#I swear the next instalment should be a little less bad

[jooniperbonsai]

Thanks for the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Five

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 17.1k

Release date: June 26, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn, coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: A miscommunication has you bitter about your relationship with Seokjin. Will meeting one of his friends be enough to change you mind?

Chapter Warnings: swearing, miscommunication, Mingyu + Jungkook bff, Jungkook rides a motorcycle (that is a WARNING), masturbation (f+m), sex toys, pornography, alcohol, y/n is a messy drunk, a lil jealousy, SPOILER WARNINGS: oral (f,m), strength kink, spanking, slight brat behaviors, pet names, bigdick!Seokjin, slight exhibition kink, dirty talk, slight praise kink, unprotected sex, insecurity, traffic light system, consent, they're so stupidly down bad for each other, a little crying during sex moment, creampie

a/n: hello! finally, the moment we've all been waiting for! I appreciate your patience with this. I originally planned on a much shorter chapter, but I wanted to give our couple some time to really dig into their feelings for their first time, especially since they have so much at stake with each other. Just a reminder I'll be taking a short hiatus from TFTS to work on other creative projects, so I hope you treasure this chapter! -h

Seokjin fucked up. Right now, with everything so delicate, he should have known not to dive back into streaming. Not because of the awful energy last night, but because of his stupidity. When he stripped last night, he’d left his phone in his pants pocket. And in further stupidity, that pair of pants went through the wash this morning when he realized he had nothing clean to wear for work. 

He’d cradled the dead phone in his hands like it would have mercy on him and turn on. But it was too far gone. It hadn’t just been washed; it also went through the spin cycle. The screen was shattered, bits of glass echoing in the drum amongst a heavy thunk being the only thing that made him realize what he’d done. 

He didn’t have time to go get a replacement. Not with it being installation day for the new dishwasher in the restaurant. His phone would have to wait. He could wait. So long as he could get in contact with the delivery people on the phone in the manager’s office, he’d be fine. 

So he went in early, taking care of the next set of problems, one after another after another. The delivery people were late after taking the wrong turn, which meant the kitchen staff was handwashing all the dishes. That, plus the nice weather of spring seemed to have drawn more people in than usual. The restaurant was so busy, he barely saw you from open to when your shift ended. Whatever time that was. 

By the end of the day, as one of the part timers loaded the new dishwasher and peeled the protective film off the stainless steel front, everything seemed like it was finally in order. His father somehow found a fax machine on that cruise ship, which was boggling. Who was still sending faxes, much less on a cruise ship? And there was still a fax number associated with this place? 

Regardless, the contract work was finally settled and scheduled. No more stacking of appointments or missing payroll. He had gotten them back up on the cloud, and contacted the accounting service who luckily had stored everything from invoices to direct deposit information. Once he plugged everything back in, Seokjin realized things would be alright. 

He wanted to celebrate. Wanted to kick back with a beer and unwind from how stressful all this was. If he could make this transition smoother for his parents when they returned, leaving them with a much more efficient system and updated restaurant, he thought he could leave it behind a little easier and return to how things were before. 

A tightness squeezed his chest. What before would he be trying to return to? 

Would he go back to streaming more often? Is that how he wanted to keep paying his bills? In the time he’d been off, he’d felt like he was finally healing, finally good at something. Whether it was cooking or managing the restaurant’s problems, he had to give it to himself: he was a fair negotiator and probably not the worst manager that there ever was. 

Because he cared. When he worked in corporate, there were so many faceless names that he always delivered bad news to. No stories to anchor them to bodies. Just emails and phone calls. That doesn’t create much of a person to care about. 

But now, he knew each story, from one of his parents and why they decided to start a restaurant to the regular customers who always ordered the same thing to his employees. Every person was a person, and that made Seokjin care so much more than he’d ever thought he could. 

The idea of leaving that behind wrenched something in his chest. Did his parents know that the elderly white lady who came in and ordered mul naengmyeon even in the middle of winter did so because it was easier on her gums? Or that Mr. Lee was closing his vacuum repair shop because no one thought to repair vacuums anymore? The more Seokjin thought of all those familiar faces, the more he began to feel panicked. What would he do? Where would he go? 

What about you? Barely into the first year of your graduate program and already you had to take a break. Did your parents know this? 

Seokjin didn’t know much about this part of you, to be honest. He never wanted to push, though he noticed how you would talk around them and lead the conversation away from your family whenever you got the chance. Your parents were both still alive and married, he knew this. He knew you were an only child, that Wonwoo and you were childhood friends. 

But, did you have other friends? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember you ever mentioning anyone else that you spent time with. You weren’t from here, and that must have really tampered with the friendships you had back home. 

God, how had he been so clueless to not notice before? If you weren’t working or at school, you were streaming. You really didn’t take much time off from anything. And that was really sad. 

Especially because you were so great. You had the type of personality that his friends would love. He could see you and Namjoon talking about books. You had so many in that apartment, and while many of them were clearly romance novels, you had the classics too. 

You’d met Taehyung a few times when he came to mooch off of Seokjin for a free meal, and his puppy dog pout and awful jokes still drew laughter out of you. 

Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin. They’d like that you always put Seokjin in his place, never afraid to make fun of him or challenge him. 

And Yoongi. Yoongi would probably adore you the most. How gentle you were with others, yet protective of what you loved. How you were fighting to be the best version of yourself regardless of the challenges you faced. How you were thoughtful and filled the space with words that had a purpose, not just pointless chatter. You remembered the same faces in the restaurant as Seokjin, stepped in to help, to be part of a team. Those were things Yoongi always valued. 

You should meet them, he decided. He’d invite you to hang out with all of them in neutral territory. Let his friends see how great you were. And then you’d have friends here, in a place you could maybe learn to call home. 

Even if Seokjin was gone. 

His brother sent him the posting a few weeks ago. A major restaurant management company was looking for a financial consultant who would help develop new and repair existing restaurants’ financial strategy around the world. He’d sent in his resume without really thinking about it. And in the mess of today, he’d seen he received an email requesting an interview. 

Maybe Seokjin would leave Worldwide Handsome to go worldwide himself. He didn’t hate the idea. An excuse to leave streaming fully behind would be a nice end to things. 

What he hated, though, is that your time together was limited, and that job, if he was offered and took it, would shorten the window further. 

Once you started up with classes again, it would only be a matter of time. Summer would come. His parents would return. You’d drift apart further. 

Which is why he needed you to meet his friends. Needed to know that there was something he could do for you. 

He looked at the faded clock on the wall of the office. It was too late to go to the store and get a new phone. Hopefully no one had anything urgent to speak to him about. For the meantime, he knew his parents were resting on their cruise ship off Thailand? Italy? He couldn’t remember. His brother and sister-in-law and nephew were probably asleep now even though the sun still had left some lasting streaks of pink and purple in the sky. 

You were…well he didn’t quite know. Probably at home with your nose stuffed into a book. He could live with that. He could live with everyone being in the places he needed them to be. The world could turn to night once more without him being glued to his phone. 

Seokjin locked the doors of the restaurant. He watched the glow of street lights kick on. He’d get everything into place. Life goes on, right? 

Fuck Kim Seokjin. Fuck him and every stupid fucking man on planet Earth. How can he ghost someone he works with? Does he seriously just want you to quit?

You’d spent the following day waiting for an explanation. Seokjin is a man of many words when necessary. God knows you’ve heard him rant. So what was so goddamn hard about being upfront and honest? He spent all day running around in a frenzy, which you get, but he couldn’t even say hi? He couldn’t even text back with a “sorry I can’t make it”. 

That was two days ago. Your date was Friday. And you’ve gotten nothing in the form of a response. When you came to work today, he wasn’t there. You showed up early this morning to see if he was around so you could finally confront him, and sure enough, nothing.

Now, you’re trashed. All thanks to a “Happy Hour is Every Hour” A-frame outside of a gastropub near your apartment that makes their drinks strong and cheap and handed out bar nuts and a bottle of water the second you sat down. 

That was four drinks ago. Now, the word has a soft fuzzy glow to it, and if you’re not sitting here pissed off at Seokjin, you’re two seconds from calling him up and confessing how obsessed you are with him. And that also makes you want to cry. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been since you started drinking. What you do know is there’s chicken and beer being shuttled over to your table and the wait staff keep staring at you. 

“Thank you,” you slur as you reach for the piping hot rib meat before your server can even set the plate down. 

“Ah, no be care–”. But it’s already too late. The hot oil touches your fingertips and you jolt, throwing the fried food onto your table as you reach for your water, uncapping it and pouring it onto your hands, and consequently, the tabletop. 

You try to apologize, the words glooping together into some string of nonsense as the gossipy waitstaff veer over to the table, whipping white towels out of their aprons and wiping up your mess. 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter again, but you know they can’t hear you, too busy tutting at you and pointing at the steam rising from your food. They don’t say it, but you can understand the tone: you should know better. 

You’ve now caught the attention of just about every other after-work Happy Hour goer, all flushed from the alcohol but more composed than you probably appear (and are). 

You resolve to try pulling yourself together, guzzling down the remainder of your water and taking occasional sips of beer between bites of juicy chicken. Though, how much worse can having a big fat crush on your boss–who is also a gay camboy yet straight– be? Surely the people who run this place have seen worse. 

Shit, you’ve seen worse and Seokjin’s family restaurant isn’t even a major hub for after work drunkards! One time a woman in six inch stripper heels and a Tina Turner wig came in asking you if you’d found a loose pig. You stood there speechless as she called for him. And what’s stranger is that it wasn’t even a pig. It was a man on a leash with the word “P.I.G.” written on his shirt. On the back, the shirt said “Pussy is God”. 

Therefore, overhearing your drunken blubbering is, in your opinion, the least chaotic thing that can happen to these people tonight. 

You pop a pickled radish into your mouth as you take in the crowd around you as they finally turn away and go back to the bubbles they live in. None of these people know what you’ve gone through the last few days. How the sharp sting of rejection paints every decision you make with a shade of insecurity. 

You want to talk to him about it. You want to sit in your apartment with him and cry over how he treated you. You want him to apologize for being an asshole and prove he’s not just like other guys. 

But there’s a sinking fear that he really is this way. That these behaviors are intentional, and you are actually wrong about him. 

And how fucking dare he if that’s intential. What a classless and petty thing to do. Someone should put him in his place. Maybe you should put him in his place. 

With that stroke of genius, you dial his phone, impatiently sighing as you are immediately redirected to the voicemail. The beep instructing you to leave a message pours you a shot of confidence. 

“Hey, it’s me…..Y/N. Listen, you can’t just keep ignoring me. How stupid and cruel of you to just agree to go out with me and then ghost me afterward and at work? Fuck you dude. Seriously, have some fucking class. Honestly, how hard is it to say no? ‘Oh sorry, Y/N I can’t’ is all I needed.” You drop your voice to mimic his. 

“Seriously, we work together. I really thought you would be different about other guys and have some decency to just be honest. And maybe that’s what’s missing here is honesty! So let me just be honest. I know you are a camboy. And at first it was weird yeah but like…I don’t care. Because I liked you. And you liked me right? Well, maybe not. I guess I was wrong. God, alllllll you men are the fucking saaaaaame. And you keep getting away with this shit! But I’m done! I’m so done with it all! You know what? Don’t bother getting back to me. I quit!” 

You hang up, satisfied, and dig into a chicken wing. As you suck the meat from the bone, you see a tattooed hand tap the table. 

“What,” you ask, annoyed. You really don’t have it in you today to deal with some douche bag hitting on you. When you look up, you see a guy in a black baggy T-shirt and jeans. His big doe eyes and rounded nose look down at you with a glint of sympathy. 

“Uh, Y/N?” He says softly. 

You squint at him, trying to place him in the sea of people you know. Is he one of your classmates? Or does he know you from streaming? He’s not a regular at the restaurant is he? He doesn’t register as familiar at all. You open your mouth to speak, but before you get the words out, he’s talking again at rapid speed.

“Sorry! I don’t want to bother you. Um, you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Seokjin’s.”

A hot prickle of anger and embarrassment punches your gut. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. Uh, I don’t want to bother you, but I noticed you were really upset and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He glances over at the empty glasses on the table. 

“I’m fine,” you say reflexively. “Just been having a bad weekend.”

“Ah,” the stranger says, furrowing his eyebrow. “I can understand that. Do you uh…do you want to talk about it?” 

He shifts onto his heels, rocking back and forth slightly. It makes you feel dizzy just looking at him. 

“No, no I’m good.” 

“Got it, sorry. I know that might be weird. Just thought maybe you’d need somebody to talk to.” 

“And what gives you that impression? A random stranger who is disrupting my night sure seems to know so much about me for no particular reason.” 

“Oh, I have a reason. Hyung–uh, Seokjin– he means a lot to me.”

You wait for him to go on, but instead he bites at a piercing on his lip. 

“I don’t really see how that’s relevant.” 

“Ah, yeah. Sorry. Um, I…you know what? Never mind. So, listen. My uh, my friend is the owner of this restaurant. And they don’t want other people to have a bad experience here.” 

You blink at him. “That’s..great?” What does this guy want from you? Why is he sharing this? 

“It is! And so um…” he holds up a take out container. “He wanted me to bring you this.”

“Okay? I’m not finished yet, though. I was going to finish this beer first.” 

He nods and you see a blush color his cheeks. “Sure, but you see, some people have complained. And he just. He would like it if you finished your food at home instead.” 

An awful silence rings out between you and you glance around. Other patrons of the restaurant are glaring at you. From behind the checkout counter, you can see a very tall man standing with his arms crossed, wearing a pained expression. He, too, is blushing. 

You glance back at the doe-eyed man. “He…you are kicking me out?” 

His eyes go wide and he starts waving his hands in front of him. “Ah, um! No, no one is kicking you out! Mingyu is a puppy, he means no harm. He just…last week someone stole all the change in the drawer and now things are really tight for him and he can’t afford to lose business.”

Mingyu, you now know he’s named, drops his head into his hands and sighs. 

“Got it,” you say through gritted teeth. Jesus, can today get any worse? You stand up, and suddenly the world is tipping sideways and being pulled out from under you. 

“Whoa, whoa!” The stranger says. You close your eyes, ready to hit the tile floor. But it never happens. Instead, the weight of your back is being held by something sturdy, and your wrist on your right arm is clamped onto tightly. You open your eyes and see him beaming down at you, his eyes wide. “Careful there.” 

“JK!” Someone calls out. “You know where she lives?”

“Nah and Hyung isn’t answering whenever I try calling him,” the stranger shouts back. Your right ear is ringing, sensitive to the loud noise. 

“SHH! God, right in my ear! Jesus! I’m fine. I can get myself home! I’m not some weak damsel in distress.” You slap his hands away and find your footing on the sticky floor. 

JK, you assume, holds his hands up in surrender. “Noona, I’m not saying you are. But you are really drunk, and I can’t let you leave when you can’t even walk.” 

You snort. “So I need to leave but I can’t? What kind of riddle is this for me to solve? Are you a troll that lives under a bridge? I can’t leave until I solve your riddles three?” 

He chuckles. “No, more that I am going to take you home. Here, get your food in this, I’ll get my keys.”  

“Don’t bother,” you say, scooping the still-warm food into the container. A part of you is mourning how soggy this is going to be later. 

“Please, Y/N don’t fight me on this,” JK says softly. 

“I’m not,” you insist. 

“Then let me drive you home.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“Then why–”

“Because I live like two blocks that way.” You point. 

His tight jaw slackens as he follows your hand, peering out toward the direction of your place.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, and scoop up the container, glancing down at the empty drinks. In a last minute decision, you lift up your glass of beer and chug the rest of it down. 

JK sighs and shakes his head when you deposit the empty glass into the nest of the others. “Was that really necessary?” 

“Yes,” you reply, walking toward the cash register. JK walks through the swinging kitchen doors, you assume to grab his keys. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingyu says, waving his hand. 

What? No way. You try to do the mental math, but at this point, you’ve lost count of how much anything costs. One thing you know: this meal wasn’t cheap. 

“No! No, I want to pay. I’m sorry I was so disruptive. Please let me–.”

JK reappears, carrying a leather jacket, backpack, and motorcycle helmet. “Ah, Noona, don’t worry about it. I already paid.” 

He what? Who the hell is this guy? 

“Oh,” you say awkwardly, glancing up at Mingyu. “Well..thanks.” 

“Yeah. Uh, you’re welcome. Get home safe. Maybe drink some water when you get there.” He steps away from the counter and grabs a gray plastic bin, shuffling over to your table to bus it. 

“Ready?” JK asks and you nod, following him out the door. 

“Are we really going to take your motorcycle a few blocks?” 

He laughs. “Why? Are you scared?”

Yes. “No. Just feels like a waste of gas.” 

“Sure. But I also was probably going to go to Seo-somewhere after this so it would make sense to take it. But if you’re nervous about it, we can walk.” 

“I’m not nervous. It’s just a waste of gas.” 

“Okay, Y/N.”

“Okay, JK,” you mock. He begins walking along the sidewalk in the general direction of your place and pauses at a shiny black Harley, scooping up a second helmet from the seat. 

“That’s not my name.” 

“Then what is your name?”

“Jungkook.” 

He looks at you and smiles, holding out the helmet he had in the restaurant. You stare at it, not making a move to grab it. 

“No? Well, I guess we’ll walk.” 

You’re not sure why you grab the helmet but do. You’ve never been on a motorcycle; they have always terrified you how they weave through traffic and tight alleyways, zip through intersections and rev themselves at lights in some grand show of ego. But Jungkook doesn’t look like any of the biker dudes you’ve seen with long beards and bandanas. He looks almost like an innocent kid. But with tattoos and piercings. 

His smile widens as you scoop up the helmet and plop it onto your head, letting Jungkook adjust the chin strap’s tightness. 

“Are you sure I’ll fit on this?” You ask, eying the incredibly small passenger “seat” off the back of the bike. Who even fits on these? Children riding illegally? 

“Huh?” He looks between you and the bike, scanning your body up and down as he tries to do math. 

“Yeah,” he decides and nods. “Yeah I don’t think it’ll be an issue.” 

So you hoist yourself onto it, trying not to tip the heavy machine over in your jolt. Jungkook clips his helmet on and hands you his backpack. “I’ll need you to wear this though. Otherwise it’ll squish you.” 

You loop the straps over your arms and reposition yourself. Jungkook easily navigates his leg over to the other side, using his left food as a grounding while he holds the bike up. 

“Okay, let’s go!” He says enthusiastically and you chuckle before realizing he has no idea where you’re going. 

“Oh, uh you’re going to head that way for about three blocks. Then turn right.” 

He nods and then inserts the key into the ignition, turning it on. Wordlessly, you wrap your arms around his thin waist, and as you whip down the main road toward your apartment, the chill of the spring air on breezing across your arms feels a little bit like freedom.  

When you arrive, you do the polite thing and invite Jungkook in to prove that you are not so inebriated that you’ll aspirate and die in your apartment. You even drink an extra glass of water to ensure he believes you when you say you’re fine. You’re mostly tired now, the exhaustion of the week and Seokjin’s rejection heavy on your body. 

“Well, thanks,” you say, signaling it is time for Jungkook to leave. 

“You’re welcome. And Noona, I’m sorry about Mingyu, he really didn’t mean any harm.” 

“I understand, I was kind of a lot.” You say, the haze of the restaurant fading into the night. All the things you were mad about are starting to seem quite immature. You pause, realizing something. 

“God damnit! I left my chicken there!” 

Jungkook laughs and shrugs. “Well, it’s a good thing I know the owner. I can always get you a fresh order if you want it?” 

You mull it over for a second before shaking your head. “It’s fine. I probably don’t need it anyway. It was just comfort food during a bad week.” 

“You mentioned you were having a hard time. I hope you feel a little bit more at ease now that you ate and got more water into you.” 

You sigh. “No, not really. I am starting to feel a little stupid for the phone call I had earlier.” 

“Oh yeah, I overheard a bit. So what was that all about? Mad at a friend or something?” 

“Yeah,” you say and Jungkook’s smirk drops. 

“Hyung? What did he do?”

“It’s…it’s not a big deal really. He just…we were supposed to…hang out the other night, and he blew me off.” 

“Oh, that’s not really like him. I’m sorry that happened.”

“Not your fault,” you say, smiling up at Jungkook.

A beat passes and Jungkook sniffs, glancing around at your place. “So, about Seokjin-hyung.” 

You raise an eyebrow in question. Where exactly is this going? When you don’t say anything, Jungkook looks over at you. 

“Well, h-he’s not a bad guy. Really. I hope you know that.” 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask. 

“Doing what?” 

“Building a case for him. All your friends really. Trying to mediate on their behalf.” 

Jungkook glances down and sighs. “I don’t know. But we aren’t talking about me right now.” 

“Are we even talking about anything? We’re strangers.” 

“Have you considered that people become friends instead of strangers by sharing things about themselves?”

You wince. “I don’t like you.” 

Jungkook splits into laughter and you can’t help but chuckle in response. He’s charming, but you don’t need him to know that. 

“Fair enough. I’m just saying, Seokjin he…he’s really a good guy. Practically raised me. Although sometimes I think I’m more mature than he is. But he’s had a rough time lately with all the stuff happening with the restaurant and his family coming back soon. I think he’s just not entirely sure who he is, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you.” 

You sigh, defeated. 

“Take care, Y/N. I hope to see you around.” Jungkook walks toward the door, turning the knob. 

“Hey, wait,” you say. You feel a little guilty as you sober up. You’ve been bratty all night to the poor kid; you could cut him some slack. 

“Thanks for helping me out tonight,” you say sheepishly. 

“Anytime. Really. Although maybe we can avoid making this a habit. I’d like to meet you again when you aren’t drunkenly shouting at my hyung over the phone.” Jungkook picks up his spare helmet off the floor and waves, and then slides through the door and into the dark. 

For a few minutes you stand there, trying to balance the scales of the weekend, from the ghosting to the drunken calls to running into one of Seokjin’s closest friends who drove you home on the back of his Harley. Your head feels like it’s spinning. 

What are you supposed to do about any of this? You’re not sure. Jungkook told you that he was basically raised by his friend, and that touches something really soft within you. You’re not surprised. Look at how good of a mentor he’s been to you in the kitchen staff? It’s not common for bosses to take time out of their schedule to train you, especially before the place even opens. 

But that’s Seokjin’s dedication. He cares. And that’s also why this rejection hurts. Because you know that if he’s being this way to you, it can only mean that you did some unknown thing that has driven him away from you. And it has to be big enough for him to ignore you all day? 

What if he’s seeing someone? What if he’s trying to create distance with you? Your head spins with all the ideas and you need any details. Anything. 

You practically run to your computer, typing in Worldwide Handsome’s website address and searching the performer tab. You don’t have to scroll long. He’s one of the top streamers of the year, and you see that he has a stream that happened Friday night on his replay list, but it’s blocked behind a paywall. Did that asshole seriously stream on Friday instead of hanging out with you?

You pause for approximately two seconds before you begin typing your credit card information in. You need to be sure. In a matter of seconds, all of Seokjin is everywhere; there are photos of him, clothed and naked. Some are crystal clear in quality, looking almost professionally taken, every ridge of his hard cock portrayed through pixels. You feel heat creep into your chest and cheeks, almost like you’ve just taken three shots of vodka. 

As it turns out, the alcohol’s effects paired with Seokjin’s own hotness have you pulling the fabric of your shirt away to try and get some proper air. After a moment, you decide you’re done wrestling with it and strip it off. It’s your apartment, you have a right to walk around topless if you want. And pantless. You feel the cool air wick away some of the heat from the back of your knees as you slide the pants down. Much better. You probably smelled like fried chicken anyway. 

You look back at the screen, your entire monitor displaying an HD photo of Seokjin in the middle of an orgasm, his neck thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing as he squeezes the head of his cock. His hands and stomach are messy with a milky, somewhat translucent load of cum. You squirm a little in your seat, feeling the heat that was once flushing your body send a sharp flicker of desire to your core. What is it you’re supposed to be doing? 

You blink a few times at the screen before exiting out of the photo gallery and heading into the video playlists. Ah, you remember when you see the most recent stream. Research. Because he’s avoiding you. A sharper, more painful throb stabs through your chest, carrything with it the sting of anxiety.

You need to know how you can fix this. You take a deep breath and load in the video. 

“Hi Everyone,” Seokjin says, a lazy wave fanning into the shot. “It’s been a while.” You study his face, he seems sad and upset. Is this really the same Seokjin you saw at work two days ago? He seemed a little stressed, sure, but not like this. 

Seokjin greets some of the names of people who must have responded to his chat. After a few minutes, he smirks. “I needed this. I missed you guys, too.”

Has he not been regularly streaming? You never really thought to look again after you stumbled upon him a few months ago. Okay, that’s a lie. You’ve definitely thought to check on him at least a hundred times, but you promised yourself that you wouldn’t peek. He deserves privacy. 

But now as you’re learning, he hasn’t been consistently online in months. Where has he been? Have you really been taking up that much of his time with your own streams? Your chest follows the sharp pain up to your throat, where guilt nestles itself in. 

He’s seeing someone. He’s got to be. Pulling away from streaming makes all the more sense if he’s dating someone. All that horny, intimate energy has to be directed somewhere? It only makes sense that he would direct it onto someone. 

Jealousy sours your stomach. Maybe he realized that you were intending for this to be a date on Friday and didn’t know how to let you down. So he just did this instead? Why does none of this make sense? 

Seokjin has a few more conversations in the next few minutes, but nothing really stands out. He seems guarded. Sheesh, how lovesick is this guy?

As he wraps up his conversations, you see his face fall in between words as he reads the screen that is determining what type of toy he has to use. Eventually, it is decided upon a vibrating cock ring, and you watch curiously as he places the device down his shaft and balls, snuggly resting at the base. As people donate, the ring vibrates. 

You don’t feel like this is going to give you what you need. It’s certainly hot to watch at first, but it also isn’t helping you understand him better. Even still, you don’t click away, and for the next hour, you watch the recording, his tired eyes becoming all the more lifeless as he approaches his orgasm. Honestly, it feels a bit sad. Not long after he cums, he ends the stream. 

This is not like the one you’ve seen before. In that stream he was passionate, domineering, and direct. Now, you’re not even entirely sure if he was turned on. You begin cycling through older streams, trying to find a date of when all this started. 

How long has he been seeing her? How come you were too stupid to realize it before? You study each video for clues, looking for moments when he might mention something that shows around the time he started closing off to his audience. Nothing promising. 

Until this one, one where he’s softer than usual, more submissive. He goes soft a few times even in this stream, despite the fact that he’s engaging with his audience, he’s giving them everything they could ever want. You watch as he grinds down on a pink dildo, gasping for air, little moans popping out of his chest. 

If you didn’t know him as well as you thought you do, you might believe it. You’ve watched enough of his videos now (including the one you caught live), to see how Seokjin looks when he’s turned on versus when he’s performing as Jin. 

A little buzz comes over the speaker and Seokjin’s eyes look past the camera, presumably toward the source of the sound. Then, like a switch, something happens, and he grows harder in his jerking hand, a flush creeping up onto his chest, his rhythm changing to form a steadier, lighter grind on the toy. But what lets you know that he’s truly, really turned on, is that his moans are not high pitched at all. They’re deep. Fuck. 

“Fuck,” he mimics, a low chuckle coming out of his chest. He’s closed his eyes, more invested in his fantasy. 

Shit, this is getting hot. You squirm a bit in your seat again, trying to focus. You’re looking for clues, remember?

“Yes, yes, that’s it. Right there,” Seokjin groans. You rasp a breath, which has become more erratic as the head of his cock becomes deeper in its blush. You can’t help it. This is what he does, how he affects you. He could be completely clothed or fully naked in this moment, and you would still be just as wet as he’s making you from using that voice. You reach down between your legs, trapping your hand in between to relieve some of the pressure. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” 

What? 

No. There’s no absolutely no way. You must be imagining it. Your stomach does a little flip out of hope anyway. 

“Mmm, I’m close. Fuck!” He changes the tactic for stroking himself, now flicking his wrist and squeezing his tip. You can see the bead of precum that is leaking out. 

You must still be so drunk that you’re running away with your fantasies. No. 

“Y/N,” he says again, clearer. And then, Seokjin orgasms, lifting his hips so his cock can thrust into his hand, droplets of cum spurting from the tip, dappling his thighs and stomach.

“Oh my god,” you say as the information all starts to click into place. “Oh shit.”

“Hyung, open up!” 

Seokjin rubbed his eyes, trying to understand what the hell was going on. What time was it? When he glances at the clock in his dark room, it says 1:43AM. Which is weird, because didn’t he go to bed last night after the sun came up? Maybe his clock was wrong and it meant 1:43PM instead of AM. 

But that was the least of his worries. Instead, he was heading toward the door, where one of his dongsaengs was beating on his door like he was intent on breaking it down. 

He pulled it open, and found Jungkook standing in front of him, his hair sticking out in weird places. He looked like he just had sex. 

“What are you doing here, Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook’s eyes looked anxious and he nodded. “Can I come in?” 

Seokjin moved away from the door frame, holding out an arm to let his friend in. “Is everything okay?” 

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? I’ve been trying to call you all day and your phone is off.” Jungkook said as he stepped into the apartment and unlaced his boots. 

“Ah, that. It went through the wash this morning. I think I’ll leave here soon to go get my new one.”

“Are there phone stores open this late?” Jungkook asked, furrowing his eyebrow. 

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that it’s almost two o’clock in the morning on a Monday. I don’t think someone is going to be open to sell you a new phone.”

“It’s not Monday, it’s Sunday.”

“I think I know the seven days of the week, hyung,” Jungkook scoffed and pulled out his phone, showing the display to Seokjin. He was right. It was Monday. 

“Holy shit. That means I slept through my entire Sunday! I was supposed to get a new phone today!” 

“Well, I guess your body was in sleep debt or something and you needed the rest. Anyway, as much as I love being Father Time and all, that’s not why I came here. I need to tell you something.”

He couldn’t help it, but as he heard his friend speak, Seokjin’s pulse increased. Nothing ever came from that sentence. But before he could even begin to think about what life altering event happened that would change him and Jungkook’s friendship forever, the youngest was already walking over to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

Jungkook unscrewed the cap and took a long chug. “Sorry, thirsty. It’s been a long night. Listen, I was just at Y/N’s.”

Of all the things Seokjin was anticipating Jungkook to say, that wasn’t it. His stomach dropped as he further took in the rumpled appearance of his friend. 

“Wh-what? You were hanging out at her house at 1 in the morning? H-how did this happen? I didn’t even know you guys knew each other.”

Jungkook blinked at his friend for a moment, realization dawning on him. “Oh, no, nothing like…intimate happened hyung! I met her tonight. I was at Mingyu’s and she was there!” 

“Well that makes me feel so much better now!” 

“What? You don’t think I would sleep with her, do you?”

“Well you really weren’t holding much back a few months ago when you saw her streaming!” 

“I…okay so she’s really pretty and I did give her a ride on my bike back to her place but that’s the most we touched! I swear!”  

The sickness of jealousy pulled at his stomach.

“Hyung,” Jungkook said lightly. “I would never betray you like that. You’ve been interested in Y/N for a long time. And I know that.” 

He was right. And Seokjin knew that, too. He took a deep breath. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Jungkook smiled softly, and then sighed. “I just want you to be happy, hyung. Which is why I came over here right after I dropped her off. She was trashed. Mingyu kicked her out, and you know he’s too chicken shit to ever kick anyone out. But she was on the phone yelling about something and I recognized her. She had drunk herself under the table and was trying to finish a 4-person platter of chicken by herself. 

“And that’s not all, either. Uh, when I started talking to her, I learned what she was really upset about. Hyung, why did you blow her off about your date?”

“What? We didn’t have a date planned.” 

“Are you sure? Because I heard her leave you a voicemail saying that if you didn’t want to go out with her, you should have said so instead of blowing her off two nights ago and that you have ghosted her.” 

Seokjin furrowed his brow. It didn’t sound like you to behave so erratically. Did you get that drunk that you were thinking of things that never happened? When was it that you’d even spoken last?

He retraced the past three days, from him washing his phone this morning…or yesterday morning to work, to the Worldwide Handsome letter, to two days ago when his father began the chaos by sending over half the forms needed. That full day of sleep really was throwing him off. He’d talked to you that morning, hadn’t he? 

About going to that restaurant you’d wanted to try. He’d gotten a late reservation. That he completely forgot about because of everything else. 

“Fuck,” Seokjin said, running his fingers through his hair. 

“What? Oh, hyung, Don’t tell me it is true.” 

“I–it completely slipped my mind. I was supposed to take her out to dinner. It was going to be maybe our first step toward dating. God, I didn’t mean to forget! I was just so overwhelmed with everything that when the time came I was streaming instead.”

“Well, I’m not sure how she’s going to really be understanding about you spending your Friday night jacking off for a couple hundred people for cash instead of taking her out.”

“She doesn’t know I stream.”

Jungkook coughed on the water he had just swished into his mouth. 

“What? Seokjin-hyung, why not? How has it not come up in the last few months of you helping her with her stream?”

“I don’t know! Because she somehow sees the qualities I possess while streaming in me as the manager. And besides, I am the manager. Which means I’m her boss and talking about me ‘jacking off for money’ as you choose to call it is inappropriate for a work environment!” 

“Are you having conversations about this in the work environment?”

“No, of course not!” Seokjin said. “What kind of manager do you think I am?”

