuck in a daze. The marine’s building light fades and Crocodile realizes that this is a chance for Dragon to get the upper hand.

            Crocodile shifts the three children in his arms and calls down to Dragon, “You better not let him kick your ass.”

            This breaks Dragon free from his trance, giving Crocodile enough peace to run away with children to freedom.   

Pretty much this chapter just shows what Crocodile was doing while Dragon kicked Kizaru's ass. Seeing the scared kids, it reminded him of his childhood and growing up in Amazon Lily. His mother ignored him his entire childhood and the village treated him like an outcast for being different and is basically why he finds being the Empress suffocating (being ignored your entire life then suddenly having all eyes on you is a lot). It ends right before they go off into the city.

Read full story HERE on AO3!!!

[blconnoisseur]

I need to impregnate this man ASAP

[pixiedustandpetrichor]

aww that was sweet

[qwakque]

Say Goodbye To Yesterday my Friend

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 9 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Yoongi x Hoseok

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, curses, Jungkook gets jealous, mentions of smoking cigarettes, explicit content: reader catches nabi and namjoon in the act, brat!OC, car blowjob, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, praising, hickey, mouth fucking, nipple play, fingering, protected sex

☆word count: 11.2k

☆a/n: new week new chapter!! and with this one, half of the fic is done (only half LMAO). Hope you guys enjoy <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Sunday, March 10th 

Jungkook’s chest moves up as he takes a deep breath, disrupting your quiet comfort.

Your eyes slide open to reveal his phone, and he’s scrolling through reels on Instagram, the sound off. You nuzzle your face further into his chest, and he holds you tighter for a few seconds.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” he says, his voice rumbling in his chest against your ear.

You sigh. Though it’s late evening and driving home has been draining - the sex you had when you finished eating dinner even more so - you don’t quite want to fall asleep right now. Maybe because tomorrow you’ll wake up and you’ll have to go back to class, to face Ria and Nabi and all your friends that know yet don’t know that something is going on between you and Jungkook.

“I was almost asleep,” you admit. “But I don’t want to sleep yet.”

“Why not?”

His attention is solely on you now, his phone forgotten, and so you raise your head to meet his tender gaze.

“I want to spend more time with you,” you whisper.

His lips stretch in the softest smile, his eyes sparkling with all the light in the universe. “I’ll still be here tomorrow, peach.”

You know it. You know you still have weeks with him, but tonight you feel like the end might be coming for you quicker than you want it to.

“And the day after?” you tease.

His arm tightens around you, and he moves so that he can peck your lips once. “I’ll still be right here.”

“In your bed?” you ask, faking surprise.

He laughs, a sound so sweet and so intoxicating to your senses. “Yep. With you in it.”

“Damn, JK, you’ve got plans for us, mmh?”

He just grins in reply, and your heart flutters in your chest as you put your head back on his own chest.

“So if you want to fall asleep…” he trails off, hugging you tighter for a few seconds before pressing a kiss on the top of your head. “Feel free.”

You take a deep breath, nodding as you close your eyes, focusing on the steady beats of his heart. You wonder, does he know your heart has synced with his?

Does he know you’re afraid he’ll rip your beating heart from your chest?

You’ve been thinking. All day you’ve been thinking, and you haven’t been able to ask him. Haven’t been able to have the conversation he said you could have today - about his family, about the shitshow of the engagement party. 

All you’ve been able to do today is exchange pleasantries, stolen glances and holding hands. And you reckon, it should be enough.

Yet the reason why you can’t sleep is because you want to know. Need to know if he truly is set to marry someone else.

“By the way,” Jungkook lets out after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “Tae texted me while you were in the shower.”

“Mmh?” you hum.

“He wanted me to tell you to reply to his texts,” Jungkook concludes. “And you should, before he grows suspicious.”

“He’s suspicious because Jimin said we have something going on after you hosted your friends here the other day.”

“Right,” Jungkook says, and he chuckles lightly. “I mean, he isn’t wrong.”

He isn’t, and you hate that he isn’t. You don’t want Taehyung to know, you don’t want your brother to have the power to take this away from you. Not when you already know life will take it from you by itself.

“I still don’t want him to know,” you admit with a small voice. “He’d hate you.”

Jungkook presses a kiss on the top of your head again. “Then we don’t tell him. You decide.”

You don’t like that he’s giving you this power, but yet again it’s better than when he wanted to pretend nothing had happened after the power outage. It’s progress, steps in the right direction, but you don’t even know if you’re walking the same path as him.

Jungkook has been great to you, he really has, but you haven’t done relationships before.

Will this time around be any different?

“Okay,” you let out. You press a kiss on the warm skin of his chest, before resting your head on it again. “Besides…” you trail off, and your heart squeezes in your chest.

Because it’s time. You need to talk to him about what his mother said, no matter how much it might hurt.

“Besides?” Jungkook repeats.

“Your mother mentioned something to me yesterday,” you admit.

You hear his heartbeat picking up. “What did she say?”

You worry at your bottom lip, take a few deep breaths in to gather courage. “That you’re supposed to marry someone?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply right away. You’re pretty sure you also hear his heart entirely stopping in his chest, but you think that might be your imagination.

“That’s hilarious,” he deadpans a few seconds later, and he lets out a disbelieved chuckle. “I’m not going to marry anyone.”

You raise your head from his chest, seeking the truth in his gaze. And he doesn’t look like he’s lying, not even a little bit. Especially not as he cups your cheek, gently running his thumb on your skin. 

“She said she and your dad spoke to another family,” you explain.

He plays with his piercings, raising an eyebrow. “I’d assume that they mean Gabrielle?”

You’ve never heard that name before, and you offer him a confused look. 

“Or not,” he adds after a few seconds, his brow creasing.

“Who’s Gabrielle?” you ask, and the doubt that seeps through you tastes far too vile.

“A friend from high school,” Jungkook replies immediately. “No one to worry about. Our families were always friends and my parents are obsessed with her.”

It stings. It stings far more than it should - Jungkook’s parents didn’t even give you a chance. Yet they’re obsessed with this Gabrielle, this girl from Jungkook’s past. Your heart sinks in your chest, and you look away from him, unable to hold his gaze.

“Ah,” you flatly let out.

“I don’t talk to her anymore,” Jungkook quickly reassures you, forcing you to look at him again with his firm hold on your cheek. “Last news I had of her was that she was going to study somewhere in Europe.”

You worry at your bottom lip, and Jungkook is quick to pull it from your teeth with his thumb. 

“I promise,” he adds. “She’s nothing to worry about. My parents can’t force me to marry her anyway.”

You take a deep breath and then nod once. The ache in your chest barely eases, but you can see that Jungkook is trying his best. There’s something so endearing about it that you feel yourself soften, and you immediately lean in to kiss him.

