#They’ve appeared in a two hour game!

[theyavin8o8]

So like, this is the Barry Fandom rn…

How tf do they get all that game-

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - four (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. one | two (section 1); (section two) | three | four | five 📖series masterlist 🔗read on ao3 ✨across stardust pinterest board

note: okay we're um.... getting into it now. hold onto your lightinys, and trust me.... part five isn't too far behind.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, anxiety/nerves, mentions of insomnia/serious exhaustion/being overworked, no smut in this one but there's some definite fluff, some sexist language used towards reader, not by any of our boys

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 11.2k

Be additionally cautious means that this time, instead of secret rendezvouses, you don’t see Yunho at all. 

What no one really remembered that night in the studio is just how jammed the next few weeks if not months of their schedules were. The hidden truth about idol life is that even when you’re not in the middle of a comeback, schedules are just as  tight and days are still a minimum of ten to twelve hours. If you’re not promoting one album, you’re recording or filming context for the next, planning the tour, writing music, filming variety content, and being active on social media. There’s a constant, required drip of content that requires a constant, required effort from every single member of the team. 

It’s a job that burns people out regularly, especially at a company this size. 

So you’ve seen Yunho at the office, but not much more than that, and since you don’t even do his makeup regularly there’s not an opportunity for even an hour of closeness even if it’s just in stolen glances. 

You’ve been getting regular text updates though, and you and Yunho communicate on Kakao Talk like you're in a long distance relationship even when you’re feet away from each other. 

They’ve met and worked out their own requirements for early renegotiation, but now comes the secret meetings with lawyers and planning their approach, which is hard to do between all of their schedules on top of a quick promotional week in Japan for three stages, two special appearances, and multiple fansigns for their last album. 

The hours have been near comeback levels of workload, and while management has promised vacation time once it passes, that seems farther and farther away with every minute you’re not sleeping and every minute you’re not with him. 

Today is more of the same. 

Now back in Korea, you at least have access to your own bed, but today is an early morning shoot at four thirty so that the music video directors can have optimal light, so you still have barely slept. Yunho’s awake, you can feel that through the bond, but he and two other members haven’t arrived to set yet, a product of winning the ladder game and getting a little more time to themselves in the morning before call time. 

After you finish Seonghwa’s base, he asks to take a quick break and you sink into the chair to get off your feet for a moment, yawning heavily. 

That’s a cute sweater - Your phone vibrates with the message and you smile, eyes flicking up to the mirror to catch Yunho, Wooyoung, and San just coming in the far studio door. 

Morning x - You reply. 

You watch him in the reflection as he smiles softly at your message, typing out a response.

How’s it been so far? - He asks.

You sigh - Quiet, everyone’s exhausted after the trip.

You had all returned from Japan only yesterday, and though you’re not contending with jet lag, you’re all still balancing heavy schedules and the switch up between home and away. 

This should help then - Is Yunho’s next message, and you’re not sure what he means until you hear him behind you. 

“Morning,” Yunho says to the room, getting everyone’s attention but keeping his voice soft, “we’ve got coffees on the back table for everyone,” 

There’s a collective groan of appreciation. 

“Thank god,” Dahan says, “I’ll get ours,” 

You jump up before you can stop yourself, “I got it,” 

“Oh,” She takes a step back, smiling, “thanks girl,” 

“For sure, Hwa’s on break anyways,” 

Eunji and Dahan both return their focus to the members in front of them, but Iseul gives you a sly smile. You shoot her an eye roll and head towards the loosely formed circle around the back table. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” You hear Wonshik say as he grabs a cup. 

“Ah,” San shrugs, “it’s too early to film, we couldn’t let everyone go without a little strength,” 

Jongho slips through the side, a roller and clips still in his hair, to find the iced americanos, “Let me know what we owe you,” 

Yunho waves him off, “You’re good,” 

As you get a little closer, you finally meet his eyes and you trade a little smile. You keep it professional, as always, but the warmth in both your chests at just stepping a little closer to one another is undeniable. 

“Thanks for this,” You tell all three of them. 

San and Wooyoung both grin, but step away fast, leaving you almost alone at the table with Yunho. 

“Here,” He picks up a cardboard carrier with four hot cups, “this one's for you and the team,” 

“Oh,” You smile, “thank you, Yunho,” 

“Mhm,” He taps the lid on one cup and nods, “this one’s yours,” 

You glance to the side, but no one’s lingering around too close so you look back as you take the cups, eyebrows raised. 

“Extra shot,” He murmurs, “and vanilla,” 

You could kiss him. 

“Anyways,” He leans back and puts some space between you, “I hope it’s still warm enough.” 

“It’s perfect,” You hear Seonghwa’s voice behind you, you have to go back to work, “thank you,” 

He nods, and you force yourself to turn around, to put your face back on and get back to work. At your station, you slip your coffee cup out of the carrier and leave it on your side table.

”Lattes,” You place one on each station behind the other makeup artists. 

“Perfect,” Eunji turns from Hongjoong and snaps the cup up, “I’m so tired I could inject this,” 

Everyone laughs softly and nods, and you yawn as you get back to your station, taking a long sip of your coffee. 

“Mm,” Dahan says as she wipes her lip and nods towards you, “what’d you get?” 

“Hmm?” You don’t really understand her question. 

She nods towards your coffee, and you lift the cup to glance at the side. 

There’s a hastily drawn English initial there in sharpie, matching your name, and you laugh, “Oh, mine just has vanilla,” 

You’re getting good at fighting through those waves of panic that people might be catching on, better at lying around every turn, so you keep yourself relaxed and shrug this off.

”I like vanilla,” Eunji comments. 

Your eyes connect for a hair with Iseul. 

Seonghwa interjects smoothly though, “I’ll tell Sannie for next time, we were just talking about coffee at that spot in Hyogo, he must have remembered,” 

“That’s thoughtful,” Dahan nods, “you take care of us too well,” 

“Ah,” Hongjoong adds, bringing the attention away from you, “please, it’s the least we can do when you’re always awake an hour before us.” 

“I’ll never complain about coffee,” Iseul smiles and then shifts the conversation like a professional, “Eun, do you have any spare cotton buds? I’m smudging this mascara,” 

“You’ve got to use the guards,” Eunji says, going off on one of her favorite tangents, shifting through her station for her beauty gadget of the moment, and you let Iseul take the reins on that so you can fade right out of their thoughts. 

Seonghwa gives you a quick smile when you turn to him, and you quietly rotate the lid on your coffee so that the initial faces away from them and towards your body. 

“So,” You focus again, smiling at Seonghwa, “how much glitter today? A subtle wash, or a truly tragic amount?” 

He laughs, relaxing into your chair again, “Somewhere in the middle, but I really want these contacts to pop in the closeups,” 

“Got it,” You find your favorite palette for him, setting your coffee to the side, your thumb unconsciously brushing over Yunho’s handwriting as you do. 

The morning gets a little easier after that. The surprise caffeine has put everyone in good spirits, and filming days, while stressfully tight and complicated, are still some of the more fun days you get to have at this job. The pressure is a little lighter without a live performance, and there’s always room for the members to relax and joke around a bit which tends to spread infectiously towards the staff. 

You watch them work with quiet affection, thinking of how quickly they fell into step with you and Yunho the moment they realized what you were to each other. That night in the studio has brought you closer to them in many ways, even if subtle and unspoken, and Yunho looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that his brothers know. 

He feels happier, despite the stress and long hours, and you’ve relaxed considerably with him as such a pillar of strength. 

Early into the afternoon it’s time for solo and unit shoots, and you find yourself in a largely unoccupied area of the set with Wooyong as you finish cleaning off his first coat of makeup. As you prep your tools, he gently nudges your leg with the tip of his boot. 

“You good?” He asks softly, with a friendly expression. 

“I’m good,” You answer automatically, plastering back on your smile. 

“You don’t look good,” He says plainly. 

You glance around the room, but it’s still empty, “Uh, thanks?” 

“You look exhausted,” He clarifies. 

“We’re all exhausted, it’s no big deal,” 

He cocks his head slightly to the slide as you mix a fresh batch of his foundation shade together on the stainless steel pallet in your hands, “Are you sleeping?” 

You shrug, “When I can,”

”Because he’s not sleeping,” Wooyoung points out, “which is weird, he used to be able to nap anywhere,” 

Your mouth snaps shut, lips pressed together. Wooyoung has always been painfully observant, but this goes the extra step. 

“Yeah,” Is all you can muster up. 

“Damn,” He murmurs, “can you not sleep if the other person is awake?” 

Your eyes scan the room again, “Uh,” you shrug again, “kind of? I mean, you can, definitely, but I don’t know… things are weird right now, and new.” 

He nods, tilting his face up so you can start his foundation again, “The physical separation affects you?” 

He’s not going to let it go, so you sigh, “I think so,” 

“Hmm,” He chews the inside of his lip for a moment as he considers that, “that makes sense,” 

“Does it?” 

“Sure,” He says like it’s only natural, “I mean, you’re literally connected. It would make sense that it gets stronger or feels better when you’re together and it’s the opposite when you’re apart.” 

You’ve read articles that propose that same idea, but so much of the scientific research into soulmates and bonds just isn’t there. Especially not on something like separating soulmates or testing physical proximity, not when the pull towards each other is so strong, it’s practically obvious you’re not supposed to be apart and a study like that would be unnecessarily cruel. 

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking that through, but then Wooyoung asks a question softly, “Does it hurt?” 

You blink, “Does what hurt?” 

“Not being with him?” 

As if on cue, your chest aches, and you nod, “Yeah,” 

“Like pain?” Wooyoung’s brows draw together. 

“Not… pain exactly,” You try to explain, “it’s just this… weight, maybe? Or ache?”

”I’m sorry,” He murmurs, “that sounds hard,” 

You feel Yunho deep in the bond, a tiny tug on the cord that connects you, a wordless question. 

You smile at the sensation and Wooyoung looks more confused. You shake your head, “Sorry,” you laugh softly, “he’s checking on me,” 

Wooyoung’s mouth drops open, “That’s amazing,” 

You nod, before brushing your fingers over your mark, sending a wave of reassurance back to him. 

Wooyoung’s eyes flick down to watch the motion and back up, “And you’re…” 

“Telling him I’m fine,” You feel your face warm up a bit. 

“Wow,” He murmurs, a grin spreading on his face, “I can’t wait to know what that feels like,” 

You smile, returning your attention to the makeup palette in your hands. 

“y/n,” He says, “I really think it’s going to work out, I think people will be so happy for you both.” 

For a moment his earnestness makes you believe him, and you thank him softly before you focus on his makeup, you don’t tell him about all the things you’ve seen online that tell you otherwise. 

In the weeks that have gone by, you haven’t been able to stop yourself from researching. 

In your deep dives you’ve found very little to comfort you. 

Two idols have found their soulmates, but their relationships were announced quietly years into retirement from public life, and even then the articles were full of negative comments. 

Plenty of idols have gone through dating scandals, and that always seems to end one of two ways. Either the company says nothing and the rumor fades into nothing, or the evidence is too damning and the destructive cycle of public outcry and idol disgrace continues until companies and contracts break down. 

Yunho has popped up in a couple of unfounded dating rumors, but even those comments made you ill. The way they turned on him, and the way they speculated about his non-existent mystery partner certainly contributed to your sleepless nights. 

Wooyoung’s confidence is almost sweetly naive for someone in the industry. 

You finish his makeup and make it through several more hours of standing around on set ready to hop in and touch up your members between takes. You hold on to the feeling of Yunho’s adrenaline while he practices and performs for the camera to keep you going. 

Hours later, the shoot has started to dwindle down to the people left who still have filming to go or members on set but both Wooyoung and Seonghwa wrapped and went home by the time you make it back to the set’s break tent. 

It’s quiet here, just a collection of plastic tables with snacks and water bottles, some seats, and organized chaos of everyone’s belongings. You could fall asleep right here. 

You’re nearly drifting, your body exhausted after a day of standing, and you sink into one of the break tent’s folding chairs, eyelids heavy. It’s empty for now, a good number of staff already gone for the day, but Yunho’s solo shoot is last and all you want is to see him one more time before you drag yourself home. 

Your head lolls to the side and you don’t know if you really sleep or not, but the next thing you register is a gentle hand on your hair. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, you blink your tired eyes open, “Mm,” 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Yunho murmurs softly, “time to wake up,” 

“Y-Yun?” You blink again, yawning as you shift out of the awkward position. 

“What are you still doing here?” He murmurs. 

“I guess I fell asleep,” You sweep a hand under your eyes, “is the shoot over?” 

He nods, “It’s already nine,” 

You look to your watch, surprised to see he’s right, “God,”  

He lovingly strokes your hair again, “Let’s get you home,” 

You sigh into his touch for a brief moment and then he steps back and you push yourself to standing. He takes one fast glance towards the tent opening before dipping down and kissing you once, just a quick indulgence of his lips on yours before he takes a few large steps back to leave a healthy gap between your bodies. 

“How was your day?” He smiles, starting to gather his belongings. 

“Good,” Your skin is still buzzing from the kiss, but you shake it off and look for your own bag, “long,” 

“Mm,” He nods, “same,” 

“How was the shoot?” You start to say, but voices outside catch both of your attention.

You didn’t realize many people were still here. 

You quickly pull on your coat and snap up your bag.

Wonshik, one of their managers, steps into the tent, all of his focus on the phone in his hands, “You ready?” 

“Yep,” Yunho nods, and you notice the other voices of your coworkers are hovered by the door as they talk animatedly about something you can't quite catch.