“That’s not the point,” Jungkook said. He sighed. “The point is if you aren’t having those kinds of conversations at work, then why are you so bent out of shape to not tell her? And also, you won’t be her manager for much longer.” 

Jungkook had a point. “Look,” he said. “I fucked up. I forgot to take her out, and now I need to apologize or something.”

“She was really upset,” the youngest said, eyes flickering a bit in the dim kitchen light. “Like, I think she really really likes you.”

“How do you know that?” His friend had always been perceptive, but Jungkook was also sometimes a little naive. 

“Well, when I finally convinced her to leave and let me give her a ride home, she seemed really responsive to what I told her.” 

“What did you tell her?”

“To cut you some slack. That you probably didn’t mean to blow her off. That you care a lot about everyone and everything and have been going through some stuff.” His eyes softened, and he carded his tattooed hand through his overgrown hair. 

Seokjin felt his chest tighten. Jungkook had always been so good to him. It didn’t matter that he was the youngest; his heart and eyes were always big with love and wonder, ready to receive all the love in the world and give it all back tenfold. 

“Thanks, Jungkook-ah. That means a lot.”

Jungkook hummed thoughtfully, chewing on his lip ring. “I just want to see you happy.”

“I know. God, I know. And I like her so much. She’s so funny and sweet and beautiful. Sometimes I’ll come over to her place and we will just sit quietly around each other not talking. And then sometimes we talk for hours about everything. I have really started to…maybe fall for her.”

“Oh, hyung, have you told her any of that?”

“No, I…I thought it might slip out of me soon enough. And I guess it did, just she’s not here to actually hear it.” 

“I think you should start there and tell her how you feel in your apology. Otherwise what else are you going to do? Be miserable?”

Seokjin thought for a minute about how agonizing the last few days must’ve been for you. You’d been around him at work and he was too busy to talk. You not getting a response from him for the last few days was probably incredibly confusing and he didn’t know if he could wait until later this week when your shifts aligned to talk to you. 

He walked Jungkook over toward the door, grabbing his car keys off the hook near the entry. 

“Actually, I’m going to go over there. And then I’m going to beg for mercy.” 

You keep replaying those two parts over. Watching closely as Seokjin calls to you from the edge of arousal before tipping over into pure bliss. For now, you have it paused on the moment right before he says your name again and cums. 

He wants you. Or he did at some time. Which means it could very well still be true. Seokjin masturbates to you. He fantasizes about you. You turn him on as much as he turns you on. The vibrator you have suctioning your clitoris buzzes deeper as it scoots over the bud, making a lower groan when it finds a part of you that’s more wet than the rest. 

“Shit,” you say as you feel yourself getting closer to cumming. You pluck at your nipple with your free hand, continuing to move the shoved bra cup out of the way so you can enjoy the prickle of desire pulling toward the surface of your skin. 

You clench around nothing as you watch Seokjin pump his thick cock with one hand. You’re aching to be filled, but you also are too far gone now to move. You will have to orgasm this way,

getting at least some relief before the next. You have time now, the haze of alcohol fading from your bloodstream. It’s almost as if becoming horny made you sober up faster. 

You adjust the settings on the vibrator, upping the intensity. 

So close. You’re almost there. All you need is–

“Y/N?” You hear Seokjin call from somewhere. Your eyes flit to the screen, expecting to see the video unpaused. But that Seokjin is frozen in time. 

A knock echoes through your apartment.

Oh god, Seokjin is here? Right now? 

You quickly flip off the vibrator, chucking it to the floor in your pile of sweaty clothes from earlier. You exit out of the screen, noting that it’s almost 2:30 in the morning. What is he doing here so late? 

You adjust your panties back into place and pull your bra back over your breasts. In a panic, you throw the first thing you see long enough to cover you up and head to the door. 

When you open it, Seokjin is real and standing right in front of you, face flushed and panting. 

“What are you doing here?” You whisper-shout. Now is not the time you want to disturb your neighbors. 

“Please, can I come in?” Seokjin asks urgently, and you nod. 

He steps through the door, closing it behind him carefully. 

“I-I fucked up.” He says. 

You wait for him to finish. He doesn’t. 

“Oh, um, with what?” Playing nonchalant doesn’t serve you. 

“With what? With you. And I’m sorry. Y/N I completely forgot about our date. I honestly have been so overwhelmed with all the new things happening at the restaurant that it slipped my mind. And I haven’t had a phone the last few days, so I haven’t been able to text you.” 

So that explained his ghosting. And him streaming. 

“Oh.” 

“I just. I’m going to come out and say it. I like you. A lot, Y/N. And I do want to take you out to dinner. And I’m also so sorry for not communicating with you. A lot’s happened in the last few days. But I need you to know that I’m sorry.” 

Seokjin looks at you, eyes shimmering, a little wet like he might cry. Your heart squeezes in your chest. 

“You like me?” 

“Yes, I thought it was obvious.” 

“What do you mean you thought it was obvious? You’ve done nothing that would make me think that!” 

Seokjin blushes. “I-I’m sorry. I have been so nervous for a long time that I swore I wouldn’t make the first move until you did. And I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same, I promise you I’ll get over it. But I like you.” 

Seokjin likes you. 

Your brain immediately wants to refute it. No, you couldn’t possibly like me. You’ve mistaken me for someone else. Someone else with my name. Not me. 

“I…”

Ask if he has a fever, if he’s drunk. There’s just no way he could be serious about this. Is this a joke? Please don’t let this be a joke. 

“Oh, uh. God I’m such an ass, I should’ve known. Never mind. I…I should maybe go.” He looks you up and down, and you see his cheeks go beet red. Your eyes follow his gaze down to your ensemble.

Oh, that’s right. You’re standing in front of him wearing some ratty panties and a bra…and his shirt. 

Seokjin’s eyes go wide, and he casts his gaze away. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“No! No, it's fine! You can look!” You say quickly. “I mean, no, don’t go. I…I’m sorry I just am so not good at this and am having a hard time processing it. You like me. Me. Right?”

He nods, eyes still not looking your way. 

“Okay. Okay. Great. This is good! Um, fuck. I like you too. Sorry, I maybe should have led with that.” 

His head snaps in your direction, eyes now fixed completely on yours. “You do?” 

“I thought it was obvious,” you say, repeating his own words back to him. A huge smile blooms on his face. 

He closes the distance between the two of you, pulling your arms you were using to shield yourself for a bit of decency away from your body. You happily concede, wrapping them around him for a tight squeeze. 

He feels like home. There’s no other way to describe it. Security, safety, as if he fits in with the mismatched shelves in the living room. His scent floods into your nose, and you revel in it. It’s long since left his shirt you now wear, and something about it embedding into your skin has you sighing in relief. 

You both stand there for what feels like forever and also not long enough. His fingers gently caress the length of your spine. 

“Y/N?” he asks quietly. 

“Mm?” You force yourself to let go enough to look up at him. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“You’re asking?”

“I feel like we probably should have asked each other the first time it happened.”

“Yeah…you’re right.”

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s more patient than anything else. 

“So is that a yes?” he asks lightly, a tiny bit desperate and you laugh, looking back into his deep brown eyes. 

“Yes,” you say. 

Seokjin moves slowly, carefully, almost like every single move he makes is marked with thought and consideration. He lifts your chin with his index finger, rubbing his thumb across your upper lip tenderly. Then, lightly, his hand expands along the length of your cheek, guiding you closer to him. On instinct, you close your eyes. When you feel his lips touch yours, you’re unable to get over how silky and soft they feel. Has this man never experienced chapped lips once in his life? 

You think to tease him, to pull away and ask, but then he’s parting your lips with his, the taste of him enveloping you as his tongue moves into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten how good he tastes. 

You lean deeper into him, letting your exposed stomach collide with the fabric of his pants, your breasts resting along his ribs. Your hands wander along the expanse of his strong, broad back.

When you nip the bottom of his lip with your teeth, you hear him gasp a little bit. 

He pulls back, his eyes dark, lips a little red and swollen. 

“Don’t start something you’re not going to finish,” he warns.

You cock an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He chuckles softly and drops his hand from your cheek, stepping away. He not-so-subtly adjusts himself in his pants. The air feels cold between you, and like a magnet, you move to close the distance again, craving more of him. 

Seokjin raises his eyebrows in surprise, but he doesn’t dismiss you, instead leaning down as you cup your palm around his neck, and you begin to kiss him again, only this time you venture downward, leaving little pecks along his jawline. As you reach his neck, you test the waters again, sucking the skin between your lips. He moans. 

“Fuck, Y/N, what are you doing?” 

You know the question is rhetorical, but you decide to give him a response anyway, licking along his neck and swirling your tongue in his collarbone. 

God, you can’t believe any of this is real, that he’s real, but you refuse to let the disbelief ruin this moment for you. Instead, you allow your other arm to start shifting down his chest, resting playfully at the waistband of his pants. 

Suddenly, Seokjin rips your hands away from him, and before you can even question what’s wrong, you’re being scooped up and carried across your apartment before being tossed onto your bed. 

“What did I tell you?” he says, a mischievous grin on his face. 

“Mmm, not sure.” This game is getting to be a little too fun. 

“Bad girl,” he mutters and you feel a thrilling rush of desire back to your center. You’ve been wet because of him for so long tonight, and still no relief. But with him here, what more can you really ask for?

You grin, going to move back toward him, to tease his chest this time when you find you’re landed flat on your back with your arms pinned above your head. 

He clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Only good girls get to touch.”

Heat, so much heat in your body. Seokjin is resting slightly over your hips. If you angle yourself just right, you might be able to relieve some of the pressure. You buck up, but to no avail. He already saw that move coming and has created distance between you two. 

“Ugh,” you cry in annoyance, but Seokjin laughs. 

“I promise it won’t be so bad, princess.We do need to take a step back anyway. I need to know more about how you’re feeling about this. What you want. And if you keep doing that I’m going to fuck you on this bed right now and will not be able to control myself.”

You gasp at the response, still squirming under him. After a moment of locking eyes with him in the silence, you can’t take much more. 

“Please,” you beg, but over what exactly? You aren’t sure. 

Seokjin knows, though. Somehow he knows exactly what you mean by this. 

“I know. Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need.” Something in that sentence is so reassuring and you force yourself to relax a bit under his hold. 

He smirks. “Okay. But first, we need to talk.” 

You nod in agreement, and Seokjin releases your wrists, instead tracing his fingers down your arms, past your armpits and over the swell of your breasts. He hums thoughtfully, but continues his exploration down your sides and hips. 

“First of all, what do you want from this?” He gestures between the two of you. 

God, what if you are honest and it isn’t what he wants? You’re about to say whatever you want but as you study his face, you can see that Seokjin is also nervous. His hand is shaking slightly. You reach up and lace your fingers in his. 

“I don’t know what to call it, really. But I want to do this. To spend time with you away from all the everything that can be reality. I want to explore things together. To learn more about you. To build our own world that feels nice to walk around in. It always has felt kind of like we step into something just for us when we are alone. I like when you come over and sit on my couch and do nothing. I want more of that. And,” you guide his hand down unlacing it just as you place his hand over your breast. “I want you to touch me. Especially like this.” 

He keeps his hand still but does not remove it. 

“Can you…tell me what you want?” You feel somewhat embarrassed to ask, despite the fact that he just asked you the same thing. 

“Mmm,” he hums. He begins exploring the silkiness of the bra with his fingertips. You can feel the skimming of them over your nipples. It’s not enough to make them hard, but the promise of it makes you shiver, and that does. His fingers work along the band of the bra, a few of them snaking their way under it and touching the tender flesh on the side. Fuck, he’s torturing you. 

“I think I like the sound of our own little world,” he finally says. “It would be nice to feel a bit more…free.” As Seokjin finishes his sentence, you feel his fingers slink forward, brushing underneath the cup of your bra and lightly plucking at your left nipple. 

You inhale sharply, glancing up from where his fingers roam to his face, which hosts a sexy, lazy smirk. But his eyes are a different story, honed in on you like you’re some kind of prey he’s hunting. 

“Can I take off your bra, princess?” he asks. Fuck, there he goes again with that pet name. 

You nod, but Seokjin shakes his head, clicking his tongue. 

“We are going to need to work on you using your words, aren’t we?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, one without any bite because Seokjin still moves to the clasp on your back, unhooking your bra. Which maybe was a bad move, because you’re still in his shirt, and the straps are beginning to pull away from your shoulders without the weight of your boobs to fix them into place. 

But Seokjin doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks even more aroused somehow, exhaling through his nose heavily when your breasts drop out from their cups with a little jiggle. You move to begin taking the rest of your clothes off, but he’s already beating you to it, gently slipping his (or now your) shirt away from your shoulders, his hand supporting each arm as he peels away your layers carefully, like he’s opening a Christmas present and wants to preserve the paper. 

It’s when he’s chucked your bra and shirt to the other end of the room that he finally looks at you: chest, stomach, and all. 

“Fuck,” he groans and he leans back, trying to shift his very obvious erection around in his slacks with no success. “So beautiful.” 

Your eyes are fixed on him as he pushes down on his cock with his palm. You know what it looks like, how big it is, but that’s just on a screen, where the size of everything can be hard to compare. 

“Seokjin,” you say breathlessly, and his eyes snap away from your breasts as you lean forward and place your hand on his thigh. 

His breath is just as erratic. God, both of you need to get it together. He looks at you, trying to read your expression with his own concern. 

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, and the wrinkle between his eyebrows softens. “But can I touch you? Please?” 

You’re whispering. Like what you’re doing is some secret. And maybe it is. You hope it’s not, but only time will tell. Seokjin reaches to the hand that you’ve rested on his thigh and moves it up to the heat of his hard length. 

“Touch me wherever you want, princess. I’m yours to play with.” 

Shit. “Shit.” 

His gaze is scorching. He wets his lips and watches you as you explore him, slipping your hands up his abs under his shirt, which he graciously removes when you complain that you’re more naked than him. You remove your hand from his clothed cock and watch him spin into equal desperation as you, a somewhat annoyed look taking over his face as if to ask you what you’re doing. 

You stun him then, tilting your head just so that you can lock his lips with yours. Enough talking. More feeling. Isn’t that what you two do all the time anyway? And if anything it pushes you two further away instead of guiding you closer. He’s yours to play with, and hopefully soon he realizes you’re his to play with too. 

You let your kisses become messy, weaving your tongue through his mouth before sucking on his neck again, feeling a light spank on your butt when you do. 

“Hey,” you say. “That hurt!” It didn’t. Not even a little bit. If anything it makes you squirm more, wanting to grind down onto him but you’re not in the right position for that. Next time, you promise. 

He laughs lightly. “Don’t test me. I’ll make it hurt.”

“So many empty threats. I recall you saying you were going to fuck me?” You readjust your position so your ass is in the air as you trail your tongue down Seokjin’s chest, teasing his nipples on the way down to his navel. 

“Watch your tone, Y/N.” He warns again. This time there’s a little venom behind it. 

“Mm, okay. Sorry. Maybe we need to establish a safe word.” You pop the zipper of his slacks and look up at him. 

He nods. “We’ll use the traffic light system. You know what that is?” 

You scoff. “Of course I do. I read.” 

“Oh, of course. Sorry for asking.”

“You’re forgiven,” you say, pulling the zipper down. He’s wearing black briefs, but you can see a tiny damp spot from where his erection pushes against the fabric. “Can I?”

“Yes, baby. Go ahead.” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, you’re tugging downward, whining when the pants don’t budge from how he’s sitting. 

“Here,” he laughs, and lifts his hips so you can tug. As you do, his cock springs free, tapping your wrist as you pull. 

Fuck. Seokjin is huge. You know this. You’ve seen hundreds of photos now and watched numerous videos, but that didn’t prepare you for reality. His tip is that same angry red it is when he’s incredibly aroused, and it’s glistening a little with precum. Your mouth waters. How would he taste? Will he let you taste him?

“Shit, Y/N. Look what you do to me,” he says. 

You blink at him. God, that’s right. You did this to him. He’s this turned on because of you. 

“I didn’t even do anything. You just took my shirt and bra off,” you say. 

“And you think you haven’t gotten me rock hard while fully clothed? God, do you remember that day in the kitchen a few months ago when I had you practicing cutting carrots and you hit your head? Did you not feel anything when you brushed your perfect ass up against me?” 

With that, Seokjin slaps your ass with one hand, the smacking sound ringing out in the room. A slight sting forms under his hand and you can’t help it, you moan. 

“I thought…I thought maybe you were hard but I didn’t know why. I just…I don’t know…I buried it in my memory because I didn’t think it would be true.” 

Seokjin rubs where he slapped, the warm sting soothed by his soft palm. 

“You have no idea how many times I’ve fucked my fist to the memory of you bending over and showing me your tiny little panties. Oh, shit, and those pajama shorts you always wear that ride up your thigh. Fuck. I almost came in my pants that one night you wore those to bed.” 

“I…I didn’t know,” you say weakly. Seokjin sighs and taps your side, pushing you into a sitting position. Your hands still rest on his thighs, right around the base of his cock. 

“Listen, Y/N, I know that I haven’t been the most clear on my feelings from the start, but I’m trying to rectify that now and hear me out. I like you a lot. And I’ve liked you probably since we first met, honestly. I dream about your thighs resting around my face as you sit on it. How sweet your wet pussy must taste. Every time I see you I have to try to think of morbid things to stop myself from popping a boner in public because I’m picturing you naked and waiting for me in my office, my tie in your pretty little mouth to silence your moans as I fuck you on my desk. I want to fuck those overthinking, stressful moments out of you and then feeding you delicious food after as we sit on the couch watching Netflix. 

“You have absolutely no idea what it’s like for me to feel like a horny teenager again the second you walk into a room. But god, I want to show you some amazing, dirty things.” 

You squeeze your legs together, your clit throbbing for attention now that it’s been promised.

“Then do it. Fuck me. Show me amazing dirty things.” You take his hot length in your hands and give him one long stroke. 

“You are such a tease,” he scoffs, which turns into a hiss as you lean down and take him into your mouth. 

God, he’s big. The edges of your lips are struggling to stretch to take him into your mouth. With a flick of your tongue along the tip, though, you wet him enough to slide more fully in. You taste the light tang of precum on your tongue and it makes you salivate more, allowing you to bob up and down as you hollow your cheeks. 

When was the last time you did this? You don’t even remember honestly, it’s all lost in the fog of shitty date nights, of trying to force yourself to take more than you could to prove something to yourself or the guy you were with. 

You know better now; Seokjin is too big to take all of; unless some porn star with no uvula or teeth is sucking him down, there’s no way to shove him all in without it hurting either of you. So you do your best, popping the head of his cock out of your mouth and dribbling some of your saliva around the shaft, laving your tongue along it as you pump him with your wet fist. 

The slick sounds of your hand movements are accompanied by soft little groans as you try to repeat all the things you’ve seen him do before. 

“Fuckkk Y/N. Yes.” You squeeze him a little harder and lick lower, then lower still until you’re making a little figure-8 around his balls. When you pop one into his mouth, he jerks. 

“Shit, fuck, fuck. Hold on, if you keep going I’m going to cum.” 

You hum a little and then you feel your hair leave the nape of your neck and a sharp tug. You gasp and detach yourself, leaving you coming up for air with strings of your spit dripping down your chin. 

Seokjin holds your hair looser in his fist now, cocking an eyebrow at you. 

“Were you trying to make me cum in some insanely short record?” He asks. 

You can’t help but laugh. “No, why? Am I doing a good job?” 

He also laughs and then wipes your chin. “A little too good. My refractory period isn’t that short. And you are still wearing these.” 

Seokjin tugs at the waistband of your panties, and you suddenly feel shy. Why did you decide to wear your most worn out pair today of all days?

“Oh,” you respond, and just as you move to take them off and never speak of them again, he slaps your hand away.

“I didn’t tell you to take them off, did I?” 

“Uh, no, but–”

“Are you attached to them?” He asks and you shake your head. “Good.”

Within seconds, Seokjin rips through the worn out material, tearing it away albeit unevenly, which snaps the elastic to your thighs.

You hiss a little, the tender area of your inner thigh not enjoying the pinch. 

“Are you okay?” And just as easily as Seokjin exudes that sexy dominant self, he’s also light and considerate, something you haven’t witnessed in his streams. 

“Yeah, just got whipped by the elastic right here,” you say and rub at the invisible wound. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and pulls your thigh a little wider, bending down to take a closer look. You open your mouth to tell him you’re okay, but before you get the chance, he’s kissing it delicately, poking his tongue out to just graze your skin and dampen it before pursing his lips and blowing. 

Cold air taps your thighs, which admittedly, are already damp from how turned on you are, and as your skin prickles with goosebumps, you can tell Seokjin takes notice. He glances up at you, ever focused as his tongue begins to explore further inward, lapping at your inner thigh further toward the center. His arms reach out and quicker than you can react, your knees are resting over his shoulders, locking his head between them. He pulls back and winks before licking his plush lips and diving back down, and that’s when you feel him gently pulling your labia into his mouth as he suckles. You never knew that could feel so good. 

A whimper escapes you and that only seems to spur him on, as he detaches from them and laps upward, this time sharply sucking your clit. 

“Fuck,” you moan. You feel him chuckle, but he doesn’t remove himself, instead devouring you more intensely, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thigh as he pushes himself further into it. 

“Goddamn,” he says after a moment, and when he pops up, his eyes are burning, a wicked smile on his face. There’s a sheen of wetness along his cheeks, nose, and chin, and he continues to lick it away. “You’re so wet, princess. Is all of this for me?” 

That nickname again causes warmth to dip down through your core. How is it that he can even stay focused now? You’re so desperate for him your brain can hardly form words. 

“Yes,” you manage to choke out. 

“Mmm, well thank you. I’m eating well.” He kisses the top of your thigh. “I could do this all night.” He begins to dive down, but you throw your hand out, sinking your fingers into his hair. 

“No!”

“No?” He raises his eyebrows and tries to read your expression. 

“I need you,” you say. That’s an understatement. If such a word exists that is greater than need, that’s what you have for Seokjin right now. 

“But I wasn’t done with my meal,” he teases. He runs his fingers through your wet heat, rubbing at your clit. You buck at the direct stimulation, the pressure acting as a welcome relief. “This pussy tastes so good. I don’t know if I’m ready to give it up.”

With that, Seokjin sinks a finger in. God, his fingers are long, finding the rough patch inside of you and stroking at it. You clench around his finger. 

“Hmm, do you think my cock will fit into this tight little cunt?” He asks, and you feel a rush of heat head to your cheeks. The way he can just flip like a switch, to taunt you devilishly, to crack a few jokes and then be so dirty is not just impressive, but so incredibly hot. He begins to retreat his finger from you, which draws out a whine. It feels so good to be filled. 

“Answer my question,” he prods. Everything but the tip of his finger has pulled out. You reflexively clench again, trying to urge it back in. “Is my cock going to fit in here? Or do I need to fuck it open a little bit?” 

You want to answer, you do, but you can’t seem to form a legitimate response besides the first thought that comes to your head.

“Wanna cum,” you say stupidly. 

“Then what do you need to do?” 

“I need to answer your question,” you gasp as he pinches your clit with his other hand. 

“And what is your answer?” 

“I…I need you to fuck me open with your fingers.”

“Mmm, and why?”

“Because my pussy is too tight for your big coc–fuck!” 

Two fingers sink in, pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. You can feel Seokjin curl his fingers toward him as he touches your g-spot. Closer, you’re getting closer. 

“Ugh,” you whine, and as if he can tell what’s bothering you, he latches his mouth back onto your clit, flicking it with his tongue. 

The pressure in your stomach dips, and now you’re clenching firmly around his fingers as they scissor you wider. The slick sounds of him fucking you only add to your arousal. Your hips try to help, but you learn quickly that you’re not helping, you’re edging yourself away from your orgasm. 

“Y/N,” Seokjin says.

“More,” you respond, not caring if he’s scolding you or even concerned. You need more. Now. “Please, more.” 

He replaces his lips with his other hand, rubbing and pinching your clit within his own rhythm.

“Good girl. You’re so fucking beautiful. Look at you. All for me. All mine.” He bends down and pulls a nipple into his mouth. And that’s when you cum, your hips bucking into his hand as he strikes your g-spot head on. 

You can feel your heels tingle as they try to get the blood back into them. Seokjin massages your thighs as he places your legs back down on the bed, helping ground you in the swimming intensity of whatever the fuck just happened. The tremors of the orgasm’s aftershock rock through you, though not for long, as sure enough, he’s lying down on the bed next to you, pulling you close to him as you come back down. You tilt your head to let his lips find yours.  

He tastes like you, and there’s something impossibly hot about that. 

When he pulls back, you can tell how flushed he is, and when you glance down, sure enough his cock is so red and possibly harder than it was before. 

You reach down to relieve some of the pressure but Seokjin shakes his head. 

“We don’t have to tonight,” he says. 

You blanch. “What?” 

“If you don’t want to. I’m glad you came. That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life. And I wanted to make you cum. But you’re under no obligation to go further.”

Is he fucking serious right now? “Did you not just see me choke on your dick? Shall I give you an encore?” Seokjin laughs and you shake your head. “Don’t be diplomatic about this. That looks painful. Fuck the shit out of me like you said you would.”

“I didn’t say I would fuck the shit out of you.” 

“Fine then I’m saying it. Seokjin, I have wanted you to fuck the shit out of me since you walked into my interview at the restaurant and asked me if I knew what the difference between scallions and chives are.” 

“You’d be surprised how many people don’t know the difference! I didn’t want an idiot on my staff to have to mentor.” 

“You’re missing the point.” You laugh, leaning in and nipping at his shoulder. “I have wanted you since day one. I am the definition of down bad. Every book I’ve read in almost a year has me picturing you as the love interest who absolutely destroys the pussy of the main character. You’ve been haunting me for months. Now please make good on my fantasy.”

“Wait wait. What’s the best fantasy?” 

“I don’t know!” You say. But he knows you’re lying. 

“Tell me,” he urges. 

“No,” you say. “I don’t know!”

“Is it one where I’m some giant alien with a huge blue cock that only has the urge to breed you?” 

Head floods your face. “What? No! First of all, how do you even know about that book?”

“I’m chronically online,” he deadpans. Ah, you realize. Of course it’s come up in his other profession. “Enlighten me then. What is the fantasy?”

He laces his fingers with yours and pulls your fist to his mouth. Then he begins his strategy anew, giving soft, tender kisses along your inner arm as he makes his way up, pausing to kiss your shoulder and clavicle before delivering a scorching kiss on your lips. You feel yourself melting into him, eagerly trying to get more and more of him. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” he whispers in your ear before lightly nipping at your earlobe. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I would never make fun of you for having a fantasy about something, especially if I’m involved.” 

You sigh, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. You hide your face in his broad shoulder. “It’s…it has to do with the pet name you started calling me recently.”

“Ah…princess?” A shiver runs down your spine. “Do you like it when I call you that?” 

“Yes,” you mutter. A hum rumbles through Seokjin’s chest. He shifts, sitting up on the bed. And then you feel him use that insane strength to pull you up with him, fixing you to sit in his lap. His cock is right against your pussy and you have to fight the urge to grind against him. 

“What do you like about it?” He asks and you pause, trying to not show all of your cards. He’s your friend, and possibly is becoming something more. But you’re not sure what you want to tell Seokjin about your past. 

You choose your words carefully. “I like the idea of being precious to you. To be seen as important enough to be royalty. Powerful enough.” You pull back and look at him. “And I like the idea that I have power…you never have used that over me. Except maybe once but you were so responsive to my feedback when we talked back in February about me streaming and school. Like, no I didn’t want you telling me what to do. But I liked that you respected me enough to back off and let me figure things out. That means a lot to me. You always let me figure things out.”

“Well, yeah. Because it’s your life. You have a right to choose for yourself. No one gets to decide what choices you’ll make on your behalf. And making choices doesn’t make you a bad person or a good person. You just are, Y/N.” 

Tears well up in your eyes. “Thank you for saying that. It hasn’t always felt that way.” 

Seokjin curls his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. “In terms of power, this is how things are supposed to be. You shouldn’t feel powerless around me. Especially not here. Just because I’m assuming a role that’s more dominant doesn’t mean you’re not in complete control. Just because in some places in my life I’m ‘in charge’ doesn’t mean that I decide what goes on here. You’re in complete control of what you want and how you want it.” 

You bury your face into his chest. If you could hold onto a moment forever, this would be it. After a few moments of silence, you hug Seokjin close to you, and then pull back, looking up at him. His eyes are so warm and tender as he gazes back down at you and you feel a tug in your chest. This, this is what safety feels like.  

He begins rubbing your back and you stifle a nod, but he catches it. “Do you want to go to bed?” 

You roll your eyes before rutting against him. He grunts. “I want to tell you about my fantasy,” you decide and he laughs. 

“Okay, princess. Go for it.” 

“Okay so we’re in the throne room. And I’m sitting on the throne. You’re my loyal knight. You’ll do anything to please me.” 

“Mmm, doesn’t sound too far off from the truth.” You pinch his side. “Yah! Stop it.” 

“Don’t interrupt me. So you’ll do anything for me. Slay beasts, accompany me on my journeys, defend me to the court. You’re my friend and my backup for when shit hits the fan. Anyway, after a long fought battle where you know, you pine after me for a while, you snap. And you decide you need me and you need me now.” 

You begin to rock against his length, and Seokjin grins, starting to follow your movements. “Tell me more,” he says, his cock sliding between your wet lips. 

“So after this long, arduous journey, you decide you need to claim me. Maybe it’s jealousy that I’m being promised to some king in a far away kingdom or something. But after meeting with me in the throne room, you get down on your knees and force my legs apart. 

“‘Princess’, you say to me, ‘I’ve learned in this world that time is not promised, and because time isn’t promised, I need you to know now how I truly feel. I am on my knees, letting you know I need you. Please, let me worship you,’ and being the diplomatic princess I am, I open my legs for you and you begin eating me out like your life depends on it. And then, ah…it gets kind of kinky,” you say, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“Hmm. Are you curious about kink? Or have you been part of kink communities?” Seokjin asks thoughtfully. 

“Definitely curious. Not really experienced,” you offer. 

“Noted. Continue.” 

“So, you decide to crawl under my skirt, eating me out like your life depends on it, but then my chambermaid or someone comes in and says I have a meeting soon I need to prepare for. 

“But I’ve kept you under my gown, really well hidden because it’s so annoyingly big, and all the while you’re still teasing me. Trying to test and see if I’d cum with others around.”

“And do you?”

“Sometimes in the fantasy I do, yeah. And usually by that point, I get discovered and you keep going, so unbothered by people watching. Or sometimes we don’t get caught, and the second the others leave I’m riding you naked on my throne wearing only my crown.” You are panting now, your slick body fully stimulating Seokjin’s cock, which is leaking precum again. 

“Mmm, I like that. A little exhibition kink in there. So desperate to be fucked you don’t care who sees. That’s pretty hot.” 

“Uh huh. So, so desperate.” 

“Is your pussy that needy in your fantasy? Or is that how it is now?”

“Fuck, Seokjin.” 

“Yes princess?”

“Please.”

He leans down, claiming your lips as you two continue to rub your bodies against each other, sliding skin against skin with delicious friction. When his cock slides at a particular angle, you feel it rub straight over your clit in a way that has you moaning. 

Seokjin rips away his lips from yours, instead latching onto your neck for a deep suck that you know is going to leave a mark. But you don’t care. God not even a little bit.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? My girl is so needy for my cock, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Please, more,” you respond, shifting your hips to try and get him closer to where you need him. 

“Not even patient at all, are you?” You know this is him playing it up, because the way he’s breathing suggests he, too, isn’t very patient. He slides a little more, grinding his hips into you. 

“I need you. I need it,” you whine, and Seokjin slows his grinding for a moment, a thought clearly crossing his mind. 

“Oh, shit. I don’t have any condoms,” he says weakly. You grind down again, a bit harder this time. 

“I’m on birth control.” Your next appointment for your birth control shot is in a month. You should be fine. 

“I’m clean,” he offers, hands going to your ass and shoving you further into him, the weight of his large hands on your hips making you dizzy. 

“I would hope so. I put your cock in my mouth earlier. We probably should have established that sooner,” you copy his previous movement and suck on the hollow of his collar bone, hoping you’re marking him as he marked you.

A strained laugh leaves his chest. “You’re right. And you’re clean too?”

“Yes, sorry.” You stop gyrating. You know you need to be more serious about this. “I’m clean. And…I also haven’t had sex in a long time so I’m sorry if I’m not good at this.”

He sighs. “Pause.”

Oh shit, you think. Does that turn him off? What if he doesn’t want to have sex with someone who has been so obviously horny and lonely for a while? It’s not like you’re a sex god like he is. You can barely even say what you want and where you want it. Maybe he doesn’t want to have sex with someone who needs this much direction. After all, what fun is it when you have to instruct your partner how to make you come because they have no instincts? 

You are about to break down, to call it all off, and then you look at Seokjin again, feel how hard he is under you, see the perspiration dotting his hairline. He said only a few minutes ago that you almost made him cum with your blowjob skills. He admitted he likes you. 

You know he wants you, regardless of how many times you’ve had sex in comparison to him. There’s proof right in front of you that this man wants you. You take a deep breath. “Sorry. I…I don’t know why I’m apologizing actually.” You force a nervous laugh. 

His eyebrows twist closer together. “You don’t…need to apologize for your sex experience. It’s not being graded.” 