The kiss is soft. The kiss is a fire in the hearth during a cold winter evening. It’s a warm summer breeze and a cup of tea on a rainy day. It’s comfort and that, more than anything, finally soothes the ache away. It helps that Jungkook swipes your bottom lip with his tongue, and you sigh as you give him access, your tongues tangling a second later.

Hell, you think you might be able to go for another round. But Jungkook pulls away, lips glistening from your ministrations.

“And about my family,” he says. His voice is breathy, and you feel powerful for the effect you have on him. Though he clears his throat, and the breathiness is gone when he adds, “They’re dicks. All of them. I’m sorry I put you through this.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you reassure him, and you mean it. “I was mostly just taken aback.”

He nods, adding, “I don’t get along with them well. They wanted me to take over the family business with Junghyun, but I left to study here. My father has never forgiven me, and my mother hates me for the tattoos and piercings.”

You don’t know what to reply. You feel horrible for him, for the smiling boy in the frame on his bedside table. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay.” He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I got used to it. I’ve found that your friends are your true family anyway.”

His friends. Taehyung. Your brother. The one thing that will make it so you and Jungkook can’t actually be together, ever.

“And now I’ve got you too so, who cares what my family thinks?”

You know he does. Somewhere in the depths of his eyes you see the kid that wished his family loved him, wished he fit in. You wonder how his mother could hate him - he was adorable, endearing with that wide bunny grin of his, even when he was just a kid.

“I guess no one cares,” you reply after a few seconds of silence.

He offers you a reassuring smile. “Told you so.” He pecks your lips again, and then nestles his head back against his pillow. “We should go to bed, it’s getting late.”

“I just have one last question,” you say as you lay your head back on his chest, your gaze directed towards the frame of him and Junghyun. “Who did you go to Disney with?”

Jungkook follows your line of gaze. “Oh.” The silence that follows is heavy, sad. “Our nanny. She practically raised us.”

That makes sense. You don’t think Jungkook would have turned out to be such a gentle, sweet person if he’d been raised by his parents. But then again, he does act like an asshole a lot, and projects that overly cocky and confident aura most of the time. You’ve only recently started seeing this soft part of him.

“She sounds like a great person,” you say.

Jungkook tightens his hold on you. “She was. The best, honestly.”

You smile sadly, your heart straining at the ache in his voice. “Was?”

“Yeah.” He sighs deeply. “She passed away last year.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He shrugs, which proves to be awkward in this position. “It’s not your fault. Nothing to be sorry about.”

Silence falls in the room, and you hold Jungkook a little tighter. As if that will prevent him from breaking, from falling away from you in the inevitability of the future.

“I wish I’d been around then,” you add. “So that I could be there for you.”

“Peach…”

“I’m serious.”

You hear him sniffle, the only indication that he’s getting emotional. And it hits you like a brick to the face - you want to protect this man, at all costs. 

You never want Jungkook to feel sad.

“You’re amazing, you know that, right?” he says after a few seconds. “Like… I’m really lucky.”

“And so am I,” you softly reply. “Luckiest girl in the world.”

He chuckles, his voice still raw with emotion when he says, “You know you’ll have to share a bed with me every night now, right?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, and you don’t balk at the sight of the silver lining his eyes. “A dream come true, if I’m honest.”

He smiles, a sad, sad smile that makes you shift so that you’re lying next to him. You open your arms, and he immediately understands what you want, moving until he’s nestled in your embrace. You run a soothing hand on his back, not caring that he’s practically buried his face in your breasts. Especially not when, five minutes later, his breathing evens out, and he starts emitting those soft snores you find oh so adorable.

He’s left the red LED lights on, and you pat the bed behind him, looking for his phone. He whines against you, though he doesn’t say anything when you finally find his phone. You direct it towards his face to open it, and then search for the app to turn off the lights. 

Once the lights are off, you put his phone away, wrapping your arm around him again, holding him close.

You don’t let go, not even when you, too, fall asleep.

Friday, March 15th 

There’s something about Ria and tequila shots that you can’t quite understand. 

You’re at the girls’ dorm, getting ready for the party tonight. It’s hosted at a frat house, which means your shoes will most likely be ruined by the end of the evening. You don’t really care - you put on an old pair of sneakers that you use specifically for these types of occasions.

But yes, Ria and tequila create something you can’t comprehend. She’s already taken four shots, while you’re on your second and Nabi hesitantly took one, and you know she’s going to be wild tonight.

You think you know why - a certain Kim Seokjin is supposed to be in attendance, and though Ria claims she really doesn’t like him, she’s curled her hair and donned her makeup to perfection for the occasion.

And she’s also visibly trying to get shitfaced, and so you steal the tequila bottle from her hands.

“Hey!” she complains. “Give that back.”

You take a swig from the bottle, immediately regretting your decision. It makes your friends laugh though, and it distracts Ria long enough so that you can put the cap back on the bottle, and you hide it behind you where you’re sitting on the floor of their dorm, in between their beds.

“Is Namjoon going to be there?” you ask Nabi, trying to distract Ria further.

“Yeah, of course! Hobi and Yoongi also, apparently,” Nabi answers. “What about Jungkook?”

You’re happy you’re the type to flush red with alcohol, otherwise your two friends would have a visual proof of the embarrassment that comes with Jungkook being mentioned around you. It’s stupid - you’re an adult, but for some reason the thought of Jungkook makes you all giddy, like you have a school crush on him. 

It’s a feeling you’ve been clinging to this week, despite every odd against you two working out in the long term.

“I think so,” you reply, even though you know for a fact that the answer is yes and that he’s going to be driving you home.

He’s told you so in whispers against your skin last night, when he finished fucking your brains out.

“You think so, or you know?” Ria teases, a smirk on  her lips. “You can pretend we haven’t seen him obsessing over you every time we went to the library this week, but we’re not going to be fooled.”

They do have a point. Indeed, the two times you’ve gone to the library with the girls, Jungkook kept popping in, bringing you snacks or just coming in to chat for a little while. The girls found it funny, and you just found it embarrassing.

Not that Jeon Jungkook is embarrassing. It’s rather the fact that it’s led to thorough interrogations, and you don’t like talking about your relationship with him when he’s your brother’s best friend, and speaking to the wrong person could lead to Taehyung learning about everything.

So you’ve been trying to keep the relationship a secret as best as you can, giving vague answers to the girl and saying that you only went to New York with him because you’re friends, and Jimin wasn’t available to accompany him.

You hid the fact that he’s rich from everyone. Hid the Yves St-Laurent dress in the back of your closet, to only be looked upon whenever you need to remind yourself that the weekend wasn’t a creation of your brain.

So far, you didn’t need to be reminded. Not when Jungkook has been acting so affectionate, cooking you meals and sitting with you when you’re working on reports or studying for your classes. 

“Jungkook is not obsessed with me,” you drawl, even though you think he might be, to the extent that Jeon Jungkook can be obsessed with someone. “He’s just a good friend.”

“You fuck all your good friends?” Ria teases, wiggling her brows.