Wonshik responds but you miss his words, your mind still foggy with sleep. 

“Hyung,” Yunho says, “can we give y/n a ride, it’s late,” 

Wonshik looks up from his phone and finally notices you in the room, “Oh,” he nods, “sure, hey y/n,”

”Hey,” You normally would protest, but you’re dead on your feet, “you sure you don’t mind?”

”All good,” 

The tent flap opens again and San, Eunji, Iseul, and a few BB Trippin dancers start to step in, still mid conversation. 

Wonshik catches your attention though “Where do you live?” 

“Seongsu,” Yunho says it before you can open your mouth and a strike of alarm twists in your chest before he smoothly recovers, “you were just saying how close you are to the studio,”

”Yeah,” You nod, catching on to his misdirection, “super close, I usually walk,” 

Wonshik nods, “No problem, do you have everything? Another early one tomorrow,”

“Sure, I’m ready when you are,” You nod to them both. 

Wonshik turns, reaching into his pocket for his keys, and heads for the entrance again. You and Yunho exchange a quick look, and he nods for you to go first. 

“Good night,” You say to everyone as you pass by. 

They give you a good night, and as you pass each other, you feel Yunho’s tall presence behind you. He says something to San, and gives one of the BB dancers a fist bump for something that happened on set, but then for the first time in weeks he moves without thinking. 

“See you in the morning,” Yunho says, and then turns to follow you, his hand settling on your mid back to guide you forwards out of the tent. 

It takes you both a second to realize what you’ve done, the weight of his hand feeling familiar and right against your back, but you hear San say something loudly enough he could only be making a distraction and your gut twists. 

Yunho drops his hand, shoving it in his coat pocket. 

You feel the rapid pick up of his heart, the apology that he wants to give you but can’t in front of other people. You want to tell him it’s fine, no one saw, and even if they did it was the most mild, brief touch imaginable, but you bite your tongue and climb into the waiting car. 

Wonshik drives you home, and despite the closeness of your bodies in the backseat of the car, Yunho keeps his eyes on the window and an ocean between you. 

Two more days of shoots like that have you propped up on coffee and sheer force of will alone. 

You keep almost falling asleep everywhere, and you’re sure that to any of your coworkers who don’t know about Yunho and your sudden soulmate insomnia, you look terrible. 

“You’ve got to figure out this sleep thing,” Iseul says, nudging your shoulder as she collapses next to you on the couch in your offices at the KQ main building. It’s getting late, finally time to go home, but you just need a second to yourself before trying to muster up the strength to catch the train or risk falling asleep in another Uber. 

You sigh, “I know.”

“Is Yunho still avoiding you?” She asks. 

“He’s not avoiding me,” You huff a tired laugh into your sweatshirt sleeves, “he literally can’t when we’re literal soulmates.” 

He’s been a little distant since the other night, but it’s to be expected. You don’t need him to explain, you can feel it. He’s been looping through the line of mistakes from that night; the kiss, knowing your address, the back touch, all brought on by your joint exhaustion and the constant magnetic energy of the bond that tugs inside you, willing you to touch, to be close. 

“y/n,”

“Sorry,” You sigh, “I’m tired, but no he’s not. He’s just keeping some distance after the other night, he slipped up and he’s beating himself up over it,” 

“It’s a platonic enough touch,” She says, and you’ve heard this argument from her before, “and no one saw,”

“Mm,” You nod, “this is just how he deals.”

“By shutting you out?”

“By hyperfocusing on work,” You correct, “we’re texting, it’s fine, Iseul,”

“Fine,” She says with a sigh, “I just want my best friend back to healthy and happy,” 

You give her a close lipped smile, “Soon,” 

The door opens and you look up as Eunji, Dahan, and Eunwoo from the hair styling team come in, Hongjoong rounding the corner behind them. Hongjoong and Eunwoo are mid conversation, and the other members of your makeup team are carrying an arm full of vending machine snacks.

“How bad do you think I’ll break out after only living on Turtle Chips and caffeine this week?” Dahan groans and you smile.

“I’m telling you,” Eunji shakes the clear box in her hands, “the vending machine salads are surprisingly good,” 

“How? It’s a literal vending machine,” Dahan’s nose crinkles. 

They keep bickering, almost ignoring you and Iseul completely, but then you hear your name out of Hongjoong’s mouth and it catches everyone’s attention. 

“y/n,” Hongjoong says as he steps towards your group and makes eye contact with you, “I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about, do you have a few minutes while I’m already down here? Seonghwa wanted me to pass a bit of feedback back to you,” 

Your eyebrows raise, “Um, sure,” 

Your teammates glance at each other in a bit of confusion, it’s rare for the boys to give you feedback like this, if at all after working with each other for so long, but they let it lie and don’t interject. 

He waits for you, and then nods towards the hall. 

“Right,” You pull yourself up and brush your hands over your wrinkled trousers, “no problem,”

“Text me later,” Iseul says as she stays with Dahan and Eunji, and as you step away you feel their curious glances at you, leaving a strange pit in your exhausted stomach. 

Hongjoong steps into the hall and walks down towards the lobby on this floor, an empty space between elevators with no office doors or onlookers to overhear. 

Once you’re alone with him, you cross your arms over your chest, “Hwa needed you to give me feedback? What did I do?” You smile, keeping it light. 

He waits until he’s sure everyone’s out of earshot, and then he looks back at you, “Nothing, I just needed an excuse to talk to you for a second,” 

“Oh,” You relax. 

“My office,” He starts, “my recording booth, you know where it is?” 

You nod, “Sure,” 

“When the red light is on, no one ever bothers me, not even a knock,” He tells you. 

“Okay,” The word stretches on your lips, confusion on your face to be sure. 

He sighs, “Sometimes when comebacks get tight like this, members will use my studio to get a quick hour of sleep,” 

“Ah,” You nod, “okay,” 

“People will start heading home soon,” He points out, “but we’re all working late and have practice,” 

“I know,” You nod, “Yunho said it would be another late one,” 

“He’s in my studio,” Hongjoong continues, “and you both look exhausted. Wooyoung said you’re not sleeping either,” 

You shake your head a bit, “I’m fine, you all have enough to worry about,” 

He smiles softly, “I worry about my members,” 

Your shoulders drop, “You’re worried I’m affecting Yunho’s work,” 

“No,” He waves a hand to dispel that thought, “that’s not it, y/n. I know we haven’t spoken since that night at the studio, so I can understand why you’d think that, but no. I admit, I also wanted to apologize to you for how I reacted, the things I said.” 

“Thank you,” You manage. 

“I did some reading,” He admits, “I was… wrong, what I thought the connection was for you both, I didn’t understand and after what Yunho said that night, I did research.” 

“Oh,” 

“What I’m trying to say is,” He glances quickly to make sure you’re still not being overheard, his voice maintaining his low tone, “If I’m worried about Yunho, that means I’m worried about you too. You’re feeling these schedules just like he is, and your exhaustion is feeding off each other. I’m worried about you both, and I can only imagine how much worse the stress is making things,” 

If you weren’t so tired, down to your marrow, his words might not make you so emotional but you take a sharp breath and nod, feeling a pinprick of tears behind your eyes. 

“So,” He says with a small smile, “Yunho’s in my office trying to get a couple hours of rest, and I think you should join him. Get some sleep, we’ll text him if something comes up and we’ll cover for you both. Just be careful going in and out, but at this hour things should be pretty quiet.” 

“Hongjoong,” You say his name in a breath, “I don’t know what to say,” 

“You’re good,” He waves that off too, almost uncomfortable with the sudden emotion you’re trying to keep tamped down. 

“Thank you,” You smile, “really,” 

He nods and steps away, “Alright, I have to get to a schedule,” 

He doesn’t, and he knows you know that, but you let him off the emotional hook with ease and make your way to the stairs. 

Hongjoong’s office is close, which means Yunho is too and your chest starts to warm with anticipation. 

Quietly, you make your way down the recording studio hallway and it’s blissfully, absolutely silent. Ahead is Hongjoong’s door, a red light above acting like a do not disturb sign, and with one more fast second glance up and down the empty hall, you turn the handle and step over the threshold in one smooth move. 

The room is dark, but you hear the shift of a body on the couch before Yunho says, “Did you need me afterall?” 

“Hey,” You whisper. 

Yunho rolls over, and in the dim light you see him sit up, “Baby?” 

“It’s just me,” You confirm, flicking the lock on the door just for good measure before walking over to the couch, “Hongjoong said you were up here.” 

“Is everything alright, you okay?” He rubs a hand over his tired face before reaching out to you. 

“I’m fine,” You assure him, stepping into his gentle hold, “but scoot over, let me in here,” 

He shifts on the couch so you can slide next to him, but you can see the confusion on his face. 

“Joong said they’d cover for us to get a quick nap,” You tell him softly, “can I lie down with you?” 

He sighs, a smile stretching over his face, “Of course,” 

You both shuffle onto the couch, and it’s too narrow for his big body and yours, but you wind your legs together and make little adjustments until you’re comfortable, Yunho’s arm banding protectively around your back to keep you from rolling backwards. 

“Come here,” He murmurs as you adjust your head, cheek nestled into his bicep, “is that alright?” 

“Mhm,” You sigh, feeling the tension of the day and of the past week unspool inside you, “missed you,” 

“I missed you too,” he presses his lips to the top of your head and lets out a long, relieved breath, “so much,” 

You nod, but your eyes have already started to grow heavy. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his body on yours. Faintly you can catch threads of his scent, clean skin and something earthy, soft cedar and juniper. 

You nestle into his chest a little more, taking a deep breath and letting yourself relax, “Love you,” 

He hums softly, but you feel him relaxing right alongside you, “Love you,”

You don’t even remember falling asleep. No sooner do you hear his soft reply, an alarm is sounding above your heads and you start out of sleep, Yunho gasping sharply and pulling you closer as he bursts back into consciousness alongside you. 

“Mm,” You burrow into his chest, “that’s too loud,” 

He searches above his head for his phone, the alarm still blaring. 

“Yunho,” You groan. 

“I got it,” He says, clicking the snooze button, “sorry, sorry,” 

You sigh, “I think everyone in this building heard that,” 

He snorts a laugh softly and sighs, “I can’t sleep through it,” 

“That’s for sure,” 

He wraps you back up in his arms and tucks his head against yours. 

“Did we sleep?” You murmur. 

“Mhm,” He says, his voice rough with sleep, “almost three hours,” 

“I feel like I died,” You yawn, “oh my god,” 

He stretches his legs out, joints cracking as he adjusts. Neither one of you moved an inch during sleep, and you’re both feeling all the stiffness that comes with that now that you start to come out of it. 

“Did anyone message you? Are we good?” You prod Yunho gently. 

“Um,” He finds his phone again, wincing when the bright light hits his eyes, “fuck, um, no, we’re good,” 

“Good,” You sigh.

”I want to ditch practice and take you back to your place and just sleep for a hundred years,” He groans, winding his arms around you and rolling you artlessly on top of his chest so that he can stretch his long back and still keep you on the couch, “how much trouble do you think I’d be in?” 

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest, “A lot,” 

“Yeah,” He yawns, “probably,”

  You hum softly, relaxing into him, “Do we have any time, or do you need to go?” 

He winces, “Five minutes, maybe?” 

You can’t hide your disappointment at that. 

“I know,” He strokes your back, “I’m sorry, I wish schedules were less…”

  “It’s okay,” You soothe him with another kiss, “it is what it is,” 

His lips press closed, and he nods, “Yeah,” 

“Only a few more days,” You sigh. 

A few more days of schedules like this, of early mornings and late nights and commitment after commitment stacked on top of each other. 

He nods, but then he says, “We’re going to start negotiations next week,” 

“You are?” Your head pops up and you meet his gaze. 

“We have a day off after these schedules,” He says quietly, a tentative smile on his lips, “after we sure things up with the attorney, and then we just have to request the meeting.”

“That’s fast,” You admit. 

“None of us want to waste any time,” Yunho admits, “between us and the potential our contracts could be better for all of us? I think we’re all ready,” 

“When do you think,” You let your words trail off, but he picks up on your point with ease.

  “A couple of weeks, I think we’ll know,” He smiles, “just a little longer,” 

You smile, pushing up from your position to capture his lips in a kiss. 

Yunho pulls you closer, shifting you higher on his chest as he hums pleasantly against your mouth, kissing you gently, tenderly, like all good sleepy, intimate kisses should be. 

Yunho’s phone lights up with a second alarm and you jolt, breaking the kiss and sighing. 

He silences the phone much more quickly this time, “I’m sorry,” he gives you a squeeze, “I really have to go,” 

“It’s okay,” You slide off him, taking quick stock of your clothes and how mussed your hair is as he gets to his feet. 

His phone dings with a notification and he checks it, before quickly tapping out a reply.

  “All good?” You check. 

“Mhm,” Yunho yawns and tucks his phone away, “Joong says the hallways are pretty quiet.” 

“Should I go first, or you?” You ask, reaching out to smooth the collar of his shirt. 

“I’ll go,” He leans in and presses a fast kiss to your forehead, “let me double check the coast is clear,” 

“Okay,” You nod.

  He takes a deep breath and shakes out the nap, “Only a couple more weeks,” he repeats, as much for himself as it is for you, “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” You kiss him quickly, just a peck before he gets on with the rest of his work day. 

