#Driftwood side table

[girl-wonderful]

Eclectic Bedroom in Charlotte An illustration of a medium-sized eclectic guest bedroom with beige walls.

[reecewykes]

Guest - Eclectic Bedroom Example of a mid-sized eclectic guest bedroom design with beige walls

[undertale-kissycutie]

Guest - Eclectic Bedroom Example of a mid-sized eclectic guest bedroom design with beige walls

[driftwoodtableart]

Driftwood Table Art | Buy Customized & Handmade Coffee Table Online - 813 893 9023

[ghoastixx]

Bringing your slashers/horror characters to Thanksgiving

Includes: Michael Myers (OG), Beetlejuice, Billy Loomis & Stu Macher, J.D., Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly, Poly Lost Boys, Carrie White

Includes: gn reader, swearing, pet names,

———————————————————————————-

Michael Myers

In reality, this man is not going to your family’s Thanksgiving. He’s not even taking his mask off.

But let’s pretend!!

Let’s say you DID get Michael to take off his mask and venture out of your home for Thanksgiving.

You told your family that he was mute, some understood that better than others.

Grandma? Loves him for some reason.

“Hi baby, is this Michael? Oh hi sweetheart, how are you doing, come let’s get you guys seated.”

She’s so sweet he’s so unused to it other than from you.

He would freak out a lot of people by sitting there and just staring at everyone.

He’s so big and tall compared to everyone, grandpa would ask if he could help him move a dresser or some shit.

“Come on Michael, we’re gonna be late!” You called, waiting patiently by the door.

When you both arrived at your family’s home where Thanksgiving would be hosted this year, Michael was very tense. Very rarely did he ever take his mask off and he hadn’t had a thanksgiving in years. You took his hand and brushed your thumb over your knuckles as you walked inside, taking your shoes off. Your grandma greeted you with a hug and a comfortingly sweet voice.

“Sweetheart! So glad you could make it! Is this Michael? It’s a pleasure to meet you young man,” your grandma said with a smile, touching his hand which made him tense. “Come now, let’s get you guys seated before the food gets cold.”

Mikey was nervous walking through the house, seeing pictures of grandkids and uncles and cousins, seeing everyone seated.

Your grandpa took liking to his muscles,

“Yeah! Looks like you could get the job done, you mind helping me move some boxes in the garage? My back isn’t as nice as it used to be and my kids are pieces of shit.”

“Dad😡”

———————————————————————————

Beetlejuice

Yeah he can pretend to be problematic for thanksgiving.

Would purposely scare the shit out of your cousins.

Your family calls him musty..

Your emo cousin likes him though!!

“Y/N…get him out of here he stinks!” Meanwhile your dead boyfriend is sitting across from your emo cousin who’s lowkey studying him over. He’s just letting them too, he says it reminds them of Lydia.

Your family is boring to him, he’d much rather have thanksgiving at your own house with Lydia and Adam and Barbra.

“Come on babes, this is boring, we’re out of here,” he states as he takes a Turkey leg and promptly leaves the home, hand in yours.

———————————————————————————-

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

Your parents and family do not approve.

They’re mostly confused as to why you brought two boys with you. They call it slut behavior.

Billy’s family most likely can’t even get through a normal dinner, let alone Thanksgiving, so he was down for coming.

Stu’s family were out of town and he didn’t want to go to some fancy thanksgiving with a lot of people he didn’t know. He’d rather stay in Woodsboro and get drunk for Thanksgiving, but being with his partners worked too.

Your family is way turned off by Billy, they think he’s rude, where as they think Stu is too energetic.

Billy and Stu would find any excuse to dip, letting them have private time, away from everyone.

Stu would make dirty jokes at the table in you and Billy’s ear.

You get a lot of side eyes from everyone..

You knock on the door with both of your boys, only to be greeted by a strange look.

“Y/N, baby, you brought your friends? How..nice..”

When you were all sat down at the table, your aunt started,

“Two boys Y/N? You friends from school?” Your uncle interjected

“I recognize you Loomis. You better not be causing any trouble.” He practically growled. Billy just nodded.

Lots of apologies to your boys after.

“It’s alright baby, it was bound to happen,” Stu said, grabbing a beer from his fridge

“It’s alright puppy, the food was good,”

———————————————————————————-

J.D

Would genuinely probably be the politest to your parents and family,

Got to make a good impression!!

He’d stay close to you the entire time, making sure to show off who he was to you,

God don’t even get him started on his opinion on politics PLEASE..

I feel like he’s the type of guy that your parents would be nice to in person but when he leaves everyone’s like “he’s so weird?😀”

The type of guy to call older relatives ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’

Would hit the deserts HARD

“Sweetie your new boyfriend is very nice,” your grandma hums as you help with the dishes, he sits in the other room, arguing about politics.

“Yeah, he sure is something,”

“I’m very glad you could bring him,”

Your aunt walks in the room, shaking her head, “he’s really weird honey,” you looked at her with a confused facial expression, “I don’t know how to explain it. He’s just.. odd.”

———————————————————————————

Otis Driftwood

You’re eating dinner at his house. Nothing else.

——————————————————————————-

Baby Firefly

Would actually try to go to dinner with you if that’s what you really wanted.

Would probably make an okayish impression on your family,

They think she’s energetic and odd,

She knows…a lot,

I like to think that she does like domestic feelings, so she might actually love to go to your thanksgiving,

You’re holding her hand as you drive back to the firefly home, smiling as your stunning girlfriend rambles next to you.

“It was so fun! Thank you for taking me baby,”

“Of course,” you hun as she continues to speak very highly of the little tradition.

———————————————————————————-

Poly Lost Boys

Your parents are very thrown off when you tell them that Thanksgiving needs to be a little later than 1:00 this year because your boyfriends get off at 5:00.. (when it gets dark)

They are even more thrown off when four bikers walk in with mullets and frills and no manners at all.. well, the quiet one has manners.

David would try and make a good impression while keeping up his ‘I’m the top dog’ behavior.

Dwayne just wants to help out and actually make a good impression.

Marko will spend most of his time with any pets and Paul will follow in foot.

They house down food. It’s sort of embarrassing

Your parents are so thrown off it hurts.

“Sweetie where did you meet them again?” Your mom whispers to you from across the table,

“So, boys, what do you do for work?” Your father questioned, each boy having a way different reaction it looks suspicious.

Your parents just nod and try there best to get through the dinner.

After dinner it gets even worse, they’re all over you, touching and giving little kisses during conversation, right in front of your parents.. god it was going to be a long night.

———————————————————————————

Carrie White

Genuinely would do her best to come to your thanksgiving if her mama let her.

She’d be all dressed up and pretty, silently so excited that she gets to go to someone’s thanksgiving.

She’s so polite and quiet around your family,

If you all say grace, she’s an active part of it.

She’d be so flustered and happy to be there,

She thinks your family is so nice!!

You knock on the door of her house for her to rush down, saying goodbye to her mama. You would say hello to Mrs.White, but very uncomfortably.. you didn’t like Carrie’s Mama.

You smile upon seeing her. She looks so pretty.

“Hey darling, you look great,”

She blushed, looking down a little flustered, “thank you,”

You open the passenger door, letting her get in and closing it for her. She felt so nice, being treated so kindly. She’d remember this day for a while.

Please send me any slasher requests,

(Although I’m more prone to write for Billy & Stu at the moment)

[bullet-prooflove]

Okay! Since you said I could! I'd love it if you'd try (if you're up for it) if you did, "you were never what I expected" with Reacher!! If you ever feel like writing him, this will be here, lol! I'm glad you like the show!

Tagging: @kmc1989

Reacher finds you in a seaside cottage in Maine. It looks like something out of a fairytale, white washed with a grey roof, honeysuckle running up the outside. The garden is lush, well cared for. Not the place he expected to find the world’s foremost Intelligent asset.

There have always been rumours about The Rose, nothing substantial. He’d thought you were just a myth but then he’d received the packet that Joe had left for him, one that was to be delivered only in the event of his death.

He watches you for a while from the woodland on opposite side of the cottage, trying to get a read on you. You spend a lot of time in the garden with your dog Poppy, the collie snoozes in the shade as you weed the flower beds diligently. That garden, the attention you give to it, it shows focus and dedication, traits that served you well throughout your previous position.

He spends days following you, learning your patterns, your habits. Your mornings start with a walk on the beach with Poppy. She frolics on the sand, while you toss pieces of driftwood for her to chase. You get lunch in the diner where all the locals know you. You go for a run on the beach just before sunset. There’s no sign that your anything other than a normal woman.

At least until the third night he spends watching your home, when he finds himself on his knees in the woods with a Glock jammed into the base of his skull.

“This is getting old.” You tell him as you secure his wrists with zipties. “Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea?”

“You know I can break these?” He says almost conversationally.

“You know I could just shoot you and bury you under the rosebushes.”

It’s at that moment Reacher realises what happened to the men that came after you, the ones documented in Joe’s file. He turns his head towards the roses as he passes them, every single one of them healthy and flourishing. He has to say, he approves of your environmentally conscious approach to body disposal.

You make good on that offer of tea. You keep the gun trained on him while you wait for the leaves to steep inside of the pot. The scent of Earl Grey fills the air and Reacher feels his muscles relaxing despite the precarious situation.

“You are not what I expected.” He finds himself telling you as he sits at the kitchen table, his wrists still bound behind him.

Your gaze flickers up to meet his as you set a mug of tea down in front of him and say.

“That’s what the others thought too.”

Reacher? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kaisfruit]

Do you hate me? | Sam SDV x farmer!reader

A/N: haiii im back ^-^ i literally hate this, but im posting it anyways <3 warnings: possibly ooc Sam, smut, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, doggy style, no gendered terms used, AFAB genitalia, Y/N used, maybe more but i cant think of them words: 2k

Life on the farm was tough. Everyday it seemed as if you were working yourself down to the bone in order to just get the bare necessities. Sometimes, it was enough for you to wonder if it was even worth moving out here and taking up work on your grandpa’s farm.

But other times, you were reminded of why it was worth it. A good pay after a day’s worth of busting your ass fishing, a nice yield of crops, and most of all, helping the townspeople and getting to know them. That last one had to be the ultimate highlight. The smile on Maru’s face when you found the right ore for her latest invention, or the genuine side of Haley you got to see when presenting her with a blackberry to take her next picture to the next level. It was things like that that kept you working hard and making the most of your days. 

Though, there was one villager that you always seemed to avoid: Sam. Sure, if he had a request on the bulletin board then you’d fulfill it, obviously, but your conversations were kept brief and you knew he was starting to notice. “Avoid” may be a strong word, but that’s how he was bound to see it. You’d hand him a pizza without looking him in the eye and when he showed his gratitude your face would flush and you’d quickly scamper off. And it’s not like you went out of your way to give anyone else special gifts. Sure, if you came across a piece of driftwood you’d offer it to Leah or if you happened to find some amethyst in the mine you’d give it to Abigail, but otherwise you would just chat to the other villagers and show your kindness through other means. 

“Hey, Y/N, got a minute?” A voice rang through your ears and you jumped a bit from where you were watering your pumpkins. Without turning around, you replied. “Yeah sure what’s up-” You replied casually until you realized who it was that came to speak with you. Instantly, you felt your palms become sweaty and your heart began racing in your chest. Your watering can fell to the ground and instantly began drowning your crops. “Shit,” you murmured, quickly dropping down to pick it up. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” Sam spoke as he also dropped down to try and grab your watering can. You had already grabbed it and stood up, so he had nothing else to do but stand up as well albeit a bit embarrassed. “I’m sorry, again.”

“It’s-it’s all good.” You silently cursed yourself as you stumbled over your words. “Umm…what did you want to talk about?” You asked, wanting to get the conversation over with. 

“Oh! Yeah, um, this might sound a little silly, so I really don’t know how to ask it.” He started, staring down at his feet. “Do you, y’know, hate me?”

That’s NOT what you were expecting. “What.” You replied, shock evident on your face.

“It’s okay if you do! Well, I mean, I’ll be upset of course, but I just wanted to know if I upset you in any way or-or if there’s something I can do to make it better-”

“Sam, I don’t hate you.” You said plainly, probably the first coherent sentence you’ve ever said to him within your entire time of living in the valley.

“What?” It was his turn to exercise confusion. “But…but then why do you always run away when I try to talk to you? Or why do you keep our conversations so short? Sebastian and Abigail talk about you and what you say to them all the time, so i just assumed…” He trailed off, a frown forming on his face.

You let out a sigh and sat your watering can down beside you. Resting your hands on your hips, you looked up at him. “Wanna talk inside?” Your head motioned to your house, “I’ll explain there.”

He followed you into the house and quickly found a seat at the lone chair next to the table. You took a seat on your bed and sighed once more. He just seemed overwhelmingly confused. 

“Sam….” You began, trying to muster up the courage to say what you needed to say. It made you feel just terrible that your actions have led up to him thinking this. The silence began to draw on and on for what seemed like forever to Sam. To you, it felt like seconds as you licked your lips out of nervousness. “I like you…like, really like you.”

Sam was taken aback, shock apparent on his face. “So, you don’t hate me? We’re friends?” He smiled, relief seeming to wash over him. To that you shook your head which confused him once again. Why were you doing this to him?

“No, I, uh, think I’m in love with you, Sam.” You murmured, but he heard it and his face lit up with a blush. “So, yeah, I don’t hate you. Quite the opposite.” You tried to joke, trying to make the sting of his upcoming rejection hurt less.

“Y/N…Yoba, what a relief. I’m so glad you feel the same way.” It was your turn to be shocked. With your silence ringing out, he continued. “Your gifts are just so thoughtful and when we do talk, you’re just so cute and I can’t help but admire how hardworking you are. You’re the driving force behind all my music at this point, y’know.” He admitted with a big grin on his face.

You sat there, stunned, as this revelation dawned on you. He liked you back?! Even if you have treated him so much differently than the other villagers. Your gaze on him softened. He was too sweet. 

“You know, Sam, you’re the only person I buy and make gifts for…” You shared an admission in return for his. 

“Really?!” His grin not wavering, his eyes lit up completely. If he had a tail, you’re sure it would have been wagging like crazy. “Awww Y/N, you like-like me.”

“I literally just said that.” He laughed at your response. Sam seemed to be vibrating with joy at this new information, but then his neverending energy seemed to pause as he stared intently at you. He looked like he wanted to ask something and you tilted your head, a silent conversation happening between you two.

“Hey, Y/N, can I, like, kiss you?” He asked, looking away for a moment out of nervousness. Your face deepened in hue, but slowly you nodded. He saw this out of the corner of his eye and instantly the happiness shakes seemed to return. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever stood up quicker and he covered the distance between the two of you in a few large strides. You stood up from where you sat on the bed. The two of your shared a glance before Sam finally leaned down and your lips locked. Your eyes slowly closed as you enjoyed yourself and felt sparks fly around you. 

Sam is the one who pulled back, his gaze half-lidded as he looked you in the eyes. Then, his hands cupped the back of your head and pulled you forward into a deeper kiss. This one more intimate than the first. Sam was clearly eager as his tongue licked at your lips, seemingly begging for entrance, and you returned his eagerness tenfold as your mouth opened to allow your guys’ tongues to collide. 

You leaned back out of the kiss, breathless, as you quickly started pulling your overalls off. Sam looked stunned at your actions and you looked at him bashfully. “Did I read the room wrong?”

“Not at all.” Is all he said before he began mimicking your actions and stripped himself of his clothes. You two didn’t speak until you were both down to your underwear. Sam was clearly hard in his boxers and you couldn’t help but stare. Him, on the other hand, was trying his best to be respectful. His eyes were tempted to stare, but he was forcing himself to look you in the eyes despite the situation you two were in.

Slowly, your hands went up to unclasp your bra and you let your breasts fall free from their confines. Then he couldn’t help but stare. Taking the initiative, Sam walked on forward, closing the distance between you two, as he rested his hands on your chest. He leaned in for another kiss as he began tweaking your nipples. His hands were unpracticed, but Yoba did it feel good. It’s not like you had much practice yourself with most of your time being spent farming and fishing. It felt better than your own hands and that was a plus in your book.

“S-Sam,” you breathed against his lips, getting his attention. “Can…can you eat me out?” You asked tentatively. Like earlier you were expecting rejection, but one look at his face was enough to cast away any doubt. He looked over the moon at the mere prospect, as if he was waiting his whole life just to serve you.

“There’s nothing I want to do more.” He admitted as he watched you lay down on the bed. You looked divine. He never thought that he would ever get this chance with you and here you were, splayed out asking for him to devour you. Sam could feel his cock strain in his boxers at the thought. 

He crawled on top of you and was quick to remove your panties and throw them somewhere in the room. If any word were to describe Sam in this moment it would be overzealous. He wanted to take his time with you and unpack you fully, but Yoba were you just too perfect. You were too much for his senses. You drove him crazy. 

Sam sat there for a while just admiring your pussy until he remembered you were waiting for him to make a move. Slowly, he licked up your slit and both of you let out a moan. It took him a moment to get into it, but once he did, Sam was sloppily licking up your juices and making just the most obscene sounds as he made out with your pussy.

Your hand latched into his hair and pulled, which caused a groan to escape him, and you were a complete mess above him. Yet, your noises ticked up a notch when his tongue circled around your clit and began stimulating you there. He took note and began focusing there. Your moans may have been the sweetest song he has ever heard. Sam worked hard at your folds as his tongue continued to pleasure you.

To your surprise, you felt two fingers plunge into you which caused a yelp to leave your mouth. Not only was his tongue attacking your clit, but two fingers were, somehow, expertly working in and out of you in order to bring you pleasure. Unbeknownst to you, Sam found himself rutting against the bed as your sounds and your taste were turning him on beyond belief. 

“Sam…S-Sam,” you moaned out the only warning you gave before you came all over his face. He greedily licked up all your juices and continued licking until you pushed his head away due to overstimulation. 

You were both out of breath and took a moment to get air back into your lungs. 

“Hey, Y/N, can you flip over for me?” He asked so gently, no sign of demand in his voice, and your heart couldn’t help but flutter. You followed his request and even stuck your ass up in the air and rested your head on your arms to create the most comfortable position you could.

All you could feel was movement behind you, surely Sam taking off his boxers and lining himself up behind you, but he sure was taking his time. That was your final thought before he pushed himself inside you. An elongated moan escaped your throat that harmonized with the groan he let out. He seemed to fill you up completely. Whether or not that was true was irrelevant, all you knew was this was way better than what you could do with your hands. It took a moment for you to feel adjusted, but when you did you let out a soft “m-move” and Sam began pounding into you.

Your small little farmhouse had soft moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin echo around the space as Sam fucked into you. 

“F-fuck Y/N…” He whimpered from behind you, “you’re perfect, so perfect, fuck…” Sam’s tone was breathy and whiny as he babbled on and on. He did nothing but praise you and say how good your cunt felt as his cock bullied your insides. He could feel your walls tighten around him, signifying how close you were to climax, and he couldn’t help but be close himself. His grunts and whimpers got more frequent. Finally, your pussy clenched around him and formed a vice grip causing him to pause in his thrusts and he moaned at the tightness. Once again, you released around him and a high pitched keen escaped your throat. Sam kept fucking you through your orgasm into overstimulation, but he just kept going as he chased his own release. 

“Y/N, I’m close…” He groaned, his hips beginning to stutter. Sam leaned down and began to lick and suck at the back of your neck as he thrusted. Your moans were softer now as you tried to regain energy, yet he was still making you feel good. He straight up whined as he released into your pussy, his thick cum painting your walls. Sam humped against your cunt letting out whines as he did so as he let his release spill into you. He stayed situated there for a bit, letting himself truly enjoy your warmth against his softening cock.

Slowly, he pulled out and was transfixed by the combination of his cum and your slick that leaked out of your pussy. The sight was enough to get his dick kicking back to life and he bit his lip. You flipped yourself over onto your back to look up at him only to see his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered up to yours.

“Wanna go for another round?”

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #37] Faking It

warnings: pleased be seated for THE JANITORS CLOSET hehe, and iconic chapter in the bd universe. seokjin! pregnancy scares! tittie worship, thigh riding, semi-public, a lil self-pleasure, multiple orgasms, kissing <33, cum in panties??, idk, one of my fave bd smut scenes and they don't even shag! there's a lot of plot in there. all the fave characters!! and the biggest villains!!

a/n: i figured out the wrong headers!! this header was actually the og 36 header and the og 37 header is what I used for 36 lol

also also also i knew i said there would be more updates tonight buuuut I finished write #60 today so I'm editing that instead hehe. there's a direct reference to something said in this chapter in #60!

wc: 18k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

In the quiet bustle of Jeongguk's favourite downtown cafe, Yoongi frowns.

"Are you even listening to me, Gguk?"