You punch her in the shoulder, and she bursts into a fit of giggles. “I’m not fucking him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ria says.

“You’ve been glowy since last weekend,” Nabi points out, an innocent smile on display.

You fake-glare at her, but to your relief, a knock sounds at the door, effectively distracting your friends.

It’s Namjoon, as revealed when Ria opens the door, and he steps in with a six-pack of beer, offering you a polite nod as Nabi gets up to hug him. They share a quick kiss, and you fake-gag, earning you a loud laugh from Ria that makes Nabi turn beat red.

“Shut up,” Nabi grumbles through her teeth as she faces you again, and she pulls Namjoon by the hand to sit on her bed.

You remain on the floor with Ria, and she’s successfully stolen the tequila bottle again. She refills the empty shot glasses, handing one to Namjoon and one to you. She gives the last one to Nabi, and she raises the bottle for you all to clink glasses with her, and a second later, the alcohol is burning down your throat.

You’re effectively drunk by the time you make it to the party. Ria is worse than you, while Nabi remains almost sober from all the shots she dodged and handed her boyfriend instead. Namjoon’s cheeks are flushed red, much like yours, and you meet up with Yoongi and Hoseok, where they stand near the wall, faces downcast.

“Hey boys!” you greet them. 

You throw an arm around their shoulders, and Hoseok quickly moves away while Yoongi remains frozen in his spot, arms folded on his chest. It’s sobering, a little, and you furrow your brow as you look between them.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

Hoseok quickly glances at the rest of your friends as they gather around you before saying, “No. How was pre-drink?”

You immediately know something is up. You feel it in the way Yoongi tenses under your arm, and though he hates being touched, he doesn’t push you away. You cock an eyebrow at Hoseok questioningly, but he only shrugs and then asks Namjoon, “Want to team up on beer pong?”

A moment later, they’re walking away, Nabi in tow, and you motion to Ria to follow them. She takes the cue, though the second she turns around, Kim Seokjin appears, and they stay right there, speaking in each other’s ear.

Once you’re convinced they won’t hear you, you let go of Yoongi, turning to face him. “Is something wrong?” you ask again.

He clenches his jaw, still avoiding your gaze. His arms tighten around him, and he looks like he’s trying to hold himself together, yet barely succeeds.

“Hobi just told me he’s switching colleges next semester.”

You widen your gaze. “What?”

Yoongi chuckles, but it’s entirely void of any joy. “You heard me right.”

“Why?”

Yoongi meets your gaze, his eyes flaming with barely disguised anger and hurt. “I don’t know.”

You wince, nose scrunching up. “I…”

“Don’t say anything,” Yoongi says before you’re able to finish your sentence, which is a good thing considering you had no idea what to say. “I should have seen it coming.”

“I’m sorry.”

Yoongi blinks away some tears, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know why you care. You were fucking him like a month ago.”

In truth, a month ago you were pretending the world didn’t exist with Jungkook, as it was the power outage, but you refrain from saying anything. You highly doubt that that’s what Yoongi needs to hear right now.

“Yeah, and I don’t think I should have,” you say.

“Why?” Yoongi asks, sounding offended.

You shrug. “Because you care about him and it was hurting you.”

Yoongi presses his lips in a thin line, nodding once. He doesn’t say anything else, and you don’t really expect him to. Not when Hoseok clearly just broke his heart.

“You know what you need?” you say, pulling his arms away from his chest so that you can hook arm with him.

“What?” Yoongi asks, following you as you pull him through the crowd.

“A drink.”

He chuckles. He doesn’t look quite as sad as he did a second ago, and you reckon that it’s a win. 

You make it your mission to cheer Yoongi up tonight, making sure he always has a drink in hand. You also stay by his side, playing beer pong with him when Ria begs you to play. She’s accompanied by Seokjin, who’s got far more aim than you do, but Yoongi is a decent player. It compensates for a while, until Hoseok appears in the vicinity of the table, and Yoongi tenses so much he looks like he’s turning to stone. You try to take over then, only to be solidly defeated by Seokjin who smiles at Ria as she high-fives him with a wide grin on her lips.

You’ve never seen her smiling so wide with a guy before, and you have to keep your own grin in at the sight, not wanting to upset Yoongi. Instead, you hook arm with him again, pulling him towards the backyard. He begrudgingly follows, though he visibly relaxes the second you’re outside, the cold air a stark contrast from the hot atmosphere inside.

“All good?” you ask.

“Why are you doing this?”

You shrug your shoulders. “You’re a friend,” you offer as an explanation. “The least I can do is be there for you right now.”

“Are we friends?” he queries. He sounds sad again, and you hate it.

“Of course we are! If we weren’t before, we are now.” You try to sound reassuring, and when you see the smile tickling the corner of his lips, you think it’s working. “If you want, we can go sit somewhere quiet upstairs to talk shit about Hobi.”

“Honestly, that sounds like a dream,” Yoongi agrees.

You laugh, and a second later you walk back into the house, Yoongi in tow. The first thing you see as you walk in is Jimin, and you instinctively scan the room, your eyes falling on Jungkook next. It’s like everyone disappears for a few seconds, and your lips stretch in a soft smile he immediately reciprocates, though it slightly falls when he sees Yoongi behind you.

You glance at Yoongi, and he raises his eyebrows in question. You motion towards Jungkook, leaning closer to Yoongi to say, “Just give me a second, I want to talk to my friend.”

He nods, and ends up following you as you walk towards Jungkook, who’s standing with Jimin, Sera, Lisa and some of their other friends you don’t remember the name of.

“Hey,” you greet everyone as you stop next to them.

Your fingers itch to touch Jungkook, but you clench your fist, refraining from doing so.

A chorus of heys reply to you, and you awkwardly stand there for a few seconds before they resume their conversation as if you haven’t interrupted. You feel bad for a few seconds until Jungkook leans in closer to you.

“Who’s that guy?” he asks.

You purse your lips, holding a laugh in. “A friend. He’s going through a breakup?” At least you think that’s the best way to refer to it. “I’m trying to be there for him.”

Jungkook’s gaze hardens as he clenches his jaw, a muscle feathering over his skin. There’s something infinitely attractive about the sight - and infinitely wrong about you to find it attractive to begin with - and you already can’t wait for the evening to end so that you can tangle in bed with him.

“A friend?” Jungkook repeats.

“Are you jealous?” you tease, and Jungkook sends a cautious glance around.

But no one is watching you besides Yoongi, and you know Yoongi would never say anything.

“Should I be?” Jungkook says, frowning slightly.

You wink at him. “Not at all. His breakup is with a guy so… I fear I’m lacking a certain part of my body for him to find me attractive.”

“Could be bi,” Jungkook points out.

“Could be.” You shrug, and then you gently brush your hand on the back of his. “I’ll come find you when it’s time to leave?”

He nods, glancing at Yoongi. You want to reach for him, to hold him close and reassure him that he’s got nothing to worry about, but Jimin is now watching again, so you only step away from Jungkook, re-establishing a safe distance between the two of you.