“I know, I know. And I also know that sex is different for every single pair of people. It’s less about being good and more about listening to your partner and figuring it out together. If you were treating me sexually the same way as you treated other people you’ve had sex with, it would probably be…maybe not as good? Because we might not like the same things.

“But I guess I just…I’m a little insecure; that’s all.”

“Okay. That’s ok. I feel a bit insecure too. This is all really vulnerable and I’m terrified I’m not going to know what you want or pay enough attention to check in.” 

“Why?” You ask. You’re surprised to hear Seokjin is insecure about anything. 

“Because I want you so much, Y/N. I have never felt such intense, deep desire like this and I’m afraid that once I get a taste of you I’ll just want more and I’ll start bending the rules for my own sick pleasure.” 

“Has….has that ever happened before? Where you crossed boundaries?”

“Never. And that’s why it’s so terrifying. I’ve never felt so out of control before. You look at me a certain way and I get so hard I swear my dick will fall off. I’ve always been so collected but with you I feel scrambled and like if I’m not careful I’ll, I’ll–”

“You’ll fuck the shit out of me?” You tease and you see Seokjin’s concern wash away as you giggle. “Isn’t that what I told you to do anyway?”

He grins. “Yeah, you did.” 

“Well then let’s remember what you said before. Traffic light system when it’s needed. Or, for now, maybe we can just trust that if we are uncomfortable we’ll say something? Since this is so new…Stop means stop for now. A color if we feel like we aren’t being taken seriously. Just to be sure.”

Seokjin nods, then tenderly kisses your forehead. “Okay, I like that.”

“Good, because I am so wet and if you don’t fuck me soon I might explode.” 

You both laugh at that, but your laughter is turned into a tight moan when you feel Seokjin’s hand slip from around your back and down to your clit. You hum in delight. 

“Feel good baby?” 

“Yes,” you say, clenching as he rolls his thumb around your nub. 

“You’re so wet. Shit.” His hand moves to his cock, jerking it in his fist a few times before gently tapping your thigh so you push up a bit away from his lap. He adjusts the angle, brushing his cockhead against you to gather some of your arousal. And then, he’s inside.  

Holy shit. You can feel him stretching you, testing your limits, your body spasming around the girth of him as he nestles deep in you, making you feel exceptionally full. 

“Oh god,” you moan, grinding down to the hilt. 

“Oh, fuck, Y/N. You’re so fucking tight.” 

Both of you take an exasperated breath and you can’t help but giggle at your dual reaction. “Damn, where have you been hiding that thing?” You joke and Seokjin hisses. 

“Ah, ah, careful. When you laugh you squeeze around me and you feel so good. But to answer your question, either you’ve been oblivious every time I’ve popped a boner around you or you know damn well where I’ve been keeping it.” 

He tests the waters, rolling his hips a little. A gasp escapes from you. Seokjin grins at you devilishly and you cock an eyebrow before clenching down in retaliation. His eyes widen. “Y/N,” he warns.

You bat your eyelashes innocently. “Sorry, but you did this,” you say, echoing his earlier sentiment back to him. “You made me this way for you.” You shove your hips back, causing him to grunt. 

“I don’t know how long I’ll last, it’s been a while.” 

“I don’t care. It’s fine. Cum whenever you want. Just, god, don’t stop.” 

A dark look casts across his face. “Alright. Just remember this is what you asked for.” 

Seokjin pulls out. What? How is this supposed to be what you asked for? You make a pathetic noise at the loss, pouting at him as he lays you down softly onto your sheets. 

He clicks his tongue at you. “So needy.” Maybe he’s trying to sound condescending, but he’s also smiling. He leans forward to push some of your hair out of your face, his palm resting on your cheek. “So beautiful.”

Something in your chest clenches, and you take a deep breath to try and break apart the feeling. But it’s still there, so deep in your chest you don’t think anything is going to make it go away. And you’re also not sure you want it to. 

You lean into his palm, pecking it with your lips before glancing up at him. He swallows hard. Seconds pass as Seokjin follows the lines of your body with his eyes, as if he’s trying to memorize you. As if you might just slip away. He breathes unevenly, and you see his eyes glistening in the dim light of your room. 

“Hey,” you say hoarsely, reaching a hand over to his thigh and poking it. “Come back to me.” 

He blinks a few times and takes another breath, this time a steadier one. “Sorry, I was getting lost in my thoughts.”

“Are you okay?” You ask. “Do you want to stop?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “No, no I’m fine. I was just thinking about how long I wanted this. And maybe longer than I even realized. But I’m okay.”

You get it; for some reason the energy between the two of you is so intense, charged with waves of emotion you didn’t even know you can feel. “Okay,” you say, and you reach out your hand for him to lace with this. “How do you want me?”

This seems to refocus things. Right now you’re lying flat on your back, your legs slightly open, and you know that’s not how Seokjin planned to position you. He grins and takes your hand, leading it to the back of your thigh that he lifts. You follow his lead, spreading your legs so that you’re grasping behind both your knees, incredibly open and vulnerable for him once more. 

He reaches behind you and puts a pillow under your neck before grabbing the other. With a simple lift of your hips, he scootches the pillow under your hips, creating an angle for your back to rest more comfortably and clearly, allowing him to reach deeper. 

From this angle, you can also see better as he strokes his cock a few times before positioning himself between your legs. 

“If for some reason this hurts at any point, tell me and we’ll find something more comfortable for you, okay?” You hum in agreement, staring down at his length, clenching as you ache to feel it filling you once again. 

He snorts. “Verbal agreement please, Y/N. Remember our rules.” 

“Yes,” you say eagerly and without any more conversation, he takes himself in his hand and fucks into you. 

“Jin,” you breathe. Did he get bigger? You know that there’s no way that can be true, that it’s probably due to how you’re angled for him to reach deeper, but each stroke is deliciously dizzying. 

Seokjin responds with a concentrated grunt and then he pulls out completely. 

“No! No please,” you beg and feel him sheath himself back into you, harder. 

“God, such a pretty little pussy you have, don’t you?” He rocks his hips back, kissing against your cervix, which elicits a deep moan as he begins to thrust harder, the slap of his balls against your wetness sounding so incredibly filthy. “Taking me so well, princess.” 

Seokjin groans but doesn’t relent, instead leaning more of his weight onto you, forcing your legs to tuck in closer to your chest. At this angle, he rubs directly against your g-spot, sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh my god, there! Please!” Thank god he listens, snapping his hips with short, hard thrusts. You’re so close. 

“You gonna cum for me?” He pants, sweat now thoroughly beading down his temples and blooming on your chest. You nod. Words aren’t forming in your head. 

“Poor baby, did I fuck you stupid? Cum for me princess. Cum on this cock.” You don’t need much more convincing, and you feel yourself shake as you orgasm, clamping down on him. Your hands go loose on your thighs, fingers tingling so much that they can no longer hold on. 

“Good girl. That’s it baby, just let go, I’ve got you.” He intercepts your legs before they close, pushing himself forward and angling you back as he continues to thrust. Maybe it’s the feeling , or his sweet affirmation, but your vision blurs and you feel yourself blink away a few stray tears that leak from the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Seokjin says, teeth gritted as he thrusts again. And again. And again. You feel your muscles tighten as you brace yourself for another orgasm, and find enough strength to reach down to your clit and rub it. The sudden pleasure spikes once more and you’re falling again, this time your body quaking roughly as Seokjin finally cums, his cock twitching as a pleasurable warmth spills into you. 

You study his face, fascinated how you’ve seen it before, yet it feels so different to witness it in person. The tendons in his neck protrude, and you feel the energy of the room sink into blissful exhaustion as he rolls the both of you onto your sides while still connected. 

He sighs and then closes his eyes, his dick twitching a little here and there, but overall beginning to go soft inside you. You feel the flood of cum beginning to leak around it, but you don’t care right now, no. 

Right now you are studying Seokjin and perhaps doing what he was doing to you before: memorizing everything about him in case it’s the only time you’ll see him this way. Any minute, he could decide this is a huge mistake, and he’ll flee out the door apologizing. But for the moment, you are studying the moles and freckles that dot along his neck and back, counting them so you can commit the number to memory.  

“What are you staring at me for?” He asks, though his eyes remain closed. 

“I’m just thinking,” you say. 

His eyes flit open. “You don’t regret it, do you?” 

“Not at all, I just…I’m thinking about where we go from here. I don’t want this to be the only time.” You shake your head and smile shyly. Everything feels so tender right now. But you know honesty is needed more than anything. 

Seokjin shifts, and you hiss a little as you feel him slip out of you, wetness dribbling onto your sheets. You’ll definitely have to wash these tomorrow. 

“It doesn’t have to be a one time thing if you don’t want it to be. Like I said before; I like you, I want to date you.” 

“We kind of skipped the first date and had sex instead though,” you chuckle and Seokjin rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, well, we aren’t really playing things by the book right now anyway. This can be our first date.”

“It’s not though! We didn’t go on a date, we just talked and had sex.”

“Yah! It was not just sex. It was great sex! I think that counts for something. Do dates require any more?” 

“Usually eating something, leaving the house. Two things we’ve failed to do.”

Seokjin suddenly rolls away, standing and searching for his clothes, gathering them in his hands. 

“Where are you going?” You ask, shifting yourself up in the bed. 

“Get dressed,” Seokjin says, pulling his slacks up his waist. “We are going out to eat.” 

“It’s 4am! Isn’t everything closed?” 

“Not the convenience store. We are going to solidify this as a date by having post-sex 4am ramyeon and kimbap and maybe some dessert. And then I will walk you to your door, kiss you goodnight and you’ll invite me in to hang out. Then we’ll have sex again until you kick me out and decide the first date is over.” 

He reaches into the pile of laundry in the corner, grabbing your bra and tosses it to you. As you begin to pull it over your body, you notice Seokjin has frozen over another pile of your strewn laundry. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, latching the hooks into place. 

He shifts a little, pulling whatever he was looking at from the pile. Embarrassment floods through your stomach as you realize what he’s holding. 

“Do you normally toss your vibrators into your laundry or is today my lucky day?” 

He holds the purple clitoral vibrator in front of you and you hide your face behind your hands. “Ahh no! This is so embarrassing!” 

Seokjin laughs and walks over, pulling your hands from your face. “What about this is embarrassing? First, you stream raunchy pornographic games sometimes to thousands of strangers. And second, I just spent a good chunk of this last blissful hour with my mouth serving as your personal sex toy.” 

“I know, it’s just that. This is different somehow. Like now you know!”

“Know what? That you masturbate? Well, yeah I kind of figured you did. Do you think I don’t?”

“I know you do.” 

“How?”

Shit. You can’t tell him you’ve seen him do it on his channel. “Um, well, you said so earlier you do.” Seokjin chuckles and then begins rifling through your dresser across from your bed, grabbing you a fresh pair of panties since he destroyed the last pair you were wearing. 

“Touché. But anyway, it’s good that you masturbate. It’s healthy. And also, it’s none of my business if you do or don’t. Unless you want to show me sometime, which I would beg to see, whatever you choose to do when I’m not around is your business.” 

He gathers together a large, baggy t-shirt and some joggers from your closet. “One sec,” he says, telling you to pause as you begin to maneuver into your panties, the stickiness of your combined arousal beginning to dry between your legs in an uncomfortable way. 

He returns a few seconds later with a damp washcloth and instructs you to lie back, opening your legs slightly to wipe away the mess.

“You don’t have to do this,” you insist but Seokjin continues anyway. 

“I know, I want to. I want to make sure you receive proper aftercare.” When he finishes, he kisses your kneecap. “Okay, let’s go.”

You groan, fully content to just lie in bed, but your stomach says otherwise. It ekes out a deep gurgle and Seokjin smiles smugly. 

“Ugh, fine. I’ll use the bathroom and get dressed. But just know if they don’t have the ramyeon I like there, I’m making you drive around town until we find it.” You flop out of bed with your pile of fresh laundry and head out of the bedroom toward the bathroom. 

“Sounds great,” he calls behind you. “Sounds like the perfect first date.”

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[slippinmickeys]

A storm is raging outside the Unremarkable House. What’s going on inside?

It only took five minutes before the power failed. One minute it was sunny, and the next the sky darkened and a thick gray cloud rolled in, tucked up tightly into the one in front of it, neat as hospital corners. Two bright flashes, one roll of thunder, and that was it: it all went dark.

Mulder had talked about having a generator installed, but they hadn’t gotten around to it and they found themselves in the dull dim, forks poised halfway to their mouths, the old oven clicking as it cooled, vegetarian lasagne congealing quietly on the table in front of them.

Mulder banged around in the kitchen, looking for lighters, for candles, while Scully calmly glugged a little more Syrah into her wine glass, tranquil in spite of the tempest outside the unremarkable house.

A harsh low swear word, and she leaned forward, elbows on the table, a crumb biting into her skin.

“Leave it Mulder,” she said serenely, "it doesn't matter. There’s still enough light to see by. Sunset’s not for another three hours.” The wine had made her loose limbed and sedate, all airy and warm bones, her body slow to react to the thunder shaking the house.

Mulder slowly erected himself to standing where he was hunched over the kitchen junk drawer, giving her a frank assessing look. “You’re drunk,” he said, not quite accusing, not at all upset.

She shrugged and took another sip of wine, letting the liquid roll over the back of her tongue, the dry tang of leather and tobacco, currant and jam filling her senses and warming her belly.

“I’m just saying, let your rods and cones adjust. You’ll be able to see enough to eat.”

He crossed his arms, leaned against the countertop behind him. Despite the dim, she could make out the delineation of muscle in his forearms, the dark spray of hair over the skin. She may or may not have touched the skin below her throat.

“What about the leftovers?” he asked. “I can’t see enough to clean up. Power might not be back up until tomorrow. Should we get this in the fridge?”

She pinned him with her stare. “You open that refrigerator door and I’ll take you out at the knees.”

He didn’t seem to be entirely intimidated by her threat, instead looking intrigued, and played a little with the neck of his shirt.

“There may not be enough leftovers to save, fine, but what about all the veggies?” He’d put together a small serving of greens, and the sideboard was still piled with lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes. “I’d hate to see it all go bad.”

Something about the way he was fingering his collar made her a little warm under her own. She set down the wine glass, leaned forward.

“You don’t win friends with salad,” she said, and despite the shadows that enveloped the room, she saw something sharpen behind his eyes.

“Oh?” he said, shoving off the countertop and approaching her slowly. “How do you win friends?”

“I actually read a book about this,” she said, as if he weren’t intimately familiar with every book on their shelf.

“And what did it say?” he asked, and he was looming over her by the time she started ticking off things on her fingers, wind buffeting off of the shutters, rain tinking into the glass.

“Don’t criticize,” she said, touching a finger. “Give honest and sincere appreciation,” she continued, touching another. Mulder licked his lips and his eyes seemed to flit over her face. “Arouse in the other person an eager want,” she went on.

He leaned forward slowly, gripping the arms of her chair until they creaked under his hands.

“Arouse,” he repeated slowly, “an eager want.” A flash of lightning cut across the sky, illuminating, for less than a split second, the rough weft of his beard and the dark round void of his pupils.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, losing her train of thought.

A fresh wave of rain began to pound on the roof.

“I believe,” Mulder said, leaning down into her space, “that my rods and cones have adjusted.”

She leaned back. “And can you see enough to eat?” she asked primly.

He lowered himself slowly to his knees, joints popping as he settled himself in front of her. “I think you’re right,” he said, reaching for her fly, “I don’t think light is going to be a problem.”

Her blood fizzed and pooled low in her abdomen.

“You forming any criticisms?” he asked, lowering the zipper of her pants one rough tooth at a time.

She shook her head, reached out to fan her fingers through the dark pelt of his hair.

“Only honest and sincere appreciation,” she said, and the storm raged on.

[raccoonfallsharder]

Do you have any advice on making time for writing and avoiding burnout? I'm impressed by the amount of projects you have and how they're consistently high quality.

oh love. sunshine. you tiny fresh vanilla seed (precious & delightful // it is a luxury to interact with you). so first i’m gonna apologize because there’s a 99% chance this is not the advice you’re looking for and SURPRISE i wrote another novel. (so also jot this down… my being prolific is helped by the fact that i literally cannot shut the fuck up to save my life). anyway here are my rules for writing

1. don’t look at the man behind the curtain (in this case that’s me). I had 70% of window and probably 90% of sweatshirt girl drafted before i even started revising && posting individual chapters/ installments. it gives the illusion of me cranking out a new chapter every week but i do NOT do that. i just try to revise once a week. maybe write a half+ chapter of something new. it’s not an illusion i create on purpose. i just know i need TIME to rest my brain before I come back and revise or it’ll start all looking the same to me. so i def frontload my writing before i start posting.

i also do this because i need at least the ghost of an ending to keep writing

i also never originally intended to post window or sweatshirt girl - i was originally just writing for me. so they were mostly done before i even decided to post

i ALSO work at a school and while i do have hours over the summer, i am doing much less (imo) important things when there aren’t students around, sooooo i end up daydreaming and drafting a lot

my writing is also powered by depression (“write the world as i want it to be”) and frankly i don’t recommend that to anyone ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

so if i look like i’m producing a lot it’s just because of the way this year has unfolded, and once we get through the next few chapters of window i’m sure I’ll hit a lull because I’m still struggling to write those chapters (sorry in advance folksss)

2. i swear to god creativity (like everything in nature) happens in cycles. blah blah no flower blooms all year && no tree bears fruit every season. fallowness is IMPORTANT for growing gardens. if you are in a slow space - let yourself be slow. sink into the quiet season. speed&&quantity are SO overrated and if you overcultivate your soil there will be no nutrients left for your crops. let the snows come in && blanket you on occasion. they are their own kind of blank page (i swear to fuck sometimes i sound like some kind of ai generating bad proverbs but you knew what you were getting when you came to my asks i guess! i am unashamed)

tbh i have a modest art side-hustle and am working on painting a project that WILL take YEARS - and this whole summer, i have neglected that project in lieu of being a rocket fangirl because frankly my brain needed a break. guess what? my followers understand and it has not been a problem. because any fellow creative should know that the process takes time and is always in flux

(3) a lot of people will tell you - write a little every day. write even if it’s bad. you can always come back with fresh eyes later. I support these ideas in theory. i keep my writing && my sketchbooks where i can access them almost anytime, and even if it’s only for ten minutes, i do write something most days. but more than this - listen to your body and your brain and your heart. and for fanfiction especially - ONLY write when it’s fun. if you start writing from obligation instead of love, you will burn out faster, create less, and even resent this thing that should be an escape for you. (and your readers will feel it, even if they don’t know why). (also your readers - if they are good people - will understand this && support you) (and if they’re not good people, they don’t deserve your heart like that). if your body says take time off then TAKE TIME OFF. don’t let capitalism brainwash you into believing all your joys must entail consistent labor, that every good thing comes with a side of drudgery, or that you can’t stop something once you start it. they don’t. it doesn’t. you can. let yourself have a scrap of unfettered && unpressured happiness in this place. you deserve it, i fuckin swear that to you on my goddamn life.

(4) maybe im inadvertently repeating myself but please. be kind to yourself. let your community be kind to you too. we are supposed to take care of each other. give yourself grace && know we are on your side

okay wow i’m so sorry. fuck me that’s not what you were asking for but it is the best && most earnest && most true advice i can give you. “carve some time out every day” is nice and aspirational and maybe give it a try, but life is hard and don’t blame yourself if you can’t. let fanfiction be a force for joy in your days/nights, not a chore. nope im just saying the same shit over and over LOOK. i love you. you are good. life is short. have fun. that’s truly all & the most important things I have inside me, and I’m sorry for my limitations. for whatever that is worth

♡♡♡

[ibijau]

Second to last instalment of the Bad Timeline, and seeing how original timeline LXC deals with this :D

BIG WARNING for suicide, blood, major angst, and implied violence against animals. 

The first few days of hiding in Cloud Recesses had been the worst ones. 

Xichen had been consumed with rage and grief and sheer betrayal over what had happened. He had known that Jin Guangyao was not all that he seemed, events had opened his eyes to that long before Wangji and Wei Wuxian barged in with the mangled body of his first love. But he had never imagined that his friend, his sworn brother, the man he'd trusted above any other, would have fallen so low. 

Huaisang’s own betrayal had been rubbing salt into the wound.

Of course, being manipulated into stabbing Jin Guangyao had been a shock… and there could be no doubts about that manipulation, not once Xichen had had some space to think about it. He knew what his husband was like when he lied. 

And yet, he could have forgiven this.

He could not forgive that Huaisang had never said anything about Mingjue’s death. That he had allowed Xichen to remain friends with the man who had so cruelly murdered the man he loved. That he had never trusted Xichen after all, no matter how much Xichen had tried to convince himself otherwise. Or had Huaisang thought that his husband had been an accomplice in his brother’s death? Xichen had pushed so much for Jin Guangyao to play Cleansing to Mingjue, he’d wanted so badly for his best friend and his lover to get along again. Huaisang would have been excused for suspecting Xichen.

But then, it meant everything between them had been fake. It meant Xichen had never become as good at reading through his husband’s acting as he had believed. All that affection and tenderness, those moments of happiness, the way Huaisang melted at the first sign of gentleness… could he really have pretended about that? And if so, what did it say about Xichen that he had taken all of it at face value, so desperate for closeness that he’d fallen for those lies?

By the end of his first month in seclusion, most of Xichen’s anger had calmed.

It was replaced by guilt.

He had failed Mingjue by trying to force that friendship with Jin Guangyao, by refusing to see the warning signs. Mingjue had told him that Jin Guangyao was dangerous, but he hadn’t listened, hadn’t wanted to judge too harshly someone who was so hardworking, who had risen in spite of difficult origins.

Maybe he had failed Jin Guangyao as well, by not seeing how life in Lanling Jin was changing him. In spite of all evidence, Xichen still believed that his sworn brother had been a good person once. Perhaps all this tragedy could have been avoided in Xichen had just known how to offer help the right way. Jin Guangyao too had suffered from his efforts to maintain the friendship between him and Mingjue. Who knew if he would have turned to murder if they had just been allowed to drift away from each other.

Above all, Xichen feared he had failed Huaisang. They were married. They were cultivation partners. They were friends even, or so he had thought. And yet, Huaisang had never come to him with what he had found out about Jin Guangyao. He had preferred to take revenge alone rather than to share anything with his own husband.

How to blame him, when Xichen had failed to protect those he loved before.

Somewhere near the end of the second month of seclusion, Wangji came home, Wei Wuxian trailing behind him.

Xichen, at first, refused to see him, just as he refused to see anyone. Guilt was harder to wrangle than anger, it ran deeper, it was more insidious.

But when Wangji insisted and returned several days in a row, Xichen gave in. His brother was not one to come knocking on his door without good reason.

Wangji was the same as ever. He sounded worried when he inquired after Xichen’s health, but when his concerns were dismissed, he simply went straight to the reason for his visit.

"I discussed your marriage with uncle,” he explained. “Gusu Lan can afford to repay your dowry, should you wish it." 

Xichen stared at his brother, trying to make sense of what was offered. Then, at last, it hit him. 

He could divorce Huaisang. 

He would never have to see him again. After everything that had happened, it should have felt like a gift, a blessing from the heavens. A kindness to both of them, when their marriage had turned out such a failure. 

Instead the thought was more painful than the betrayal had ever been.

Huaisang was a liar, a manipulator, a murderer, a monster whose crimes were no lesser than Jin Guangyao’s. 

But he was also Xichen's husband. He was a man who had opened up to Xichen over the years, letting him see parts of him that no one must have seen since his brother's death. They had laughed together, run their sect together, been happy together. Xichen refused to believe it had all been faked. Nobody could have been acting so perfectly, so consistently. Something had been real 

And whatever his crimes, at least Nie Huaisang had never committed them for personal gain, but only to avenge a brother he adored. The means had been questionable, but the intentions were honourable.

Besides, even though he had never known how far they ran, Xichen had long known there were deep shadows within the man he loved. 

And he still loved Huaisang. 

That thought shocked him, just as he had been shocked when he had first realised he felt that way. 

Even after everything, he still loved that odd little man he was married to. 

Even after everything, he did not want to lose him.

Xichen looked at his brother, and smiled in the polite, controlled way he had learned to do in unpleasant situations.

“I am very grateful that you would offer this,” he told Wangji. “But that will not be necessary. I need time alone at the moment, but unless he asks for it, I have no intention of separating from my husband.”

“Hm. He hasn’t asked.”

That lifted a weight from Xichen’s shoulders, freeing him from a tension he had not realised he was holding. After everything that had been revealed, Huaisang could easily have asked for a divorce as well. Nobody in the cultivation world would have blamed him for rejecting a husband who had been so close to his brother’s murderer. If Huaisang hadn’t asked for it, there might still be hope.

Xichen knew some of their relationship had to have been genuine.

Feeling a little lighter, his smile turned more sincere.

“I hear you’re married as well now?” he asked his brother. “Eloping, at your age… that’s not very serious, Wangji.”

Wangji smiled, unapologetic. He looked happier than his brother had ever seen him, and Xichen felt another weight leave his body. Even if Huaisang and him did not manage to reconcile, some good would have come from this disaster.

A little after the four months mark, Xichen felt ready to face the world once more. The guilt had not fully eased out, and the anger still returned sometimes, but he was growing too restless to stay in Gusu.

He thanked his uncle and brother for letting him stay this long, for respecting his need for isolation.

Then, at last, he left for Qinghe.

He left for home.

-

It was oddly pleasant to fly to the gates of the Unclean Realm at sunset and greet the guards. They all seemed very happy to see him again. Xichen realised the opposite was just as true. After ten years there, Qinghe Nie had become his sect, even if something of Gusu Lan stuck to him. 

This really was home. 

"Our Sect Leader will be glad you're back," one of the men said. "He's been moping around like a lost soul since he returned with…" 

The other guard elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Xichen pretended not to notice. 

"My husband can be a little dramatic," he agreed, feeling both guilty and pleased that Nie Huaisang might have missed him. "I hope he has not neglected his duties too much, or I'll have to scold him. Do you know where I might find him?" 

He expected to be directed to the gardens or the aviary, unless Huaisang had gone for a trip. Xichen would not mind waiting a little. 

"He's in his room," the first guard explained, glancing at his comrade who shrugged. "He's been there since early afternoon. He gave orders not to bother him for a few days, even if guests came, but… Master Lan, I don't think that applies to you." 

"Yes, go ahead and knock some sense into him," the other agreed. "He's been moody lately, it will be good for him that you're back." 

Lan Xichen thanked them for the information, and crossed the gate. It worried him a little that Huaisang would decide to isolate that way. Even though his cultivation had improved over the duration of their marriage, he did not think Huaisang had ever made efforts to practice inedia so far. Hopefully he was not pushing himself too hard. 

In spite of the guards’ hints that Huaisang appeared to have missed him, Xichen felt a growing tension seize him as he walked toward his husband’s room. Anxiety, he guessed. He hoped that Huaisang would want to see him again, that the guards were not mistaken, that he had made the right choice in coming home. Even if they could not reconcile, at least they should talk, there was so much they had never told each other. They needed to talk. They would talk. Xichen would not leave Qinghe until things were finally clear between them. He would…

It was only when he arrived at the door of Huaisang’s bedroom that Xichen realised the odd feeling he’d had since stepping inside that building might not have been nerves alone.

He could feel intense resentful energies coming from that room, strong enough to nearly gag him. Whatever was going on was so powerful that it should have been noticed by passing disciples and servants… but nobody ever came near Huaisang’s bedroom without his permission, and if he had specifically requested to be left alone…

Overcome with fear, Lan Xichen hurried to open the door.

The stench of blood hit him immediately. No surprise there. Several animals laid on the ground, some of them still twitching and agonising.

Xichen barely noticed them.

His full attention was on a pale shape on the floor, surrounded by words hastily scribbled in blood.

A naked man, his wrists and throat slashed open.

Xichen shouted as he ran toward Huaisang, falling to his knees in the pool of blood and pulling the body in his arms. It was still somewhat warm, but growing colder with each passing second.

“What have you done?” Xichen cried, holding his husband close. “A-Sang, I was coming home!”

Xichen could feel no heartbeat, not breath, but still tried to regain enough control of himself that he could share his energy with Huaisang in a desperate attempt to save him.

“I was coming home,” he sobbed. “I was coming home.”

The body in his arm did not react.

Xichen cried harder, never letting go, never giving up his attempt to heal his husband.

“I was coming home.”

[chaoticloving]

no bad habits

harry styles x actress!reader

summary: harry has a lesson in asking a girl out from his bandmates, while simultaneously freaking out and contemplating his whole life. (universe summary in masterlist)

w/c: 2.5k

w: swearing, talks of sex (smut in future chapters), and probably grammatical errors ( english is not my first language)

a/n: inspired by bad habits by steve lacy! i was debating on how much longer i should go on until the two get together but omfg i have no patiences so i think next installment/chapter will be them finally together! question is: should there be smut in the next chapter? lmk <3

also this chapter is all harry! lowkey my fav fics are when they focus on the guys pov so i indulged here lol so enjoy the awkward harry!

masterlist

April, 2012

“Hi, Honey. How’s my precious boy doing?”

Laughs filled the room as Harry quickly turned off the speaker and got up to leave from his band mates. 

“Come back precious boy!” Louis called, but Harry ignored the snickers and headed for the back of the private plane. 

“‘Lo mum.” Harry said, more relaxed now that he has privacy, leaning against the wall and slightly leaning so he doesn’t hit his head–even though his friends don’t believe him, Harry swears that he’d hit his head. “‘m alright, how are you?”

“Don’t give me that.” Anne chided. She knew her son, she knew when her youngest wasn’t feeling his best. “Just because you’re a big shot now doesn’t mean you can act like your own mother doesn’t know you.”

“Mum-“

“What’s wrong, Harry?”

“Nothin, just annoyed with the boys now.”

“When are you not?” She chuckled. “But seriously, Honey. Are you okay? You sound sad.” 

“Well we’re about to take off on the plane and you know how uncomfortable I get.” It wasn’t a full lie, Harry has hated traveling by plane ever since his first flight at the young age of five–Gemma will gladly share all of the embarrassing memories of young Harry crying on planes to anyone who’d ask.

“You have your gum? Chew it well and it’ll help pop your ears.” Anne told him, in her protective motherly tone. 

“I will mum, don’t worry.” Harry said dryly, use to this lecture. 

“Also, a little birdie told me you had another one of your friends was joining you boys–”

Harry groaned. “Mum, what's Gem been tellin’ you?” 

“That you’re making friends! And if it’s the friend that I think it is, I'd like to meet her.” 

“Mum, Y/n couldn’t come, she had a work thing come up, and you know I just don’t like plans changing when it comes to flights.” He mumbles. “It just got me in a mood.”

He thought flying would be easier and he wouldn’t be stressed since Y/n would be coming, but sadly, her schedule is even more hectic than his own. She was too good at her own job apparently, as she had gotten a call–right in the middle of their own call where Harry was going into explicit detail on some vocal coach who quite frankly needed some coaching of their own in his opinion—that said she was needed for the filming of a new movie right away. She wouldn’t tell him for what, saying it was a surprise. 

Obviously, she made the decision to take on the job, which Harry couldn’t protest too; he didn’t have the right to say that she couldn’t film a movie for one concert in Australia or because he would be sad. But even though he told her how happy he was for her, a small part of him will miss her–well, maybe a big part of him. 

“Still, it’d be nice if I could meet her.” Anne told him. “You haven’t told me anyone you liked since that one waitress at the diner.”

“Because you ruined my chance with her!”

“You were seven and all I asked was for a kids menu when she accidentally gave you the adult menu.”

Harry smiled but still jokingly huffed at the memory. All those years ago, Harry first tried out flirting. Although looking back it was definitely terrible, he thought it was going well since she was smiling, but he would never forget the embarrassment of his mum asking for a kids menu–making him feel significantly less cool, crushing Harry’s new dream. 

“There just hasn’t been anyone after that mum.” Harry told her, him sighing. He’s had similar conversation with his mum before. But when he was in school, it was always ‘no dating, no pregnancies.’ Now his mum was singing a completely different tune of ‘when are you getting a girlfriend.’ He knows she means well, but it’s a little scary to realize he should–and wants to–find someone to spend the rest of his life with, especially if he wants the most amount of time with them as possible. 

“No one could compare to the happily married waitress you met ten years ago?” Anne laughed. “I guess, other than Y/n?”

“Ugh, mum you’re no better than the DailyMail.” Harry accused, but they both new he didn’t mean it. When the photo came out, Anne of course had a couple questions–specifically about what was in his drink, but also about the pretty girl that everyone was saying was his new girlfriend. Harry reluctantly answered that she was just a friend and how the photo being posted was an accident, but he often wondered what it would be like to introduce Y/n as his girlfriend to his mother. 

He heard commotion going on in the seating area of the plane, shaking him from his thoughts, and realized take off was coming soon. “I’ve got to go mum. I’ll call when I land.”

“All right sweetie. Don’t work yourself up too much. It’s nighttime so you need to get a good rest, especially if you're up dancing and whatnot tomorrow.”

“Yes, mum, I’ll be careful. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Harry hung up with a sigh and waited a few seconds before returning back to the group of boys. He knew once they took off the realization of his short break would be over, and he didn’t want it to be. A part of him was concerned that now that Y/n was back off working, and he was too, no one would be able to call, text, or really have the energy to make the effort as often as before. He wanted to call though, so that had to be enough, right? Harry hoped it was. 