On the table sits a half-drunk coffee, the bitter taste a little too much for Jeongguk at this time in the morning. Notebooks open, pens scattered on the driftwood table, Jeongguk has spent the morning earnestly scrawling down revisions to his business plan.

The centrepiece of the table - a single white rose in a thin vase has been put on an empty seat. Just would have been in the way.

Also kind of made Jeongguk's blood boil, but he knows he shouldn't be irrationally angry at a fucking flower. A nice one at that. An expensive one.

Just like Seokjin had made sure to remind you on his calling card.

Happy Birthday, Darling. Exquisite roses for an exquisite girl. You can pretend they're from your new guy if you like - I'm sure he agrees you deserve the best that money can buy. All my love x

Stupid prick hadn't signed his name, but he has set a precedent. There's only one person who'd send you white roses. Not just a dozen. Not two dozen. Three fucking dozen. Thirty-six.

36 identical, soulless roses destined to die within a week or so, already embarking on their demise.

Danbi had snorted. "What's that? A rose for each time he cheated?"

You had smiled. Shook your head. "Think four dozen would be needed for that."

Jeongguk had been with you when you'd redistributed the roses to your CU ajumma aunties, and had to deal with their scrutinising eyes. Had smiled, and played nicely, even when they called Seokjin the 'handsome one'. As much as he might hate that tall mother fucker, he's got a pair of eyes. Knows he's a bloody god.

And so Jeongguk had moved the rose on his table out of sight before he even realised that he would need to.

The display of his iPad, which is still covered in your small fingerprints from lazy days wasted in his bedroom, has dimmed. It obscures the last revision of the plan. Hides it away from prying eyes.

A work in progress for years, now, he started planning for the samgyeopsal restaurant during his first semester of university. Had been a hypothetical project that he just hasn't been able to let go of. Like a first love, it kept coming back to the forefront of his mind.

For a little while - he's not sure how long; three, maybe four minutes - Jeongguk has been watching the beads of condensation sweat down the side of his glass. The straw, given to him by a barista with a warm smile and nothing else remotely interesting about her, lays beside the glass, still encased in its plastic wrapper.

He hears your voice and its tone of concern each and every time he raises the now-wet glass to his lips.

Careful, Koo. It'll hurt your teeth.

With every fabricated iteration of your concern, his mile-a-minute heart temporarily eases. For those scarce moments, it doesn't feel as if it'll burst straight out of his chest from the sheer exhausting stress of the unknown; His future. Yours. The one that you may or may not have together.

Funny how you're the main source of his stresses right now, and yet are the only thing able to ease them.

And so the straw remains as it is - still, untouched - just so he can pretend you care.

Dazed and most definitely confused when he looks up, Jeongguk's vacant eyes land on Yoongi. There's a frown on the older mans face, but a softness to his eyes.

"Hm?" Jeongguk hums. "Sorry?"

Sighing, Yoongi reaches for the straw that Jeongguk has so purposefully left discarded. Snaps the thin plastic wrapper apart. Reaches over and pushes the straw through a cluster of stubborn ice that just refuses to melt. Helps his friend in a way that makes total sense, and yet Jeongguk's mind is so jumbled up that it almost feels an attack.

It's him who frowns, now. Dimples form in the creases between his lips and cheeks, a thick line making itself known in the ridge between his eyes. Yoongi pays it no notice. Simply says, "Coffee'll stain your teeth. You'll thank me when you're older."

Perhaps he will. For now, Jeongguk's teeth are still pearly white. He's no need to worry about them.

"What wrong with you, huh?" Yoongi presses. "Spent all of last week badgering me to help you out, and now that I am, you've been a world away all morning. What gives?"

For all of the words that he could use to rabbit on about you for hours upon hours, they all seem to be stuck in his throat, dryly swallowed down like bitter pills sticking against his oesophagus.

To mention you now would be to admit that you occupy all vacancies inside his brain, in each and every waking moment. You're there in the moments he doesn't spend awake, too. A constant. Just as permanent as the glitter that's trapped between the woven threads of his cotton comforter, and as deeply embedded into him as the tattoos on his skin.

Pressing his lips together, piercing flipping in the corner of his mouth like it so often does, Jeongguk shrugs. "Sorry. Think my brain is shutting down."

If Yoongi suspects anything other than this as a viable excuse, he doesn't mention it. Just nods. Accept the white lie, and Jeongguk hopes he knows there's a white flag tied around it, too.

It's not that he wants to lie to Yoongi. He just doesn't want to be honest with himself.

Phone face down on the table, Jeongguk's device holds a whole host of contradictory search terms in his browser history. Questions he could probably ask Yoongi, but won't. Questions he should ask you, but most definitely won't.

Girlfriend - cause he figures it will bring back more results than fwb, or whatever else he could equate you to - missed her period, what should I do? Do girls miss periods often? Missed period, meaning, what? Having a baby with fwb, what now? Abortions? What if an abortion doesn't work? Is adoption good for the baby? How to be a single dad? What if only one person wants to keep it? What the fuck oenejoiegohhfo e.

The final result is still open in his browser. Was about three in the morning. Jeongguk had been sweating beneath his duvet, skin just as clammy as the condensation rings that have soaked into the wooden table from his iced coffee glass.

Nothing is confirmed. No test has been done - and yet he's thinking about where a playmat would fit in the living room, but also knows the name of the clinic downtown that would quickly and effectively prevent that from ever being his reality.

"We've made good progress," Yoongi tells Jeongguk. "Can take a break, if you like? Got a couple weeks till your meeting with the bank. Still got time."

There's no place in Jeongguk's business plan for a baby. He half wonders if maybe he should ask Yoongi where to factor it in. Knows better.

So instead, Jeongguk nods. "Yeah. Think that might be good. Sorry."

Yoongi just dismisses it. Tells Jeongguk it's fine, and really means it. Knows that trying to straighten out the fine details of a hypothetical business is harder than it would first appear. They've been troubleshooting; thinking of problems just for the sake of it. Making sure that Jeongguk's application for a business loan is airtight.

Of all of his friends, Yoongi is the only one who's ever been through anything similar. Is a fountain of knowledge with a wealth of experience that he's lucky enough to have access to.

Jeongguk half-thinks he must be mad for jumping in head first with this restaurant idea of his. Isn't sure he's got what it takes. Just knows he has to at least try, so he can say he can. So that even if he suffers the lows of failure, he will have experienced the highs of hope. Maybe even the uncharted territory of success.

"Could be a good idea to talk some things through with other people," Yoongi offers. "Someone in hospitality. Maybe DB. Get different scenarios neither of us have thought of yet."

Jeongguk doesn't need any more make-believe scenarios where you're involved. Has already thought of far too many all by himself.

But Yoongi doesn't know that, and Jeongguk would like to keep it that way. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

It's this encouragement from Yoongi that has a text from Jeongguk pinging through to your phone a quarter of an hour later. Phone in your back pocket, you'll check the notification that buzzed quietly in a moment or so.

For now, you're locked in conversation with a woman who is both everything you fear and everything you want to be. Peachy-cheeked, with a crystal white smile and lips that are somehow perpetually glossed, Jina has been talking you through the upcoming event that Taehyung is showcasing for at the Ryu.

"I was really impressed - hold on," she huff a little through the strain of reaching across the desk for her file. You immediately get to your feet to help her out. Her peach cheeks are now pretty pink apples. She exhales a deep-rooted breath and plonks back into her own chair. Laughs at herself, and her inability to do even the simplest of tasks, then rests her hand adoringly over the incredibly large bump that protrudes from her stomach. Is appreciative as she says, "Thank you." Looks down to her bump, and laughs again. "Hurry up, now. Mummy has jobs to do."

The way Jina speaks to the little life that's growing inside of her makes you want to violently vomit. Not for disgust, or anything negative, but for the fact that you're terrified of a similar fate.

Well-put together, still in designer garments, Jina has her life together. Is the Lead Gallery Coordinator at the Ryu. Spent her twenties working her way up, only to land her spot at the top two weeks before she welcomed in her thirties. She's distinguished. Had worked damn hard to stay at the top, even when her assistant is consistently trying to fill the shoes she hasn't even taken off yet.

It's why she's still working, even when her due date is within touching distance. Will be damned if some jumped up twat that studied illustration at the expense of his wealthy parents, and has never actually produced an illustration worthy of any praise, ends up behind her desk. Perhaps she's jaded, and perhaps she's bitter that she never got an easy ride, but she did at least have passion - which is more than can be said for her assistant. The only reason she keeps him on is because his parents are benefactors of the gallery. Can't fire him, even if she wants to.

"Sorry," she smiles back up at you, then hums. Ponders. Pregnancy brain is not being kind to her these days. "Where was I?"

With a kind smile, you happily remind her. "You were saying you were impressed?"

"Ah, yes! I was. I am. With the both of you, actually. Kim Taehyung is producing art that actually entices people, which is a rarity these days. I'm surprised his portfolio wasn't passed onto me sooner."

Although when she considers her assistant, the surprise wanes.

"And you," she continues, then looks down to flick through the proposed show in the file you put together earlier that day. "You say you're just doing this part-time? As a favour?"

Nodding, you explain, "Taehyung's a friend, and this is my area of interest. Should have gone down this route straight after university, but you know what the industry is like."

With a pitiful smile, Jina nods. "No money in it unless you already have money."

It's no secret that the arts are a luxury for those who can afford them - not just the masterpieces themselves, but the time to indulge in them. Apprenticeships and internships pay poorly, so in order to get your foot on the ladder, you have to come from money. Have to be able to rely on parents, or aunts, or uncles to fund your living expenses while you live out your dreams.

Wasn't an option you'd had, so a compromise had been made in the form of the art cafe. It's minimum wage, but you do at least enjoy it and can pay the bills.

At such a point in her career where the money is good enough for her to never worry about finances, Jina's heart bleeds for you. From one creative to another, she wishes there was a way she could help.

"You've got everything I'd look for in an assistant," she tells you, and the compliment just serves to make you feel disappointed. Success has always been a goal of yours, and you regret not working harder towards it. The past year has taught you many things, but mainly it's reinforced the idea that you shouldn't spend time on things or people who don't enrich your heart.

And so you throw caution to the wind; chance a suggestion that you know is beyond your capabilities.

"Well, perhaps I could help out when you're on maternity leave?" You chance. Know that you don't have enough experience nor credentials to take on her role, but fuck it. What's the worst she could do? Say no? "Help keep things running smoothly?"

When Jina smiles, you know that rejection is coming your way - but at least you tried.

"No money in the job," she sighs. "The gallery director hasn't opened up a vacancy. My assistant is stepping up."

Even saying it out loud makes her blood boil - but she knows it's bad for the baby, so tries to cool it.

"I have a sneaky suspicion that they'll open up a vacancy in April. Maybe May. When it does, you'd be top of my list for recommendations," she offers. Knows that things are gonna fall apart without her there. The higher-ups won't realise what a fundamental error of judgement they've made until it's too late. "That if you'd be interested?"

You don't think you've ever been asked such a stupid question.

This is a lie.

You've spent time with the Dionysus boys. Have been asked a million questions than this one.

"Of course!" You enthuse. "I mean, I don't get me wrong, I love my job - but an opportunity like this would be... I don't even know," you laugh, unable to articulate yourself properly, so try simplicity. "Yes. Please. If that happens, please pass along my details."

She nods. Understands your excitement. Was in a very similar position, once upon a time. All it took was someone taking a chance on her. She'd like to do the same for you. Has seen your work ethic for an unpaid favour to a friend. Knows you wouldn't let her down.

"Now," she smiles, moving along the conversation as to not dwell on a situation that might never happen. "We're about a week out from the next show - has Taehyung finished the new piece? Any causes for concern?"

"Yes, and no," you assure her, even if it is a little lie.

Taehyung scrapped his piece last minute and has been in the studio ever since your birthday. Had a new wave of inspiration, apparently. Declared as such about twenty minutes after the knocking from Danbi's bedroom had eventually come to an end, so you dread to think of what this new piece could be like.

Still, you trust his creative process, so know that whatever he produces will be more than enough to satisfy the gallery execs.

The meeting runs smoothly; no hiccups to iron out. The subway ride back to the middle of town has to contemplate what life could be like had you met Taehyung earlier; if you could have a career to be proud of by now.

But there was no Taehyung without Jeongguk, and no Jeongguk without the devastating impact of Seokjin. Funny, how the entire time you were with Seokjin, he'd wished you had a better job. Lamented the minimum wage, and your irregular working hours. Would steer the direction away from what the pays the bills whenever you'd meet one of his friends, and they'd ask, 'what do you do for work?'. He'd never been proud, and so in turn, nor had you.

You wonder if he'd be proud now. It's bittersweet.

And as you arrive at Jeongguk's favourite cafe and spot him immediately - chin in his palm, a soft pout on his lips, papers scattered all over his table - you're the one who feels proud.

Seeing the ones you love chase their dreams is a special sort of pride. One that makes your heart swell. So much potential. So much hope.

Ordering up fresh drinks before you head over, there's a thick tension in the air. Jeongguk doesn't even realise you're here yet. Is too consumed with thoughts of you, like the idiot he is. Thoughts you, and his future, and how he doesn't know how to plan anything when he doesn't know what life will look like a year from now.

He clocks you as you're confirming the order with the barista. A hot flash of panic disrupts his body, but it cools just as quickly. Fucks with his body temperature regulation. Makes him feel all clammy and horrible despite the aircon in the cafe.

There's a smile on your lips, and Jeongguk finds one on his, too. There's a shine to his eyes that only glitters whenever you're nearby, and it's noticeable all the way from across the cafe.

Coffees in hand, clothes remarkably formal for a day off, Jeongguk narrows his eyes as you approach.

"What have you been up to?" he queries instead of greeting you properly, not caring for small-talk. Wants to know the big stuff. His brain has been cruel to him today. Hopes you can help remedy it slightly.

"Gallery," you simply say, taking the seat beside him.

There are four chairs at the table. Yoongi had been sitting opposite Jeongguk. You could have chosen to sit there, too.

He doesn't mention it.

"Everything going alright?" He asks, reaching over for his coffee with a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks."

"All good, I think," you say, sucking a little air between your teeth.

He cocks a brow. "You don't sound convinced."

With a bit of a defeated shrug, you purse your lips together. "I just..."

The way you trail off is all too familiar. Jeongguk's used to it. Has been a while since you struggled to find your words so badly.

"Big girl words," he teases softly, which earns him a small laugh from you.

"Fuck off," you smile, then shake your head to realign your thoughts. "No, I just... Sorry. Did it again. I just don't know how sustainable this all is, yanno?"

Jeongguk doesn't say a word. Knows that you aren't done formulating just yet - and when you sigh, before launching into a little ramble, he's proven right.

"I mean, I'm already a shift down this week to help with prep, and next week I've had to book two days off work. And like, honestly, it's fine," you stress. "I enjoy it so much, but long term? When Tae's shows get bigger and bigger? I just dunno, Gguk. Dunno."

You want it to be long-term. Never knew it was something you wanted until you realised maybe you can't have it. Seem unattainable now in a way that you knew before you started helping Taehyung out. The thing so wonderful about dreams is that you fool yourself into thinking they can come true. You neglect rational thinking.

Confronted with the restraints of the industry, it's hard to ignore. Hard to pretend like you could still have it, if you really want it. Things like that don't happen for people like you.

"Well just wait until I get the restaurant going," he smiles, knowing he doesn't have a solution for you - but that he does have the ability to talk about the future with you in a way that doesn't feel all that terrifying. "When I'm super successful and have queues out the door, I'll hire you. Will pay you above minimum wage and let you work with Tae on the side."

"Oh yeah?" You grin, enthused by the childlike excitement in his sparkly eyes. "Gonna be a big hot shot restaurant owner?"

"I'll have you know, I'll be the CEO," he nods his head smugly.

"Oh, that's sexy," you tell him.

"I know."

You hum a little and then decide that a little flirt is okay. "Would be kinda hot, fucking the boss, wouldn't it?"

He raises a brow. Swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, wetting his lip ring as he toys with it. "Would be a HR nightmare."

"Would give me a reason to call you Sir."

"Don't," he smiles, eyes closing, teeth showing. Sweetness encapsulates him despite the stickiness of the scenario that's playing out inside his head right now. Shakes his head. Slowly opens his eyes to find you again. Laughs. "You're fuckin' trouble, Byeol."

"S'why you like me."

"True," he admits rather shamelessly. Doesn't fancy denying it today. Not to himself. Not to you. Not to the world around him.

The air between you gets thinner. Feels like you can only keep breathing if you keep your eyes on one another. Up, and up you go into the atmosphere. Any higher, and you'll be in the fucking stars.

"I hate to ask..." Jeongguk murmurs and you immediately feel your floating soul crash back down to earth. The stars are off-limits today. Your feet must remain firmly on the ground.

"Then don't," you say sharply, not wanting the conversation to go in the direction you know he's steering it in.

"Byeol," he simply reprimands, knowing that it's a conversation that needs to be had. "You've not given me any updates."

"'Cause there's been nothing to report back," you say, as if it's no big deal; as if you haven't spent every waking moment thinking about it. As if your daydreams aren't getting more and more concerning. "I've skipped a month. That's all. It's not that uncommon."

"Well, according to WebMD, apparently some women get periods even when they are pregnant - like, certified, tested, proven true pregnant," Jeongguk states, his late-night research coming to the forefront of his mind. "That's not supposed to happen. Just like you're not supposed to miss your periods when you're not pregnant-"

"Gguk," you plead. "It's not that linear. All sorts of things affect periods."

"I know," he replies, and bless his heart, he really does think he knows. "Stress, eating habits, exercise, medical issues - I've read, like, 6 articles about PCOS in the last 24 hours. Didn't even know what it was last week."

You're fond as you smile over at him. "Why have you been reading PCOS articles?"

" Because ," he stresses, but gives no immediate follow up. Looks over to you with pleading eyes, like a puppy dog waiting for scraps. "Look B, I don't know what's going on. You won't tell me what's going on. The best I can do is try and understand."

"I've told you, Gguk. It's fine. Please. Just trust me."

It's a naive ask, for him to trust you, when you don't even trust yourself.

"Will you please just take a test?" He asks. "The longer it takes, the less options you'll have. We'll have."

You know he's right. Know that there's a test waiting in your bedroom, and that you've spent hours looking at because you're terrified of a result. A positive result, that is.

You won't admit to the way that the idea of a negative result makes you feel. Not to Jeongguk, nor to yourself. It's not what you want. You know that it wouldn't fit into your life. You know that the idea of being in Jina's position would wreck any goals or plans for your life.

And then you're feeling defensive. Pressured. Overwhelmed.

"Look, I said it's fine," you insist, trying to reassure not only him, but yourself too. "I know my body. It just does this sometimes. If anything, I'm probably��less fertile than I should be."

"Yeah, but you don't know that-"

"And you don't know that I'm not."

"B, this affects us both," Jeongguk says, his patience waning, tone firming. He's right.

"I know that!" You snap back, 'cause it feels like he's backing you into a corner. "You think I'm not aware? Gguk, if I am-" you refuse to say the word, then quieten your voice. Look around. Get a little closer. "If I am , then I'm the one who has to deal with it. I'm the one who has to live with it. I'm the one who has to experience it."

"Oh what, so suddenly I play no part in this?" He argues right back, but keeps his voice quiet. Mirrors you. Is right there in the corner with you. If this is a boxing match, then he's not your opponent; he's the coach giving you water in the break and patching you up. There's no need to see him as the enemy. "I'm not just some random fucking guy, B. I'm not about to jump ship."

"Okay, hypothetical," you say, encouraging him to use his imagination a little. Try and see things how you see them. "It's positive. I don't want it, you do. Then what? What do we do?"

He's silent for a moment. Looks a little defeated as he shrugs. Doesn't look at you. "We'd get rid."

And even though it's what you think is the correct answer - putting priority on the carrier of the child - it still makes you a little sad. There are layers to such a decision. It's not straightforward. The complexities are beyond what you're capable of considering. There is no 'correct' answer. There are just choices; the one that you take, and the ones that you don't.

It's a curse how vivid your imagination can be; how you can imagine the rough skin by the tips of his fingers as he'd hold your hand in the waiting room, the look in his eyes as you turn to steal a glance at him before going through a pair of double doors that would ultimately change the outcome of your future, and the sterile scent of a medical facility that you'd really rather never visit.

You can picture his smile; pretty but ever so weak. Gorgeous little lies of 'it's okay' wrapped up with bows that could have maybe one day been tied in a child's hair instead.

Pull yourself together, you scold yourself. You don't even want a kid!

"If I were to get rid of it, while you wanted it... Gguk, you would resent me for what I took from you until the day you died," you say solemnly.

The gravity of it all is setting in. A positive result would ruin your lives regardless of whichever option you choose.

The pair of you have been gambling, and it seems like your luck is out.

"I wouldn't," Jeongguk frowns.

"How do you know?"