“Yeah, let me know when you want to go home,” Jungkook replies.

You smile, nodding once before wishing him a good evening. You feel his gaze burning on the back of your head as you walk away, Yoongi following you, and you can’t resist but look over your shoulder when you’re about to leave the room to head into the hall leading to the staircase. Your gazes connect despite the crowd, and your heartbeat picks up in your chest, butterflies swirling in your stomach.

“I’ll grab a beer before we go up,” Yoongi suggests, snapping you out of the moment.

You blink a few times, before nodding your head. “Good idea. I’ll take one too.”

You pit stop at the table where the drinks are, and you end up making gin and tonics since they’ve run out of beer. Yoongi complains he doesn’t like it, but you tell him alcohol is alcohol, to which he offers you a side-eye that has you burst out laughing.

A moment later you’re on your way up the stairs. To outside eyes, you wonder what it looks like - do people think you’re looking for a place to hide so that you can fuck? It’s a funny thought, and you laugh some more as you reach the second floor, and notice the four people sitting on the floor as they talk. They barely look at you as you walk in front of them, heading for a door at the end of the corridor.

Yoongi steps in front of you as you near the door, hand extended to open it. The doorknob turns and he pushes it open, only to be met by an all-too familiar high-pitched shriek. A look over Yoongi’s shoulder reveals Nabi, butt ass naked, sitting on the counter with Namjoon between her legs.

“Oh shit!” Yoongi lets out, yet he freezes, not closing the door.

“Oh my God,” you echo and Nabi flushes so deep red you think she’ll combust.

“Close the door, idiots,” Namjoon grits through his teeth.

Yoongi’s gaze widens, and he immediately slams the door shut. His cheeks are dusted with pink, and you exchange one glance that makes you burst out laughing, wheezing and blinking back tears. You’ve never seen Yoongi laughing like that, which only spurs you on more, until he grabs your hand and tugs you into a bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Holy shit,” Yoongi says once your laughter finally recedes.

You nod, wiping the tear that escaped the confines of your eyes. “I know, holy shit. I knew they were getting it on but I didn’t think Nabi would do it at a party.”

“Didn’t expect that of Joon either,” Yoongi admits, and he glances in the general direction of the bathroom. “He used to be such a nerd, and now he’s fucking a girl at a party.”

“Good for him,” you say, raising your glass. Yoongi doesn’t echo the sentiment, instead looking troubled. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

Yoongi shrugs, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor, his back against the door. You follow him, sitting against a dresser while you wait for him to talk.

“I’m afraid that he might be jumping into a relationship too quickly after…” Yoongi trails off. “After Julia.”

Your brow creases for a few seconds until you figure, “His ex?”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah. They were together for a long time, and he loved her a lot,” Yoongi reveals.

Your heart squeezes in your chest. “You think Nabi might just be a rebound.”

“Listen,” Yoongi lets out. “I saw him during Frosh week. I saw him starting to want to go to parties last semester. I’m not saying it’s because of Nabi…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders again before taking a sip of his drink that makes him scrunch up his nose in disgust. “I don’t know why I grabbed that, it’s disgusting.”

“Hey, gin and tonics are good!”

He throws you a no-bullshit look, and then returns to the conversation at hand. “So yeah, he’s been different where Nabi is implied, but he was with Julia for five years. It’s bound to have had an impact on him.”

Yoongi isn’t wrong, and you hate that he isn’t. You don’t want Nabi to be set up for heartbreak.

“If he hurts Nabi…” you trail off.

Yoongi snorts, the smile he offers you a lot warmer than any you’ve ever seen on his features before. “You’re a good friend, aren’t you?”

You hold his gaze, shrugging your shoulders. “I try to be. I’d do anything for my friends.”

Yoongi raises his solo cup, his lips still curved upwards. “Then, I’m glad to count you as a friend.”

You clink glasses, taking a long sip from your gin and tonic that makes your head buzz even more than it already was. Silence reigns on the room for a moment, a comfortable silence that makes you look around, scanning your environment. Apart from the mattress on the floor and a few discarded pieces of clothing, the bedroom is empty. More clothes overflow from the closet though, as if whoever’s room this is just quickly shoved everything in there before the party.

“What about you?” Yoongi asks then.

You frown quizzically, facing him. “What about me?”

“Jungkook.”

Your throat goes dry, and you hide your blush behind a long sip of your drink. “What about him?”

“Hobi mentioned that something is going on between you guys?”

You’ll kill him. You’ll eviscerate Jeong Hoseok the moment you have the opportunity to.

“Not really,” you lie, though the lie weighs heavy on your shoulders.

Obviously, Yoongi sees right through you, saying, “I saw how you guys looked at each other earlier. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Your cheeks burn as you recall when you spoke to Jungkook. You didn’t feel like you were looking at him a certain way, but then again he has a tendency to steal your attention no matter where you are, so maybe Yoongi is onto something.

“I’m not trying to,” you say, taking a deep breath to chase away the lingering heaviness from the lie. “He’s my brother’s best friend.”

“Your brother, who’s conveniently on a semester abroad right now.”

You narrow your gaze at Yoongi, as if glaring at him. “It’s not convenient. I wish he’d never gone.”

This lie tastes even worse than the previous, and you chase its aftertaste with your drink.

“Right. And then you’d never have fucked his best friend.”

You close your eyes, rubbing a hand on your forehead. “It’s such a mess, Yoongi.”

He snorts in his red solo cup. “Why though?”

“Taehyung can’t know.”

“Why?” Yoongi asks again. “You’re adults.”

“Tae doesn’t think that way,” you admit, and a familiar annoyance flashes through you. “He’s always been overbearing. Like, when I was in highschool he scared all the guys away whenever they tried to speak to me.” Not that you would have dated any of them anyway, but Yoongi doesn’t need to know that. “It was annoying. And now, it’s even worse because JK’s his friend.”

“Or maybe he’ll trust his friend to treat you right, no?”

You wish it were that easy. You wish you lived in the utopia Yoongi’s composing right now, but you know reality to be far crueller than that. 

“Trust Jungkook?”

Yoongi winces, and you hate the drop of doubt it brings back to you. 

It’s the same doubt that had invaded you because of Colton, because of Lisa and Shelly. But then again, you’ve seen Jungkook last weekend. You were there all week with him: you want to believe he’s changed, and for the better.

But would Taehyung see that?

“Anyways,” you say before Yoongi’s able to add anything else. “We were supposed to talk shit about Hobi.”

Yoongi visibly deflates, his eyes dropping to his solo cup as he spins the liquid in it, watching it slosh around. “Yeah.”

“When did he tell you he’s switching colleges?” you ask, as gently as you can.

“Right before you guys got here.”

Damn. You’re friends with Hoseok too, you really are, but you reckon it’s selfish to do something like that to someone at a party when they can’t really do anything. It explains the awkwardness when you arrived though, and for some reason you’re happy you stuck to Yoongi’s side and not Hoseok’s.