“Let me know when you get home safely, okay?” He kisses your again, his warm hands cupping you close, “Try to get some more sleep,” 

You nod, but you both know you won’t be sleeping until he’s in bed too, “Text me when you’re home later,” 

“I will,” He says, “but try to sleep, okay? You need your rest too,” 

“I promise I’ll try,” 

His phone dings again, and he exhales sharply with a little exasperation, checking his phone again, “Alright, I have to go, I love you. Be safe.” 

“Love you too,” 

He kisses you fast, and then his hands are off you and he’s out the door. 

You sink back down onto Hongjoong’s couch and collect yourself, pushing through all the post-nap brain fog now that you have a second. You wait until he messages you it’s safe to leave, and then quietly you turn off Hongjoong’s recording light and slip out unseen into the hall. 

Downstairs you gather your things and get yourself back together so you can go home, darting quickly towards the exit when you hear that you aren’t completely alone in the building. Far off voices down one of the halls by your workspace, the sound of someone else in the lower break room, you don’t wait to see who could be working late. 

Walking to the train you take a deep breath of cold air. 

Only a few more weeks. 

You can do a few more weeks. 

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

Not everyone would agree with you, but you love night schedules. As one of the staff members who has to be there before the members, you love any schedule that means you get to wake up at a normal time and not the three or four in the morning call times for morning shoots. 

A night shoot means you get the morning off. 

Last night after days and days, you finally slept, sinking into sleep alongside Yunho, even though he was across town at his own apartment. It was the best night you’ve spent without him by your side since that first night after the European tour. 

You woke up without an alarm, natural light and feeling fully sated. Today was going to be a good, good day. 

You get to the office with a brightness in your body. An afternoon coffee in hand, a cute outfit, and you took the extra time to put a soft curl in your hair just to see Yunho’s eyes light up when he sees you later today. 

He had texted you good morning and that he loved you. 

You had joked about ordering the same thing for dinner later and eating over FaceTime for a virtual date. 

Tomorrow was their meeting with the contract lawyer.

Everything was going right. 

You’re almost there.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary until it does. 

At the office, you scan your keycard to enter just like always, but you only make it halfway across the lobby before you’re intercepted by two of the largest men you’ve ever seen, dressed in simple black suits with armbands identifying them as security. 

“Miss y/n?” One of them stops you with an outstretched hand, blocking your access to any more of the lobby. 

“Yes?” Your heart speeds up. 

“Come with us, please.” The other says plainly. 

Your fingers tighten on your bag, “What’s this about?” 

“Come with us, please,” He reiterates, and you can tell the please is a polite formality. 

”Can you tell me what this,” You start to say, but you barely get a full sentence out before you’re cut off again. 

“Miss,” The first one says, “let’s not discuss this in the hall. Follow us.” 

They start walking, one in front of you and one behind, and you can sense people in the foyer starting to notice an employee being escorted by security, stopping to stare, but you keep your eyes ahead and try not to look as terrified as you feel. 

It could be nothing. 

It could be a keycard replacement or a problem with a clearance for one of the filming locations, it could be anything. 

They walk you swiftly towards the back elevators and take you up until you’re passing your normal floors and going higher, towards the offices with better views and higher salaries. 

Your stomach clenches when you get off and follow them further back to a corner office. 

“This way,” The one in front says as he opens the door to the office, and your eyes flick over the name on the door. 

Han Minchul - Attorney

Everything in your body is telling you to turn around, to get out of this hall and back to the elevators, to never step foot in this man’s office, but it’s just not an option. 

Stepping over the threshold, you come face to face with Han Minchul himself. 

“Ah!” He says, “Miss y/n,” 

You greet him, professionally and cordially, “Mr. Han,” 

“I don’t suspect you know who I am,” He gestures towards the chairs in front of his large dark wood desk, “please, have a seat,” 

Slowly you step forwards and take the seat. He’s perfectly average in every way with the exception of his nice office and even nicer suit. You clock the watch on his wrist and the decorative table in the corner with the crystal bottle of expensive scotch. 

“Well,” He says with a slight smile, folding his hands over a red file folder on his desk, “I do wish we were meeting under better circumstances,”

Your stomach drops out, “What circumstances are those?” 

His smile falls away and he taps the folder, “We have some serious and very credible information about you and one of our idols, Miss y/n.” 

It feels in a split second like your chest is collapsing in on itself. 

“Nothing to say?” He leans back from the desk and sits comfortably in his desk chair. 

“What would you like me to say?” You manage. 

“It doesn’t really matter to me,” He sighs, “and there’s no point in lying. You and Jeong Yunho have been seeing each other secretly for some time, though we were only made aware of the nature of your relationship this week.” 

“I see,” Your throat feels hoarse, your stomach rolling. 

You feel a tug inside you, a press against the bond, but you stay focused on the conversation.

”It took us a few days of digging and corroborating information, but you are both less secretive than you think you are,” He adds, “we’ll be speaking with him later today, but for now, if you’ll turn over your keycard and identification badge,” 

“You’re firing me,” 

“Very good,” He says, and then he taps on the folder again. 

Your ears are ringing, and you see his mouth moving but things feel like they’re falling apart all around you. Your heart is thundering in your chest and you feel another distinct touch of Yunho’s consciousness to yours. 

Mr. Han clears his throat and looks at you with a withering stare. 

“What did you say?” 

He purses his lips at you like you’re an annoyance, and then nods to the two stocky security officers at the doorway, “I said, we can make this simple, or we can make this difficult,” 

You swallow tightly, fear pooling in your gut. 

“Simple includes signing these two documents,” He finally folds open the folder and reveals a stack of contracts that are tabbed on multiple pages for your initials and signature, “and then you will quietly leave the premises. You will be let go without recommendation, but you will receive a lump sum of six months salary, still subject to tax of course.” 

“Y-you’re buying me off?” Your head feels like it’s spinning. 

“You’re a smart girl, y/n,” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “now do I need to explain what difficult means, or do we have an agreement?” 

As if on cue, both of the security officers take a step from the door towards you. They linger behind your chair like menacing pillars, and you have no doubt they’ll drag you from these offices kicking and screaming if necessary. 

“I,” You start, fumbling over your words, “I’m sorry, but there’s been a misunderstanding,” 

“Oh?” For a split second you think he’s going to listen, but then he leans back in his chair as he shakes his head, “No, I don’t think there has,” 

Nervous knots tighten so hard in your gut you feel sick, “No, please, you have to listen to me,” 

“Does listening get you to sign these papers faster?”

”We’re soulmates,” You finally get the words out, “we would never have broken the rules if that weren’t the case, but I know you can understand that, that we’re supposed to be together, that it was out of our control,” 

The man across from you barely blinks, “Well,” he shrugs, “I’ve heard that one before,” 

“But our marks,” You insist, “if you just let us show you, you’ll see,” 

“Let me stop you there,” He shakes his head and sits forward in his chair, “because I can tell you exactly how that happened,” 

His words don’t make sense, “What?” 

“You developed a little crush,” He gestures towards you with his meaty hand, “and your crush turned into an obsession,” 

He doesn’t even need to say it, you know exactly what this story will be. You’ve feared it from the second you realized he was yours, and to see it laid out in front of you is a cold reminder that you were right from the start. 

That doesn’t stop the ringing in your ears though, and the way your heart starts to beat faster and faster like a bird in a cage, pure panic lacing through your body. Something sharp pulls in your chest, and distantly through the bond you feel Yunho’s own fear, his own sudden panic. 

Mr. Han continues, even as the blood drains from your cheeks, “No, I think you’ve broken your contract so severely you’re lucky I don’t contact the police.” 

“But,” 

“How did you do it? A peek down one of his costumes? Did you walk in on a wardrobe fitting to get a good look?” He sneers, “Or did you seduce him first and get your own tattoo later?” 

“I-I didn’t,” You feel cornered, trapped, fear pulsing through you, “I wouldn’t do that,” 

“You,” He levels you with a hard stare, his eyes flicking down to your exposed forearm, “wouldn’t get a tattoo?” 

You tug the fabric of your sweater down over your skin, “That’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying I wouldn’t get a fake soulmark, I wouldn’t deceive someone like that,” 

He has to believe you, he has to. But instead, he only shrugs, “I doubt it, but it doesn’t matter.” 

“It,” You feel lightheaded, sick, dizzy at the way the floor has all but dropped out from under you, “it has to matter,” 

“y/n,” He sighs, tapping the papers before him, “my job is to protect the company from liability, to protect our idols from things that would be catastrophic for their careers, and you, my dear, are catastrophic.” 

Panic slices through you, hot tears pricking at your eyes, “But I love him,” 

His nose crinkles slightly, disgust masked with mock pity, “I’m sure you do,”

His words, the way he looks at you, you feel small and silly. A foolish girl with a crush clinging to a fairytale, and your eyes land on the file folder of contracts, beneath them no doubt all the evidence he alluded to before, thick and likely full of a false version of your love story, crafted so that you look like nothing more than a rabid fan. You think suddenly of the girl in the airport who pushed you aside for her chance to touch Yunho’s skin, and you can see exactly the rumors they’ll spread about you if they have to.

Underneath the panic and the pulsing dizziness though, you feel Yunho. His own heartbeat seems to knock against your ribs, and distantly you know it, he’s coming for you. 

“I’ll offer you one last time,” Mr. Han says, and your eyes flick up to his, “I urge you to be smart about this. Sign the papers, take the money. I’m sure you can find somewhere that will hire you to do hair anywhere, it just won’t be alongside any other idols you can dupe.” 

This time all you feel is the popping sensation of rage, crackling through your body so quickly you can’t catch your tongue, “I’m a makeup artist.” 

“Yes, well,” 

“No,” You cut him off, leaning forwards and fisting your hands to keep them from shaking, “I’ve sat here and listened to you insult me, and insinuate that I am some kind of delusional, love-sick fan, and threaten me, I’ve worked here for five years.” 

“Congratulations.” He says dryly. 

“What is wrong with you?” You stand up, the chair pushing back behind you as it bumps into the security officers, “You haven’t even talked to Yunho, you dragged me in here like you’re a cop and I’m some sort of criminal, this is our lives!” 

”No, this is a place of business,” He shakes his head. 

You rub at your temples, a headache bubbling in your brain, “How?” 

“How is this a place of business?” He smirks. 

“No, how did,” 

“I know what you’re asking,” He interrupts and taps the stack of papers on the table, “it seems your friend thought you were behaving inappropriately in the workplace,” 

A wave of dizzy nausea passes through you and you grip the back of the chair for stability, “My friend?” 

“Your friend, one of the other makeup artists,” He repeats, “she had quite a lot to tell us.” 

“She,” You feel unmoored, “she told you?” 

“Everything we needed to know.” He confirms. 

“I,” You stumble over your words and then find the stability to straighten back up, “I don’t believe that for a second.” 

“Believe whatever you want,” He shrugs, “it won’t make a difference. It’s my job to ensure,” 

“No liability,” You roll your eyes, anger bubbling hot inside you, “and a steady paycheck for you while KQ’s biggest group stays nice and profitable, and a soulmate for one of their idols would really cause a scandal, wouldn’t it?” 

His jaw tightens, muscles tensing in his jaw before he recovers and nods again to security, “The difficult way then,” 

One of the security guards steps smoothly to your side, his large hands closing over your upper arms tightly and he tugs you back. 

The ringing in your ears gets louder, but you taste bitter adrenaline on your tongue and feel the bond inside you thrumming, you feel him closer. 

The other security officer grabs your bag from the floor though, and it pulls your attention, “What are you doing?” 

He ignores you, swiftly finding your phone and passing it over to Mr. Han who stays comfortably behind the desk. 

“Let me go, give that back!” You jerk an arm, trying to push free, but it only makes the man holding you still grip harder, pressing angry bruises into your skin.

 “Liability, remember?” He says as he flicks through your phone, “once this is cleaned up, you’ll be escorted out. Your access badge will no longer swipe into the building, and staff will be made aware that you are no longer welcome on the premises.” 

“Fuck you,” You wriggle a little harder, only to get yanked back into the chest of the security officer. 

“Very nice,” Mr. Han comments dryly, “very professional,” 

You want to scoff, to tell them there’s nothing professional about anything that’s happened since you sat down in this room, but you hear fast footsteps in the hall, a distant shout.

The men in the room look up, towards the door, and you take the moment to your advantage. You twist sharply in the security officer’s arms and duck to the side, breaking his hold while he’s momentarily distracted and rushing to the opposite end of the room by the door.

 He takes two steps towards you, but the door bursts open between you. 

Yunho pushes over the threshold with a kind of reckless purpose, his eyes focused and searching, cheeks flushed from running and chest heaving, Mingi and Hongjoong hot on his heels. 

He finds you in a second, and without a single thought to the room around him he rushes towards you, “You’re alright? You’re alright?” 

His hands cup your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your cheekbone, and you shake your head, “They want me to go,” 

His brow furrows, and it takes him a moment to register your words. He felt fear and panic and dread so distinctly in your body that he didn’t know what he would find behind this office door. All he knew is that you were terrified and he was running, straight out of the recording studio with Hongjoong and Mingi stumbling behind him. But you’re here, alive and unharmed, and it takes a moment for the blood rushing in his ears to calm, to understand what you meant, but when he turns his head towards the room, he finally takes in everything in front of him. 

The paperwork, your phone on the desk, the attorney, the guards, it all threads together. 

You reach up and gently take his wrists, drawing his hands down from your cheeks so you can both face the room, and you thread your fingers tightly together with Yunho’s.

”What’s going on here?” Yunho asks. 

