#Specifically cigarettes out the window to me

[pey-up]

(I- I- I- I'm not a crook!)

[rafecameronssl4t]

73 Questions with Vogue || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: just you participating in 73 Questions with Vogue and it goes viral!!!

Warnings: fluff!!!

Word count: 1,935

A/n: It's been so long since I've written a Drew fic!!!!!!! Also I got inspired by my previous acc's fic so if it seems familiar to some of you who followed me from there, don't come at me, I loved the idea too much lol. CAN SOMEONE PLS SEND ME REQUESTS FOR DREW FICS???

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Hello!" You greet the interviewer with a bright smile, swinging open the door to reveal him and his camera. "Hi, Y/n! Mind if we come in and ask you 73 questions?" he asks, his tone friendly and warm. "Yeah, of course! Come on in," you say, stepping aside and holding the door wide open, gesturing for them to enter as the camera pans through the foyer of your house. The space is beautifully designed, with soft lighting that gives it a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

"Wow, what a gorgeous house you have," the interviewer remarks, his voice filled with genuine awe as his eyes take in the sophisticated yet comfortable décor. "Thank you!" you respond, the compliment warming you as you flash a radiant smile. "Is this your favourite house?" The interviewer asks, already settling into the rhythm of the questions as you lead them down the hallway and into the open-plan living area.

"Yes, it definitely is. It's in my home city, and Charleston means so much to me, just like this house does," you say, your eyes lighting up as you gesture around. The view of the beach through the large windows makes the space feel even more special. "I love the view," the interviewer comments, looking out at the sunset that bathes the room in warm golden light. "The sunset looks amazing from here."

"It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?" you say with a soft chuckle. "I love spending time in this room specifically. It feels like a little sanctuary." You both share a laugh, enjoying the peaceful moment. "What's your morning routine like?" The interviewer asks as the camera follows you through the coastal-themed living room toward the kitchen. You pause for a moment, thinking about your answer.

"I haven't had much of a routine the past few months because of work, but currently, I wake up to a strong cup of coffee and a walk through downtown," you share with a soft smile. "It’s become a little ritual to clear my mind before everything gets too busy." As you stroll through the warm, inviting spaces of your home, the camera captures the personal touches that reflect your personality—a mix of elegance and laid-back comfort.

A question about your career comes next, and you happily share some behind-the-scenes anecdotes from your latest film. "This," you begin, the affection in your tone unmistakable, "is a magnet Sydney gave me when we wrapped filming Immaculate earlier this year." You glance at the picture, a grin spreading across your face. "It’s a photo of the two of us in our nun costumes... let’s just say, not doing very nun-like things." You laugh, the absurdity of the memory still fresh, and hold the magnet up for the camera to focus.

The image shows the two of you mid-laughter, each holding a cigarette with exaggerated defiance, your habits slightly askew, as though caught mid-rebellion. "What's the best compliment you've received?" the interviewer asks, a hint of curiosity in their voice. You pause, your expression thoughtful. "Oh, that's a tough one," you say, your lips curling into a playful smile.

"I think the best compliment I’ve ever gotten was when someone said, 'You're like Meryl Streep… but, you know, with fewer Oscars.’" You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "It was the kind of backhanded compliment that made me laugh for days." The interviewer laughs along with you. "That’s a good one," he says, clearly entertained. As you make your way towards the outside deck, the interviewer continues with another question. "Texting, calling, or FaceTiming?"

You grin as you lean casually against the railing, looking out at the beach below. "Oh, definitely FaceTiming," you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I’m terrible at replying to text messages. I’d much rather see people's live reactions, y’know?" A more personal question comes next, and you smile thoughtfully as the interviewer asks, “How do you handle the pressures of fame?”

You nod, taking a moment before responding. "I lean on my family and friends—they keep me grounded. And I remind myself that pressure is a privilege. It means people care about what I do, and that means a lot." Your voice softens as you speak, the sincerity of your words clear as you step into your home office, showcasing the awards and accolades lining the shelves. The conversation turns to your personal life, and a warm, affectionate smile spreads across your face.

"Congratulations on reaching your two-year anniversary with Drew!" The interviewer says with a grin, and you beam in response. "Thank you!" you reply, your eyes sparkling as you think of him. "Drew is incredible. He’s my biggest supporter, my partner in everything, and honestly, just my favourite person. It’s been such a special journey since starting my career, and I’m so grateful to have him by my side."

"What's the key to a successful relationship?" He asks. You pause as you walk through the hallway, your gaze softening as you think. "I think it’s communication and a lot of patience. No relationship is perfect, but being able to talk things through and genuinely listen to each other makes all the difference." You smile, adding, "Oh, and laughter—if you can laugh together, you can get through just about anything."

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupts the moment, and a familiar voice rings out, instantly making your face light up. "Oh, there’s Drew right now!" you say, smiling brightly as you move toward the foyer. The camera follows you, capturing the scene as Drew enters, with Nellie, your cocker spaniel, bounding beside him. "Hey, baby," He greets you as he slips off his sunglasses, pulling you close for a tender kiss

When he pulls back, his eyes widen slightly as he spots the camera. "Oh, 73 Questions with Vogue?" he asks, a playful grin tugging at his lips. You giggle, nodding your head. "I forgot you were doing that today," he chuckles. “Go ahead, continue your interview," he adds with a fond look before walking off with Nellie. As the camera returns to you, you make your way toward the stairs, glancing over your shoulder to find Drew already on the floor, happily playing with Nellie.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, captured by the camera momentarily fixated on the fleeting connection. "What's something people don’t know about you?" the interviewer asks, pulling you back into the conversation. You pause, thinking for a second. "I’m actually allergic to most flowers," you reveal with a sheepish laugh. "Really? I wouldn’t have known," the interviewer responds, clearly surprised. "Oh, absolutely! When we film Outer Banks, they have to shoot around the flowers, or I'd be a sneezing mess," you confess, casually walking backward while maintaining a steady gaze with the camera.

The tour continues through luxurious walk-in closet, filled with designer attire. “What’s your pet peeve?” You laugh, shaking your head in mock exasperation. "Oh, definitely when people chew loudly. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for me. Chase is notorious for doing it on purpose, so I avoid him during my lunch breaks," you add, giggling at the memory. "Where was the best vacation you’ve been taken to?" the interviewer inquires as you step into your shared bedroom with Drew, the ocean stretching out just outside the windows.

"I think I’d have to say Vienna with Drew for my birthday," you say, smiling over your shoulder as you look out at the view. “A song you replay often?” "Hm, I think Charlie, Last Name Wilson," you say with a grin, rifling through the records. "It never gets old, and it’s super catchy." You smile as you pick it out. "Most of you guys would know that this song is also Drew and Austin’s favourite, so we always play it on set," you chuckle. "Does the rest of the Outer Banks cast like it too?" the interviewer asks, laughing along. "They don’t have much choice," you joke with a grin.

"Is there anything from any set that you've taken home with you?" The interviewer asks eagerly. “Oh, I love this question!" you exclaim, opening a drawer to reveal a variety of souvenirs. "This is the bag my character 'Whiskey' from Glass Onion owned," you say, showing off the brown frill bag. "And here’s a pack of Italian cigarettes from Immaculate, they’re just props, by the way," you add with a wink.

You pull out a cowboy hat. "This one’s from Tom on the set of Billy the Kid," you explain. "And this," you say with a smile, holding up a ring on a necklace. "This is Rafe's ring, the one he gave my character." "What a beautiful photo of the two of you," the interviewer notes, pointing to the large black-and-white photo of you and Drew at a Vogue photoshoot above your bed.

"It is! That day was actually so special for us. We both got the call saying we’d been cast in our respective roles that we’d been auditioning for," you explain, your face lighting up with nostalgia. The interviewer then asks about Drew’s upcoming movie. "Speaking of which, Drew’s film Queer is coming out very soon. Are you excited to watch it on the big screen?" "Yes, of course!" you say, your voice full of pride.

"I was so incredibly proud of him when he got the role. He was definitely excited too, especially since it’s, you know, the Luca Guadagnino." You chuckle. "I got the privilege to actually be on set for a bit, and it was amazing. Plus, I got to catch up with Daniel," you mention. "It was really nice to see him again." You smile, the pride evident in your expression as you talk about Drew's accomplishments.

The conversation is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door, and both you and the interviewer turn your attention toward it. Drew’s head peeks around the corner, his grin lighting up the frame as the camera zooms in on him. "I made some iced teas—yours is half and half," he says casually, stepping into the room with a tray holding two glasses. You can’t help but beam as he hands you your drink. "Aww, thanks, babe," you say gratefully, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment as you take the glass.

Drew hands the other glass to the interviewer, who looks pleasantly surprised. "Wow, thank you, Drew!" he says with a wide smile. "Of course," Drew replies warmly before glancing at you. "Let me know if you need anything else," he says, shooting you a quick wink before stepping out of the room. The camera lingers on him for a beat as he walks away, capturing his effortless charm.

You take a sip of the iced tea, the cool, refreshing taste spreading through you as you let out a content sigh. "Is this something you drink often?" the interviewer asks, clearly curious. You nod enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely. I like mine half and half, and I drink it like 24/7," you say with a chuckle, the glass still in your hand. The interviewer grins before asking a more personal question. "I can tell Drew is very thoughtful. What’s your favourite trait of his?"

You laugh softly, caught off guard by the difficult question. "You can’t make me choose—I love everything about him!" you say with a playful grin, your tone light but sincere. The interviewer chuckles along with you, clearly charmed by your response. "Okay, okay, fair enough. But if you had to pick just one thing that comes to mind?"

You pause for a moment, your expression softening as you think. "Hmmm," you hum, swirling your iced tea absentmindedly. "I love the little things he does," you begin, your voice warm with affection. "Like how he always remembers my coffee order or when he leaves me little notes when I’m on set. It’s those small, thoughtful moments that really mean the most to me."

The camera captures your tender smile, and the interviewer smiles himself, visibly touched by your response. "That’s so sweet," he says, his tone genuine. "It really is," you smile, a soft, almost bashful grin spreading across your face. "He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for," you say, your tone filled with warmth and sincerity.

The interviewer watches you with an amused smile, clearly endeared by the dreamy, almost schoolgirl-like look on your face as you think about Drew.

~

The Vogue 73 Questions interview quickly becomes an internet sensation, captivating fans. It was everywhere. Clips of your candid answers and sweet, unscripted moments—especially the one where Drew casually walked in with iced tea—became the ultimate proof of why you were Hollywood’s darling. Within hours of its release, the hashtag #73QuestionsWithY/n trends worldwide.

The comments section was flooded with fans losing their minds over the glimpse into your life. "Can we talk about how Drew KNOWS her iced tea order by heart? If this isn’t relationship goals, I don’t know what is." "Y/n casually being gorgeous, funny, and real in her Charleston dream home? I’m in love." "The way Drew looked at her when he walked in… I CAN’T. He’s so whipped, and I’m here for it."

Memes circulate, celebrating your witty remarks and playful demeanor, while your thoughtful insights and open vulnerability spark heartfelt discussions. The part where Drew sneaks into the interview with iced tea becomes a fan-favourite, with many dubbing it "the cutest boyfriend moment of the year."

“I love how real she is,” one fan tweeted, accompanied by screenshots of your answer about Drew’s little notes and coffee orders. Another post with a screenshot of you laughing at Drew’s confused “Oh, Vogue’s here” reaction read, “You can just tell they’re best friends. I want a love like this.”

The media couldn’t get enough, either. Everyone from gossip sites to prestigious magazines weighed in on how you’d managed to blend the glamour of your career with the warmth of your personality. The buzz reignites interest in your past projects and elevates anticipation for your upcoming ones. Your social media following soars as fans, old and new, praise your ability to remain grounded despite your success.

Meanwhile, Drew’s small but sweet cameo sparks renewed admiration for your relationship, with countless threads and videos dedicated to celebrating your bond. “Y/n and Drew are proof that true love exists,” one viral tweet declares, garnering thousands of likes and retweets. Another fan edits together a montage of your cutest moments from the interview, set to a romantic song, which quickly racks up millions of views.

Drew couldn’t stop teasing you about how viral the iced tea moment had become. “You’re lucky I didn’t walk in shirtless,” he joked one night as you scrolled through TikTok, finding yet another edit of you two. “Please,” you said, giggling, your hand affectionately stroking Nellie, “half the internet would’ve fainted.” “Half?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I think you’re underestimating me, babe.”

[stu-dyingstudent]

Sakura Haruno fic recs: romance-centric

I, like many others, definitely enjoy a a good romance every so often. All of these recs are going to have the romantic development of the characters as the forefront of the story, so just because the fic includes a ship doesn't mean it will go on the list. That means, many of them might feel more on the slice of life side of the spectrum, but that's not the case for all!!

There is going to be a mix of ships here so if you're interested in one in specific then use the search feature!

Started: 2024.08.28

Last Updated: 2024.12.19

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

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To Build a Home - RedPowder || ao3 || E || kakasaku || canon divergence || ongoing

Sakura and Kakashi are assigned a mission that will change the path of their lives forever.

Kakashi and Sakura are forced to marry on orders from the village and I know that description sounds dumb, but trust me when I say this fic is gold. I've always had a hard time with kakasaku fics because I feel the whole teacher/student thing gets swept under the rug too easily, but that's not the case here. Their past relationship from team 7 is a glaring shadow over their marriage and the guilt over the whole situation weighs heavy on Kakashi. This mission isn't easy for either of them and it takes a lot of pull and tug to ensure things don't completely blow up. To Build a Home is probably one of my favorite takes on this ship as the portrayal feels realistic and the character feel accurate to themselves. Just give it a go!

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Approaching Sun - ANerdInAllHerGlory || ffn || T || sasusaku || blank period || ongoing

After 2 years, Sasuke returns to the village where friends anxiously await him. Still troubled by the mysteries of Kaguya and his personal guilt, Sasuke is split between friends and his journey. Troubled by rising casualties and international dependence on her abilities, Sakura is torn between her love for Sasuke and her duty to her village.

Approaching Sun is probably one of the most realistic depictions of Sasuke and Sakura's relationship that I have read. This takes place during the blank period and references the novels, so it feels like an actual possibility of what went down. As much as I love them, I have a hard time believing that their relationship was smooth sailing and so I think this is an interesting take.

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The Fool - thekatthatbarks || ao3 || T || shikasaku || blank period || complete

Ino kicked at a pebble on the ground, her arms folded across her chest. “How long?” Shikamaru sighed and pulled the cigarette away from his lips. “The war." It was a lie somewhat. He’d liked her since they were kids but had simply ignored the budding crush expecting it to fade over time. It hadn’t and by the time the war came around, he accepted he would always carry it despite his increasing efforts to drop it. He’d tried drowning it in the river, burning it in a fire, covering it up with something else. But it was all to no avail. It stuck with him, always apart of him. “Have you ever told anyone? Chouji? Her?” "No."

I actually really like Shikamaru and Sakura as a pairing (or just working together in general); however, I haven't read much of them. The Fool was a great post-war read where with some meddling (curtesy of Ino) we get to watch the progression of their relationship into something more than friends.

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Nightmare in Red - Sariasprincy || ao3 || M || itasaku || non-massacre AU || complete

Haruno Sakura used to think the eyes were the windows to the soul, but after witnessing the horrors of the Sharingan firsthand, she's convinced they are the doors. It was pure chance that led Sakura to the discovery of the disease eating through Uchiha Itachi's lungs and now that she's aware, she knows she cannot just turn a blind eye. But how is she to treat the very man who tortured her while at the same time keep her nightmares from consuming her? That she doesn't know, but she knows she has to try, even if it nearly kills her in the end.

Itachi unintentionally captures Sakura in his mangekyou after being rolled into the hospital for her to heal. While Sakura tries to work through the impacts of the genjutsu she continues to work with him in an effort to cure him of the disease infecting his body. I actually really liked how the whole thing played out. Itachi's sickness was sort of a mystery in the original series and so I found it rather interesting to see what was done in regards to it. Anyway, I love their interactions and Shisui is (like always) a great character as well.

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Blind - ObsidianSickle || ffn || sasusaku || T || canon divergent || complete

It was almost time, Orochimaru was going to take his body as a vessel. He hated being used...he refused to be used. With that thought, he took the kunai in his hand and slashed across his eyes.

I won't lie, Sakura is pretty weak in Blind and the whole thing is super cheesy, but it's still an enjoyable read.

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Ghosts - ElegiesforShiva || ffn || sausaku || M || blank period || incomplete

In love and loss, it often comes back to family, and Team 7 had always been fated, hadn't they? Deny it as she may, Sakura finds her heart strung to them with an uncanny reverence and the weight of their ghosts. Sakura-centric. Heavy, heavy angst. Slow burn Sasusaku. Canon pairings. Lots of friendship feels. Eventual (consensual) lemon.

Ghosts is a pretty dark read where basically everyone is suffering. Sasuke and Sakura in specific have an especially hard time coping with their individual struggles yet they find comfort in each other. Check TWs before going in

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Home is Where the Heart is - DeepPoeticGirl || ffn || sasusaku || T || blank period || complete

And with every moment together, they get just a little closer, a little more comfortable with each other. Fall a little more in love. Post-war. Pre-epilogue.

This fic is actually adorable! Taking place during the black period we get to see how Sasuke and Sakura's relationship slowly progresses. If you've always wondered what their travels were like then definitely check this one out.

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In Times of Peace - SouthSideStory || ffn || sasusaku || M || blank period || canon divergent || complete

The war is over, and like Konoha, Team 7 has rebuilt itself from the ground up. Everything has changed, but Sasuke and Sakura remain much the same. Eleven years, she thinks, is a long time to be in love.

Sakura and Sasuke have like a secret relationship going on. Also, Sakura as a jonin sensei is so good!! I really wish that someone from the original cast actually went down that route, but whatever.

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Labyrinthine - FM_White || ao3 || itasaku || M || canon divergence || complete

ItaSaku (Post Uchiha Massacre) AU: Some things are destined to be. It just takes a couple of tries to get there.ItaSaku. Light KakaSaku.

I actually really liked how this was done as team 7 is still a family, Sasuke didn't lose his mind, Itachi picked a much more respectable path imo, and the characters are all adults.

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Only a Crush by Gingersoup || ao3 || kakasaku || M || canon divergent || complete

It was supposed to be an easy, fun night out. She never intended to wake up in her sensei's bed, half-naked and with no memory of what happened the night before! As she tries to unravel the mystery of that night, something sinister is growing beyond the walls of the Leaf Village... and what was only a crush spirals wildly out of control.

Sakura is unwillingly thrust into the world of illegal drugs, trafficking, and sex all while coming to terms with her new feelings regarding her former sensei. I typically don't like kakasaku, but I think this work is done tastefully well. The characters are both adults and the immorality of the relationship is not ignored, so be prepared for a lot of "we can't," "this is wrong," etc.. Anyway, Sakura is an absolute powerhouse and I thoroughly enjoyed the relationship between all of the different characters and villages!

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Dreaming's End - thepiedsniper || ao3 || T || kakasaku || canon divergence || complete

Sakura didn't avoid the Infinite Tsukuyomi with the others, and all the events that happened afterward were simply the product of her dream-state. When Sakura finally wakes up from years spent in her personal "paradise," she must to learn how to start again. Kakashi is there to help her. ~*~ (TWs for genjutsu-related unreality)

Basically, imagine the entirety of Boruto was Sakura's dream in Infinite Tsukuyomi. When Sakura manages to breakout during the war she's left to deal with serious ramifications of the life she just lived. She finds herself constantly questioning what's real and Kakashi tries to help her through it.

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Mamihlapinatapai - FM_White || ao3 || E || itasaku || canon divergence || ongoing

Mamihlapinatapai・Yagan. (n.) a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something they both desire, but which neither wants to begin In which Sakura tries her hardest to raise one hell of a rambunctious baby by herself, Sasuke is searching for something unknown, and Itachi is the uncle.

In another life where Itachi doesn't end up dying and instead tries his best to help Sakura raise his niece in Sasuke's absence. It's my head canon that everyone came together to help with Sarada just like they did for Kuranai, and so Mamihlapinatapi satisfies that thought for me. I like how Sasuke was criticized in this since as much as I understand the necessity of what he's doing, I also find it completely unfair to his wife and daughter. Itachi and Sakura form a great bond and it's all very domestic and just super fluffy all around, which I love.