"Well how can you be certain that I would?" he counters. Is desperately trying see your point of view, but it's obscured by his own opinion on the matter. "Look, none of this is worth us getting worked up about until we know what the fuck we're dealing with. You might not even be pregnant."

He's right. You know he's right. The word makes your stomach lurch regardless.

So you nod, but plead, "Just give me a little time. Please."

He agrees. Knows that you do at least have a little more time before any certain decisions would need to be made. Walks you home. Tells you to keep him updated.

But then one day turns into two, then three, then four - and before you know it, you're ignoring one another, trying to pretend like all of this isn't happening; as if nothing has changed, and as if you haven't potentially fucked it all up just 'cause you couldn't stop messing about.

It's laughable, really. Your insatiable need to fuck one another has become its own form of birth control. Jeongguk isn't even waking up hard these days. Too stressed. No worry of fucking, now. Dick seems to be broken.

In all reality, he knows that it's nothing to do with his cock. He's not waking up hard, 'cause there's a lack of blood flow. Heart isn't pumping it like it normally does. Goes with the territory of not having you around.

But if he acknowledges that, he acknowledges everything he stands to lose before he's even had a chance to have it. Have you .

It's what he's thinking of now - cock limp, scowl hard - the night before Taehyung's art show. It's been five days. You've not kept him updated. He's not asked for updates.

You've both been pathetic - but he's attributing it to you. Thinks you're deliberately being childish so that he won't think having a kid is a good idea - as if he even wants them right now.

Sitting on the couches of Taehyung's studio space, the usual suspects are up to nothing much. Just having a few drinks the night before the show. It's a bit of ritual - nothing set in stone, just kind of what happens. The easing of Taehyung's nerves means he always wants to indulge.

Stewing in the corner like a little parasite, Jeongguk's face of thunder hasn't eased all evening. He never gives a straight answer when he's asked about these little moods of his, so no one has bothered to press too hard. He is at least in attendance - which is more than can be said for you.

"It really doesn't matter," Taehyung smiles, unphased by Jeongguk, stroking Danbi's back as she scrolls through her phone, looking for outfit inspiration.

"Yeah, no offence Danbi, but everyone's gonna be looking at the art," Jimin mumbles through a mouthful of overpriced breadsticks. "No one is gonna care what you wear."

Rolling her eyes, Danbi doesn't care for his opinion. "So? I want people to look at me, which is why my outfit needs to good."

Still stroking her back, Taehyung is so incredibly fond of her unwavering self-assured place in the world. "People will be looking at you," he supports her. "What's DB wearing?"

Flicking through to your message thread, which had ended earlier that afternoon with a very blatant bullshit excuse for your lack of attendance, Danbi scrolls up to find the picture you'd sent her earlier that day.

"Oh, it's nice," Taehyung downplays it. Knows exactly why Danbi is desperate to find something showstopping. Will never let her be aware of this, though. What he does do, is make sure it reaches the right people. "She shown you, Gguk?"

The grunt that Jeongguk makes is barely audible. If there's one thing he doesn't want to see right now, it's you. Especially you looking all fancy and shit.

He's still annoyed. You haven't spoken to him since your fight other than to send him dumb instagram reels. Rabbits hopping about. Shit like that. He smiles every damn time and it only serves to piss him off even more.

But, like the true nuisance she is, Danbi forwards the picture through to Jeongguk. She hasn't heard directly from you that you're fighting with Jeongguk, but anyone who has spent time with the both of you in the last few days will be able to figure it out.

Jeongguk knows better than to click through on the notification. Knows that if you wanted him to know what you're wearing, you would have shown him.

But he misses you.

Wants to see you, even if he knows it will only serve to annoy him even more.

He's proven right.

Standing in front of your mirror - the one used for your first selfie with the bird necklace on Christmas Eve, and also used for your own sadistic pleasure on that very first evening Jeongguk learned what it felt like to be yours - you're in a black dress.

Satin, he thinks. Something silky. It's short, like your dresses so often are, cutting off midway down your thighs. Fitted. Sweetheart neckline that blooms over the top of your chest, with sleeves that follow this same structured line. Shoulders fully exposed, there is a small tickle of satisfaction when Jeongguk notices your bird sitting prettily in place, right where it should be.

Even if you are annoyed, like he knows you are, you're keeping him close. It's more than can be said for last time. You've no intention of pushing him away or so it would seem. He takes comfort in this, a self-indulgent smile on his lips - until he realises and flattens them once more.

"S'fine," he just says as he locks his phone, as if his heart isn't beating all irregularly. "I'm sure she'll look nice."

Danbi glances over to Taehyung, who just rolls his eyes, and encourages her to show him more of her own options.

Jeongguk pretends to scroll through his phone. Is really just looking at that picture of you again. Hates the way it makes him feel. All fuzzy and out of sync. Perfectly safe and yet terrified all in the same fleeting moment.

Has him thinking about what he should wear, too, even if the other boys are telling Danbi that it really doesn't matter.

You look so well put together, he thinks. So intentionally gorgeous. He would say unintentionally , and knows you'd look just as gorgeous in one of his old shirts, but is well aware that you've put effort in. It should be appreciated.

It's decided - at two-thirty in the morning, all alone by himself, contents of his wardrobe piled onto the floor - that Jeongguk will also be wearing all black.

He will match you. It will be intentional. He will hope you notice.

'Cause even if he is a little pissed off with you, it doesn't matter. Had grown up with parents who'd bicker, but would always say 'there's no one else I'd rather argue with.'

He thinks the same could be said for the pair of you.

If your worst fears are confirmed, and you're forever tied to him, then it's something you'll need to learn to navigate. Neither of you are perfect, but neither of you are pretending to be. You're showing him exactly who you are by showing him nothing at all, right now.

And he adores you all the fucking same.

Jeongguk decides on black slacks, and will pair them with a thick belt. A satin shirt will be tucked in, unbuttoned just enough for a little bit of his chest to show. Nothing too indecent. Just wants to match your neckline.

The jacket he's chosen is red. Hopes it'll dare you to look at him, and prevent you from ever looking away. He's being bold, 'cause he stupidly thinks he needs to be, as if you won't be searching for solace in the form of him all night.

He also thinks he needs to consider the kind of man you want . The kind you need . You seem to go for the prim types. The proper. Well-dressed, well-groomed. He's got the outfit sorted. Knows he's being a little risky with the lack of a top button and tie, but he also knows he looks good - so fuck it.

Which is also what he says to his barber on the morning of the show.

"You've been growing it out for a while," she hums. Only re-permed it a couple of weeks ago. Hadn't been expecting him to come for a walk-in appointment so soon.

He shrugs. "Fuck it. It's just hair. It'll grow back."

She laughs, and tells him that he's right - but double-checks before she goes in with the clippers. He's not had anything so close to the scalp in about a year. Started growing it out around the same time you started showing up to the bar.

He braces himself. Grits his teeth. Don't let fear get the better of you.

"I'm sure."

Time stands still within the walls of the Ryu. Moments of life - fleeting expressions of biased emotions - are preserved for voyeuristic viewing pleasure. You're a guilty participant. Salivate over the mixed media, and equally mixed messages. Have a desire to understand. To decipher. To know.

The walls are dark. Slate grey when the floodlights are on, they look black under the diffused bulbs that focus solely on the works.

'Unplugged: The Lonely Hearts of the Digital Age' reads the exhibition branding on the front of the paper guide in your hand. There's an evocative nature to the pieces; an exploration of intimacy and isolation in the modern landscape of smartphones and high-speed internet.

"Oh, entirely," you smile pleasantly at the gentleman twice your age, who had come to stand beside you while you had been observing some of the work. He's been asking your thoughts, and you've been bullshitting spectacularly. "In a world where we're more connected than ever before, there somehow seems to be this... disconnect . A real lack of interpersonal relationships that stand the test of time."

He nods, half-moon glasses resting across the bridge of his short nose. "Too easy these days. Dating apps, and whatnot."

You cast your eyes down to the fingers he has wrapped around a champagne flute. He's without a ring. You wonder if he's a victim to them, too.

"The grass is greener mentality," you agree. Know all too well what it's like to be on the receiving end of such a dilemma. "Always searching for something... more."

A small chuckle emits from his thin lips as he continues to agree.

One of the serving staff, no older than a high school senior, offers their tray of champagne in your direction, but you decline. It's unusual of you - but it's no secret you've not been feeling exactly 'usual' lately.

From across the room, Jeongguk glances in your direction as you shake your hand and head, a polite smile on your lips as you refuse a drink. Your eyes don't flash to his, but he doesn't need them to.

When your gaze falls back to the artwork in front of you, he can easily see your perplexion.

He also notices how your skin doesn't sparkle like it usually does beneath gallery lights. A tight frown forms on his face to match yours.

The paintings you're looking at aren't Taehyung's. Jeongguk doesn't know the artist. Oil, he assumes from this distance. Hyperrealism. Enlarged. A matching pair with stark differences.

The first, to the left, is dark. Navy blues and deep purples depict the foils of condom wrappers, each with a name and date scrawled into them. They're scattered atop what looks like a legal document.

He can't work out the words from where he is. Doesn't realise they're divorce papers.

None of the wrappers match the name of the document, yet all of the wrappers are dated during the duration of the marriage.

On the right hand side, the other painting is clearly part of the same collection. A packet of oral contraception. 28 days worth. Includes the placebo days. Like the condoms, each empty window of the contraception has a name. Some repeating. Some not. There are no names written during the placebo week.

It begs the question; is the taker of the contraception just using the men when it's convenient for her? Or are they just using her when it's convenient for them, and leaving her in the dust when her body is unavailable?

You're not sure which scenario makes you sadder. Reminds you of this time last year. Reminds you of Seokjin. Reminds you of the people that you used to forget about him on the lonely nights.

If you were to think about your own pills, and the names that would inscribed, you know you'd have packet after packet with only one name. Everyday of the week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, every night. Over the placebo days, too.

Not because Jeongguk has been fucking you all day every day - although sometimes it does feel like that. No. It's not that all.

Instead, it would be because he gives you the intimacy you need to make those pills worth it. He doesn't have to constantly be in bed with you. Quite often isn't. It's just that you'll keep taking those pills 'cause you always want to be available for him in any capacity you can be. Those pills are his just as much as they are yours.

And you hate it.

Hate that you feel this way. Hate that indulging in such intimacy with the person you hold closest has resulted in such a clusterfuck of emotions. Hate that he isn't beside you right now, deciphering the names and making up ridiculous stories about the fictional people in front of you. Hate that when you glance over to his direction, you find him engaged in conversation with a group of people you consider friends, only to notice that Hayun is there, too.

Your arms fold a little tighter into your chest as your eyes fall back on the painting. You're alone, now, the man who had been chatting with you also now distracted by associates.

"Hey," a soft, feminine voice sounds next to you. Seoyeon. Hair loose, but with pretty little plaits running through it, she's wearing white trousers and a fitted blazer. Looks demure as ever. "You okay?"

A simple question that calls for a simple answer - yet it feels all rather complex.

You nod. Say you are. Return the question. She returns your answer.

"Gosh, that's depressing," she says of the artwork, and it makes you laugh. She's not wrong.

"Makes you feel something, at least," you offer, to which she hums in agreement.

"I suppose - but I was feeling perfectly happy before I saw it," she giggles, nudging your shoulder, seemingly aware of your less-than-stellar mood. "Watcha doing over here all alone?"

It's a great question. Fantastic question. Devastating answer.

Oh, so I've been fucking Jeongguk for months and he's convinced himself that I'm carrying his spawn and now he's mad at me because I haven't done the test to confirm nor deny. Oh why? Why I haven't done it? 'Cause it'll change the trajectory of my whole entire life and I'm fucking terrified. And I skip periods all the time. No biggie.

Now isn't the time for such honesties, though.

"Just wanted to read all the names," you say, nodding towards the art.

"See any you recognise?"

"Well, there is a Jimin on the first Wednesday," you grin.

"Why am I not surprised," Seoyeon laughs. "Our very own Casanova. Oh - speak of the devil!"

"Devil?" Jimin questions as he approaches you both with fresh champagne flutes in either hand. "Me? Please. You both know I'm an angel."

The way you incredulously both raise your eyebrows at him, bemused smirks on your faces, would suggest that no, you don't 'know' he's an angel.

"Oh, piss off," he laughs, standing between you both, offering you the champagne flutes. When you decline, he's curious. "Oh? Dry night?"

Nodding, you decide that you'll give as few answers as possible when it comes to your lack of drinking - not that it matters, given how much you've abused your body with star fuckers in recent weeks. Any damage is already, inevitably done.

"One of us needs to be the sensible one," you joke, and ignore the burning gaze you can feel from across the room.

His stare is sweltering, like early May heat after a freezing spring, regardless of the cool air that's currently circulating around the room.

It's stuffy, the way his eyes follow you. Suffocating.

And yet you love the warmth. Want evidence of him on your skin like the burn of a summer sun.

Turning your head as Seoyeon and Jimin natter, you're surprised to find his shamelessly dark eyes still on you.

Hair pushed back, he's wearing it shorter than usual. It takes you a moment to realise it's been cut. You think a part of you dies from such a devastating loss - but it's revitalised within the same millisecond. It's criminal how handsome he looks. How mature he seems. Jaw tense, bone structure highlighted, he's a vision. Heaven. Ethereal.

Matching your all black attire, there's one keen difference. One that throws you off entirely: his jacket. It's one you've never seen before. Red. A kaleidoscope of different tones. Dappled, they bleed into one another. You can tell it's expensive. Tell it's being worn with a purpose.

It's unusual for him, and yet he holds a beauty that can only be compared to that of Venus herself. The jacket was made for him.

But you don't like the idea that maybe actually it was made for him, by the only seamstress you know. See no other reason for him to own such an item.

Stupidly, it upsets you how good red looks on him. Pisses you off.

Across the circle of people he stands with is the seamstress herself.

Just as you match him with your silky black dress, she matches him with her scarlet nails and deep ruby cocktail number. Gorgeous in the way that her hair effortlessly waves over her shoulders, she pays your judgemental eyes no notice.

They look good together. Like they belong. A good girl. Upper class. Bad boy. Her bit of 'rough'. Jeongguk likes a good Romeo and Juliet type story. You're sure he loves the romanticisation of their coupling.

So caught up in your own head, you almost miss the way Jimin deliberately chooses to include you in on the conversation once more. Just asks your opinion on the piece, then asks if you know the artist. He wants to check that he's not the Jimin scrawled into the pill packet.

"I'll find out," you promise him - but you're certain he's not. Park Jimin isn't exactly the most unique of names, but you don't want to hurt his ego.

"Legend," he grins, before roping Namjoon in for his opinion on whether or not it's his name.

"It's nothing to be proud of," Namjoon assure him. "If it's you, you're being branded as a hit it and quit it kinda guy. You're only on there once. Most of them are on their a few times. You not good enough for round two?"

Scoffing, Jimin looks to you for defence.

You just smile. Make your excuses and leave. Bless him.

As beautiful as the show is, there's a sadness to it. It revives unpleasant memories. Provokes parts of your brain that have been well trained to not make a noise.

Schmoozing with some of the higher ups from Shilla finances, you're going for the hard sell. Telling them all about Taehyung, and how he's hotly tipped to be one of the most successful artists of this generation.

It's all bullshit, of course, but someone has to have that title. Why shouldn't it be him?

"He certainly does have a gift," one of the older men acknowledges. His name evades you now, but you remember him from networking events with Seokjin. Would always treat the serving staff with kindness, which is more than could be said for most of them. It's the only reason you're entertaining the conversation - the other men you recognise from those events have been avoided by you at all costs.

You're about to call Taehyung over, when the looming intrusion of a bowing gentleman makes itself known in your personal space. It's his presence you notice first. Aftershave second. Stoic, burly voice third.

"Director Choi," he interjects from behind you. "It's good to see you here."

Smiling, with just as much kindness as he shows to everyone, Choi nods back. "Kim Seokjin! I didn't realise you'd be here tonight."

"Ah, well," Seokjin smiles. You can hear it in his tone, even if you daren't turn to face him. Your skin suddenly chills as his large hands rest over the tops of your bare shoulders. "Was back in town, and couldn't miss it. You're speaking with the city's best curator."

The way he squeezes your shoulders, skin on skin, makes you want to be sick. It's as if you've had far too much of the champagne you've been turning down all evening - but your stomach is empty. All you'd be able to do is gag.

Yet your body is entirely frozen.

And neither of the men care enough to notice.

"It's quite the collection," Choi nods, but doesn't keep his focus on you. Like the serving staff, he's always polite to you, but will always see you as a second-class citizen. You're not a man. He doesn't respect you. As human? Yes, he does. But as a person? Why would he waste his time if he can't profit off of you? "Tell me Seokjin, how have you been? I hear your department is up by 3.7% this week?"

The conversation around you is stuffy, like that sticky summer heat clinging to your skin once more. It's unpleasant, but inescapable. There's nothing you can do, except let it ruin you.

One breath in; through the nose. One breath out; through the mouth.

Repeat.

One breath in; through the nose. One breath out; through the mouth.

There's a squeeze of Seokjin's hands; a silent instruction to not move your shoulders so much.

Half a breath in. Half a breath out.

You've an inability to focus on anything other than basic survival.

In the times you've seen Seokjin since the breakup, he's always been so good at acting as if it never happened. He touches you just the same. Speaks with just as much fondness that always made you think you actually meant something to him.

For so long, you wished he would be like that with you in public. Would proudly claim you as his own.

But now that he is, all you want is for him to look at you with remorse. Regret.

Sort of like Jeongguk is doing, as he spots you from across the room. Was just doing his quarter-of-an-hourly checks to make sure you're still okay - even if he is annoyed with you. Thinks that anyone who has ever spent even a smidgeon of time with you should know that the look in your eyes is far from okay.

They're downcast. To the floor. Your nostrils flare ever so gently as you inhale. Mouth forms a delicate pout as you exhale. Breathing exercises. He recognises them instantly. They're the same ones Jeongguk does when he's frustrated and trying his damn hardest to not break another display case.

It's been working lately. Not a permanent fix, no, but it's been going okay. Has finally been reading one of Namjoon's self-help books that's been on his bedside table for months. Fills the time that should be spent on you doing that, instead.

But Jeongguk thinks all of his hard work might just go down the fucking drain when he realises what's happening. When he notices exactly who has a possessive grip on you. When, from across the room, he hears Seokjin laughing at some vapid joke that he knows mustn't be even remotely funny.

"Hey, Dan," he calls over to your best friend, breaking her from her conversation with Taehyung. When she looks at Jeongguk, she follows the direction in which he nods.

She gasps. Drops her hold on Taehyung's forearm, and doesn't hesitate to beeline straight for you.

Jeongguk knows it should have been him - but he also knows you're stubborn. Knows you might have chosen to stay put just to spite him. Also knows that stress if bad for the body. Says so in another one of those webMD tabs open on his phone. You're stressed enough as it is. Don't need him causing a scene. Danbi is what you need right now.

Not him.

But he needs air - so heads out towards the stairwell and just keeps on going up. Up and up, until there's nowhere left to go. Closer and closer to the stars. Further and further away from his very own.

Elbows resting on the wall of the rooftop, Jeongguk lets a deep-rooted sigh exhale from his body. Lungs heavy in his chest, he's in need of respite - yet even that seems like an unattainable goal these days.

He wishes to be back in Busan; where the sun shines and so do you.

The darkness of the city envelopes him, now, much like it obscures his heart. Confuses it. Tells him all sorts of lies. She loves you. She loves you not. She loves you. She loves you not. He's not sure what's the truth, anymore.

He's not plucked at daisy petals since he was a kid, but he does occasionally pull glitter from his skin. That's when the rhyme repeats. That's how he knows he only has space in his heart for you.

And so when the bustling sound of the city is interrupted by a voice that isn't yours, he frowns.

"Watcha doing up here, buddy?"

The roll of Jeongguk's eyes is so damn weighted he's surprised it doesn't sound like stones are being turned. Of all the people he wants to be alone with right now, Hayun would be towards the bottom of the list. Likely beaten only by your shitbag of an ex.

"Needed some air," he lies. Doesn't look at her as she takes the space beside him, then shuffles over a little. Doesn't wanna touch her. The intrusion of her perfume is enough to make him feel sick. Has done ever since she approached him in the courtyard of Dionysus.

"Could have gone for a smoke with Tae," she says all rather pleasantly.

Jeongguk is well aware of this. Truth be told, he could do with a cigarette. Could do with many things right now.

Could do with a few shots, or even a high. MDMA, maybe. Something that'll have him thinking death is inevitable before he manages to reach his come up. Could spend the whole night pinging. Wouldn't have to think about you, or your ex, or the fact his heart already feels like it's got a little ecstasy running through it these days.

But you're not drinking, and so Jeongguk isn't smoking. Is finally actually trying to make some good decisions for a change, to atone for all of his questionable ones.