“They know,” You explain, “I’ve been asked to leave,” 

Mr Han sighs, finally standing, “I was trying to handle this situation professionally, I don’t know what you think calling them is going to change,” 

“I didn’t call them,” You shake your head incredulously, “you have my phone, you can see that,”

 He pauses, a brief flicker, but then shakes his head, “Regardless.” You watch him push together the contracts, gathering them to tuck them neatly away and your hand tightens on Yunho’s.

Hongjoong steps swiftly forwards, snatching the papers and bringing them back a few steps, “What are these?” 

“Contracts,” He replies, and for the first time this whole meeting you can hear a little tension in his tone, “standard for employment termination.” 

“Employment termination,” Yunho shakes his head, “that’s insane.” 

“You can’t break the rules like this an expect there to be no ramifications,” 

“Fire me then,” Yunho’s eyes narrow. 

“Yunho, be serious,” Mr. Han says. 

You feel a flash of Yunho’s anger in his chest, but then Hongjoong interrupts, his head shaking as he flips through the papers.

 “These are unethical,” He glances up at you both before continuing to flick through, and Mingi leans over his shoulder to read more.

 Yunho turns his head towards the two of them as Mingi reads aloud, “I, y/n, hereby acknowledge and agree to the terms of termination and the accompanying settlement as outlined above. Terms including, but not limited to, defrauding a member of the idol group ATEEZ, defrauding other KQ Entertainment employees in an attempt to establish co-conspirators, and intention to defame and devalue the aforementioned member’s career using these lies through public channels such as social media and the press. I understand and accept that by signing this letter, I am waiving all claims against KQ Entertainment, agreeing to the terms set forth in this agreement, and accepting the settlement outlined above.”

Read aloud, it’s even worse. 

“This is a lie,” Hongjoong flips through the papers again, “all of it,” 

“Defrauding me? Defaming me?” Yunho’s voice is low and steady, but you can see the look of betrayal on his face, you can feel the hurt, “You seriously wanted her to sign this? This bullshit?” 

“Yunho,” You warn him gently.

”No,” He shakes his head and drops your hand, pulling the papers from Hongjoong, “this is ridiculous,” 

“This is how it works,” Mr. Han replies, “this is is how we insulate you, and minimize liability,” 

“Liability!” Yunho’s voice is sharp, “This is a mile from the truth,” 

“It’s a smear campaign,” Mingi interrupts, calmly as he steps to Yunho’s side, “you get her to sign this and if the story about the two of them got out, you have it on record that she’s a liar and a manipulator.” 

The attorney’s jaw tightens.

Hongjoong snatches back the papers and shuffles through them until he finds a subsection, “By means of seduction and false representation…. fabrication of a soulmark.” 

Heat burns your cheeks even though the words aren’t true, and you swallow tightly to bury any threat of tears. 

“What the fuck?” Yunho manages, pulling the papers closer. 

“We don’t do this,” Hongjoong’s face is pinched in disgust, “we’re better than this. You make her sound like… you make her out to be some,” 

“Gold digging whore?” You offer, a sick laugh in your throat at the absurdity of it all. 

Yunho bristles, tossing the papers onto the desk and shaking his head, “She’s not signing this,” he says, “and she’s not fired, if you had just asked me instead of assuming I could have just told you that it’s true. We’re soulmarked, we found out while we were on tour. It wasn’t expected, but we’re happy. If you had just asked me, instead of treating her this way, we have nothing to hide.” 

“But you’ve been hiding,” He counters.

 “We were waiting for the right time,” 

“And let me guess, that was her idea?” He nods towards you. 

Yunho leans forwards, “Speak about her like that again and this conversation won’t be so professional.”  

Hongjoong closes a hand around Yunho’s forearm in warning. 

Mr. Han sighs and rubs his eyes, “Yunho,” his voice softens up and you brace yourself, “you need to think about your career, your livelihood. No one wants an unavailable idol, they want the fantasy.” 

“We’re not objects,” Hongjoong bristles, “we’re not dolls for you to dress up as you please and play boyfriend,” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“Fuck you,” Mingi curses.

”Be serious,” He continues, “I know you like the girl, this is certainly not the first time someone’s broken a dating ban and it won’t be the last, but it always ends the same. I am telling you, no girl is worth your career.” 

“She’s not some girl,” Yunho says sharply, taking a step back to you and finding your hand again, “she’s my soulmate, and I would have thought that would be different,” 

The beat of silence stretches into two

”He doesn’t believe us,” You murmur, “he thinks I saw your tattoo and copied it, that I tricked you,” 

“We’re bonded,” Yunho counters, “you can’t fake that,” 

Mr. Han sighs again, “I’ve seen it more than once,” 

You can’t help the flurry of rage that bubbles in your gut, and your hands fly to the buttons of your blouse. All eyes fly to you as your shirt starts to open, and Yunho reaches for your hands, “Stop, baby, stop, you don’t need to do this,”

You push his hands away, your shirt parting open, “You think I faked this?” You tug down the band of your bralette, “You think I’m lovesick and crazy, and would trick him like that? My tattoo is red, so is his, both of them used to be black. I have pictures of mine to prove that, and I’m sure your files have pictures of his.” 

You let the band of your bralette slip back into place, covering the mark, “But that’s not what this is about at all, is it? It doesn’t matter if it’s true. All that matters is me disappearing, and the money flowing.” 

His lips close into a tight line.

”Would you have convinced him it was a lie? After I was dragged out of this building by your goons, would you have told him all the stories of other idols who have been fooled?” You take a step towards the desk and press your nails into your palms to keep steady, “How many real bonds have you broken? And for what? A nice house? A nice suit? You’re disgusting,” 

His jaw tenses again, “We’re done here,” he says, flicking a hand to security, “get her out of here.” 

They step forward on command, but Yunho takes a swift step between you, putting his body between you and the room, “Don’t touch her.” 

“It’s over,” Han Minchul says, exasperated, “she’s fired. You can be angry with me all you like, but the decision is final.” 

“Then I quit,” Yunho drops the sentence like a bomb. 

Mingi and Hongjoong snap up to look at him, and you press forwards to touch his back, “Yunho, don’t, don’t do that.” 

“She’s right,” He nods, “you and this company have had a positive working relationship for years, don’t throw it away for a woman.” 

“You son of a,” Yunho darts forwards, but Mingi is faster, locking his arms around his best friend and dragging him back.

 You suck in a sharp breath of air and shake your head, tears threatening. It’s all coming down, just like you knew it would. When you look up, the attorney looks almost pleased. He holds your gaze as Mingi and Hongjoong get Yunho under control, a final challenge, and even though it kills you, you nod. 

With your stomach in knots, you touch Yunho’s arm and bring him back to you, Mingi's hold breaking, “Yunho, it’s done, it’s over.” 

“What?” He swivels to you, surprise across his face “y/n, we can’t,” 

“Not us,” You assure him, pulling him closer, “never us, but this is over. Even if we could work it out, I wouldn’t want to stay where I’m clearly unwanted and we’re being watched.” 

He studies your face, a tense crease in his brow, “But,”

”Let me go,” You squeeze his hand. 

“This isn’t fair,” He breathes, cupping your cheek, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, we had a plan,” 

“But we always knew it could,” You remind him softly. 

Hongjoong steps close, keeping his voice low, “We’ll find a way to take care of this, but y/n is right. There’s nothing we can do here,” 

“So you’ll go?” The lawyer pipes in, “Because as much as I appreciate this tender moment, I have a one o’clock,”

Yunho’s jaw sets hard.

”I’ll go,” You say from behind him, “just give me a moment,” 

You go to move, but Hongjoong clears his throat softly, “Your blouse,” 

Your cheeks flush, and you step back to Yunho who straightens up and tucks you closer to his chest while you hastily do up the buttons of your shirt.

You want to cry, to scream, to throw something and run away into the sunset with the man you know is yours, a truth so deep it’s in your marrow, but you can’t. 

Yunho drops a kiss to your hair, checking to be sure your blouse is closed before he turns back to the room, “She goes, but she’s not signing those papers.” 

“That deal is off the table,” The attorney says, “but our official position will be a downsizing of the department. You’ll be let go without severance, and without reference, but we will not interfere with your future job prospects negatively. Security will see you out of the building.” 

Yunho doesn’t move, he keeps you tucked behind him and you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves even without the bond. 

Hongjoong nods towards the desk, “Her phone?” 

“Ah, yes,” He stretches out a hand with it towards you, but Yunho intercepts before passing it back. 

One glance tells you all you need to know - Yunho’s contact is gone, your chat history is gone, and when you click on your photo library you see that every photo is missing. 

You make a soft, involuntary sound, “Our photos,” 

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you are still bound by your original Non-Disclosure Agreement as an employee,” Mr Han says, “if anything is published online or otherwise about your relationship, you will be in breach of that contract and we will be forced to bring forward a suit. I trust you’re smart enough not to do that, but you’ll have to forgive me for taking additional precautions.” 

“Liability,” You breathe. 

“Exactly,” He nods. 

Yunho spins back to you, kissing your forehead and gathering you close, “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

“I know,” You murmur, “I know,” 

“I’ll fix this,” He presses, “it’s just a job, we’re still us.” 

Mr. Han makes a non-committal sound, “In case you’re planning on maintaining whatever relationship and contact you have, Yunho, I will remind you that your employment contract still maintains a romantic entanglement clause.”

Your stomach drops out, and Yunho turns. 

“You can consider this a formal warning,” He continues, “but if you break your contact again, you will be terminated, and that includes paying back a considerable amount of debt.” 

“This is insane,” Mingi manages.

”This is business, standard business.” 

Yunho finds your hand, pressing your palms together. Slowly, he exhales and looks up, “Understood.” 

Your heart aches in your chest. You wonder if he can feel it too. 

“Those contracts expire in a little over a year,” Yunho says, “I can tell you now that I will not be renegotiating.” 

Your heart starts to pound. 

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Mr Han says, “groups lose one or two members after rookie contracts all the time, that’s not a concern to the company, that’s a probability.” 

“And if you lose eight?” Hongjoong says sharply, “Because I won’t renegotiate if this is the new climate at KQ, and I know the rest of the members will be right behind us.” 

“Yep,” Mingi nods, “Count me out.” 

Yunho’s stunned silent, so are you.

 “You’ve treated us terribly,” Hongjoong says, “but what you’ve done to y/n might actually constitute harassment, and I intend to find out.” 

“You’ll never,” 

“We understand the terms of our contract well,” Hongjoong interrupts, “and you will not catch us breaking those terms, but let me know how the CEO feels about their debut group walking away with grievances after that contract expires. Do you think that will be good for business? I know exactly how much profit we generate for this company, and if you think all we’ve done for six years is sing and smile on command, you’d be sorely mistaken.” 

Mr. Han takes that in, eyes flicking over the room, “This meeting is over.”

”Meeting,” Mingi scoffs.

”Miss y/n,” Mr. Han clears his throat and addresses you, “your final check will be mailed to you.” 

You have nothing to say, so you nod. 

“Security will escort you out,” He reiterates. 

Both of the security officers step forwards, looking at Yunho squarely, almost a challenge to see if he’ll let you go.

Panic lances through you at the thought of not seeing him again. 

Yunho turns, tugging you close. With his lips at your ear he murmurs something just for you, “I love you,” he promises, “I’ll come, I promise,” 

Tears track down your cheeks and you nod, “I love you,” 

“It’s you first,” He squeezes your hand, “I promise, y/n, I swear,” 

Your breath hitches, “I know,” 

“Yunho,” Mr. Han says firmly, “that’s enough.” 

Taking a step back from Yunho, the tears come faster but you scrub them away quickly with the sleeve of your shirt. The security officers nod and you step closer to them. 

One of them secures a hand to your elbow and Yunho takes a step forwards, “Take your hands off her,” he says

You pull your arm away from the unwelcome touch, “I know the way out,” 

“Yunho,” Mr. Han interjects, “stay. We have things to discuss, everyone else can go.” 

“Let me walk her out,” Yunho steps towards you. 

“No,” Mr. Han grows serious and gestures to the chairs, “sit. I’m done entertaining this,” 

Yunho’s name is trapped in your throat and you press your nails into your palms. 

“Miss,” One of the security officers nods towards the door. 

Yunho’s looks to you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears and his lips parted, there’s more to say but he can’t. 

“I’ll walk her out, I got her,” Mingi interjects, locking eyes with his best friend. 

Yunho nods, words still trapped in his throat. 

“Mr. Song,” The attorney says, “don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

Mingi clenches his jaw, muscle jumping and he shakes his head, “Just the lobby, what a coincidence,” 

Mr. Han looks briefly irritated, but looks to security. 

They don’t touch you, but they do guide you with their hands outstretched, and it’s clear this is fully over. You stumble out, eyes still glued to Yunho, but Mingi swiftly steps to your side and falls into step with you.

 “y/n,” Yunho manages, a stricken look across his face. 

“Do not make a scene,” You hear as you leave the room. 

Yunho lays a hand across his chest, a firm press to his soulmark that echoes in your chest and hot tears rush to your eyes. Security pushes you down the hall with their unrelenting pace though, and you’re forced to face front. 

Behind you, you hear the door shut but not before Hongjoong’s sharp voice gives you all the comfort in the world, “No, I think I’ll stay.” You’re deeply, deeply grateful Yunho won’t be in that meeting alone. 

“Mingi,” You manage as you all file into the elevator.

”It’s going to be okay,” He assures you softly, “keep your head up. We’ve got him, you know we do.”