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Louder than Words - SouthSideStory || ao3 || T || sasusaku || non-massacre AU || complete

Sakura hasn’t uttered a single word since the day her family died, but Sasuke is determined to hear her, one way or another. (No Uchiha massacre AU.)

Sakura gets taken in by the Uchiha family after Fugaku finds her on a mission. She's been mute ever since, but that doesn't stop her and Sasuke from forming a close bond.

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Snake Bound - shefalls || ao3 || E || sasusaku || canon divergence || complete

"You... took me with you." "That's what I said." "To Orochimaru. You took me with you, to Orochimaru." Sasuke nodded curtly and shoved the medical kit a little more insistently into her hands. Sakura accepted, and prayed to every known god that Orochimaru would ignore her existence. She should've known the gods don't listen. Now only on AO3. Sequel up.

What if Sasuke took Sakura with him like she asked? Snake Bound explores that idea and it's honestly a very uncomfortable read. Their relationship is based off of the isolation and dependency their new situation puts them in. All they really have is each other and the new bond that brings is not a healthy one.

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Armour-Sleeved Single Hit - thatdamnuchiha || ao3 || T || madasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

Sasuke always told Sakura she was weak. Even after she trained with Tsunade for years he only had eyes for Naruto whom he considered strong. She would forever be invisible to him no matter how many mountains she toppled.Being a member of Team Seven despite Sasuke’s refusal to acknowledge her meant she got herself into her fair share of sticky situations. Getting stuck a hundred odd years in the past had to take the cake though.But she was just a weak little girl and compared to the shinobi of old she’d be ridiculously pathetic. Sasuke had said she was weak to him – a modern day shinobi who hadn’t been forced into battle after battle like they did in the Warring Clans Era. Obviously she’d be nothing more than a spec of dirt in the eyes of the Founders.

Sakura manages to find herself in founding-era Konoha! While trying to prove that medical ninja are capable fighters she unknowingly gains the affection of Madara Uchiha. After all, the Uchiha find beauty in strength. Super cute read!

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Always You - alex-halcyon || ffn || T || kakasaku || age swap AU || complete

[AU. Age-swap] Kakashi x Sakura. From academy days to the third shinobi war and beyond, Kakashi and Sakura grow up and fall in love.

Basically, Sakura takes Rin's place on the old team 7. The progression between the character is quite interesting as it definitely isn't smooth sailing for Kakashi and Sakura. However, even through everything they find themselves drifting towards each other. Pretty cute imo.

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interim - stannide || ao3 || T || sasusaku || blank period || one-shot complete

Sasuke lives with Sakura in the weeks after the war.

Interim is such a wholesome read where Sasuke and Sakura rekindle their former relationship. Super fluffy

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Hit Me With Your Best Shot - Tozette || ao3 || T || sasusaku || blank period || one-shot complete

Sasuke is actually eighteen the first time he looks at Sakura and realises abruptly that he wants her.

I think we all know by now that Sasuke has always been attracted to strength, power, so why not when it comes to romance? Essentially, one day on a mission, Sasuke discovers he has a strength kink. Watching him continuously get flustered throughout the fic because of his admiration towards Sakura's strength is so entertaining. Really fun read

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the problem with how time works - MurderMittens || ao3 || E || kakasaku || generation swap AU || complete

"I don't remember you being this uncomfortable when Kakashi was nine and had a crush on you," Ino pointed out neutrally. "You thought it was flattering before." She moved to pour more wine into their glasses as Sakura exhaled sharply out of her nostrils. "Obviously! It was fucking cute when he was a kid! But now he's..." she trailed off, gesticulating feebly. Ino, taking pity on her, finished the sentence: "Now he's a stone cold hottie who looks and sounds like he'd murder the ever-loving shit out of your vagina."

Sakura and Kakashi's generations swap place and boy is it entertaining. With Naruto as his sensei, of course Kakashi has met Sakura. Now that she's back in the village after years, Kakashi decides to try his best to win her over.

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on still water - summersirius || ao3 || T || shisaku || canon divergence || complete

and sometimes, there are days without rain. —shisui/sakura

I'm actually devastated that the author decided to not pursue the plot line after about chapter 15 (it was so good too), but On Still Water is great nonetheless. Some really cute Shisui x Sakura moments

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never let 'em know your next move - MirrorImage003 || ao3 || T || itasaku || non-massacre AU || one-shot complete

six times itachi is surprised by sakura, and the one time he's surprised by his mother.

Sort of drabble style moments between Itachi and Sakura and it's honestly adorable.

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Hatsukoi - sparklyfaerie || ao3 || sasusaku || gen || non-massacre AU || complete

Sasuke leans away as the girl turns to him, and his mother doesn't need to be any closer to guess as to the expression on his face. The girl's body language changes in an instant, and Mikoto recognizes the posture of a little girl in love. It's kind of adorable.

Probably one of the cutest sasusaku fics I have read as Hatsukoi follows them from genin to marriage! It's told in multiple perspectives and it's full of tooth rotting fluff. You get to watch the slow progression of their relationship over time and how they grow even closer in Naruto's absence. Definitely read is you want something light!

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(oh, you'll probably go to heaven) please don't hang your head & cry - SafelyCapricious || ao3 || T || itasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

There’s no such thing as a good death. But Sakura faces her death without any regrets. Her dying is keeping her precious people safe — and that’s all she can ask for. So she dies with a smile, taking thousands of enemies with her. She wakes up and falls off the branch she’s laying on.

More of a pre-ship than anything actually romantic, so maybe this isn't the best for this list lmao.

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Ghost - twilightdazzle || ffn || M || sasusaku || canon divergence || complete

Sakura is officially declared missing on a Wednesday morning. Wednesday, what a stupid day to go missing. Of course, Sakura is the only person he knows that is annoying enough to interrupt the middle of the week like this.

Sakura goes missing and this fic is basically Sasuke slowly losing his mind over it. Ghost is honestly pretty darn touching and feels true to Sasuke's character. Everyone is concerned for Sakura and that doesn't exclude him despite how nonchalant he makes himself seem.

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Send me some recs if you have any to share! I'm generally fine with any ship as long as the story is good :)

[baronessvonglitter]

The Morning After

Javier Peña x f!Reader

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: after a sex emergency, you call on your neighbor Javier Peña.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, talk of birth control failing, dom!Javier Peña, uprotected p in v sex, creampie, slut shaming, mildly dubious consent, biting, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, no specific physical descriptions of reader besides that she's wearing a dress, no use of y/n

Author's Note: I have no shame.

JAVIER PENA MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

It's early when you knock on Javier Peña's door. He's dressed for work, looking like he's just about to head out, a cigarette already pressed between his lips and he answers your knock with a questioning glance, eyebrow raised.

"I'm sorry to bother you," you say, timid under his gaze. "But you did say I could come to you for help and.. well.. could you do me a huge favor?"

Peña glances at his watch. "A favor? What kind of favor?" There's a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, as if you're offering yourself on a plate to be his breakfast in bed.

You take a deep breath and exhale. "Could you give me a ride to the drugstore? It's kind of a time-sensitive issue."

He takes note of the way your hands flutter towards your stomach and he seems to catch your drift. "All right. C'mon then."

"Thanks," you whisper as he leads you to his car outside.

He's quiet as he drives, which is how you've typically known him to be in the past year as your across-the-hall neighbor. He only took notice of you when your boyfriend moved out a few months back and you exchanged quick good mornings or traded mail that was delivered incorrectly to each other. He saw you were alone and offered small, subtle gestures of kindness like offering to walk you to your car if it was dark out, or to simply keep an eye on your place if you weren't around. He'd tell you to stay safe, that the world is dangerous for pretty young women like you. He even said at one point that he would help with any favor, and now you're counting on him.

"May I ask what you need that's so urgent?" he asks, driving through the morning traffic.

"Medicine," you give him the short answer.

"What kind of medicine?"

"Medicine.. for women." You look out the window so he won't see your face turning red.

"Are you pregnant?"

You look at him, embarrassed. "God, no! But.. something happened last night and I just need to get the morning after pill."

He raises his brow as he keeps his eye on the road, flicks his cigarette out the window. "And what, exactly, did you get up to last night?"

You give him a strange look. "What do you think I got up to last night? Obviously I slept with someone."

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Who was it? Someone you know? A date? A random hookup?"

It's so odd to see him flustered. It's such a departure from the calm, cool, collected man you usually see. "Why does it matter?"

A few moments pass where it's quiet between you two. Peña seems to be processing what you've said. "Did you use protection?"

You sigh. "Yes, but the condom broke. That's why I need the pill. Happy now?"

"The condom broke? What kind of cheap-ass condoms were you using?"

You scoff. "Are you really going to judge me right now? I've seen you come home with a different woman every night."

"That's entirely different," Peña snaps. "I use protection. I take every precaution when I'm with someone. And don't try to change the subject."

"Honestly, you're upset with me and it's weird.." but a part of you kind of likes his overprotectiveness.. dare you believe he's a bit jealous?

He runs his fingers through his hair, obviously trying to collect himself. "You were careless, bonita. For Christ's sake, I have a lot of things to worry about, but one of them shouldn't be if you're going to get knocked up by some guy you don't even know."

"First of all, he's someone I really like, and we've been out a few times. He's not 'some guy'. Besides, how do you know your own protection hasn't failed at times?"

It's his turn to scoff. "Believe me, mine has never failed. Because unlike you, I'm smart enough to keep an eye on the expiration date before I use it."

"Bullshit! Haven't you ever been so caught up in the moment that you just.. slip it on without thinking?"

He grits his teeth. You are really getting under his skin. "I may get carried away at times, but I've never been careless enough to put on an expired, low-quality condom. Stop pushing this argument."

"You? Carried away? Hell would freeze over." You cross your arms.

The drugstore still isn't in sight. "Carried away as in passionate," he corrects you.

"Define passionate." A playful smirk crosses your features, enjoying how uneasy Peña seems to be.

It's one thing for him to express himself physically and quite another to talk about it, especially with a woman. "I'm just a little more intense.. but I'm careful about it."

"Intense? How? This is the most interesting conversation I've ever had with you."

The fact that you've managed to fluster this man is really distracting you from your current emergency. "Well, I just really feel it.. I like to enjoy myself, but I also like to focus on making someone else feel good when I'm with them. I'm.. a little bit aggressive, a little bit demanding-"

"Holy shit!" you blurt out. "Got it." You turn away, blushing again.

"Is that what you wanted to hear? That I get a bit rough when I fuck?"

That word goes straight to your pussy, and the fucker knows it. He knows it. "I suppose I can see that about you. You look like the rough type."

He breaks into a smile, and damn it if you don't want to fucking straddle him in that seat. "You can imagine all you want, bonita. You haven't had the pleasure."

You do your best to ignore the feelings he's kindling inside you. You'd always found him attractive but until now hadn't thought about him as more than a neighbor. "Make a left up here," you tell him, hoping to put the issue to rest.

With a smirk he pulls into the parking lot and lets the engine idle. "You really can't wait to get your hands on that pill, huh?"

"The sooner the better," you shrug. "Do you need anything while I'm in there? Maybe some more condoms?"

Peña gives a small, amused laugh. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. Get me two boxes while you're at it, just in case." He winks.

You roll your eyes. "Wait for me, okay?"

"Sure thing, and don't rush, bonita. It's just some condoms. I'm sure you could use another pack yourself." He leans back in his seat as he watches you go into the store.

You're out five minutes later. "We have a problem," you tell Peña.

"What's the problem?" A frown appears on his face.

"They won't let me purchase the pill unless my 'husband' is with me."

"What kind of bullshit is that? Where the hell are we? Saudi Arabia?"

"Be nice," you try to calm him, though you're touched by how upset he is over a problem he has nothing to do with. "Just come in with me, okay? I need you."

Without a word he sighs deeply and shuts off the engine, getting out onto the sidewalk with you. You enter the pharmacy. "Just hold my hand," you whisper, and he grabs hold of yours. "You're sweating a lot," you mention.

"I'm fine," he mutters. As you approach the counter, Peña does a total 180 and puts his arm around your waist, giving your hip a gentle squeeze. It's not hard for you to play into it, as his touch sizzles through your clothes. You take a moment to realize how big his hands are, and once again your mind goes to a place you have no control over.

"See? You had me bring my husband in here, taking him away from his very busy and very important job as an agent in the Drug Enforcement Administration, just to help me get medicine that by law you are not legally required to withhold from me," you tell the pharmacist, an older man with an unpleasant face and demeanor.

"My wife and I got a little carried away last night," Peña pipes in, playing his part. With a smirk he presses himself to you, grabbing your ass with both hands and kissing you. You freeze for a moment at the shock of it, but your body reacts so naturally that you kiss him back, arms draped around his neck. His tongue gently pries your lips apart and you can taste cigarettes and whiskey in his kiss. Your panties dampen with unexpected desire and you have the urge to wrap your legs around his waist and let him take you right there against the plastic barrier of the drugstore counter, but a loud harrumph from the elderly pharmacist stops both of you.

"We're newlyweds," you explain, trying to catch your breath as Peña wraps his arms around you from behind. He kisses the side of your neck and nearly all rational thought leaves you. "We're still waiting for his vasectomy to heal." This little white lie earns you a pinch on the ass from him. You yelp. "We'll be purchasing several of these morning after pills."

Satisfied, the pharmacist give you the pill packets and you pay, swatting Peña's hand away when he tries to pay for them with his own cash. "You have 72 hours to take the pill to keep from getting pregnant," the elderly man tells you before you leave. "So you two have plenty of fun before then."

"We're going to have to get back home quickly, bonita," Peña tells you, and you have no doubt he's no longer in character. There's a rush of adrenaline shooting through you and you're both in a completely different headspace than you were before.

"My place or yours?" you ask, a little breathless as you exit the building.

He pulls you in for another scorching kiss. "Mine" he practically growls.

You're barely through his apartment door when he presses you to the nearest wall, lifting your leg and rubbing against you. "Fuck, look at this, you're already so wet," he murmurs, lifting your skirt and pulling your panties roughly down your legs. He stuffs them in his jacket pocket and his fingers go back to press inside you wet, waiting cunt. Two fingers slide in easily. "Jesus Christ, bonita, you're dying for it, aren't you?" You moan into his mouth as he kisses you, roughly pumping his fingers inside of you. Your knees go weak but he's there to hold you up, kneading your ass cheek with one hand while the other gets you ready for him. "Que sucia," he whispers roughly into your ear. "Such a dirty girl, sleeping with a different man each day, letting each of them come inside you. From now on I'm going to be the only one to come inside you, is that understood?" When you don't answer, he grabs your chin with his free hand. "Understood?"

"Ye-yes!" you moan, feeling helpless as he finger fucks you but refuses to let you come. Just when you think you're on that edge he takes it away. "You don't get to come yet, baby. You will only come on my cock, is that understood?" In response you clench around him and he groans. "Ah, fuck, you're tight. Your date last night must have been so small. I'm gonna fix that, and I'm gonna fill you up so you're leaking my cum for days, bonita."

"Turn around," he whispers gruffly, moving you anyway so you're facing away, your palms pressed to the wall. He removes your dress over your head and makes quick work of removing your bra. Cupping your breasts he kisses the nape of your neck and shoulders, leaving small bite marks where no one will see them. Each love bite is like a small fire upon your skin, which he laves with his tongue to soothe it. He can't keep his hands away from your ass: squeezing, rubbing, giving little spanks and smiling when you yelp in both surprise and pleasure. He's muttering things in Spanish that you can't understand, but from his tone you know it's praise. You hear his belt unbuckling, pants sliding down. Your pussy clenches in anticipation. He lifts your ass with one hand and guides himself to you with the other. All you feel is a delicious heat, the girth of him filling you up, stretching you. You gasp. He's gentle with the first few inches, and shoves forward without warning for the last few inches so that it takes your breath away. "Oh look at that.. all pink and stretched out around my cock. I bet your little boyfriend from last night didn't do this. I bet he laid on top of you and pumped for about three seconds before he came and left you having to run to me.." You're barely listening to his words, whimpering, mumbling 'please' and 'oh god!', concentrating on his cock, how it moves, how it fills you so that it's almost painful but Peña would never hurt you. His hands on your hips help him with steady strokes as he gets a feel for you, burrowing inside your channel with fluidity. "God damn, what a view," he mutters. "Your pink little ass and your pussy stretched so wide for me.. Listen to that, bonita," he quiets and lets the sound of your slapping flesh fill the room. You can't hold back, moaning and panting. "It's a fucking symphony," Peña curses, moving his hips faster. The new pace throws you for a loop and you're at his mercy, gasping with each deep, quick thrust. It's impossible to think of anything except what he's doing to you to make you come.

"Oh Javi," you moan, using his given nickname for the first time. "Please please please please!"

He grunts. "Please what, baby?" His hand snakes around to your front and you already know what's going to happen next.

"Please let me come, please let me come, oh god!" You squeeze your eyes shut tight.

"Dirty girl wants to come? Say it. Say you want me to fill you up, dirty girl." His voice is gravelly in your ear. "Say you want my cum inside you for the next three days."

You're barely able to breathe let alone form sentences. "Please... I want your cum inside me!"

"Inside where, baby?"

"In my fucking pussy! Blow your fucking load in me!" You're desperate, feral.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, taken over by your own dirty talk, smirking because you're exactly the kind of dirty girl he thought you to be. "That's exactly what dirty girls say, baby. But you need to come first. I want to come when you do, and you'll see why." With that he placed his touch on your clit, rubbing in little circles until you're engulfed in tidal waves of pleasure. You're incoherent as you rhythmically clench around his cock, but able to register the way he swells right before he twitches, milked by you, releasing his cum and splashing his warmth deep inside you. God, it's such a primal feeling. And you keep rippling around him, small spasms that take forever to die away. Peña slumps against your back, holding you close with one arm. "Let me see, baby." He disengages, getting a good view of your wrecked pussy, already spilling out his pearlescent seed. He uses his fingers to push it back inside you, like something he's found to play with. He makes you stand, still holding on to the wall, watching his cum fall along your inner thigh and drip to the floor. "Let it all drip out of you, baby. There's more where that came from."

You stand, trying to catch your breath. His cum turns cold running in tiny rivulets down your thigh, but you like the feeling. It's almost sacred, in a way. And it's freeing. Thanks to your pills you are carefree for the next few days.

"Let's get you in the shower," he says, his voice gentle this time as he gently turns you to kiss your mouth. "Then we'll try out the sofa.."

You chuckle. "Aren't you already late for work because of me?"

"Fuck it. I can be a few hours late.."

dividers by @roseschoices 👑

[chloryn]

anyway if no one else will i guess it has to be me!!

klaus hc’s : the situationship edition

part one

content warning;; klaus x reader, klaus with he/they pronouns, female reader, friends to friends who have sex ?, unexpected boners, sexualization without knowledge, guilty conscience (for a minute), oral sex, 90% not canon, mostly just self indulgent writing

a/n;; there’s simply going to have to be a part two, i tried to get all my thoughts out and i couldn’t. it’s three a.m. and i got out what i could.

- it’s his fault truly, i feel like he is such a romantic

- friends first, you’d meet in the evening, at a record store maybe right before closing, or maybe in a café

- when it comes down to people asking about how you met neither of you have the same answer, always the same line

- “we’ve known each other forever”

- late night phone calls to soothe each other

- klaus would be the first to ask you to come over past the usual “hang out” hours

- “i’ve really tried everything y/n, even the hour long meditation cd”

- “please just come over and sit with me?”

- “i’m bored to death” (he’s literally immortal)

- you agree, you’re only a few blocks away from the academy anyway and besides, you couldn’t sleep either

- klaus would meet you halfway and walk you back, he hates the idea of you outside, alone, in the dark.

- definitely the first time you’ve had a good look around their room, you’d only been in it a handful of times and only for a moment or two

- klaus is a messy kind of organized, but it feels so much like him

- his bed sheets are burnt orange, and their duvet is a dark blue, there’s tons of pillows and fuzzy throws littered on the bed. it feels cozy.

- his nightstand is the cleanest thing surrounding you, an incense burner, a pack of old cigarettes, a bottle of high dollar whiskey, and some jewelry strewn around.