He shakes his head. Bunches his face up ever so slightly. Is dismissive as he simply says, "Didn't fancy it."

Just like he doesn't fancy engaging in this conversation.

She nods, pretending to care. Fabricating a persona that matches how awfully pretty she is. "You don't seem like yourself."

Mentally, Jeongguk sneers. Physically, he remains unchanged. Statuesque.

"You've been saying that ever since you came back," he eventually sighs. Looks over to her. Doesn't mean to be so cold, but frankly no longer has the patience. "You can't fuck people over and expect them to welcome you back with open arms. Doesn't work like that, Yun."

Hayun's laugh is parasitic. Gets under his skin. Crawls about. Makes him feel sick. His body rejects it.

"She's inside your head," is all she says. "Never used to be like this before she came around."

In the far distance, a police siren sounds. It's swallowed up by the fumes of rattling exhaust pipes and the posing arrival of planes from foreign lands. In a city that never rests, Jeongguk thinks it mad that Hayun expected him to remain exactly as he was.

Doesn't even register what she says about you. Pays it no attention.

"I don't wanna keep doing this, Hayun," Jeongguk says quietly.

It's strange, because he knows it's the 'right' thing to do, but it still doesn't feel entirely correct.

Years of knowing her - of loving her - have been reduced to nothing but resentment and wasted time. Everything he experienced with her equates to emptiness. The good - of which there was plenty - and the bad - of which there was marginally more.

"What do you mean?" she asks, as if she doesn't already know.

"I don't wanna pretend like we're still friends," he simply states. "It's doing nobody any favours."

It's something he should have said a long time ago. Something he's known for far longer than he's wanted to admit. Something Jimin has been telling him for years.

"Gguk," she tries, and reaches out for his hand - but Jeongguk tears it away from her.

"No," he reaffirms. Is setting boundaries. Is being as firm with her as he wishes you'd be with Seokjin. He keeps his voice measured. Sensible. Wastes no more energy than is needed. "I'll be perfectly cordial with you, but I'm not gonna act like we're anything more than strangers. Said it yourself, you don't know who I am these days. Please stop trying to find whoever you think I used to be."

"So I guess the marriage pact is vetoed?" She tries to joke. Thinks that making light of the situation will ease things. Make them less awkward.

He doesn't dignify her with a direct response to that. Instead, he stands a little straighter. Taps his ringed fingers against the wall so that a clunky pat sounds against the urethane coating that covers the entire roof area. Turns to face her. Looks down upon her. "I'm asking you nicely, Hayun - but if I have to ask again, I won't be."

There's nothing she can say to reel him back in. Not anymore. Not like she used to. She knows this. Hates this.

But one thing Hayun refuses to ever do is embarrass herself. Not for a man. Especially not for one she didn't even want that badly in the first place.

That's exactly the issue at hand, though. He was always the one chasing her. Always. Must have worn through a hundred pairs of shoes in pursuit of her - but he's stopped running now, and she can't quite wrap her head around it.

"Okay," she simply says. Smiles. It's insincere. Jeongguk doesn't realise this, 'cause it looks like every other fuckin' smile she's ever cast his way. "Look, emotions are high. I won't take this to heart. Whenever you're ready, you know where to find me."

Glancing over to the door, Hayun's ruby-red lips falter. Her smile almost cracks, but she holds herself well.

"Oh, goodie," Hayun hums. "Suppose I should leave you to it."

Jeongguk doesn't follow her gaze. Knows that there's only one person who could evoke such a reaction - and right now, he's annoyed with you, too.

He does, at least, say, "I suppose you should."

It's not until Hayun begins to strut away that Jeongguk turns to the door. Not to watch her walk away, no.

To watch you walk towards him, instead - but you don't.

You stay leant against the door frame. There's a sultry smile on your lips, and he's surprised to see they move a little as Hayun approaches. He can't hear you, but he knows your lips almost better than he knows his own. Can work out exactly what you're saying.

Lipstick's a little smudged.

Jeongguk knows that it absolutely is not - but the way Hayun's hand lifts to her lips suggests that she doesn't know this.

It's evident you're trying to evoke some sort of insecurity in her. Seems to have worked. Also seems to be incredibly mean-spirited - but he's not gonna hold it against you. Knows that it's the least Hayun deserves. It's not like he was exactly kind to Seokjin upon meeting him, either.

The sounds of the city echo out around you as a small breeze carries the scent of the trees that are finally starting to rebloom after a harsh winter. There's hope to be found in the darkness of this night. The promise of rebirth.

Or at least there is, until you begin to make excuses to leave.

"Just came up for some air," you explain, not looking to engage in conversation with him. If anything, you just feel like you're losing your breath.

He nods. Purses his lips. Turns away from you. Hopes you'll come to join him.

There's a you-sized spot right beside him. Hayun had tried forcing her way in, but the fit just wasn't right.

His broad shoulders widen as his elbows rest back upon the wall, body silhouetted in the skyline. Something about him today feels so new. So different. Maybe it's just the hair - but hair holds history. You feel like he's cut you out of his. Is starting afresh, maybe.

Whatever the case, he's clearly not concerned in inviting you into his current narrative. Is quite literally blocking you out.

You had arrived to find him locked in conversation with Hayun. Engaged. He'd watched her walk away, and the moment she was gone, couldn't stand the sight of you, or so it seems.

And so as Jeongguk waits - wishes - for you to walk towards him and slink your arm around his waist, you decide to cut your losses. Hadn't even come up to the roof to see him. Had been hoping to be alone after the whole Seokjin debacle.

It's not like you hadn't known Seokjin would be in attendance tonight.

He had messaged you to confirm the date. You just hadn't expected him to waltz in like a proud partner, parading you around in front of his colleagues.

So yeah, you had been shocked. Had been unable to respond in a way that accurately conveyed how you felt. Had panicked. Had cried in the storage room that Danbi had dragged you into while she gave you a pep talk and wiped away your stray tears, before suggesting you get some air.

You wonder if perhaps she knew Jeongguk would be here. Seems likely, knowing her.

Your lip trembles as you go to speak, unspoken words vibrating between them. There's no sound. Just the city. The cars, and the revellers from a bar a few blocks down. Jazz music echoing up the stairs to the rooftop, too.

And then there's Jeongguk's voice. Quiet. Controlled. Commanding.

"The first bird," he says. Looks down as he does so. Builds his confidence, then turns around to look at you. Is displeased to see your body facing away from him now, about to walk away - as if you hadn't instantly turned your head to look at him. "The first one. We went to the water park. Some guy looked at you in a way you didn't like, and you went straight on over and told him to stop being a perv. Remember?"

Of course you do.

But you say nothing. Do nothing. Just turn your body. Let him know you're listening. He continues.

"You know your limits, B. You know your boundaries."

You nod, now. Still stay silent.

Jeongguk's jaw grates, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. You're avoiding his confrontation, just like you've been avoiding all talks of anything serious since that day at the cafe.

And it's pissing him off.

"So why do you let him overstep them?" Jeongguk continues - and finally, this accusation gets a rise from you.

"I don't let him do anything," you scoff - and then you accuse. "You're the one I've just found hiding up on the rooftop with your ex. What about those boundaries, huh?"

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. Turns away from you. Looks out over the city, and wishes it would swallow him whole. "You've got no fuckin' idea, B. No idea."

"So then tell me!" You say, as if it's as easy as reciting your ABC's. "I'm not a mind reader-"

"And nor am I!" He says sternly, but doesn't raise his voice any higher than yours. "You've spent half the week ignoring me, only for you to barely even look at me now. You're not even wearing any glitter -"

"Why does that even matter?" You interrupt, unsure exactly of what he's trying to say.

Is the lack of glitter intentional? Yes.

Is it for the reasons he assumes? Probably not.

"'Cause we both know he fuckin' hates it," he snaps, decidedly far more pissed off now that he's speaking his thoughts into existence. "We both know you didn't wear it because of him in the past. So for you to show up with no glitter? Let him leech all over you? After he sent you all those fucking roses, and you won't fucking talk to me? Tell me what I'm supposed to think, huh?"

"Why does it even matter to you?" You fight back. It takes two to tango, and he seems to know the steps pretty fucking well. "You've been ignoring me too-"

"It matters to me because you might be fucking pregnant, B!"

Silence shatters around you both. Steals any words that could be said in the wake of such a declaration.

You roll your eyes. Do a fantastic job at pretending as if you don't feel like your world is caving in on itself.

"No, you don't get to treat me like I'm being irrational when you've been drinking cranberry juice all evening," he scathes, the frustrated gestures of his hands letting you know just how upset he is - and rightly so. "You don't get to act like you've not been thinking about it too."

"We don't even know if I'm pregnant-"

"And who's fault is that?!

"Gguk-"

"No, you're being such an asshole about this, B. This doesn't affect just you. This affects me too, okay?

Shaking his head, Jeongguk turns away from you. The way you're behaving is so unlike you, or so he thought. Maybe he didn't know you as well as he thought. Maybe he did get wrapped up in fallacies of you; in the what if.

"I fucking defended you," he says quietly. Isn't even sure if you can hear him. Doesn't care. Shakes his head and lets it dip between his disappointed shoulders. You'd be forgiven for think he was giving his next words careful thought. In all reality, he just starts ranting. "When he was at the tennis club, and was chatting shit, I defended you. Me . And yet you're more concerned with keeping up appearances for him ."

"You did what ?"

Now that he's started, Jeongguk can't stop. Not when he turns around. Not when he looks at you. Not when he starts to walk towards you.

"I insinuated we were together to get him to shut the fuck up," Jeongguk scoffs, thinking about his former self. Is embarrassed, now. Is letting his frustrations show because fuck it . He's hurting . Feels like a deer bleeding out on the side of a road, left to rot by some asshole driver who rammed straight into him at a hundred miles per hour. "So he's out here, showing up to your event, putting moves on you - even though he thinks you're with someone else - and you're fucking giving him the green light. Real fuckin' nice of him. A stand up guy. Respect must be his middle name. You really know how to pick 'em, B."

"Literally, how was I supposed to know any of that?!" You ask, eyes wide, brows furrowed. These new revelations are just as devastating as they are infuriating. All you can do is repeat a previous sentiment. "I'm not a fucking mind reader!"

But Jeongguk's irate now. Comical, almost, in how he downplays his anger.

"Oh, well, forgive me for assuming that you wouldn't bend to your exes every fucking whim!" He exclaims, a sarcastic smile on his face that snaps to a scowl within an instant. "I didn't think it was important because I thought you were beyond that point-"

"You're being cruel," you interrupt him, because he is. He knows how hard you've worked. Has been with you every step of the way - but this is how he views you?

"Me?" He laughs. It's cold.

"Yes," you say. "You."

"Nah." He shakes his head. Casts his eyes to the floor, 'cause looking at you like this only makes him feel even more frustrated with the current state of affairs. "Cruel is what Seokjin's doing right now - but you're giving him a free pass."

"I'm not. I don't want him leeching all over me," you say quietly, ashamed, turning away from him as you walk across the roof. Crouching, you bundle yourself up protectively, as if it'll make a difference. As if you can shield yourself from your friendship with Jeongguk as it comes crashing down on you both.

The only thing that makes any fucking sense to either of you right now is that you'd do it all again.

He'd ruin the friendship a million times over.

Not because he doesn't care, or because he's okay with losing you. Quite the opposite.

He'd ruin the friendship because - fuck it - that isn't what this is. The friendship flew out the window months ago. Maybe he was too late to realise it. Maybe he should have tried to claw it back in - but what use would that have been? It would have been wounded. Scratched to smithereens. Damaged.

Standing up straight, you curse at the sky. Are saddened by how few stars are out. Feels like they're shying away. Maybe they're ashamed, too.

"I have to head back," you say. Are defeated as you turn to face Jeongguk. "Tae's doing his speech, soon."

Jeongguk nods. Looks to the floor. Doesn't want you to go. Knows he hasn't exactly done anything to make it worth staying.

Both struggling with the current state of affairs, there's no one to blame. Joint bad decisions have led you here.

But he wants you close. Wants things to feel normal. Is willing to do anything.

"Look, your ex is down there being a prick," Jeongguk sighs. He waits for a moment. Lets you work out what he's gonna say in your own head. Wants to see your reaction before any of his bias comes into play. "He thinks we're together.... The best way to get him off your back?"

Your lips part ever so slightly. A crease forms between your brows, but your eyes remain kind. "Gguk..."

Shrugging, he plays off the weight of a suggestion he hasn't even vocalised yet. "He thinks we're together. Makes sense for us to act like we are."

For reasons you can't explain, the idea of other people seeing you and Jeongguk act intimately towards one another fills you with fear. It's not like it's an abhorrent thing - but to see the way your friends look at you as you present yourselves as a couple is to see their genuine reaction to it. If they're disgusted, you'll know that you're not suited. If they're elated, it will only play into these weird feelings that you've been having and are so desperately trying to avoid.

Eyes scanning him, you try and work out what he thinks of it all. If he's disgusted, you could probably live with that.

If he's elated?

Makes you feel queasy. Scared.

He holds out his hand. Knocks his head to the side. "C'mon. Face those fears of yours. Hold my hand."

It's bizarre, how Jeongguk has quite literally licked your arse, and yet this feels like the most obscene thing he's ever asked of you.

When you arrive back in the main room, Jeongguk stands behind you, ever so slightly to the side. Loops his arm around your waist. It's unintentional, the way his hand comes to rest over your stomach. Fingers splayed, he pulls your back to his chest, and you pretend like you're able to stand up straight without his support. Pretend as if the world around you isn't caving in on itself.

It wouldn't matter, even if it was. You're safe here. Safe with him.

And yet you insist on pushing him away.

"I wouldn't stand like this with a boyfriend," you say. "Too overbearing."

"Well, I would stand with a girlfriend like this," he assures you. The fingers that aren't firmly keeping your stomach protected come to your chin. Encourage it to the side. Get you looking at him. "I'd stand with her like this," he whispers, glances behind you so briefly that you almost miss it. "And when her ex boyfriend is looking in our direction - of which he is now - I'd kiss her."

"That wouldn't be very professional," you whisper.

"No," he acknowledges. "I don't suppose it would be."

He pulls away.

"I'll let you get on," he says. "The second he even so much as breathes in your direction, you come to me."

"Gguk-"

"You make your excuses and you come to me."

"I can handle it."

"Fine then," he shrugs. Begins to turn away, but makes sure to say, "I'll come to you."

And despite the deep-rooted need for you to prove yourself, there's a stranger sitting next to your determination. She goes by the name of Desire. And all she does is fucking laugh.

As Jeongguk rejoins his usual crowd, he's met with silence.

"Hmm?" He hums, reaching over for the glass Jimin is holding. Doesn't know what he's drinking. Doesn't ask. Downs it. Hands it back. "What are we talking about?"

Mouths a little ajar, neither Taehyung nor Danbi quite know what to make of what's happening, nor the foul mood that so clearly has a grip on their friend.

"Riveting," Jeongguk says sarcastically, when the silence lasts for a little too long. "No, really. Please go on."

But then, right on cue, Seokjin is heading in your direction, and Jeongguk may as well be bleeding through his tear ducts, given how red his sight is.

Bolting for you, Jeongguk almost knocks into one of the waiting staff. Spends a short moment apologising, then makes sure to interact with the people standing behind you. Has never seen them before in his life. Has no idea who they are - yet he greets them like old friends. Wants Seokjin to question his place. Wants him to think that Jeongguk is so much more important than he actually is.

And when he arrives to find Seokjin already speaking with you?

Yeah. Ain't no way he's letting him win.

Jeongguk does not give a fuck. Does not care about the opinions of anyone else. The world around him is burning red, flames that refuse to flicker out - and you crash through them like a beam of white light. A shooting star that offers the promise of something better. Something new.

Imposing in his stance, Jeongguk comes to stand beside you. Offers his hand out to Seokjin.

"Ah! Seojoon," he says, deliberately getting the wrong name, and not caring that maybe it's indicative of the fact your former fling has also been on his mind. Fine! Maybe he's obsessed with the fact other people have more of a claim on your romantic history than he does. Sue him. "We met at the golf course, remember?"

Seokjin doesn't correct Jeongguk on the incorrect name, nor the incorrect location. Knows exactly what he's doing. Shakes his hand.

"Jeongguk, yes. You had to run off pretty quick, no? Didn't get a chance to rally."

Oh, but we did, Jeongguk thinks. Knows it's a good job he didn't stick around. Would have probably thrown a racquet at Seokjin's face. Accidentally.

"Mm," Jeongguk nods. Protectively grips the nape of your neck. "Had plans. Maybe next time."

Seokjin nods. "Maybe."

The tension between the men is getting thicker.

Soon, you won't be able to breathe.

So you smile towards your ex, and say, "Excuse us."

Which only serves to piss Jeongguk off. This is your shot. Your chance to show Seokjin how little you care - and instead, you want to run away. Un-fucking-believable.

Still he smiles at Seokjin, as if he knows something that he doesn't. Wants him questioning this interaction for weeks. Regretting. Lamenting.

"See you around," Jeongguk says pleasantly, as you lead him down the hallway, your pace getting angrier with each step. He rolls his eyes. Knows you're gonna wanna fight, and thinks fuck it. Will just let it happen this time. Can't be fucked with keeping the peace.

The janitor's closet you had visited with Danbi is down this hallway, and it's where you're headed. Want privacy. Need it.

Especially 'cause Jeongguk's spouting off like a facetious twat before you're even inside. "Worst fake girlfriend I've ever had."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to pretend to be your fucking girlfriend!" You hiss quietly once you're inside, as Jeongguk knocks across the latch on the door, as if anyone else would even think to be in a janitor's closet right now.

You only know the door passcode from when you had been setting up, and even that was a lucky guess. Had just tried the code that works for another door in the gallery when Danbi had dragged you here, too.

"Well, it's not that fucking hard!" He hisses back, trying the handle just to make sure it doesn't open.

"Apparently it is!" You reply childishly.

Turning to face you, Jeongguk is obscured by the lack of light coming in through the small window on the back wall. You can barely see one another, 'cause neither of you have flicked the light on - and quite frankly, you don't want to. It's easier to fight when you can't see how delicate he looks, or how handsome his jaw is when it flexes out of frustration.

"Oh fuck off," he laughs, but it isn't humorous. "Even the caricature artist in Busan had to ask if we were a couple. We are perfectly capable of looking like one."

"I'm sure she asks everyone that!"

"Oh, piss off-"

"Fine!" You say defiantly, barging past him. If he wants you to piss off, then you will. He's the one who got you into this mess. Frankly, you don't give a shit at this point - but the door won't budge. Lock won't move. You yank on the door, as if that will help.

For all of Jeongguk's internalised frustration, he smirks, now. Folds his arm. Perches his ass on the counter by the sink.

Trying to prize the latch open, you're stupidly worried about breaking a nail - but you refuse to ask for help. Look to the side for something you can use for leverage. Can only see mops. Half think about throwing one at Jeongguk.

He doesn't interrupt your struggle. Doesn't tell you that there's a second latch towards the top of the door.

"If you don't let me out, then God help me, Jeongguk, I will scream," you threaten. "I will scream so fucking loudly that everyone hears, and then I'll let you explain why you wouldn't let me out."

Jeongguk laughs. "Go on then."

But you don't. You won't. This is somewhere you hope to work, one day. You can't risk embarrassing yourself over something as pathetic as this.

If you do, then it means Seokjin has won.

Jeongguk is many things. He's frustrating, and confusing, and yet simple and straightforward. He's an oxymoron, and on occasion, just a moron. At the crux of his identity though, is a good human. There is one thing he is not, and that is cruel.

So he stands. Sighs. Walks towards you and leans up to the latch you've neglected to touch. Puts a hand on your waist to steady himself, not that he really needs to. Pulls the lock free. Doesn't let go of your waist, but he isn't keeping you trapped. You're free to fly.

And yet you stay put, breath hitched in your throat, time standing still for a moment.

"Go," Jeongguk says quietly, his raspy voice affecting you in ways that it shouldn't be right now.

But to go would be to give him what he wants - and you absolutely do not want to do that.

Most importantly, you don't want to leave. Would gladly fight with him right now, 'cause at least you're actually talking.

"You go," you reply childishly.

"Me?" He laughs. Comes a little closer. Practically whispers in your ear. "B, you're the one who wanted to go. So, go."

"Maybe I've changed my mind."

He scoffs. "Fine."

It's a childish back and forth. One of you needs to grow up, and take control of the situation - and as Jeongguk's hand grips your waist a little tighter and spins you round, it's evident who is taking that role.

There's a dominant assertion to the way he moves you. You've seen this side of him a few times, but it never fails to take your breath away.

Hands pinned above your head all rather suddenly, a single one of his palms can keep both of your wrists suspended. It's always driven you a little wild before - but he's pissing you off. Every little thing he does will annoy you, now. Even the sexy shit.