You nod, swiping away the emotion from your eyes. 

“How did they know?” He asks quietly as the elevator descends.

”He said Iseul,” You can barely say it without the idea turning your stomach, “but she wouldn’t have done that.” 

“Are you sure?” His eyes track the floors as you descend. 

“I’m sure,” 

There’s a ding as you hit the lobby, and you breathe through the anxiety of knowing your coworkers are about to watch you be escorted out of the KQ offices. 

“Miss,” Security gestures forwards and you step out. 

“You got this,” Mingi says softly.

 The walk to the doors is a blur, surreal and strange. Five years of your life, gone in a second. 

You barely remember the walk home. 

Curled up on the couch you wait for something, anything. A phone call, a text, a single message from anyone but you get nothing. 

He doesn’t call. 

He doesn’t text.

He doesn’t come for you. 

The bond is strangely quiet, and it feels like your world is shattering around you. 

In the morning you call the one person you know will be there, sobs wracking your chest the moment the moment your sister picks up the phone. She doesn’t need to know a thing before she’s in the car and driving to Seoul.

You want to go back, you’d keep hiding if it meant you could have even a little of him, but this. 

You can’t stay here, choked by the ghost of him everywhere you look.  

For a little while, life really was beautiful.

[explicit-tae]

Ungodly Hour: Day 2

You decide to give Jungkook exactly what he wanted - a date. @suciedad-divina @satisfied18 @y2k5bby @petalsofink @swga-ficrecs @rrrapmonste-rr @xtrataerrestrial @bangctans @danielle143 @taekritimin123 @thelilbutifulthings @jksjx @tasha-0795 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.658

Warning: semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), smut, simp jungkook, car sex, creampie, unprotected sex, dirty talking, feelings being expressed :'), dom jungkook, submissive reader,

DAY 2

“Excuse me?” Jungkook is taken aback by your words and he releases a deep scoff from his throat. “No.”

You roll your eyes at Jungkook’s dramatic response. “I’m saying. It doesn’t have to be anything over the top.”

“Y/N…” Jungkook grasps both of your hands from the other side of the kitchen island. “...we’re not having our first date in my living room binge watching Law & Order and eating pizza.”

You sigh and slump your shoulders. “We can even watch whatever nerd shit-”

“Nerd shit?!” Jungkook appears offended. “Just because I watch a little Marvel.” he then shakes his head. “Look, that's honestly besides the point. Me and you are going on a real date.”

The following morning when you woke up, you were surprised to not see Jungkook. You recalled after the shower the two of you took that slumber came soon after, you sporting one of his shirts. The spot where you last recalled him was left cold, meaning that he was gone for the majority of the time you slept. 

You washed up, brushing your teeth vigorously to get rid of your morning breath. You then make your way down the hall to where you hear Jungkook scurrying around in the kitchen. “You don’t have to be so sappy.” you recall snickering, leaning against the other side of the island.

“Seriously?” Jungkook scoffed. “I woke up early to assure you have an amazing breakfast and this is what you say to me?” Jungkook shook his head but there's a tiny smile on his lips. “Picked these flowers fresh for you this morning. Hope the neighbor doesn’t mind.” Your eyes glanced at the assorted flowers that appeared as if they’ve been snatched from someone’s garden  - the stems are all different sizes and didn’t appear to be bought from a shop or a grocery store.

You and Jungkook ate breakfast, you happily munching on everything he cooked for you without as much as a care. You and him sat side by side, entirely too close, and enjoyed the company the two of you provided.

“Let’s go on a date.” Jungkook had said once he was done with his own food - a random silence falling before the two of you prior to him speaking.

Your head turned to Jungkook slowly, his eyes already on you and awaiting a response. 

“You already said you were my girl…” Jungkook trailed off, lifting his hand to cup your chin. “...if you cut off the play hard to get game you love to play, then we can do what we both want to do.”

“Okay.” you nodded your head, not only surprising yourself at your agreement, but also Jungkook. His eyes turned wide and in an instant, he’s smiling wide.

“I’m thinking…a picnic? A movie? Dinner? How about we just do it all?” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders.

“A picnic movie…dinner?” you tilt your head with a smile on your lips. “Isn’t that what I suggested we do here?”

“Fuck, Y/N.” Jungkook drops your hands to run his hands through his hair. “You don’t go out on date’s much, do you?”

Fuck Jeon Jungkook, you think.

“Dates are supposed to be things we do outside the home.” Jungkook says slowly, speaking as if you were a child. 

“I know what a fucking date is.” you roll your eyes. “Fine. I’ll let you plan this…picnic movie dinner date. Whatever the fuck that is.”

Jungkook then claps his hands together. “Thank you!” Jungkook comes around the island to wrap you in a tight embrace, your back against his torso. “Then soon you’ll agree to be my girlfriend and everything will fall into place.”

“I don’t think so.” you snicker, but even you didn’t believe your words. You were, damn you say this, beginning to like having Jungkook around. 

“Mhmm.” Jungkook hums, his embrace only getting tighter. “Who knows what you’ll agree to when you’re on my dick.”

“Excuse-”

“I feel like you’ll agree to a marriage proposal as long as I fuck you right.” Jungkook continues, chuckling after the words are spoken. His right hand grips your breast tightly before it dips down between your legs. 

Jungkook’s shocked when you initial the kiss first, turning your head to press a needy kiss to his lips. It causes him to groan into it, cupping your sex entirely. 

“Can I sit on your face?” you plead.

“Always.” Jungkook nods hastily, hoisting you off of the island stool to make his way down the hall to his bedroom.

NIGHT 2

“How the hell did he get my mother’s number?” you asked Jungkook in pure disbelief, re-reading Jimin’s tweet.

“Please don’t involve me in that.” Jungkook glances away from the road to you. “I have no idea how. It’s Jimin. He has his ways.”

You groan, turning off your phone and putting it to the side. “Fuck Jimin.”

“Well, he is the reason you agreed to go on a date with me. He’s going to be the godfather to our children.”

You snarl at Jungkook’s words, heat rushing through you. “You always go years in advance, do you?” you grumble. “I thought Jimin hated me.”

“Hate you? Of course not!” Jungkook begins to laugh as if it's the funniest statement in the world. “He actually really likes us together. Says we fit.”

You furrow your brows at the new information. Jimin wasn’t an outright asshole, but neither was he someone you considered that “liked you”. 

“He’s just a little upset. I kicked him off the streaming services so you can have a better experience.” Jungkook snorts. “But he tells me all the time that he ships us.”

“Huh.” you nod slowly. “I suppose that means I have your friend’s approval.” you joke.

“Of course.” Jungkook laughs. He places a hand on your thigh while the other is firmly on the steering wheel. “I already met the in-laws. You milk my dick every night-”

“Ugh.” you slap his hand away from your thigh and cross your arms. “Y/N, baby. Stop denying fate.” Jungkook says. “We’re going on our first date. It has to be something to tell our kids about. So if you can kindly behave.”

Jungkook was adamant about a picnic movie dinner date - in his own way. The night is cool and far too chilly to have a picnic outside, not only that, but it was dark. He managed to find a drive in theater that was showing a horror movie tonight and before the journey there, he had gathered dinner - chinese takeout with an abundance of drinks and snacks to share along the way.

“Kinda dead.” you note as Jungkook comes to the drive-in theater. There’s a man at a concession stand who appeared to be half asleep upon Jungkook entering. He doesn’t bother to stop Jungkook so he can pay, just nodding his head for him to drive along. 

“Even better.” Jungkook murmurs to himself. There’s only 2 cars that he can see parked further from one another and from his own. “I’m so excited.” 

You couldn’t help but grim st Jungkook’s excitement. His determination to date you was cute, you’d admit. 

“What movie is on now?” you ask, taking off your seatbelt to get comfortable.

“Let’s see…it follows.” Jungkook scrolls through his phone for a bit. “Followed by some more horror. We can stay for one more if you’d like.”

You nod your head. 

The date was nice. Jungkook kept his car on so the heat could circulate and the both of you ate and talked, laughing at a few scenes or small jokes that each of you would send. 

Was this what your life turned to? A domesticated realtionship with Jeon Jungkook - the same boy you swore was the embodiment of a fuck boy? Your mother always told you not to judge a book by its cover and that’s exactly what you had done with him. 

But you’d give yourself slack. Jungkook looked like a fuck boy - tattoos, piercings, hot body and was a smooth talker? How could you think any other way?

But then Jungkook and his stubborn competitiveness came in. He was determined to prove you wrong - prove that he could be someone you could like more than just a fuck buddy. 

“What’s on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook turns to you, a trail of sauce down the side of his lips. “You’ve been staring into space for a while now.”

You take a sip of your drink  - Jungkook insisted you tried this flavored soda that was one of his favorites; you weren’t so sure if you liked it as much. “Just thinking.”

“While there’s a murderer on the loose?” Jungkook furrows a brow, licking the sauce away with his tongue. “You would surely be the first to die.”

You roll your eyes in response.

“What’s on your mind?”

“What is it that you like about me exactly?”

Jungkook turns to you fully. “I had this speech set out for a one year anniversary.” he sighs.

“Can you get serious?” your body feels hot and Jungkook laughs. 

“I like how stubborn you are. You always keep me on my toes. I never get bored when I’m with you.”

“Yet.”

Jungkook frowns. “Don’t ruin the moment with your negativity.” he quips. “You aren’t afraid to shit talk me even when I know deep down in that shell of a heart…” Jungkook smirks at your scowling face. He drops his chopsticks into the container he was eating and grasps your chin between his fingers. “...you love my company just as much as I love yours.”

“Simp.” you mumble.

“I’ll always simp for my girl.” Jungkook retorts. “If you don’t believe me, Y/N. I can continue.” Jungkook drops your chin. “I come to like the way you look in the morning. Drool on my pillow-”

“Fuck you.” you groan. “-while you snuggle close into me.” Jungkook laughs at your reaction. “I like watching you eat until you’re full and not be embarrassed that I’m watching. I love cooking for you, too.”

You swallow at Jungkook’s words.

“I like buying you things because there’s that softness in your eyes when I give it to you. It’s nice for those few seconds that you’re silent, just smiling. It makes me want to buy you even more things.”

“You can stop now.” you murmur to him, your heart pumping out your chest, so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

“I like how good to me you are.”

“I don’t think I’m that good.” you scoff with a shake of your head. You don’t do anything for Jungkook - not as much as he does for you, that is.

“You are.” Jungkook begins to close the lids of his food, deciding that the food could wait. He places the food back inside the bags and discards them in his back seat. “You’re so good for me. When you sit on my face. When you let me take control. You’re always good to me.”

With each passing word, Jungkook’s voice drops until it’s in a complete whisper.

“You allow me to hold you close, to kiss you, touch you…” you don’t realize how your legs are clenching until it’s friction. Curse your body for giving out on you when it comes to Jeon Jungkook and his deep voice.

“I can go on and on all night, Y/N.” Jungkook speaks with a tilt of his head. 

You inhale, closing your eyes for a bit. “Jungkook…” you say, opening your eyes to look straight at him. “...take your dick out.”

Jungkook furrows his brows at your request. “Huh-”

“Just take your dick out.” you say, shoving Jungkook in the shoulder.

Seriously, fuck Jeon Jungkook and his way of words that makes you just want to wrap your mouth around his dick. 

Jungkook nods hastily, wasting no time doing what he’s told.

The car isn’t big - you’re used to a lot of space when being with Jungkook. But, you would make it work. You wrap a hand around the base of Jungkook cock, tongue sticking out. A trail of saliva falls onto the tip of his cock and Jungkook shudders.

You begin to suck on the tip of Jungkook’s cock, focusing on it entirely. Your hands pump the length of him just like you know he likes it.

Jungkook places a hand on top of your head, resting in your hair. He winches in pleasure, eyes snapping shut.

You take Jungkook in you deeper and deeper - so deep that he’s hitting the back of your throat. You’re clenching around nothing now, your underwear soaking by the second, but you didn’t care. You wanted Jungkook now more than ever - if even possible. The sounds of your slurping echo off the car walls, Jungkook turning down the radio so the movie wouldn’t distract him from you.

“You’re always so, fuck…good to me.” Jungkook pants. It’s like he’s told you - there was never a true dull moment. Even outside of sex, he never knows when he’s going to get himself into when he’s with you. 

You pop his cock from your mouth, a thin line of saliva connecting your mouth to it. “Do you want to cum in my mouth?” you ask him, wheezing. “Or on my face?”

“I-I don’t know.” Jungkook’s cheeks are dusted red by your sudden question. He’s never thought about cumming on your face - and the thought now interests him. However, it also makes him feel as though you’re something that he doesn’t think of you as  - a simple slutty hookup. 

Your tongue twirls slowly onto the tip, lightly passing the small hole as you await his response. 

“J-Just…fuck, Y/N.” Jungkook throws his head back and lets out a whine. “Can I fuck you?”

You knit your brows. “No room-”

“Back seat.” Jungkook rushes to say. 

“What if someone sees?” your heart is pumping with adrenaline at just the thought of being caught with Jungkook now.

“It’s dark.” Jungkook scoffs. “And who even cares?”

You lick your lips and nod your head. “Wanna ride you.” you whine low and it doesn’t take long for you to be fully undressed in the back of Jungkook’s car - Jungkook removing the bottom half of his clothing before joining you. 