You don’t think Hoseok would deserve someone comforting him right now.

“That’s dickish,” you say, and you mean it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s coming out of nowhere too,” Yoongi adds. He sighs, resting his head against the door. “He seemed to say that it was to follow a professor for an internship but still… It’s weird, no?”

“Where is he going?” you ask.

“He didn’t tell me. Just said that it was far.”

You wince. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi shrugs, and he downs his glass, gagging after he’s swallowed. “This is really bad alcohol.”

It’s a bad attempt at switching subjects, and you offer Yoongi a small smile you hope is comforting. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had better days,” Yoongi replies, and he sounds infinitely tired. “But thank you for trying to cheer me up tonight. I really appreciate it.”

Your smile is easy, warm this time. “Of course. Anytime.”

You end up staying in that small, impersonal bedroom for a while, the party long forgotten as you chat about everything and nothing. You hadn’t realized before, but you have more in common with Yoongi than you previously thought. You had similar circumstances growing up - that is, fathers leaving when you were too young to even remember them, and older brothers that tried to compensate.

Yoongi tells you about high school, about the first girl he dated. That’s how you learn that he’s bi, and not gay, and you beat yourself up mentally because now you feel like you’ve lied to Jungkook.

Not that it matters - Yoongi has the potential to be a good friend, but he’s not Jungkook.

You don’t know what to make of the thought, so you push it far, far back in your mind, until its whisper is easily ignorable.

“Shit,” Yoongi lets out a while later as he pulls his phone out of his pockets. “We’ve been in here for two hours.”

You widen your gaze, pulling your phone out as well. Your pulse skyrockets when you notice Jungkook tried to call you twice, leaving you a text that makes you hold in a small smile.

[11:46 pm] JK: where are you [11:46 pm] JK: :(

It’s almost thirty minutes later, but you immediately swipe your phone open to reply.

[12:12 am] You: just chilling with yoongi. wanna head home soon?

“I think I’ll go,” Yoongi says, and you look up from your phone to meet his gaze. “I’ve got lots of stuff to do tomorrow.”

You nod. “We should study together Sunday,” you reply as you both push up to your feet, stretching. “I have a lab report to finish.”

Yoongi agrees, and a second later you’re stepping out of the room. You earn a curious look from three girls sitting on the floor near the bathroom, and you offer them a tight-lipped smile as you pass them on your way to the stairs. 

The music is still loud when you get to the floor level, people dancing and indulging in alcohol and partying like only college kids know how to do. Part of you still wants to revel, to enjoy the night, but your break away from the party with Yoongi has tired you, and you want to head home.

And maybe part of you wants to head home because it means spending time with Jungkook, but you’d never admit it to anyone.

You hug Yoongi goodbye in the middle of the living room, and then you make your way to the kitchen, hoping to find Jungkook there. You don’t find him, but Ria, Seokjin, Namjoon and Nabi are there, and you inform them that Yoongi left.

“What were you guys doing?” Nabi asks, and you immediately know she’s inebriated by the slur in her speech. “Why were you trying to go to the bathroom?”

A slight blush covers Namjoon’s cheeks as you burst out laughing. “What were you guys doing in the bathroom, mmh?” you counter-back.

Ria bursts out laughing, and Seokjin holds in a laugh, his plump lips curving upwards at the corner as Nabi makes a sound you can’t quite interpret. It just makes you laugh, and she’s quick to follow with, “What about it?”

“Nothing,” you say, shrugging your shoulders innocently. “Just an image I’ll never be able to get out of my mind.”

“Gosh,” Namjoon lets out, and you all laugh again.

“Anyways, I was just cheering Yoongi up,” you say after that, and you’re aware it sounds a little suspicious when four pairs of eyes turn to look at you, eyebrows almost touching. “We talked, that’s it,” you add, raising your hands in defence. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“Hobi got pissed when he learned you guys were hiding somewhere together and he dipped,” Ria reveals. “I think you made him jealous.”

“Oof.” You worry at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “Shit, I’m too sober for this.”

For this being lying to your friends, because you know damn well that Hoseok might indeed be jealous of you, but for spending time with Yoongi. Not the other way around. Your friends don’t know though, so you let Ria tug you to the bar, where the amount of alcohol has drastically diminished since the last time you were here.

You end up throwing back shots with your friend, and she inevitably tugs you on the dancefloor next, and you sway to the beat along with her for a while, until you once more feel buzzed with alcohol.

That’s where Jeon Jungkook finds you, arm carelessly wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you in, startling you.

“Shit,” you say in his face.

“You don’t answer your phone, mmh?” he lets out.

You think you smell cigarette smoke on his breath, but you’re too drunk from his proximity to really be able to tell. He makes your thoughts swim after all, far too much for you to think about anything other than the fact that he’s close enough you could kiss him, here in the middle of a crowded room.

Would people cheer for you guys, or would you earn snickers? You think it’d be the latter option, considering that he’s Taehyung’s friend, but you don’t care.

“Hey you,” you purr, and he raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Hey,” he replies.

You can’t help the soft smile that overtakes your features, and he immediately melts, echoing it. 

“Want to head home?” you ask him.

Someone loudly clears their throat, and you jump out of Jungkook’s arms, cheeks turning fully red. Ria is watching with a wide grin, and she wiggles her eyebrows when you meet her gaze.

“Fuck off,” you tell her, your whole face burning, and she just laughs at your expense as you walk away, Jungkook in tow.

You make it all the way to the room where you’ve left your coat, grabbing it as Jungkook looks around for his, and you’re outside before he meets you, a confused look on his features.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, his breath clouding in front of his face.

You watch as it lifts in the air slowly before vanishing in a gust of wind.

“What?” you let out. “No? Why would I be?”

“You ran out like I did something wrong,” he answers, motioning over his shoulder.

You melt. You melt like ice cream on a hot summer day, dripping to the floor with endearment for the man in front of you. 

“No, I ran because Ria always puts her nose in stuff she shouldn’t,” you say. You look around, fingers itching to reach for him, but people are smoking closer to the street, and you think you recognize some of his friends in the group.

“You were being obvious, peach,” Jungkook teases, and he winks at you, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat as he walks down the three steps from the porch to the lawn. 

You catch up to him quickly as he heads towards the group, wishing everyone good night. Lisa stares at you as you stand next to Jungkook, and your cheeks heat up once more under that watchful gaze.

Luckily enough for you, Jungkook says his goodbyes quickly, and you’re walking away under a minute later, heading to where he parked his car.

“How come you’re always driving to parties now?” you ask Jungkook. “You could afford an Uber.”

He glances at you, shrugging sheepishly. “Then I wouldn’t have a reason to drive you home.”

“Please,” you let out, rolling your eyes. “We could grab an Uber home together. That way you’d be able to drink.”