In fact, especially the sexy shit.

The hand of his that isn't clamped around your wrists comes to the base of your throat, and you can't help but gasp a little in surprise.

His voice is deep and low as he tells you to 'say chess.'

But you shake your head. Won't do a damn thing he tells you. "No."

He grips tighter. "Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Fine then," he husks. Presses his knee between your thighs. Spreads them. Drops the hand from your throat to your hips. Get you positioned just right. Pulls you further up his thigh. Encroaches on your personal space.

"Stop acting like you don't know how to fake things." His voice is dulcet. "Your ex should be pretty used to it."

"Hardly the same thing, is it?" You hiss back, but Jeongguk laughs, and presses a kiss to the side of your ear. Then the lobe. Then beneath your ear. Down your throat. Stops only once he reaches your collarbone. Raises his eyes. Looks directly at you.

"I'm gonna make you cum," he tells you with arrogant certainty. "For real. You're not gonna fake that. Gonna make you cum, and then you're gonna hold my hand in front of your ex-boyfriend and fake that like a good girl."

The energy he's radiating is electric; the right amount of jealousy and desire making you the only thing his brain can focus on for longer than a second at a time.

"Gguk-" you gasp as he pushes your hips down. The leverage is crappy, the angle not quite right, but the intention is there.

Jeongguk glances over his shoulder, to check he wasn't imagining the chair he swore he noticed earlier, and almost thanks the God he doesn't believe in when his eyes land on it.

He turns back to face you. Lets your hands drop from above your head. Cups your jaw. Brushes his lips against yours.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, aren't you, B?" He says, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. Doesn't it let it linger. You don't get a chance to kiss him back, for he's moving you both to the chair. He sits, legs parted, and gets you straddled across his thigh. You're right where he wants you. "You're gonna ride my thigh and cum like a good fuckin' girl."

The satin of your panties rubs against his slacks without him even trying.

Hands beneath your dress, he squeezes at the flesh of your ass, spreading you. Pulls you up his thigh. Lets you build a motion. Encourages it.

He doesn't complain when your hands tangle in his hair. It surprises you at first, just how short it is. You've never experienced it like this. It almost distracts you from what's actually happening.

But then one of his hands comes to toy with your chest as you continue to ride his thigh. The neckline makes it so fucking easy for him. He gets you exposed, but doesn't keep it that way for long. Latches onto your nipple as soon as he fucking can. Groans against you, and then the sensation of his vibrating tongue forces the wetness to seep from your cunt.

Your rhythm against his thigh is well-established, now. Both of his hands are free to tug down on the top of your dress.

It's a pretty dress. Gorgeous, in fact, and you look incredible in it - but all he wants to do is take it off. Wants you naked.

For now, he'll settle with your satin-covered cunt rubbing up against him, and your tits nice and exposed for him to toy with. He's using you for his own gratification, and you're doing just the same.

His tongue flicks against your nipples, hands squeezing your tits firmly together. He sucks. Squeezes. Grazes his teeth. Makes you feel so fucking good. Part of you thinks he'll get you cumming just from the contact of his lips with your hardened nipples - but the way his strong thigh is acting as the perfect ridge? Fuck .

"I'm close," you promise as the pleasure trickles through your bloodstream like warm honey. Sweet, and delicate, there's something about orgasms earned by Jeongguk that always makes you feel like you've ascended. Heaven really is a place on earth. Remarkably, it appears to be in a janitor's closet with all of your closest friends just down the hallway.

Jeongguk nods. Slowly pulls away from your nipples, the suction so pleasurable you can't help but whine. "I won't stop you."

He means it. Keeps your nipples wet with his spit, tongue lapping against them, as your hips buck against him. Your whines get a little deeper. Friction stronger. Breaths needier.

And then, as soon as your body begins to shudder that tell-tale way, he lets his tongue loose.

"That's it, beautiful," he husks. Looks at you with stark adorned eyes. "Come on me like the pretty slut you are. What would they think, huh? If everyone here knew what you were doing? Be louder, baby. Let them know. Let them know how much you like to cum for me."

You whimper his name as your grind begins to ease - but Jeongguk doesn't let it. Uses both of his hands. Grabs your ass. Is intentional with the way he bounces his thigh up against you, forcing the sensation to jolt through you once more. Elbows on his shoulders, head buried in the crook of his neck, you're whining as he overstimulates you.

"God, I'll cum again," you tell him, teeth grazing his neck. He kinda likes the pain. Likes that he'll be waking up with a hickie, no doubt.

"Good," he grits. Is rough with your body. Wants that second orgasm, and he wants it now.

"Gguk-" you whimper, but can't manage to say anything more, the wave of pleasure taking over you so much faster. Chest heaving, you're unable to do anything other than languidly grind until your body stops. Hearts beating in sync, Jeongguk is so overwhelmed by how good it is to feel you come undone for him, he almost doesn't notice the way you begin to palm his incredibly hard crotch.

"Shit," he hisses. This was supposed to be about you. He shouldn't be letting you do this - and yet he's reaching for his belt. Is frantic as he unbuckles. Opens up his pants. Takes over from you. Dips his hands into his underwear. Wraps his hand around his hard, leaky cock. Smears the precum from his tip all over his head. Wants it in your mouth - but has other, more pressing ideas. "Can you stand for me, baby?"

Barely. Shaky on your legs, you do your best. Let him guide you - thankfully, to the door. Back pressed against it, Jeongguk gets you to hold the skirt of your dress up. Pushes your panties down, but only just enough to expose a small amount of your cunt. They're still around the top of your thighs, slick with evidence of your orgasm.

Jeongguk lines himself up. Rests the head of his cock against the edge of your underwear. Tells you, "I'm gonna cum in them. Gonna cum in your panties, and then you're gonna wear them all fuckin' evening."

"Please," is all you pathetically whimper.

It doesn't take long for him to get there. He's been worked up all week. He wanks himself off for you. Whines. Whispers shit about how hot you are. How much he likes doing shit like this.

Jeongguk grips onto your arm as his climax hits. Body doubling, he has no choice but to let his forehead rest on your shoulder.

"I'm cumming. Fuck. Fuck," Jeongguk curses. Tilts his head. Presses a wet kiss to the base of your neck as his body jolts and the first rope of cum spurts into your underwear. "Fuck, baby."

"That's it," you encourage, obsessed with the way he's whimpering, body all weak and feeble as it shakes for you.

He groans now. Grips his cock even tighter. Milks himself for all he's worth. Fucking ruins your underwear. Lets the top of his cock rub up against your clit. Massages your slick and his cum together. "Fuck."

When he finally pulls away, he says nothing. Immediately pulls his pants up as if he can't believe what he's just done, then pulls your panties up, too. Hooks the sides over your hips, pulling the mess he's made tightly to your soaked cunt. Cups his hand over your heat. Presses. Rubs. Teases little circles over your clit. Presses down more firmly. Builds speed.

"Gguk," you whine, grabbing onto his shoulders.

"Again, baby," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Cum again for me."

"I can't," you whine, the overstimulation about to kick in - but he dismisses it. Knows that if you wanted him to stop, you'd say 'chess'.

"You can, baby," he promises. Uses the hand that isn't massaging your clit to angle your jaw. Doesn't even think as he steals a pretty little kiss from your lips. Doesn't realise it begins to send you over the edge. "You're gonna cum like you're mine."

And how can you do anything else but succumb to his demands?

Lips on his, brows furrowed together, he swallows all of your pretty little whines, as your body shudders for him. He keeps you steady. Keeps you supported. Keeps his tongue in your mouth, and his hand rubbing your panties. Doesn't ease up until you pull away from his lips.

"Gguk," you pant. "Please."

Nodding, he eases slowly. Doesn't wanna let go too quickly. Keeps kissing you. Won't stop that. Never wants to stop that. Is still annoyed with you, yes, but knows he has a duty of care, now. Also knows he'd never forgive himself if he didn't take every chance he gets to kiss you.

When he finally pulls away, forehead resting against yours, he's spent. You're both panting, both struggling to formulate any words in the wake of such a devastating orgasm.

Brushing a few strands of hair back from your face, Jeongguk closes his eyes. Nudges his nose against yours. Shows a little restraint. Whispers, "You've got a show to return to."

Nodding, you shake a little from his grip. Say nothing as you adjust your dress. Try your best to ignore the thick pool of his cum that's gathered in your panties. The tops of your thighs will end up smeared in the evidence of him, and, quite disgustingly, it only serves to make you even more turned on.

"I'll follow behind you," he promises as he begins to sort himself out, too.

Nodding, you're a little unsure of exactly what to do. You're scared that someone will know. That you'll leak.

"I'm scared," you admit. Explain your worry. He rolls his eyes, but smiles as he does, so.

He tugs on your hands, and props you up against the counter towards the back of the small room. Spreads your legs. Assesses fuckin' nothing, 'cause it's so dark in the room - but knows your pussy almost as well as he knows his own name. Licks to the left of your lips. To the right. Ends in one thick stripe up the centre. Sucks ever so gently once he reaches your clit. Knows that your cunt - your leaky, needy, hole that he loves to stretch out so much - must be going insane from the lack of attention it's getting.

"You'll be okay," he assures you. Stands, and gives your pussy a playful spank. "C'mon. You've got horny old dudes to schmooze."

"Is that gonna get you off?" you tease slightly, your annoyance with him a little subdued.

"Maybe," he shrugs, already knowing it mostly likely will. "You're gonna walk around that gallery covered in my cum, and no one else but us is gonna know it," he smirks, the gravity of what he's just done finally kicking in. Cups your jaw. Presses a kiss to your lips. Husks, "You're gonna go out there and act like you're mine - 'cause right now, you are."

You don't argue against it.

The pair of you meander down the corridor in near silence. His hand is on your back, but your arms are tentatively folded across your chest. Each step is accompanied by your keen ears checking for audible evidence of your sin.

So caught up in your own worries, you don't notice how quiet the gallery itself is. How few people seem to be milling about. How the main lights are on now, and how it only seems to be those wearing 'staff' lanyards within the main space.

Pursing his lips as he realises, Jeongguk tries not to laugh.

"Oh, shit," you whisper, pulling on his wrist so you can check the time on his watch. 10:13. The show was scheduled to finish at 10, but you're sure most people will have filtered out before then. Have no idea what the time was when Jeongguk had dragged you away from the main room.

"S'fine," he mumbles. Grips a little tighter on your waist. Doesn't let you pull away, like he fears you will now that appearances don't need to be kept up.

You don't. Instead, your arms drop from their position over your chest, and reach for his hand, guiding him the direction of the (now unmanned) cloak room.

There's little chatter as you grab your coats - the only ones left there.

"Need to show you something," you mumble, digging into your pockets, and pulling out half a dozen empty tubes.

Jeongguk looks at you with a sense of frayed confusion - but if he were to thread the strings together, he'd see the bigger picture.

Dusted in fine glitter of different colours, the tubes don't seem out of the ordinary for you. Is totally the kind of thing he'd expect to see in your pockets.

Quietly, you grit your teeth together. Suck in a little air. Are embarrassed to admit what you've done.

But the person in front of you is your best friend. Even with judgement will come acceptance. There always is. Honesty is the least you owe him.

"I know I'm not wearing any glitter," you start slowly. Hold the empty tubes up, then toss them into the bin beside the concierge table. Knock your head to the side and encourage him to start walking with you. He does.

He also reaches into his own pocket, and pulls out his car keys. Passes them over to you. "Might be above the limit. Can you drive?"

Glancing over to him, shocked by the request, you double check. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "You can crash at mine. It's fine."

Despite it all, there's still no one else he wants to end the night with. No girl he'd rather take home. Platonic or romantic.

"Sleep, I mean," he adds. "Not physically crash the car. Please don't crash my car."

You just smile. Nod. After the hideousness of the week spent barely talking to him, there's nothing you want more than to just feel like things are still normal.

"So the tubes?" he asks as you reach the car. He lets you unlock it, but adjusts the seat for you before letting you get in. Also puts his jacket down on the cushion, just in case your underwear gives up on protecting your decency.

"Thanks," you say, stroking the side of his waist tenderly as he makes way for you and waits for him to get in before you start the car up. You get onto the main road, and make sure you've got your bearings before finally explaining yourself. "It was plausible deniability. The lack of glitter, I mean. Was deliberate."

"What do you mean?" He asks, reaching for the gearstick. Doesn't care if your hand is on it. Wants to hold it. You ignore his actions. Just let him intertwine his fingers with yours.

"I mean, the less glitter on me, the less credibility Jin would have when it comes to arguing that I'm the person who's emptied half a dozen tubes of glitter into his incredibly expensive formal winter coat."

Jeongguk says nothing for a moment. Plays out the idea of you stealthily depositing millions of glitter specks into a jacket that costs more than his yearly rent. Is slow to ask, "...which pockets?"

And you're slow to reply, "... All the ones I could find. Outside, inside. Secret pocket in the lining."

And then Jeongguk is laughing. Really fucking laughing. Looks over to you, and your bunched up little face, and is overcome a sense of pride he usually only feels for these gallery shows, or when a bird of yours is completed. The kinda pride that is reserved for you, and for your accomplishments.

"Shut up," you giggle now, too. "I know it's childish but-"

"No," he shakes his head. Can't stop smiling. "It's brilliant. Dunno if you've heard, but apparently glitter is a bitch to get out."

"Yeah," you grin. "I've been told that a few times."

And suddenly the events of the evening seem to feel less burdensome. Warmer. More pleasant.

You don't bother with small talk, and nor does he. Are just happy to exist together, and this state of ease lasts right up until you're in his apartment, shoes off, standing a little awkwardly in his living room.

Jimin is out. Everyone is. There are a million messages in your group chat asking where you are. You'll just reply in the morning. Too busy, now.

"I need to shower," you say, a little timid.

Jeongguk nods. "Same."

"Join me?"

To your surprise, he hesitates.

"You're the reason I need one in the first place," you remind him. "Please."

He looks down. Shakes his head. "I don't trust us."

"Nor do I," you tell him. "But this whole thing has been hell on earth, Gguk. I've hated it."

"Me too."

"I don't think..." you sigh. Don't want to share your conclusion, but know you need to. "I don't think careless fucking around is worth it. It's definitely not worth losing you."

"So what are you saying?"

Gesturing towards yourself, you grimace a little. "I'm saying we sort out the current... mess. Get showered. Whatever. Head to the pharmacy in the morning for the emergency pill, just in case - and then a few days from now, I'll take an actual test. Just wanna make sure my system is settled, first. And then, providing it all goes well, we sort ourselves out. Stop fucking around."

Jeongguk says nothing. Just sort of looks at you as if you've just hung up a new star in the sky, or something absurd like that. Nods. "Alright."

You're well aware that you shouldn't look at Jeongguk in the way that you do; that you shouldn't stand in his living room, and let the dress that you've been hoping would keep him focused on you all night drop to the floor.

He's well aware that he shouldn't look at you in the way that he does; like you're some kind of star to wish upon.

And yet you both do. He wishes. You grant his wishes.

There's a mess to clean up in the morning. Jeongguk can't shake the look on the faces of his friends from his mind. Knows that you need to cover your tracks.

But for now, he doesn't care.

Your dress is on the floor, and his heart is yours.

Though he'll always define you as his best friend, he knows that the way he wants you goes beyond the scope of that. Knows that there's no going back.

"Byeol," he whispers.

"Koo," you whisper right back.

He smiles. Shakes his head. "I love it when you call me that."

You nod. smile, too. "I love the way you smile when I call you that."

He's right not to trust the pair of you together. Right to assume that a shower is a bad decision. Right to think that the second he has you naked, he won't care about the consequences.

Quite frankly, he couldn't give a fuck. Skin on skin, he indulges in you. The way you feel, the way you sound. Pretends like it's normal, holding your waist as he peppers kisses up your neck. Tells himself it's not unusual for friends to let their hands roam. It's all about trust. Mutual adoration. Desire. Want. Careful carelessness.

You don't kiss him, at least. Not in the shower.

No, you don't kiss him... until you're in his sheets.

Neither of you got dressed after the shower. Went to bed naked with the promise of sleep - and yet somehow you're straddled across his lap at two in the morning, hips slowly grinding to get the feeling of fullness you love so much from Jeongguk.

"After this-" you husk into his lips, but he breaks your sentence with yet another kiss. You don't mind. "After this, we've gotta start taking shit carefully."

He nods. "Mhmm. Whatever you say."

"Gguk-"

"Byeol, please," he smiles. "I'm literally inside you. Can you at least wait until we're done to give me ultimatums?"

Laughing, you cup his jaw. Kiss him again, just because you want to. Because you can. "Yeah. My bad."

Sitting back up, Jeongguk watches on in a state of adoration as your body moves for him. So often the one to take the lead, he's letting you have control, now. Letting you ride him. Letting himself succumb to everything you are.

"Shit," he whines, back arching, head pressing into his pillows. Fingers gripping your hips, he thrashes his own upwards. Thrusts up into you like a man possessed. Gets your body all weak and feeble from the overwhelming pleasure he's delivering - and when your hand dips to toy with your clit? Oh, it doubles. Trebles.

"You're so fucking hot," he tells you. "Yeah. Play with yourself for me. That's it, baby."

Panting, you tap on his chest with your spare hand. "Hips. Slow."

He does what he's told even if he absolutely doesn't want to. Let you bounce slowly. Reaches up to hold one of your tits as you do so. Wants them in his mouth. Finds himself grinning when he thinks of how much he's changed since you first started fucking around together.

"God, I fuckin' love this," he whines a little mindlessly. Doesn't bother clarifying what 'this' is.

The hand of yours that's wrapped around his wrist begins to tighten. Nails dig in. Tiny pretty whines of satisfaction escape your lips. Eyes close. Speed of the hand rubbing circles on your clit increases. Sitting on his cock, he's keeping you stretched. Full. Lets you do whatever the fuck you like, 'cause he knows you're working your way up. Loves to watch it more than anything. Gets himself off sometimes thinking about it.

Leaning forward a little, you reach for his phone. Slide it open to his camera.

He narrows his eyes. "Whatcha doing there?"

Whiney as you manage to speak, Jeongguk thinks you must be a direct descendant of Aphrodite. "Giving you permission," you hum, passing his phone back to him, already recording.

He looks to the screen, a little red button in the middle and a time running through on the top. Raises his brow. "Sure?"

You're putting on a show for him, yes, but none of it is faked. This is as real as it gets.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he husks as he can feel your walls tighten. "Like that. Like that. Fuck ." Pulses his hips ever so slightly. Sneaks his hand to join yours. Takes over. "Cum all over my cock, baby. Yeah. Yeah, that's it, babe."

"Gguk, I'm so close."

"I know," he coos. "Let yourself. I'm here."

"You're so big," you tell him, just so he has evidence of it. Know it will do his ego wonders. "Makes me feel so good."

"Show me how good it feels. Cum for me. Please. I need this. Need you ."

And when you finally do?

Oh, it's glorious.

"There she is," Jeongguk praises. Doesn't bother to stop recording. Tosses his phone to the side. Pulls you in for a million kisses. "God, you're so pretty when you cum. So fuckin' pretty."

His hips continue to gently rock, his orgasm far less violent than yours. You only really know it's happening cause he grunts. Gets a little breathless. Hugs around your back as his legs begin to shake, and eventually he manages to shakily whisper, "it's yours. All yours."

You just assume he means his cock, or cum, or something vulgar like that - and while it would be correct, it's not what he means. Not at all.

He holds you as you sleep that night. Has no interest in pretending like he wants to be less than what you are right now.

But come the morning, you're cracking jokes together like you've never nearly made declarations you'd never be able to take back. Hang out, as if he wouldn't rather eat you out. Make a to-do list. Laugh, as it's titled 'Fixing the Star-Fuckers Fuck-Up'.

You make a trip out of the list. Go to a pharmacy a few towns over. Grab a drive-thru Maccies breakfast. Get absolutely slated when you order a Shanghai Snack Wrap instead of a classic egg McMuffin.

"Can't believe we're friends," Jeongguk says, disgusted by the fact you're choosing to have something from the all-day menu. "Can't believe we fuck ."

"Fucked," you remind him, and remember that you've a pill you need to take. Pop it out of the foil, and swallow it down with a chug of Jeongguk's drink. "Past tense."

"Yeah, sorry," Jeongguk grins. It's easier to pretend like the idea of not fucking doesn't phase him. "My bad."

His pretty grin swiftly disappears three days later as he paces around your apartment living room, waiting on the result from a little pink stick that's sitting on top of your toilet. You're in the living room, too. Don't wanna check it. Nor does he.

So you play rock paper scissors.

Jeongguk loses.

And as you nervously await your fate, all you hear from your bathroom is a single word.

"Fuck."