It’s cramped, you’d admit, but it doesn’t bother you. You tried your best not to cause too much commotion in your riding - the car was already moving from side to side - but Jungkook wasn’t going to allow any hesitation. He didn’t care what others saw - not like anyone was watching. His hands are roaming your naked body, watching with hooded eyes as you take him.

“Everything…okay?” Jungkook pants, biting his lip to hide yet another pleasurable moan. You nod your head, arms wrapped around Jungkook’s neck. You’re unsure yourself where the stamina came from - Jungkook was always the one with the unwavering speed and energy. 

“Why do you ask?” Jungkook’s cock is so deep inside of you that you never want to stop riding him.

“You’re fucking yourself so good.” Jungkook grunts, hands gripping the flesh of your ass. “Just thought maybe there was…” he stops for a moment when he feels you clench around him and it takes everything in him to not flip you over. “...something on your mind.”

There was, you think. You leaned away from Jungkook to watch his expression - the low eyes, whispering “fuck” and “shit” every other moment mixed with the pure bliss on his face. 

“I love your cock.” you admit with a high pitched moan. Oftentimes you’d refrain from giving Jungkook any satisfaction so early on.

“Yeah?” there was a deep chuckle in Jungkook’s voice. Any chance you had of being in control is taken when Jungkook begins to thrust upwards to meet your hips. 

Sober you - and not the dick drunk person you are now - are surely going to look back and die of humiliation. Who were you giving a man the satisfaction of knowing what you loved about them?

“You always fuck me so good.” you capture Jungkook’s lips on your own, fully allowing him to take control. “You treat me well, too.”

Jungkook kisses down your jaw, his thrusts never halting. So this is why you were doing this - sucking his cock like your life depended on it and then attempting to milk him dry. He supposed this was your way of telling him that you liked him - in a typical you way of things. Only when you were being fucked so good could you ever admit these feelings for him.

But, Jungkook wouldn’t have it any other way - he loved breaking down those walls you put up.

“I’ll always treat you well.” Jungkook grunts. “Come here.” Jungkook maneuvers you so that you’re against the seat, ass in the air. He wasn’t going to let the tight space stop him from fucking you the way he wanted to. 

Another pleasurable whine escapes you when Jungkook re-enters you. The new position allows him to go deeper, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. One hand rests onto your hip to keep you in place while another hoists you up by your neck.

“What else, baby?” Jungkook says between thrusts. “What else do you like about me?”

Jungkook was getting off to this, fully understanding that you wouldn’t admit these feelings for him any other way. You were far too stubborn - but that didn’t mean he never wanted to hear them.

“Y-You deal with me. You’re always so…so…” your eyes begin to flutter close, pussy pulsing around Jungkook’s cock. It’s as if with each thrust, he goes deeper and deeper, fully fucking every inch of life out from you. “...so nice to me.”

Jungkook leans down, his tongue licking from the middle of your back to your shoulder. He then presses a kiss against your shoulder blade. “You know you’re my girl. I’ll always be kind to you.”

“I-I know, baby.”

Fuck.

Fuck Jeon Jungkook. This was something he was never going to live down and the sober part of you hopes that he didn’t hear you say the little pet name that the dick drunk side of you said.

Of course, Jungkook did and his eyes widened slightly. 

“You like me.” Jungkook laughs a joyous tune - it’s as if he isn’t plunging his cock deep inside of you right now. He has a boyish grin on his lips as he continues. The hand on your hope makes its way between your legs, rubbing along on your wet clit. “You like me, Y/N!” he sing-songs.

Fuck Jeon Jungkook - because wasn’t it obvious that you liked him? You spent more time with him than you did with anyone else - even Chaeyoung was beginning to question if things had gotten further than you told her.

“Didn’t I tell you I can have you saying anything for me if I fucked you good enough?”

Fuck. Jeon. Jungkook.

Jungkook’s fingers continue to play with your clit, his pounding never ceasing. This is what fueled Jungkook - your moans, the clenching of your pussy, you admitting that you liked him - no matter how obvious it was outside of sex. Hearing you say it was enough to fuel him even further.

“It’s a matter of time before you admit you love me.” there it was, the deep sultriness in Jungkook’s voice has returned. “But we can wait a little longer for that. I’ve waited this long to hear you admit you liked me.”

You’re sobbing now due to overstimulation - that and Jungkook always had a way with words just as he had a way with using his dick.

“You always look so pretty when you take me.” Jungkook’s warm breath is right against your ear. It causes you to shudder while goosebumps litter your skin. “You know sometimes I think about how there’s guys I know that want you.”

You whimper when Jungkook’s hand slaps along your clit harshly. 

“But I have you here in my car creaming my cock.” Jungkook cackles as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. “It brings great satisfaction knowing that I’m the one that has you. That Y/L Y/N who was once known to deny everyone…” Jungkook kisses your shoulder blade once more. “...is crying for my cock. Say it, baby. Say you only want me.”

“O-Only want you.” you comply far too quickly, a pathetic sob coming right after.

You’re cumming - it waves down on you hard. You don’t notice you’re crying with ecstasy until you’re blinking them away to focus on anything.

“Fuck, that’s right, baby. Only me.” Jungkook picks up the pace of his thrusts, sloppy. Your pussy is so wet that it squelches loudly. “Only us.” is all Jungkook is mustered to say before he himself is cumming, twitching with pleasure right inside of you.

Each time Jungkook cums inside of you always seems to be more intense than the last. He doesn’t release his cock from inside of you until he’s softening, the cum trailing down your thigh painfully slow.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks when he catches his breath, laying you gently against his seats. “I think we need a safe word. You never tell me when I go too far.” he murmurs, only half jokingly.

You mumble something beneath your breath and Jungkook comes closer to hear it.

Your body turns, your back now against his seat. Jungkook awaits for you to speak. “I’m so sleepy.”

Jungkook snickers. “I bet.” he responds. “You have work tomorrow, right?”

You nod your head, dreading the fact. Your work shifts are never long - but being with Jungkook majority of the day made life a little more bearable.

Fuck Jeon Jungkook and making you want to be around him more.

“We should probably head home then.” Jungkook leans away but you grab his shirt. He stops, eyes fixed on you. “Yeah, baby?”

You lean forward a bit to capture his lips. It’s quick, nothing but a peck but it causes both of your hearts to leap. 

Part 6 Teaser | Series Masterlist

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 6.5 (jjk)

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

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

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters contain mature content)

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

☆warnings: alcohol, jungkook is a mess, swearing

☆word count: 4.4k

☆a/n: this can almost count as a full chapter lmao oop, I hope you enjoy reading <3

☆join the discord server here!

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

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

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Jungkook is excited. He hasn’t had his friends over in forever, and he and Jimin are already planning to get plastered even though Sera said they shouldn’t.

He’s been needing it, if only so that he can get you off his mind. So that he can forget how awkward things were this week, how you both avoided each other like the plague as if nothing truly ever happened between the two of you.

It’s been making him feel more bitter than he’d care to admit, so getting plastered has been sounding like heaven since Jimin suggested it. Or maybe Jungkook’s true goal is just to get Jimin drunk, if only so that he stops teasing him about you.

About that evening you watched anime with them, and Jungkook couldn’t resist but lean against you, far too close for comfort.

“Is she going to be there?” Jimin says for the thousandth time, wiggling his eyebrows.

They are currently setting up the living room, organizing all the alcohol they got. Sera is lounging on the couch, and she raises her head to look at them.

“Is who going to be there?” she asks.

“Tae’s sister,” Jimin explains, and then slides his gaze back to Jungkook. “They were pretty cosy-”

Jungkook interrupts Jimin’s teasing by punching him in the shoulder, clearly hard enough to hurt as Jimin immediately winces, massaging the spot he hit.

“Fuck off,” Jungkook grumbles. “We’re just roommates.”

“Oh my God, they were roommates,” Sera imitates from the couch, just like the Vine from years ago.

“Exactly my point,” Jimin says, mischievous smirk on display.

“You know I’ll kill you?” Jungkook says, slightly shaking his head as he clenches his jaw.

Jimin laughs, plopping down on the couch next to Sera. “That’s if Tae doesn’t get to you first.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore the comment this time around. It helps that his phone starts ringing with a call from Lisa incoming. He picks up to learn that she’s outside with Eunwoo and Jaehyun, and Jungkook walks over to the door, opening up for his friends.

Lisa smiles shyly as she meets his gaze, and Jungkook engulfs her in a quick hug before dapping up the two guys. As he follows his friends back to the living room once they’ve ridden themselves of their coats and boots, Jungkook glances towards the bend in the hallway, almost imagining you appearing.

But you’re not here at all. He heard you leave over an hour ago, while he was gaming in his room waiting for Jimin and Sera to show up with the alcohol.

He wonders where you went. If there’s a party on campus that you’re gracing with your presence right now, and somehow his stomach twists at the thought. He pushes it to the far back of his mind, focusing on drinking now that it is time to do so.

As he gets slowly tipsier with every passing sip, Jungkook can’t help but notice how Lisa is bolder than she usually is. Sitting closer, being touchier, and Jungkook would push her away if it wasn’t for the way Jimin is looking at them with narrowed eyes, suspicion painted on his features. 

Lisa could be a good distraction, Jungkook reckons. Not for himself - he wouldn’t have sex with her at all as she’s part of the friend group, and he’d hate to make things awkward. But she could be a good distraction for Jimin’s incessant teasing, so Jungkook seizes the opportunity, lying down with his head on her lap as the boys - Mingyu has now also arrived - are playing Smash on the TV. 

Jungkook feels the way Lisa stiffens for a few seconds, before relaxing as he offers her a quick smile. She melts then, and she starts playing with his hair, which feels way too good in his tipsy - or maybe drunk now? - state.

He sits up when it’s his turn to play, coincidentally grabbing a new beer for himself. He’s just barely won the game when the front door opens, a gush of cold air rushing in, and then you appear, cheeks rosy from the late winter outside.

The sounds fade around Jungkook as he meets your gaze, and his heart comes to a halt in his chest as a frown appears on your face. He hates the sight of it, and he’s too drunk to tell himself it’s not his job to take care of it, so he yells, “Peach!” at the top of his lungs.

He feels everyone turning towards him, and he quickly jumps up to his feet, wobbling slightly as he makes his way towards you.

“It’s freezing,” he says, closing the door. 

You meet his gaze, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re drunk.”

He can’t help himself. He flicks your nose, if only so that your frown dissolves. “Astute.”

You glance towards the living room, but Jungkook doesn’t look away from you. You’re a prison to his gaze after all.

“You didn’t tell me you were hosting something,” you hiss through your teeth.

He leans against the door as you meet his gaze again. “Oh peach, sorry. I thought we weren’t on speaking terms.”

Damn him and his drunk brain, because why the fuck would he say that? 

He hides it behind a grin, and then escapes by walking back to the living room, feeling your eyes boring into his back on the way.

Sera greets you, but Jungkook forces himself to listen to the conversation around him, laughing when everybody does. It’s a little forced, but it goes unnoticed, and the next time he glances towards the door, you have disappeared.

“I want to play with your hair again,” Lisa says in his ear, startling him. 

Sera gets up to head to the kitchen, and Jungkook glances at Lisa. “Huh?”

She pouts, her doe eyes innocent. “Like earlier?”

Right. He’s too drunk to refuse the offer, and he lies down, head in her lap, as she starts running gentle fingers through his hair once more. It doesn’t last too long - the second you emerge from the kitchen after Sera’s return, Jungkook pushes himself up, waving you over.

“Come here!” He narrows his gaze as his eyes drop to the bowl in your hands. “Wait, are those my noodles?”

You glance down. “Maybe.”

“Stop stealing my shit,” he complains, and he gives Lisa the controller he was holding before standing up to walk towards you.

He tries to grab the bowl, but you turn away, offering your back to him. “Nu-uh,” you say. “They’re mine now.”

Jungkook knows his eyebrows are almost touching over his eyes as he says, “No.” He then wraps an arm around your waist, which forces you far too close to his body for comfort. He feels the immediate reaction, his ears slowly turning red, and he covers it up by stealing the bowl from your hands. You try to reach for it, but you’re too small, and he whoops in victory.

“If you like my food so bad, just ask me to cook some for you,” he says, looking down to meet your gaze.

Your face is so close he believes he feels your breath on his skin, and his blood heats up, turning to magma in his veins.

“What are you doing?” you say through your teeth.

Fuck you’re so pretty. It’s all he can think of, and he smiles, winking at you. 

“Making sure you don’t eat the noodles I know I’ll need tomorrow morning for the hangover.”

You clench your jaw. “Just don’t drink too much.”

His eyes trail to the coffee table. “I think it’s a little too late for that.”

“Please, Jungkook,” you say a few seconds after he’s met your gaze again.

Something’s wrong. He feels it in his bones, and he frowns, lowering the arm that was holding the noodles up. “What’s wrong?”

“I just had a shit date, and I’m still hungry. I just want to eat something.”

Hearing that you went on a date does something incredibly ugly to him, and Jungkook takes a step back, handing you the bowl so that he can fold his arms on his chest. “Who did you go on a date with?”

Your answer comes far too quick for it to be normal. “It’s none of your business.”

It dawns on him that he probably already knows, and the sour feeling turns bitter. “Please tell me it’s not the guy from last week.”

“Jungkook,” you firmly say. “It’s none of your business.”

The spike of anger and jealousy forces Jungkook to clench his fists. “He’s an asshole.” He lets out. “Why would you go out with him?”

You grit your teeth. “Because we have history. But I promise you that after the shit date we just had, I’ll never see him again. Happy?”

He isn’t, yet he still says, “Yeah.”