- it smells like the night in his room, one window cracked to let in a breeze, a soft candle burning with the scent of pine, and the scent of him causing you to feel oh so comfortable

- for a moment you question why you hadn’t spent more time with them here, why you wouldn’t want to experience such a private part of your best friends life

- but that was it exactly, this was too private

- but klaus felt better, he felt so much safer with you around, with people around in general but when he had called you he knew he wanted you specifically

- he wasn’t completely honest with you about why he couldn’t sleep or what was bothering him, he didn’t want you to know his past or what kept him up at night

- he was lucky enough to have convinced ben to let him have alone time with you, as he wasn’t sure he could keep up that charade much longer without at least claiming to be delusional

- nothing happens the first time you stay over, or the second, or third even

- the weirdest thing to happen is the morning after, at least the first time he walked you out you wore your own clothes

- by the the third “sleepover” you had strolled into the kitchen, one of their sleep shirts and a pair of boxers you prayed passed as shorts thrown on

- you had only been caught by diego and five, both of which seemed to have been in shock and blubbering, obviously a little disappointed in your decisions by the looks they gave

- you knew it looked strange, you weren’t completely oblivious. the real problem was that you expected klaus to be more conscious of what they were thinking. he wasn’t.

- after your third night over in less than two weeks ben broke the news to klaus, everyone in the house, including him honestly, thought you two were hardcore banging. maybe even more since you were sleeping over and wearing his clothes out.

- klaus was APPALLED.

- they literally had no clue what to say, he was slightly embarrassed but also he didn’t completely mind, it was obvious you two were just close friends

- the next time though he was outside your front door when they called.

- “hey”

- he was too nervous someone would embarrass you, what if you were to find out about what everyone was thinking. his house was super off limits right now.

- he figured you’d be more than happy to sleep in your bed anyway.. and maybe they wanted to snoop a little

- you guys spent such little time at your house

- the reality of it was a horrified expression and profuse apologies, you didn’t have nearly as much space or even an excuse to why your house wasn’t as tidy as you wanted it

- you let him in, walking the both of you back towards your bedroom after noting a couch is no place for a sleepover

- deja vu

- klaus would examine all your trinkets, take note of how everything smelled of you, he truly felt so calm

- “y/n?”

- as if it couldn’t get worse, he pulls out your vibrator from beneath the blanket where he sat. snickering, his ears turning a light pink.

-face flushed you would take it from him, scrambling to put it in your bedside drawer

- it finally clicks, he gets it, he knows why everyone thinks you two are at least messing around. because for the first time, he has a painfully hard cock, and it’s just the idea of you touching yourself in the same spot he’s lounging about on

- he tries so hard to play it cool, covering himself with a blanket, using his hand to gently push it down before you notice

- “you wanna do a movie tonight?”

- “ooo of course!”

- you’d beg him to watch a slasher, and as per usual he’d give in, even though he hates them passionately

- comfy clothes, and popcorn with m&ms mixed in, and sugary sweet drinks to pair with

- “pleaseeee” he’d give into your crocodile tears, giving up his clothes to please you

- turning around so one another can change clothes, covering your eyes with your hands

- shirtless klaus

- after his first *ahem* problem, it would only get worse. you’d hide your face in his chest during the jump scares or when things would get eerie, tucking your arms around his torso

- only wearing a pair of thin pajama pants, opting out of the boxers he had so kindly given to you to wear as shorts yet again, even though your entire closet was mere feet away

- he can feel the curve of your breasts against his arm, and your legs slightly intertwined with his and it may actually give him a heart attack

- god it made him feel so guilty, to know you trusted him with so much of you, your life. just for him to be sitting here, in your bed, sexualizing you while you were just trying to hang out

- he tried everything to make it stop, even thinking of how ben would scold him if he were here

- you probably had a quarter of the movie left when your balance would betray you, accidentally slipping and grazing your forearm against his dick

- both of you bolting up. a mixture of shock and embarrassment across your faces

- your thighs clench ever so slightly at the thought of his arousal being over you, tension fogging your brain

- “y/n i’m so sorry”

-“fuck”

- “i don’t know what’s going on with me tonight”

- cue klaus clambering to get up, but you ushering them back down

- “what if.. we just tried it?”

- “maybe we’re just horny, it’s not a big deal”

- soft kisses, wide eyes

- pulling down his pants, his head slightly purple with pre cum leaking, smearing on his happy trail

- “are you okay with this?”

- “you’re allowed to say no”

- slowly kissing up their thighs, licking and kissing up the shaft, suckling hickies onto their lower belly

- SO so sensitive

- “ahh, st-stop”

- “i- i’m not joking, please- please i’ll cum-“

- smooth about the transition, slipping off their pants and straddling you ever so slightly to slide his hands under his your shirt, nudging your breasts further into their hands, whimpering when their fingers wrap around and twist your pebbled nipples

- “you sound so pretty”

- “fuck, are you sure?” “you’re okay with this?” “tell me if you wanna stop, okay?”

- with your consent he slowly tugs on the waistband of his boxers that rest on your hips, letting your shirt fall back down, he may be fully naked and bare but he doesn’t wanna push you to hard

- he waits for your little nod of approval before hooking his fingers, and sliding them down your soft legs

- klaus has seen bare skin before, he’s seen people who had their cocks leaking for him, or their pussy glistening and puffy waiting for him, but he’d never seen anything that compared to you

- the way you were dripping, pussy swollen and visibly aching, clit prominent and perked up, over him, if there was a heaven waiting for him he was sure he’d found it

- he’d start slow, flattening his tongue, lapping all the way up, moaning every time the taste of you hit his tongue, until he got greedy, swirling his tongue around your clit, sucking and teasing, reaching his free hand under your shirt again to palm your tits

- messy and a bit uncoordinated, bucking your hips ever so slightly as your climax approached

-pulling his hands back and wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you still

- “‘m gonna cum, please, oh god”

- “i’m right there please honey, please”

- the endearment, that’s what would send him over the edge, he’d replay the sweetness of it in your voice over and over coming untouched, moaning and crumbling all while still pulling you closer to your orgasm

- following your orgasm till the very end, letting you guide him through, he’d speed up and slow down for as long as it took as long as he knew he was giving you a complete experience

- nuzzling and lapping up your sap

- “you’re so sweet” “so divine”

- he’d be so exhausted after, but he’d want you to have everything you needed

- “can i get you anything?” “i’ll grab you some water” “let’s clean up, i’ll help you”

- after he was sure you were well taken care of and comfortable, he’d ask you to lay with him. to soak up the afterglow of it all.

- he’d never had this kind of erotic experience before but he knew he may never have it again so he wanted to savor it. and potentially attempt to make it so good you wanted it to be a regular occurrence.

- he would give you the option of him leaving or staying, the sleepover boundary had officially been crossed creating a whole slew of new possibilities

- “stay, please”

- cuddling while sleeping was like a whole new kind of intimacy for him. the way your hair tickled his nose, being able to hear your steady breaths.

- bonus content: ben appearing at an ungodly hour to make sure klaus is okay, and realizing not only would he have to live with his nosey decision, but also with the fact that he couldn’t tell anyone what he knew.

[k-aay]

☆ HEY, NEIGHBOUR. HEY, LOVER. (PART 1)

☆ SYNOPSIS : : There once was a boy who had feelings for a girl but didn't know how to express them. As a kid, he didn't know how to get her attention, so he beat up the guys who did, which only lit the flame to a long-lasting hatred between them. That was sixteen years ago, and now you both are twenty-one with homes too close for comfort. But what you didn't know is how attracted you were to him now.

FEATURING : choso kamo

NOTE : this took a little too long to write pls enjoy <3

WC ; 5.2k

CREDITS! : this work is owned by @k-aay on tumblr. please dont steal my work! (i do not proof read, sorry for any mistakes !!)

16 YEARS AGO !

"I hate you!" you screamed, stomping your small foot as your eyebrows furrowed. It was true, you hated the way he was acting right now. He stood there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his baggy, denim jeans, standing not far from you. And on the ground beside him was your classmate wailing with a bruised eye. Choso couldn't care less about the trouble he caused. He kicked a tiny rock before him, "I did you a favour, stupid." You were seeing red at this point as you clenched your fists. "What is your problem!?" you grab him by the collar of his red shirt.

"Hey, let go!" Choso pushes you away, not using much force. "What the hell are you doing!? I was helping you!" he yells, pointing a finger at you. "You punched him! I didn't ask you to punch him!" He frowned. Of course, you didn't ask him to punch that jerk, but he did it anyway. He knew that you wanted that kid far away from you so he punched him. Why were you upset at him?

PRESENT

Choso Kamo was one of the staples of your childhood. He was notorious for leading the other boys in your elementary school like minions and demanding them to create as much chaos with him as possible. And he'd be damned if any of his minions stepped out of line. But that was almost a decade ago and you haven't seen him since middle school. Right now, you're unpacking your boxes after moving into your new apartment. As you sit on your brand-new couch and rest your feet on the cardboard box sitting snugly on the floor, you crack open your last can of beer.

"I thought you said you'd manage to handle unpacking everything yourself," your friend, Shoko says as she grabs the beer from your hand and chugs it. "Ugh, slow down! That's the last can." She wipes the excess from her mouth and hands you the can. "I deserve to drink as fast as I want after you enslaved me today." You roll your eyes and place your lips on the cold, metal top of the can, taking a sip. "And here I thought my best friend meant it when she said I could call her if I needed anything."

"No one means it when they say that. You're fucking stupid for believing that. I only helped because I wanted to see your new place. Maybe even design a room for myself." Shoko shifted her position on the couch, her legs over the top as she sat upside-down. "Why the hell would I give you a room?" She hits your legs, "Because I helped you clean the place with these hands. For hours, if I should add. And you live so close to campus and that gas station."

"I did get a good place, didn't I?" you say, fidgeting your fingers around the can. "'Good' is an understatement," Shoko says, pointing her finger at the window. Specifically the gas station near your house. "Now it's time to pay off your debts and get us some beer and cigarettes. Your treat." You groan, sitting back on the couch. "Go. I'll watch over your lion den." You stand up straight and zip your grey sweater up, slightly covering the shorts you were wearing.

"Fine," you say, slipping into your shoes as you hold onto the wall for support. You place your phone into the back pocket of your shorts and open the front door, stepping outside.

As you made your way to the gas station, you wanted to make the trip quick. Speed-walking through the store to gather the things you needed: bottles of beer, snacks, cigarettes and hangover medicine you know you'll need for tomorrow. You dumped the pile of happiness for the night onto the check-out table and carefully placed the six-pack of beer down too. As the cashier scanned everything, you faintly heard a group of male voices from outside gradually getting closer and louder until they were right outside the door. "Your total will be forty dollars. How would you like to pay?" the cashier dully says, tapping on the screen before him.

"Jesus... forty..." you mumble. "Card." pulling the shiny credit card from your purse, you pay for your items as the cashier puts them into a white plastic bag. You grabbed the bag and headed straight for the door. Right as you were going to push it open, someone had already pulled it open instead. "Yo, Kamo, you gonna go inside? Oh, shit-" the white-haired man cuts himself off after laying eyes on you. "y/n?" he says, a smirk forming on his face.

"Gojo.." you mumble, dreadfully. And in front of him was Choso Kamo. The little leader of it all. He towered over you, his eyes looking down to meet yours. And you hated the feeling of it even more, damaging your ego slightly. "Drinking with someone or are you all alone?" Gojo leans forward, resting his arm on Choso's shoulder who was staring at you with his hands shoved into his pockets the same way he did all those years ago. You didn't want to admit how good Choso looked with his long, jet-black tied back into a bun with a few strands falling in front of his face. "Fuck off. I have to get going. Because unlike you, someone's waiting for me at home."

"Who?" You looked up at the man who spoke coldly to you. It was just one word that sent shivers down your spine. His tone was nothing short of rough. He said that one simple word as if you owed him an explanation and you had to quickly remind yourself that you didn't. "That's none of your business." Gojo chuckles, removing his arm from Choso. "You'll let us in your apartment if we ask to join right? Seems like a lot of drinking for one small person." You were about to refuse them before the other one, Geto did for you. "Satoru, it's rude to invite yourself like that. Especially if you aren't wanted." His tone sounded soft and sincere, but you already knew Geto well enough from previous years to know that nothing was sweet under that angelic voice.

What you couldn't figure out was the man still intensely staring at you, Choso Kamo. You looked away from him and shook your head before pushing past them and walking off. "Not even a goodbye?" Gojo calls out yet you ignore him like you've been doing all these years. But you still felt as if eyes were on you.

Once you hurriedly made it back to your apartment, you placed the white, plastic bag on the floor and opened a beer. Shoko watched as you chugged the entire thing, reminiscing bad memories of not only your recent encounter with Choso and his little minions but old, previous ones as well. "Damn, who got your panties in a twist?" She asked, opening a beer for herself as she took a small sip. "Those wannabe-frat punks."

"Gojo and Geto?" Shoko asks, laying her stomach flat with one hand holding her beer bottle dangling off the couch. "Oh, and don't forget their little don," you aggressively place the bottle on the ground, but not strong enough for it to break into pieces. Your reminder of the two boys' leader grabbed Shoko's attention. "He's back?" You nod your head, not bothering to look at her. "Is he still hot?" Now you look at her, disgusted in fact. "Ye- no!" Shoko raises a brow as she takes another sip of beer, skeptical of you having to correct yourself. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

"He pisses me off! I swear I wanted to beat him up with my bag when I saw him! Right on the spot where his little dick-sucking friends could see." You chugged the bottle, every last drop of the drink was gone. Shoko looked at you, realizing the extent of your anger. You opened another beer bottle and started drinking. "Once I get my hands on that deadbeat, motherfucker-"

It was hours later before the effects of multiple beers kicked in. Shoko left early due to an assignment that was due the next morning, leaving you drunk and alone. You were lost in your thoughts, mainly about the man you dreaded. You laid flat on your back, the coldness of the wooden flooring was one of the few things you felt after those beers. Suddenly, loud music startled you and you looked at the wall where the apartment next door was on the other side of. That was where the music was coming from. You were already upset and annoyed by the encounter at the gas station. Being drunk meant your decency to be a good neighbour, especially on the first day of moving in was kicked out of the window. You put on your slippers and exit your apartment, knocking on the door next to yours.

No answer...

So you knocked again. It's louder this time. Only now, the door finally opened. The muzzled-out music was louder and gave you a minor headache. Standing on the other side of the door was Choso, looking as calm as you were shocked. "Can I help you?" he asked, his eyes lowering to your body which was covered in a short, white tank top and jean shorts that almost fully covered your thighs. You felt his gaze lingering for a few seconds and a blush crept onto your cheeks when Choso's eyes met with yours again. It was like a staring contest you were determined to win. Even when he had his hair messily down, making it ten times harder for you to look at him, you weren't going to face defeat. Instead, you cleared your throat, trying to be as intimidating and nonchalant as possible as you slammed your hand against his door. "Turn down the music, dork. You're gonna wake up the entire building with that shit."

Unfortunately for you, your eyes lingered down on the very shirtless person you were berating. Choso's arms were crossed, covering half of the view of his chest. Secretly, you were praying for this man to let his arms down to his side. It felt like you were a high schooler all over again, drooling over guys from magazines but instead, you were drooling over the man that was physically impossible for you to get along with. But your intoxication left no room for shame and locked it behind chains and a metal door.

"No," he spoke. "Are you drunk?" You rolled your eyes and walked closer, stopping right in front of him, your slippers almost touching his feet. "Turn. Down. The. Fucking. Music. Got it?" Your arm leaned against his door as you waited for his answer. As much as you were scared, you stood your ground with confidence, until Choso leaned down to reach your height level. "No." You unknowingly backed up an inch, causing him the slightest smirk plastered on his face. "I'll-" Choso raised a brow as you stammered. You didn't know what you were gonna do if he refused. His smirk widened at your loss of words. "What? You'll what?" Being tongue-tied meant you had already lost the argument right when it started escalating to threats.

Unfortunately, you had no threats in mind. Damn him and how good he smelled right now. It ticked you off how weirdly attracted you were to him at the moment and you did everything you could to put that energy into thinking of a way to piss him off. "I'll call the cops and file a noise complaint."

He rolled his eyes and stepped back, leaning against his doorframe again. You were waiting for a response from him, but secretly regretting the threat of calling the cops. It wasn't like you were going to go through with it. Your mind was running with thoughts you knew shouldn't belong in your head, slightly fidgeting with your fingers as Choso's gaze remained on you. Burning heat spread across your cheek as his stare slammed into your eyes. "Okay. I'll turn it down," he finally speaks. "On one condition." You tilted your head, placing your hands behind your back. "Who did you have over tonight?"

"What?" His heavy eye didn't falter for a second after he spoke. "Answer the question and I'll lower the volume." You were delighted with the easy condition but as happy as you were came confusion. Why did he want to know? "I answer the question and you'll have it lowered?" you repeat, seeking reassurance. "As low as you want, sweetheart." Sweetheart... Why did it feel as if any of your rational and sane thoughts had escaped your head right when that name so casually rolled off his tongue? Especially in a way that shouldn't have you fantasizing about him. You blamed the alcohol for causing the way you felt. "So? Spit it out," he demanded, snapping you out of reality. "Cat got your tongue or are you too scared to admit that you were with someone and had some fun?" What was this guy thinking? Never mind that, the way he was acting suddenly gave you a little ego boost, reminding you about who has to be in charge of this situation.

"So impatient, Choso. Didn't you hear? Curiosity killed the cat," you smirked. He leaned forward, "Everyone always leaves that saying unfinished. Didn't you hear? Satisfaction brought him back, sweetheart." The way his mood was dead serious only pushed the situation to make you feel even hotter. "Now I hate to rush the moment, but I have a party to get back to. If you want the volume to be lowered, then you better fess up and tell me who you were with." You clenched your fists, fighting the urge to give him a piece of your mind by the way he was talking down on you. "Fine, fine! I was with Shoko. Shoko Ieri from high school." Choso steps away from you, placing his hand on his door. "Alright. Goodnight then." The door closed, leaving you with a lowered volume from the other side and still a heavy head.

Choso leaned against his door, his heart pounding against his chest as he replayed the encounter with you in his mind. He had always been aware of your presence; you were the girl who captivated him in a way he couldn’t articulate. Sixteen years had passed since those chaotic childhood days, yet the memory of your fiery spirit and stubbornness remained vividly alive in his thoughts. Even now, when you stood before him, looking so determined and slightly intoxicated in your little tank top and shorts, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to you. As he turned back into his apartment, a stark contrast to the chaotic swirl of emotions inside him. Gojo and Geto had organized a small gathering, and despite the noise, he wasn’t in the mood for a party anymore. Not when he was buzzing from your confrontation.

“Choso! You’re not just gonna stand there all night, are you?” Gojo called from the living room, pulling him out of his thoughts. The white-haired jokester was sprawled across the couch, a beer in hand, while Geto lounged in an armchair, flipping through his phone with a disinterested expression. “Yeah, man. C’mon, don’t leave us hanging,” Geto chimed in, looking up from his phone. Choso trudged over, taking a seat on the edge of the couch, his thoughts still lingering on you. “What’s the plan? Just drink and laugh at stupid shit?”

"No fucking shit. Who was at the door?" Gojo asked. Choso shot him a glance and shook his head, "Just a noise complaint from my neighbour. It's nothing. Just continue where we left off." Gojo and Geto looked at each other before nodding their heads, continuing their yap. As the night wore on, Choso felt increasingly restless. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and tried to immerse himself in the conversations, but every laugh reminded him of you. The familiar faces of his friends were around him, but all he could picture was the fiery girl who lived just next door.

THE NEXT MORNING !

It had to be at least seven in the morning or even six by the way the sun was shining too brightly through the curtains of your window. Your alarm was found on the ground and seemed to have been knocked over. You rolled around, grabbed your pillow and roughly muzzled it over your face attempting to shield your eyes from the brightness. A hard-hitting headache kicked in but your tiredness from the previous night hadn't left. You threw the pillow to the side and sat up straight, stretching your arms. Going through your morning routine was nearly impossible with a hangover present. So you just brushed your teeth, got a hot cup of water and made your way to the balcony to take in some fresh air. The mug you took a sip out of was warm, heating your hands as the cool breeze from outside hit it. When you turn to your left to glimpse more of the view, you catch a sight you wished you hadn't discovered.