He looks behind you, making sure you’re not in sight from the frat house anymore, and then he pulls one of his hands out of his coat, grabbing yours. His hand is warm, large, and it engulfs your own hand easily as he tugs you closer.

“You might hate me for this,” Jungkook starts, “but I promised your brother I’d make sure you’re okay during parties this semester.”

This time, you roll your eyes so far back that you think they might get stuck. “He did not ask that of you.”

“He did,” Jungkook insists.

“That’s bullshit.” You sigh loudly, slightly shaking your head. “Even when he’s gone he’s still annoying.”

Jungkook laughs, the sound like a warm blanket wrapped around you. “But yeah, he just asked me to make sure you’re okay, and I got used to not drinking as much at parties.”

“On behalf of Taehyung, I’m sorry.”

He tugs you even closer, and you trip on a crack in the sidewalk. He catches you before you fall, hands finding your waist to steady you. “Careful,” he says. “And don’t apologize, I really don’t mind.” 

You pout, but you fall silent, just enjoying the feel of Jungkook’s hand in yours. You reach his car a few minutes later and, ever so the gentleman, Jungkook holds the door open for you.

You cock an eyebrow, looking back at him with a small smile on your lips as you’re about to get in. “You only opened the door for me ‘cause you want to look at my ass, didn’t you?” you tease.

He laughs, loud and clear, before pushing you in. “Shut up, peach.”

A smile tickles the corner of your lips, like it permanently seems to do when it comes to Jungkook, and then you sit in the car. He shuts the door before making his way to the driver’s side, and a second later, he’s sliding in, offering you a smirk that makes your cheeks burn.

“What?” you let out.

“So what if I just want to look at your ass?” he says, turning the key in the engine. The car purrs to life as Jungkook adds, “You’ve got a really nice ass, especially in those pants.”

You feel all warm and tingly inside, and you roll your eyes as you look away from him. It only makes him chuckle, and then he starts driving, heading towards the home you share. The first minute is spent in silence, the music on the radio low, and you only realize that Jungkook has something on his mind when you glance at him to see him pulling on his piercings with his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” you immediately ask.

“You were with that guy for a long time,” he answers, and his eyes dart to you before returning to the street.

“Yoongi?” you say, though you obviously know that he means Yoongi. “Yeah, he’s a friend.”

“A friend?” Jungkook echoes. 

You hum, nodding your head. “He’s actually fucking Hobi so…”

Jungkook’s gaze widens, and he glances at you. “Hobi? Isn’t that the guy you were fucking?”

“He was,” you say, and you laugh at his expression, dead in the middle of jealousy and surprise. It’s a funny look on his features, though the second you laugh, it melts away, replaced by tender endearment. “He actually started fucking Yoongi during the power outage, and we ended things there.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, but you see a muscle feathering under the skin of his jaw. He looks angry, and could he even be… jealous?

“Are you jealous?” you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice.

“I’m not,” Jungkook says, voice so stern you know for a fact that he definitely is jealous.

“You are!” you insist, and you burst out laughing. “Jeon Jungkook is jealous because I used to fuck someone else.”

“I’m not!” Jungkook repeats, louder this time. “I’m not fucking jealous.”

You smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief, and you pat his thigh. “Don’t worry. You’re the only one I want to fuck now.”

“Is that why you spent your evening locked up in a bedroom with some other guy?” he asks, and you hear the jealousy in his voice, clear as day this time. 

“Gosh, JK,” you say teasingly, and you turn towards him, fully facing him. “You’re so jealous.”

He pushes your hand away from where you’d left it on his thigh. “Fuck off.”

You widen your gaze, bursting out laughing a second later. And then, just to piss him off further, you lean closer to him, pressing a kiss on his cheek while your seatbelt tries to pull you back to your seat.

“You’re adorable.”

He makes a non-committal sound as you sit back in your seat, and you return your hand to his thigh, squeezing once. This time he lets you do it, parting his legs slightly so that his thigh is in easier reach for you.

You lean your head against the headrest, eyes searching his profile. He’s just toying with his piercings again, and he looks heavenly in the neon light of the streetlights, the orange glow painting him in a beautiful picture. You sigh, and he glances at you long enough for his eyes to meet yours.

You fall for him. You’ve already been falling for him, inevitably, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you right now that makes you fall irreversibly.

“I want you,” you say, voice breathy.

Jungkook’s car comes to a halt at a red light, and he looks at you again. “Right now?”

You nod, and your hand finds his thigh again. “Shouldn’t I prove to you that you’ve got nothing to worry about?”

“I’m driving, peach.”

You shrug. “Then better keep your eyes on the road.”

Your words turned him on. You’d expected it, yet when you move your hand up, fingers grazing his dick, your throat dries out.

He’s already getting hard.

“You think you can drive while I suck your dick?”

“Peach,” Jungkook says sternly. “We’re almost home.”

“Just keep driving,” you innocently reply, batting your eyelashes.

He rolls his eyes, yet he goes forward when the light turns green instead of turning left like he was supposed to. You bite your lower lip, desire flushing through you as warmth pools at your core.

“You act so tough, but you folded so easily,” you tease, feeling brattier than you’ve ever felt with him.

Maybe because you’re starting to realize the power that you have over Jeon Jungkook, and it’s getting to your head.

“Don’t make me regret, peach,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

You wet your lips, tilting your head to the side. “Or what?”

“Or I’m driving you home and not fucking you tonight.”

His threat falls flat - the second the words are out of his mouth you caress his length through his pants, and he instinctively bucks his hips.

“Careful,” you let out. “Wouldn’t want to get in an accident.”

He just clenches his jaw as you start working on the button of his jeans. He shifts, allowing you easier access, though it’s still awkward from the sitting position and his seatbelt. Soon enough you manage to get the button undone, and then you unzip his pants.

“Think someone’s going to see us?” you ask as you slide your hand in his pants, gripping his dick over the fabric of his boxers once.

He sits heavily in your hand, already fully hard, and your mouth waters. 

Jeon Jungkook has a lot of power over you, too.

“Not if I can find an empty parking lot,” he says, voice breathy when you stroke him. “Under the boxers, please.”

“Jeon Jungkook, saying please?” you tease, cocking an eyebrow. “I’ll get used to this.”

“Don’t.” His eyes flutter shut for a few seconds when you manage to slide your hand into his boxers, and you let out a breathy sound at the feeling of his soft skin.

“Shit, Jungkook.”

“Mmh?”

“You’re already so hard.”

He chuckles. “You turn me on a lot, peach.”

You like to hear it, so much so that you free his dick from his pants, as much as you possibly can from the angle. 

“Clearly,” you say as you eye the bead of precum forming on his slit. You swipe your thumb on it, smearing it on his tip. 

Jungkook’s grip tightens on the wheel, but he remains silent this time around as he pulls the car into a parking lot. Though it’s not fully empty, he heads to a dark corner, where the lone streetlight died so that he can quickly park the car as you slowly jerk him.