“Now can I go eat in my room while you guys do whatever it is that you’ve been doing?”

You glance towards the living room, and Jungkook looks just in time to see everyone turning their head away from you two. 

The last thing Jungkook wants is for you to go to your room. Hell, he’d go with you if only to make sure you’re okay, truly okay, yet he can’t really do that, can he? So instead, he suggests, “Why don’t you stay with us? To cheer you up?”

You meet his gaze, scanning his features for a few seconds. Jungkook hopes you can’t hear his heart beating out of his chest, settling only when you let out, “Okay.” You pause, sighing, and then add, “But you should chill on the alcohol, you reek of it.”

He narrows his gaze at you, though he has to admit he’s relieved by your teasing tone. It’s much more like the Y/n he knows, and it stays that way for a little while as you move to the living room, and he sits right next to you.

Almost close enough to touch, but not quite touching. He tells himself it’s just to keep a safe distance, to make sure Jimin doesn’t say anything, yet when you joke about the food being too spicy, and Jungkook says, “We just have to build up your tolerance”, his hand lands on your thigh, like your thigh was the metal, and his palm the magnet.

He doesn’t realize it at first, but when you widen your gaze, looking like a startled deer, his mind zeroes in on the spot where he’s touching you, and he immediately pulls his hand away, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

And then someone nudges him in the back, and he glances over his shoulder for half a second, just long enough to notice Jimin looking at him, and Jungkook knows he fucked up. He fucked up bad, so he moves away from you, forcing himself to lie back down with his head in Lisa’s lap.

It hurts you. He can tell that it does from the way you stiffen, barely even eating anymore, looking like you’d rather be anywhere else in the world than right here. But you have to understand - he’s doing this for your good. Both his and yours, to make sure Jimin doesn’t tell Taehyung anything.

It lasts for a little while, you staring at the TV while Lisa runs her hand through his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly - does she notice he’s tensed too? But then Jaehyun asks if you want to drink something, and all the anger and jealousy Jungkook felt earlier when you mentioned your date bursts out of him.

“Careful, Tae’ll kill you if you speak to her.”

He’s been drinking more. Way too much, if he’s honest, and the words come out slurred. He’s too far gone to care, and he ignores what Jaehyun answers to focus on the TV, on the beer next to him and on Lisa’s fingers in his hair. 

He wants her to stop. He wants all of them to go, to leave you two alone, but instead Lisa leans down to whisper in his ear.

“What happened between you and Tae’s sister?”

The question hits too deep. Nothing happened, he should answer. Yet everything did. Everything fucking happened and it shouldn’t have because now he wants you, always. Can’t fucking stop thinking about you, and it’s driving him crazy.

He doesn’t answer Lisa’s question. Instead, he sits up to take a long sip of his beer, and that is answer enough. Indeed, Lisa sighs dramatically next to him before grabbing her own drink. 

After that, Jungkook just drinks, which gets him far too drunk. He knows he should stop, but you’re still right there next to him, way too close for comfort yet way too far, and his mind is growing dizzy. 

It gets worse when you get up to walk to the kitchen after you’ve done shots, Lisa following behind you. Jungkook knows he has to follow, yet he’s drunk, and getting up is a struggle, but he eventually manages to push up to his feet.

He walks to the kitchen, stopping right outside as he catches sight of Lisa’s back, and you standing in front of her. 

“Peaaaach,” he yells, a lot louder than he first intended to. He plays it off by leaning against the door frame as you meet his gaze over Lisa’s shoulder. “What are you guys doing?”

Lisa turns. “Just talking.”

“Well then,” he lets out, cocking an eyebrow. “Why don’t you come just talk with everyone else?”

He wonders if he sounds as annoyed as he feels. He must, because Lisa frowns before glancing at you as you stifle a laugh. She sighs, shrugging, and then she’s walking towards Jungkook. He steps aside to let her leave, offering her a tight-lipped smile on the way.

Once she’s out and heading back towards the living room, Jungkook walks in, moving towards you.

“I’m…” he trails off, and he loses his balance for a few seconds, catching himself as he stops next to you. “I’m fucking drunk.”

“You want water?” you offer, and it warms Jungkook’s heart.

Because of course you would take care of him. Which, he reckons, is another reason why he shouldn’t stop drinking, because his heart shouldn’t warm in his chest when it comes to you.

“Water?” He shakes his head. “No, I want beer.”

“Jungkook,” you scold. “You don’t look like you should be drinking more.”

He snorts, and he steps closer to you, looking down at you where you’re standing in front of him, your pretty face tilted up to hold his gaze. You’re blocking the way to the fridge, and he clenches his jaw momentarily.

“Move.”

“Drink water first,” you insist, standing your ground.

You’re too pretty. Too addictive, and his hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him. You shriek, pushing on his chest, but he doesn’t let go.

“Let me get a beer,” he says, and he drops his head to whisper in your ear next. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

But you’re so close, the lingering smell of your perfume inebriating, and Jungkook doesn’t want to let go of you... Doesn’t think he’d regret kissing you, holding you, though he knows that might just be drunk thoughts.

Sober him would hate himself.

“Listen,” you whisper, and you fall silent as he ghosts his lips on the shell of your ear. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

He does it again, and you tilt your head to the side, allowing him better access, a clear sign that you want it just as much as he does.

Or so he likes to tell himself.

“It’s hard to pretend when you look so damn good,” he murmurs, his blood like electricity in his veins. “Always.”

“Jungkook…”

It’s the plea in your voice. It undoes him, reminds him of your brother, of every little reason why he shouldn’t be doing this right now. He steps away, horror itching in his heart.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “Wow. You’re right. I need water.”

He stumbles to a cupboard, grabbing a glass that he then fills at the sink. He drinks it in one go, and then refills it, leaning against the counter to sip on it.

“What was that?” you ask as he meets your gaze.

He doesn’t know. He’s just insane - thoroughly, completely insane, and his body seems to think you’re the cure to the madness. 

He sighs, sucking on his piercings. “I don’t know.”

“You can’t do that.” You sound mad, and Jungkook’s heart squeezes in his chest. “Especially not when there are people around.”

He shrugs, tongue pushing against his cheek. “Sorry.”

Your features fall, eyes softening. “It’s okay,” you reassure, though he’s not sure you mean it. “You just caught me off-guard.”

He doesn’t like the sudden softness in your voice, the way it makes him want to cross the distance between you and kiss you dumb. So he does what he knows best, smirking lazily. “Liked it?”

You shut your eyes, taking a deep breath that makes Jungkook think you’re probably about to curse him and his entire bloodline. Instead, your eyelids flutter open, and he doesn’t miss the spark of mischief hiding in your pupils.

“So what if I did?”

Yup. He’s insane. He’s mad, crazy, a fool. All the synonyms in the dictionary are not enough to describe the insanity crawling in his blood, in his heart.

“Pretend, peach,” he forces himself to say. “What would your brother say?”

“He’d probably say that he’d kill you, right?” you say.

Maybe he needed the reminder. Because Jungkook feels the insanity slip away, clearing his mind. 

“Oh,” he lets out, chuckling. “Definitely. As a matter of fact, I think I’m living on borrowed time now.”

You purse your lips. “So let’s pretend, right? Safer that way.”

He nods. “I really am sorry for that,” he says, meaning how he held you earlier. “I don’t know where it came from.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, smiling softly. “Just don’t ever do it again.”

He pouts. “Ever?”

You roll your eyes, slightly shaking your head. “Stop. Why are you such a shameless flirt?”

He wants to answer, wants to tease you more, but he doesn’t have time to as Jimin appears in the doorway, interrupting the moment. It pisses Jungkook off, and maybe that’s why he returns to drinking. Maybe that’s why the second everyone leaves, he wants you so bad he thinks he’s about to say fuck it.

Fuck what Taehyung would think.

“I told you,” you say to Jimin as he and his girlfriend get ready to leave. “Now I’ll sleep to the sounds of him throwing up.”

Jungkook hiccups, offense swirling through him. He raises a finger and says, “I’ll have you know.” He has to pause as everything spins around him, and he shuts his eyes. “I don’t throw up.”

“Yeah, yeah, Jungkook,” Sera answers, and Jungkook glares at her.

“Let’s just get you in bed before we leave,” Jimin says.

No. Jungkook doesn’t want to go to bed. He wants you, and he wants Lisa to fucking leave him alone. 

Why is he even thinking of her right now? You might be right - he thinks he’ll throw up before falling asleep.

“And tell Lisa to stop looking at me like that.”

The words are out before he can stop them, and Sera widens her gaze. “What?”

Jungkook frowns as he looks at you. Because you’re the answer to the question, but he can’t say that, right?

“I don’t know.”

“You’re fucked up,” Jimin teases before bursting out laughing.

As he laughs, Jimin pushes Jungkook on the shoulder. Jungkook was already unsteady, and he loses his balance, falling against the wall. He lets out a surprised, “Oh shit!”, and a second later, he collapses, soon followed by Jimin.

They’re laughing, the kind of laughter only alcohol can bring forth, so loud Jungkook can barely hear as you and Sera talk. The only thing he hears is you saying that Taehyung can hardly count as a good influence, which is the most accurate thing he’s ever heard you say.

“He’s not,” Jungkook agrees, thinking about how Taehyung forbade him to be with you. “Your brother is an asshole.” He pauses, and then bursts out laughing again. You don’t say anything, so Jungkook adds, “Can you help me?”

He does grabby hands motions at you, and you scrunch up your nose in disgust. “You can crawl to your room yourself, JK.”

He frowns, sitting up to lean against the wall as Jimin does so too. Sera helps Jimin up, while Jungkook just keeps staring at you.

“I’ll crawl to your room if you don't help.”

You smirk. “Alright, let’s see you try.”

Fuck. He glances towards your door, and then looks at you again. “Too far.”

You look victorious, your smirk stretching into a smile. “Then sleep on the floor.”

“Are you for real?”

You groan, rolling your eyes, but you step closer to him. Jungkook tilts his head back so that he can keep looking at you as you say, “We should have asked your friends…” You glance towards Jimin. “Your sober friends to help bring you to your room before they left.”

Jungkook lets you grab his hands. “Peach, I much prefer if it’s you tucking me in.”

You help him stand, and though it’s a struggle, Jungkook is soon up. He wobbles on his feet, and you hold onto his arm like you don’t want him to fall again.

“I won’t tuck you in.”

All Jungkook can think of is that you’re so, so beautiful next to him with that flush on your cheeks. He wants to touch you, to hold you, and he doesn’t have any inhibitions left. A second later, he cups your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. Your eyes widen, surprise making them sparkle, and fuck, he thinks he’s about to kiss you dumb, to kiss you until he’s never said you should pretend nothing happened.

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

Jungkook blinks once, slowly, his surroundings coming back into focus. He turns his head towards Jimin and Sera. “Shit, you’re still here?”

He’s stupid. Inherently stupid, and he can’t focus on Jimin and Sera as they leave. No, the second you step away from him and his hand hangs in the air between the two of you, Jungkook thinks he becomes deaf. Or maybe he’s just deafened by the thunderous beats of his heart. He only comes back to reality when you step in his line of vision, Sera and Jimin now gone.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jungkook flinches as he meets your gaze. “What?”

“Now Jimin’s going to be unto us!” You motion towards the door before folding your arms on your chest. “I know you’re drunk, but you’ve got to fucking control yourself.”

“Hey, fucking chill out, will you?” Jungkook bursts, only because he’s done.

He’s done being yelled at, done always being the one in the wrong because he can’t do a single fucking thing right in his life.

You cross the distance between you and him as he leans against the wall, smirking at the sight of your anger. Because that anger is something he knows, something he can deal with. You stop right in front of him, finger pointed towards his face.

“Don’t tell me to fucking chill.”

“Or what?” he says as he tilts his head to the side.

“Or I don’t know, Jungkook.” You shut your eyes, letting out an annoyed sigh. “Don’t you care that Taehyung might be onto us because of Jimin?”

He huffs a breath, and you open your eyes. He plays with his piercings, his tongue then pushing on the inside of his cheek. “He won’t be. Why would he?” He blinks. “Because we’re hanging out? Nah, we did that even before he left.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Not like that.”

“Like what?”

You sigh again, your annoyance so stark he thinks he can taste it on his tongue and, damn him, it’s turning him on.

“Like we’re friends,” you say. “You touching me. All that shit.”

“I thought you liked when I’m touching you,” he says.

You stare at him unblinkingly. “Shut up.”

He raises his hands in defense, smirking. “Sorry. It’s hard to help myself when you’re looking at me like that, peach.”

“Like what?” you ask, echoing his previous words.

“Like you want me,” he murmurs, and he gives in to his desire, one finger tapping gently on your clenched fist, before slowly moving up your arm. “Like you’re mad I suggested pretending that nothing happened.”

“I’m not mad,” you reply, swatting his hand away. “I agree with the statement. He’s your friend, he’s my brother. We shouldn’t have fucked at all.”

It hurts. Jungkook doesn’t know why, but it does, and he feels himself growing bitter.

Feels himself needing to hurt you, too.

“See? I knew you saw the wisdom of it,” he says, and immediately hates himself for saying it as hurt flashes in your gaze. 

It disappears quickly, and you roll your eyes, gently patting his chest.

“Then stop. Fucking. Touching. Me,” you say, tapping on his chest with every word uttered, your hand then resting flat against his beating heart.

Everything in him concentrates on that spot where you’re touching him, on the feeling of your fingers on him, of your eyes in his, and Jungkook feels himself leaning infinitesimally closer. 