[actual-changeling]

In the grand scheme of things, a month is not enough time to really get to know someone, especially if said person is clearly still going through a lot of shit and clinging to his brother like an octopus. They have been spending more and more afternoons with each other, always with Joel in the middle, and he likes to think they're on a good path to being friends.

Tommy might not know Ellie well, but he does know her, and it's easy to see that she is currently incredibly uncomfortable and Joel nowhere to be seen. The dining hall is loud during meal times on the best of days, but today it is outright chaotic, and Tommy remembers how overwhelming it had been during his first few months in Jackson. On top of that, Ellie is so small she can probably barely see through the crowd, just a piece of driftwood caught in the current and pulled along in whatever direction people are moving, and without Joel there to enforce her personal space, she is drowning.

His body is moving toward her before he even notices what he is doing, stopping himself once he does; there's a chance Ellie would be quite upset if he tried to swoop in and "save" her, well aware how much she dislikes being close to anyone who isn't Joel. But then Martin starts talking to her, good guy, usually very friendly, and all color drains from her face, and Tommy decides he'd rather have Ellie elbow him in the stomach than face his brother's wrath over not stepping in.

The crowd parts around him when he moves through it, the distance between him and Ellie closed within seconds, and he stops on her right, keeping himself in her field of vision so he doesn't startle her (he did that once on accident, never again). He nods at Martin, though his feelings are far from his priority right now.

"Hey Ellie, have you seen Joel somewhere?"

Trying to keep his tone light, he has one eye on the people surrounding them and one on her, still trying to figure out where the hell his brother disappeared to, he never leaves her alone if he can help it. He's not quite sure what he expects Ellie to do, but it's definitely not her hands snapping up to grab his arm so tightly it's almost painful, nails digging into his skin. She is shaking, trying so hard to be aware of the room around her that her eyes are almost fluttering, and it takes him a few beats to react.

"Gonna go 'n find my brother with this one, Martin."

It's not a question but he nods, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before merging back into the crowd, and Tommy is incredibly thankful for that. The second he is gone, Ellie deflates, falling against his side, and Tommy brings up his other arm around her and gently places his palm on her back, relieved when she doesn't flinch. Asking if she is okay seems unnecessary, she clearly isn't, so he just tries his best to provide her with as much space as possible as he navigates them to an empty table in one of the quieter corners near the back exit, casually pushing people away when necessary.

Ellie sinks into a chair and doesn't let go of him, knuckles white, and he settles next to her, keeping an eye out for Joel while talking to her.

"Anything you need, sweetheart?"

The endearment slips out, force of habit, and her gaze is suddenly glued to his face, pupils blown so wide her eyes seem black.

"Don't leave."

"I won't, promise. Do you know where Joel went?"

She shakes her head, fingers around his wrist loosening a tiny bit.

"Alright, I'm sure he'll be back soon, someone probably just distracted him."

They both lean back, the relative silence between them oddly comforting, and Ellie nudges her chair across the floor until their armrests are pressed together, her breaths coming a bit slower and deeper now. The affection curling around his heart is familiar, warmth blooming in his chest, and it's easy to understand why Joel fell for her so quickly and completely it almost killed him. She relaxes while they wait, head tipping to rest against his biceps, eyes closed, and the open display of trust is so sweet it makes him ache. Despite not spending a lot of time together, she clearly thinks of him as someone safe, probably due to his relationship with Joel, and Tommy finds himself hoping that maybe they can build something on that foundation. Ellie is Joel's kid, which makes her family, and Tommy looks out for his people.

It takes Joel about fifteen minutes to finally return to them with a panicked look on his face, clearly out of breath, and he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Ellie half draped over him.

"I'm sorry, baby, someone was asking about some construction work I did yesterday, and-"

"It's okay," she interrupts, blinking up at him and stretching out one hand in a clear demand, "Tommy got me."

Joel stills, eyes flicking between the two of them, and he simply shrugs his unoccupied shoulder, it's not like it's his kid, after all. He takes Ellie's hand and falls into the chair next to her, leaning over to press a kiss to her hair, and Tommy doesn't even try to hide his smile. To everyone's surprise, Ellie stays right where she is, holding Joel's hand with a death grip but still using him as a pillow, and the look he shares with Joel is one of mutual confusion and resignation. She starts talking to him about some space book she's been reading, ignoring the last twenty minutes of her life, and they silently agree to wait out the masses before getting their own food, Ellie seemingly content to force both of them to listen to her ramble about an astronaut he has no idea about.

Yeah, she got them both wrapped around her finger, and Tommy finds he doesn't mind it one bit, hoping that maybe this is not only a second chance for Joel, but for him, too.

[passionateseadruid]

How about a lucifer x reader nutcracker au

oooh! Okay…

CW: Reader in a dress but no gender mentioned.

What if HE’S Clara.

Auntie Sera gives Lucifer a beautiful nutcracker for his birthday.

And he hates it.

“I’m not 12 Sera.” He rolls his eyes

“Just give it a chance Lucifer. It’s very versatile. You might just find an obscure use for it." Sera smiles and squeezes his shoulder.

Yeah right, he thinks. How could he find a use out of some recycled driftwood.

He tosses (Delicately sets, he's still a decent guy who is on some level grateful for gifts, even if he doesn't like them) the stupid thing on his bedside table.

He tries to go to sleep that night but he can't. He just can't.

He turns on his side and looks at that nutcracker... just sitting there... taunting him.

"What do you want from me? HUH?! SPEAK! Ugh... this is pathetic, lucifer... you're talking to a doll! ...in second and third person no less."

He scoops up the doll and sets it next to him. He doesn't know why but he figures that he might as well.

He finally (FINALLY) drifts off to sleep.

He suddenly hears a bump in the middle of the night. He shoots up in his bed in a cold sweat. He looks around his room and not seeing any danger he lays back down.

He turns to his side to look at the nutcracker and there it is, or should I say there you are.

You were no longer the short stumpy nutcracker that he had been given only a few hours prior.

You were real.

You were human!

You were beautiful...

no... you ARE beautiful!!

To Lucifer... you’re the most enchanting creature he's ever seen.

He blushes slightly. You tilt your head at the sight of his red dot cheeks (similar to your own might I add) dusting with a soft pale yellow. You poke at them trying to gauge why and how they change color.

"Why do they change?" You tilt your head.

"Um... I... I think you're pretty." He was trying not to be autistic too forward awkwardly blunt about it. (As an autistic person myself, can relate.)

"But you're pretty and my cheeks aren't yellow. Are they?" You bring your hands up to your cheeks.

"No but- You think I'm pretty?"

"It's a mere fact." You nod.

You shrug at him and hop out of bed.

He follows suit and the two of you walk out of his room and down the hallway. The hall seems to stretch longer and longer. Until you two were the size of rats.

Speaking of rats, a large army of rats runs out from a hole in the wall to block the two of you as you scurry around the hall.

A very tall rat queen comes out. She has long blonde hair, a gold crown, and bears a strikingly memorable purple dress.

"Stay back your highness! I'll fight her off!" You draw your sword.

You jumped into the fray to fight off the rat queen.

She ducks and dodges as you swing and flip and spin your sword, trying to get her to retreat.

It seems like nothing is working! The Rat queen is determined to take Lucifer for herself!

That is until Lucifer throws a rubber duck at her head.

The rat queen is taken aback by the sudden assault and looks at him in shock.

He continues to pelt her with rubber ducks he summons as she and her troops leave.

"You did it, your highness!" You lift him off the ground

"Well, you know..." He blushes gold again.

"You're my hero!"

You kiss his cheek and before you know it the two of you are in a forest of sweets!

Suddenly a sugarplum fairy (Bearing a striking resemblance to Charlie) descends from the sky.

"Lucifer Magne, the Morningstar, for your act of bravery I shall grant you one gift. Anything you want! Name it and it's yours." She smiles.

"I want to marry the Nutcracker." He says, practically cutting the sugarplum fairy off in his excitement.

"Done." She snaps her fingers and you were put in a beautiful floor length ball gown.

Lucifer grabs your hands and leads you into a waltz.

Just as you were about to kiss he woke up from his dream

"MOTHERFU-"

In typical Lucifer Fashion he gets utterly obsessed with the nutcracker.

He grabs you from where he left you in the bed last night and starts reciting a spell to turn you into the perfect version of dream you.

You awoke with a startle, having just been given life.

Lucifer hugs you and your immediate first thought is to push this stranger away.

Lucifer looks hurt but when you explain to him that you have no idea who he is or who you are or where you are (or why your here or ever what either of you are) Lucifer puts the pieces together quite quickly.

He uses telekinesis to show you the dream he had last night.

“That’s us?”

“It is! it has to be!”

So that's how you started to loosen up to the idea of letting him touch you and kiss you and-

and this is the story of how Lucifer married a doll.

Thank you for the ask! If you like my writing check out my original work

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 4

Ao3 | 2.7k words | Darlin's POV

Home sweet home. Scrambled eggs, new phones, and unchanged offices.

TW: Conflict, arguments, mentions of abuse and manipulation, non-consensual tattooing.

You lost time somewhere along the stretch of road between the 10-19 and David’s uncomfortably plush suburban house. If you focused really hard, you could piece together where you’d been, the moments you’d brushed up against others. David’s spouse did surprise you a bit. Small. Sweet. Smiling. Somehow, that nickname sounded so familiar in their mouth. You wanted to pull the strings of it out from between their teeth. 

Instead, you went to bed. You didn’t stop at the adjoining guest bathroom, you didn’t shuck off the outer layers of clothes that were sticking to you with sweat in the balmy, heated house, you didn’t even untie your boots.

The guest room was lowly lit by a single, shaded lamp on the bedside table. A soft, lavender bedspread was laid out over the biggest bed you’d ever seen. There was a shelf on one wall full of decorative, leather bound books and knick-knacks you had no context for. A piece of dried driftwood. A mug advertising a local coffee shop. A half-burnt scented candle, vanilla sugar. You rubbed your hands over your face, your fingers catching over your scar-curled lip, trying to scrub away the exhaustion. 

You wanted nothing more than to strip out of your uncomfortable, DFD clothes and climb under those pretty lavender sheets and never emerge. 

But you were dirty. You still had dried blood and sweat everywhere. Your boots were laced so tightly you couldn’t kick them off, and you weren’t sure you could bend reliably at the moment. The idea of trying to undress was enough to make you shiver. Not to mention the fact that you might have to run in the middle of the night. You didn’t want to have to redress before you did. 

In the end, you sat heavily in the velveteen arm chair that was set next to the bed. You kept your boots on the ground, dusting off mud and blood on the hardwood floors. You had barely rested your head back against the back of the chair when you fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep. 

The moment something shifted in the house you jolted awake. Even this exhausted and bogged down by your injuries, you were a light sleeper. Quinn used to wake you in the middle of the night, drag you out to bars and hovels, to stranger’s houses and dingy basement apartments. 

Sometimes, you’d wake up with him on top of you, your arms pinned. He moved so fast or so quietly that he didn’t wake you. 

You scrunched up your brow to the memory of a tattoo needle carving through your skin, Quinn tutting at you for ruining his line when you startled awake. You scrubbed a finger over the raised, blown out word and tried to put that particular memory out of your mind.

Your legs were asleep, but you stood anyway, your ribs protesting as you forced yourself into a crouch. The door to the guest room creaked as you opened it. You held your breath. The shifting sounds deeper in the house didn’t let up. You hadn’t announced yourself. 

The door to the bedroom across from yours was ajar. The gentle light of the hallway fell on a sleeping form, bundled up in blankets on one side of the giant bed. You could see in the dents of the mussed sheets where David had lain, wrapped around them. 

You moved through the house silently, rolling your steps through your feet across the shiny, hardwood floors. Christ, this was the nicest place you’d stepped muddy boot in in literal years. You tucked your hands close to your body, rested your shaking palms against your thighs. You were afraid that, if you touched anything, you’d ruin it. 

David was in the kitchen, clinking away with some pots and pans as the coffee pot brewed. A knot of tension eased in your gut. He wasn’t here. He hadn’t found you. 

“On the table,” David pointed over his shoulder without looking at you. You turned slowly, your back stiff. There was a little white box next to a bag from Verizon on the Shaws’ quaint breakfast nook table. 

“Showing off your new toy?” You grunted. Your throat was hoarse and cracking. 

“Your new toy.” David replied. The coffee pot finished brewing. He poured two mugs, one left black, the other smothered in sugar. He held it out for you. “You need a phone.” 

“I have a phone.” You said. Your hand drifted to the pocket of your sweatpants. 

“You have a burner phone.” David said, his voice dangerously close to a laugh. He pulled a handful of ingredients from the fridge. “Like a drug dealer on Law and Order. You need something up to date.” You eyed it with suspicion. “I won’t take yours from you. Just… take that one, okay?” 

“So you can keep tabs on me?” You sipped at the coffee. It was perfect. How the fuck did he remember how you took your coffee? You didn’t think that David had ever given you a second thought. But he knew how you laced your boots and how much sugar you needed to make coffee drinkable and that you needed to hear he wouldn’t take your stupid burner to feel secure. 

“Kind of.” David shrugged. He cracked eight eggs into a bowl before whisking them together. A dash of garlic salt, some pepper, paprika. “I’m worried you’ll run again. I’m not trying to force you to stay here or anything, but… I’d feel better if I had a way to contact you if you decide to.” 

“So I’m not being held against my will in your guest room?” 

“No.” David sighed. “Although, if you were, pretty nice digs for a hostage.” 

“Hostage implies you intend to use me for leverage.” You grinned. “I’m not worth much as a bargaining chip.”

David looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes narrowed. He sliced through his scrambled eggs forcefully with his spatula. You were half convince that could be considered a deadly weapon in his hands. 

“I don’t like it when you say shit like that.” He grumbled. 

“What?” You laughed. 

“‘I’m not worth much.’” David growled. “That pisses me off.” 

You didn’t reply. Instead, you moved across the kitchen and snatched the phone from the table. You sat heavily and rested your head against the cool wood. You drifted while David cooked. Somehow, it was easier to sleep here, bent uncomfortably over the breakfast table, than in the secure, lockable bedroom on the delta wall of the house. You didn’t want to think too hard about the implications of that. 

You woke again when a plate was sat down in front of you. It was piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon, toast spread with soft butter and marmalade. Your stomach announced you loudly, and you ignored the smile that played across David’s lips. You hadn’t put it together before, but looking at him head on, the scar that cut through his lip was on the same side as yours. If you looked at each other head on, you were a mirror image. You wondered where his had come from. 

“What does your spouse do?” You asked around a mouthful of eggs, surprising yourself. David looked up from his own plate and eyed you suspiciously. He took a long swig of his coffee before nodding. 

“Copy editor.” He said simply. “For Vesta. Big company that just started up in town. Although I don’t think they’re even really sure what they do.” 

“Soulless corporate stooge.” You laughed softly. David cocked his head and shrugged. 

“They’re apprenticing as a tattoo artist.” He said, almost defensively. 

“Are they any good?” You asked. David met your eye as he pushed back in his chair and rolled up the hem of his  t-shirt. He twisted to angle his back to you, exposing a complex, beautiful, black and gray tattoo. You’d seen a few pieces like that, rings of eyes and wings spiraling towards a core in the dead center of David’s spine. It was American Traditional, thick, bold lines and stipple shading. The eyes and halos were dotted with highlights of white. 

“They said it was an angel.” David sighed. “I was expecting more choir robes and prayer hands but this is way better.” You nodded, fighting the urge to reach over the table and smooth your hand over his back, feel the healed ridges and test the line weight. It was cold out. The linework was most likely raised and itching like yours. 

“It’s good.” You huffed as David righted his shirt and resumed his breakfast. “I can’t believe they’re just an apprentice.” 

“They’ve been tattooing for years. They’re just doing it officially now.” He eyed you nervously for a moment before adding on; “You could ask them about some coverups.”

You looked away, a hand snapping up to scratch at the ‘Q’ on your cheek. Shame burned in your stomach, bitter and acidic. 

“Coverups for what?” You challenged. You wanted to hear him say it. He didn’t reply. 

You found out, while setting up your shiny new phone, that it was four-thirty in the morning, and this was a perfectly normal time for David to be up and moving. He dug out some of his own clothes from the back of his closet for you. Once upon a time, you and David had the same waist size. Now, he was thickened with healthy muscle, and you had barely been eating. You stole the lace out of one of David’s spare sneakers to cinch the waist of the jeans he gave you and tugged the oversized t-shirt and sweater over your head with only a small protest from your ribs. Across the chest that hung down too low on your chest, the worn logo for Max’s Rustic Pizza caught on your fingers as you brushed them down over it rhythmically. 

David stooped into his bedroom before leaving. You listened to his voice rumble through the walls, deep and indiscernible. His spouse’s high laugh brought a smile to your face, although you didn’t know why. 

Dahlia’s Firehouse 10-19 had changed since you’d last been there. You didn’t remember much of your hour-long visit after David had dragged you out of your apartment. It was all tinged with the fuzzy discomfort that blood loss always gave you. You walked the length of it as the sun rose, ran your fingers over the redone walls, laid out on one of the queen sized bunks for an hour or two, never quite sleeping but close. You passed by a wall of fallen brother’s pretty, dress uniform portraits. Gabe Shaw’s face grinned down at you, the only one of the lot with a smile. 

His office, now David’s, was still mostly the same. The carpet had been redone, and the fluorescent overhead lights were left off for a series of soft, warm lit lamps. You didn’t turn a single one of them on as you entered the unlocked space, let the darkness hide the few changes that had been made and let the memory of it fill in the gaps. 

Gabe raised his son in this fire house, in this office as Captain. And Asher’s dad was his lieutenant. And Milo’s dad was the beat cop who would divert his route to clear a scene when he heard the 1019 was on a call. The house was fill of lineage, full of families of firefighters and their sons. 

It was a lineage that you weren’t a part of. 

Your dad was a gas station attendant who left as soon as you mom fell pregnant. She barely kept food on your plate. As far as anybody knew, you came from nothing. You were just a probie, a fresh faced eighteen-year-old still working out your baby fat who had never touched a rig. You applied with no resume, no references, just the certification that you’d passed the exam. Because you could haul equipment. You could scale a ladder in three seconds flat. You could throw a grown man over your shoulder without hesitation. 

You caught sight of the big, black office chair sitting behind the same cheap desk that had been sitting in that office since you first stepped foot inside. Gabe made that chair look tiny. He made you feel tiny. 

“You’re a good firefighter.” Gabe had said. “You’re ferocious. You’re not afraid to throw yourself into a call.” He grinned that stupid, bright grin. “We all trust that you’ll be the first one into a fire, the first one reaching to save somebody.” 

You remembered how proud you’d felt at that moment. How easy it was for Gabe’s praise to make you feel two feet taller. 

“But I don’t think you trust us.” His smile went soft then, a bit sad. “I don’t think you trust that we’ve got your back. And that’s why you’re so vigilant.”

“I trust you guys,” you had replied so quickly, so defensively. “I just know how to watch my own back.” 

“Trust is essential to what we do.” Gabe said. “When we put on our turnouts, when we put those numbers on our chests, we’re a unit, one machine. When one of the cogs of the machine starts to turn on its own, with no regard or acknowledgment of the others, the whole thing can fall apart.” 

You remember being so angry. You couldn’t put your finger on why. You’d stood, your arms light and body tensed, as though you were going to swing at him. Gabe rose with you, his shoulders relaxed. He knew what you looked like when getting ready for a fight. 

David had walked in on you two, interrupted what was likely to be a career-ending fight. You hadn’t realized until he walked in that you’d been crying. 

Knuckles rapped against the doorframe, jolting you out of the memory. You were in nearly the exact same spot, and when you turned, so was David. You shivered at the familiarity and tried to shake it off of your shoulders. 

“Refamiliarizing yourself?” He asked softly. 

“You really should lock your office door.” You replied. 

“My dad never did.” He shrugged and stepped deeper into the space. He looked around slowly, his eyes carrying a heaviness you couldn’t put a name to. “Open door and all that. I take it literally.” 

“You’ve changed everything else about this place. Except his desk. You kept that.” 

David locked eyes with you. The emotion drained from his face very suddenly. His walls slammed up the moment you tapped on them. He closed himself off to you so naturally, like it was his default state around you. 

You’d given him plenty of reasons over the years. 

“I did good by this house.” David said. “But there are some things I can’t…” He pressed his mouth into a tight line, unable to go on. 

“Yeah well… dead dad… makes it a bit more complicated than an office makeover.” You shrugged. It was the wrong thing to say. David huffed out a tight, tense breath. You watched his temple jump as he clenched his jaw. 

“I know the Captain’s death was hard on you.” There was something hollow in the way he said it, like he’d said it a hundred times before. Frustration cut across his closed off features.

“Jesus Christ, David.” You snapped, scrubbing a hand across your face. “Hard? Yeah, no I would say your father’s death was hard.” You tugged on the hem of your shirt nervously. “Getting the call was hard. Recognizing Gabe’s car was hard. Knowing nobody could survive a crash like that was hard!” 