“I thought you’d drive around while I sucked you,” you tease, unbuckling your seat belt. 

His eyes are dark, dangerous, as he casts them on you. “I want to be able to appreciate every second of you choking on my dick, peach.”

You smirk, and you bend down, swirling your tongue around him once. “Yeah?”

He grunts as you suck on his tip, and he reclines his seat, pushing his pants down just enough to fully free his dick. “Yeah.”

You suck once again. “Good boy.”

His large hands find your hair as you swirl your tongue around him, and he pulls it back in a ponytail so that he can watch you work on him, though you’re keen on teasing him more than anything right now.

You want to see how a frustrated Jungkook fucks.

“Just for you,” he replies as you lightly suck his tip once more.

You move to the side, peppering open mouthed kisses all along his shaft, and then some more on his thigh. You suck a hickey there, a dark, purple mark, and Jungkook curses under his breath. 

“Stop teasing,” he says through gritted teeth as you lick the mark.

“Or what?”

You look up to meet his gaze as your tongue toys with his slit. His precum is salty in your mouth, and the frustration building up in his gaze turns your insides to pure lava.

You’re burning for him. Truly burning - you’ve caught fire and you don’t think it can be extinguished.

“Why are you such a brat?” he asks, though he doesn’t sound inquisitive. He rather sounds whiny, like he wants you to stop but some part of him is thrilled.

Or maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s you and your desire for him that’s clouding your mind, like it usually always does.

You go back to his dick, licking your way up and teasing his slit at the top. You then close your mouth around him, give him a tentative suck that makes him buck his hips. You want to pull away, to be more of a brat, but his large hand shifts to the back of your head to hold you in place. You whine, but then he slowly fucks up into your mouth, and it turns into a moan, your eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat.

“See,” he lets out breathlessly. “I know you can take me.”

If you weren’t gone before, you truly are now, and you abandon yourself to the desire you feel for him. You take the lead, bobbing your head up and down as you jerk him off too, making sure every inch of his dick is pleasured. He’s a grunting mess over you, his hand still fisting some of your hair, though he’s thrown his head back and isn’t watching anymore.

You go down, hollowing your cheeks around him, and then slowly come up. You’ve been sloppy, and your spit is a natural lube on his dick as you stop at the tip, swirling your tongue around him.

“Peach,” he says, voice low.

You let go of his dick, meeting his gaze. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark with lust. 

“Mmh?” you let out.

“I really want you right now.”

You don’t need to be told more. You climb on top of him, careful not to press your ass on the honk of his car, and you kiss him rough, your teeth almost clashing as your mouths collide. Jungkook grunts against you, his hands immediately finding your hips, and you moan when he sucks on your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth.

“Do you have condoms?” you ask as he moves to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses down the column of your throat.

You lose your hands in his hair as he sucks on the spot where your neck connects with your shoulder. And then he pauses, lifting an apologetic look to you.

“What?” 

“We used the condom last week,” he reminds you.

In New York.

You groan, hiding your face in his neck. “Are you saying we have to drive all the way home now?”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “Or you finish me off here?” he suggests.

You throw him a stern look that makes him laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart warms in your chest, chasing away the lust, and all you’re left with are the feelings that have been brewing in you for weeks, feelings you don’t dare name right now.

“Get back in your seat, I’ll drive us home.” 

You pout, and he pecks your lips once. You can’t help the soft smile that grows on your features, and you climb off from him, sitting back in the passenger seat.

A second later you’re pulling out in the street, Jungkook having put his pants back on, and he grabs your hand where it rests on your thigh as he drives. It’s intimate somehow, even more so intimate than you sucking his dick a second ago, and you spend the drive admiring him, wondering how it is that you got so lucky when it comes to him.

He opens the door for you once he’s parked the car near your apartment, and he shuts it behind you before grabbing your hand again, pulling you behind him as you walk home. He unlocks the front door, and then you’re in, engulfed by the gentle warmth of your apartment.

There’s a beat of silence as you exchange a look, the air filling with electricity. With the knowledge of what’s about to happen - your blood heats up in your veins, bringing back the arousal that had clouded the car just a few minutes ago.

“You know,” Jungkook lets out, and he takes a step closer to you, towering over you. “It was my first time getting sucked in my car.”

For some reason it surprises you. You didn’t think Jungkook had many firsts left, yet in a week you’ve done two of them with him.

“It was?”

He nods, and he grabs your jaw to tilt your head back, his grip gentle yet firm. “And you were so good to me, mmh?” You reckon you were a brat, and maybe you should remind him, but when he adds, “Should I be good to you now?”, you only nod. He laughs, saying, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It’s all you have time to say before he’s crashing his lips on yours, and he swallows the breathy sound you instinctively let out. His hand falls to your waist, pulling you in, while yours do quick work of pushing his coat off his shoulders. He helps you by taking it off, and you both don’t care to put it in the closet, not when his tongue is in your mouth and he’s turning into the oxygen in your lungs. 

Taking off your shoes prove to be awkward, as you’re both reluctant to disconnect from the kiss, but it’s oh so worth it once you manage to free your feet from the shoes, and then Jungkook picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he pushes you against the door.

You wrap your arms around his neck, sucking on his tongue when he pushes it in your mouth again, and he grunts, grinding into you.

“You make me insane,” he says against your mouth, and then he pulls away to suck another mark on your neck. 

You pull at his hair, and he retaliates by grinding his hips into yours again. “I really want you, Kook,” you say, the nickname slipping from your mouth.

Jungkook pulls back, just enough so that his gaze can meet yours. “What did you just call me?”

Though your heart is beating so loud you can barely hear your thoughts, you manage to recall, repeating, “Kook?”

“Say it again.” 

The intensity in his gaze is not one you can shield from, and you find yourself lacking any defiance. “Kook,” you repeat, softer this time.

“Shit, please always call me that.”

When his soft lips find yours again, you sigh, and he pulls away from the door to carry you to his room, his mouth barely disconnecting just long enough for him to focus on opening the door. He walks in, not bothering to kick the door shut, and he puts you down on his bed, his lips disconnecting just long enough for him to take off his shirt before he’s climbing over top of you, his mouth seeking yours.

You run your hands along his warm skin, appreciating the muscles in his back as he shifts, nails lightly grazing him. He grinds into you in retaliation, and you moan in his mouth, a sound he swallows like a starved man.

Jungkook kneels between your legs, and despite the fact that he didn’t turn the lights on, you still take a moment to admire him in the dim light filtering in from the windows. His big, doe eyes are narrowed softly, like he’s holding in a smile, and he gently runs a hand up your arm before pulling you to a sitting position.

He takes off your coat, eyes never leaving yours - like he’s lost in your gaze the same way that you’re lost in his - and then he takes care of your shirt, throwing it somewhere on the floor. He plays with his piercings as he takes in the sight of your breasts, nipples perked.

“Not wearing a bra?” he teases, and he pinches one of your nipples.