A still shirtless neighbour staring directly at you from his close balcony as he sipped on something from his mug. Choso's hair was tied back and eye-bags were visible even from the distance you were at. "Morning," he spoke. His voice was still deep and raspy after having just woken up. You nod your head, memories of last night flooding back into your head. "You get any sleep?" he asks, his expression showing that he doesn't care about what your answer is going to be but your gut told you otherwise. "No, not much." You kept your answer short and simple, keeping your distance from him. The feeling he gave you wasn't something that could be easily trusted especially after years of knowing him. Even with the sounds of cars and ongoing traffic outside filling the air, it still felt awkwardly quiet now that none of you were talking. You took a sip out of your cup, uncomfortably tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear afterwards.

"Do you still think about middle school?" Choso breaks the trend of silence. You raise a confused brow, caught off guard by his sudden question. "Middle school?" you repeat. He leans against the railing of the balcony, the small gap between yours and his being something you could be grateful for. "Yeah," he answers. "That's... random." You take a moment to think about it. It was so long ago that you don't remember that much about your days there. "Not really. Why?" Choso smiles. "You had a record for being a goody-two-shoes if I remember correctly." You roll your eyes, "And you had a record for causing all the trouble there. You didn't even have a reason most of the time." Before you even knew it, he managed to get you all fired up with only a few sentences. “Not really. You were always so serious. I wondered what it would take to get you to loosen up,” he says, his gaze steady and probing, those dark eyes searching for something in yours. You laugh, the sound is almost incredulous—a mix of disbelief and amusement that dances in the air between you.

“And you thought causing trouble was the way to do that?” Choso nods. “Absolutely,” he replies, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as if sharing a secret only you could hear. The air between you crackles with unspoken tension, charged with memories of past escapades and the thrill of possibilities. You can almost feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the casual intimacy of the moment drawing you in. “You still seem like you’re stuck in that same routine. Being stuck in the same loop of following nothing less than the rules, aren't you, sweetheart? ” His words hit a nerve, and a rush of defensiveness rises within you. “Maybe I like my routine,” you counter, crossing your arms tightly, a shield against his probing gaze. Yet, even as you say it, doubt flickers in the back of your mind, a tiny voice questioning whether you truly find comfort in the mundane.

You glance down, noticing how your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt, a clear sign of the restlessness brewing inside you. It’s a familiar feeling, one that has settled in your chest like a weight over the years. The thrill of spontaneity seems like a distant memory, and the thought of breaking free from your carefully constructed life sends a jolt of adrenaline through you. He's getting to you. You remember who you're talking to and snap out of the reckless thoughts. "Not that it's your business anyway," you add to your previous sentence. "When did you even move here?" He shrugs, "Before you. Maybe three months prior." His answer causes you to raise a brow, "I've been coming in and out of this apartment for almost a week now. How come I've never seen you even once?"

“Guess I’ve been keeping a low profile,” he replied a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. “I like my peace and quiet. But it looks like that’s changed now that you’re my neighbour.” You felt a mix of irritation and something else—something you weren’t ready to confront. “Right, because peace and quiet is exactly what you’re all about,” you said, crossing your arms again, trying to project confidence despite the flutter in your stomach. Touché,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, leaning back against the railing with easy confidence. “But hey, it’s not all bad. Maybe you just needed someone to shake things up a bit.” You roll your eyes. “Shake things up? Is that your idea of fun?” You raised an eyebrow, attempting to keep the conversation light, but the air around you thickened with tension. You could feel his gaze tracing your features, and it made your pulse quicken.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning in slightly, the space between you charged with an unexpected energy that felt almost electric. “You ever think about breaking out of that ‘goody-two-shoes’ routine? Just for one night?”

Your heart raced at the suggestion, thoughts whirling as you considered the implications. “And what would you suggest? A wild night out with you?” Your tone was half-joking, but a part of you wondered what that could entail. "Cute," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his words, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "But I meant going out with your friends if you still have any, sweetheart." You stepped closer to where the railing was, feeling the cool metal against your palms as you leaned over, looking out at the sprawling city below. The morning light bathed everything in a warm glow, but your focus was entirely on Choso.

"What's that supposed to mean, asshole?" Choso feels satisfied at the sight of getting a rise out of you. He leans casually against the railing, the morning air crackling with tension. “Just calling it like I see it. You’ve got this whole perfect image to uphold, but everyone breaks eventually." You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms defiantly. “So, what? You think I’m just sitting around waiting for permission to have fun? I have a life, you know.” You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms defiantly. “Right. A life filled with study sessions and early bedtimes.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter and the sound was both infuriating and oddly charming. The way he carried himself—carefree, a little reckless—made your heart thump in a way that both excited and terrified you. “What's wrong with that?” you challenged, trying to regain some control. “Not everyone wants to be reckless like you, Kamo.”

"'Fun' doesn't just mean trouble and recklessness. It's really upsetting how you and many others look at it like that," he countered, causing you to run out of excuses. "I'm perfectly happy with where I'm at right now so what are you trying to do, hm? What's the scheme here?" Choso crossed his arms, the front pieces of his hair flowing with the wind slightly in a way that made your stomach do a flip. "There is no scheme here. And since you're getting so defensive, I'll back off. Goodbye, Ms. Neighbor." He took a step back, sliding the door closed behind him with a finality that left you standing there, breathless. The silence that followed felt heavy, pressing against your chest as you turned back to the view, the city sprawling below you, full of life and possibility.

Frustration bubbled up within you, mingled with an unexpected yearning. Did he really think he knew you? Your routine? The familiar comforts of studying and early bedtimes were just that—comforts. But the way he challenged you made you wonder if you were missing out on something.

You stared at the door he had just closed, the weight of his words lingering in the air. Maybe he had a point. The thought of breaking free, even just for a night, sent a thrill through you. But the idea was terrifying. As you stood there, you felt the urge to retreat back into your safe little world, but the thrill of possibility tugged at you. What if you did reach out to your friends? What if you let loose for one night? The thought of laughter, music, and dancing sent a shiver down your spine.

With a deep breath, you stepped back inside your apartment, heart racing. Maybe it was time to shake things up. A wild night didn’t sound so bad after all. You glanced back at the door, a spark of rebellion igniting within you. Perhaps it was time to see what life could be like beyond the confines of your routine. You pick up your phone and dial Shoko's number. After a few rings and a wave of anxiety washing over you, she picks up. "Do you wanna go out to the bar tonight?"

10:45 PM.

You walk into a local bar, Shoko standing by your side. "Are you sure? I get that you're trying something new but you hate everything that's sloppy. And a guy is literally over there making out with a woman and pressing up on her. Gosh... they need to take it somewhere private soon." Shoko's suggestion sounded like heaven to you right now. The apartment building was calling your name and you felt a rush of regret hitting you in the face. "I'll be fine. It's only a night anyways." You glimpse around the bar and see a familiar set of eyes latched onto yours. "What the fuck is he doing here?" Shoko looks into the direction your eyes were latched on after hearing your question. There standing was Choso Kamo. As you stood frozen, the air between you and Choso felt electric, charged with all the unspoken words and unresolved tension from earlier.

Shoko sighed and shook her head, "You have fun with that. I'm gonna go get some drinks." You nodded and she disappeared to the bar. Choso walked towards you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black zip-up hoodie. He smirked, that infuriatingly charming smile playing on his lips as he moved closer, the crowd around you seeming to disappear. “What a coincidence, huh?” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart.” Your lips pursed. “Right,” you shot back, your irritation flaring. “Just because I’m trying to have a night out doesn’t mean I’m okay with your... little show here.” You gestured vaguely at the bar scene, and his gaze narrowed slightly, the challenge sparking in his eyes. “Little show?” he echoed, leaning in a fraction closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“You mean the one you were just about to join? Seems like I actually got to you, hm? You're gonna have more fun here than you think.” Choso's tall figure towered over you, he watched as you avoided eye contact with him. “Fun?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “This isn’t gonna be anywhere close to fun. This is a disaster waiting to happen. Look at that guy over there—making out with a total stranger like he’s in a bad rom-com.” You nod your head towards the couple Shoko pointed out earlier. Choso moved his eyes towards them and then back at you, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. "Jealous?" he teases. "Of what?" He leans down, his mouth right beside your ear. "That she's actually kissing someone. I mean, you're so pent up all the time... It's almost obvious that you're not getting enough action. I almost feel bad." He pulled back away from you. "Tell me, sweetheart, how long has it been?"

"You- That's none of your business." He chuckles, "There's no need to be ashamed. I can offer some help, I'm quite the catch after all." Your cheeks flushed a slight red and he didn't need to see. You couldn't let him see. “Please,” you rolled your eyes, but your heart raced beneath your carefully constructed facade. “You’re more of a distraction than anything. You think you can charm your way through life and not get called out for it?” Your fists were clenched, wondering how much longer Shoko's gonna take with those drinks. “Maybe I like a little mess now and then.” He stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating toward you, his voice dipping into a low, teasing tone. “Not everyone wants to play it safe. Not someone like you.”

“What's someone like me supposed to mean?” You took a half-step back, an instinctual move to reclaim your space, but it felt like a losing battle. “Someone who hides behind her books and schedules,” he said, his gaze piercing into yours, unrelenting and intense. It felt like he was peeling away layers you’d meticulously constructed, leaving you exposed. “You appear to be afraid of a rush, but I can see it. You crave it.” Your eyes slightly widened, “Stop pretending you know me,” you shot back, your pulse quickening with irritation and something deeper—something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite understand. “You don’t have a clue what goes on in my head.” He leaned in closer, the air thickening between you. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea.”

The noise of the bar faded, replaced by the rapid beating of your heart. “But if you think you can just dismiss me, then maybe you’re the one who’s scared.” Your breath caught, the heat between you palpable and electric. “Scared? Of you? Don’t flatter yourself.” A smirk tugged on his lips. “Not flattery, just observation,” he replied. “But maybe you should be scared. I might just get you to do something reckless tonight.” You shook your head. “Reckless?” you echoed, your voice laced with a mix of annoyance and a flutter of excitement. “You think I’m just going to drop everything and follow you into chaos?”

“Why not? You’re already here.” His voice was smooth and seductive, the challenge hanging in the air like a promise. As he stepped even closer, the world around you seemed to dissolve into nothingness. The offer was tempting. Too tempting for your liking. You purse your lips, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he sees you considering it. "C'mon, you know you want to." You nod your head, "Fine."

TBC...

[bluerthanvelvet444]

°✵.｡.✰ 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕦𝕟𝕥 𝕞𝕖, 𝕀 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕞𝕖 ✰.｡.✵°

Tate Langdon x fem!reader

tags: fluff! super fluff!

warnings: none. no use of y/n.

summary: reader has trouble sleeping due to the hot temperature.

character count: 5k.

full fic under the cut ↓

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

She glanced at the old-fashioned clock that sat on her nightstand.

2.25 AM.

Damn it. She snorted and turned in her bed multiple times, rolling on her side to try desperately to get some relief and possibly some sleep too. It was a hot summer night, mid-July. Typical you'd say, but the warmth of that specific night was unbearable. Beads of sweat danced on her skin and fell down into the mattress. She huffed, fed up. She felt trapped in that heated room, her skin fusing with the thin sheets underneath her. She so desperately needed something, but what?

She abruptly got up-which caused her to feel slightly dizzy- and opened her door and window, in hope to get even the slightest chilly and fresh breeze of the night. "Useless" she thought. She walked towards the bed again and plopped onto it. She was now laying in a star position on the bed. Open arms, open legs, and most importantly- open wide eyes, staring at the ceiling waiting for the shadows to clear so that she could get up and live another day. Nothing. The darkness stayed dark. Not a single movement was captured by her eyes. Not a single sound heard. The room was completely silent, the only noise a bit more distinguishable was her breathing. The steady rhythm that caused her chest to rise up and down.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Up and dow-

“You should take a shower. You're all sweaty.”

That unmistakable voice rang through her ears. Tate. Tate Langdon. One of the many ghosts that haunted that hellhole of a house. He was the most annoying one. She could almost hear the shit-eating smirk, that he always had on his stupid face, just by the way he spoke. She hated it. She sighed and plopped on her elbows.

“You should knock on the door before entering. It's common sense, and you might find an unpleasant scene.”

“You left the door open. Anyone could've seen your 'unpleasant scene.' So what's the matter? Can't sleep?”

She rolled her eyes at the rhetorical question he asked. She despised it. That tone in his voice, like he always found everything a stupid thing to joke and be cocky about.

“It's too hot in here. My skin's melting.”

He grinned in his usual teasing way. He was wearing his striped sweater, the sight of it only was making her sweat.

“Sounds fun. Do you need help?” He asked, with that same monotone voice.

“Help with what? Melting?”

“Sleeping.”

Oh. He wanted to help. He wanted to help? Was he stupid or what? Well, yes, anything impossible could be possible in the Murder House, but it's not like he could magically change the temperature and make it all better. Couldn't he?

“And how exactly would you do that?”

She saw the tiniest grin form on his mouth. He gave her a slight chuckle and crawled on the-what used to be his-bed.

“C'mere.”

Pardon? Come where? Did he want her to sit on his lap or something? Uhhhh weird. Super weird. She was confused, sure, but what else could she do? Stick her head in the refrigerator and hope none of the trapped souls would take advantage of her? No, thanks. She rolled her eyes and scooted slightly closer to him.

“So? What's the plan?”

He chuckled.

God, that stupid laugh.

He reached out with his hand to touch her, but before he could do that, she raised her brow and scooted away.

“What the hell are you trying to do?”

“It's gonna make it better...do you trust me?”

“No.”

“That's the only choice you have.”

“...Fine.”

She scooted back to her previous spot next to him and, with a hesitant and unsure expression on her face, she watched his hand come closer and eventually rest on her shoulder.

Cold.

His hand was cold.

Of course it was. He was dead, after all. Why hadn't she thought about this earlier?

She sighed and unconsciously leaned into his touch, closing her eyes at the feeling of relief she was so badly seeking and finally found. He smiled and motioned for her to come closer. She nodded and crawled a bit closer so that she was sitting between his legs and her back was pressed up against his cold chest. His arms wrapped gently around her waist, his cold hand grazing slightly her exposed tummy.

“Better?”

“So much better.”

She sighed contentedly. Finally.

That chilly feeling was something she could've gotten addicted to. This is why a more lucid version of her would've slapped her as soon as she said the following words.

“Thank you.”

She mumbled, drunk off the cold feeling. Even though she couldn't see it, Tate's lips curled in a small smile, and with a deep, caring voice he spoke.

“Anything for you.”

She was obviously sleepy, and her mind had clearly drifted off to better places, so she probably never acknowledged the words that came out of his mouth. Or maybe she did, but she was too stubborn to admit that his stupid smile, his icky laugh, his mocking tone, were starting to grow on her, and she could've possibly gotten used to falling asleep to them. After all, she hated it…how hard loving him was. Tate Langdon, the sweetest ghost in the house, once the mysterious and cocky facade he put on was scraped away.

The last thing she heard was a smacking lips sound due to his frozen lips pressing gently over her forehead. Or maybe she also heard a faint “I love you”. Who knows?

Anything in the Murder House is possible.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Autor's note: aaaahhhhhh this is the first fic I've ever writtennnnn!!! this took me sooo long. I'm really getting into writing so if you have any ideas or prompts about what I should write next, feel free to suggest! hope you like it, i put my whole self in this (especially with the grammar!!)💙💙

join my taglist!!

all rights reserved!!

[grlsinterrupted]

Hi can you do a Dallas x fem!reader where they're dating and she wears glasses but he doesn't know because she doesn't wear them outside of school (literally me😓) and one day she wears them around him causes she's gotten used to it but he's like so confused cause he's never seen her wear them or mention them ty💗💗 (sorry its such a long request😭)

i wanna kiss, kiss your eyes again .. wanna witness your eyes lookin’ ‧₊˚ ✧

wait, you wear glasses ?! | dallas winston x glasses wearer ! reader ⋆｡˚

-

it’d never occurred to you that throughout the 6 months you and dallas have been dating, he’d never seen you with your glasses on. then again, you only ever wore them while you were at school, where the writing on the board was impossible to decipher all the way from your seat. despite the number of times you’d asked your teachers for a spot closer to the board, they denied your request every time.

after school, you never quite bothered with your glasses. sure, you’d have to suffer the consequence of blurred vision, but a little squinting’s never hurt anybody. your glasses made you look like a nerd, anyway.

a few nights prior, dallas called you to ask if you wanted to go to the cinema with him. ponyboy wouldn’t stop rambling on and on about a new horror movie they’ve been playing in the theater, and as annoyed as dallas was having to deal with pony’s constant ranting, he figured he’d take you to go see what the rage was all about.

you were in your room, adding the final touches to your makeup as you swayed your head to the beat of lesley gore’s new song. right as you were looking for your blush palette, your eyes stumbled across a pair of baby-pink cateye glasses. for a second, you glared intensely at the glasses, almost as if you were in a staring contest with them. you were conflicted between wearing them and leaving them in your room for the rest of the night. even though you knew dallas would find it strange, you also realized that you wouldn’t be able to see anything playing on the screen.

you let out an deep exhale, lightly grazing your hand against the lenses before finally slipping the glasses on. what could be the harm in wearing a stupid pair of glasses, anyway? your boyfriend has seen you at your highs and your lows, the best and the worst parts of you, so your decision to wear them tonight was really nothing compared to everything the two of you have been through together.

you step out of your house, knocking on the window of buck’s car. dallas nearly dropped his cigarette, startled from how sudden the knock was. just as he leaned over to unlock the door, he paused, squinting his eyes at you. he raises a brow, then unlocks the door for you.

as you’re slipping into the car seat, he tosses his cigarette out the window, his gaze practically glued onto you— more specifically, onto your glasses.

“those are new.” he rubs his finger along the plastic, chuckling.

you lightly swat his hand away. “no, they aren’t,” you sigh, slipping your glasses off to wipe the frames. “i’ve just never worn them around you.”

“so they’re new, ‘cause i’ve never seem ‘em before.”

you shake your head. “they’re not new, dal. i’ve had these for years, now.”

“let me try ‘em on. wanna see how blind you are.” he reaches his hand out, opening up his palm.

you purse your lips, reluctantly handing him the glasses. “don’t break them, okay?”

“‘course not, princess,” he slips your glasses on, pushing them up by the bridge in a mocking manner. “do i look all nerdy like you, now?”

“hey, you calling me a nerd?!” you pout, snatching your glasses back and slipping them on.

he shrugs. “maybe. but i gotta admit, ya look real cute with those on.” ‘i don’t wanna talk about anything, i wanna kiss, kiss your eyes again, wanna witness your eyes lookin’ .ᐟ ₊˚⊹♡

-

[neouture]

Senses

Pairing: Haechan x Reader

Words: 4,146

Genre: Smut (18+), angst if you squint

Includes: Fem!Reader, established relationship. Haechan is jealous and somewhat possesive bc of a silly little hug drunk Renjun gave you. Arguing, silent treatment, make up sex. Smut warnings under the cut !

Author's note: Possesive Haechan lives in my mind rent free. This story might not be for everyone because it includes very specific kinks that not everyone is into, but I had a lot of fun with this. If you like it, please leave a comment/ask. I also now have a ko-fi account, the link it's in my pinned post, in case anyone is interested in leaving a tip ! That's totally up to you tho, my stories are free for everyone. It's just another way to support (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) I'm reposting this bc I posted it yesterday but it wasn't showing up in the tags so hopefully they work now!

Smut warnings: I feel like this is the time to reveal I have an impregnation kink so bear with it. Dirty talk, teasing, you're somewhat turned on by Haechan's possesiveness in all honesty. Oral sex (f. receiving), mentions and fantasies of impregnation, impregnation kink, unprotected sex (stay safe ! ), creampie.

If looks could kill, Renjun would've had a fatal ending.

Way more fatal than the fate you are transiting right now, sitting in the passenger seat while Haechan's gaze shoots darts into the road as if it’s a target, surrounded by an overwhelming silence that not even the street sounds and the city’s bustling can ease.

If looks could kill, Renjun would’ve collapsed next to you the second he decided to wrap one of his arms around you in a warm, brotherly hug. One that, seemingly so innocent, was misinterpreted by your boyfriend from afar.