“Stop.” David said resolutely. You pushed through the urge to follow his orders. 

“But it must have been torture for you!” Your voice cracked. “Pulling your father’s body out of a burning wreck must-“ you couldn’t get the words out from around the lump in your throat. You slammed your fist into your thigh. David hung his head. His shoulders slumped. One big hand came up to cover his eyes. 

“Stop.” He said again. His voice was a ghost. 

“You stop.” You replied. “Stop trying to comfort me. God, David.” Your body twitched to hug him, to gather him up in your arms. You didn’t move an inch. “Save some of that for yourself.” 

You turned tail and closed his office door quietly, leaving him alone in the dark, silent room. It was the closest to comfort that you could provide. 

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

2個"螃蟹"小奶頭"洞"，畫個身來playgirl~* hahaha 👆

ღ 颱風過後的旗津海邊~我去撿漂流木- 皮雕作品/台灣原住民開山刀皮雕封套要用的 After the typhoon the day before yesterday, so today I went to pick up driftwood for my leather work useful at the Cijin beach in the morning.  (づ￣ ³￣) ♡ 

👆鳥禽 / swan or seagull the head xoxo and 生命力! 👆

👆 2 pieces to use on tea set (tea ceremony, decorating the tea table.)

👇 too heavy this one, can't use it. but i love the kid's footprints. :))) Adorable~*

👆 這個可以"泡"補藥酒 LOL ( I'm kidding. XD Did you know? Chinese people love to drink tonic wine. 🙄😜)

👇 One driftwood and both sides. It's useful on my next leather jobs. but needs to fix lot working on it~*

👆 Although this one looks nice, it has a lot of moth holes. I cleaned up the driftwood with moth holes and it was too tiring, so I just took pictures. I don't take it back to studio. good bye. sorry~*

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock Pt 5

Part One Part Four Ao3 link Part 6

Reminder I'm not accepting anyone new on my tag list! Sorry if you want updates follow me here or subscribe on ao3! Also some warnings for Steve having PTSD and dyslexia in this fic. These two are going to start coming up more often but they begin here. Storytime!!

----------

Typically, a character starts at 1st level and advances in level in the adventuring world, although he or she might have been a soldier or a pirate and done dangerous things before.

Steve blew all of his breath out in an irritated sigh, balancing his forehead against his left palm and leaning impossibly closer to the book in front of him, willing the words to make sense. He put his right index finger underneath the line he was trying to read, using the trick his Seventh Grade English teacher had shown him. 

Tyqically, a character stars at 1st level and advantages in level by abvemturing and morbid, although he or she might have been a sober or a gyrate and done dangerous thinps before.

He squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to just grab the book and throw it against the wall. The sentences were starting to float around the page like driftwood, the letters choosing to make whatever damn words they pleased, and Steve was left drowning in the ocean without a tether as per usual.  

Why did it matter if the characters were sober or gyrating? Did every character swear to be virtuous or some shit? That seemed like the kind of thing a stupid nerd game would come up with. 

No, he probably just had it wrong. Steve just needed to read it again, but the thought of looking at the same paragraph he had been struggling with for the last fifteen minutes made him want to throw up. 

When Eddie had given him the book last week, Steve had just thanked him and put it in his bag with no intention of reading it. But, Hellfire was at the end of the week, and he had said he would have a character to show them. He was determined to do just that, show them that he was taking this all seriously, but he couldn’t make a character until he understood what the game was. 

And, apparently, he had to read to do that. Eddie had said he wouldn’t just hand everything to Steve on a silver platter.  

You have to earn it. That was what Eddie had said as he gave Steve the book. He was going to have to earn this. So he had tried. He had been trying for five days now, and he was only on page eight. 

Eight. Eight of like three hundred. 

Steve was starting to think that maybe Hellfire wasn’t worth all the headaches he was getting trying to read this stupid book. 

“Hey, Steve!” 

Steve slammed the book shut as soon as he heard Nancy’s voice from behind him, scrambling to hide it under his other textbooks and act nonchalant as she and Jonathan came around the corner of the table and stood opposite him. 

“How’s uh- how’s it going?” Jonathan asked, looking everywhere but directly at him. 

Jonathan’s hands were fidgeting at his sides, his fingers twitching like he kept wanting to take Nancy’s hand, but kept stopping himself just before he could. Nancy was staring directly at him with the firm sort of determination she always had, her shoulders back, her head high. Steve resisted the urge to sigh. 

“I’m fine,” He said, keeping his voice low and casual, “How’re you guys?”

“Good,” Nancy said, answering for both of them. She took the seat opposite of Steve without asking, pulling out the chair next to her so Jonathan could sit as well. She was still looking right at Steve with fire burning in her eyes, daring him to say something. 

Let it be known, Nancy Wheeler was never going to back down from a challenge. She was strong as a lioness, as stubborn as a mule, and probably the most amazing woman Steve had ever met. Joyce Byers, Max Mayfield, and El Hopper were all extremely close seconds. 

But he couldn’t really picture any of them doing what Nancy was so set on doing. 

Somewhere during that last god awful night, Nancy had decided that the three of them were going to be friends. There had been a Steve and Nancy, a Nancy and Jonathan, but never a Steve and Nancy and Jonathan, and she was hell bent on seeing it happen. 

And to make it happen, she continued to insert both of them into Steve’s life whenever she could. 

Walking to shared classes, forcing him to come upstairs to say hi and chat for awhile when he came to get the kids from her house, and, of course, random library meetups like this one. After so many of these little check-ins, so many stilted conversations with the former love of his life and the guy she had left him for, it really shouldn’t be too awkward anymore. 

It was still awkward. 

“You’re spending a lot of time with the kids,” Nancy finally said after she couldn’t stand another second of uncomfortable silence. 

The kids were an easy topic. They were something all three of them had in common. Steve could talk about them. 

“They’re spending a lot of time with me,” He amended, trying to give her a smile. He could try for Nancy. It was the least he could do, “They just show up at my house whenever they want to and hang around my car until I agree to drive them places.”

“Sounds like them,” Jonathan murmured, and Steve huffed out a soft chuckle. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, Jonathan could be pretty funny.

“If they’re getting annoying I can tell Mike to back off,” Nancy offered, missing the point. 

“No! No it’s fine,” Steve said quickly, trying to ignore the way his heart was suddenly racing. 

His mind flooded with a thousand and one things that could happen if he wasn’t around, all the possibilities, all the ways that his kids could get themselves into trouble. He knew that they were smart, and capable, and resourceful, but they were also twelve. Twelve year olds who had fought against hell. Twelve year olds that needed deserved to have someone to protect them for once. 

And Steve needed the kids too if he could be painfully honest with himself. 

“It’s nice, actually. Fills up the time, and better than them just being left alone to get into trouble,” Steve said with a nervous little laugh, forcing his face to stay easy and even. If he acted too weird about this, then Nancy would poke and prod until she found everything out, and Steve couldn’t deal with that right now. 

It was hard enough to breathe as it was. 

Nancy was giving him a searching look, pinning him down onto a corkboard and examining what she found there. He had already lost her, if he had ever had anything to actually lose, and now the thought of losing the kids because of her was making his stomach twist up in knots. 

It wasn’t a fair thought, probably wasn’t even an accurate one, but Steve couldn’t make it go away. 

“They are little trouble magnets,” Jonathan tacked on, clearly not understanding what was happening between the two of them, “But you seem to have them well handled.”

Something about what Jonathan said made Stvee’s breath come a little easier, and he forced his shoulders to relax. No one was taking the kids away from him. No one was doing anything. 

Steve was just overreacting like he always seemed to do these days. 

“Yeah,” Steve responded, just so the ball was out of his court again. He couldn’t stand needing to be the one to say the next thing to cut through the silence. 

Unexpectedly, it wasn’t Nancy or Jonathan that took that next step. 

It was Eddie. 

“Yo, Harrington!” 

Every head in the library shot up, except Steve’s. He cringed, ducking his head low and trying to avoid the stares that were starting to come towards him. Eddie, who never really seemed to care who was looking and who wasn’t, continued to wave at him with big over the top gestures, trying to coax Steve over to his table. 

“Is that Eddie Munson?” Nancy asked, perplexed.

Steve very quickly saw the out that had been offered and grabbed it with both hands. He stood up and began to stuff his papers and books into his backpack. 

“Yeah, that’s Eddie. I better go see what he wants, but I’ll see you guys around, yeah?” He said, sliding around the table and giving them a wave, rushing away before Nancy could ask any of the other questions starting to form. 

Eddie settled down when he saw Steve coming his way. He was alone at his table, completely surrounded by scraps of paper and open books. He loomed over them all, trying valiantly to make a tiny space for Steve to put his bag as he took the only free seat. 

“What’s up?” Steve asked, not exactly sure why Eddie wanted his company. 

“Nothing,” Eddie immediately replied, waiting a second and clearly enjoying the look of confusion Steve gave him before continuing, “Just thought I’d save you from that,”

He looked past Steve, and when Steve turned around, Nancy and Jonathan were openly staring at the two of them. Well, half of the library was openly staring, but whatever. Steve couldn’t care anymore. 

“My hero,” He said sarcastically, turning back in his seat and resting his chin on top of his backpack. 

“Why were they bothering you?” Eddie asked, futzing with his papers. 

“They weren’t, just sitting,” Steve said, not quite on the defensive yet, but still feeling that urge to protect starting to hum in the back of his mind. 

He had heard some of the things people were saying about the whole situation, and he hated the thought of Nancy or Jonathan catching heat. They hadn’t done anything wrong, at least, nothing that bad. They shouldn't have to deal with defending themselves right at the start of their relationship. It wasn’t really their fault that it just happened to come at the death of Steve’s. 

“That’s weird,” Eddie stated, unintentionally treading right into dangerous territory, “I mean, it’s not like you guys are friends,”

“We are,” Steve protested automatically. Eddie raised a brow, and he faltered, trying to find the right words, “Well- I mean…”

Were they? 

They didn’t really have all that much in common, and every single time they spoke it was clear all three of them weren’t really ready to be close, but Steve still considered them friends. 

At the very least, Nancy and Jonathan were incredibly important people in his life, even if they weren't necessarily his friends. There were a few things that permanently bonded people, and killing an actual real life demon was one of those things. 

But he couldn’t tell Eddie any of that. 

“It’s complicated,” Steve settled on, hating how cliche that sounded. Eddie’s brow furrowed and he rubbed his thumb across his lower lip as he thought about what he wanted to say next. 

It was honestly kind of cute. 

“Nancy cheated on you,” Eddie stated bluntly. 

Less cute now. 

Steve flinched back, unable to help his first reaction. Cheating was such a harsh word, burning and bloody. It evoked images of The Hawk, and spray paint staining his fingers for months on end. He had promised himself he would never accuse anyone of it ever again unless he absolutely 100% knew for sure that it had happened. 

Except, in this case, he did. Jonathan had told him, clearly scared out of his mind, but he had still manned up and told him. They had slept together when they were at that dude’s house, the one who helped Nancy get justice for Barb. Steve had listened, put the information in a little box in his mind, and put the box on a shelf. 

Because that’s what Steve did. He just pretended he was okay no matter what, because he didn’t know any other way to be. He pretended like the sight of his pool didn’t make him nauseous, and he pretended like they hadn’t all almost died, and he pretended like he didn’t wake up gasping for air at least twice a week. 

Steve pretended, because he didn’t know how to live with everything that had happened. But Nancy did, and Jonathan did, and the issue here was obviously Steve, not them. He had pretended Nancy right into Jonathan’s arms, and he had no one to blame for that except himself. 

So, was it really cheating when it was Steve’s fault that it happened? 

Nancy was right. He was really just…bullshit. 

And yet, all of that also fell into the category of ‘Things Steve Wasn’t Legally Allowed to Tell Eddie’. He just had to go for the bullshit pretending answer. 

“Yeah. She cheated on me.” 

“That doesn’t sound too complicated,” Eddie said with a shrug and Steve leaned back in his chair, staring down at his hands which were fisted up in his khakis. 

“Well it is,” Steve replied moodily, “It’s really fucking complicated, and I really don’t want to talk about it,” 

“But she hurt you,” Eddie said, still using that stupid statement voice. 

“Yeah, she hurt me, but I love her so-” Steve cut himself off, biting his tongue harshly. Yeah, he still loved her, but admitting that was fucking pathetic. 

And yet, Steve was pretty sure a part of him was going to love Nancy Wheeler for the rest of his life. 

“So that makes it okay?” Eddie asked, and Steve sighed, exhausted with the conversation. 

“It means I can forgive her,” He said softly, trying to will his heart to stop aching, “It means I still want her in my life. Jonathan too. We’ve gone through stuff together. It’d be weird if we didn’t become friends after everything that’s happened,” 

That was still probably too much to say, but Steve almost felt like he owed Eddie that much. The guy had done nothing but try to help, try to be supportive; he wanted to give him some kind of explanation for why he was continuing to torture himself with the sight of his ex and Jonathan. 

Eddie still seemed pretty confused, and Steve doubted he even half understood, but his eyes had softened up, looking at Steve in a way that made his stomach feel funny. Not in the same way it had before with Nancy, just…funny. 

“You’re a strange creature, Steve Harrington,” Eddie finally said, giving Steve a slow sweet smile. Steve shook his head, shooting Eddie a wry grin. 

“And you, Eddie Munson, are a nosy jackass,” He snarked. Eddie laughed, too loud for the quiet library. Everything about Eddie was too much, always. He stood out from the crowd- no he didn’t just stand out, he forced himself out. Everyone had to notice him, everyone had to see. Steve, who had always done everything he could to blend in, to become one of the popular crowd, it was thrilling. 

“Too true my liege,” Eddie said, inclining his head ever so slightly, “How’s your character coming?”

Steve rolled his eyes, digging around in his bag to grab the offending enemy, waving it around his head. 

“Well, if I could stop wanting to hurl this book into the Quarry, I think I would be making progress,” 

“What did the player handbook ever do to you?” Eddie gasped in mock horror, reaching up to pluck the book from Steve’s grasp and hold it protectively against his chest. Steve, already used to Eddie’s theatrics from their few interactions, just scowled and crossed his arms. 

“It’s long, overly complicated, and the letters keep jumping around,” He griped.

Eddie slid out of the persona he had created as quickly as he had come into it, cocking his head to the side and making those bambi eyes somehow even bigger.

“Jumping around?” Eddie questioned. 

“Yeah, but that one is really kind of an every book situation. I’m not big on reading. School’s just not my thing. Give me a ball or a kid to wrangle, that’s where I shine,” Steve said in a joking tone, trying to steer the conversation to other places. If he could get Eddie on a rant about basketball, or teasing him for babysitting, then they wouldn’t have to talk about his difficulties with reading. 

And Steve really did not want to talk about his difficulties with reading. 

It wasn’t exactly like he was ashamed of not really being able to read, except he really fucking was. What kind of person got to their senior year of high school and still couldn’t manage to read more than a page without wanting to give up? What kind of person still couldn’t manage to spell a single full sentence correctly at almost eighteen? 

An idiot. That’s who. 

But, if Eddie hadn’t already realized how much of a numbskull Steve was, then he wasn’t all that anxious to show his new friend. Everyone in Eddie’s circle was just like his kids, wicked smart and unafraid to flaunt it. If Eddie figured out just how much Steve really didn’t belong with them, he might change his mind about having Steve around. 

No, on the whole, it was just better to derail the conversation. But Eddie didn’t seem to want to be derailed. 

“What page are you on?” He asked Steve, his face frustratingly neutral. 

Steve bit the tip of his tongue, contemplating just how far he might get in a lie. Would fifty pages be too obvious? Maybe he could say twenty five, and try to get Eddie on a rambling tangent before he began quizzing Steve on statistics. But as Steve went to open his mouth to try and spin a story that might work, Eddie held up a hand, cutting him off. 

“Hey, I don’t judge. I just failed an essay because apparently Star Wars isn’t ‘an appropriate choice for analyzing the Hero’s Journey’,” Eddie said in a mocking false voice, handing the essay over as evidence.

A big fat ‘F’ sat at the top of the paper, circled in red. Steve’s brow furrowed, and he put it down, grabbing his own essay out of his bag. He and Eddie weren’t in the same class, but they did have the same teacher. 

She had given Steve a ‘C’, and Steve’s essay was only two pages to Eddie’s five. 

“Wait, do you mean the big wheel thing?” Steve asked. Eddie nodded, his mouth screwed up into a frustrated pout. Steve picked up his notebook and flipped to a clean page, drawing out a circle. 

“But it works perfectly, why would she tell you it didn’t?” Steve made a mark at the top of the circle, “Leia’s hologram is Luke’s call to action, the force is his supernatural thing, his inciting incident is his aunt and uncle being killed, Obi Wan is the mentor, the robots are the helpers, and then Han is too. And Chewie! Obi Wan dying is the abyss, and then Luke transforms at the death star, becomes a jedi, and saves the galaxy.”

Steve continued to make little doodles along the edges of the wheel, muttering to himself. It was a really good example actually, and he was kind of jealous. He had just used The Odyssey like their teacher had suggested, but Star Wars was a way cooler option. 

Why had she failed Eddie? At the very least he should have gotten a ‘C’ like Steve did. Even if she didn’t like what he had written, he had put in way more effort than Steve had. 

Then, he noticed how quiet the table had gotten. He looked up briefly, and Eddie was looking at him, his jaw dropped, eyes wide in a whole different way. 

“What?” He asked, unsure of why exactly Eddie was just staring at him. 

“Steve, how is it possible that you just perfectly outlined the hero’s journey, but school ‘isn’t’ your thing?”

He squirmed in his seat, instantly uncomfortable. His parents liked to say things like that- he was smart, but he was just lazy. If he tried, then he would get better grades. 

Steve would be at a dinner or some other stupid social function that he was dragged to and say something that was apparently impressively insightful, which should have been the right thing to do. 

It never was. 

Instead of praising him, his parents would always shake their heads, look at their friends, and sigh that if Steve just applied himself, he would do better. That they had done their best, and clearly he had the ability, he just lacked work ethic. 

It didn’t matter how many times Steve attempted to explain that he was trying, that he stayed up all night sometimes, just trying and trying and trying. They didn’t care. 

Eddie didn’t seem to mean it the same way as they usually did, but it was close enough to make Steve want to curl up in a ball and disappear. 

“This is a picture. Pictures don’t move,” Steve said, mentally praying for the bell to ring, but knowing it wasn’t going to. They still had at least a half hour left in the period. Plenty of time for Eddie to ‘try and help’ which would probably just end with Steve being even more humiliated than he already was. 

“What if I read it out loud to you?” Eddie offered.

It was a genuine offer, Steve could tell that it was. It was sweet, and it was kind, and Steve could never accept it. 

“You don’t have to,” Steve protested, ignoring the part of his mind that thought it might be nice to get to listen to Eddie talk. He was a gifted storyteller, and Steve was always greedy for stories, even though they were so inaccessible to him. 

Still, he wasn’t some toddler sitting on his mother’s lap, and Eddie wasn’t holding a picture book. 

“I just want to get what I need to make a character, that’s all,” Steve said. He just wanted to be able to do enough that he would get by fairly okay during the next Hellfire meeting. He just wanted to be able to prove that he did want to join them. 

“Then, I’ll read the parts you need for that, and I’ll help you fill in whatever gaps,” Eddie amended, reaching out yet again. He even physically reached this time, leaning over the table and squeezing Steve’s wrist once before settling back. 

Steve opened his mouth to agree, to just say yes, but his voice was failing him. The words were stuck in his throat, and no matter how hard he tried to force them out, they just wouldn’t budge. 

“Sweetheart, I’m a super senior,” He pointed out with a little self-deprecating laugh, “I’m in no position to judge. And, even if I was, I wouldn’t.” 

There it was again. 

Sweetheart. 

Eddie had called him that after Hellfire, and Steve had brushed it off, considering it a fluke or a slip of the tongue. Given the deer in headlights look he had given Steve the second he said it, that wasn’t a bad call. 

This clearly was not the same. Eddie had meant to call him ‘Sweetheart’ this time, knowing that Steve wasn’t necessarily going to mind it. He chewed on his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he tried to figure out why exactly he didn’t mind Eddie calling him a pet name. 

It was the kind of thing Steve usually used for girls he was trying to woo, the kind of thing a guy would say to a girl. He had never heard a guy call another guy ‘Sweetheart’ before, but no matter how hard he searched, Steve couldn’t find a single part of himself that minded. Sure, he was confused by it, but it wasn’t upsetting or anything. 

Just weird. 

Not even weird in a bad way, and wasn’t that a head trip? 

Fuck it. He already had enough on his plate as it was. Steve didn’t have the time or the energy to try and figure that one out. 