Harry joined the others and took his seat down next to Niall who was in a weirdly passionate conversation with Liam, arguing over some TV show that Harry hadn't watched. Louis was looking at sheet music, with Zayn leaning over his shoulder to join him. Harry sat and watched the group, unsure of how this all happened. He was on a fucking flight to Austrialia to preform at a sold out concert with some really great people. 

Even this job got him to meet someone special. But it also gave him heartbreak–more serious than any waitress at the village diner he could meet. Harry was proud of Y/n and all of her accomplishments, she worked for all she achieved, no famous parents, no rich relative; she auditioned and got every role on her own merit, it was something he truly admired. 

She was often busy, it was a part of her job description, so it was up to Harry to normally call and such. A part of him always felt guilty about it, and if he was a little honest he felt unwanted too, so he’s been trying hard not to talk to her…as much; but those thoughts were always push away when he confided in Y/n for the first time, with her saying how she appreciates all of his calls because it allows her to have a break–a long break at that, Harry was glad he switched over to an unlimited plan because almost all of their calls were over two hours. 

As his mind wandered, he got a buzz in his pocket that shoved him back into the real world, allowing him to realize that the plane was starting to move. He quickly took his phone out and opened the message, one that made his smile wide. 

‘Good luck and wish I was there!!’

As Harry was about to respond to Y/n he got another text from her.

‘I miss you’

Harry froze and didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure if the feeling of his stomach dropping was from the plane taking off or the fact the girl he likes just unpromptly said that she misses him. He felt like giggling and kicking his feet up in the air while rolling on his bed. 

“You got sent nudes or somethin’” Zayn jokes as Harry looks up to see his friends all looking closely at him. 

“Wha–”

“Bad day to wear skinny jeans, huh.” Louis joins in.

“Guys come on, he wasn’t sent nudes.” Liam says.

“Thank you–”

“Probably got a little message from mumsy.”

“Yeah you’re right Liam, doubt Harry’s that lucky.” Niall laughed.

“Alright what does that mean?” Harry asks defensively, while all the others look silently at each other, trying to keep their composer.

“Well, you’re the baby of the group.” Niallstarts.

“I know.” Harry answers, still confused.

“You’re also… incredibly awkward with any woman you talk to.” Liam slowly says.

“So it’s hard to believe that you out of everyone here, y’know, got sent a nude.” Nialll finishes up the explanation, hoping poor Harry would get the hint. “Especially from Y/n.” He mumbled that last part.

“You think I have no game?” Harry accuses, standing up. He looks around at his now so-called friends, all looking in other directions. “Fuck, I have no game.” Harry sits back down, stunned by this realization just hitting him causing him to stare off into space.

“Did we break him?” Louis whispers to Zayn, yet loud enough for everyone to hear it–hence the quick punch he received from the other boy. 

“I-I’m thought of as a hot and pretty charming guy but… but I’ve never actually dated anyone before–I don’t even know how to get a girl to like me for me.” Harry choked out, starting to spiral. He got up and started to pace in the tiny plane, nervously biting his nails. “She’s a real celebrity, like famous and she gets so much attention from practically everyone…why would she choose me?”

Liam got up and tried to sooth his friend. “Hey, mate, why don’t we just calm down for a sec–”

“No! I-I don’t bring anything to the table!” Harry added on, going deeper into this hole he is digging himself. A wave of nausea was hitting him, adding to his terrible feeling. 

“Hey, why don’t we help you?” Zayn offers, getting up and ushering him to sit back down in his seat. “We can spare little advice for ‘em right?” The group of boys all nodded in agreement. 

“But…” Louis hesitated, scared to say what he was about to. “Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“What sort of question–”

“She’s an actor. She's going to kiss people for movies.” Louis pointed out. “Are you going to be okay with that? Even though it won't mean anything, could you stand to watch that?”

Harry thought back for a moment. He watched The Hunger Games when she gave him a copy –that suspiciously disappeared from set–and watched as he felt his heart being ripped out from his chest as she kissed Peeta–although, he much prefers Peeta over Gale. But still, he hated seeing her kiss Josh whatever his name is. 

He did like how happy Y/n was when she talked to him about making the movie. He remembers watching her on his computer both during an interview on youtube and when he called her. 

“If she’s happy and it’s not romantic–I’ll live.” Harry concludes. “I-I can’t tell her to stop acting because I would be uncomfortable–if we were to get together, of course.”

Liam’s a bit shocked. “That’s very…brave.”

“You mean whipped?” Scoffed Louis, again, earning another jab from Zayn. “Not that it’s a bad thing of course. I’m sure Y/n would love that.”

“You’re not helping.” Harry groaned. “But that’s a problem if she wants to date me.”

“She will!” Niall said sternly. “No one would sleep in some bathtub with an ugly stranger; she must find ya’ some bit attractive.”

"Not when she finds out I have four nipples--"

“I'm going to forget you said that." Louis commented, the cleared his throat. "All you have to do is put on the old Styles charm!” He tried. “Just go up to her an’ say, “Y/n, darling, angel, sunflower” –and whatever annoying nickname you call her– “you make me so horny–”

“Woah, woah woah, absolutely not.” Zayn interrupts, and stared directly at Harry. “Do not mention anything about sex or anything about appearance, that makes you sound like an asshole. Only mention how she makes you feel when you see her if it's romantic, not sensual; and talk about how she’s smart and talented–that sorta stuff.”

Harry didn’t want to act like some sort of fool when he would be talking to her. He wanted to get to know her, that’s all he really wanted. Well, he did also think it’d be fun to dance with Y/n, didn’t matter where, hell it could be in the kitchen for all he cares, but he’d just want to be close–doing something he loves with someone he…likes. 

But if he messes that up then no kissing in the kitchen.

“I was only joking.” Louis mumbled. 

“When we land, you have to call her.” Liam told Harry, more like ordered though if you asked Harry.

“But my mum–”

 “I think she will understand that her precious boy is trying to get a girl.” Zayn explained. “Make it clear that you just got off the plane when you talk to Y/n, it’ll show how much you value her and stuff. Just don’t tell her about not calling your mum, that makes you seem like a dick.”

“Yeah, no one likes someone who doesn’t call their mum.” Louis chimed in. 

“But isn’t that what I’m doing?” Harry wondered. 

“She doesn’t have to know that.” Niall told him. “Look, I’m sure Gemma grilled it into you that you won't say anything outright wrong. Just be you.”

“What bullshit is that?” Harry bawled. “I’m not anything compared to all those other actors! Maybe I should become an actor--”

“Yeah, and what would you play? Some psycho killer? I’m sure that’ll be real hot.” Louis groaned. He got up and put his hands on Harry’s shoulders–looking at him right in the eye. “You need to realize that you have a chance with a hot actress and you need to go for it!”

“Don’t be a pussy.” He finishes and gets back down into his seat, exhaling as he did so. All the guys just looked at him, Zayn had a disgusted face in particular, clearly confused on what that was supposed to do.

“He’s right.” Harry mumbled.

“What now?” Zayn questioned, surprised like the rest of the boys–including Louis himself.

“Louis is right, I need to ask her out, I need to go for it!” Harry realized, saying his words a little louder now.

“Yeah!” Louis cheered. 

“That worked?” Naill whispered and looked over to Liam who just shrugged. 

“Apparently.” Liam replied. 

“I am going to talk to the girl I like and get her to like me!” Harry shouted confidently. 

“Yeah!” All the boys yelled in agreement, going with this positive momentum. 

Harry sat in his chair smiling, proud of himself for his little manifestations. Now he had to wait another grueling few hours until he actually had service. But he had a plan, and he had the confidence to go through with it–at least for now, he’s not too sure how he’ll feel in the moment, but it’s better than where he was before. He couldn’t want her anymore tonight then what he already does–he just can’t fuck it up.

Like Louis said, he just has to put on the Styles charm. 

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[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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[sohin-ace]

Jolyne - No Ordinary Girl

Mermaid Y/N x Surfer Jolyne

Today was a particularly fitting day to go to the beach. Jotaro had taken Jolyne, Hermes and Foo Fighters to the shore. He mostly went for some observation and the girls decided they would take advantage of the nice weather for some surfing.

It was not long after they arrived and started installing themselves that Jolyne and Hermes' eyes fell into very familiar faces.

Annasui, upon seeing the group, walked towards the girls with a confident stance, making sure his long hair was flowing in the wind.

"Oh look who we have here. The ladies victory." Annasui exclaimed, before completely falling heart-eyed, his voice and tone softening, dreamy even, at the sight of his object of worship. "Hi Jolyne~"

"Oh! Weather Report's there! Hi Weas!" Jolyne called out to the older man arranging a parasol a few feet behind, her completely ignoring the pink haired-male that seemed to have come with him. He waved shortly at Jolyne in response.

"Anyways, what are you guys up to?" Hermes asked, sipping on some lime flavored granita.

"Well, as you can see..." He pointed at the ocean, "We just wanted to take a day to work out a bit, but the waves are real nice today."

He leaned in not so subtly towards Jolyne, despite Hermes' evident judging gaze.

"But you know what else is real nice today?" He brought his hand up to cup Jolyne's chin, but before he could even say or do anything, Jolyne leaned away and pointed behind him.

"Oh wow! My dad's coming back with drinks!" She called nonchalantly, looking behind Annasui like he was more transparent than air itself.

"...! DRINKS?! DRINKS!!" Foo Fighter gasped, pushing the feminine man off to the side with such force, he fell and slid against the sand.

"Hey, Jojo," Hermes tapped her friend's shoulder, "Let's show these pendejos how girls ride waves."

The Asian American smirked, eager to show who's boss and always ready to follow on her best friend's mischief. "I'm racing you then."

"Pfft, I won't go easy girlfriend." The Mexican cracked her knuckles and grabbed her plank.

After surfing for long enough and being outran by Jolyne's stamina, Hermes decided to go back and sunbathe next to F.F's who was playing cutely with sand.

Jolyne glided full speed over the water, the wind and droplets of salty water refreshing her skin. More than competition, Jolyne loved the acceleration, the adrenaline, the sweet fresh air through her long hair. When she was surfing, Jolyne's heart lightened up and her mind purged of any negative thoughts, anxiety, fears.

She was at peace.

Before she could enjoy the sweet taste of her peace of mind though, she caught up to a blond surfer in front of her who she recognized as she got closer. Oh god, not him of all people.

"Oh, hey! Isn't that the sexiest surfer in all Miami?" Romeo teased, admiring the girl who gained up on him, "Not bad, look at you go! Who knew my little Jojo would be so talented, hot damn!"

Jolyne frowned and clicked her tongue. She swore if she wasn't so focused on staying in balance, she would drown him on the spot. He laughed obnoxiously, satisfied with being a disgusting excuse of a human.

"Romeo, I swear to fuckin-"

Before she could even finish her sentence, something, a gigantic fish tail appeared out of the wave and flicked itself right accross the blonde, slapping him off of his plank with a painful sound.

"HUAARGHH-" He screamed before crashing into the water with the splash and disappearing behind Jolyne.

"O-OH MY GOD!" She gasped, both surprised by the sudden turn of events, and incredibly scared for her life, thinking some kind of hostile shark was in the shore currently, which was to report immediately.

The moment she decided to take a turn and leave as fast as she could, warning the others to get the hell out of here, a shadowy form within the water followed her along the wave.

Foolishly curious, Jolyne looked at it, not without her heart hammering in her chest at the potential danger she was facing.

What she saw was not a sight she'd have ever expected to ever see in all her 19 years. Her legs shook at the shock and she almost completely fell over her board.

Gliding along the water right next to her, right inside the tall wave, was the figure of... a girl.

Or was it a girl? It couldn't be. She looked human at first glance, but the more Jolyne's gaze moved sideways she noticed the long and impressive fish tail replacing what were supposed to be legs.

Jolyne's jaw felt slack. She felt like she was hallucinating. Believe it or not, she had not smoked or taken any recreative substances beforehand, but she truly wished she had because that would have at least explained what her eyes were showing her.

The girl swimming and following her only smiled, waving cutely with webbed hands, as if amused by Jolyne's disbelieving reaction and wide eyes.

"W-w-w.... What the fuck..???" Jolyne finally spoke after rebooting her entire brain, "No fucking way-...! A mermaid??!! A real one??!"

Like a bad trick from fate, the wave Jolyne was trying her hardest to not get swallowed by, seemed to grow weaker and weaker, shortening in size.

Jolyne saw the mermaid slowly retreat away in an elegant swim, her form vanishing into the deep blue.

"Wait, no!" The surfer called, almost desperate to have such a mystical meeting and ethereal moment be so short lived.

She reached her hand out to the creature, unsure of what she was even trying to do, but the force of the current got the best of her, and Jolyne lost balance, falling forward with nothing to hang onto for purchase.

Jolyne splashed onto the water and the wave died with her hope of ever living such a dream again.

"Ooohh dang it! You were almost there!" Hermes called out from the shore, her voice booming enough for Jolyne to hear as she broke into the surface.

"Fuck...." Jolyne cursed, hanging onto her board.

She felt defeated. Not because she couldn't ride that wave to the very end as she was expected to with her skill level, but rather because she couldn't immortalize that beautiful moment.

She blankly climbed onto her board again and barely even paddled her way back to land, too out of it to do so.

Was that even real? That had to be, right? She saw the mermaid. She saw her hair, her skin tone shined-on by the sun. She saw the scales over her skin, the fins along her arms and tail.

She saw her attack Romeo, he must have seen her too, Jolyne pondered.

"Aaah the champion is back!" F.F cheered as Jolyne finally walked back, drenched and with her plank under one arm. "I made a sandcastle for our ocean queen!"

"Thanks Foo..." Jolyne's small smile didn't not match her quiet tone.

"Hey, what's up, chula ? You look like you've seen a ghost, or something? You did great back there, so why the long face?" Hermes fixed the straps of Jolyne's bikini top and removed some seaweeds from her hair.

"It's just... I saw something weird it the water and I don't know..." Jolyne hesitated, "Maybe I was dreaming or something."

"Hum..." Hermes hummed in thought. "What do you think Féfé?"

"Maybe Mr. Jotaro can answer if you saw an animal? Damn, I'm thirsty." F.F stuck her tongue out, clearly expressing her thirst.

"Dude, there's water litterally everywhere here." The mexican grimaced before turning back to Jolyne. "But yeah, maybe you should ask your dad if that worries you so much."

"Uhh..."

Jolyne looked towards her father who was crouching somewhere next to some rocks, taking notes about mollusks, or so Jolyne guessed.

"Yeah, maybe not. It's fine though, no big deal." She smiled, waving her hand in dismissal.

Shrugging it all off, the girls decided to join Weather Report and Jotaro who brought food to finish the day at the beach with a relaxing touch.

And so, the day ended with an uncanny normalcy for Jolyne, who kept thinking more and more as the sun set, that it all had been in her mind. Mermaids didn't exist. It was probably a Stand user playing tricks on her.

That what she wanted to believe. When she thought of all the events that would follow, she truly wished she had spoken to her father about it. After all, if he had fought a very real vampire, then there would be no doubt that something as crazy as a mermaid could exist in her bizarre adventure.

Jolyne came back to the beach that same week. Alone, this time. She was careful to come by the time the sun started to lower in the sky and the temperature of the water and air dropped, knowing tourists and athletes would be gone by this time.

'What now?' She thought. Coming back out of sheer curiosity was a thing, but making sure she could attract the creature back to her was something else.

"Should I bring food? What do mermaids even eat? Does she like hot dogs...?" Jolyne thought out loud, looking around, secretly glad no one was here to hear her talk mad nonsense to herself like some insane crackhead.

She approached the water and drenched her feet in the small rocking waves, coming and going her way and gently splashing her. She hesitated for a moment, remembering that along with the legend of mermaids came the fact that these creatures were known to attract and enchant humans by their beauty, leading them to their inevitable death.

So maybe, Jolyne accepted, she was destined to die in the ocean.

Just as she came hip-deep into the sea, she felt a strange current shaking her legs, almost knocking her out of balance.

Before she could even process how strange it felt, she looked down into the clear water and saw no less than the same huge colorful fish tail she had seen that very day.

She gasped in realization and soon enough screamed as she felt calloused hands grab her thighs, the creature pushing herself out of the water to be met face to face with the human who had been, unbeknownst to Jolyne, her newfound fixation.

"Y-WHAAAAAHH!!!" Jolyne hollered, not expecting such a strong and surprising appearance.

The mermaid still halfway into the water, climbed and gripped up the girl's hips for leverage. She looked up at Jolyne's face, smiling wide and eyes glinting in both adoration and mischief.

"Greetings."

"HOLY CRAP-" Jolyne's voice cracked, "I mean- fuck yes! I mean-..."

Poor Jojo was completely out of it. But who could blame her, though? It was not everyday that one got to meet a real mermaid in the flesh. And certainly not such a handsy one.

She cleared her throat and mustered her most suave voice, pretending she wasn't completely flustered by the sheer beauty before her.

"Hi."

"I knew you'd come back..." The mermaid spoke, her voice almost ethereal and distant, "They always do."

Jolyne's heart wanted to stop. God, she felt burning hot and was sweating everywhere. Her voice stilled Jolyne to place in a way she couldn't explain. The legendary creature was so impossibly close to her, bodies almost touching.

She noticed she couldn't stay up overwater any other way than using Jolyne's lean body for leverage, her heavy tail anchoring her down. But the warm proximity between them and the sight of such a beautiful, rare and mystical creature right under her chest felt unreal and exciting.

Jolyne wanted to look her over for hours. Her hair texture, drenched and flowy, her skin tone glowing like gold, her holographic scales and fins shining like crazy diamonds.

"Why... Why did you...? Of all people...?" Jolyne questionned, now wondering if their first meeting in that wave was really a trick of fate, or if she was chosen in any way. "You attacked Romeo, yet you showed up to me... Why me?"

"I like beautiful humans." The mermaid smiled, her radiant features and smooth voice making Jolyne's legs weak, "You're beautiful."

The young surfer couldn't help her heart shaking and the wave of warmth spreading through her chest. If it was anyone else, she would boast her obvious beauty or maybe flip them off. But now she couldn't. Being complimented by a mythical being that was already the most gorgeous thing Jolyne had ever witnessed was truly something else

"What's your name?" Jolyne started.

"Call me Y/N."

Y/N, Jolyne's mind echoed. Cute. Even mermaids had names, she thought before realising that may be a very stupid thought to have. She didn't really know what else to expect.

"I uh, I'm Jolyne..." She looked down into the water, somewhat not daring to look at Y/N's adorable curious and sensual gaze. Oh god that was bad, she was entrancing.

"Not to be gay but...You look cute. Hot even. Can I say that? That's not weird, right? Since ya know... You're not exactly human, but you're not an animal either, like... I'm not gonna get arrested for this... I hope..."

"I'm not too familiar with human tongue, but I think Ms.Jolyne looks really pretty as well." Y/N moved to wrap an arm around Jolyne's waist, gripping her for better leverage and pointing at her chest, right in her reach. "Healthy mammals, great for feeding the young."

"Mammals...? Oh! You mean my boobs?" Jolyne glanced at her modest chest before grinning at the creature, "Aw thanks! Finally someone who likes them who's not some degenerate creep!"

Jolyne's chuckle died down and she finally took the time to look over Y/N's face. She ran a cold hand over her much warmer cheek, gliding it down to her gilled neck, mesmerized by her anatomy.

It truly was a one-in-a-lifetime meeting. Jolyne was slowly comprehending her luck to be met with a legendary sea creature like her. And a friendly one, at that.

How could this be even real? Our human knew that even though she was feeling relatively serene at the moment, the adrenaline would come down later and she would most likely cry herself to sleep.

"Hey uhm..." Jolyne was at a loss for words. There were so many things to say, but at the same time, she couldn't speak a word.

"Hm?" Y/N hummed and closed her eyes, enjoying the human's gentle touches.

Merfolks would express themselves via physical ministrations the most in the ocean, but she knew well a lot of humans did not share intimacies, or at least not before building a certain bond.

Glad that Jolyne was open to it, the sea-bound girl squeezed both her arms around the human's waist lovingly, forcing endearment on Jolyne, who felt her own heart tighten at the sweet and adorable embrace. The girls wanted to keep each other.

"Will we see each other again? I mean, I know you shouldn't be noticed by the public for your safety, but I don't know... Guess I took a liking to you or something." Jolyne mumbled, still resting her hands mindlessly around the creature's shoulders, fiddling with the ridges of her dorsal fin.

Y/N smiled, a smile that looked empty on her fish eyes, but sincere regardless. She let go of Jolyne who couldn't quite take her own hands off of her, clinging a little bit longer.

"Don't you know this, Ms. Jolyne? When human women die in the ocean, they relive as our kind."

"What? Really?" Jolyne let the mermaid get away slowly, ready to swim off to some unknown destination.

"If you want to see me again," Y/N called out cutely, waving her webbed hand like the very first time she saw Jolyne surfing, "Then perish in the ocean!"

She grinned, diving into the deep blue and splashing her tall tail strongly, giving herself a boost of speed, and disappearing away.

Jolyne could only stare into the horizon, darkening as the night arrived, stunned into place.

"...Ok, that was metal as fuck..."

H2O Just Add Water opening, but with Jolyne, Hermes and F.F

[sly-merlin]

KILLING ME- 14

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre : (fluff)  angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au.

warnings of this chapter : cursing, mention of drugs, character death.

words : ~4k

summary :

“life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”                                  

or            

“ curiousity got the cat hitched”

K.M masterlist

K.M 13

TAGLIST : @kpop-choco @moon-yuta @kawaiiayasan @btm-taeyong @exfolitae @lanadreamie @cheersskznct ​​ @hyuckiesgf ​​ @theworld-accordingtocasey ​​@simplybree

@yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator   @minejungwoo @leesalts @mal-nakamoto23 @ro2424 @itlittlefangirl @nctzens-world @bl–ankhaeji @jeaneteflo @nuoyii @bralessmermaid @minhoseyeliner @tyongpoetry @swimmingkpopblog @jkjkseo @orphicmoon @floralescapes

A/N : this chapter marks the celebration of this blog surpassing 600 followers! thank you so much for all the support! also for minor readers, the sfw versions of nsfw chapters are given at the end of the masterlist so check those properly before reading.

•••••••••••••

y/n! Are you sleeping?”

Registering his words, you replied in a groggy voice,“What the fuck do you want?”

“Your phone. I left mine in the medical room. I need to call Mark right now.” with some authority, he spoke.

Whining loudly, you fell back on the bed. It was only due but flailing your arms and legs like a kid in a toy store, you let out a screech full of annoyance, cursing your fate.

Were you really going to babysit him now?

"Have you suddenly lost your hearing? Stop with this sick attitude and open the door."

A puff of air left your nose, your chest moved rhythmically with your stomach and you relaxed your arms beneath your head, eyes fixed at the fan above and ears ringing with his voice. He kept calling you and after a number of shouts, you started humming to distract yourself, afraid that you'd end up helping him otherwise. That was something, naturally, you were not interested in. Last time he had ignored your voice and now nature had presented you with an opportunity to return the favour. Just with a bit less flavour.

"Are you dead?"

"Hmmm. To you, yes I am." Mumbling, you yawned and pushed yourself up to reach your side table and fishing out your earphones from the bottom drawer, you untangled them and fixed them comfortably in your ear, hiding yourself underneath the sheets.

Sonata no.14 instantly transported you away from the noise and the stress that was your unwanted husband, yuta. The smile playing on your lips widened as you realised that you were his only mode of communication at the moment.

But You were going for a nap. Until then, he could wait. And thrash. And cry. Or die.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you rotated the handle of the door to walk outside but your little trip was interrupted when your body collided straight into a wall. No. The obstruction was too soft for a wall.

Opening your eyes properly, you saw yuta standing stiff. Surprised at the sudden appearance, you immediately stumbled back and in hurry, hit your spine on the wooden door. The glare of his eyes, that always spoke more than you could comprehend, coupled with a clenched jaw, was not a very pleasant sight for sure yet you found it harder to dart your own eyes away from him.

"Your phone" he seethed, breathing deeply.

"Huh?" You croaked out.

He raised his brow and in an instant, the previous scenario played like a short movie in your head. Snapping your head down, you regarded his leg with pity. He obviously noticed it immediately but seemed to ignore it and refrained from saying anything. Good for you, you thought.

"Are you deaf?"

Your furrowed brows met his eyes and with a roll of his own, he picked up his finger to force his demand but you managed to walk back inside your room before he could've done that.

Your back faced him as you contemplated your options while slowly stretching your arm to reach for your phone on the other side of the bed.

should you even be giving him your phone?

You had more trust in Taeyong than the man you shared a roof with so there was no way you were doing that.

Unbeknownst to you, yuta was watching your movements intently and the way you bobbed your head, he knew you were scheming something so he decided to be polite for a moment. Only until you were needed. Or your phone was needed.

Once the phone was in your hand, another thought crossed your mind.

"Wait. Where is the house phone?" Crossing your arms, you asked him slyly, already knowing the answer

"You fucking never got it installed. It's still in its stupid package" he seemed rather impatient.

"And you could've called reception through the door telecom. He would have phoned Mark for you. These rich apartments certainly have more hospitality tha-

"I CAN'T GO AROUND DISTRIBUTING AN UNDERGROUND CRIMINAL'S CONTACT NUMBER TO EVERYONE"

He inhaled and exhaled and you just watched until he opened his eyes again, hand reaching out to you.

"Chill. I've every right to be sceptic especially when you are the one asking for it."

Finding Mark's number on your phone, you called him.

Yuta's hand threaded through his rough hair as he noticed what you were trying to do.

"Hey mark!" Your chirpy voice resounded in the room and yuta was sure this was some different spirit speaking. You sounded too bubbly for the way you were investigating him just a second ago.

"Yes yes. His phone exactly.i don't trust him enough to hand over my phone so that's why I'm calling you myself. Just hurry up if you can or you might have to clean up a dead body in the next few hours."

With that you cut the phone. Without meeting yuta's gaze and resting your hand on the handle, you mumbled,

"He'll be here in an hour."

You were about to close the door when he stopped it with the palm of his hand, alerting you with the force.

"Tell him to get some food too."

And limping, he retired back, to the couches.

Sighing, you messaged mark. Had it been for something else, you'd have ignored but your own stomach had signalled you that it needed some good food so you chose not to fight against your own body.

Now, only the taste of the food could decide how many days you were going to tolerate that barbaric human.

"Are you still going to that stupid internship?" Johnny hesitantly murmured from your desk chair while taking big bites from the plate.

"It's not stupid please! I’m just waiting for them to actually pay attention to my awesome capabilities so they can transfer me to the main branch. This is not bad either but”, you stopped to lick your forefinger and tasting the sauce, continued, “but I really wanna go into the criminal unit. That’s where the actual fun is. As long as i’m being paid decently, i’ll suffer with the stupid research work here.”

“With the tongue as sharp as yours, I think you should be getting ready for a demotion instead” he laughed, showing you his fake bunny teeth in the most annoying and childish way.

“Ha ha ha ha. Some well wisher you are! Thank you so much for looking out for me but I'll be fine. Who knows the gatekeeper’s pay package is more than me. So it’d be a win-win in that case too I guess?” when you did a drum roll with your chopsticks to stress upon your point, he laughed harder.

"So being broke is the new black?" Rolling his eyes, he dragged out, "I swear you kids don't know how this world works."

"And you, grandpa of the century, knows?"

"I'm aware of what I need for my survival and from what I've learnt, you can either take risks or look for job security. In your case, " he fake coughed, "where the proportions of risk taking have already exceeded the acceptable limit, a job security is the best and safest option to choose."

"And that would justify my greed and desire to work for the biggest company of this city."

"Kun. The security you need and the independence you seek would be given by kun. Chois are hmm how to say? Cheap? Yeh cheap. They have no work ethics. "

"Have you worked with them, johnny?"

"No. I'm ju-

"Then was your ex a choi?" You saw his eyes comically and cutely widening at your remark.

"No. My ex wasn't a choi and that's not what I'm saying and you know that."

"Oh. So your ex wasn't a choi. Then a lee? Kim? Im? Oh my god! Look at your cheeks seo!" You dragged out. He shook his head as you kept wiggling your brows at him.

"She was a kim but that doesn't mean I would hate all kims dude. That's baseless and stop ignoring the topic. I want you to apply in Kuns. It's the best option. Do it as soon as you-

"Yeah yeah we'll see about that. First take that bitch back. I can't even nap in his presence. "

"Umm. Yeah. You gotta tolerate him. And besides he's injured. Injured yuta is like a gun without a bullet. He's gonna shout for a day or two and then peace out. He'll be sleeping and reading in his room and you won't even know if he's alive or not."

"Now that's bullshit. What is he going to do here anyway? I hope he can hop himself on one leg because even if the sun rises from the north, I am not going to do a single task for him. He can die hungry , for all I care.”

“Do you think you can endure him for some tasty dinners?”

Clicking your tongue, you quipped, “Do you really think you can buy me with a few homemade meals?”

Day 1

Yes. you were sold. The moment the tasty noodles had melted in your mouth, you knew you had no dignity. And you were indeed ashamed of yourself.

Earlier, Renjun had called you to inform you that he had delivered the food and medicines for yuta and had left your dinner box but he had failed to mention the special and endearing note that was pasted on the glass box. In the curvy letters, it read bitchy piglet and you swore the only person you’d be killing before yuta would be jaehyun. But you were going to use jaehyun to build up your tolerance instead.

When you went out to clean your dishes, he was playing some game on his phone, excitement evident from the way he was laughing every other second. Maybe if he remained occupied, he would not be so insufferable.

Day 3

"Oyii! Oyii!"

No. You were wrong. He was very very much insufferable.

At midnight, his voice echoed, disturbing your sleep. You cursed at the cool atmosphere that had prevented you from using the air con which otherwise would have blocked his annoying screeches. But it seemed like bad luck wanted to change its name to y/n instead. With your name being called like a broken record, it was a fight between you and him that you were not going to lose. Shuffling to your side, you covered your ears with the other pillow and tried to drown out the annoyingly demanding and hoarse voice. There was no way you were giving him the satisfaction of having any power over you. He could cry for all he liked!

“What the fuck do you want at this hour?”

Attempting a glare at him through sleepy lids, you spewed with irritation. Unlike you, he was very much awake, breathing with the sole purpose of making you question your whole existence.

“Pillow” scratching his non-existent beard, he mumbled.

Your nostrils flared and jaw clenched at such inconvenient command.

“You summoned me for a pillow? A pillow that can normally be found on a person’s bed? Can you please rectify your demand or did I just simply hear something wrong?”

The opened curtains and the moonlight that drenched the room was the only source that illuminated his face for you and even with drooping eyes, you could see how serious he was and yet you couldn't hold your tongue back because he simply deserved every shit you bestowed him with.

“Turn the lights on and count the pillows on my bed! And when you are done, get me some pillows from your room.” he simply stated.

“Why should i give you my pillow? I need them!”

“Because I don't use a pillow and I need it asap!”

“Then why do you suddenly need one? To disturb my sleep? Oh that makes sense.” and suddenly, your eyes had synced with your body to side with your fight mode.

“I need them for elevating my leg. The bandage is too tight and it’s not comfortable.”

“Then why don't you walk out of the room and get some cushions for yourself!” you raised your volume.

“Because my leg is in pain and i’m unable to get up? What makes you think I'm dying to see your ugly face at this time of the night. I dont wanna have nightmares of you as well but i can't help it ok!”

“you should have kept them near you. And who are you calling ugly hmm? You poop fac-

“Okay scream for all you want! But get me a pillow when your battery dies down!”

“What the fuck d- are you covering your ears? Wow ways to be generous!”

Stomping your foot, you left the room to get the hardest cushion on the couch.

“Here! Next time call Mark if you want anything. Don’t raise your voice ever again to call me because unlike you, i have work in the morning and hence I need some sleep..”

Just when you were about to leave after shoving the cushion in his hand, he spoke up again,

“This is damn hard! I asked for your pillow specifically and not th- AHH!”

A scream left him as you harshly removed the support , leaving his leg to painfully meet the mattress.

“How about you fix your attitude before fixing your leg?” suggesting, you dropped the cushion on the floor and left.

He didn't call you after that. Nor that you cared. However, the sleep in your eyes somehow vanished. Dancing on your sides didn’t help. Neither did drinking a glass of water. So, with a groan, you listened to your conscience and picked up your extra pillow that was sadly too perfect for your enemy.

Padding to his room, you tried your best to scrutinise and hearing his heavy snores, you placed the pillow right under his thigh and the cushion under his calf. Scoffing at his sleeping figure, you internally groaned to remind yourself that you hadn't done it for him. It was just a debt. For the blanket he had once covered you with. Nothing more and nothing less.

Day 5

You just wanted him out of your hair. He was just being a load on your head. At first, only the work was kicking your ass, then jungwoo was kicking you like a punching bag for an hour straight and adding to your distress was yuta.

"I'm not your maid! Stop piling up the dishes for me. I've had enough mercy on you. From today onwards, get a cleaner for yourself or buy disposable cutlery. I'm not going to clean after you!"

With a roll of his eyes, he had ignored you.

And so did you. Pasting a warning note on the sink tap, you had left for the library with a dying hope that maybe the kitchen would be spotless on your arrival or you'd be dialing some numbers in the evening.

For someone who despised the solemn atmosphere of libraries, you had successfully spent 11 hours in the said hellish room. It was 11 p.m and you wanted to sleep, more than anything but here you were, waiting for yugyeom so he'd just pick you up for a good drinking session that you were dying to have.