“Haechan,” you sigh, but it’s useless yet again. No matter how many times you’ve said his name on the way back home, it seems as though you're speaking to a wall. A stubborn wall that doesn't listen, in which your words bounce back and are interiorized with shame and embarrassment when you realize that all you’re left with is the palpable tension inside his car.

You can see said tension in the prominent veins of his arms, his clenched jaw and the way he is just staring at the horizon, not daring to look at you. You can feel it every time you call out his name and his body stiffens a little. You can hear it in his heavy heartbeats and rapid breathing. You can smell it on your clothes, impregnated with alcohol and cigarette smoke.

But you can’t taste it. You can’t taste the tension when your mouth is dry, and your throat is aching with words gathered at the lump in your throat, threatening to spill out at any moment in an attempt to know what's going on in his mind.

“Look he didn’t mean it that way,” you murmur, trying to ignore the stinging tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. “He just- he just put his arm around me. It wasn’t- it didn’t mean anything”.

“Of course it didn’t,” it’s the only response you get, right when his car takes the street of the complex you two live in.

Whether it's because of the sound of his voice, or the fact that you're really close to knowing your true fate tonight, you feel somewhat relieved.

“He was tipsy,” you continue, resting your head against the cold, glass window.

“You weren’t,” Haechan cuts you short right when he enters the underground parking lot. The car becomes illuminated by a dim, warm light, just enough to catch a better glimpse of your boyfriend, but he still doesn’t look at you. “And you still let him put his hands on you”.

“Come on, Haechan!” you groan, frustrated.

His jealousy always gets the best out of you, but somehow it also manages for the worst of you to show through. It's a complicated situation you always find yourself in, when something like such happens. You don't really like that side of him, the jealous and possessive one, the one that feels entitled to you as a person. But at the same time, you really can't begin to hate it either.

It’s enticing.

“Get out,” he says while unbuckling his seat belt. He does so with a swift movement, only to turn around the car just to open the door for you.

He is upset, and pissed, and really angry, but he can’t get himself to stop being a gentleman to you. What happened tonight it's not your fault, anyways, but he secretly wishes you'd pushed Renjun away.

In a way, Haechan thinks it’s your fault. Even when it isn’t.

But you still follow his orders to a t, getting out of the vehicle while he holds the door for you, closing it right behind you with a loud sound that makes you feel startled for a bit.

You know Haechan would never hurt you, but this side of him it's such a scary contrast to his usual personality. It’s somewhat unsettling, to say the least, but it is never frightening.

“You’re going to give me the silent treatment?”

After a minute or two, the lack of response gives you a one. You follow him defeated through the elevator doors that take you to the lobby complex, and lose all hope in getting him to talk.

Plus, it’s getting late, and you’re tired, so if Haechan doesn’t want to talk now, you’re not going to push him further anymore —it’s probably best to deal with all this tomorrow morning, after a good night of sleep.

You stop trying to get his attention when the doors of the lobby's elevator close, and just opt to stand right beside him in silence —you've said so much already, from the minute he dragged you out of the bar you and your friends were attending to celebrate Jaemin's birthday, to the final moments in his car; if he didn’t say anything then, he is probably not going to say anything now.

So you accept the silent treatment, walking alongside with him to your apartment door. He pulls out his keys, opens it for you and gets inside without even sending a look your way. You close the door behind you and watch as he throws his jacket to the living room couch, standing awkwardly while he figures out exactly what to say.

“Why did you-”.

“I’m tired,” you cut him short, passing by him through the living room and into your bedroom. “I’m going to bed”.

Like him, you pass by without sparing him a glance. Without even acknowledging his presence there, like you’re just announcing another part of your routine to no one in particular.

“You’re not,” it’s when you feel his hand wrapping around your wrist, and stopping you from leaving the scene, that you turn around to face him —you can still see the tension, in his knitted eyebrows and that gaze of regret he holds. “Let’s talk”.

“I wanted to talk,” you murmur, getting yourself out of his grip. “I spent all the ride back home trying to talk, but you weren’t even looking at me”.

“I was just trying to find the right ti-”.

“What even is the right time?” there’s annoyance in your voice, and a part of you wishes your emotions hadn't escalated too quickly. But if there's one thing that pisses you off, is how things are always done the way he wants them, when he wants them. “When you feel like talking?”

“Listen to me-”.

“No, Haechan, you listen to me,” you sigh, leaving your purse on the couch, right next to his jacket. “Renjun just put his arm around me, he wasn’t- it wasn’t even an actual hug. And yeah- he was tipsy, but he just- he wasn’t hitting on me or anything, God!”

The more you speak, the more stressed you become. Now that the words are falling from your lips, and you’re revisiting the facts, you realize how unprovoked Haechan’s anger truly is.

“You say he's one of your best friends, but you can't even trust him,” your hands travel all the way to your hair, pushing it back and away from your face. The despair is making your body feel warm, and you can even feel a thin layer of sweat gathering on your forehead and nape. “You say you love me, but you can’t even trust me”.

“I trust him,” Haechan murmurs, “and I trust you”.

“Then what is your problem?”

“I am the fucking problem,” the black-haired groans, imitating your previous actions by pushing his hair away from his face. It’s not usual for him to raise his voice, let alone sound this frustrated —the unexpected loud tone makes you swallow thickly. “I know it’s not your fault but I can’t help it”.

“It is not my fault,” you repeat in a whisper, trying to give some echo to his own words. “If it’s not my fault, then why are you acting like it is?”

Haechan goes quiet. Not because he wants to give you the silent treatment again, but because he doesn't know what to say.

Is there anything to say, anyway? You're right, and he feels like an asshole.

“Because,” he begins, all worked up because he believes the answer is rather obvious. Isn’t it? He’s acting like this because you’re his. Because no other man has the right to touch you, or even look your way. You’re his, and he doesn’t like to share. “Because you’re only mine”.

The sudden response makes your heart skip a beat or two. Is it wrong to feel something just by seeing him this angry? Is it wrong to feel proud of hearing him say something so possessive like that?

You feel conflicted —you’re enjoying this when you’re not supposed to.

“Yours?” you ask, with an eyebrow slightly cocked.

“Yes, mine,” you're not quite sure when it happened, but your bodies are now facing each other. You can smell the tension in his cologne, along with the remains of cigarette smoke and the alcoholic beverage Renjun threw Haechan’s way at the club.

“You’re so entitled,” you let out a soft scoff, one that does nothing to ease Haechan's sharp gestures. “Yes, you’re my boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I belong to you”.

It's, perhaps, the frustration talking. You know what he means, but it's your anger the one to make the first move.

However, you're not expecting him to laugh.

You expected him to counter attack, to get even angrier.

You expected him to raise his voice, or be silent at all.

But you weren't expecting to see the corners of his lips rising in a half smile, one as mischievous at the comment you just made.

“What?”

“Do I need to remind you how mouthy you get when I'm fucking you?”

You stare at him for what feels like ages, not daring to blink or break eye contact. He is also staring at you, but far from looking angry or frustrated, he looks amused. It's like the roles have been reversed, and it's you now who doesn't know what to say.

“What- does that have to do with this?”

“You say you don’t belong to me,” Haechan sighs, the tip of his tongue poking just slightly through his cheek. “But you never seemed reluctant about me owning you when we're in our bed”.

You can feel your cheeks getting warmer, and a weird tension in your lower abdomen you’ve grown to be familiar with over the past years. It’s probably not the greatest time to get aroused, but you can’t control yourself when it comes to him.

Just like he can’t control himself when it’s about you.

“That’s- it’s different,” you weakly attack.

“Is it?”

Haechan can tell you're getting nervous. By the way your shoulders are moving at a faster rate, and you seem to be struggling to look at him, he knows he has hit a nail. Perhaps this is a way to make a point —the one he has been wanting to make all night long.

“How so?”

The words get caught up in your throat again, and the fact that you don't have an actual response makes you feel uneasy.

“If it's any different, then that means you're a liar,” he says, guiding one of his hands to your chin whilst lifting it up. You can hear the tension in the nuances of his voice, those who seem mocking and provocative. Those looking to make you lose a game you didn't even know you were playing, “so when are you lying?”.

His hand strokes the sides of your face, and then places a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is enough to make you gulp, but it’s a nice contrast to his harsh and filthy words.

“Are you lying to me when you say you belong to me, and that you’re mine?” Haechan asks, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. “Or are you lying to me right now, just to rile me up and get what you want?”.

That wasn't precisely a conscious plan, but now that he says so it seems that all your efforts to get him all worked up were to end up just like this.

“I just- Haechan”.

“What?” he asks you. The hand that was caressing your cheek is now placed at your waist, pulling him closer to his body.

You can feel the tension when his bulge brushes against your abdomen, hard and throbbing, pressing against you. It’s too tempting to stop, too inviting to know what he has to say without using no words.

So you allow him to touch you, to press his body against yours to make you feel how much he needs you. There is really no point in resisting, because you’ve wanted this all night long.

“Pervert,” you whisper, panting when you feel his rough grip on your ass. “I bet you were thinking about this on the way back home”.

“And you weren’t?” Haechan scoffs, quietly. “I could see your thighs squeezing together every time you looked at me”.

Embarrassingly enough, he is not that far from the truth.

“I can’t help it,” you wrap your arms around his neck in an attempt to be closer to him. “I’m sorry”.

“Save your apologies for later,” his lips are dangerously close to yours, and you squirm between his arms when you feel his breath caressing your chin and jaw. “You’re going to need them for being such a liar”.

And, finally, you can taste the tension —it tastes like alcohol, cherries, and rage. Like mint and something else.

“Fuck,” you whisper in between kisses when you feel his teeth sinking on your lower lip, “Haechan”.

It doesn’t take him long to guide you to the bedroom, managing to walk the small, dark hallway with his hands all over your body and his eyes closed.

“Haechan,” you voice once again when he lays you down in the mattress, his skillful hands looking for the hems of your jeans and underwear to pull them off in one go. Truth be told, you’ve never seen him this desperate; his lips are all over your thighs and legs, kissing them sloppy while he caresses the sides of them. He’s sucking and nibbling at the sensitive flesh, marking you every now and then in places he knows he’s the only one entitled to see.

Everything is happening too fast, but you don’t want him to slow down —you’re just as desperate as he is.

“You’re fucking dripping,” Haechan groans when he catches a glimpse of your sticky folds, all glistening with your arousal, “shit”.

He doesn’t hesitate before hooking both of his arms under and around your thighs, keeping you still in place while his lips approach your throbbing cunt.

“You think Renjun could get you this wet?” Haechan hums against your thigh, his intimidating gaze looking up at you while you struggle to support your upper body weight with your arms. For an unknown reason, you feel your body melting and going numb at such comments.

“N-no,” you shake your head.

“Do you think your body would react to him like it does with me?” The soft and teasing kisses are killing you; his lips are licking and sucking everywhere but where you want them.

“No, Haechan!” The cries in your voice makes him grind his hips against the mattress, hoping to get even the slightest friction.

He wishes he could keep on teasing you, drive you insane just like you did to him back there at the club. But, truth be told, he can't spend another minute without feeling you, in all the sense of the word.

“Apologize, then,” Haechan says, brushing the tip of his nose against your throbbing clit. That single touch is enough to earn a whimper from you, and it is also enough to make you lose all logic and rationality within you —not that you have any whenever you're underneath him in your bed to begin with.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, clenching around thin air every time the word falls from your lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry Haechan. I’m sorry”.

“Sorry for what?” the dark-haired asks again, acting oblivious to the situation. “What are you apologizing for?”

Whether it's mercy or pure neediness, his tongue unexpectedly laps at your wetness. He licks your slit and toys with your clit, just enough to provide you with some pleasure but without distracting you from your task.

“For- shit, for letting him touch me,” you sigh, kicking your head back. You’re not quite sure what exactly you’re sorry for, but you’re willing to say anything just to feel him. “For letting him- put his arm around me, fuck”.

Haechan smiles against your pussy. A genuine smile, one that can only indicate he’s feeling proud.

“See how easy it is?” he coos, continuing his ministrations on your clit, “you tell me what I want to hear, and I give you anything you want”.

Despite Haechan’s early accusations of you being a liar, you mean everything you say when you’re in bed. In fact, you're only brutally honest when he's deep inside you. When you've lost all your senses and sanity, and when all you are left with is pure bliss.

“I’m sorry,” you keep on chanting, latching your fingers against his dark locks in an attempt to bring him closer to you.

You know you're seconds away from coming, and he knows this too, so he allows you to manhandle him against you as much as you want. He hisses when you grip his hair particularly harsher, but he doesn’t stop; instead, he licks you ardently, looking forward to your orgasm.

“Show me how sorry you are, then,” he murmurs against you, his nose and chin shining with your own wetness. “Come”.

It’s the sight of him between your legs, along with his crude words and pretty eyes that pushes you to the edge. Your hands clasp the bed sheets beneath you, and your thighs threaten to close around him but he is quick to keep them apart with his hands.

“You’re getting shy now?” he teases you while you overcome your high, writhing underneath his hold. “Keep them open for me pretty, I want to lick you clean”.

Much against your body’s will, Haechan manages to keep you in place while he helps you through your orgasm, causing waves of overstimulation to wreak havoc inside you from your head to the tip of your toes.

“Haechan!,” you gasp when you feel him pulling away from your body, the sudden loss of contact making you feel somewhat relieved after the pinches of pain caused by the overstimulation.

His lips are bright peachy and swollen, all covered in your own orgasm.

“Too much?” Haechan asks, unbuckling his belt while getting rid of his clothes. You imitate him and do the same, discarding your blouse and bra somewhere along the room.

“No,” you shake your head, inviting him between your legs.

He positions himself in the middle, and the sight makes you clench around thin air yet again. His cock is hard and reddened, throbbing almost visibly in front of your eyes.

“You still think you can take me?” he asks yet again, trying to make sure you’re not sore from how aggressive his early ministrations were.

“I’ve been wanting you all night long, Haechan,” you murmur, wrapping your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “Don’t care about anything, I just want you to fuck me”.

He kisses your forehead, and then your chin. The tip of his cock is pressing against your clit and, at times, against your entrance, but he is still nowhere near being inside you.

“See,” Haechan whispers with his lips against your jaw. “I know you’ve apologized, but I still need to make sure everyone knows you’re mine”.

His words make you let out a quiet scoff.

“How come, exactly?”

“What if I came inside you?” Even the idea makes you gasp —half a gasp, that ends up sounding more like a moan, “hm?”

For this, he needs to feel you. So he loses no time pushing himself inside you until he bottoms out. You dig your fingernails into his biceps when you feel the tip of his cock brushing against a sensitive spot inside you, and it’s only then when he continues to tell you, perhaps, his filthiest fantasy.

“What if I got you pregnant?” It’s crazy, the rational part of you acknowledges. But the aroused one, the one that lacks logic, only gets even more turned on at his words. “That way, everyone will know what we do when we’re alone”.

“Shit,” you cry, clenching around his cock.

He smiles when he feels it.

“You’d like that, don’t you?” After a couple of slow, delicate thrusts, he begins to acquire a faster pace when you get used to having him inside you. “You're squeezing my cock so hard”.

“You want to- get me pregnant?”

Even the words falling from your lips make you clench around him yet again, and it takes him a lot of effort not to come just by those gestures alone.

“That way everyone would know you’re mine,” Haechan sighs, pistoning deeper inside you. “Everyone would know that I’m the one who fucks you good, the one you allow to come inside that pretty pussy of yours”.

You whimper at his words, nibbling on your lower lip while trying to contain every lewd sound that threatens to escape your lips.

“I bet you’d- look so pretty like that,” the more aroused he gets, the less he cares about what he says —it seems as though he’s not having any inhibitions, and you love it. “Fuck”.

It's a wild fantasy, but you two seem to share it. You’d be lying if you say that the mere thought of carrying his child is not appealing to you, because it is.

“Yeah?” you ask, feeling him losing all pace and rhythm of his hips. “Why don’t you get me pregnant, then?”

The dirty talk does wonders to him, because the minute you start voicing his thoughts it’s the minute his movements become sloppier, rushed, and faster. He wants to come, he desperately needs it.

But he wants you to come first.

“I will,” he groans through gritted teeth. “If that’s what you want, then I will”.

Your heart feels fuzzy, and the tension on your lower abdomen starts increasing with each thrust. It’s not going to be long before you come around him, for the second time in a row, and as much as you’d like to savor this moment, you’re too desperate to take your time.

“Fuck,” Haechan curses under his breath, feeling his arms going numb —the pleasure is too overwhelming for him to maintain a steady pace, but he makes an effort. “Make me come, baby. Squeeze my cock until I come inside you”.

The dirty talk, combined with his gaze and the future promise of offering you that something only he can give it to you, makes you reach your orgasm again.

“Coming,” you cry quietly, wrapping your legs even tighter around his hips. You arch your back against him, and he hugs you tightly in place while he continues fucking your pussy, just as much as your grip allows him too.

“That’s it,” he praises, leaving wet kisses on your forehead and cheeks while you overcome your high. “Are you going to let me come inside you tonight? Fill you up with my cum?”

“Yes!” it’s all you manage to say in the midst of such a devastating arousal. “Yes, yes, Haechan”.

He buries his face on the crook of your neck, and keeps on fucking your swollen pussy until he achieves his orgasm too.

A hot, sticky feeling is quick to flood your tummy, as well as your inner thighs. He continues fucking you slowly and gently, even after coming, to prevent his arousal to leak out of you.

“Shit,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his neck so that he plops down on top of your body, “I can feel you”.

He hugs you into his embrace, while still inside you, and attempts to stabilize himself before leaving the bed to provide you with some wet towels and water. Truth be told, he wishes to stay like this forever, with your naked body underneath him, and his leaking cock inside you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, leaving a quick kiss on your lips. “I know it’s-”

“Hey,” you cut him short, cooing softly. “We can talk about it tomorrow morning”.

He gets the sense that you're comfortable right now, despite the early fight, so he follows your plea compliantly.

“I’m an asshole,” Haechan jokes.

“Sometimes,” you scoff softly, finding his hazy gaze in the midst of the dim lights. “I’m glad you can acknowledge it”.

“And I’m glad you still keep up with it”.

[littlemissstel]

Pre-Relationship Headcannons- Shiu Kong

SFW headcannons about your relationship with Shiu, somewhat proofread, no use of (Y/n), names mentioned are "Doll", and "Sweetheart".

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

This man had his eyes on you the moment he met you. You had piqued his interest when you were introduced to each other but kept it professional. Your age difference also playing a role in Shiu's initial dismissal.

UnFortunately, after entertaining your jokes and engaging in a few too many conversations the man gave up and fell into his natural charm. The pet names "Doll" and "Sweetheart" falling from his lips all too often.

If you also smoke, you'd spend time after a mission or simply during breaks smoking together in his car, sometimes in complete silence. He'd send you the short text, "smoke?".

He'd even go as far to buy the specific brand you like, calling it a gift for finishing assignments on time or for being his most reliable assassin..."The one that gives me the least headaches"

Toji thought Shiu was going through a midlife crisis when he saw the additional amount of cigarette boxes...

Once before a particularly hard assignment, you had joked to Shiu just before leaving the car to take you out to dinner if you manage to make it out alive. He replied shaking his head with a slight smirk. "Deal, as long as your legs still work".

You had made it back unscathed. After telling Shiu any necessary information of how your assignment carried out, the ride back continued in a comfortable silence as per usual . You had appreciated the quiet- being so exhausted- you sat in the passengers seat limp, head resting against the window with your eyes shut, in a temporary lull; only daring to open them once you felt the car halt. Slowly sitting up, you let out a deep sigh and stared aimlessly at the glove compartment as you prepared yourself to move.

"You're not busy this Friday, are you?"

"Hm- no why?"

"Because I've got to take you out Doll."

In due time you will realise I am completely crazy about this man.

He needs more appreciation!!!

I hope to write a proper fic about him soon, possibly based off of this.

Please feel free to leave any ideas/recomendations!