He got up from his chair and came around to the other side, sitting on Eddie’s left the way he had during the Hellfire meeting the week before. Eddie beamed, settling down and putting the book on the table between them both. Steve didn’t need to say yes, Eddie just knew, and for that he was grateful. He was already struggling enough as it was. 

“What page?” Eddie asked again, dipping his voice low and letting it melt the icy walls that Steve always kept around him. 

“Eight,” He said, pausing to gauge Eddie’s reaction. 

There was none. No snort of derision, no sigh, no head shake. Eddie just nodded, flipping to the right page. Steve let out a soft breath, forcing his body to relax. 

It was Eddie. He wouldn’t judge. 

“I was on the part talking about levels,” Steve added, taking the risk to lean in and let their arms brush up against each other. Eddie stilled for all of two seconds before going back to totally nonchalant. 

“Perfect. I could use a refresher anyway.” Eddie said, rolling his neck and shoulders to stretch quickly before clearing his throat in an over dramatic fashion, just to make Steve laugh. 

There it was again. The weird feeling in his stomach.

Steve ignored it. He ignored their arms, ignored ‘Sweetheart’, ignored his ex and everything that came with her, and even ignored the very world around them. None of it mattered, not right now. He pushed all thoughts away, letting himself get lost in Eddie’s voice and the universe he created with it.  

“Typically, a character starts at 1st level and advances in level by adventuring and gaining experience points (XP). A 1st-level character is inexperienced in the adventuring world, although he or she might have been a soldier or a pirate and done dangerous things before….”

Tag List: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name @minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

[besotted-eros]

Eren x Reader (WoC) 18+

Summary: The ocean sends you a man stuck to a piece of driftwood, and he knows you in a way you don’t know yourself. Masterlist here

Chapter: Epilogue

In his final moment, something flashed before Eren's eyes.

It blocked out the sight of Mikasa, flying towards him. She approached with a ferocity he couldn't recognize, and a love that he did. Her tears trailed across his tongue, leaving the slight taste of salt that made Eren's shiver with memory.

Mountains fell in response.

Mikasa moved fast, so fast and quick and her body was brittle flashes that stung his eyes and filled his vision with worlds, worlds, world.

A red scarf that flickered atop of wall Maria. Waves reflecting off of blonde hair. The taste of meat, a kick in his stomach, an ill timed laugh, a glint from cracked glass, a rivalry.

These tumbled over each other until they stopped dead at the coast of an island, at copper feet covered in sand. Then, the memories yielded to her.

Her dark hair floating in water, her dark eyes peering at him from behind a guarded face that broke bit by bit, and broke him even faster. Her soft body, her hard tone, the way she healed a man who had done nothing but rip and tear through the viscera of the world.

In that last moment Eren saw nothing but her.

He allowed himself that, that momentary disappearance into her shelter as though he had ducked under an awning from the storm. He could shake himself free from a sopping coat, kick off muddied shoes. He searched for her warm hearth blindly, wanting to fall into her plush bed and realise that everything was nothing but a dream. Conjured between making love and waking to a world that offered no sharp silver blows, only a brown hand upon his clavicle.

Mikasa swept closer.

Eren knew he would die like this, but he didn't want to.

Who would?

He wanted a future. He wanted a life. He wanted to be a baby, a child so sinless and unaware of the monsters under the bed and in the nape of his neck. He wanted Mikasa's protection, Armin's solace.

He wanted to be their friend again.

And he wanted her. He wanted her kitchen table. Her pillow. Her bathtub and her neck. He wanted to be the man she pulled from the depths, the man she thought worthy of saving.

Her love, her love. He drowned his soul in it, it seared his veins, burning so bright it cast shadows on the figure approaching him and dulled the glint of the blade. But it did nothing to soften the edge. There would be no friends to protect his foolhardy heart this time. There would be no lover to breathe life into salt stricken lips.

Because Eren was no longer deserving of wants.

The feel of her blossomed like a supernova, and for his last breath Eren breathed only her.

And then there was a blooming gape.

And then nothing.

Truly nothing.

It was a hill like any other.

This one had a tall tree, gnarled branches reaching up to stroke the uninterested face of the sky. The landscape was dotted with dozens of these hills and this one sat perfectly average. Not too high, not too low. The perfect height for you to stare up at the grave that nestled between the ancient roots.

His killer stood between you two. The one that Historia spoke about reverently. She stared down at you, her angled face impassive during her assessment. But no recognition yet. Had Historia warned her of your arrival? It didn't matter. This was a pilgrimage that no one could hinder.

You both stepped forward at the same time, pausing in unison, eyes widening simultaneously. She had seen how you touched the wrap that crossed your chest. Another breath. A realization, softer than the morning dew that wet the bottom of your skirt.

She knew who you were. And oh, how much it hurt her. You could feel the spine of her soul snap with the way her mouth tightened. But you couldn't concern yourself with that now, unless you wanted yours to follow close behind.

She stepped off the worn path and became nothing but a red road marker as you made your way to his eternal side. You couldn't stop your feet if you tried.

You stared down at the small stone. It was so unassuming. Docile and stagnant. So unlike him. It didn't feel right. He was always steaming, always on the precipice of some magnificent blazing collapse like a dying star, ready to swipe clean the face of the world. His body deserved to be incinerated, for his flesh to writhe and scream and flicker until it disappeared.

Yes, fire suited him more.

"You should have burned." You whispered to that great nothing. You knelt on the grass, tentatively placing your palm upon the ground. You tried to feel where it was different. Where it raised, betraying the seed planted underneath. Was he just a skull yet? Was the flesh still clinging to him? The same flesh that you had pressed love to, that you had cradled against your lips and pulled at in the moonlight.

You traced the soil like you had traced his jaw. You followed the hollow of his cheek bone against one of the roots. The rise of his brow against the crest of the hill. The touch of his hair on the grass.

Your Eren.

You inhaled deeply, past the anger that had twisted your throat for months now. Maybe a year. You had kept the knots hidden, too busy trying to heal the gaping wounds he had left behind. But now they threatened to choke you.

"You chose."

Your hand tightened on the grass, ripping the delicate blades. A misdirected fury.

"You chose. I can't get over that. Even if you thought it was inevitable. You didn't rage. You didn't fight against it. You **chose**." You seethed, the sharp scent of the grass offering itself to your mouth as you brought your hand to cover it. You didn't want these words to keep falling, you didn't know how you'd gather them after.

Your heart felt like a mountain. You worried you would be crushed from the inside out.

"You stomped over this world. But my island is untouched isn't it? You could destroy the whole fucking world. You could kill thousands." You were laughing, hot tears tracking down your cheeks to settle on your throat. "But you left that alone. Now I realise why you wanted me to stay so bad. Now it just feels like I live in the foot prints you left behind."

The wind seemed to laugh with you, coaxing your hair from its bun. You sat back on your heels, exhaling slowly. You reached out to trace the engravings on the stone skin. The words were tender. You searched yourself for jealousy and only found mourning.

"I won't visit you again. " You swore. "You don't deserve that. You deserved to have drowned." You spat, your voice heavy with betrayal. The vitriol churned your stomach. You resented the world that put this taste in your mouth. The one Eren curated. "This is the last time. So, know how important this meeting is."

You reached behind you, carefully extracting the bundle on your back. It squirmed in indignation.

You laid your son beside his father's gravestone. His tiny fist waved a greeting, round lips pushed into a pout at the sensation of the cool grass.

"Little bird, this is your father."

He blinked, decidedly unimpressed. It wasn't lost on you how alike they looked. Your son's wide green eyes, the colour of pine trees you had left behind. You cried when he had first opened them. Clutching him to your sweaty chest, his wailing filling your ears like a melody. He was real. He was life. The only life it felt Eren had left behind.

"I thought I'd break the Jaeger curse with him." You said glumly to the stone, allowing your baby to grab your finger and flail it desperately. "But he won't be a Jaeger. I don't know if he'll ever know you beyond the monster that you left to us. Just by the history books and soldier's stories. But not as his own. He'll never know you as his own." You paused, wondering if you were being cruel. To what? To eventual dust? Could you be cruel to him, even?

" The ones who did know you are still healing."

The child gurgled in agreement and you smiled despite it all, pinching a fat cheek. The breeze played with his hair, showing you the curls that mimicked yours. You took a moment to feel the soft down before you laid down beside him. Eren'sgravestone was to your back and you curled your son against your stomach, breathing in the scent of soft soap and warm milk.

"I miss you." You whispered into the ground. "I miss who you were. The person they tell me you were. I miss what we could have had." A pause as the infant drifted to sleep in his parents embrace.

"I miss who you could have been. A father. A friend. You could have changed the world for the better. I saw it in you." You rolled onto your back, turning your head to stare at his grave stone. It was cold. Nothing about him should have been cold. You were overwhelmed by the urge to throw yourself upon it. To keen like a widow doused in black. You should be tearing your hair out, you should be beating your chest to expel the grief.

But your love of him was always quiet. The loss would be the same too.

"I'd have married you. We'd have had another baby. You'd have died in bed beside me. But it would have been a good life, Eren." You leaned forward to press your forehead against his cold Stone. "But you would have been mine." Your voice cracked, and you allowed it. You were tired of being strong. You weren't allowed to mourn him. No one but Hisu would understand. "Wouldn't that have been enough?"

Your answer was over your shoulder. You turned to look at it, at the unobstructed view of Paradis. None of those grand imposing walls that had greeted you when you were first set upon the island. The people had began to spread out, tentatively reaching across the trenches (that looked too much like feet) to settle down in green pastures.

It would never have been enough.

You sat there until the footsteps were too close to ignore.

"I'm sorry."

It felt like the right thing to say, even though you couldn't place what you were apologising for.

"Me too.'

Her voice was soft, and sounded unused. You wondered if she did much but tend to the grave. She had ignored all requests for court or for army. Hisu had worried if she listened to her own body's demands too.

You stood up, turning to look at Mikasa properly for the first time. Her dark eyes were steady, hands held poised beside her. But there was a tremble in her lip, and you saw her gaze slide to the baby clutched in your arms. You tightened your hold instinctively.

Here was a woman you were connected to by love, and by spilled blood. She had severed that connection herself. She had cradled his head how you cradled his son.

How cruel of Eren.

"I'm sorry." You repeated bleakly and she shook her head.

"Don't be. Not for him." So she knew it was a boy. Maybe she was in this world more than Hisu let on.

"Would you like to hold him?" You asked, and you saw the agony plain on her face for a moment. It almost made you stumble. It felt like a mirror. But she raised her arms, and you crossed to her almost gratefully.

She took him reverently, careful not to disturb his sleep. Her touch was novice, but you knew that she would rather fall herself than drop him. She pushed back the cloth from his forehead, dark eyes searching his face. She touched him reverently. As though he was a relic.

Your eyes traced her profile, meeting the weary black circles and hard brow. She turned to look at you and you knew she saw the same. Grief was a better equalizer than any.

"I can't believe he made something so beautiful." She whispered, and you nodded in return. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. "What is his name?"

"Krueger." Her eyes flicked to your face. You didn't know why you chose it either. But she repeated it softly to the child, like a prayer.

"We're tending to the only things he left. That aren't..." Her voice trailed off. You wanted to find the words for her, but couldn't. That aren't broken, destroyed? None of them felt right. Instead you looked out upon the world without walls, and wondered what it meant to rebuild.

[skepticalkoi-catastrophe]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝑷ᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Mershark!𝑲𝒊𝒓𝒊 𝒙 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 oneshot!

𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒘𝒊𝒎....𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Drowning, Under the Influence Surfing

Word count: 699

Lights from the houses sitting curved around the cul-de-sac were dim from your distance. Balloons tied to mailboxes were set free in the sky above or in hands of neighboring small children, their parents taking a vist standing around and chatting, sitting in lawn chairs, lined up to get food from tables lining the street holding casserole dishes and crock pots.

The annual community block party lasted all afternoon, but you knew the clock was ticking down for something more eventful. Coolers brimmed with sodas, water bottles, and beers. You quickly made off with drink pouches meant for the kids towards your meeting spot. Flurries of air ghosted your exposed skin, your board under your armpit. Tumbled rocks along the shoreline as the boardwalk was lined with food and drink vendors. A white lifeguard tower with its flag flying, familiar flip-flops abandoned in the sand.

"Any longer, and you would've missed all the s'mores." Mina smiled up at you. Sero, Denki, and Bakugou toasting their second bag of marshmallows. There's a soft crash of the logs, crackles, and pops from the fire gnawed at them, consuming it like a disease until only a sickly pile of ash remaining. They rub together as Bakugou rearranged them.

Widely expansive oceans lapped the shore, lights from the boardwalk scattering across its surface.

"I'm here now, ain't I?" Driftwood as their seating as you opted to sit on the extra towel you had brought along. Their crooked row of surfboards stuck into the wet sand strewn with seashells and seaweed.

"I brought what I could." You hand each of them a dripping drink pouches cracking open a jarred Strawberry Peach Moonshine for yourself before grabbing a knobby stick in your hands as you roast your marshmallow in the flames.

"No fair, you always bring booze for yourself." Denki sighs in exaggeration.

Placing your palm over your heart, you lay back between Mina's legs. You open a black plastic bag, more mason jars of different flavors inside. "You doubtin' me Blondie? The kids' pouches were for later."

He pouted then frantically blows at his burning marshmallow at the end of his stick as Sero nudged his side.

Windansea Beach, La Jolla, where briny air and water met your board under your feet. Purity of ultramarine and stars mimicking glow flies share the openness with the moon.

Your feet sink deeper into the moist sand as salt nips at my skin, it's cool refreshing feel brings clarity to your heart, cleansing your soul almost. Night surfing has always been your go-to safe space long since before you met your teammates. God knows how many times you've crawled from your beachfront cottage window to seek Poseidon's comfort.

The Petrichor smell calls you forth. Depite your drink on your breath. You insisted you should paddle out. Pushing yourself into a standing position, the all too familiar soaring sensation washes over you.

Sero is not far behind. Steadying your position, the wave was strong enough to propel you forward. Gliding effortlessly, a shadow within the wave startles you as it follows. An occasional rough wave would spike, but nothing high enough. If asked, your choice of paddling aimlessly wasn't the brightest idea.

What sounds like Mina yelling your name as a huge wave rolls in. It's seafoam ripples curl over themselves as they swell faster.

A figment you swore you'd only heard in legends made you hit the water. Teeth like daggers swore to kill directly, took your board.

You're dunked under. Lungs quickly fill with water. You attempt grabbing for your board, but the murky depths condescend around you.

What little you could make out were two figures lashing out at one another. The smaller one putting up a good fight. You scream only for bubbles to escape. Your last-ditch effort. But you got what you wanted. Silence.

Letting what's left of your cognitive thoughts flourish, you see it. Blurry cyan and milky white moonlight stab the waters surface. It stares at you with desire, its pupils that of a cat.

Hovering above you was red. Red something. Something you couldn't make out. Red faded to black once your eyes shut.

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[lilacmingi]

ALICE IN WONDERLAND AU: NAMJOON’S ENDING

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Caterpillar!Namjoon x fem reader

Word count: 1,290

Note: There’s no taglist for the separate endings. If you haven’t read the series yet, you can find the intro here or find it on my masterlist which is linked at the end of the imagine

Every single one of them were amazing and beyond perfect, but your heart seemed to be pulled towards one of them in particular.

You glanced over at Namjoon, who seemed so composed about the whole situation while everyone else looked uneasy. You really did love all of them, but the way you felt about Namjoon was a different kind of love.

"I choose Namjoon."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Me? You choose me?"

You chuckled lightly and nodded.

He stepped forward and hugged you, squeezing you tightly.

"Thank you." He whispered into your hair.

Despite his confident demeanor when the both of you met earlier that day, he was anxious and a small part of him didn't think you would pick him, but he was elated that you did.

"Congrats you two." Jin smiled warmly.

"You guys don't forget to stop by and visit, okay?" Hoseok spoke up.

"Of course." Namjoon nodded. "It'll be just like the good old days."

The both of you said your goodbyes to the group and parted ways, heading to Namjoon's house where you would be starting your new life.

"Sorry about calling you stupid when we first met." Namjoon's apology seemed to come out of nowhere.

"It's okay. Your good looks and smooth talking make up for it."

"Ah." He chucked. "Does it really?"

You nodded.

"Thank you." He gave a shy smile.

His hand reached for yours and intertwined your fingers while guiding you down the pathway that ran throughout Wonderland.

The both of you arrived shortly at the clearing where you met Namjoon earlier that day, walking past his chair and other items in the middle of the grass and down a small path where the grass didn't grow anymore due to it being walked on so much. Not far down the trail was a house hiding amongst the tall plants and flowers, some of which were growing along the side of the structure.

"Well, here it is." Namjoon smiled, gesturing to his abode.

"It's adorable. I didn't expect you to live in such a cute house."

"Come on. Let's go inside and I'll show you around. I think you'll like it."

The front door was pushed open and you stepped past the threshold where you were met with the living room which was decorated nicely. Paintings were scattered along the walls and a variety of green plants dotted the area. Some sat in the windowsill while a couple were placed on the natural driftwood coffee table.

"This is the living room. The kitchen is over here." He gestured to the open cooking area, leading you over so you could take it all in.

You were then led down a short hallway where Namjoon showed you the rest of his house which just consisted of a bathroom and his study.

"This last room here," He opened the door. "is our room." He spoke, emphasizing the word our, making your heart flutter.

"It's nice."

He hummed in agreement against your neck, causing you to freeze up. His arms snaked around your waist while his lips attached themselves to your neck. Your eyelids fluttered in response at the sensation of being able to feel every movement of his full lips against your sensitive skin. 

"Namjoon." You sighed out.

"Yes, baby?"

"Keep doing that."

"As you wish." He murmured, continuing to work his way up your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

When he reached just beneath your ear, he spun you around towards him and captured your lips between his. His kisses were warm and the way his plush and pillowy lips felt pressing against your own was enough to send your mind into a foggy haze of bliss.

"Baby." He sighed into your mouth, his voice dropping low as he uttered the affectionate nickname.

Your hands gripped desperately at the collar of his coat, pulling him impossibly closer, your fingers curling around the navy blue fabric in order to ground yourself.

Not wanting things to get too intense, Namjoon parted ways, his arms staying looped around your waist.

"I love you so much, Y/n. I really do." He panted, breathless from all the kissing. "I can't wait to see what the future holds for us."

Two weeks later

Your quiet footsteps barely made a sound as you entered Namjoon's study where he was reading one of the many books he owned. Soft music was playing throughout the room on a record player as his eyes scanned the pages of the book perched in his large hands. He was wearing wire framed glasses that rested cutely on the edge of his little nose. He glanced up from his book, taking notice of your presence, a dimpled grin spreading across his face the moment his eyes met yours.

"Hello, gorgeous." He greeted.

"Hi. I brought you some tea."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know I didn't." You grinned and set the steaming beverage down on his desk.

You leaned on the back of his chair, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you." He hummed.

"You're welcome, Joon."

One of your hands played with his hair, glancing down at the open book in his palms.

"Whatcha reading?"

"A love story. It's nothing compared to ours though."

You giggled. "Namjoon."

"Was that cheesy?"

"A little."

"I'm only cheesy for you, baby." He winked.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head at him.

"Well," He sighed, placing a bookmark in his book before snapping it shut. "I suppose I should try this tea you so lovingly made for me." He reached over and retrieved the cup from the table, blowing in the hot liquid before bringing it to his full lips.

You waited in anticipation as he set the cup down, smiling shortly after.

"It's delicious. How did you learn to make such amazing tea?"

"Well, I'm a bit of a tea addict. I like to try new things and experiment with my tea."

"I love it." He took another appreciative sip from the cup and placed it back on the table.

You moved around to the front of the chair he sat in and slowly lifted the book from Namjoon's hands. He looked up at you and raised a brow, though there was a glint of anticipation in his eyes as you took a seat on his leg and leaned into him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, his hands running up and down your back.

"Your glasses are so cute, Joon."

"Thanks."

You pulled them from his face and placed them on your own, just for fun. He flashed a smile that was full of adoration.

"You look so adorable in those."

"I don't know." You shook your head, removing the glasses and setting them aside.

"You do." He assured, moving his face closer to yours.

Namjoon's eyes darted to your lips, a small smile playing at the corner of your mouth. Initially, you didn't intend on having a little make out session with him, but when he looked that good, how could you not?

Wasting no time, you took his face between your palms and smashed your lips against his, initiating a passionate kiss. His hands squeezed your waist in response to your bold actions, a low groan vibrating against your lips as he tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss and pressing your mouths closer together. The exhilarating rush of heat that ran through you was intense and had you feeling lightheaded.

Your hands released his face and moved to his hair, raking your fingers through it, grabbing fistfuls of the silky strands.

"I love you, Y/n." He sighed against your lips.

"I love you too, Namjoon."

Masterlist ᝰ

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