Fortunately, you weren't the only one who had missed living these past days. Everyone, for different reasons, was suffering so you felt a little less bad for yourself even though you knew your troubles were far more grave than their academic burdens.

"Wake up shorts" someone whispered in your ear. Squirming on your seat, you whipped your head in your sleepy state and found jungkook caressing your head, goofily smiling at you.

"I thought you wanted to hang out till the next morning" air quoting the last words, he picked up your bag.

"Yeah. Let's go. I'm all ready for a night full of vodkas." You yawned out.

"Definitely. No. You are going home. We can have a small get together me and yuggy are done with our final project." He dragged you out into the parking lot.

" I feel like it's been years since we got drunk together. You are never here anymore!" You whined at him, complaining your heart out.

"I will be. Soon. Then we can celebrate your little choi job as well."

"Oh please. Don't even mention it. If I had penny for every time they rolled their eyes at me, I'd be richer than your parents kook." You huffed out and as his gentle laugh surrounded you, you closed your eyes resting your back against the seat, expecting to be up by the time he'd park.

But the next day, you woke up tangled in the sheets of your bed, unaware of the events of the previous night.

When you had warned yuta about the dirty dishes, you hadn't expected him to fill the corners of the kitchen with disposable containers. It looked like you had missed a whole drama while sleeping in the library. The kitchen was shining except for the new utensils. But as long as you were not babysitting him, you were fine with anything. You didn't want to jinx your relief, however, you were glad you would be able to get some work done. finally.

You had spoken too early for your own good. Just when you sat down to write your paper, passionate and enthusiastic howls of that man pierced through your earphones and once again, you opened the window and hopped outside, in the balcony, ready to drown him out. Sipping on your lemonade, you gaped at the scenery the not so distant traffic provided you with and somehow, your thoughts wandered to the only person these horns reminded you of. Johnny.

What are you doing? Your fingers hovered over the text but once again, you deleted the message, declaring it to be too childish for someone as mature as him. Maybe you were just being silly. Maybe you were not. But who was going to put a stamp on your maybe?

Tears pricked your eyes as the harsh words of your senior thundered in the room. He kept shouting and you had no option than to consume each and every word he directed at you. Even if you were being insulted in front of your twenty other co-workers, staying quiet was the best option, you ascertained. so along with your saliva, you gulped your explanations down your throat.

Howsoever unconscious, you were still in the wrong. There was no excuse as to why you had mailed the wrong bills, apart from the headache that was caused by the person possibly lying on the sofa and watching t.v back home. No matter how much you tried to run away from his existence, he had somehow managed to let himself inside your head.

Glaring at the kid who asked for his turn on the park swing, you pushed yourself a little higher, letting the wind greet your stinging eyes as it hit your face in waves. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you chose to ignore jungwoo for a day as it was the time, you decided, to let all the lessons that the past few months had taught you sink into your mind, to bleed into your soul so you won’t ever be able to deviate from them. Ever.

Only if that was so easy. You knew blaming others for your problems was no solution but trivialising them by not paying heed wasn't a smart move either.

When you reached home, your frustrations had died down. So when yuta simpered and pointed towards your empty container, telling you how he had already finished your supposed dinner, you simply rolled your eyes at him, robbing him of whatever he wanted to achieve by riling you up. Heating up the water, you were about to open the noodles packet when yeong called you.

You stared at the shattered phone screen in disbelief as the endless tears ran down your cheeks. As you verbalised the words to yourself again, your body met the floor with a thud.

Jungkook. Drugs. No more.

Three words had silenced the screeches in your head and your mind busied itself in rejecting what you had heard for it had to be a lie. But what how were you going to ignore the heart wrenching screams that yeong had let out. How were you going to dismiss the truth.

How were you all going to accept it?

••••••••••••••••

next update: Some day between 5-7 June.

[xneens]

thank u, next (ft. loki)

Warnings: angst, swearing, jealousy, mentions of sex

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: A new team member in the group shakes things up for the super soldier.

Or: In which Steve casts you aside for a Carter only to regret his decision when he sees you with the God of Mischief.

"Yeet."

Swiveling your chair, you saw the empty pint of ice cream hit garbage can, bouncing off the rim and dropping on the floor with a light thump. You looked at Tony, shaking your head. "You've been hanging out with Peter too much."

"Why, thank you." Tony replied, smirking at you. "So, tell me, you sexy vixen, how do you feel with Thor bringing Loki? You were quiet during the whole argument that almost ended with Barton ripping out his eye."

You shrugged, the heels Tony had bought earlier drawing your attention to your feet. "I'm fine. I don't really care, I mean, I wasn't with you guys when New York happened so I don't really think I get to have an opinion about whether the mind-controlled God of Lies gets a spot in the team."

"You realize your on the team, right? I'm pretty sure your opinion matters especially with the mass murderer joining." Tony replied, accidentally hitting himself with the candy cane in his hands. "I really thought you were going to side with Cap on this one. You always do."

It wasn't a secret that Steve Rogers wasn't completely on board with the plan. That was pushing it; in other words: Steve Rogers despised the plan. If he could kill it, he would've. When Thor had proposed the plan to bring Loki on the team (a punishment from Odin himself)—trying to convince everyone he was "good" now—less than a handful had let him continue speaking. The rest wanted to riot. You had just sat there, a smirk on your face as you watched the six of them fight with each other while Fury shook his head, looking like a disappointed father.

When everyone had came to an agreement on Loki's trial period, there had been pages of rules on what he was restricted on doing including magic and stabbing. Of course, it was very specific so even the God of Mischief couldn't find a loophole. Maybe he could if he tried, which he probably will.

Clicking your tongue, you shrugged, ignoring the little pang in your chest. "Not on this. I'm smart enough to see that there's more reward than risk to have Loki on the team. For example: he's not bad to look at."

Tony choked on his candy cane, coughing up a large piece. With wide eyes, he studied you in silence, trying to figure out if you had been joking. "Are you serious? We should bring you to Helen so you can get your head checked. There's a chance you might have a concussion from the last mission."

"You have eyes, you can see how regal he is despite not genuinely being born royal. And those cheekbones..." you trailed off, biting your lip at Loki's handsome features. Tony raised an eyebrow, slowly shaking his head. "Not that his perfect bone structure justifies all the people he's killed. I'm just very observant being an avenger and all."

"Uh-huh, yeah, yeah, yeah, sure." Tony mumbled, leaning back on his chair, his eyes narrowing after your confession. "Ms. Natalia Romanoff didn't get the chance to tell me what happened between you and old Capsicle."

Rolling your eyes, you spun around in your chair, facing away from the nosy billionaire. "There's not that much to tell. We talked, we liked each other, then the sun came up and reality set in as the form of Sharon Carter. It didn't take long for him to ditch me to go for Peggy's niece. Anyways, been there, done that. People change."

"You're not the same girl I met." Tony stated. "On that note, Rogers' old brain is still defrosting and he's getting older so I don't think he knows how stupid he is...yet."

"And I'm not going to wait for him to find out." you muttered, a loud sound coming from the big yard. Looking through the garage window, you saw the blinding light before two figures in different colored capes appeared, the blinding light ruining the fresh-cut grass. Beaming at Tony, you got up. "Want to plan a party with me?"

"You say that like I'd have the ability to say no. Tonight?" Tony replied, grinning at thought of loud electronic dance music and booze.

Getting up, the stilettos clicked on the floor, your perfect pedicure peeking through the hole. Smiling, you walked towards the door. "Well, we are in the presence of two Gods. I think it's only fair we celebrate like it."

"I'm putting Party in the USA on the track-list!"

Rushing to the lawn where the rest of the team gathered, your mood was lightened by the sight of the golden haired retriever in disguised as a jacked God. Ignoring the others, you threw yourself at Thor, the God of Thunder catching you, arms tightening around your body. You let out a breathless laugh, momentarily forgetting your idiotic plan to avoid Steve. "Thor!"

Thor guffawed, lifting you off the ground, shouting your name in glee before letting you breathe again. "My favorite avenger! Miss me?"

"Duh." you responded, glancing at Loki, who had magically changed into an all-black suit, his shoulder length raven-colored hair slicked back. His eyes narrowed slightly at the team who had defeated him. He looked even better in person. "So, that's Loki."

Natasha spoke up before either Asgardian could. She stepped closer, observing him with you. "Not sure. He isn't as smug as before—"

"And he's missing those horrendous reindeer horns he was wearing." Clint chimed in, crossing his arms. His hate for Loki—which had increased when he found out the man who once controlled him was coming to the team—was almost as deep as Steve's. "He looks like a witch in that black suit."

Thor snickered, releasing Loki from the handcuffs that held him. "As you all know, my adopted brother's punishment from Father is to help Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Loki understands all the rules, and he will so follow them accordingly. Isn't that right, brother?"

Loki rolled his eyes, sighing before reluctantly nodding. "Yes, I will."

"Let me make this clear, Loki." Steve stepped up, Sharon right behind him, face composed. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at the couple. "If you break one rule, no matter how small, you will be sent back to Asgard and face Odin's alternate punishment. Just so you're clear, we won't hesitate to send you back."

The God of Mischief smirked, feeling smug knowing he could push the super soldier's buttons. "Of course, Captain. I wouldn't dream of breaking the rules enforced."

Everyone could sense the sarcasm and mockery in his voice, all of them tensing. Thor sighed, clapping his brother on the back, the force making Loki take a steps forward. "Come on, brother. I'll show you your quarters before you get punched by Lady Natasha."

Without waiting for Loki to answer, Thor practically pulled Loki's arm off, pulling him towards the building, crossing the ruined lawn that Tony would bitch about later. Everyone followed them, staying a few feet back, wary of the new team member. You noticed Steve stealing glances at you, quickly moving away from Sharon's side and made his way to you.

Without being too obvious, you squeezed your way between Bruce and Natasha, snaking your arms between there's, hoping it would give Steve the impression not to talk to you. Ever. Natasha threw you a sympathetic smile, squeezing your wrist while Bruce raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.

Thor continued talking about the new compound, leading his brother to the entrance while pointing out installments that would've seemed impressive to a simple "midgardian."

He might've unconsciously murdered people but he kinda thicc.

At that exact moment, Loki turned around, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. His smirk grew, glancing between you and Steve before turning back. It had been so quick that you weren't sure it even happened. The group scattered as soon as they stepped a foot inside; Bruce heading to the lab, Steve following him while Sharon split and headed up to Medbay, Natasha hitting the gym with Clint, leaving you alone with Thor and Loki.

Unfortunately, Thor's room had been across yours, the empty room next to yours becoming Loki's so both a spy and a god could keep an eye on the trickster. Both Tony and Steve had fought on that, Steve concerned about your safety while Tony argued back, telling him you could keep yourself safe. If not, Thor was there. That had angered you; Steve didn't think you were capable of fighting off Loki if it came to it, and that made you roll your eyes at him, exiting the room.

"...and this will be your quarters. Decorate it any way you want, just no magic." Thor continued, reaching the area of your rooms. It was a big arc, the area looking like a semi-circle with three doors spaced evenly out. "My chambers is across Lady Y/N's, so we won't have any problems. She's a smart one, brother. Anything else to add, Sunshine?"

You ignored the nickname, eyes narrowing at the black-suited man. "There's a party tonight 'celebrating' the addition to the team. It starts at 8 so don't be late or else Tony will have your head. Also, if you wake me up before seven in the morning, watch your back 'cause I hold grudges."

Giving Thor a smile, you head to your room, closing the door with a sigh. On the other side, you heard Loki chuckle once. "I like her."

"She's serious. She almost ripped my heart out the one time I accidentally woke her from her slumber." Thor added, the clap on his brother's back loud. "Get ready for the party, Loki."

Loki had been forced in his room by his brother, the door closing after him. He listened carefully, hearing you plop on your bed. He bit back a smirk, a plan unfolding in his brain. With a swift gesture of a finger, the room had been decorated, the hideous white theme changing into an exact copy of Loki's bedroom in Asgard.

The day went by fast as you wasted it away planning the party with Tony, who had, in no way, helped. You had ran off to your room once the people Tony had hired came, setting up everything in the main room. As you walked to the three-bedroom wing, you saw Steve rocking back and forth in front of your door, his hands in his pocket while Thor gushed about his flying hammer.

Relief washed over his face as soon as he spotted you, and you almost turned around, wishing you had gone to Natasha's room to get ready.

Steve called out your name, abruptly ending his conversation with Thor. As you walked closer, you could see the concern etched on his face. "Hey, are you okay?"

Thor watched your reaction, your face fighting the urge to make a face at America's sweetheart. Maneuvering your body, you slid between the two men to get to your room. "I'm fun-fucking-tastic. Thor, remind Loki about the party. I didn't spend the whole day with Tony for Loki to miss his own party."

"I'll be there, darling." Loki chimed in, his head poking out of his bedroom. Everyone turned to look at him, seeing the not-so-subtle wink he gave you.

Ignoring Steve's clenched fists, you moved past them, entering your room. Before closing the door, you said, "Tony requests the presence of all three of you, by the way. There's no way you're getting out of this. See you at 8!"

With a sighed of relief, you closed the door in Steve's face, the loud slam cutting off whatever he was about to interject. He could talk to Sharon about whatever shit he was dealing with, the girl he chose. You were no longer someone he could vent to after the shit he pulled, leading you on before leaving for Sharon Carter. It was then that you came to the decision to not love so easily.

Getting ready for the party took longer than you thought it would, the hot shower burning your skin to the point your skin started to redden. Your mind wandered to Loki, curios about the wink. Maybe it was his way of messing with people, a loophole that had not been included in the agreement. Realizing how inappropriate it was to think about the God while showering, you quickly turned the water off and stepped out.

Knowing Natasha, she's be disappointed if you didn't dress up like your inner slut, the one that got fucked up in Tokyo, and the petty hoe who would do everything to make Steve Rogers regret his decision. Well, you weren't going to let your sestra down.

The sultry, tight red dress was almost too short to be considered decent. With it's low cropped top, your tits we're begging for attention, the bra non-existent. Your new motto: protect the city, free the titties. The matching red stilettos would've been a pain if you hadn't started wearing them so early in your life. You let your hair down, running hand through it before slapping some natural makeup on your face, trying not to look desperate for attention.

It was around 8:15 when you finally finished, already exhausted by the amount of work you had to put on for others, but mostly for yourself. Either Tony or Natasha would come barreling through your door if you were going to be any later. Rushing, you took a quick look in the mirror before opening your door, nearly bumping into the God of Mischief.

He was dressed in a black buttoned-downed dress shirt with matching dress pants. Like before, his hair was slicked back, the shoulder length, raven hair looking silky and sexy. You both eye each other, eyes appreciating the sight in front of them. It wasn't until you finally met his eyes that he cleared his throat, a smug smile covering half his face.

"Would you mind accompanying me to the party, Lady Y/N? My brother is an idiot and cannot give a proper tour with his minuscule organ that he calls a brain. As of that, I do not know where this celebration is held." Loki explained, holding out his arm, waiting for you to take it. He raised an eyebrow while you hesitated. "If not, I could just follow you and everyone would assume I'm planning to have your head."

"Jesus Christ, you and Thor are so fucking dramatic." you grumbled, taking Loki's arm, your arm snaking around his. "Must run in the family, huh?"

"I'm adopted."

"I don't care."

Loki darkly chuckled, feeling your warm body against his, letting himself grow closer, enough that he could feel more of you but not enough that you would've noticed. "I sincerely hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you look rather ravishing, darling."

"Have you ever thought of cutting your hair?" you replied, loving the way Loki's smug expression wavered—probably expecting a compliment—before composing himself. "You'd look less like Johnny Depp from Pirates of the Caribbean."

"I don't understand." Loki said, leading you towards the elevator. For someone who claimed they didn't know where they were headed, he had the sense of knowing where everything was.

You waved the pop culture reference away, pushing the elevator button. "You wouldn't. Is Thor already at the party?"

"I'm quite positive."

The rest of the walk to the main room was quiet, neither of you making small talk as you led him. More like, he led you. You were suspicious he had stayed back and faked not knowing the compound in order to mess with you. But you waved that thought away, focus on getting distracting yourself from Steve.

You could hear the party before seeing it, the big room had been half full, not too much, not too little, yet you had been surprised considering how extra Tony could be. Letting go of Loki's arm, you walked to the bar where Natasha was sipping a glass of whiskey, ignoring the rest of the party. She pulled out a bottle of gin as you arrived, raising an eyebrow at your accompanied date.

"Before you say anything, he didn't know where the party was so he asked me to guide him. Nicely if I might add." you said, pushing back the bottle, settling on a bottle of water instead.

Natasha smirked, watching Loki interact with his brother, a frown deepening on his face. "He knows where everything is, Thor gave him the whole tour while you were with Tony. Can't believe you took the bait."

"Ugh." you grumbled, wishing you could forget about tomorrow and drown your problems in alcohol but the last hangover nearly killed you.

"Stevie doesn't look to happy with you showing up with Loki." Natasha noticed, the smirk widening as she watched Steve's glare grew more lethal as Loki's grin got bigger. "This is so much better than America's Next Top Models fails. Do you wanna bet that one of them will punch the other before the party is over?"

"Daddy, chill." you mimicked, turning to see how enraged old Capsicle is. But with the blonde besides him, looking up him in both wonder and worry, he had no right to be angry at Loki for attending a party that had been thrown for him, despite the many people he murdered—while being controlled. "He can't seriously still be sour about Loki joining."

The redhead giggled, a little drunk from the amount of alcohol she already consumed. "I don't think that's what he's so broody about, not anymore at least. He was smiling until he saw you on Loki's arm."

"Ain't my fault he chose Peggy's niece over me, meaning he doesn't get to be jealous whether Loki is my date or a walker for these killer stilettos." you muttered, secretly loving and hating the jealousy that oozed out of Steve Rogers. Even his blonde date had noticed. "Look at these heels, aren't they gorgeous?"

"Almost as gorgeous as you." Natasha replied, winking just before she drowned the rest of her drink. She winced a little at the taste.

"How many of those have you had?" you wondered, eyeing the spy. After the worst hangover of both your lives, Natasha had made you swear to never let her get that drunk again. Although with the rate she was going, you feared you had been too late.

She shrugged, taking your bottle of water. "Four. Oh, look, here comes Steve."

Before you could ditch, Steve leaned against the counter, his blue buttoned down shirt matching his blue eyes. Natasha not-so-subtly walked to the other side of the bar, motioning for Bruce to keep her company, although knowing her, she'd listen to every word.

"Rogers," you greeted coldly, looking everywhere but him. He tensed at your cold greeting, the frown looking permanently pressed on his face. "Enjoying the party?"

"Yeah."

Lie.

"Good."

You sat there for a good two minutes before he cleared his throat, shifting his weight nervously from one foot onto the other. Steve coughed in his fist. "So...living near Loki isn't too much trouble, is it? He causing any trouble, yet?"

"Sweet as an angel." you replied sarcastically, wishing you were anywhere but here. Loki caught your eye, raising a hand to wave and the group that had been brave enough to be near him, gasped in shock, the noises audible across the room. Their reactions made you chuckle.

Steve cleared his throat, this time louder. "Would you like to dance?"

"Ask your girlfriend." you fired back, satisfied by the hurt on his face. After the stunt he pulled, leading you on only to stomp of your heart, you wanted to be selfish and make him suffer just a little bit. Thankful, Loki came to your rescue.

Ignoring Steve, he held out his arm once again, a smile playing on his lips as he took in the tense situation between you and Steve. But before he could utter a single word, Sharon decided it was the perfect time to come looking for Steve. She assessed the situation, awkwardly noting Loki's presence.

"Er, hello." Sharon said, standing in false bravery. She wouldn't admit it, but she was afraid of the God of Mischief.

Loki gave her a curt nod and held out a hand to you instead, easily fitting yours in his. He murmured your name, softly kissing your knuckles. "Would you like to dance? This is the first song that came on that has not made me want to tear my ears off."

"Why, yes, I would." you agreed with a grin, moving your body close to Loki as you reached the unofficial dance floor, everyone's eyes on the both of you, with shock and slight fear. You would've cackled at their reactions—and it looked like Loki wanted to, too—if you hadn't been raised with manners. "Thank you."

Loki raised an eyebrow, surprised by the words. "For what, if I may ask?"

"Saving me back there. I don't need that kind of drama in my life. Not anymore." you explained, drinking in the warmth of his arm wrapping around your waist as you both slowly swayed to the slow song.

The raven-haired God smiled—not the smug smirk he wore, but a genuine one that Thor hadn't seen his brother wear for a few years now. "My pleasure. A lady like you deserves someone who'll give her his undivided attention. Any suitor would be lucky to have a tenth of your attention."

A coping mechanism: you rolled your eyes but you couldn't help the small smile that forced itself on you lips. You bit it back, hoping no one had noticed.

Loki had. And he meant every word he said.

By the end of the night, you found yourself naked, against the wall and legs wrapped around Loki's waist. Lips crashed against one another, soft kisses trailing down necks, leaving little love marks that would surely be dark. But at the moment, you didn't care. Not when Loki whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he took you from behind, above, underneath, and even on the side. You had both been teasing each other at the party and now you had given in, no matter the consequences.

—

Annoyed Steve had missed the date he had asked you on, you walked up to his room, heels clicking. You had waited for him for over two hours, texted him and getting no replies, leaving the restaurant with the humiliation of being stood up.

But as you neared his door, you heard crying. But it wasn't Steve. Peeking inside, you saw Sharon. Pretty, talented Sharon. Her eyes were red, tears steaming down her cheeks while Steve hugged her shoulders, resting his chin on her head as he comforted her. Jealousy and hurt knocked the breath out of you.

You waited.

And waited.

And it happened. Leaning in slowly, he kissed her. Softly, like he had kissed you. And she kissed him back, finding comfort in the kiss.

Heart breaking in two, you left, leaving the door open. The couple broke their kiss long enough to see you walk away through the slit of the door. Steve hung just head, feeling terrible. But Sharon had helped him as he had. This time, they hadn't stopped at kissing, forgetting the girl who had her heart broken by the man who claimed he would never hurt her.

Steve knew it was over between you two, but he could focus his attention on caring as much as he wanted to when Sharon kept kissing him. He did try to apologize only to learn you had went to visit Thor in Asgard, leaving him to feel sorry for himself and his decisions. Yet, he still found temporary comfort in Sharon's arms.

—

You woke to the warmth of Loki's arms around you. Opening your eyes, you found yourself tangled limbs with the God of Lies, your hair a mess, a hand over his chest and a leg over his waist. Your cheek rested on the crook of his neck, fitting perfectly as if he was made for you.

"Good morning." Loki whispered, stroking your hair with one hand, the other softly massaging your thigh. "Sleep well?"

Nuzzling into his neck, you snorted at the irony. "Don't know, considering we didn't do much sleeping."

Loki chuckled, pressing a soft kiss on your head. "Touché. It would only be fair of me to apologize for the love marks I left on your soft skin last night. Forgive me but I could not help myself."

Gasping, you jumped up, looking at the vanity mirror across your bed to find your collarbone, neck, and the top of your breast covered in Loki's hickeys. He looked rather proud of himself than sorry. "Loki!"

"Please note my apologies are genuine when they are directed towards you. Although, I have to admit, I'm quite proud of myself. It's my best art." Loki announced, bringing himself up on his elbows, eyes ravaging your naked flesh, littered with his marks.

Noticing the difference between your bodies, you quickly turned around to see the reflections had been right; Loki's body remained unmarked. "I swear to god I left hickeys and bite marks all over you last night."

"You tried but got rather mad when my skin healed itself." Loki explained, pulling you back in his warm arms. The soft gesture surprised you, the whole situation coming into light. You had slept with Thor's murderous brother. Loki read your thoughts. "Don't be like that, love. What what I can remember, you enjoyed yourself last night quite immensely. If it will make you feel better, I can show all the love bites you made the night before."

Thankful you hadn't drank anything last night, you had been so happy to not wake up with a hangover and Loki. Turning to face him, you raise an eyebrow. "What?"

With a smirk, his chest gleamed green for a second before it uncovered layers and layers of hickeys, and reddening bite marks. It was identical to yours. You gasped in shocked while Loki stared at you in amusement, his arms tightening. "You did a little bit of damage. I'm proud."

"Holy shit—" you were cut off by Thor and Steve bursting into your room, the sudden motion making you cover up your naked chest with a shriek. The two men's jaws dropped as they took in the scene, Loki's bare chest covered with the evidence from last night, his arms wrapped around you while you stared at them with wide eyes. "Knock, goddamnit!"

Both of them stood in silence, their brains not processing what was in front of them. Steve's eyes had mirrored yours from when you caught him kissing Sharon, eyes watering, you could see his heart breaking just by making eye contact. But at that moment, you couldn't find yourself to care, not with Loki's arms around you.

"What—" Thor began.

Loki smirked, kissing your bare shoulder. "Hello, brother."

next >

[shinysobi]

i came in from the outside, burnt out from the joyride

this was born out of a conversation with @akinosakiya, so all credits go to her >.<

chapter i | chapter 2 (coming soon)

Han Joon Hwi and Kang Sol, years after graduation. post-canon fix it, idiots to lovers.

ao3

a/n : i got this idea as i feverishly dm'd my friend about a solhwi prompt,,, i took it too far i think >.<

please tell me if you like it!!

a/n: title taken from Hozier's Almost (sweet music) which i recommend while reading this.

chapter 1: you and i are lovers in the dark

There has got to be another way of doing this. I can’t be doing this all my life.

“You know,” the words from Yeseul makes her look up, “you didn’t have to do this to yourself. You could have not taken the case, eonni. I told you not to take the case.”

Sol doesn’t say anything, just hangs her head in shame. The soju burns as she tips her head back, draining the last dregs of it, “I knew I shouldn’t have asked you for help. You’re being insufferable now that you’re dating Bok-gi.”

Yeseul laughs, reaching for the soda can, “eonni, I think you’re thinking about it too much.”

“I am, aren’t I?” she looks at the other girl, clearly panicked, “does it show? Oh, it shows, doesn’t it? Oh, what am I going to do—”

“Ah, noona, you shouldn’t have taken this case on, then,” Bok-gi says as he enters the room and take in the sight of a dishevelled Sol and a grinning Yeseul, “oh, Yeseul noona, I was looking all over for you!”

Sol scowls, “haven’t the two of you been dating forever? Why do you still have the honorific? And for your information, I took the case before I knew it was going to be him that I would have to go up against.”

Bok-gi looks affronted, and Yeseul comes to her boyfriend’s rescue, “ah, I like it, eonni.”

“Of course, you like it, you’re just as gone for him as he is,” she grumbles, “so, Bok-gi, Yeseul’s been telling you everything now, has she?”

“Ah, eonni, leave him out of it,” Yeseul soothes her, rubbing circles into her back, “do you want me to take the case? Instead of you—”

“The client won’t agree on it,” Sol whines, “and just when I thought I had got rid of him.”

“Rid of who?” so Bok-gi doesn’t know, Sol notes with some amount of pleasure, good. At least Yeseul didn’t tell him about the fact that—

“Oh, eonni might have to work with Joon-hwi oppa,” Yeseul chirps, looking entirely too pleased for Sol’s liking, “she’s the public defender for Joon-hwi oppa’s case.”

“The attempted murder one?” Bok-gi sounds as perplexed as Sol is, “but I thought hyung only dealt with financial cases, what happened? Didn’t you say you had some other prosecutor to deal with, noona?”

Sol groans, “apparently he’s taking criminal cases too, and the first one he chose to take was mine,” she stands up, “can’t I ever get rid of him?”

Yeseul blinks, “why did you have to get rid of him in the first place?”

Sol groans, sitting down on the chair with a thump. This was becoming a frighteningly regular occurrence, groaning at the mere mention of his name, “I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

“You sound like a sixteen-year-old right now, noona,” Bok-gi giggles, and she scowls at him. How dare they find happiness in my misery. Just because she loved them didn’t mean she would put up with everything that they did.

Liar. You’ll always put up with whatever they do.

Wait, why did that sound like him? Did he finally manage to get inside her head?

No. no, calm down, Kang Sol. Joon-Hwi is not inside your brain. Your brain is filled with statutes of law, precedents, your grocery list, the things you need to buy Byeol for her birthday—

You have too many things on your mind.

Ah, fuck.

She stands up again, taking a look at Bok-gi and Yeseul’s surprised faces, and sits back down, “never mind. It’s just him. how bad could it be? We just lost touch over the years, and I specifically made sure to not keep in touch with him after we graduated—I’m going to die, Yeseul-ah.”

“No, eonni, you won’t,” Yeseul props her up gently, pushing the bowl of bibimbap towards her, “at least eat something before you cry.”

“No, you’re right,” Bok-gi agrees, although Sol knows he’s laughing at her internally, the little shit, “it’s wrong to cry and not eat. I’ll be dehydrated.”

The food tastes bland in her mouth, although she knows she’s made it spicy, but Sol works her way through it with tears in her eyes (she passes it off as due to the spice) and promptly starts sobbing again, lamenting her crappy life.

“Eonni, the trial isn’t until next month, you have enough time to prepare,” Yeseul tries to placate her, but it only increases the volume of her groans.  A whole month spent dreading the presence of Han Joon-Hwi as she prepared for the trial. “You’ll win it, right?”

There. That was what had been bugging her. The fact that he hadn’t lost a single case since he’d become prosecutor. It isn’t like she hadn’t expected this from him, coming first in her class, but—

“Is this even fair?” she wails, “the attempted murder case doesn’t even have to have him as the prosecutor, it is going to be easy for me to win, the client was framed, and there is no evidence—”

“Noona,” Bok-gi peers at her, his eyes going wide, “you’re scared, aren’t you?”

“Ah, it isn’t like that!” she tries to defend herself. But Yeseul just stares, “fine. You caught me. I’m scared of losing to him, he hasn’t even lost a single case since he made prosecutor, he’s on his way to becoming head prosecutor in less than a decade, and I’m—I’m barely surviving as it is, so why did Attorney Geun-Tae give this case to me?”

Both Bok-gi and Yeseul look shocked, and Sol isn’t surprised. They should be. She was the one who cut off contact with Joon-Hwi after graduation, claiming he didn’t need her to weigh him down, and she was the person who did everything without a single glance backwards, so why was she being so defensive? “It’s not like I don’t want to whine all the fucking time, it’s just that—”

“Whoa, noona swears a lot when it comes to Joon-Hwi hyung, who knew.” Bok-gi says, clapping a hand over his mouth, “have you always been this way, or did this just happen after you found out that you were going up against him?”

Sol scowls, “you’ve been trying to act cute, don’t try that with me, Min Bok-gi.”

Yeseul nods at Bok-gi. Sol scowls again. Traitor.

--

The truth is, she should have known this was coming. Their field doesn’t leave much for anonymity, and even if it did, why did she think it would be so easy to avoid Joon-Hwi? The boy—sorry, man, she supposes she should give him at least that much, they were both in their thirties now—the man was everywhere, the newest rising star in the prosecution. Even her boss, the clueless Park Geun-Tae knew about it, and had requested her to work in a case against him. her, the person who barely passed her law school course at Hankuk. Who has a sister far smarter than her, better than her at all aspects, who really isn’t cut out to be in this profession, something which she’s heard all too often from everyone, and all she wants to do is yell I know, I know, she knows it all.

Which is why, when Han Joon-Hwi approached her after the graduation ceremony, a determined look on his face, she dreaded the words that would come out of his mouth, and instead chose to flee. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best decision, but Kang Sol A isn’t known for making the best decisions.

She still lives with her mother and Byeol in that same house, where Joon had once installed a CCTV camera, which Lee Man-Ho had broken with a well-aimed rock, but the camera is still there, and while Byeol is in middle school now, a big girl, who doesn’t like Sol picking her up from school every day and who is already getting into trouble with that big mouth of hers, and certainly doesn’t need protecting, the camera is still there, and every once in a while, she likes to take a look at it, sipping beer after a long day at work. It’s obviously dysfunctional, but she likes to imagine that Joon-Hwi still takes a look at the camera feed, doing whatever “top secret” things he did.

She sighs, opening the door to their home. I have work to do if I need to beat Joon-Hwi.

--

“Why was I assigned to this case?” Joon-Hwi asks, surprise evident on his face, “I usually take financial dispute cases, this is an attempted murder, and the evidence doesn’t even look solid. Why am I being given this?”

He’s speaking to the wall in his office, and his paralegals are out on break, but he feels as though he should at least vent about this to something, if not someone. He’s supposed to be a star prosecutor, someone who hasn’t lost a single case since they stepped foot into the District Prosecutor’s office. And it’s true, he hasn’t lost a single case since he began working here, spurred on by a desire to both step out from under his uncle’s shadow and to prove himself.

The cases he has handled until now, have all been financial, catching the people who use money to get their way in the world, much like Ko Hyeong-Su, people so entitled to the world that they didn’t consider the rest of them as human beings. He liked bring them down to their level. Hell, he loved it.

But his specialty is not criminal law, and that too, a case that would be difficult for him to win, given that there was very little evidence and whatever he had, would never fly in a court of law. He’s kind of pissed at Prosecutor Lee for giving him the case. No, scratch that, he is pissed at Lee for giving him the case.

Defending lawyer—

Defending lawyer, Kang Sol.

Could it be?

He turns to his computer, and contemplates for a second if he should ask the police officer about the defending counsel, but decides against it. I don’t want to seem like a fool. Which—is correct. He is a fool.