[18caramel]

𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫! (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝐡𝐜𝐬! 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

A/N I hate spiders ewwww but here you go. no spiders were harmed :) no specific terms for the reader ♡ pics from Pinterest

𝐒𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐩

when Soda hears you scream "oh my, it's huge!" Darry gives him a weird look but laughs it off

he immediately rushes into his room to see what was happening

he sees you standing on top of the bed, terrified

he doesn't understand at first and jokes about it

but then sees that you are very overwhelmed and tries to comfort you

when he takes off his shoe you beg him to let it run away or take it outside

he giggles and tries to catch it and you kind of forget your fear for a moment

he's so gentle with it just like with any other creature when he finally catches it with a towel

you watch him let it go and then ask him to wash his hands

Soda rolls his eyes but goes

when he comes back you pull him into a tight hug

you both fall on top of the bed and Soda mocks you, saying "if it was huge, I must be giant"

you roll your eyes at him and he pulls you into a passionate kiss

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲

you were hanging Curtis’ clothes outside to dry because it was a summer evening

Darry was tired from his shift so he was smoking a cigarette on the porch

suddenly you scream as you see a huge black spot on the white t-shirt

Darry rushes to come and help you out but you both get stuck in the wet bedsheet that you just hung up

both of you fell on the floor laughing about it

but now you have to wash it again

and then you see the spider crawling on Darry's hair

you scream again but can't get up

Darry can't stop laughing at you

he gently takes the spider WITH HIS BARE HANDS and throws it far away

when you both get up he spins you around, still happy about what has happened

you apologize for falling down and wrecking the clothes

he kisses you on your forehead saying it was okay and he actually had fun

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞

you were driving with him, headed home

he was talking to you about his promotion when all of a sudden you saw a spider

Steve is very pissed at you for making his heart stop

you understand in a way because you were on the road

but he gets it too, he knows you hate them

he pulls up to a random house and tries to catch it, but you can't be emotionally there because you feel trapped

when he finally gets it out of the car he comes over to you to give you a hug

you cry into his shoulder because you got very emotional and scared

even if Steve is very tired from his shift and also dirty he pulls you into a hug

he tells you that it's okay

he reminds you that it was harmless but knows you won't ever listen

you thank him for being there for you

but you still can't forget about it when you get inside

Steve turns on the radio and you dance together

you are so happy to be with him and he's soooo happy too! aw

𝐃𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲

you almost faint when you see a spider in Dally’s bathroom

there was a huge party at Buck's so Dally is waiting for you in his room, making sure nobody would storm inside

when he hears you scream he straight away pulls out his g*n

you ran out of the bathroom half naked yelling about a spider

you ask him if he was really about to use it on a freaking spider and you laugh so hard

but Dally is not in a mood so he is really about to show you that he's capable of doing it

but lets go of that idea as soon as he realizes that you are half naked

he kind of wants to make out

but you tell him that he has to get rid of it immediately

as he tries to catch it you are even more terrified

Dallas is mocking you when he catches it with a cup

you ask him if he's going to let it escape but he says no

you get mad at him and go to bed

he knows you are watching him slowly open the window and let the spider go

he rolls his eyes when he sees you giggling

"now you owe me" he says, taking your hand to go and shower together ;)

𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲

when you call Ponyboy to rescue you he is so freaking nervous but tries to hide it

you saw it crawling near his books

when you tell him where you saw it, he panics even more

you jump on the bed, waiting for your hero to do something

he wants to laugh it off but can't

Pony is too scared to ruin one of his books so he lifts each one carefully trying to spot your enemy

Pony could never kill a spider

so when he finds it he slides it on a piece of paper and goes to throw it outside the window

you give him a peck on his cheek making him blush

he gets sooooo shy but also proud of himself

you go and lie down together on the bed

you know he was scared too but chose not to say anything about it

he is acting all heroic and you secretly love it

(yes he will check if anything happened to his books when you leave)

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲

Johnny hates spiders

but he loves you more (duh)

so when he hears you scream in your room, he rushes back from the kitchen to help you

neither of you can spot it any longer, so you both fall asleep

Johnny is there to comfort you during the night

he tells you that it probably went away

but in the morning when you go to the bathroom you see a giant spider in the corner of the wall

you scream again and run back to your room

this time Johnny takes a deep breath in and takes your slipper

but you tell him that you want it to live

it creates an even bigger challenge because Johnny could never touch it

both of you sit on the bed and talk about your fears

you both decide to do it together

he grabs a piece of paper and you bring a cup

in the end you succeed and let the spider go outside

you are very proud of yourselves for doing something so brave

Johnny is so grateful to have you as a partner

𝐓𝐰𝐨-𝐁𝐢𝐭

he actually loves spiders and insects and you know it

so when you see a spider in the living room of Curtis' house you run to the kitchen to find him

he was eating cake

he didn't care at first but then was intrigued

he started asking you all sorts of questions like how big and what species it was

you roll your eyes and he laughs

but he knows you despise them so he actually lets go of his cake (wow) and runs into the living room

he makes a joke about the spider wanting to watch Mickey with you

you can't help but laugh too (come on its funny)

Two-Bit gently grabs it and even tries to touch it

you're so disgusted that you leave the room

when he comes back he makes a sad face saying that you're too scared of them

then he jokes that if you want to build the future together you must accept his love for spiders

you playfully slap him saying it will never happen

you both chill on the couch while Two-Bit is busily thinking about naming that spider

then he wants to prank one of his friends (Pony ofc) with it but you talk him out of it (thankfully)

you gently kiss his lips, forever grateful to have someone like him by your side whenever you feel scared.

[areyouwell]

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out. 

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times. 

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included. 

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking. 

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.  

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room. 

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could. 

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles. 

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings. 

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing. 

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her. 

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell. 

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly. 

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision. 

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it. 

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes. 

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon. 

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls. 

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too. 

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation. 

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever. 

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body. 

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children. 

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night. 

An ancient, local church, ironically enough. 

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now. 

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out. 

“Is he–” 

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether. 

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond. 

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong. 

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head. 

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end. 

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk. 

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–” 

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors. 

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good. 

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free? 

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away. 

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic. 

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams. 

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short. 

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man. 

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other. 

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right. 

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man. 

You were a woman. 

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.” 

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert. 

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber. 

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light. 

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes. 

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch. 

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.” 

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything. 

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you. 

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked. 

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step. 

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground. 

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws. 

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask. 

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades. 

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons. 

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done. 

Like you’d already won. 

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince. 

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat. 

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths. 

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself. 

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings. 

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours. 

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale.  “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?” 

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant. 

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes. 

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew. 

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name. 

Logan. 

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red. 

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended. 

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location. 

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone. 

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him. 

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.” 

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 3 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 6.6k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 3 ► guess my fairytale has a few plot holes

It was eight in the morning when the tour bus arrived in Krakow, and everyone was in a good mood.

The day was beautiful and the excitement of starting the tour was still very prominent, so even the heavy sleepers, who could have slept through a hurricane and merely flinched during an earthquake – that is, Yoongi and Jungkook – both went out to stretch their legs and get coffee when the bus stopped at a gas station.

You observed everyone with Namjoon and Hoseok, until the two of them got too engrossed in a conversation about Rated Riot’s upcoming album—especially the demo song that Hoseok had sent Namjoon just before leaving for tour, even though the label wasn’t expecting a new record for, at least, eight more months.

“I brought most of my equipment,” Namjoon was saying. “So, if you want to see how the song might sound, we could get together and work on it.”

“Yes,” Hoseok agreed right away, then turned to you. “How many days until our first hotel stay?”

“About a week,” you said, looking back at the bus behind you. “Do you want me to check specifically? My phone is insid—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. A week’s—a bit long,” Hoseok turned back to Namjoon. “You think we could record on the bus?”

“If it was empty, maybe,” Namjoon said, bringing his index finger to his chin. You lifted your eyebrows as you listened to him. “Should we stop somewhere and have everyone get out, so we could record? Could we even do that?”

You were mildly surprised by their determination, considering that the tour bus had terrible acoustics. Not to mention, even empty, it was a whirlpool of various noises: the rattling of the window shades, the whirring of the mini-fridge, the clattering of the mugs by the sink.

“How about you set up a recording studio at the next gas station we stop at instead?” you joked, but the two of them exchanged looks as if they were genuinely considering this. Quickly, you clarified, “guys, no. Could you wait just a little bit? Concentrate your creative energy into writing for now, or… maybe find a studio to rent for a few hours?”

“Ah, that might work,” Hoseok said thoughtfully. But just as he was about to add something, Namjoon nodded his head at the scene in front of you three: Jungkook and Taehyung were running away from Yoongi after having, evidently, just stolen his last cigarette.

Yoongi was yelling incoherent curses at the two as he chased them to the corner of the gas station and then paused to catch his breath. While Jungkook took a drag behind Taehyung’s back, Taehyung offered Yoongi his own pack of cigarettes and sprinted away as soon as the older member took it from him—because the pack was empty.

With another tirade of curses at the ready, Yoongi immediately broke into a run after them again. You could still hear the younger members laughing as they rounded the corner.

“Idiots,” Namjoon commented warmly.

You watched the chase in front of you with a small, wistful smile—this felt a bit like you were on a school trip. And this feeling was amplified when the school bully prototype in the form of a twenty-six-year-old man, Sid, stopped in front of you. He was, actually, called Isidore—for his grandfather—and you wondered if calling him by his birth name would make him disappear, like an exorcism of sorts.

“Hey,” Sid said. Then, he glanced—somewhat awkwardly—at Hoseok and Namjoon, and nodded curtly at them, before looking back at you again. “Could I speak to you?”

You’d have rather jumped in front of an oncoming truck that was driving past you on the highway.

You looked at the two boys next to you for help, but they both lowered their eyes, suddenly very entertained by the pavement under their boots.

“Sure,” you were forced to say, but tried not to make your irritation too obvious on your face. You prided yourself on being diplomatic. And, in any case, Sid hadn’t technically done anything obnoxious yet—but you knew him well enough to expect it.

The two of you walked further away from everyone else together—three other people could have fit between you as you walked—and Sid stuffed his hands in his pockets, seemingly looking for a way to start the conversation.

“How was the show last night?” he chose to ask.

“Great,” you replied, although it probably made no difference to him. “How’s Minjun’s jetlag?”

“Great, great,” Sid repeated, likely not even paying attention to your follow-up question. That was all the better for you; you didn’t really care about his answer, either.

Another few meters later, he stopped walking and looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one else was close enough to overhear—no one was. You and Sid were partially hidden by one of the buses.

“So…” he started. “Did you notice anything weird about Jungkook lately?”

Now you started to care.

You turned your whole body to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know.” He shrugged. “Irrational behaviour? Maybe moodiness? I don’t know.”

Your frown deepened, yet you hesitated with your question. “What… are you talking about?”

Sid’s smile spread—it was your surprised pause that gave you away. “You did notice!”

You’d already suspected that Sid would know something about Jungkook’s weird behaviour; now his grinning mug seemed to confirm it.

“Well, he’s on tour,” you tried to rationalize. “Of course, he’d act differently.”

“I mean, of course.” Sid nodded with exaggerated sympathy like he was just trying to be nice, but he knew that your reasoning was completely wrong. “But it’s probably even harder for him now that he’s single again.”

He was nearly soaring when he saw the surprise on your face.

“What do you mean, ‘again’?” you asked. The last formal relationship, to your knowledge, that Jungkook had had was a while ago—and, conveniently, you happened to be the one he had dated. He didn’t have time for relationships now. At least, that was what you’d assumed.

“Ah, see, I told him that he should talk to you about this, but I knew he wouldn’t. That’s why I’m doing this,” Sid said, finding himself very noble. He made an effort to look hesitant, even uncomfortable. But you saw the twitch of his lips when he spoke, “Jungkook was dumped four days before the flight to Prague.”

The engine of the bus behind Sid started as soon as he said this, so you weren’t sure if you flinched because of the unexpected noise, or because of the unexpected news.

“Someone,” you said, “broke up with him?”

“Yeah,” Sid confirmed, his face contorting into a pitiful grimace that looked about as fake as everything else about him. “They were together for a few months, which isn’t much, but he said the relationship meant a lot to him. He said it was something different, you know? So, I’m really surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Again, he mentioned the fact that Jungkook kept this from you—really rubbing it in your face—and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on his.

“Mmhm. Right,” you said. “And that’s why he’s—?”

“Yeah.” Sid was nodding before you finished the question. “I’m only telling you about it because I’m worried.”

“You’re worried,” you said, finding this even harder to believe than the fact that Jungkook was in a serious relationship with someone and didn’t think it was important to inform his manager. “Why?”

“Because of what he might do,” he explained. “You know how obsessed he gets when he’s in love with someone.”

This was an obvious allusion to your own relationship with Jungkook, and you finally looked away to process this. You missed the smirk that appeared on Sid’s face when he noticed your rapid blinking, but you didn’t need to see his arrogance to know that it was there; you could already hear it every time he opened his mouth.

There seemed to be another reason for his spiteful satisfaction: he wasn’t just boasting about knowing more about Jungkook than you did. He was, as it seemed, also boasting about Jungkook being in love with someone else—so much so, that he’d prioritise this person over everything else, apparently.

“What are you implying, exactly?” you spoke up after a minute. “You think he’ll leave the tour?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I hope not. I know how much this means to him,” Sid said and you tried to look past his saccharine words, tried to discern if he was just trying to bite you, or if this was something you should have been seriously concerned about. “But with Kihyun’s wedding in a few days…”

Here, you needed another minute to connect the dots.

You knew that your old friends, Kihyun and Chloé, were getting married soon—they’d invited you and Jungkook to the wedding. But you both already informed them that you couldn’t make it to the ceremony somewhere in Western Europe. It was so long ago, you could no longer remember the precise location. You’d even sent them a gift already.

Naturally, you were doubtful. “Why would he care? He said he’s not going to the wedding.”

“Well, yeah, but easy for him to say when he’s a continent away, you know?” Sid replied. “Now that he’s in Europe, it’s different.”

“How is it different?” you asked. “The band’s got back-to-back shows. We’ll be in Poland, and the wedding’s—in Italy?”

“Paris.”

“Right,” you said. Of course, Sid would know this. He’d come to talk to you fully prepared.

“Well, he will have a free day, you know,” he continued and you frowned. You hadn’t memorized the band’s full schedule, but you didn’t like the possibility that Sid was right. “So, I’m just worried he might end up going there, after all. He knows his ex will be there, so, you know… Maybe he thinks they can get back together, I don’t know.”

All the “you know” and “I don’t know”’s in his speech did not make it easy for you to tell how much truth there was to his words: how much did Jungkook really care about this? How much should you have cared?

There was another thing too – if this ex was invited to the wedding of your old friends, then, chances were, you would know this person, too. So, wouldn’t that mean that Jungkook would have even more reasons to tell you about his relationship?

And, to make this even more difficult, Sid looked very pleased—like he was showing off. But there could have been countless reasons for that, too: because he was proud that he knew more than you, because he was lying, because he caught you off-guard… Then again, you didn’t exactly look at him much. Maybe he always looked like that.

Unsettled, you only nodded. “Hmm.”

“I mean,” Sid snickered, “the last thing he needs on this tour is a toxic relationship, am I right?”

You thought Sid was the toxic relationship that Jungkook had on this tour, but you only hummed again, saying, “you probably are.”

“Yeah,” he said with a compassionate sigh that sounded like plastic fruit did when you bit into it. His eyes were full of pity, too, but there was not one ounce of honesty in them—he didn’t feel bad about any of this. “I’m just letting you know, so you’re not left in the dark. Sorry he didn’t tell you.”

“You don’t need to apologise on his behalf,” you said, your tone surprisingly strict. You hadn’t meant to let your feelings show—childishly, you thought that if he could see how flustered you were, he’d win. You didn’t realise how much you resembled Jungkook in this regard.

“No, I know. I just feel bad,” Sid lied further. You clenched your fists. “You guys seem close. Guess he didn’t think it was important enough to tell you.”

You almost scoffed at this—close? You were his manager. This had nothing to do with you being close. But, of course, Sid needed another reason to feel superior.

“Right. Guess so,” you said and, with a sharp inhale, decided to end this conversation. “I have to go check something, but, uh, thanks for the heads up.”

“Oh, no problem!” he called out as you began to walk back towards the tour bus without waiting for his response.

Sid knew he got you. Taking you to the wedding had to be the easiest way for Jungkook to win this bet. He was confident that he’d just made sure that wouldn’t happen.

Namjoon and Hoseok both immediately noticed the distress on your face when you walked past them, but you ignored their concerned questions, assuring them both that there was nothing you couldn’t handle.

You entered the bus to find your phone. You wouldn’t confront Jungkook now, but you needed to see how big the gap in the band’s schedule was, to conclude if he could, realistically, make it to this wedding.

Most unfortunately, you calculated that he could. As soon as this show was over, Rated Riot would go to Warsaw, and then they had a free day before the concert in Berlin. If he travelled overnight, he could go to Paris and back in this time.

Unless Sid lied.

You couldn’t see the point, but it wasn’t above him to lie about things for no reason. You found yourself hoping that this was one of those times. Because drifting off-schedule so early in the tour was far from ideal, of course.

And not because you weren’t sure—and this uncertainty was unexpected—how the thought of Jungkook being in a serious relationship with someone made you feel.

Jungkook had, truthfully, forgotten to worry about the bet when he woke up this morning. And then right before the soundcheck in Krakow, Sid and Minjun showed up to the band’s changing room, with a reluctant Jude in tow.

His friends must have known that he was the only one still here (although Jungkook could see that Hoseok had left his phone, so he expected him to come back), and they felt comfortable to immediately settle in the otherwise empty room.

“What’s up?” Jungkook nodded at Jude. “You look hungover.”

“He’s allergic to Europe,” Minjun replied—he’d only landed here last night, but he already looked tired and about ready to go home. “Been sneezing since last night. Even the airport security got worried when they picked me up.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jude said, plopping down on the settee by the wall. “My head feels so full. My eyes hurt. I’m definitely allergic to something.”

“Maybe it’s you,” Sid pointed at Minjun with a grin. “You’re the one who flew in yesterday, and he started to sneeze right after.”

“Or maybe it’s your bullshit,” Minjun countered—he was one of the few people who could keep Sid on his toes without using violence. “Or your cologne. You know you’re only supposed to spray it once, maybe twice, right? No need to bathe in it.”

Even Jungkook snorted. A powerful whiff of some exaggerated woody scent—the sort that came in a black bottle with large golden lettering—had filled the room as soon as Sid entered.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asked. “I thought you were going sightseeing.”

“We are—” Minjun started to say, but then paused when he tried to sit down next to Jude, and he sneezed again. “Seriously, man. Go to urgent care.”

“I’m fine,” Jude waved his hands around, while Sid laughed—the more chaotic the atmosphere in the room seemed to get, the more amusing he found it.

“We’re here to cheer you on. Why else?” Sid said, throwing a fist in the air. There was a perpetual shit-eating grin on his face. “There’s already a line of people outside. Those VIPs?”

“Yeah, probably,” Jungkook said and then realised the implication. He warned, “leave them alone. Or my management won’t let me live.”

Sid’s grin widened—clearly, he took that as a compliment—and he sat down next to Jude, leaving Minjun standing awkwardly by the settee.

“Speaking of,” Sid said, “did you already ask said management out on a date?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook said. He didn’t suspect anything from Sid’s question alone—and he didn’t catch the glimmering excitement in his eyes. “But don’t worry about it.”

Sid was not at all worried. He never was.

“See?” he said. Jungkook lifted his head to see Sid looking at Minjun. “Told you he agreed.”

Jungkook’s gaze shifted to Minjun in confusion.

“He didn’t believe me when we told him you agreed to the bet,” Sid explained. “He said this wasn’t something he’d expect from you.”

Jungkook frowned. He liked to think that he didn’t care about the opinion of his friends that much, but he wouldn’t have agreed to the bet if he really didn’t. Now he found himself irritated that Minjun, seemingly, disagreed with this decision.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asked him, but Minjun only shrugged.

“It’s going to get messy,” he said. “I figured you’d be able to see that.”

“It’s not going to get messy,” Jungkook replied with a pretentious roll of his eyes. Of course, on some half-conscious level, he knew that it could get messy. But he trusted his ability to control this, so it wouldn’t get out of hand. “It’s just a date, it’s no big deal.”

“You—” Jude started to say and then sneezed, continuing in agitation, “fuck me. You dated for three years.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook grabbed a tissue from a box on the table by the mirror and walked over to Jude. “And we’re broken up for four. This means nothing, and you’ll see that I’m right when I win this bet.”