You moan softly, and he pushes you back down so that he can bend and wrap his lips around your other nipple, tongue teasing at the sensitive bud.

“Is there something wrong with that?” you ask once he’s lifted your head from your breast.

“No. Just made me realize that I should have fucked you at the party.”

You bite your lower lip. “You should have.”

“Then everyone would know how good I make you feel, mmh?” he says, and then he starts going down your body, pressing kisses along the column of your neck, and then on your collarbone. Your breasts come next, and he takes his time worshipping them while you tug at his hair, just enough for him to grunt against you.

When he gets tired of your breasts, Jungkook moves lower, pressing gentle kisses on your abdomen, up until he reaches the band of your pants. He looks up then, meeting your gaze seeking consent, and you offer it to him with a nod of your head.

It doesn’t take him more to go lower, and he kisses your clit over your pants. You let out a breathy sound, and he kneels so that he can take off your pants, pulling your panties down at the same time. 

You’re dripping wet. You’ve been dripping wet since you sucked him in his car, and Jungkook watches your juices glistening as he pulls on his lip piercings. “Shit, peach. You’re fucking soaked.”

“I know,” you let out.

“So, so good to me,” he whispers to himself, and then he dives in, licking up from your entrance to your clit, where he swirls his tongue against the sensitive bud.

You become a moaning and writhing mess as he eats you out, as his tongue presses expert circles around your clit. He starts fingering you at the same time, scissoring motions fighting against your walls as they instinctively tighten around him, yet Jungkook doesn’t falter.

He never does. He never falters, is always good to you. It’s no wonder you start riding the wave towards an orgasm in no time, the pressure on your clit just enough to keep you on edge without pushing you over. You try to grind into his mouth, but he pushes you back down, one large hand on your stomach.

“Just let me please you, mmh?” he says against you.

“Jungkook…”

And then he truly goes in, his tongue flat against your clit as he moves his head from side to side, his fingers curling perfectly inside of you. The orgasm hits like a train, and your vision turns white as your walls pulse around his digits. 

Jungkook milks the orgasm out of you, making sure you’re truly spent before sitting back on his heels. You look at him through blissed, half-lidded eyes, and he palms himself over his pants, getting up to take off the rest of his clothes a few seconds later. He stands there for a time, his dick rock hard, and then he walks over to his night table to grab a condom. 

A moment later he’s back between your legs, rubbing his dick up and down your folds to collect your juice. 

“Ready?” he asks.

You’re still high from the orgasm, so you just nod your head once, eyes fluttering shut as he pushes inside of you and you let out a broken moan. He grips your waist, fingers ever so slightly pushing into the supple skin as he seats all of himself inside of you, and then he gives one thrust, pushing back out and then in in a swift motion.

“Peach,” he grunts, and his thumbs shift on your skin, like he’s caressing your sides.

“Mmh?” you let out.

He doesn’t move for a time, and your eyes slide open to meet his gaze. The intensity behind his pupils nearly undoes you, making you reach towards him until he lets go of your waist to grab your hand instead. He leans forward, holding your hand over your head, and then he steals a quick kiss on your lips.

“Let me know if I hurt you?” he says against your mouth.

You kiss him again for good measures, and then whisper, “Don’t worry, I can take it.”

“Fuck,” he curses, and then he starts fucking you, slowly yet deep, his dick infinitely hard inside of you.

He keeps at it for a time, his forehead resting against yours as he fucks you passionately, taking in the breathy sounds you make. Your free hand finds his waist, as if you can urge him to go faster, yet he resists, just keeping that same slow and steady beat. 

He lifts his head, pecks your forehead and then says, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” is all you have time to say before everything changes and he starts pounding into you unforgivingly. 

You hold on to his shoulders, nails digging in his skin as his head hangs low. He grunts directly in your ear as he fucks you, the sounds he makes almost pornographic. It’s hot, deadly so, but then again you think everything he does is hot.

You’re a goner for him. For your brother’s best friend, for someone you can’t truly have. It sobers you, and Jungkook seems to notice the shift in your attitude because he stills inside of you, raising his head to meet your gaze.

“Are you okay?” he gently asks. 

His big, doe eyes are filled with concern for you, with so much emotion you think you might drown. You cup his cheek, taking it all in.

Maybe you truly can give it a chance.

“I think I’m falling for you,” you breathe.

He doesn’t move for a while, doesn’t even blink, but then he grins. He grins, and you think you’ve never seen something as beautiful as him.

“Then that makes two of us,” he whispers, and then he’s kissing you languidly, his hips resuming their motions, though they’re slower this time, closer to what it was like at the beginning. 

You love it all the same, holding him as close to you as you can, kissing him back with every little treacherous emotion you don’t want to name.

He really is too good to be true.

“I’m going to come,” he whispers against your mouth, and he sounds slightly surprised.

Like he didn’t think he could come from gentler, softer sex like what you’re partaking in right now. Yet you react accordingly, pulling on his hair just enough to sting.

“Yeah?” you let out.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

“Fucking come for me, Kook.”

The nickname unleashes him, and he pounds into you, chasing his high as you rake your nails on his back. A few deep thrusts later he’s coming, slamming to the hilt as his dick twitches inside of you, and he kisses you again, grunts and groans in your mouth as you take it all in, your walls pulsing around him like you’re coming too.

It takes you both a while to come down from the high, and Jungkook doesn’t move, stays there with his forehead resting against yours as you breathe in the same air. Your hands run up and down his back in soothing motions despite the thin sheen of sweat covering him, and he occasionally presses soft pecks on your lips that you immediately reciprocate.

Eventually the moment passes, and Jungkook slips out of you to lie down next to you instead, though he stays close, nuzzling his face in your neck as he rests his hand on your stomach. You feel safe, warm, and you wish the world could stop right now. You wish you could stay here, forever.

And tonight you reckon you’re foolish enough to believe you might.

Prev | Chapter 9.5 | Next

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these two are so obsessed with each other, help :') hope you guys liked this chapter! Let me know what you think!!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[martanis]

#9 for GALADRIEL and SAURON COUNTDOWN TO SEASON 2 [AUG. 29]

[aaronsinferno]

Evan Buckley, a man who has always felt something missing in his life or sensed the absence of a uniquely specific form of happiness, may have actually found peace and contentment in a man who intrigues him so much that it unveiled his bisexuality. Im sorry but this is something that could never fail to peak my interest. And then there’s Tommy Kinard, a man who was once forced by his environment to shrink and conceal his true self, a man who desperately wants to belong to those who will fully accept him has now found exactly that along with a man he deeply adores and who reciprocates that affection equally. The same man who is more than eager to take life's next big steps alongside him because he wants to be with him. Why would I not be here for this? How would this put me off in any way???

[daily-chilchuck]

[boxofcondoms]

[tiiramisu-cake]

and that's gojo's son

[chinchintatap]

I just wanna [redacted] [redacted] [redacted]

[boybolt]

⚫⚪🦊🌻