So, he calls up the person who had the case before him, Prosecutor Shin, and tries not to hide the excitement in his words when he asks, “did you meet the defence counsel when you arrested the defendant, Prosecutor?”

“She didn’t have one,” the prosecutor replies, voice scratchy, and he wonders of he did the right thing by disturbing someone who was in the hospital, “we’ve indicted her, but the defence counsel was changed at the last moment, something about the public defender dropping the case. Her new counsel is some young lawyer, although she has a lot of experience.”

A lot of experience. “A lot of experience?”

“Yes,” the voice on the other side cracks, and there’s some commotion in the background, “I remember meeting her in the courthouse once. People call her crazy, the lengths she goes to defend her clients are insane. She’s a good egg though, doesn’t take on cases that she doesn’t like.”

“Hmm, thank you, Prosecutor,” he mumbles, hanging up the phone. So that’s what you’ve been doing all this time, Kang Sol. how long has it been, four-five years? And we’ve never met once, impressive.

He’s suddenly very excited for the initial hearing, even if he knows its going to be nearly impossible to win. But at least he can see her for the first time in years, even if its on the opposite side in a court of law. At least he has that.

—

“You’re being stupid,” Jiho says without much in the way of context, but Joon knows what he’s talking about, “you had to take a case just to meet her? A case you are most likely going to lose? What kind of person does that?”

Joon-Hwi rolls his eyes. Jiho was a good man, but sometimes, he really didn’t know the reason behind things. Or to be more specific, why Joon-Hwi did some things. Still, it was understandable as to why he would behave like this. Neither of them has had any connections with each other over the past five years, missing each other by mere moments at times, and yet, he’s still enamoured by her memory, of the way she used to look at her law books and the way she used to stick her highlighters in her hair, her triumphant smile after she answered something correctly; he remembers everything, and he gets nostalgic sometimes, but such is human nature, one supposes.

“It’s been five years, hyung,” Jiho mutters, pushing the bowl of soup towards him, “isn’t it time you gave up on Sol noona?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t think you addressed anyone as noona.”

Jiho shrugs, “she’s older than me, so it’s only right. And I did work with her on a case about three—two years ago, and she’s really become good. Or is it all the experience that she has had now, working as a partner at Attorney Park Geun-Tae’s firm, which is unheard of, at her age, but she’s far more competent than him—”

He’s talking, but Joon-Hwi doesn’t register anything anymore, “you’ve worked with her? Together?”

“Hmm?” Jiho mumbles, thrown off his track, “yes, I literally just said that I did, what are you thinking about?”

“No. no, back up a little,” he insists, and Jiho’s confused expression clears when he realises what exactly is Joon-Hwi implying.

“Really? You’re jealous over the fact that I worked with Sol noona? That’s how petty you’ve become now, hyung?” Jiho rolls his eyes, and Joon has the incessant need to just—bury his face in his hands, “you could just give her a call, you know.”

He glares. Jiho nods, “guess not,” and resumes eating. He takes another look at the case file, and sets it down, proceeding to shove food into his mouth. The Japanese restaurant has good food, he does agree, but nothing beats eating too-hot ramyeon at three in the morning with your best friend after you’ve finished reviewing three lectures’ worth of notes together. Crap. He still remembers her as his best friend, even though they haven't had any contact over the past years now. Pathetic.

But self-deprecation isn’t his forte, and he shakes his head at Jiho, who’s determinedly eating, “how’s Sol B doing? Isn’t she going to be a judge?”

“She’s still practicing,” Jiho replies, “her mother wants her to be a judge, although I don’t think Sol wants to do it. She’s happy being a legal scholar. Wants to become a professor at Hankuk later on, if the constitutional law position opens up.” His face has a curiously fond look when he’s talking about her, Joon notices, or perhaps it���s a trick of the light, because Jiho straightens up, “who gave you the case, though?”

“My superior sent it to me because the prosecutor in charge had fallen ill, and had to be taken to the hospital,” Joon-Hwi replies, “it isn’t east for me to win this one, even though—”

“Even though you’ve never lost a single case?” Bok-Gi’s voice almost makes the two of them jump, and Jiho sends a well-aimed smack his way, “so you’re taking noona’s case, are you, hyung?”

Jiho snorts, “he’s losing sleep here.”

“When did I say I was losing sleep?” Joon-Hwi begins to say indignantly, but Bok-gi is still grinning as he slides in beside Jiho, “who told you that, Seo Jiho?”

Jiho doesn’t say anything, so Bok-Gi fills in for him, “hyung, you look terrible. Haven’t you been eating properly?”

Joon-Hwi squints at the other boy, how did he know I haven’t been sleeping well? Does it show on my face? Is it that bad?

“It is that bad, hyung,” Jiho pipes up, “you look like death warmed over.”

“It isn’t that bad, honestly,” Bok-gi says, and promptly shuts up under Jiho’s glare, “jeez, all right, all right, he looks bad. Very bad. Bad with a capital B.”

Joon-Hwi groans. He was supposed to have been handling another financial scam by this time, but he’s now talking to two of his classmates, preparing for a case that he was sure of losing, just to see the girl of his dreams.

Pathetic.

--

It had been two weeks since she had found out that Han Joon-Hwi was going to be the prosecutor for her newly-assigned case, and Sol already felt like she was going to drown amidst a sea of precedents, case studies, and more cases that she needed to read just once, in order to keep her client from getting a guilty verdict. She would have to work harder if she needed to beat him, and had even contemplated asking Professor Yang for help, not that the man would do anything to make her life any easier.

Instead, she settles for the next best thing, calls over Sol B and Yeseul for help, and while Sol B grumbles, Yeseul agrees enthusiastically, even offering to bring over Bok-gi for an extra pair of eyes. Not one to be outdone in anything, Sol B offered to bring over Jiho, who grumbled more than Sol B (if that was possible), but agreed to come along nevertheless, and they all sat in her tiny living room, looking as though they had lived there all their lives, and had helped her with the case, although the boys were more interested in devising ways to make Joon-Hwi lose, as Jiho put it, “noona is our best bet, and he owes me food if he loses.” No one could argue with that, honestly.

Except she feels like drowning, and the trial was only two weeks away.

Stupid Joon-Hwi. Why did he have to take my case? Why couldn’t he just remain in civil law? Why did he have to do this? Why, why, why?

She knew that she was being irrational. He didn’t have much control over the cases he was assigned to, and given the fact that the prosecutor in charge had been admitted to the hospital, she doesn’t think he had any sort of control over what cases he would be assigned to. Still.

You’re being irrational now, a voice that sounds surprisingly like Professor Yang’s pipes up in her mind, you’re being distracted right now, Kang Sol. You won’t win if you’re distracted.

Right. She turns back to her papers, trying her best to push the thoughts out of her mind.

I can’t be distracted.

—

He was distracted.

It wasn’t his fault, perhaps, but Joon-Hwi feels guilty nevertheless, especially as he stares at his two paralegals who are stuck alongside him, working into the night.

He’s been staring at the same picture for the past thirty minutes. In his mind, it qualifies as work, but what sort, he isn’t sure. It’s a picture from their graduation day, the seven of them (Seung-Jae hyung was behind the camera) and Professors Kim and Yang, Yangcrates even had a rare smile, something which he hadn’t ever imagined witnessing, at least not sober. Him with his arm around Jiho, who clearly didn’t want to be dragged into a conversation then, his attention focused on someone else. Sol B, staring straight into the camera, grinning ear to ear. Bok-gi and Ye-beom, the latter gesticulating wildly and Bok-gi just laughing at him, Yeseul with her head thrown back in laughter, and Sol—Sol was radiant, (he laughs at that, radiant, the Greek meaning fitting her like a glove, Sol, the Sun) the way she smiled at the camera, her hand held up in a peace sign. It was an imperfect picture, and he has the final, proper version hung on his living room wall, but it’s the warmest picture he has ever been in.

The trial is the next day, and he should be getting some sleep, but he finds himself staying awake even after his two paralegals have gone home, apologising profusely for leaving him alone, and then he takes out his phone, which has been blowing up with messages from Bok-gi and Jiho, asking to come out with them for dinner. He knows it’s a bad idea, that they would try and get him drunk, or worse, that he would voluntarily get drunk, and showing up hungover at the courthouse isn’t a great idea.

Except… he really wants to do so. It’s like he’s back in university again, trying to find ways to rile Kang Sol up, teasing her, to revel in the way she would get angry with him for cutting short her study times, even though she should have been in bed three hours prior. She would always look at him with that strange sort of expression in her eyes, Joon-Hwi remembers, as if she couldn’t decide whether to hit him or to just kiss him and shut him up.

His phone pings, and it’s a text from Jiho, telling him that hyung, do you want to come out for dinner? Sol’s buying.

He really shouldn’t. even if it had taken him a moment to know which Kang Sol Jiho had been talking about and even then, he couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat at the mention of her name, he shouldn’t.

Oi, Han Joon-Hwi, aren’t you a little too old and a little too responsible to be drinking before the day of an important trial?

The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Sol, not Sol B—Sol A, although he doesn’t know how anyone could confuse themselves between the two—they were as different as light and day, and the one on his mind was not the one who was offering to buy him drinks and dinner. He sighs, texting Jiho a quick apology before he heads out of the office. He needs to be alone tonight, trying to get his thoughts in order before he faced Kang Sol in the courthouse the next day.

Even though he’s sure to lose, he just might win.

--

[rouiyan]

𝘖𝘍𝘍 𝘐𝘊𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ jeno's installment of the keep your cool collective ⧐

synopsis: he likes to think it's romantic how he always finishes your sentences for you. you think it's annoying that he keeps interrupting you.

✧ ice hockey player!lee jeno x (fem.) tutor!reader ✧ college au

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slightly suggestive ✧ word count : 4.4k ✧ disclaimers : mentions of sexual activities, swearing

✧ author’s note — same universe as my puck in your goal which does not need to be read first but can be. also, hi @crownily i did it :)

let's just say jeno sucks at school and that the one thing he doesn't suck at is hockey, ice hockey. and let's just say that you're his tutor, strictly for tutoring purposes. yet, here you find yourself at his doorstep at 3:47 in the morning, or so your phone says.

he opens up to see you clad dressed down, different from the neat tee and skirt he's so used to. to be completely honest, jeno has never felt anything towards you and even he himself finds that hard to believe since you're everything he could ever ask for in a girl. pretty and cute, snappy but sweet, the most perfect curve of lips and above all, you're an intellectual. he finds it attractive but he isn't attracted to you, per se.

jeno wished he would though, especially now that he's suffering from what he called you here for in the first place: an extreme case of breakup.

one hand leaning your weight on the doorframe, the right of your shit rides up. jeno bites down on his lip, retracting his eyes to your face. "let me get this straight, you called me here, at this time of night, to get me to help you with what exactly?" so what if he thought fucking you would be a good way to keep his mind off things? too bad he didn't think any further than that. the words come to his as he speaks, "i just thought that- that...you- you would be awake at this time! because you know- you like to study…did i interrupt anything?"

donning a dreary expression, you nod in clarification, "yeah, you interrupted my studying."

"right, okay, i'll let you get back to that," he turns in haste as if to close the door behind him but you catch it with your heel, a scowl making its way across your face at what you were about to say, "forget it, jen, i'm already here. what do you need help with?" you stare into his back, his widening eyes unbeknownst to you. he turns again, now deliberate in motion, just to give him as much time to get his bearings together. lifting one shoulder in suggestion, and truthfully confusion, his voice is a pitch higher when he responds, "...studying?"

and that's how he finds himself staring into the crack between the wall and the far end of his desk, your figure hovering above him but not in the way he'd planned for, planned poorly for. jeno is on edge and frankly, he feels incredibly bad because he doesn't understand anything that comes from your mouth and the words you jot down on his paper before him all seem to collide and blur into each other. that's when he realizes he's started crying.

and that's when you're rendered speechless as the boy sits there, the little tracks running down his face wetting the paper you were teaching off of. "jeno, oh my god. fuck, you good?" you don't want to come off as prying so you avoid the whole 'why' notion but you're not that socially inept to miss that he didn't call you here at such an ungodly hour of morning just to get some unpaid tutor hours in and he certainly isn't crying because he doesn't understand shit. 

a hand of his is sifting through his hair while another rubs harshly down the side of his face. "i don't think you should- i'm just gonna go get you some tissues, i'll- i'll go get that." you turn on your heel and navigate your way from his room to the kitchen you'd passed on the way in. it's dark and you know he has roommates, you were less than willing to make your presence known. to your dismay, the kitchen was currently being occupied by a man whom you've yet to identify, being only two steps in when you stop in your tracks. 

he identifies you first, "y/n, what are you doing here?" and you pick up from the voice that it's donghyuck. your foot hits a cabinet before your eyes get a chance to adjust to the lighting, "fuck, yeah i'm here with jeno, well i'm not- not like that, we're just studying."

"just studying?" there's no way to see it but you swear the cock of his brows is apparent as it would be at day. you hum in response, fingers trying to make out the paper towel dispenser you were sure you caught a glimpse of on the way in. "so you're saying," he pulls out his phone and the light that emits from the screen is enough to guide you in the right direction before he shoves is back in his pocket. "that you booked a tutoring session with him at 4:19 a.m.?"

tearing one, then two, from the dispenser, you distractedly let a disbelieving, "yup," past your lips. hyuck scrutinizes you in the dark and his next words nearly shock you out of your skin, "is he fucking you because he just got dumped? is that why?"

you swivel at lightning speed, "he what?" hand over his mouth, donghyuck seems genuinely apologetic, though you wouldn't put it past him if he was not, "shit, you didn't know?" folding the paper towels two times over in your hands, you gingerly across the room to where the boy is seated, "i mean, i know that he didn't call me here just to study but that's legitimately what we ended up doing." he doesn't answer for awhile so you follow up with a question, "you think he wants to fuck me?"

hyuck looks you straight in the eye, "yeah, yeah i do." it hangs unsaid in the air between the two of you, but it's within both of your knowledge that jeno only wanted you here for sexual relief from his frustrations, that whatever else could be denoted by the deed was simply inapplicable for this situation. you shake your head of the thoughts, "so, what are you doing up this early?" you know that there is a weary and weeping jeno you have to get back to but you also know that your presence is somewhat unwelcome there, uncomfortable even, while he wades in his fit of tears.

hyuck replies with a heavy tone, "he gave me some things to think about too."

and you jump to conclusions all too quickly, "he wants to fuck you too?"

"god, y/n, no."

a weak laugh lining your demeanor after the last of the interaction, you reenter jeno's room to find him sprawled wide, his back to the bed. "hey," you preface as you round upon his bed, setting the paper towels on his nightstand. it seemed his tears had run their race and his eyes were now staring lethargically into the ceiling. perching yourself on the edge, you reach to place a hand atop one of his, giving two reassuring squeezes. "need anything?"

only now does jeno seem to take note of your arrival, his eyes hooded eyes flit to you for half a second before resolutely tugging you by the hand you had clasped within his. "what-" your breath is stolen from you as your back hits his chest. jeno drapes his arms across you front, "jeno, what-"

"i need a pillow, that's what i need."

you blink, trying to make sense of your thoughts, "did you ask me here to fuck you numb?" his body goes rigid underneath yours and you're right to assume that you've pinpointed the answer. "i'm right, huh?" eyeing downwards, his fingers are fiddling for you to see. after a few moments laid in bated breath, he lets weakly, "sorry about that, it's not gonna happen."

"yeah no shit," is said dulcetly despite the denotation. you feel his chuckles reverberate beneath you. "i'm really sorry, i swear i don't think of you that way." a smile upon your own face, you turn in his arms to place an expression to his voice. propping your head up on your folded arms, your arms atop his chest, you peer into his eyes sincerely. there is much that needs to be said, the reasonings behind his unexpected breakdown and the closeness you suddenly feel with still have to be addressed. but at this hour in the morning, you can't bring yourself to. 

instead you query, "should i stay the night?" he peers into your eyes with equal sincerity when he responds, "it's already early morning, you'd probably be off better sleeping here." giving a soft nod and a few moments to rearrange your thoughts, you perk up again just as he's about to fall asleep. he isn't annoyed in the slightest, rather he smiles at that, your voice, "do you have practice tomorrow?"

it's his turn to give a nod in response. "wanna come watch?" your arms move around his chest, encasing him like how he's encased you. hiding your smile in the front of his sweatshirt, your voice comes out muffled, "i'd love to but i'm a bit busy, jen. next time, maybe."

at your response, it's the first time that jeno feels, acknowledges, that his heart drops, even though it's in the slightest. there's an image of you in the stands, your textbooks in your lap and glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose. the image moves as he moves cross the rink and you look up when he passes by, eyes bright and a small smile and thumbs up in encouragement. from then on, it's that image that's plastered in his mind every time he thinks of you, that one self-conjured image. 

jeno feels his heart drop even more when he awakes to an empty bed. he finds that the text that you've sent in departure isn't nearly enough to repair his spirits, he wishes you were there instead.

practice sucks ass the next day and the day after that, he doesn't pay it any mind, knowing more than well enough how renjun whispers of the news of his breakup among the members. he doesn't hold it against him though, after all, his ex is his teammate's best friend. jeno thinks it hurts the most when his ex shows up at the next game, the one he'd invited you to when you'd crossed paths on campus a few days ago. he finds himself in a weird predicament between trying to forget about a girl and chasing after another one. he can't tell if he really likes you or if he just needs a rebound.

today, jeno decides it's the latter because he's fuming the entire game at how hyuck would send winks in her direction, how he would skate up to the edge of the rink to converse with her during their breaks. jeno hates how she's moved on all too easily and he feels and urge to prove that he can do the same. he wants to prove to himself.

he's let almost every goal in by the time the buzzer signals the end of the final round. the coach reprimands him because at this point, he might as well be from the opposing team. the helmet is off in a split second, he showers for the briefest of moments, only allowing the water to slosh across his body one time before he's patting himself dry. jeno slips the towel from his shoulder throws on a hoodie in its stead. he's out the locker room in bare minutes where he comes face to face with you. you, with the little sheepish, apologetic smile on your face. you, who'd just arrived from your shift at the local cat adoption center, late for the game but in just time for him. you, the only person he's been aching to see the whole day. but even now, he's unsure of exactly why. 

"y/n, hey," he's by your side in an instant, hesitant in his actions but words tumbling out nonetheless, "you came. late, but...you came."

you meet him in the middle, hands coming up to your aid and waving nonsensically as you speak, "i'm so sorry, my shift was extended and i forgot to tell my boss beforehan-"

"it's fine, i'm just glad you're here." he readjusts the bag onto his shoulders in a nervous fit. he barely manages to make eye contact with you and he wonders when he started to feel this way about you or, again, the desire for a rebound, his need for a taste of vengeance is willing him to act this way. jeno shrugs off the thought and fills the silence with an offer, "so do you wanna go...do something together?" 

jeno should know by now. the little sparkle that glints in your eyes and the way his stomach upturns itself in response. he should know by now how much you like him too. hyuck exits the locker rooms in that instant, he greets you in passing as he joins a girl up ahead. you turn back to jeno, momentarily distracted, only to find his gaze hardened and fixed on the girl. a sickening feeling erupts within you as you begin to piece one and one to make two. 

he turns back to you and you avoid his gaze. the shift in your countenance jolts him as much as his had jolted you. you lick your lips before looking back up at him, your own eyes guarded. he wishes he knew why. "jeno, i'm gonna have to rain check. i just- i thought of something- something came up. i have to go."

you're stalking away from him before he can even process it. he's lucky that his strides are long because he catches your wrist right before you get to the exit, "y/n," he tugs gently so that you turn to him but he's caught off guard even more when he sees the tears that have begun to form in your eyes. "why are you like this all of a sudden? what happened?"

you shake your head at him, hurriedly swallowing the sobs before you can embarrass yourself even further, "nothing, jeno. i just realized something." you stare down at his wrist expectantly but he only clutches it tighter, "then, what did you realize?"

he lets go of your wrist now and you feel like your heart couldn't get any heavier as you answer, "i realized that i'm just a fill-in until you get over her." jeno sucks in a breath as he watched the words leave your mouth, as he watches you turn and leave, and he hears more tears bubble from your frame, the sounds receding the farther you walk from him. for some reason, it's only when you tell him so that he understands that he feels the exact opposite.

it's only when you shove it in his face, your own face scrunched up in tears, that he's only going after you as a rebound, when he sees his feelings for what they really are. honest, jeno finds it hard to believe that he's never felt anything towards you since you're everything he could ever ask for in a girl. pretty and cute, snappy but sweet, the most perfect curve of lips and above all, you're an intellectual. he finds it attractive, he finds you attractive. fuck it, he likes you.

fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, your next tutoring session was scheduled for just a few days after, just enough time for him to get his act together and enough for you to cool your head enough sift through the thirty or so voice mails he'd left you. most of them seem to contain the same rueful, repentant tone, though a few seem to be displaying his slow spiral into self-deprecation. you're pretty sure the last is a mistake, a butt dial maybe.

jeno's not proficient with the knife, definitely not with how he's cutting the pears right now. he thinks he would've been better off bringing bananas but that would've seemed too insincere, wouldn't it? his thoughts are jumbling and sludging against one another when a finger of his slips and the fine edge of the knife is pressed on a knuckle. "fuck," he swears, his other hand already reaching over to the sink to run the cut under cold water. the sting is piercing and he looks away from the cut to the clock overhead. "double fuck," he mutters this time. the last thing he needs right now is you thinking that he stood you up. 

with steadfast athleticism, he finishes off the last of the pears with one hand. he's sure you'd laugh at the whole debacle if you were there though he's thankful you're not. jeno faces the fear that he sucks at everything except ice hockey, and he's barely getting by these days. he only ever feels confident on the rink with his stick in hand, crouched low so his eyes were level with the ice. he's never felt that much control over anything else, much less confessing to a girl and trying, somehow, to show that she was of much more worth than what he'd made it seem like. 

the library is a ten minute walk from his house, a three minute sprint. yes, he had sprinted. 

he knows for a fact that pears were the right way to go when you let the tiniest of smiles adorn your face at the sight of him setting the tupperware in front of you. you check your expression back into taut impassivity before he can indulge in his victory any longer. he knows you're not half as mad as you present yourself to be but that doesn't mean he'd take his mistakes lightly and go about this sleazily. jeno needs your trust. 

you resist the urge to reach over and flip over the hair that stood upright on the wrong side of his head. reverting your eyes onto the computer screen before you, "let's get started." not a half hour into your session, you're spaced out, eyes zoned onto the way jeno spins his pen between his fingers. maybe it's the lack of sleep that's getting to you.

"y/n? you good?"

you swallow thickly, removing your gaze from his hands, from him, from his paper, from anything that has to do with him. you notice how your chair has inched closer to his, or his to yours, you notice the finger-wide distance between you and him. shivers are sent down your spine. "let's take a break, is that fine?" jeno, from beside you, yawns and for a brief second you think he's about to pull the stretch and hand around shoulder trick. you blush unknowingly. 

jeno speaks before you can ask to resume the session, "can i say something?"

"is it work related?" you give your best efforts at keeping your voice level and head turned somewhat in his direction. in your peripheries, he cocks his head to the right, "...no, but we're on break." almost letting a huff escape your complexion, you relent, "fine then, shoot," figuring he would say it anyways.

"i want you to come to our next game."

you're lucky you had the whole scenario thought through, at least something can be harvested from your late nights spent tossing and turning, "i don't think i can-"

"y/n, i haven't even told you when."

"okay fine," you wrinkle your nose in distaste and hand out the truth for him to see, or hear, "i just don't want to." jeno is doing his best, he really is, but he knows that you've heard all that he has to say, if not once, then twenty-nine times over. the last one was a mistake. "did you get my voicemails?"

sighing, you chance a glance at him to see that he isn't the slightest bit annoyed, face drawn into a frown of sorts. you'll never admit that even just the sight could soften your set mindset. consideration replays in your irises when you answer the yes or no question with a decisive nod.

"then i'm sure you understand why i want you to come."

jeno lets you drive him home that day, he'd be the last to complain. the ride is silent from start to finish until right when he's about to close the passenger door, the car parked in front of his shared house. an, "i'll think about it," is what he's left to brew over for the next week or so as he stares that the text, read and unreplied, that he'd sent to remind you of the day and time of the game. he's anxious but it's only to that extent.

it's becoming more and more evident that jeno is loosing his touch on ice. he hates that the only thing he can attribute it to is his dwindling love life. he finds that the enforcer is atypically rough today but he's glad that his role at the goal requires the least interaction and footwork. he'd promised his coach that he would be more wary of his surroundings but he can't help the occasional glance at the rink entrance every once in awhile. what he doesn't understand is that his definition of 'once in awhile' marks at around every thirty seconds.

the last round is the most painful, undoubtedly, because it's as if his defeat is being dragged on and on, as if the giant timer above the rink is ticking to the heartbeat of a dead man. 

jeno can is aware that he's breathing. he's aware but he has to double check when the entrance doors open for the last time that game and you've arrived. you're standing by the doorway, apprehensive, but jeno can't get it past his head that you've arrived, that you're here. he'd have gotten decked in the face had you not motioned your head in the direction of the fast approaching puck and the burly man behind it.

he blocks the shot and every shot after. there's no need to wonder why.

the buzzer rings in his head so quick that he thinks time runs on his emotions rather than the clock. his helmet is often in seconds and he's making his way at supersonic speeds to the part of the rail where you're stood. the glass fogs with his breath as he tries to get his words across. 'i'll be quick,' he mouths. 

you count two minutes until he's off ice. jeno hasn't bothered to shower, he lacks the patience for it. he sits you down on the lowest of the bleachers, closest to the rink. standing over you, he finds that he has so much to say, so many things he wants to let you know, all the feelings he's ever bottled up for the girl so obviously made for him.

he's never had much of a way with words but he thinks that the romance movies hyuck's made him watch over the years give a pretty good overview of what to say in situations like these, "i'd cross the world for you." you snort back at him, nose crinkling in distaste at his choice of words and poking fun at him with your own, "rink, jeno. you mean you'd cross the rink for me."

"y/n, i'm tryna do something here," he whines, the pout on display mimicking his displeased but light-hearted implications. you're equally as amused, "oh yeah? what are you tryna do?"

"i'm tryna," he takes your two arms in his and wraps them around his middle. you instinctively fist the fabric of his blue jersey at the back, "jeno, what are you-" you stop when a hand of his own comes to trace the lines of your face softly. maybe he can't find the words but surely he could show you. if he could just…"you keep interrupting me, jeno."

drawn from his resolution, he's snappy when he retorts, "i think as your boyfriend i ought to have that privilege."

"boyfriend? since when did you-"

"i just did," he revels in the idea that you think him to be smooth with words when in reality the 'boyfriend' was a slip up, a mirror of his daydreams. he's over the moon that it worked out in his favor. while he fixates on just how much he feels for you, you're playfully annoyed at a whole other, "stop fucking interrupting me, jen-"

"i love you."

you blink up at him. well shit. a lot of things are happening and you lack the brain cells to process them. there's only one thing you can think to do, only one think that you're thinking about, have been thinking about, will still be thinking about. 

he may be the one to steal words right from your mouth but beyond that he's oblivious, you think. the smile still plays on his lips when he follows up, "is it okay to interrupt you if i say something like tha-"

you press a smile of your own onto his lips, cutting his words effectively. a hand of yours moves up to the curve of his neck to bring him down further, the angle at which he is kissing giving him all the advantage he needs to deepen it. when you part, you aren't surprised to see how half your body is leaning on the row of seats behind you and that jeno's entire body is sprawled on yours, supported by a knee on one side of you. 

you like your lips as you feel his breath hot on yours. "how's it feel now?"

shaking his head, jeno presses his temple to yours so that the only thing you can see is him, just him. "interrupt me any day, will you?"

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — wrote this up in approx. three hours. lee jeno is so rude for interrupting all my other wips (that are also mostly for him). i hope you enjoyed because i did, i freaking love writing for him <3

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

Though winds of change are blowing wild and free - Part 3

Final part of this one. Don't panic, there's another instalment to the series coming soon where it'll all hopefully be sorted out.

I'm playing very fast and loose with the law here so basically nothing is true to life...just go with it.

(AO3 link)

Day 253

It’s a boiling hot day when they think their luck has run out. Aaron’s bent over a car, swearing under his breath and Robert’s filling in some paperwork for one he’s just finished as well as admiring his husband hard at work when he sees it.

“Aaron.” He’s whispering although there’s no one else around except the boss who’s in the office upstairs. Aaron looks up straight away, probably because he called him by his actual name. They use the names on the passports they’ve got here, but in his fright he’d slipped up.

“What?” He nods to the two policeman up the road who are heading their way. “Shit.”

“What do we do?” He knows the odds are tiny that they’re here for him but he can’t take the chance. He wants to laugh hysterically. It’s been so long they’d almost forgotten and now the reminder is right in front of them.

“You go out the back, just as if you were on a break.” He’s making a show of handing him a car part as if they’re just chatting even though his eyes haven’t left them. “Don’t go home, just in case. Go down to the rock, where we went last week, near the river. I’ll come find you.”

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t want to leave him here on his own, feels a bit cowardly to just go, but then Aaron’s nudging him.

“Yeah. Go on. It’s probably nothing but…Go.”

He thinks he makes it look casual enough, slipping out of the back door checking around before he breaks into a run towards the river.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the little crop of rocks they’d discovered on a walk the week before. It was a good place to sit and they’d enjoyed the peace, as well as the shade from the unrelenting sun. Now he couldn’t relax, eyes darting everywhere.

Ever since his wobble a few months before they’ve been doing so much better, trying to act less like fugitives by hiding out in the cottage all the time, trying to get out and explore the area without drawing too much attention to themselves. Maybe they hadn’t been successful enough and someone had recognised him. He’d grown his hair a little, it was more like when he’d returned to Emmerdale now, although Aaron insisted it was styled a lot better than it had been back then. As Robert had told him it couldn’t have been that bad if he’d fancied him could it. He’d even considered growing a beard but the peals of laughter Aaron had gone into had put him off that idea. Maybe the hair wasn’t enough, maybe one of the tourists that seemed to fill the pretty little village had recognised him.

He’s worked himself up into a proper panic when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

It feels like an absolute age before he turns, slumping back on himself seeing it's Aaron. Still he checks for police, can't quite get his heart to stop thumping. It feels as though it's louder than the river rushing by.

"It's ok. They were looking for stolen cars," He shakes his head, sure he heard wrong. "It's ok, you're fine." Aaron's rubbing his back, holding him close and finally he's breathing slower, doesn't feel like he's about to pass out any longer.

"Stolen cars?"

"Yeah. That's all."

It starts all of a sudden, he doesn't know why but he's laughing, he's laughing so hard he falls back on the rock he's sat on, pulling Aaron with him kissing him like there's no tomorrow.

"I thought...thought that was it.”

"Me too." He sits up looking down at him. "I called Cain when they'd gone, thought I'd see if anything had happened."

"And?" They'd stayed out of contact since Aaron had got no reply from his Mum at Christmas, partly on purpose, partly because they didn't miss home so much if they kept out of touch.

"He didn't say much, but he reckons something is up, some copper hanging round Harriet. I don't think it's about us, he would've said, but it was weird."

"Cain is weird."

"Shut up!"

"So, what now? Back to work?"

"Got the rest of the day off. Told Paul you were ill. So we can do what we want."

"Just stay here a minute." Aaron settles back down in his arms. "You were so calm. I would've...no I did panic. If one day we as have to run I don't know if I'll be any use at all.”

"Yes you will. Ever wonder where your sweater is. The red one? Or your old jeans."

"Uh....Yeah."

"There's a bag n the car. With some of our stuff. Just in case…Just in case our luck ever runs out."

“You think it will?'

"Sometimes. But then I just remember that we've already had more time than we would've had if we'd stayed."

"Yeah."

"We've made it this far...no reason we won't keep making it."

"When did you become so calm?"

“Honestly? Getting out of the village feels like there’s a weight off me. I realise now I spent too much time worrying about other people, what they think or trying to be there for everyone. I miss them, but the obvious aside I’m really enjoying it just being us.”

“It’s not just me then? We seemed to spend so much time fighting over really stupid stuff, or getting dragged into Dingle family meetings over something that had nothing to do with us. Here it’s just you and me. The only thing I’d change is Seb being here.” He feels Aaron’s nod more than sees it. He’s been on the verge of calling Rebecca a few times since they’ve been here just to ask how he is or speak to him, but he’s always stopped himself. It’s too risky. However much it hurts they can’t see him. Really it’s the only thing he regrets about leaving. Once upon a time he would’ve hated himself for dragging Aaron from his family, and maybe he does a little, but their actions and the change in Aaron now they’re out from under the gaze makes it all worth it.

Day 365

Aaron’s on his way back from his daily run when he sees a strange car pull into the small drive at the front of the cottage. He couldn’t make out the driver from the distance and he speeds up the last few metres to see who it could be. They don’t know anyone here except the next door neighbours who welcomed them when they first moved in and since have kept to the odd wave here and there, and their boss and he knows it’s not him because he just passed the garage.

They’d made it a year. Some days he couldn’t quite believe they’d done it. Not just that, they’d made a life for themselves here. Oh they might keep themselves to themselves still but they had made the most of their time together and he could honestly say it had been the best year of their life together. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if it was about to end.