Sid shook his head as he sang, “she’s not going to agree…”

“She will,” Jungkook insisted. His agitation was growing, because no one in this room knew you, not like he did—so, what right did they have to make assumptions? He said, “I’ve known her for years. She won’t think much of this, either.”

Minjun looked deeply uncomfortable. He didn’t say anything else, but every time Jungkook glanced at him, he could see the way his friend cringed into himself, sliding his hands into his front pockets and pacing awkwardly around the clothes rack.

It was the first reality check for Jungkook—one of many, but he naively did not foresee that.

If Minjun—who, despite being smarter than everyone else in this room—was still Sid’s friend, yet seemed disturbed by this bet, then Jungkook wasn’t sure if he was ready for what you’d think—what you’d do—if you found out about this.

Maybe he was too prideful when he asserted that he knew you the best. Maybe he only liked to think that he did, but all that he anticipated from you was hopeful more than it was certain. He hoped you wouldn’t think of this as a big deal. But, he realised now by watching Minjun, that your reaction might not be so casual, after all.

“Yeah?” Sid challenged, breaking Jungkook out of his head. “Well, let’s see, then. You’ve got plans for how you’re asking her out?”

Jungkook turned away to grab a water bottle from the table that he’d been leaning against. “Maybe.”

Sid was a very good actor as he jumped on the couch, feigning excitement.

“Well, shit. Spill!” he encouraged. His leap had caused a flurry of dust to go up into the air and Jude managed to groan before he started to sneeze again. Sid added irritably, “if Jude would shut the fuck up, we could give you feedback.”

“Get fucked,” Jude mumbled, blowing his nose into the tissue Jungkook had given him.

“Dream on,” Jungkook replied with a sneer in Sid’s direction. “I’m not asking you out, not even as practice.”

“You piece of shit,” Sid said, his tone boisterous. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Alright then,” Sid went on grinning, not the slightest bit unphased by this. Jungkook, clearly, didn’t know the lengths Sid was going to take—and had already taken—to make sure he won the bet. “When should we expect the keys to the Katana?”

“Oh, did you mean the money you’ll be paying me?” Jungkook deflected. This bickering drove him further from his previous concerns about Minjun’s reaction and more towards the thrill of it all—taking you out on a date and winning against Sid. “Have it by the end of tonight. I’ll talk to her before the show.”

“We’re only paying if she actually goes with you on a date,” Sid reminded him. “Just agreeing to it means nothing.”

“I know. And I’m saying, have it ready.”

“Have what ready?” Hoseok asked, entering the changing room so unexpectedly that all four boys inside it flinched. Neither of them had heard the door open.

“Nothing,” Jungkook replied before one of his friends could. “Discussing our plans for after the show. What’s up?”

“Jin says we’re good to go in five,” Hoseok said. “And I left my phone here.”

“Oh, right.” The younger member reached for the device on the far corner of the table. “Here.”

Then, Jungkook looked back at the rest of his friends – all of them looked like schoolchildren after the teacher returned to the classroom. He felt glad, he realised, that they were staying quiet.

He didn’t want Hoseok or the others to know about this, but not because the bet was an exceptionally bad thing. He thought this was like anything else that he did with his friends. And, usually, no one approved of his other after-work activities—not even him, sometimes—either.

But, just like everything other thing that he did with Sid, this was a distraction more than it was anything else.

“Don’t be late,” Hoseok warned, not saying a word to the other people in the room before he left.

“We’re going to head out, too,” Minjun was the first who spoke up – but only after the door was closed. He seemed to make the decision for all of them, because Sid looked comfortable enough to stay longer, but he rolled his eyes and stood up after meeting Minjun’s glare. “Good luck at the soundcheck.”

“Yeah, and don’t worry,” Sid added, winking, “I’ll take good care of the bike.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and slapped Sid on the shoulder with his palm when he walked past him.

Jude stopped in front of Jungkook. He looked ready to say something, but then he inhaled deeply, as if preparing for a sneeze, and chose to just quietly leave instead.

“Seriously, go see a doctor if this persists,” Jungkook called after him before the door of the changing room closed.

Left alone, he shook his head and looked over his reflection in the mirror.

The bet was just a bet. He wasn’t doing anything significant anyway. Surely, if you knew, you’d think the same. You’d find it stupid, but he’s done worse things. This didn’t mean anything; it wouldn’t ruin your relationship.

It would be fine.

As soon as the soundcheck and the VIP Meet & Greet came to an end, you disappeared like you had last night in Prague, so Jungkook’s plan of getting this bet over with before the show tonight, backfired.

A part of him expected this, however, so he made sure to avoid his friends until he saw you after the show. He hoped that convincing you to go out with him (perhaps by appealing to your sentiments of seeing old friends? Or out of pity? He wasn’t sure which route he’d take yet) wouldn’t take long. Especially if he stressed how little this would mean—just a silly, friendly date.

Sid didn’t have to know about the “friendly” part of the whole deal.

Slowly, Jungkook allowed himself to think what he’d do with the $4000 that Sid and Jude would pay him—perhaps he’d tune the Katana—even though this wasn’t even about the money for him. Of course, the satisfaction of actually winning a bet against Sid would be worth five times the money that his friends would have to pay. But Jungkook was convinced that, more than anything, he just wanted to prove a point.

His friends had insisted he followed you like a lovesick puppy while you didn’t care. He wanted to show them that neither of you cared—in fact, you cared so little, that you could go on a date, and it wouldn’t have to mean anything.

Now, whether that was true, was a different thing, but he chose not to think of your touch—and his body reflexively responding to it—in his bunk the other night. He didn’t need to focus on that right now.

The performance in Krakow threw Jungkook completely off, however. This was Rated Riot’s first time in Poland, and the reception was unforgettable: all the faces of the people who sang along, who jumped when the band jumped, who reacted to every single note, every single lyric at the appropriate times and with overwhelming energy – Jungkook was positive his chest was going to burst by the time he got off the stage.

Even an hour later, after Rated Riot finished the show and met their fans, he returned backstage, where everyone hung out and did shots, and he could still feel the adrenaline in his blood.

That was how you found him – smiling to himself as he scrolled down Rated Riot’s Instagram page, checking all the posts that tagged the band tonight.

“You’re happy,” you pointed out, aware of the smile on your own face as you watched him.

Jungkook lifted his head and his smile widened at the sight of yours. He was practically radiating excitement. Chances were, if someone dimmed the lights in the room, he would have been glowing.

“Crazy,” he said. His voice was a little hoarse, but exhilarated nonetheless. “Feels like there are fireworks inside of me.”

You chuckled and took a seat on the settee next to him. You handed him a package of honey & lemon lozenges and a chocolate cupcake—the lozenges were for his throat, to make sure he was able to perform night after night, and the cupcake was to make sure he survived at all. He never ate anything before the shows, and the take-out you’d ordered was taking a while. It was likely you’d have to eat properly on the bus.

He took everything from you and put his phone down.

“It seems that the show tonight was even better than last night,” he said, peeling off the wrapper of the cupcake first. “I don’t know how that’s possible.”

“Imagine if that keeps happening after every show,” you said. “You might really catch fire by the last one.”

He snickered. Taking a mouthful of the cupcake, he hummed, “Can’ wai’ to find out.”

“Forty shows to go,” you said, patting the package of medicine. He nodded in acknowledgement. “Don’t forget to take it after you eat. I’m going to see how long it’ll be before we can go. And maybe call the restaurant. Perhaps our order didn’t go through.”

“Perhaps,” Jungkook mumbled half-heartedly, too busy chewing. Then, as he was watching you stand up, he suddenly remembered what he had to do. Swallowing so abruptly that the cupcake nearly got stuck in his throat, he jumped to his feet. “Actually, wait a second. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

You turned around. “Yeah?”

He put the remaining half of his cupcake down and wiped his hands against each other to get rid of the crumbs.

“So, uh,” he began, wiping his mouth, too—more because of a nervous tick than any other reason. “Kihyun and Chloé’s wedding is the day after tomorrow.”

Your earlier conversation with Sid flashed through your mind and you felt dread gather on the floor of your stomach.

“I know,” you said slowly. “In Paris.”

“Yeah. I was—I mean, I know we both already said we wouldn’t go,” Jungkook continued. Unconsciously, you reached for the ring on your index finger and spun it around several times. “But I actually called Kihyun yesterday, and he said he’d love it if we came.”

You didn’t even notice the implication that he wouldn’t go to the wedding alone, that the two of you would go together. You were too focused on the fact that this was exactly what you were afraid of: not only did Jungkook plan this exactly like Sid had said he would, but he was, clearly, already taking action to make this plan come true.

“And, uh, Chloé didn’t mind?” you asked.

“No, they’re both very cool about it,” he said, proud—you weren’t sure of what: of his last-minute change of plans, or of your friends, who tolerated these changes. “So, anyway, I was thinking, why don’t you and I take a de-tour to Paris after our show in Warsaw? We’ll catch up again with everyone else in Berlin, and go back on the road.”

Now you noticed.

You cleared your throat, then repeated, “you and I?”

He nodded his head once, less certain. “Yeah.”

“Well...” You tucked your lips in and lifted your eyebrows. Your eyes concentrated on the loose tile on the floor by your feet. “I can’t believe Sid warned me about this, and I thought he was just being annoying on purpose.”

You’d mumbled this in a way that probably wasn’t meant for him to hear, yet Jungkook had never heard anything clearer.

Completely stunned, he tried, “Sid—he, uh… he warned you about this?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, unsure if you should have felt grateful to Sid for letting you know of this in advance—it was hard to imagine him ever doing anything that wasn’t for his own benefit. “Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with someone?”

Jungkook was fairly certain he gasped and not at all certain if the buzzing in his ear was tinnitus or if someone was really screaming in the distance.

“I didn’t tell—um,” he paused, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. You watched this obvious display of his dislike for the turn of conversation.

After a heavy minute—that the two of you stayed frozen as if someone had paused the scene, he asked, “what exactly did Sid say to you?”

“That you were in a relationship with someone, and they broke up with you before the tour started,” you recapped patiently. It was just the two of you in this corner of the room, so no one could have overheard, but you still lowered your voice just in case.

“Okay,” Jungkook said, his eyes still closed.

“And that you only want to go to the wedding because your ex might be there,” you added.

“Mmhmm,” he half-hummed, half-squealed. “I see.”

Hopeful that Sid had, at least, exaggerated, or, perhaps, you misunderstood something, you asked, “any truth to that?”

Aware that there was virtually no right response here, because you’d think he was lying or hiding the truth from you again, Jungkook sighed. There had never been any relationship, of course. You were the only girlfriend he’d had.

Fucking Sid. The cheating bastard was trying to sabotage him.

“I—” he started to say, and then stopped. There might be a way out of this, after all.

Maybe he could use Sid’s lies and make them work. Instead of convincing you to catch up with old friends at the wedding—which could take a while, considering how set you tended to be when you made a decision; and the decision here was, obviously, declining the formal invitation to the wedding—he could convince you to help him with his love life. Either way, you’d come to Paris with him, and Sid wouldn’t have to know why.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Yeah. It’s true.”

All the hopes you’d had deflated in bitter disappointment. You couldn’t tell if there was more to it, a different reason, perhaps, why this felt so disheartening to you, because you instinctively focused on what mattered more at the moment.

“Jungkook,” you said with a groan. “What the fuck? This is the stuff you tell me.”

Once again, he was doing something that he did not bother to inform you about—how many more times were you going to have to learn about his misadventures from social media?

“Yeah, but, you know,” he spoke even though he didn’t know what he was talking about, “we broke up, so I didn’t think it was important to tell you.”

“It is important if it’s going to interfere with the tour schedule,” you replied, and your frustration worried him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said this. Perhaps he should have been honest – surely, you’d believe him if he told you Sid had lied.

Oh, but then he’d have to explain why Sid felt the need to lie to you. That fucking snake—

“It’s not going to interfere,” Jungkook tried again. “The wedding’s on my day off. That’s why I want to go.”

“And then what?” you asked, smacking your palms against your thighs – this got some looks from nearby crew members, but they were used to you arguing with Jungkook. Their interest in your conversation faded as soon as they saw that it was you two making noise. You continued hypothesizing, “let’s say you get back together. Are we bringing another person on tour? Or if you don’t get back together, then what?”

“Then,” he swallowed, “we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

You knew he’d say that, but you were still annoyed that he did.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you admitted. You didn’t like how personal this was starting to get. Your role as his manager was somewhere in the distance now, yet you thought you had to say this, “I’ve never asked any of you guys to put your personal lives on hold for the sake of the band, but I’m giving you my honest opinion. I don’t think you should go to this wedding.”

“But that’s why I’m asking you to come with me,” Jungkook argued, his voice eager. It all made sense in his head – you’d have to agree to come now, you couldn’t have him go off by himself.

You sighed, then gave him the benefit of the doubt, “why? What difference would my being there make?”

“Well, for one, you’d warn me if I was about to make a mistake,” he said, finding himself very smart and quick on his feet.

“I’m warning you now,” you countered easily, and his face fell a little.

“Right,” he said, momentarily hesitating, but trying not to panic yet. “But I don’t think that’s a mistake. Not if there’s a chance I might—well, you know. Get back together with the love of my life.”

He felt the cringing somewhere deep in his own chest and he hoped it didn’t show on his face. It definitely showed on yours.

“Is that…” you faltered, closing your eyes. “Is that really going to happen?”

He watched the deliberate way you chose not to look at him as you asked this, and he wondered—very briefly, even reluctantly—if there was a different reason why this relationship that he was, allegedly, in, disturbed you.

It could just be wishful thinking on his part, he supposed. And it likely was.

“I-I mean, we will be at a wedding,” he said after a moment. “Romantic. So, why not?”

You could see his point—and, most horribly, reuniting with someone at a wedding seemed to make sense—but you had to make him reconsider this. He’d always been spontaneous. You had to get him to think with his head, not his instincts.

“Don’t you think,” you tried, “that people break up for a reason? Because I do.”

He took this personally, but he hoped it wasn’t obvious. At least, not in a way where you’d realise that he wasn’t at all concerned about his non-existent relationship with someone else. Because, of course, he was really concerned about his non-existent relationship with you.

“You… don’t believe in second chances?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said. Contrary to him, you didn’t need to think too much about this. “They’re only an opening for third and fourth chances.”

Swallowing, Jungkook tried to disagree, “well, not necessarily…”

“I don’t know about your situation,” you said bitterly, “because you’ve literally never mentioned this until now. So, I’m just saying what I think. And if you’re still going to do something stupid, then do you really need me there?”

“I do,” he said straight away.

“No—” you huffed, then tried again, putting it straight this time, “Jungkook, I’m not going there as your babysitter.”

“You’re not,” he agreed. “You’re going as my date.”

He had hoped he’d really done something by saying this – perhaps made your heart flutter? He even smiled as he said it, so sure that this would be what makes you change your mind.

But your face remained stoic as you shot back, “right. Because bringing a date would make it much easier for you to get back with your ex.”

Taking a moment to recuperate, Jungkook brought a hand over his hair, his fingers lingering at the ends of his wolf cut. Nothing was going well for him, it seemed, and he couldn’t help but remember Minjun’s earlier discomfort again.

He knew now that his arrogance of knowing you for so long had blinded him, and the reactions that he expected from you were merely reflections of his own. Of course, you wouldn’t go to Paris with him. He hadn’t given you a single good reason to go.

Nearing desperation, he said, “look, just… trust me? Let’s go there and see. Maybe it’ll be enough for me to see all these people that I used to know—that we both used to know—and I’ll change my mind.”

You were half-scoffing, half-yelling at this point, “you went from getting back together with the love of your life, to changing your mind in the span of two minutes! Don’t you think it’s a sign that you shouldn’t be even considering this?”

He exhaled sharply, frustrated.

Nothing. There was nothing else that he could say now.

He fired the last shot—the one he didn’t want to use, because he thought he was better than that. He knew now that he wasn’t, as he said, “I could go with Sid, Jude, and Minjun.”

This brought you two to a standstill: either you convinced him to forget about this and just stay on tour, even though you hadn’t been successful at that so far, or he got you to come to Paris with him, instead of his friends.

And he could see that you’d give in before you even said anything.

You knew he’d never come back in one piece if he left the tour right now for a one-day trip to Paris with his friends—if he’d come back at all.

Jungkook didn’t like how cunning he felt, though, as he watched you cross your arms and bite your lip, clearly disapproving of your impending defeat.

He wondered if it’d be any consolation if he admitted that this didn’t really feel like a win for him, either, even though just the fact that you’d come would mean he won the bet. He had still hoped you’d be more excited to do this with him.

Finally, after what felt like five whole minutes of silent battle as neither of you moved or looked at each other for longer than two consecutive seconds, you exhaled. It was a sigh of defeat, but not resignation.

“Fine,” you said. “If you must go, I’ll come with you. But you’re telling me everything about this relationship and why you think getting back together with this person is a good idea.”

“Sure,” he said, because he had to. He would come up with an excuse or a plausible enough story at his favourite time—later. “I’ll even book the train tickets to Paris myself.”

You didn’t think that was smart—the last time the two of you were planning a vacation together, he’d bought the tickets to and from Hawaii for the same night by accident—and you lifted your hand in immediate protest.

“Maybe I’ll—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cut you off, grabbing his cupcake and his lozenges from the settee—to show you how responsible he was. Not enough to go to Paris with his friends, of course, but just enough for you to trust him. “I’ll take care of everything. You’ve done enough for me.”

chapter title credits: bring me the horizon, “in the dark”

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[hannahssimblr]

Winter. 

When did this happen? Was I looking away for long enough for the season to change without my notice? I haven’t spent enough time here watching time, from this old velvet seat by the window that overlooks brutalist blocks, each building identical to the next. These utilitarian slabs might stand like this, grey cubes jutting from the asphalt, for five hundred years. I’m here for five months now. Thoroughly settled, used to this place, this apartment with the tarry flavour of cigarettes clinging to the furniture the landlady never took away. 

Jonas says she’s strange, this woman who has left all of her old things for us to live around. Her lamps, with sun-faded shades, her record collection, the chenille bedspreads stuffed into a closet, and the ancient television I replaced the day after I landed. I’ve never met her. Sometimes, I slip a dusty bottle from her wine rack in the cellar and serve it to my friends at dinner. Surely, by the time she ever notices, I’ll be long gone.

Through the vignette of condensation, the snow drifts, white flecks, across the beam of the streetlights. Kreuzberg is quiet. Sunday. 

I refocus my eyes to look into my face, a mirror reflection in the black window. I look older, perhaps, than in the photographs Jen posted to me in September, the ones from the summer, where the light is hazy and our noses are sun blushed, from that time that feels like another lifetime already, or like fiction. At Christmas, I returned to Ireland, and it rained for two weeks without stopping, and it felt something more like reality.

My grandmother told me that my hair was straggly, and she’s right. It’s been too long since I’ve cut it, but the ends of my hair spent the summer with me. Even though my skin cells have replaced themselves, the parts of my hair touching the collar of my coat and curling around my ears hold the memories that the rest of me is slowly losing. 

I haven’t stayed in touch with my friends from there as much as I would have liked. These days are busy, with friends, with college. I draw and paint more than I ever have, lashing out piece after piece, sketchbook after sketchbook, building a tower upon the desk in my cold little bedroom, though the women in my pieces don’t have green eyes anymore. Now, I choose blue.

The door buzzes, and I stand to answer it. 

My finger on the button, “Yeah?”

“Hurry! Open up, it’s fucking cold.”

I buzz her in, then stand waiting by the open door as she ascends the stairway. Three floors. I hear her the whole way, the snap of boot heels against tile. There’s an elevator in her building, and I feel acutely guilty about my building’s lack of one, despite being entirely powerless to do anything about it, as I am an art student, not an engineer, and was not yet actually born during its construction. 

She appears on the landing, shivering, with snowflakes clinging to her hair, and sitting on the structured shoulders of her trench coat. 

“Ugh, oh God, those stairs. I hate them.” She says. She unzips her boot and tosses onto the pile of shoes next to the door, and I notice immediately that she’s barefoot, toes balanced on the tiles like a ballerina. 

“You didn’t wear socks?”

She’s not wearing tights either. Her long, pale legs poke, completely exposed beneath the beige gabardine. 