He just stands there as they start getting out of the car, hand on his phone in his pocket ready to call Robert or do something if he needs to, but with a sigh of relief he recognises the first person out of the car. Cain. Followed by Victoria. The third person is someone he doesn’t recognise but he knows Cain wouldn’t lead them into trouble.

He watches for a minute, as they stare at the cottage. He guesses Robert’s not indoors else he’d be outside already. He usually watches for him to come back from his run, old habits dying hard even here.

“Not today thank you.” He speaks when he’s not far from them, enjoying the way Vic jumps in surprise. She looks great though, she’s grown out her hair again and it’s back to being blonde. He’s still curious as to why they’re here and who this stranger is but he just enjoys the hug she’s giving him. He realises he’s missed her more than he’d thought. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is it Mum?”

“Fancied a little break, nothing’s wrong, and your Mother doesn’t know we’re here.” Cain answers for her. “We need to talk."

“Right, and who’s this?”

“This is Ethan. He’s a friend. Is Robert here?”

“Somewhere.” He’s still a little on edge, he’s not planning on letting them near Robert until he’s warned him though. “I’ll find him. You lot stay out here until I call ya.”

“Aaron, come on.” He hasn’t missed that little whine Vic gets in her voice when she’s not getting her own way. Robert has the same one but it’s a lot more endearing in him.

“No. I’m not ambushing him like this, so you can just wait five damn minutes Vic.”

“There’s someone else you should see before you do.” Cain’s leaning in the car as he speaks and when he backs out Aaron feels as if he’s been punched in the gut, because in his arms is Seb. Older and a lot bigger but it’s his cheeky little monkey, and he’s here, in front of him. “Like I said, we need to talk.”

“Right, in that case you definitely need to stay here until I’ve spoken to Robert.” He glares at them all as he passes, only stopping to brush a hand through a sleeping Seb’s hair.

He lets himself in the door, turning to check they’re staying where he’s told them before going looking for Robert. He’s nowhere to be found until he looks out of the kitchen window and he sees him out in the back garden. He rolls his eyes fondly. One of the first things he’d done when the house had been decorated was set about a veg patch. It hadn’t really come to much this first year but he’d lovingly tended it and if the only edible thing they’d managed to grow was carrots he didn’t care.

“You do know it’s freezing out here don’t you?”

“Just tidying, that’s all. Were you talking to someone?” He straightens up, wiping the dirt off his hands.

“Er, yeah. There are some people here.” He sees the panic and kicks himself, “No it’s fine. It’s Cain, and Vic as well as an Ethan who I don’t know but clearly they do.”

“Where are they?”

“Told ‘em to stay outside until I’d spoken to you.” He shrugs and Robert just grins at him.

“Well that’s kind of rude.”

He shrugs again, he wasn’t thinking of them when he’d said it. “I wasn’t letting them in until I checked with you. There’s one other thing…they’ve got Seb with them.”

“What?” That stops Robert in his tracks and he looks a mix of excited and apprehensive. “Bring them in. I’m fine…really.”

He needs a shower from his run but it’ll have to wait. Whatever they have to say is obviously big, otherwise Cain wouldn’t have come all this way. He was the only one other than his Mum that had a way to contact them.

After they’re inside he can’t help giving them all a warning look, because he might be on edge but he can tell that Robert’s on the verge of panic, the unknown reason for the visit and why they’ve brought Seb making it all worse.

Robert doesn’t even speak, he just lifts a now awake Seb out of his sister’s arms, holding him close, whispering something the rest of them can’t hear. Suddenly all he wants is to be just the three of them.

“Cain, kitchen’s through there, how about you make a cuppa.” He stares his uncle down until he moves, ushering Vic and Ethan out of the room. Nothing is going to be explained while Robert’s still enraptured with Seb and they don’t need them for that.

“He called me Dada, Aaron.” He’s in awe and Aaron wants to cry because he shouldn’t be, he shouldn’t have to be happy that his son remembers him. “He remembers.”

“Course he does. Hey mate, what about me, remember me?” He gets a sleepy nod and arms reaching out for a cuddle and he takes him, holding him close like Robert had. He weighs so much more in his arms now, but it’s a reassuring weight and he doesn’t want to let him go. “There we are. So, first trip to France bug, how was it hmm? Did you give Uncle Cain hell? I hope so.”

“What do you think they want?” He shrugs, part of him doesn’t want to find out. It feels like their well constructed bubble has just been burst and he’s afraid of what’s next.

“Only one way to find out. Here, take him back, I’m all sweaty.”

“Go shower.” He raises his eyebrows at him. “What? I’m not above making them wait. Besides I’ve got a year of cuddles to make up for.”

“Fine. I won’t be long.”

He takes the quickest shower possible, feeling much better after and then they’re all sat around their kitchen table. It’s a bit of a squeeze but he’s sat right next to Robert, one as a united front, the other so he’s close to Seb.

“Right, what’s all this about? You’ve come here with no warning, with a perfect stranger, so it better be for a damn good reason.”

“Can’t we just want to see you?” Vic asks, looking put out at his bluntness.

“You, yeah. But Cain knows better.”

“There’ve been some things happening that…” This Ethan starts speaking but Aaron just holds his hand up.

“I don’t even know you are.”

“Do you always have to be so rude Aaron? We’re here to help you if you’d just listen.”

“Vic, pack it in. We’ve spent the last year looking at every stranger twice just in case so you just turning up with someone we don’t know is a good enough reason to be a little rude.” Robert shifts Seb on his lap so he can grab Aaron’s hand, holding on tight, grounding the both of them.

“He’s a solicitor. He’s been working on your case.” Cain takes over, and Aaron can see he’s fed up with all the drama and it makes him want to laugh. “There’ve been some…developments in your case.”

“What kind of developments? He died. That’s pretty hard to change.”

“Just tell us what’s changed, get to the point, the details can come later.”

“Right. Well, Harriet’s been involved with this DI, and he’s turned out to be corrupt.”

“And?”

“Seems like he knows he’s in trouble and he’s taking everyone else down with him, including DS Wise.” Aaron just sits there stunned. As much as he’d come to blame him for Robert’s predicament, he wouldn’t for one minute have thought he’d be corrupt. “Which is in turn putting various convictions in doubt.”

“Including yours Rob.” Vic’s sitting forward all eager, expression changing when Robert doesn’t immediately appear happy. “You can come home.”

[lovelivingmydreams]

A might have been part 3

@Rondoe well, I wouldn’t dare make you wait. Here’s the next installment of my @kingcreativityau au. Hope you all like it. And no I’m not don yet.

Part 1

Part 2

Growing together

And now everyone was looking at him curiously. Why did he have to open his mouth?

It was somewhere in middle school when Prince came with an announcement.

“We should have names!”

Everyone looked up at that. “What do you mean kiddo? We have names,” Morality wondered.

“No. We have titles. I mean real names!” Prince insisted.

A few moments passed by. “That sounds good actually,” Fear muttered softly. Middle school was hard on him. There was so much to worry about and so many expectations. And now mother had scheduled an appointment with a doctor to address the worries Thomas was having.

He tried to handle them. But lately there were always some creatures following him around and he didn’t always have the energy to deal with them head on.

“I mean… I just… Well…” How to explain?

“It would be beneficial to differentiate between the side and their job,” Logic voiced.

Fear nodded. Relieved someone else thought so too. He hated telling the twins ‘No’. Especially Prince, who always took it personal. The thing was, he thought most of their ideas sounded great. But he also felt he needed to contain them a bit for Thomas’ sake.

And every time he did, he felt like he might as well have punched them.

He hadn’t expected Logic to be the one to understand that and put it into words so well.

“Exactly! I even already thought of one for me!” Prince grinned proudly.

“From now on, you may call me Prince Roman!” he declared.

“Oooh! Then I wanna be Remus!” Duke, or Remus jumped in.

“Oh, this sounds fun! Let’s all meet up tonight and go around reintroducing ourselves alright?”

Everyone nodded and went on with their activities of the day while thinking about names.

When the evening came they all sat in a circle.

“I’ll start!” Morality suggested cheerily. “Logic helped me pick this one out,” he explained with a warm smile to the studious side who merely nodded in acknowledgement.

“You all know me as Morality. And I’ll always try and make sure Thomas is a good person and that you all are looked after. I might sometimes have to put my foot down for that, but I want you to know that I don’t love you any less when I do that than when I go along with your ideas.

Call me Patton, of dad if you want,” he explained with a wave.

Then he grinned widely. “It’s funny, you see, because it’s like Paternal, which means fatherly, and Pathos which is about arguments driven by emotion. It’s a pun!” he giggled. Everyone smiled at that. Morality… Patton, loved his puns.

“Now you go Logic!” he suggested.

Logic nodded and adjusted his glasses. “You know me as Logic. I will always strive for efficiency and intelligent decisions. But… I suppose I quite enjoy some of all of your ‘zanier’ antics and while I might try to put a stop to them in pursuit of my purpose, that does not mean I don’t appreciate your company. Call me Logan… Or if you must, Teacher,” he allowed the last bit with a nod to Roman who had been calling him that on and off since the twins formed. The prince beamed at Logan’s official acceptance of that nickname.

“Logan is not only similar to my title, but it also refers to Logos, arguments based on reason.”

Patton clapped his hands in excitement.

“You wanna officially introduce yourselves too kiddo’s?” he asked the twins.

Roman nodded eagerly. “You know me as the Prince! Thomas’ honor, dreams and creative exploits are my top priority. I may get carried away by that sometimes. Therefore I want you to know, that even when I don’t act like it, I know that you all care for me, and I care for you in return.” Fear might be imagining it, but he felt like that was added for his benefit. It was a relief though. He was really starting to worry he was making his closest friends hate him.

Please call me Roman,” Prince bowed. “It refers to the great Roman Empire and Romance! The most epic of adventures!” he explained proudly.

“I am the Duke! And I just want to have a good time. I like you guys though! Even if you’re boring sometimes. Call me Remus!”

Everyone chuckles. If Remus had wanted to shock them, he would’ve joined in the mushy reintroduction theme. But he was being his classical self.

Though now that Fear thought about it… Had Remus put more thought in his name than just that it related to Roman’s? Should they talk about this?

“Alright! Just two more! Fear? Do you want to go next?” Morality asked kindly.

Fear snapped out of his miniature crisis.

“Um… Okay…” he sighed, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “I’m fear,” for now. “And I’ll worry a lot. And I’ll second guess whether we should do anything a lot. Even when I get my way, I’ll wonder if that was the right thing. But, I just want everyone to be safe. I… You can call me Virgil.”

Everyone smiled at him. “I see. It’s a play on ‘Vigilant’ and a reference to the Roman poet of the same name. Thomas researched him recently for a school project,” Logan deduced.

“Um… Yeah. He sounded pretty cool,” Virgil admitted, feeling a bit better now that that part was over.

“It’s a great name Virgil,” Patton assured him.

“Indeed! A wonderful fit!” Roman agreed. Virgil smiled and relaxed. He’d been worried they’d think it was weird.

Then everyone turned to Deceit.

“I’m not telling,” he smirked deviously.

“Come on!” Roman complained.

“Even if I did. How are you so sure I’d be telling the truth?” he asked coyly as he studied his nails.

Virgil rolled his eyes. Dee and his dramatics. But, Virgil had promised Dee that he would have his back.

“If he isn’t ready to tell us then that’s fine. Right?” he spoke up.

The others exchanged glances. “I suppose,” Roman groaned reluctantly. Not a fan of not being in on secrets.

“Virgil has a good point. Deceit can tell us whenever he feels ready,” Patton agreed.

Everyone left it at that and went back to work.

Then the dreaded doctor’s visit came. Everyone was sitting listening tensely as the doctor explained things to mother.

Virgil was curled up in the middle, flanked by Roman and Patton. Remus was standing with Deceit and Logan a few steps back.

Anxiety. Virgil was now officially, Anxiety. He hated it.

Roman had one arm around his shoulders and squeezed it. “It’s not so bad…” he tried.

“Thomas is going to hate me,” Virgil stated. Of course he would. Fear was bad enough, but Anxiety?

Roman frowned. “No he won’t!” he insisted. And then Thomas spoke up.

“So… It’s like having a very protective friend in my head?” he asked nervously.

Virgil’s head shot up. What… How?

“Roman! That’s so sweet!” Patton smiled proudly.

Virgil blinked up at Roman while the doctor chuckled and agreed that that was a good way to look at it.

“Your… Friend, can be overly cautious though. And sometimes he will make you think things are worse than they are. He may assume bad things will happen when there is no reason to think that. And sometimes he might think you are in real danger when you are not. So it is important to learn how to work with him. Ready to help your anxiety out Thomas?”

Thomas nodded and Virgil felt like he could cry.

“Thanks Ro…” he smiled.

“Of course V. I wasn’t going to let some doctor talk badly about my best friend,” he stated firmly.

Virgil relaxed a little and Thomas followed suit.

Things didn’t exactly suddenly go over roses now that Thomas was aware of Virgil’s intentions.

And Virgil was not rid of his old demons.

“Hey,” he muttered as he approached the twins in the dream room. A stress bunny jumping around his feet.

“Virgil… There is something right… There,” Roman pointed out, gesturing to the bunny.

“I know… I can’t get it to go away,” Virgil sighed tiredly as he sat down and curled up on himself.

“… Why not?” Remus wondered. Virgil always made the doubts go away somehow.

“Because this one is my own thoughts, not Thomas’.” Virgil explained.

“Can we help?” Roman offered, hating to see his friend suffer.

“Can…” Virgil’s eyes filled with tears. “Can you promise you won’t leave?” he sobbed. The thought had been plaguing him on and off for ages, and now it just would not go away.

Remus and Roman sat themselves down, flanking Virgil’s shaking frame.

“Why would you think that?” Roman asked perplexed.

“He did. I… I didn’t protect him right and he left!” he sobbed. The twins looked at each other shocked. They knew who he was talking about. King.

They remembered how broken Virgil had been when they formed. They’d felt bad for being the reason he was hurting.

“Well, we aren’t going anywhere. Teasing you is way too much fun!” Remus cackled a little uncomfortable with the looming shadow of their previous form hanging over their heads.

“Indeed! I would be a rather sorry excuse for a prince if I left my most trusted knight behind wouldn’t I?”

Virgil looked up at them. He wanted to believe them so badly.

“Promise?” he insisted.

“Hope to die, stick my but full of cacti!” Remus nodded as he crossed his heart, making Virgil chuckle lightly.

“I solemnly swear that I shall not permit myself to leave your side in any permanent manner,” Roman vowed.

Virgil took in a deep breath and saw the bunny dissolve, it was enough…

It really wasn’t.

“Why not?” Roman demanded.

“Because people will be staring and when we mess up everyone will laugh at us!” Virgil replied.

“Why are you suddenly like this!? You used to love my ideas?” the prince wondered. Virgil was too worked up to notice the way his voice broke and the silent plea in his eye. He would realize all this later though, when all he could do about it was berate himself for it for months to come.

“I’ve always been like this Roman! I’m trying to keep us safe! You used to not be covered in bruises all the time from the other kids being mean to Thomas!” he countered indicating the fresh mark on the Prince’s cheek.

Roman flinched away and covered the mark self-consciously. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not as perfect as I used to be! I’m trying!”

That shut Virgil up. “Princey… I’m sorry, I never meant to make you feel like you did something wrong,” he whispered.

Roman was fighting to hold back tears now. He couldn’t cry. Heroes don’t cry.

“You say that but, you haven’t really hung out with us for weeks. You are always of chasing shadows and when you aren’t… Is it me? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry I’m not him. I’m working so hard to be like him though. I just, don’t know how he kept you happy,” Roman confessed, not looking at Virgil, playing with the edge of his shirt instead.

“Roman, I never wanted you or Remus to be him. And I was different back then too. Dealing with me was easier back then. K-” Suddenly Virgil felt his hand clasp in front of his mouth. What…? Deceit.

Virgil frowned and managed to release his hold of his mouth.

“Give me a second Ro. I’ll be right back. We can talk about this while watching a movie or something okay? And… We’ll see about trying out later. Maybe I was… doing those negative thinking things the doctor told us about,” Virgil allowed. Roman looked up at him with a shaky smile.

“Really? You’ll hear me out?” he asked.

“Really. I shouldn’t have shut you down like that,” Virgil acknowledged. He did that sometimes. Let his job overtake his own judgement. The thoughts were just so hard to ignore sometimes.

Now however he had a snake to deal with.

“Janus!” Virgil growled when he got to the willow. He and Remus were told Jan’s name a while ago.

Why them and not the rest neither knew but they kept the secret.

“What is it Virgil?” Janus drawled as he got up from his spot in the grass.

“Why did you make K… Him taboo?” Virgil growled. He could understand Janus’ position on most things. Though they rarely agreed. Virgil had supported the others in the decision to stay true to Thomas’ true self as opposed to pretending so they could fit in. He wasn’t sure if he liked the consequences of this decision, but the alternative had filled him with even more dread. He could not let Thomas put himself in a situation where every action actually had to be second guessed in order to keep up the act.

Janus had understood his position too and there were no hard feelings.

But this… This was a bit too far.

“No use in dwelling on the past Virgil. Surely you see that? The taboo has been in place for years and you only now noticed?” Janus pointed out.

“Because no one else was talking about him! Do you know how often I hid away to mourn him on my own because I thought no one cared!?” Virgil demanded. Janus was a bit taken aback by this and even looked a little guilty. He had resented Patton for using Virgil’s grief to get closer to him, but was making King a taboo really necessary? Had it been right to deny Virgil the ability to talk through his grief?

“That’s not important though. Roman is asking about him and I don’t care if you hated him. Roman needs…”

Suddenly Virgil was shoved against the tree, a hand on his throat.

“How dare you? How dare you say that I hated him!?” Janus growled. “You know nothing!”

“Wha… What am I supposed to think?” Virgil gasped. “With how you always hid from him. What he did to you. And how you treated the twins at first,” he explained as he tried to break free from the grasp. “You never told me anything. No one did. Not even him!”

Then the grip was gone and Virgil fell to his knees. Coughing something fierce.

“I’m sorry. You are right,” Janus admitted, trying to collect himself again. He shouldn’t let it get to him. It’s been years.

“But the past is in the past. There is no use upsetting anyone by bringing it up,” Janus decided. “Roman thinks he’s falling short. I need to talk about Him to explain that he isn’t!” Virgil insisted.

Janus was silent for a moment. “Fine. You have an hour.” Janus allowed.

Virgil didn’t waste a moment and hurried to Roman’s room where he found everything set up for movie night.

“Are you sure you have time for a movie? We can do this some other day or…” Roman wondered, playing with his sash nervously.

Virgil rarely saw Roman so insecure. Only when they were alone together. Was it ecause he was anxiety? Did he somehow affect the others the way his corner of the mind would?

Or maybe, maybe Roman just let down his guard around him. Remus had that with Jan, Virgil could tell the chaotic side went to the willow when he was feeling down and he was always in better spirits when he returned. It was a relief to know that Remus had someone to rely on when Virgil couldn’t be there.

King used to sometimes show him a brief glimpse into his fears and insecurities, but that was it. Virgil couldn’t recall a single time he actually admitted to those things out loud. He might’ve that day. But not to him.

Virgil didn’t know why Roman would turn to him of all sides if that was what this was, but he would do his best to be there for him regardless.

“I’m never sure. But I made a decision. Let’s do this,” Virgil said as he sat down next to Roman who started the movie. Virgil didn’t even register which one it was. Just that it had the Disney theme music at the start.

“King was my first friend,” he started.

“He was… larger than life. Always seemed to know just what to do, though he was winging it most of the time. Making a plan was not his strong suit,” he recalled fondly.

“He messed up a lot actually, though I didn’t always see it like that at the time.

He had a very hard time listening to others. Pat and Logan had the hardest time getting through to him. He would take time to listen to me, but mostly to put my worries at ease. Sometimes that would lead to an idea and he’d be off creating something. I remember chasing after him a lot.

He struggled giving other’s credit for their work at times, though he tried, he just always had to work in a complement for himself as well. And you would never catch him admitting he had flaws.

I cared about him. More than I ever got to tell him. But he wasn’t perfect Ro. And that was fine by me,” he explained. Roman was listening with wide eyes to this story, the most he’d ever heard anyone say of his and Remus’ original form. This was the most he’d heard Virgil say in one go to be honest.

“Was he handsome?” he then asked.

Virgil laughed at that. “Really? That’s what you want to know?”

Roman’s firm nod made Virgil roll his eyes. “I guess,” he shrugged. “Not as handsome as you though,” he assured the prince. Roman chuckled and punched Virgil’s shoulder. “Stop it! You’ll make me blush!”

They laughed together a bit and then Virgil got serious again.

“My happiness didn’t fall solely on him though. Pat and Lo were there for me too. Even Dee helped out a few times though we only really got close after… Anyway. It wasn’t his job to make me happy, and it isn’t yours. We do this stuff together, all of us. Right?”

Roman nodded. Right. The six of them together. It was hard to remember that he could rely on them sometimes. He was a Prince. Wasn’t he supposed to be able to fix things on his own? To protect them?

But Virgil doesn’t lie… So maybe he could try to allow himself to need the others…

Then Virgil sighed. “IF, we try out, we have to be super prepared. I don’t want to hear you complain about having to practice our audition song over and over. Got it?”

Roman’s face lit up at that. “You mean it?” he asked.

“IF,” Virgil repeated. “We have to talk about it with the others first. This’ll affect all of us,” Virgil warned. “And only if you promise.”

Roman nodded. “I promise! Let’s go tell the rest now!” And just like that the movie was abandoned in favor of rushing to meet the others in the front of the mind.

Needless to say Thomas got cast and while it all was a lot of hard work, Thomas never felt so at home as in the theater.

[doorsclosingslowly]

This Is the Time of Our Great Undoing

“Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?” Jesper whispers, more to distract Inej from what’s on the screen than anything else, but still—the idea won’t leave Kaz alone.

5.8k | modern AU | Kaz[/&]Jesper, part of a polycule

content note: despite the premise this is about cuddling, gambling addiction and existing during climate change

It starts the way most things used to start: with all of them piled onto ancient couches on the fifth floor of an otherwise empty building on the edge of Amsterdam, also called the Slat. These days, it’s harder and harder to get everyone together. Nina and Matthias are both in Rotterdam now, doing associate degrees that Kaz doesn’t care about. Wylan’s got room and board and a plan for the future and a social worker, and she already disapproves of Jesper as a bad influence so it’s not worth it, generally, for Wylan to come back to his old squat and hang out with the whole gang of ex- and current reprobates.

And Inej—fuck, Kaz wishes she was just a little less righteous, less concerned with how the world’s going to shit. She’s faced off against more cops now than he has, probably. Water cannons and charging horses and riot shields. She knows criminals all over the country, Europe, probably the world—but they’re the kind of criminals with morals and worthless targets, with bandanas and badly sewn patches, who will talk about Federici and sea levels and the Invisible Committee and use value if you don’t leave quickly enough. The kind that live on trees, as Inej’s going to do in a few days. The kind that don’t make any money. The kind that have even less of a chance of making it out of a job alive and free than Kaz does—and with the enemies she’s talking about, politicians, banks, Shell, he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to extort her out of jail next time.

For now, though, they’re all together in the big room, watching some ancient movie on the massive 8k screen with mood lighting, etc, the works, that’s in the Slat courtesy of some MediaMarkt manager desperate enough to save her marriage to bribe Kaz into silence, but not so desperate she wouldn’t fuck two other women in the breakroom.

It’s impossible to know whose fault it is that they’re currently watching Pulp Fiction.

Kaz is inclined to blame Jesper, because most things are his fault in some way or another, and he’s supplying the login data for an old uni flatmate’s streaming accounts, which is where they found that film, front and centre, paid to rent until tomorrow. Who even pays for films? If that’s the calibre of people they send to university these days, it’s no wonder the planet’s going to the dogs. Jesper, though, swears he wanted to watch some goofy horror flick, so he’s splitting the blame with Nina and Matthias: Matthias, for growing up in a cult and having never heard of what’s apparently a film classic and mentioning that to Nina, who of course cooed over her boyfriend and insisted on it, even though actually none of them have watched it before either so it’s not like it’s an important cinematic milestone. Or just not b horror, crime, some weird arthouse thing with complicated morality… It’s weird and has crime but there is nothing to figure out, so Kaz is bored. It’s Inej’s fault, because instead of vetoing it she said yes, just because she has a heart-shaped soft spot for Nina. Wylan could have done his oh I’m still an innocent barely-two-years not a minor this looks bloody thing, and Kaz might not even have mocked him this time if he'd insisted on Jesper’s pick instead just so he could hide in Jesper’s arms for the most minor decapitations.

Jesper’s been talking through the whole film. Kaz got used to that a long time ago: the landing and failing of small non-sequitur jokes like rain against the window, whispered to Wylan who’s cuddled into his side on the left, or to Inej who’s burrowing under Jesper’s outstretched right arm. Sometimes Jesper thinks a quip will land better with Nina, so he shouts it over to the futon where she and Matthias are always just shy of engaging in heavy petting, and the really mean and bleak jokes he saves for when he’s made eye contact with Kaz.

Now, though: in this scene Mr Motorcycle and the gang boss are captured in a pawnshop and dragged into the basement, and Gang Boss gets raped. Inej’s hand is white-knuckled on Jesper’s arm, and Jesper’s talking non-stop. He’s talking about the flooding, and asking whether Inej thinks Doggerland will happen again but here, soon, you can never know when the scientists are so wrong about the speed of climate change, and apparently it all flooded in a day because something broke off Norway, and then he abruptly pivots to some demo where he bashed in a shop window and got new shoes, and then if she’s got dates for more street fights because then he’s in but please, don’t trick me into another book club, I don’t care about why the cops are bad I already know I just want to hit them—not topics Kaz would have chosen, exactly, but he’s rooted in his red leather armchair off to the side, not even able to hold her for comfort, not like Jes does now, and why didn’t they think to look up the content beforehand, why did they assume it was tame just because it’s an old film—and then, long after it’s over, Jesper idly asks, “Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?”

Wylan groans. Kaz wishes a sound existed that could express his own current emotion.

“You saw the guy, right?” Jesper turns over to Wylan, while still stroking Inej’s hair. “There was no skin on him. All leather. And that’s the trigger, so—might solve all our problems. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“I don’t see a huge difference,” Nina snipes. “Kaz is already in all-black, with gloves. Though I guess, that hood would hide his atrocious haircut…”

“Stop being so mean to Kaz, Jesper,” Matthias mumbles. “Although he does deserve it.”

Kaz downs his entire glass of vodka. When he tops his drink up for the second time—he exed the first refill right in the kitchen—he brings the bottle and some maracuja juice over and refills Jesper’s, too, because Jesper’s been anxiously glancing over at him, every moment he thinks Kaz has turned his head away, since he shot his stupid mouth off and actually, it’s—Kaz isn’t thinking about it now but it just might—maybe it could work—well, he fills up the glass to stop Jesper from worrying himself into yet another mental crisis and also so he can bend over Jesper’s ear and whisper lovingly, “I’m going to make the leather for the suit out of your skin.”

“We should look for an Ed Gein film next!” Jesper laughs, much more brightly than the joke warrants, and Kaz refuses to interpret the look on his face.

+

By the time Kaz gets back to the Slat, on a day roughly three months later, it’s long past two in the morning. He’s in a foul mood: of course Haskell won’t even reimburse him for the taxi he had to take because he missed the last metro. Of course he just told Kaz to take a night bus. Haskell won’t even apologize for the last minute details he wants included in his casino’s tax returns. The old man’s not even mentally capable of understanding the extra work he caused. Yes, Kaz is good at filing taxes creatively, exactly tailored for the business to pay nothing whatsoever and meticulous enough to never arouse any suspicion, but that takes work. Things have to balance. Haskell thinks Kaz just has to press a button, and that he’s paying Kaz so he doesn’t have to press the button himself, and that it’s only worth it because he doesn’t want to sully his mind with ‘the Spreadsheet Program’. Which is also why he’s loaning Kaz out to a friend of his, which he just remembered to mention today, for that guy’s mattress store slash money laundering business, so that’s even more work for nowhere near enough money.

Sometimes, Kaz amuses himself with the idea of sneaking in small ‘mistakes’. Enough for even the stupidest tax official to unravel the whole sordid scheme and land Haskell in prison for tax fraud, whereupon he’ll also be discovered to be involved with drug smuggling, blackmail, murder, … none of which will ever trace back to Kaz. But the one time he was livid enough to try, nothing happened. He’ll never manage to plunge the true depths of stupidity of an average bureaucrat, apparently, and is thus doomed to failure.

And anyway, it’s good regular money for little work. Usually. He can’t really complain. Especially not to his friends, because three are going legit, Inej will just rant about the uselessness of defrauding the Belastingdienst for a few measly million euros a year when the world’s being set on fire every day, and Jesper’ll tell him to quit, again, because they live in a squat after all. It’s not like they’re paying rent. Jesper’s never heard of forethought, or gratitude. He doesn’t know how many of his bills Kaz has paid off.

Kaz’s leg aches after the climb to the third story. Two more to go. As usual, right at this point he remembers the joke Jesper made eight months ago about fooling someone into installing a stair lift, and as usual, he dismisses it in disgust after two more steps. Stomps harder on the next flight of stairs, with grim satisfaction at the shooting pains in his knee. He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need to move to a house with a working lift, and he doesn’t need a stair lift, either. Fuck you, Jesper. I’m the actual functional adult with a job in this household. I don’t need a stair lift.

That’s what he would throw at Jesper’s head, but it’s nearly three o’clock, and Jesper’s probably out. Over at Wylan’s, if he knows what’s good for him, but given how evasive he’s been all week, how manic… Inej’s still camping high up in some forest to save the frogs or something, but no news there is supposed to be good news. If the cops had chucked her off a tree house, it would have been on tv. About everything else, he can worry after he’s slept.

He doesn’t bother with the lights in his room. The streetlight coming in through his open curtains is more than enough, and anyway, he found the empty tenement he turned into the Slat five years ago, fully moved down here three years ago when he met Jesper, and he knows every single thing in his room by heart. The antique dresser he made Jesper and Matthias carry up with the threat of cutting off a finger for every scratch it received is next to the door, the place where he leaves his gloves and wallet and phone and cane. The coat rack beside it, where the hangers for his suit are, then the hamper, and at the foot of his bed the long black linen nightgown that Jesper’s never, ever allowed to see, and—

There’s a black shape on top of his bedcovers, Kaz realizes when he’s pulled on his nightgown.

Kaz takes his cane back. He hasn’t made any new enemies recently as far as he’s aware—none who know his name—but he was careless, brutal, desperate when he was a lone kid getting by on the streets, and those victims had gangs, families, business partners. Just because no-one’s ever traced little Kazzie the bastard rabid dog back to the Slat-that-wasn’t-then doesn’t mean a thing. The fact that the friends he started collecting press-ganged him into doing more behind-the-scenes embezzlement and fewer turf wars because ‘they’re watching us, they have all our faces and fingers and DNA on file and cameras everywhere and did you hear about that informer having kids with the activist he spied on?’ or the more pragmatic, ‘If you don’t stop fucking up your leg on purpose I’m going to send you to a kink party you fucking masochist’…

None of it means safety, not really, and Kaz is glad he’s alone now. They’ve all moved on, and even Jes… well, if he’d been here tonight then the whole squat would be trashed because Jesper doesn’t come quietly. And now, if he comes back to find Kaz gone or his throat slit… Jesper’s going to fucking collapse. He’s been one phone call away from going hysteric all week. Who knows, though—he has Wylan now, and maybe it’ll be the push he needed, the path none of them could ever find, to get his life back on a solid track.

All of that is presupposing that Kaz loses, of course.

And he does not intend to.

The weird black ninja on Kaz’ bed hasn’t reacted yet. They’re curled into a foetal position and they’re snuffling, quietly, because they’re asleep.

Not even assassins dressed up as b movie henchmen expect the toll taken by Per Haskell’s technical naïveté and utter disrespect for Kaz’ work-life balance, apparently. He got back home so late he missed his own murder. Well, then. Kaz hasn’t tortured anyone in two years and he may be out of practice, but the films he’s been forced to watch in the meantime have, if anything, made him more creative. He’ll teach them not to underestimate the brutality of Kaz Brekker, even when he’s moved up a few rungs in the ladder of Amsterdam’s underworld and landed a desk job.

He’ll—but Kaz hasn’t had to stalk silently towards his prey in two years, either. He’s underestimated the extent to which his lame leg’s gotten worse.

Also, someone’s pulled a box out from under his bed.

Kaz stumbles, and in the split-second before he catches himself on the edge of the mattress he wonders—will they have a gun? I can still bash them in the head before they fire, I haven’t gone that soft—and then the would-be assassin stretches out their lanky body as they wake up.

With their arms raised over their head, Kaz can see the bright white light of the street lanterns outside reflect off the gleaming black PVC fabric they’re wearing. Sleek and skin-tight, no ornamentation except a few steel buttons glinting at the crotch, and a full-cover leather hood over their face adorned with one-euro-sized rivets at the jaw, the forehead, the bridge of the nose, the large buckle around the neck. More buckles, at the back of the head and hanging off the right side at eye-height. The open silver zipper at the mouth reflects the streetlight, too, as does the padlock that hangs off it.

Oh no. Kaz knows that mask. Not even shoving it all the way back to the furthest corner under his bed allowed him to forget the way it looks.

Oh no.

Jesper yawns loudly. “Morning, boss. Evening. One of those. I thought you were finishing work early?”