“Did you take the U-Bahn like this? It must be five below zero.”

Her second boot hits the tile with a clatter, and she backs me into my apartment. As the door clicks shut, she pulls on the tie of her coat.

She’s wearing nothing but black lingerie. 

“Ah,” I am enlightened. This now makes perfect sense to me, in much the same way it does to her. Astrid has a way of bringing me around to her way of thinking. 

This was actually an excellent idea. 

“I was bored,” she says, which makes sense too. She is always bored. This is why she does what she’s seen people do in films. It’s a way to keep herself entertained. An unwelcome thought flashes into my mind, as I wonder if she has done this specific thing for previous boyfriends. I hop off that path. With Astrid, it is important to dwell only upon the present. Anything before this, now, me, us, is nothing worth worrying about. 

I slip my hands under her coat, onto the soft, downy velvet of her skin. 

“Nice and warm,” she murmurs. 

“Astrid, you shouldn’t have gone out like this.”

“It was only thirty minutes.”

“I know, but,” Her hands are freezing between mine as I heat them with my breath. “It’s too cold.” I’ll have to give her something of mine to wear when she goes home, but begin to worry that nothing is clean. I have been avoiding taking my dirty clothes to the basement since I flew back in ten days ago, too cowardly to face the seizing cold of the communal laundry room and that ever present leak in the ceiling surely turned to an icicle by now. 

These are not sexy thoughts. 

It’s like she can tell just by looking at me. “The point is, you will heat me up,” she says, a bit slowly, like I’m thick.

I don’t want to be the guy that lacks spontaneity. That would make me anxious. She pulls her hands from mine and pouts at me, as though at a little dog. “Look at you, you’re so nice.”

It’s not intended as a compliment, and I understand I should be doing something a bit wilder, like, I don’t know, taking my own clothes off already. Why on earth haven’t I started to do that?

Ah, because I am nice. 

“Okay, fuck your hands then. They can freeze.” Often, jokes are a mistake around Astrid. She rarely laughs at them. In fact, she rarely smiles at all, and only indulges us when she feels like doing it. It’s never to be polite. She knows her own mind. I’m obsessed with her. 

I’m obsessed to an ever greater extent now, because, once again, she’s not laughing. She’s not trying to please me. It’s me, always, trying to please her instead. I tug on her coat and it pools to the floor, then I kiss her. 

“God, I love you.” 

I murmur it, the truth. 

I knew it the third or fourth night we spent together, in November, as the last stubborn leaves clung to the branches. She wasn’t like anybody I had ever met before. She reminded me of nobody, and that was the point. 

I felt it, that weakness, my molten insides, and the deep fear of it in the early hours of one morning as she lay on the sheets with moonlight spilling across her back. She has a tattoo between her shoulder blades of a heart pierced by three daggers. She says it’s from a tarot card, and she was younger and stupider when she got it. That night, as she slept, I uncovered some kind of symbolism in it that moved me, but in the morning light I had forgotten all the profound thoughts I’d come up with except one: That I loved her. It surprised me. I ignored the tiny pang of sadness I felt, like mourning for a part of my life that was already long gone. It was useless to miss it.

I chose Astrid instead. 

I choose her now, love her in the same way I kiss her and touch her and fuck her, by doing what she wants me to do. It’s not a submissive situation. I’m not into that stuff. I am a man clocking in and doing as he's asked, thoroughly, diligently, excelling at his job. Eager to please. Employee of the month.

“Will you put your hand on my throat?” She breathes. Beneath me, her hands claw the bedsheets. 

Yes, I think. That would be nice. 

I am interested to discover that I like it too. I don’t think the other girls I’ve slept with would have let me try the things that Astrid does. They couldn’t picture themselves doing it, I’m sure, and neither could I. Back then I didn’t think about sex the way I do now, but Berlin has been bringing it out in me. 

She comes first. That’s mandatory. Then afterwards, when I have, and thoughts return to my brain, I’ll lay here, haunted by the years I didn’t know about this golden rule, and all the time that I thought I was good at sex but wasn’t. Dwelling on the disappointment I brought upon women and girls will make me spiral a bit, I’ll feel it rising, but I’ll feel better when I fuck Astrid again, in some new, fascinating position, and she’ll tell me I’m pretty good, in fact.

She’ll be loud enough about it that Klaus from downstairs may complain, and point out that such volume levels are forbidden on Sundays. He’ll threaten to raise it with the building management, so I’ll bring up the fact I know it was he who put cat food containers in the recycling bin. Neither of us will do anything, and the cycle will repeat until one of us moves or dies.

“Klaus is a miserable, jealous old fool,” Astrid says. “He probably doesn’t have sex, so he’s furious at people who do. I think it’s basic psychology.”

“He lives with his wife, you know.”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean he’s having sex. Married people don’t do it. Or at least hardly ever. That’s why I’ll never be tied down like that.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You think Mr and Mrs Klaus are fucking like rabbits down there?”

I scrunch up my face. “I’ve never heard them. Maybe they do it very quietly while I’m out of the apartment.”

“They never do. I bet they hate one another. Surely they sleep in separate rooms and only speak when they have to.” Astrid invents this story with glee. She is describing what is to her an indisputable fact of life. Her parents, and her mother’s relationship with her stepfather, too. I think she believed these things about marriage before meeting me, but the confirmation that my parents are the same has solidified it. 

“I don’t like to think about things in such a black and white way,” I say, and hold my palm against hers. Her fingers are long and slender. “Just because a lot of marriages are bad, doesn’t mean they’re all doomed. I believe some people are happy.”

“Trapped,” she whispers. “Like canaries in a cage. Maybe they don’t know any better.”

“If I was married, it’d be because I loved that person completely. I wouldn’t do it unless I was sure, and if I loved someone that much, I think I’d still have sex all the time. I can’t really picture that changing. When would I ever not be doing it, you know?”

She hums gently. “So you would never join a monastery.”

“Ugh.”

“And if you married me, you’d want me like this forever?”

This isn’t a serious question about marriage. That would be ridiculous. This is a test for me to pass, and am about to, with flying colours.  

“Yeah, you’re so appealing in every way. I can’t imagine not being completely crazy about you forever.”

“You definitely wouldn’t get over me if I left you.”

“Nah, probably not. In my grief, I might even refuse to sign the divorce papers or some shit.”

She nods, satisfied, and rests her head on my chest. It slots nicely beneath my chin. “I want to go to sleep,” she says.

“Alright, me too.”

I switch off the light and listen to the pitter patter of the snow on the window, drifting slowly away with it.

Astrid shifts, restless. 

“Tomorrow, I have a lecture at eight.”

“Unlucky.”

“I don’t have any clothes.”

“Ah, yeah, probably because of the lingerie stunt.”

A pout. “It was a gift for you.”

“And I loved it. I can find you something to wear.”

“To my class? Your clothes? I’ll look ridiculous. Can you get me a taxi to my house so I can change?”

“Yeah, of course. If you wear my clothes in the taxi.”

“I won’t be naked under my coat in front of a strange man, Jude.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll arrange a taxi, then.”

“That’s sweet of you.” She adjusts her position again, and the subtle contact of our bodies sets off a chain of sensation. I rake my nails lightly over her back, and she shudders. 

“You’re so pretty,” I say. “Did you know that?” I know she does, but I like the smug way she always says yes. 

“It’s okay if I leave my underwear here?”

“If you want to, yeah. Why? Do you think I wanted to carry it around in my pocket or something?”

“So you can wash it for me.”

“Yeah,” I press my lips to the back of her hand. “I’ve been meaning to go to the laundry basement for too long now. I’ll just add them to the pile.”

“No, you need to hand-wash them. They’re made of lace.”

“Oh right. So like, in the sink, or something.”

“I thought you might have known that.”

“Nah, see, in Dublin, we had a cleaner who washed all of my lace underwear for me.”

“Mm…”

“... That was a joke about the lace underwear. We did actually have a cleaner, though.”

“You’ll take care of it? They were quite expensive. It’s not as though I have a lot of that kind, so if it got ruined…”

“I will.”

She slips a hand into my hair and seeks my lips in the dark. She kisses me with such affection that I melt into her. “I love you, Jude. Thank you.”

“I love you too.”

A low chuckle as I bite her earlobe. “You really would never be a monk, would you?”

“Oh, my God. The thought makes me sick.”

I roll over her, and we give Klaus one more thing to complain about.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[ziyuanyuan1113]

I am in love with your art style. I love all your jjk art, it’s like stitching back the pieces of my shattered heart. Your art is so soothing and has such a warm feel, I love it. Also if you don’t mind me asking what program do you use for your art, and do you have any tips? I strive to someday create art that gives the same feeling of comfort as yours. Thank you <3

Thank you so much for the kind message! I'm actually in the middle of making another jjk piece but it's been a while so I've been trying to remember and consolidate my process. This ask came at a great time hehe

I use photoshop for most of my art pieces but I think there are a lot of cheaper alternatives (procreate on Ipad, clipstudio paint, medibang etc) that would work just as well. As for tips, I have a technical and an emotional one:

My technical tip would be to use references!! Especially if you're just starting out, it's SO IMPORTANT imo for catching mistakes especially with anatomy, lighting and perspective. And by reference I mean real life photos. I think you can be inspired by other artists' work, but there is the danger of picking up their bad habits if you only use their work for reference. I would recommend sticking mainly to real life and looking to other artists only for resolving specific stylistic details once you have a solid grasp of your fundamentals.

I would start with a rough sketch first of whatever you want to draw and then look for refs that match the mood and tone you want to go for. Get the idea down first and draw from the heart. Then the refs come in to help with the specifics (ex. what a window looks like, how someone would hold a cigarette) The jump from the rough to the clean line version is an amalgamation of all the little things you learn along the way. For example, on one day, I learned that clothing folds usually start at one point and spread out. Then another day, I learned how to do 1 point perspective and so on and so forth. Then all those tidbits slowly add up to help you get better and better.

2. My second tip would be to understand what you want to convey with your artwork. If it's fanart, what about the media that you're interacting with draws you in? It doesn't always need to be a complex answer, sometimes you just want to draw a character because you think they're hot and that's totally valid imo.

I occasionally tutor very young artists and oftentimes, they will tell me that they want to draw like X artist or X painting/piece of media. I always try to encourage them to go deeper. What about that drawing resonates with them and what specifics are occurring in the picture to make them feel that way? For example, I recently realized I love environment heavy drawings not for the background itself but because they ground the characters and seeing them do mundane things makes them feel more real to me.

For the example below, the whole set was to explore friendship and mental health. Sometimes just having someone there who listens and is willing to talk with you can make a huge difference.

Once you know the purpose of your art, then I think it makes the decision making for the rest of the process much easier. What type of lighting scenario conveys support and comfort? I went with dusk. Then I started searching up references for dusk lighting. Couldn't find the ref I actually used for colour but a quick google will show you lots of similar options.

What kind of poses feel in character for Shoko vs Geto? What is the focus of the picture? As much as I love details, I think sometimes they can actually take away from the main message. For example, if I had rendered the lamp on the right a lot more, it would've distracted from the main point of the picture so I tried to keep that and the background in general simple (still something I need to improve on haha).

Then those extra technical things (value structure, cool vs warm light, reflective lighting, connotations behind colours) you pick up along the way are all there to help you better communicate what you want to convey with your art.

Okay I lied one more tip, be patient and learn to appreciate the process. Like with any skill, there are a lot of technical aspects that you have to study and practice. I think because the end result is so visual and easily accessible in comparison to other hobbies/jobs, it really cripples beginners. Even with writing, you won't realize a book is good until you learn how to read. With art, you can resonate with a painting without having drawn a single line yourself.

I think beginners and even professionals see a lot of beautiful finished artwork and get enticed by that only to be discouraged when they find their process/finished work didn't end up the way they wanted it to look. Treat it like you would learning how to write. The fundamentals can be tedious and do take time to drill into your head, but learning them will help you SO MUCH with the creative fun parts. You can't write a poem without first taking the time to learn the alphabet, spelling and grammar. You're also probably going to write a bunch of shitty poems before you write that one good one, but that's okay because each piece lets you experiment and exercise your voice. Art is the same thing, don't rush it! Enjoy the process and celebrate your improvements.

[blixabargelds]

things you said while we were driving plssssssss (4 whatever ship u so desire)

hellooo did this for clegan specifically for me and @swifty-fox's au we've been cooking we lov this version of our boys hope u do too gdfjff vague context: modern au where they are both unwell 🙃 this also ended up being 1.5k whoops

cw anorexia

John finds him in their usual spot. The camera nestled in the far corner of the yard hasn’t worked for months, operating solely as a fear mongering tactic. There’s a nook beneath it, tucked between the outside wall and the yard fence. It’s a good place for hiding. For trading cigarettes for gum, for kissing. Gale has only used it to hide lately. He sits against the wall, pulling at the hem of his fraying t-shirt, watching the strange glide of his pale skin slide over the bones of his hand, flexing his knuckles. There’s a rustling in the foliage beyond the fence. Gale looks up, expecting to see a rat, and instead comes face to face with John for the first time in weeks. He’s grinning. Gale blinks at him, bewildered, heart kicking in his chest, as John is grinning right at him. He’s got a beanie pulled down low despite the summer air, and he’s brandishing honest to God bolt cutters.

“Jesus, John,” Gale says. 

John winks as he cuts the fence. “C’mon, baby. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

...

“You look worse,” John says, tapping his restless fingers against the steering wheel and fiddling with the stereo. 

“Ain’t as bad off as you,” Gale says. “What’s with the moustache?”

John laughs. Turns to Gale with eyes gleaming. “Straight razors, baby! World is your oyster.” 

Gale rolls his eyes and smiles. He drops his head back against the carseat, pulling his sweater closer around his body as the breeze rushes in from John’s open window. There’s some upbeat old song rattling its way out of the tiny speakers, John singing along loudly as he vibrates in his seat. Gale rolls his head on his neck lazily to look at him. He seems okay. Curls grown past his brows, flopping down over them in gorgeous, loose spirals. He’s got shadows under his eyes, purpling and deep, but he’s boundless with energy that might be infectious if Gale weren’t so hungry. He watches as John dances in one place, grin still plastered below that stupid little moustache.

“You okay, Bucky?” 

“Peachy,” John smiles at him. He squints, then, looking at Gale with scrutiny, and far too much time with his eyes off the road. “You okay?”

“Mm,” Gale says. He shifts a little, feeling his seatbelt dig into his hip bones. “Better now you’re back.”

“Huh?” John says over the roar of the wind. “Sorry, what was that? You gone soft on me, Buck?”

Gale groans in false irritation. Says quietly, “Heard me the first time, John.” 

John throws his head back and laughs. Leans out the window like a dog and hollers down the open road, one hand on the wheel and the other on the door, and Gale drags him back inside as he swerves. The midday sun beats down on the hood of the car, trees rushing past, and as Gale settles back into his seat he watches, and tries to identify them. He grows tired after a while. Tucks his legs up and leans into the passenger side door, eyes drifting shut. 

“Where we goin’, Bucky,” he says, keeping them closed.

“Takin’ you on holiday, doll,” John says. “Gonna find you a diner and feed you up. Or you can watch me, because I’m fuckin’ starving. Then we’ll get a motel, one of those ones with the heart shaped beds. And I got a friend down South, real sweet kid, you’ll like him, Buck, you’ll really get on. He’s kinda loud, y’know, but I know you like that, really, and he’s got all these fuckin’ baseball cards. Which ain’t your thing, I know, but, he’s real sweet. Lives with his boyfriend, Kenny, he’s got the biggest garage you ever seen. But we’ll get the motel first. One of those ones with a claw foot tub. But we’ll get to a diner first, ’cos I’m starving. You starving, doll?”

Gale hums in vague acknowledgement. The motion of the car rocks him into a nodding state, and he thinks he might sleep like the dead with nobody interrupting to check on him. 

...

“Buck.”

Gale shrugs off a hand on his shoulder. 

“Buck.”

Gale groans, tucking his face further into the loose hood of his sweater, turning away. 

“Shit- Gale. Gale.”

“Wh’sit?” Gale mumbles. 

“Aw, Jesus, thank God,” John is saying, continuing to jostle Gale roughly from his doze. Gale shivers as he comes to, entire body laden with the aching remains of sleep. He can’t seem to shake it off fully. He opens his eyes, sees John’s pinched face swimming in front of him. They’re still in the car, but it’s stopped moving. “You fuckin’- been parked here half an hour, baby, you wouldn’t- fuck, you’re freezing.”

Gale is. He becomes aware of it like falling; gradually, then all at once, full-bodied shudders ripping through him, making his teeth chatter. He hugs his arms tighter around himself, fingers brushing against his shaking ribs. He looks groggily out of the window. The light outside is milky, but not as if it’s fading- more like it’s just begun to birth.

“Wh’re are we?” he says. His jaw is clenched against the chill in his bones, pushing his words out in odd slurs.

“Uh,” John’s head whips around. As he comes further into focus, Gale can see the shadows under his eyes have darkened still, a vaguely wild expression in his face. “I don’t know. Been drivin’ all night. I think- fuck, I think I had the window open too long or somethin’, Buck, I turned around a while back and your lips were all blue.”

Gale absently presses trembling fingers to his mouth. “���M fine.”

“We gotta find that diner,” John says. “Hey, Gale, look at me. When’s the last time you ate, huh? Can you remember for me, darlin’?”

Gale scrunches his eyes shut again. Tries hard to think. “Y’mean solid food.”

He hears John hiss. “Ah, shit.”

Gale grunts around the pain in his stomach. “Don’t go back, Bucky, please.”

“We’re not, don’t worry, I wouldn’t,” John says. He’s shuffling around, now, and Gale reopens his eyes to see him leaning into the back of the car, knocking aside various debris and pulling out a bag of chips. Gale wrinkles his nose, and shakes his head. “Look, I know you’re stubborn, but I’m freaked out, alright, baby. You don’t look so hot, Buck.”

“’M fine,” Gale says. He musters up more conviction, sitting straighter in his seat despite the stiffness in his spine. “Just give me a jacket.”

“I haven’t got one, Buck, it’s fuckin’ July.” John drops the bag of chips, continuing his root around until he finds a can of coke. Gale sets his jaw at the glaring red of it. “Just half. Buck, c’mon. American staple, huh? Goes with the whole trip. Just a bit of sugar, baby, then we’ll find that heart shaped bed. It ain’t half as bad as that shit you get back there, is it?”

Gale’s nostrils flare. John’s impossible when he’s got a bee in his bonnet, and Gale takes the offending can if only to shut him up; get him driving once more. He cracks it suspiciously. Takes a sniff. 

“Windin’ me up, now, Gale, it ain’t gonna hurt you,” John says. He turns to the wheel either way. Shoves the key in the ignition and looks back at him with a pointed scowl.

“You ain’t never cared before,” Gale says. He’s still looking at the tab of the can with disdain. 

“Never been this far from fuckin’ medical advice with you before,” John says. “Didn’t think I needed- fuck, was this stupid?”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Gale says. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Look.”

Gale bites down on his bravado. Inhales deep and shaky, fingers denting the can with the force of his grip, the little click click click of the bending metal pacing with the thrum of his heart. He takes a sip. Nausea washes over his tongue like thick honey. Every sugary pop of the soda on his taste buds tingles all the way down to his empty, clenching stomach, heavy in it, and poisonous. He hasn’t tasted anything so good in years. John’s eyes are boring into the side of his head as he turns the car out of the shoulder. Gale drinks down another gulp, larger and stinging. So, so sweet. He lowers the can, licks his lips, gathering the stray, sticky droplets, and tries not to moan in wretched pleasure. He turns to John instead, watching his jaw grind against the tug of a smile.

“Okay?” Gale says. 

“Okay when you stop damn shakin’,” says John. 

He puts his hand on Gale’s leg, leaning past the gear stick as they veer back onto the highway. His long fingers reach around to the soft underside of Gale’s knee, his thumb brushing gently at the lower part of his inner thigh. Gale tries not to bounce his leg at the feel of sugar filling his veins. 

“Heart shaped bed, huh, Bucky?” he says. 

John smirks at the road. “Drink your fuckin’ soda.” 

Gale curls his bony fingers over John’s hand on his thigh. Grimaces, and takes another sip. 

“There he is,” John says. “Y’alright, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” Gale smiles. “Told you so.”