“Haskell had some last-minute revisions to his tax returns.” Kaz sighs. “Don’t cook tomorrow. I’ll be out late for the whole next week—don’t expect me before three am. New client. I need to create a whole year’s documentations from scratch.”

“Just fuck him over, boss. He doesn’t appreciate you, and you don’t need the money. We live in a fucking squat.”

Sweet, financially illiterate nuisance Jesper, who probably doesn’t even know what that awful mistake he’s dressed in right now cost. The thing he’s dressed in. Which was hidden under Kaz’ bed. In Kaz’ room. Which they are inside right now. “You broke into my room,” Kaz rasps. “Again.”

“You know, Kaz,” Jesper replies with poorly feigned innocence, ”this thing is a little big for you. Fits me pretty well, though.”

“I told you I don’t keep cash under my bed. I told you that, the last time you tried to steal from me to pay off your gambling debts. I like my room organized as it is, and so I don’t keep any money here. Not under the bed, not in the wardrobe. And you won’t find any of my actual caches, because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’ve lied to me before.”

“You’ve stolen from me before. Remember last year? Remember you made Inej cry? I though you were clean. I thought you promised Wylan, when you asked him out, that you were done gambling. Maybe we all had too much trust in you.”

Jesper pulls his PVC-clad shoulders up to his en-leathered ears: a ridiculous sight, and Kaz doesn’t know what’s worse. That a bondage sex slave could actually look this dejected and humiliated and alone, or that Jesper does. He’s almost ready to call off the assault. It took a while to figure out, but as usual Inej was probably right, because she’s been researching and discussing the mental health industrial complex in general, and the traumatizing nature of modern life, with her comrades. Even though Kaz is neither the kind of person to touch people with kid gloves, and nor does he like thinking of Jesper as someone who needs that kind of handling—when Jesper’s in a shame spiral this deep then any criticism will drive him even deeper into the arms of the next casino. So the adrenaline and dopamine can wipe out everything else, or to feed his self-loathing even more by being exactly the person he’s terrified people think he is—Jes couldn’t quite explain it himself during the Intervention, except that everything is too much sometimes, even more too much and faster than usual.

He’s a pitiful creature. Kaz almost has pity. Then, though—

“It’s not working, boss. I know why you’re reminding me I fucking relapsed, again, and tried to steal from my best friend, again, and that I’m going to beg you to lie to Wy, again, but I still haven’t forgotten I’m wearing a bondage suit that you’ve been keeping under your bed for—two months now, is it?”

It’s just one month, actually. The manufacture and shipping took six whole weeks.

Two can play that game. Kaz might be very slightly embarrassed, but Jesper’s relapsed into the combination of addiction, theft and deceit that destroyed his life three years ago, and nearly did so again, two-and-a-half years ago and one year ago. “Careful. I haven’t even yet agreed to lie to Wylan, Jesper. About your problem. That you promised you’d tell him about.”

“Also, I notice it fits me, not Inej. Not Nina. Not Matthias. Not even Haskell, I bet. Me. Almost like it was made for me.”

Kaz ignores his insinuations. The answer’s obvious, anyway: yes, he did take clothes from the main washing pile in Jesper’s room and measured them. Yes, he used the measurements when he ordered a bondage suit. Yes, that’s creepy. Yes, a decent person would have asked. No, he’s not sorry. Jesper knew who Kaz was when he moved in with him. And it’s not like Kaz is the one who’s really at fault here. If Jesper just stopped gambling, he’d never have found out.

“Even attempted theft is illegal, Jesper. Completed robbery is worse. I cover my tracks, but you… you should be careful what you say now. They’re still looking for whoever robbed that jeweller last year.”

“Inej’s gonna cut off your head if you try. It’s like you never read her hoodies. All cats are beautiful, et cetera, Kaz. Thirteen-twelve. Keep up.”

Sometimes, the only thing that keeps Kaz from tossing Jesper out of the Slat is that Inej hates landlords and landlord-adjacents just as much as the pigs. If only he’d known back when he let the drunk penniless fancy uni boy who jumped into a fight to defend Kaz from some thugs—a fight Kaz would have won regardless—if only he’d known, before he let Jesper crash on his floor for a night or two, where all of this would end. “I’ll never mention anything about tonight again if you don’t either. Forget it. It was a bad idea. A failed plan. That’s all.”

“Without even trying it?”

“I will zip your mouth shut,” Kaz rasps. “I’ll lock it. I’ll throw the key into the harbour. Fuck you.”

Jesper, though, somehow got even mouthier when he put the bondage suit on. Less respectful. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “Come on, Kaz,” he wheedles. “I put it on, right? So I’m fine with it, if you’re worried. Aren’t you curious? If our places had been reversed—well, if you’d found it in my room you’d have murdered me, so we’re not exactly identical, but still. Come on, sit down next to me. This is—PVC right? Good job choosing me. Inej would hate it. So much plastic.”

“It’s less like skin than leather.”

“Not complaining, Kaz. I have some juice with a straw over there to keep me hydrated in case I sweat like a pig, but I haven’t, yet. I can probably camp out in this for a few more hours.” He tries a patented Jesper I’m flirting in an over the top way to make you laugh which is my flirting style for when I’m genuinely worried about the reaction because this way I can pass off exasperation and mockery as the response I intended look, probably with fluttering eyes, but since Kaz can barely make them out through those open zippers and the rest of his face is a complete mystery, it falls flat. It looks ridiculous, though, so it also works, and Jesper has the nerve of complaining about Kaz’ eight-dimensional chess plans. He’s worse. He’s worse, and animated by Jesper’s ridiculous, familiar movements the bondage suit doesn’t look like a pathetic attempt anymore. Not like the desperation of an emotional cripple. It just looks like Jesper, with an extra layer on his skin. Jesper, probably making a duckface, purring, “Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

Kaz looks away. “Are you serious right now?”

“Of course,” Jesper replies instantly, as if there was never any reason to doubt him. As if he doesn’t blame Kaz for doubting, simultaneously. As if Kaz is allowed to try. To fail. To fuck up, risk hurting him. There is a reason why Kaz never even considered someone else for the suit. “Come on, get on the bed.”

“We have to talk with Inej first. And with Wylan.”

“One-track mind,” Jesper replies, and just like that Kaz is ready to murder him again. “We’re not fucking. We’re not doing more than normal, except maybe touch. We don’t even know yet whether this helps you. I’m not risking it. We’ll just try touching, and if you think it’s triggering, we stop. We’ve got all the time in the world to work up to more. Until this city sinks into the ocean and the grid collapses from heat, which might be tomorrow, so. Or the fascists win.”

“You’ve been listening to Inej.”

“I do try to keep up.”

“Well, stop. Or listen more carefully, until the end, when she gets to the doomerism is the opiate of the masses part.”

“Just get on the bed, Kaz.”

Kaz puts his bent good knee onto the mattress and pulls himself over to Jesper. The fabric of his linen smock rubs against his heated skin: not like corpses, not like that, not like Jordie and he won’t even think about him or this will be over but—it just feels like his own familiar coarse age-softened nightgown that Jesper hasn’t even made fun of yet, his thin nightgown that in a second will be one of only two layers between him and Jesper.

He rolls over so he can sit down next to Jesper, at first. Daringly, he leans an arm against his best—well, they’ll figure that out later.

“Okay?” Jesper asks. He has to crane his head a lot to look through the thin eye slits of his bondage mask at Kaz’ face, and even then he’s probably mostly seeing the gleaming teeth of the eyehole zippers. And still he leans forward forty-five degrees and twists his torso and neck so he can look up into Kaz’ face, carefully keeping the arm that’s touching Kaz as motionless as possible, because he’s being careful with Kaz. Kaz has told him a thousand times he hates being coddled. He’s not a poor little abused dog, he’s a vicious murderer who destroyed his leg and his ability to be close to people while he was murdering, that’s all he ever told Jesper. That lie. And yet—even if he’s only fooling himself because this scene is so patently ridiculous, and the psych ward he got sent to once for the crime of rough sleeping while underage would stamp every single thing about what they’re doing as deeply unhealthy, and he can’t see Jesper’s soft concerned expression under the hood… Whatever it is, Kaz feels warm all over. He feels good. Safe.

Jesper can tell, apparently. “Want to touch my chest? Or climb into my lap?”

Kaz moves over, carefully smoothing down his nightgown before he sits down on Jesper, angled so he can lean with his left arm pressed against Jesper’s chest. It’s safer, somehow, than giving him the back, but perhaps someday…

Jesper loosely wraps his arms around Kaz. They’re just there, barely touching, the hands lax on top of Kaz’ right knee. You can leave at any time, they say, I’ll let go as soon as you’re uncomfortable, and Kaz would have known that regardless. Jesper’s never usually this still, unless he’s lost in concentration: and Kaz, who’s seen how gambling can destroy someone’s life, how it is currently destroying someone’s life, would still bet everything he has ever owned that Jesper’s concentrating on every single aspect of Kaz’ body language right now.

It’s not necessary, though. Those hands are gleaming black PVC. They don’t look or feel anything like Kaz’ memories.

He drops his own naked right hand onto Jesper’s gloved one. Joins them. Anchors Jesper. “How much do you owe this time, Jes?”

A beat. Jesper’s face drops down towards Kaz’ lap. Trying to hide his shame, and he’s forgotten that he’s wearing a full bondage mask, that Kaz can barely make out his eyes through the slits of the zippers. If he’s trying to deny everything, Kaz will just beat it out of him. He’s done it before. A year ago, when it was bad, but Jesper promised he got it under control. But Jesper’s promises were never worth much, not for this. If they were, they’d never have met.

“Four grand.”

“To?”

“Tom Geels. One of Big Bol’s old friends—”

“So he put you up to—”

“I was already playing when he walked up to me, Kaz,” Jesper grinds out. Aware that he could save himself from at least a little of Kaz’ disappointment by casting Bollinger as the tempter. Simultaneously aware that Kaz promised to feed Bollinger to a marine propeller last year if he ever took Jesper gambling again. Noble, to try and save Bollinger’s life—or to save Kaz from committing another murder—not that either of them deserves his loyalty. “I’ll pay you back, Kaz. I’ll have the money. Give me—give me half a year, Da’s still sending me—sending me rent money, Christ, he’s—I’ll save it. No, you’ll get it straight as soon as I get it, and in six months, you’re paid back in full. I promise.”

“We’ll figure it out. I have some jobs I could use you on. Nothing big. Intimidation, mostly. Some breaking, some entering. Boring stuff, not even worth mentioning to Wylan I should think.”

“Thank you.” Jesper’s forgotten all his restraint. He’s kissing Kaz’ forehead, or rather kissing the inside of his mask that’s pressed against Kaz’ forehead. He’s wrapped Kaz tightly in his long bondage arms too, painfully twisting Kaz’ shoulder and elbow and wrist because Kaz is still holding onto his hand. It’s that welcome pain, and the texture of the bondage suit that Kaz still isn’t completely used to, that keeps him from breaking Jesper’s nose. Keeps him—he isn’t back in the North Sea. He isn’t with Jordie. He should be, but he isn’t, and even if it comes…

Inej taught him about grounding. None of them trust the system as far as they can throw it, so she didn’t send him to a shrink when they started dating, unlike he feared, but—she said they helped her, those grounding exercises she found on the internet, and so Kaz has been diligently practicing breathing techniques and focusing his awareness on details of the present moment. Five things he can see: well, it’s dark, but the way what little streetlight gets through reflects off the folds of the suit on Jesper’s bowed stomach is quite interesting. His own knees. His hand, still clutching Jesper’s. The cane, on the floor. The floor. Five things he can hear: early morning traffic, Jesper’s breath, Jesper trying not to sob out loud in relief or shame or a mixture of both, the rustling of fabric, the squeaking of fabric. Five things he can feel: The old ache of his leg, always. Jesper’s hand. Jesper’s thighs. The hard buttons at the flap over Jesper’s crotch, digging into his side.

Somehow, Jesper’s noticed his shift in focus. At least he’s stopped crying now. “You know, you could have just asked how big I am if you wanted a suit with a dick pouch,” he teases in a voice that almost manages to sound happy. “I wouldn’t even have been suspicious.”

“Just because you have no boundaries, Jes, doesn’t mean I have to sink down to meet you at your level.”

Jesper takes a big breath. To forestall the whole Who bought this bondage suit argument Kaz elbows him in the stomach, hard. Once Jesper’s done coughing—a wriggling movement against Kaz’ side that he’s never even felt before—he mumbles something else, though. “I texted Da my new number. He called last week. Wanted to know how I was doing,” and oh. That makes sense. That’s what did it. “Apparently I’m graduating in seven months, according to that fake schedule you made me so I could keep my lies straight. He wants to come to the graduation. He asked me whether I have a job lined up.”

“I could hire somebody to fake you a degree,” Kaz offers. This should be Inej’s job. She shouldn’t be off somewhere, saving grasshoppers. She should be here. She’s the one who tried to talk Jesper into coming clean to his father, last year. All Kaz knows, all he has ever done, is to keep digging, and it’s worked for him. So far. “It’s all the rage now I hear. Cheap, too. No-one will find out. Just don’t become a politician in Germany.”

Jesper sighs. The air kisses the back of Kaz’ neck. “I don’t even care anymore. I could have a degree, or not, it all doesn’t matter. Universities are a scam to regulate economic class relations anyway. I don’t know that I can keep lying forever, or get a job, just so I don’t have to tell Da I betrayed him. Because nothing matters anyway. We’re collectively throwing the future down the drain. It’s not like anyone needs another mechanical engineer when we hit four degrees. I don’t know what we need. I just know everything I know is pointless.”

“I’m sure Inej can hook you up, if you want to blow up a coal power plant.”

“But what about you, then? What would you do?”

“I could have you kidnapped,” Kaz says. That’s not what Jesper meant. Kaz refuses to think about what Jesper meant. “Fake your death. Colm will be so relieved when they find you that he won’t even care you failed all your studies so you could become a live-in human blow-up doll.”

“That’ll only keep Da happy for a year at most and you know it.”

“Well, then Colm’s just going to have to get used to it. Get used to you, like we did. Real, annoying, good-for-nothing directionless screw-up Jesper.”

Jesper rubs his leathered cheek against the crown of Kaz’ head. “Fuck you. Thanks.”

Kaz runs his fingers over the squeaky PVC on Jesper’s forearms, steeling himself before he whispers idly against Jesper’s neck, “If Inej’s right about the warming and the sea level over the next decades, it won’t just be refugees from the south we’re letting drown, people it’s easy to lock out. Maybe you’re right about the Doggerland thing, and we all get flooded.” He swallows. The words are high up in his throat, trying to spew out. “Then it won’t just be one stupid child with a stupid family going out boating in the North Sea when there’s a storm coming. Not just that one kid thrown out of a sinking boat nearly drowning and clinging to his brother’s corpse. Your blow-up doll skills will be in high demand if everyone else gets triggered by skin contact too.”

Jesper, miraculously, reveals a talent Kaz didn’t even know he possessed: he shuts up. He ghosts his gloved hands over Kaz’ shoulders, and then he starts carding his fingers through Kaz’ hair. Kaz can feel the static electricity building up, the crackles and the safety, and then he realizes his eyes have drifted shut. He realizes he doesn’t know how long Jesper’s been petting him.

“Take off your hood,” he mumbles.

“Kaz?”

“Take it off. Scuttle over so your head’s on the pillow.”

Jesper obeys, like Kaz always knew he would. He looks up at Kaz with something that might be confusion but might also be—trust and deep joy and more, something Kaz can’t quite admit anymore now he’s in his bed, and Kaz puts his head down on his chest. His legs will still fit, and this way, he has the squeaky PVC right where he needs it. Squeaky, rhythmically rising warm dry plastic under him. The exact opposite of a waterlogged corpse.

“I don’t have time to call you an ambulance when you get into a bondage suit erotic asphyxiation incident, just so you know. I have a full schedule for today, remember. I’ll be at Haskell’s until after midnight. I have to break Bollinger’s thumbs. My alarm is at seven. Turn it off and I’ll send you to Colm in bite-sized pieces,” Kaz rasps, and then, with a movement that no-one would call timid if they wanted to keep their tongue attached, wraps his arms around Jesper. “You’ve kept me awake for two hours, so be a good pillow. If I kick you off the bed while I’m dozing, remember. This is your fault.”

[helaintoloki]

Queen of Disaster

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader who is both wholesome and a disaster child

warnings: Bucky is grumpy but not necessarily mean, some stray swear words, allusions to angst, reader is a little chaotic but in a wholesome way. reader is of age but still younger than Bucky (bc the dude is like 100)

notes: this is inspired partly by my own personality and partly by the Lana del Rey song with the same title). I might make this a mini series of one shots and pieces that build onto this relationship but we shall see

summary: the youngest after Peter and the newest member of the team, y/n is still learning to hold her own amongst her fellow teammates. While the Avengers are patient and understanding of the lovable though somewhat disorderly girl, Bucky Barnes is not so easily convinced

    Bucky Barnes does not like you.

   You’re immature, irresponsible, unreliable, and the youngest member on the team after the bug kid. You can’t take anything seriously because serious matters make you uncomfortable, and you’re timing is so awful that every quip and one liner makes his skin crawl with discomfort. But hey, despite all of your defects you get the job done and, to Bucky’s dismay, get to keep your position on the team.

   Maybe if you weren’t so goddamn smiley all the time and could take things seriously just once instead of immediately retreating to the rainbow colored, glitter filled, lollipop scented safety of that thing you call a brain inside your head he could possibly entertain the idea of at least being acquaintances. Instead he often feels like your babysitter, somehow always having you forced on him during missions and in turn having to clean up the chaos you leave behind in your wake. Always eager to please- the equivalent of a teacher’s pet if your teacher was Steve Rogers or Tony Stark- you will stand over the body of the newly deceased Hydra soldier and turn to Bucky with a smile on your face and two thumbs up held in his direction. His stoic gaze shows that he could care less about your latest endeavor, and your smile earns a moment’s falter when his broad shoulder harshly knocks against your own as he moves on to the next room. You’ll get him some other time.

    If you had only been a friend of Peter’s or another one of Stark’s young prodigies, maybe Bucky would have been able to at least tolerate you and your childish behavior. After all, Bucky dealt with big babies- and little ones - around the tower all the time. Tony Stark, Thor Odinson, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker, hell, even Steve at times. Bucky Barnes could handle man babies. It was girl babies that set him off.

   In the 40’s women had either been quiet and reserved or loud and lively, and James Buchanan Barnes had never minded either. As the Winter Soldier he had learned that women could be cold and calloused, unfeeling and inhumane. As an Avenger, Bucky had learned that women could be both strong and caring, gallant and graceful, smart and calculating. But with you...

   With you Bucky learned that it was possible for a woman to down a whole tub of ice cream by herself without sharing. He learned that the modern day woman did not give two shits about what men thought of the opposite gender. He learned that a knife plunged deep into your thigh only earned your attacker an offended gasp, but the breaking of a freshly done nail could bring you straight to tears if the elements were aligned just right. He observed how one minute you could be as agile as a cat on the field one moment only to trip over your own two feet the next. He learned you did not do well under pressure; when running out of bullets to attack your enemies, rather than simply reload your gun your first instinct told you to chuck the weapon as hard as you could at your attacker, which somehow succeeded in knocking the man out cold. Beginner’s luck, Bucky had thought begrudgingly the moment he saw it happen.

   You were a beautiful swan one moment and a bumbling baby the next, and Bucky, too damn tired and old, could never keep up with you. So he gave up trying and instead did his best to keep as far away from you as possible, which, much to your credit, was a lot harder than it should have been. Example number one: your presence right now at two in the morning when your ass should be in bed sleeping instead of disturbing his peaceful binge of I Love Lucy over his bowl of ice cream.

  “Hi Barnes,” you chirp, oblivious to just how much you irk the man before you as you rummage through the cabinets for your hidden stash of hot Cheetos.

   “Hmph,” he grunts in response and shoves a spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into his mouth.

   “Ooo, I love this show!” You exclaim, plopping down right next to the super soldier and obnoxiously opening your chips. The harsh crinkling of the bag has Bucky’s shoulders rising all the way to his ears and he feels compelled to shush you before you wake the whole compound with your unpalatable snacking.

   “How do you know about I Love Lucy? Aren’t you like twelve?” Bucky retorts in a crotchety tone.

   “First of all, rude,” you counter. “Second of all, I used to watch reruns of this on channel seven all the time with my mom when I was a kid.” Then, to validate your 50’s sitcom knowledge, you inhale deeply before loudly shouting along with Ricky Ricardo, “‘Lucy, you’ve got some ‘splainin to do!’”

   Bucky jolts at the volume of your voice, spoon clattering harshly against his bowl at the disturbance. “Jesus Christ! Do you have an off button or something?”

   “Only on Tuesday’s,” you reply nonchalantly, and Bucky, too exhausted to ask, only rolls his eyes and wishes for the light fixture hanging above him to come down on his noggin.

   It takes five minutes for you to fall asleep, and Bucky only notices because of the sea of droll that dribbles down the corner of your lips and onto his shirt. He shudders in disgust. Baby droll from the team baby. How you have the whole team wrapped around your cheeto dust stained finger, he will never know.

   He could just leave you there with the tv on and let you waddle yourself back to your own room when your body’s clock decides it’s time to retreat to your hole. But the gentleman inside of Bucky is about ready to smack him upside the head for his bad manners, so the soldier begrudgingly scoops your sleeping form into his arm and marches towards your bedroom.

   “You’re insufferable,” Bucky grumbles, almost droping you when you have the audacity to nuzzle closer to his chest in your sleep. You really are a big baby.

   As expected, your room is a disaster. Stray clothes, shoes, and mundane objects litter the floor and getting to your bed is like tip toeing through a booby trapped Hydra base. One wrong move and Bucky will trip over the stray bra on the ground and eat shit. How can anyone live like this? He assumes this is probably what your brain looks like on the inside too.

   “There you go brat,” Bucky grumbles as he not only lies you in bed but tucks you in, going as far as to tuck the blankets tightly around you and rest the raggedy teddy bear at the foot of your bed next to you instead, unknowingly falling into your unintentional trap of slowly but surely beginning to wrap around your finger.

   He has to admit, you’re much nicer when you’re still and quiet, calmed by the melatonin coursing naturally through your system. You’re kind of pretty too, if he stares long enough at your face and looks at you as if you were a stranger. Your eyelashes flutter as you dream, hair falling around your head like a little halo, parted lips- Bucky recoils, forcing himself to stop over analyzing your facial features while you sleep because that’s weird and you’re like, ten.

   Bucky Barnes does not like you.

   But as he flicks on the Iron Man nightlight by your bedside (installed by Tony himself because he too knows just how scary the dark can be once you become an Avenger) and tip toes out of your room, Bucky realizes he doesn’t completely dislike you.

    And that is enough for him.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Amalia pt.2

For @artsymeeshee​. Thank you so so much for being you and for always brightening up my day! Sorry for the wait, but I hope you like it.

pt.1

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dipper, come on! They’re ready!”

The thirteen-year-old boy quickly joined his sister on her bed, lying on their stomach so they could see the laptop comfortably. Yes, they texted their grunkles at least three times a day and constantly sent emails and usually got to have a video call once a week, but that didn't make their interactions any less exciting and enjoyable. Dipper and Mabel’s parents were busy working so the twins had the house to themselves and could talk freely.

The laptop ringed a few times and soon they were graced with two nearly identical faces with distinct differences, both smiling widely at the young teenagers. “Hey there, kiddos!”

“Hi, guys!” Mabel returned, waving and grinning. “Did you get my package, did you, did you, did you?!”

“Yes, I have it right here.” Ford chuckled warmly and placed the package on the dining room table, where the old men were located.

“Well go ahead and open it!” Mabel squealed and Stan used his pocket knife to cut through the tape and they opened the box to find a large, brand new knitted blanket.

“Oh, wow! Mabel, sweetie, this is… wow.” Stan admired with shining eyes as he pulled the blanket out of the box.

“This might be your best work yet, my dear!” Ford complimented as he grazed the yarn with his fingers. “It’s so soft, and how on Earth did you manage to make it so big?”

“Big knitting needles!”

“She used her arms to knit it, like she had it looped around her actual arms.” Dipper answered honestly with a small, proud smile while Mabel blushed furiously.

“That’s very impressive.” Ford said.

“I’ll say! It’s beautiful! I love it!” Stan wrapped it around his shoulders and hummed; he could distantly smell his niece’s shampoo and cheap strawberry perfume. “Thank you, pumpkin.”

“You’re welcome, I just don’t want you guys to be cold or freeze to death up there.”

“Mabel, for the millionth time, I swear we’re fine.” Stan assured, unable to keep the laughter in his throat down.

“I know, but as the professional knitter in the family, it is my sworn duty to ensure you two stay warm and cozy, despite the challenging environment!” She said victoriously with her hand pointing upward, like she was pretending there was a flag behind her or something. “Anywho, what’s new with you guys?”

“Oh, nothing out of the abnormal.” Ford said casually, rocking his hand side-to-side in a painfully casual manner. “Iceland was interesting, we’re planning on heading back up North shortly to make it to Gravity Falls in time for summer, but we have about a month to spend exploring the United Kingdom until we have to start our way back.”

“Great!” Dipper commented. “See anything cool in Iceland? Any mountain trolls?”

“No, no trolls.”

“Although we did see this big smelly guy in a bar that looked half-troll to me.” Stan added in.

“But… we…” Stan gave Ford a dark look, so the eldest twin corrected himself quickly. “I… I did something.”

“Oh boy, did you burn a hole into the counter again, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel guessed.

Ford chuckled warmly and shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s… well, I’ll show you, hold on one minute.”

Dipper and Mabel watched one uncle get up and leave while the other held his head and rubbed his temples. “Grunkle Stan, what did he do?” Mabel asked.

“Something a certain pumpkin once did to me and I don’t appreciate it anymore now than I did before.” Stan mumbled.

Ford sat back down next to his twin, resulting in Mabel screaming and then quickly covering her mouth, her eyes wide and shining like stars. Dipper just stared, smiling, but mostly confused at the tiny furry thing on his grunkle’s chest. Ford couldn’t keep the dopey smile off his face as he petted the anomaly’s back and she licked his cleft chin. “This is Amalia.”

“OH MY GOSH, YOU GUYS!” Mabel squealed, making Amalia jump a little and start looking around the boat for whatever was causing the sudden noise. “She’s so cute! I didn’t know you guys were gonna get a pet!”

“Neither did we.” Ford chuckled as Amalia sat on the table, still looking around. “She came aboard in Iceland and never left. She’s quite gentle and well-trained, very well behaved.”

“She’s a cute, furry jerk.” Stan growled.

“Stanley’s just mad at her because she knocked over his favorite mug this morning.”

“Daw, she probably wanted your attention, Grunkle Stan.”

“Well, she has it now.” Stan sneered and pointed his fingers from his eyes to the pet, still curiously on the hunt for the mysterious noise.

“How interesting.” Dipper muttered with a smile. “Do you know what species she is?”

“Not quite sure.” Ford answered. “She has many cat-like behaviors, but obviously she’s more than some exotic breed of a domestic feline. I’ve run a few tests, simply playing games with her to test her intelligence and watching her through the day, but so far nothing too abnormal has come up.”

“Well, as much as she doesn���t look like any breed I know of, she might be a hybrid we’ve never seen before, a mixture of two breeds of cat. I could do some research to see if she resembles any cat breeds.” Dipper pulled out his cellphone while Amalia looked at the scream, her eyes big at the teenagers.

“She’s looking at us, she’s looking at us!” Mabel whispered excitedly. “Hi, Amalia! Hi! I’m gonna knit you a cute sweater, yes I am!” She cooed.

Amalia pawed at the laptop, getting closer to it, and eventually walking on the keys.

“OY! Get off!”

“Stanley, don’t hurt her!”

“She’s gonna…”

And suddenly Dipper and Mabel were faced with a blank screen, making them laugh and quickly send snarky text messages to the old sailors.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan’s eyes slowly opened, lying on his back, and therefore first seeing the ceiling of the bunker of his beloved boat. He was stiff; his whole body was stiff and his eyes were crusty and he wanted to go back to sleep, but his body had had enough of sleep and it was time to leave his bed for the day.

Taking in a sharp breath to brace himself for the pain of first moving his old back, Stan sat up and placed his feet in his slippers. He reached for his glasses, surprised to find a note by them. He slipped on his aid of vision and immediately recognized his brother’s neat cursive writing.

Stanley, We needed a few supplies and I felt like going on a small walk early this morning, so I left you alone to sleep. I’ll be back by lunch. Please look after Amalia while I’m gone. Stanford. 6:18am

Stan swore under his breath. Not only had Sixer probably not slept well, Stan was willing to bet money on it, he was stuck babysitting the stupid animal. Who, by the way, was playing with a fluffy ball on the floor, silently amusing herself and leaving Stan alone. Well, fine then. He could work with that.

The younger twin stood and slipped on his bathrobe over his pajamas, making his way upstairs for coffee and maybe some breakfast. The clock over the stove read two minutes before ten, so coffee should tie him over until lunchtime. Stan filled the machine with a filter and grounds and turned on the pot after filling it with water, but he was disturbed from his work when he heard tiny footsteps and saw Amalia climbing up the steps and walking up to him.

“Whatcha want?” He growled sleepily.

Amalia, of course, didn’t answer, but instead sat next to where Stan stood and rubbed against his bony legs, purring her strange purr; it wasn’t normal like a cat’s but there was no other way to explain the sound she made. Stan snorted.

As the coffee pot filled with the caffeinated breakfast beverage, Stan fished out an apple from the fridge and bit into it. Okay, a small snack would be okay. His eye caught the small stacks of canned tuna Ford had put there, claiming Amalia preferred her fish cold, and he shrugged and decided to go ahead and feed the weird thing so he wouldn’t have to get up from the couch to do it later. At the sound of the can opening the little cat-like beauty sprung up on the table and tapped the surface with her little beanie paws, a bad habit Ford had installed early because “Amalia is too lady-like to eat on the floor,” the aged scientist had cooed as he placed the can on the table and scratched his pet.

Stan rolled his eyes and decided not to fight it. He sat Amalia’s breakfast on the table and she happily indulged in the cold fish while Stan poured himself a mug of coffee. He watched the anomaly eat peacefully, her tiny face almost completely engulfed in the food. The old conman couldn’t help but smile as he sipped his black drink. “You’re quieter than the pig. I’ll give you that.”

Amalia sat up, a bit of damp food on her face, but she licked it off and then began to clean herself by licking her paw and rubbing her face. Stan accidentally found himself watching her as he sipped his coffee, a small smile on his wrinkly face.

Really, the main reason why he was being the bad guy was because someone had to be in this type of situation. Someone had to try to be reasonable, someone had to oppose a potentially bad idea, and with Stan’s tough-guy persona and Ford opting out of being the cold, realistic, mad-scientist in order to be a big marshmallow for a weird cat, Stan was the perfect candidate. With that being said, Stan reminded himself of an incident he was faced with over fifty years ago.

“Stanford, please!”

“Stanley, I’m sorry, but he’s a wild animal. Don't you think he’ll be happier out in nature? And what will Ma and Pa say?”

“They… They don’t have to know…”

“Stanley!”

“Sixer, please! C’mon! I’m begging you! I’ll do anything! Just please don’t rat me out!”

“Whoa, whoa. I’d never tattle on you, I… I won’t tell, but I really think you shouldn’t keep him as a pet.”

It was only a week, but by the time Stan re-introduced the animal as Shanklin the Stab-Possum, Ford’s appreciation for the strange pet was much stronger and he even used him to help free the Jersey Devil. Plus it was easy to keep the possum a secret when they were grounded in their room all summer. Ford never did tattle and he loved that possum almost as much as Stan loved Shanklin. So, okay, if a couple of weird nine-year-olds can have a possum for a pet, then a pair of eccentric old sailors can have an unknown cat for a pet.

Stan left the kitchen-area for the couch and pulled out a newspaper he had snagged yesterday to finish. He opened it with a rustle and sat comfortably, but not long did he feel something join him on his right side and then two little paws land on his leg. Stan lowered his reading material and raised an eyebrow at Amalia, who just looked at him with sparkling eyes. “What?”

Of course the anomaly didn’t answer, but she did climb across his legs for his lap and sat in a curled-up ball for a mid-morning nap. Stan sighed with a smile, scratched her behind the ear, and rescued his reading.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three weeks later and the Stan O’ War was harbored at Ipswich, UK. Having traveled through the Irish Sea and around England, the ship was about to head up north, beginning the journey for home. But Mabel had given the twins another city to be in for another package, and so with Amalia in Ford’s hoodie and Stan holding two bags of groceries, they stopped by the post office and picked up their mail.

Cushioned in a new baby-blanket for Amalia were two small sweaters just perfect for the little anomaly. One was purple with a golden six-fingered hand and a golden crescent with each symbol having an ‘s added to it, and beneath all of this the word “pet” was stitched on in colorful letters. The second one was fluffy white with a baby-blue paw-print on it, each sweater big enough to not squeeze Amalia and with the designs on her back so the humans could see them easily.

While Amalia was never shivering or actively cold, Ford ignored Stan’s laugh-filled orders not to torture their pet and the fluffy-haired twin had Amalia try on the white sweater, who loved it so much she refused to let Ford take it off of her for a few hours. Stan, of course, had to end a picture to their niece, who may or may not have cried at the sight and at the caption her uncle sent it with, “Amalia loves Auntie Mabel’s sweaters.”