“You’re the one touching me right now, peach.”

He doesn’t let you move your hand away when you try to, putting his hand over yours.

“Let me go,” you breathe out.

He can’t. He really can’t let you go.

He doesn’t want to let you go.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers.

You step away, freeing your hand from underneath his. “Don’t ever tell me that again.”

He knows it’s going to happen. The look in your eyes tells him that you know it, too, despite the words said. 

“Why?”

“Just don’t.” You scoff. “You can’t kiss me, I can’t kiss you, we-”

Jungkook grabs your face, crashing his lips on yours before you’ve finished the sentence. Because he can kiss you. Maybe he shouldn’t, but he can, and he doesn’t want to hold back anymore. Not when you reciprocate the kiss in all its intensity, pushing him back against the wall.

He hits hard, breathing out the air in his lungs. You’re quick to push your tongue in his mouth, and Jungkook wants to feel you, to taste every inch of you…

But you’re stepping away, and he can’t look at you. Not when you’re everything he’s wanted…

Everything he can’t have.

“Don’t kiss me again.” You say it like you mean it, and then you walk away. He hears your steps, and he only looks up when he hears the door of your bedroom closing behind you, putting finality into the words.

What the fuck has he done?

Read chapter 6 here!

☆☆☆☆☆

our favourite chaotic mess in all his glory lmaooo i hope you guys enjoyed! Let me know what you think of the drabble<3

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

[kattyfics]

Hidden Injury

summary: During your journey as the victor of the 68th Hunger games, you grew close to the darling Finnick Odair, with some unfamiliar feelings starting to bloom. What will happen to you two as you are thrust into the hell hole you thought you escaped from.

wc: 1k

warnings: blood, angst, gore?

“Let the 75th annual Hunger Games Commence”

The cannon blew and you immediately dove into the water. You never were the best swimmer, but you were good enough to get to dry land and reside there until your allies arrived. It was a smart move to avoid the blood bath, the only downside is you don’t have a weapon to defend yourself. Instead, you have to trust Finnick to get what you need.

A million thoughts race through your head. You decide to climb a dense tree close to shore so you can scan the area safely. What feels like hours pass till you can spot people coming back to the beach. While waiting, you counted 7 cannons, not bad, but you can’t help but worry that one of them was Finnick.

A few minutes later you spot Johanna approaching shore with Wiress and Beetee. You quietly hop down from your tree and slowly make your way towards them so as not to scare them. Johanna quickly spots you and runs toward me.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She exclaims as the married couple approaches.

“I was hiding in that tree. I left the bloodbath before I could get caught up, or get any weapons.” You sigh defeatedly, knowing now that you probably should have tried to get something from the cornucopia.

“It’s alright, I got a couple throwing knives here.” Joanna says as she hands a few over. “We should get going though, being out in the open like this can lead the career pack right to us. Nuts and Bolts are terrified of them.” She whispers the last part.

You guys make quick work heading into the forest, trying to sketch a layout of it along the way. Your main goal was to find the rest of your group. It was hard in the dense trees, but with the few weapons and physical capabilities we had, it was better this way.

It had been a few hours now with Johanna leading the four of you through the jungle. You were all dehydrated, after coming to the conclusion that the body of water in the center of the arena was salt, you were out of ideas. You suddenly feel a few drops of wetness in your hair. Apparently everyone else did too, as Johanna cheered at the thought of water and opened her mouth.

You look up and just as you were about to open your mouth for a taste, the color red flooded your vision. Blood rain.

You try to get the thick liquid out of your eyes. Wiping your face and failing, instead spreading the blood everywhere. Somewhere amongst the chaos, Johanna yells something and you all start running.

Still struggling from the persistent rain, you couldn’t see when a fallen tree branch appeared in your path. You sliced your leg open, stumbling a little and falling over as you do. You don’t register the pain, your adrenaline too high to think straight.

Johanna runs back and pulls you up to continue running.

After what feels like forever, you finally make it back to the beach. Able to wipe the blood out of your eyes, you notice a group a couple of feet away from you. It seems they’ve spotted you too, as they’re running towards you with worried expressions.

You don’t notice who the group is until Finnick is holding your face in his hands and checking for injuries.

“I’m ok Finn, I promise.” You say as you take his hands in your own.

His face seems to calm at that. “Let’s help you into the water, ok?” He takes your hand and starts to lead the way to the water.

A few steps in and you feel a burning sensation in your leg. A few more and you’re limping heavily. It’s not soon after you fall over, lightheaded and dizzy.

“Sweetheart, oh my god, are you ok?” Finnick panics and starts checking the rest of your body for injuries.

Your hearing fades in and out as everything becomes blurry. Finnick becomes quiet permanently as you black out.

——

There’s too much blood, they can’t figure out which is your and where it’s coming from.

Finnick picks you up in his arms and carries you into the water. He cleans off your arms and torso, looking for any wounds on the way. Then he reaches your legs. A long cut a few inches deep runs vertically across the calf of your right leg, leading to your lower thigh.

“I need medical supplies right now!” Finnick yells, “Bandages, alcohol, gauze whatever!”

You were gonna need stitches for sure. Finnick runs back to shore and Peeta meets him halfway, holding some bandages.

“Is this all?” Finnick observes the scarce supplies.

“I’m afraid so.” Peeta looks guilty, “Is she gonna need stitches.”

“Yeah…”

You were friendly with Peeta the few weeks you knew him. You grew close during training and were the first person he wanted to ally with. Growing as a mother figure to him, you meant a lot.

You start to stir in Finnick’s arms as he makes sure to set you on the blanket Katniss laid out.

“Hey honey, how are you feeling?” He speaks with a gentle voice, carefully ripping open your pants for easier access.

“It hurts..” You whimper. Johanna brings over the canteen Peeta had given her for water to disinfect your wound.

“I know, it’s ok it’ll be over in a minute.” Finnick first rinses his hands off, then pours the water over your wound, going in with the cleanest cloth he could find to rub the dirt and grime off.

You hiss in pain as your eyes tear up, clenching your jaw and digging your nails into the ground.

“The worst is over, time for bandages.” Finnick starts to slowly wrap the bandages around your leg, being careful not to directly touch it. “You’re gonna need stitches, but this is the best we can do until a sponsor sends something.”

Throughout this whole process Finnick has been so gentle and caring. Making sure not to cause as much pain as he has to.

“I love you.” You whisper teary eyed as he continues the bandages. He looks up into your eyes, still going.

“I love you too.”

𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹𖦹

[hana-no-seiiki]

but like . . . yandere loser vampire partner that somehow doesn’t have game even after 200 years of living. and dom reader why not we miss em.

the only thing going for them are their looks, extensive knowledge about niche topics, and natural body glitter (like omfg i would become a vampire myself if it means im permanently covered in shimmer-)

they were in most of your classes in university but never appeared unless it was for exams. apparently they had a ‘skin condition that made them extremely sensitive to the sun’ and were therefore excused for classes. a student was usually paid to hand them notes.

that student was your friend. they were a bit of a bum if you were being quite honest. the only thing that urged them to complete the job was money. but after being too lazy to do it so many times, the job was thrown over to you to agonize on.

you quickly find out that your friend was underplaying the pay significantly after the first check. this student must have been the kid of a rich billionaire cause goddamn you didn’t know who the hell else would pay a grand for every subject you completed.

i’d say that you feel kind of bad receiving all this money and therefore improved your note-taking skills out of the kindness of your heart but i mean c’mon you’re reading from my blog- you definitely tweaked it just to earn more of that sweet cash. even drawing doodles at the wee hours of the night and little mnemonics you thought up.

yan sees the effort you put and begins subconsciously keeping your notes in better places. they find themselves grinning like a madman whenever they see that one character you drew that dumbs down some parts that might be too difficult to understand. you even provided translations in subjects that use two or more languages.

yan, despite being already down atrocious for you, never makes the initiative to meet up. they have however, already made extensive research on you. so much so that they’ve made several papers on just your magnificent self.

and so came the time you offered to meet with them. mostly cause y’know, connections with a rich ass dude would be great, but also because you were curious to see who tf pays someone this much to go to school for them.

and you then you meet this socially awkward, super shy, speaks hella old and formal (insert preferred language/dialect here), and oh they’re like super fucking cute it’s actually making you have that sort of aggression you get from pets/toys.

oh.

you want to fuck this dude’s brains out alright.

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection: Holiday Reunion Special

Hello and welcome to my Christmas AUvent Calendar! Every day from now until the 24th I will be posting a ficlet that is 500-1500 from an AU I've done over the years.

All stories will be marked with the tag #12 aus of christmas so you can follow along as I will only be tagging my permanent list for this (it would get too confusing otherwise).

The next one on our list is: Game Show verse. You can read the story here. All links will be to the first chapter, but the chapter itself will have links to the rest of the story.

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7

~

“Welcome back to A Love Connection! It’s our Christmas reunion special where we get together our greatest successes and follow them around for Christmas and catch up with them for the holidays! I’m your host Bob Newby and I’m pleased to announce our four couples!”

The audience clapped, cheered, and whistled.

“First we have Leslie and Scott Clark from season six!” Bob said with a smile. “They are our longest lasting couple to date! Scott is a middle school science teacher who also heads the AV and Communications Club. Leslie is a neonatal nurse who specializes in premmies! They’ve been together for the last eight years!”

On the first loveseat which was bright white was a lovely older couple. He was lean and wore glasses with a bright smile, while Leslie was an Asian woman, whose smile was small but genuine.

The crowd cheered for them and they waved at the camera.

“Then we have Abel and Maria Johnson from season ten,” Bob continued. “Abel owns his own Americana restaurant and Maria quit her job as a police officer to be a stay at home mom two their two kids, Enrique aged two and Kelly aged four months.”

Abel was a large and happy man with a goatee and thinning black hair. Maria was a latina with a pinched expression as she seemed to be pulling away from Abel’s arm around her shoulder.

The crowd cheered for them and while Abel waved, Maria gave the camera a paltry smile.

“Next we have Abdul and Nadia Rafiq, from season twelve,” Bob said with a smile. “Who have decided this year to celebrate Christmas as friend holiday instead of a religious one and have graciously allowed us to follow them on their journey. Abdul is an electrical engineer for the US army, while Nadia is a game designer. They are expecting their first child next summer!”

They were both a lovely couple of Middle Eastern decent and she only had eyes for him and while he appeared to be ignoring her, he was playing with her earring.

The crowd cheered and whistled, making Abdul nod with a small smile and Nadia to wave excitedly at the camera.

“And finally,” Bob said, “the sweethearts of season thirteen, the lovely and adorable, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington. Steve is another middle school teacher, they must have all the luck.” The crowd laughed. “He teaches history and coaches basketball. Eddie is a music producer and former frontman of Corroded Coffin.”

Steve and Eddie wave at the camera and the crowd is even louder for them than anyone else.

“For Scott and Leslie,” Bob said, “we followed them around the chaos that Christmas when your schedules are so misaligned. Let’s watch.”

The video showed stolen moments of kisses under a mistletoe, late night decorating the tree, and early morning wrapping presents. Their video ended with Scott and his communication club bringing Christmas dinner to neonatal ward.

The audience cooed and clapped.

“For Abel and Maria,” Bob said, “we followed them around getting Christmas ready for their two kids with Abel having long hours from the restaurant.”

The video had tried to show the best bits. They really did, but everyone could tell that it was all very strained. Maria seemed to be doing all the work, while Abel got all the credit. Steve was sure that by New Year’s Maria was going to divorce Abel’s ass.

The video ended with the two of them kissing under the twinkling lights of their house Christmas decorations.

The audience clapped, but it felt forced and awkward to Steve.

“For Abdul and Nadia,” Bob said with a gentle smile, “they had a couple of friends who helped them navigate forming their own traditions for the day.”

Their video showed a nice black couple helping the two of them pick things they liked about the new to them holiday. Abdul picked a Christmas tree and one gift opened on Christmas eve, while Nadia loved the idea of stockings hung over the fireplace and matching pajamas.

It was lovely, though it was clear they were out of their depth.

“For Steve and Eddie,” Bob concluded, “we have Eddie putting on a very special music program for Steve’s school.”

The video showed Steve working tirelessly with the music and choir teachers until the night arrived. Then instead of the band and orchestra teacher conducting, Eddie stepped out and the crowd went wild. All the kids were freaking out and a good number of the parents too. The concert was a rousing success and a lot of money was raised for the music programs for the school.

The audience laughed and cheered their way through the video.

“That was adorable,” Bob said. “But that’s the sort of thing we expect from Steve and Eddie.”

Bob chatted with each of the couples and each one signed off, wishing the viewers a Merry Christmas. With Maria wishing them a feliz navidad and Abdul and Nadia wishing them an eid milad majid.

Bob came up to them after. “Thanks for coming out. It’s getting harder and harder every year to find our success stories, but I think I’m most proudest of yours.”

Steve and Eddie blushed.

“Thank you,” Steve murmured.

“I think there are going to be a great many more happy Christmases in the future.”

Bob gave each of their shoulders a squeeze. “Then this show will have done something right.”

He wished them a happy holiday and bid them goodbye.

“Merry Christmas, Stevie,” Eddie murmured coming in for a kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Eds.”

~

Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[kitchenisking]

Day 3

The Pot Of Gold At The End Of The Rainbow by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving - (Rating: T, Words: 8,881, sterek)

Stiles meets his first Hale when he's seven, and the most important Stilinski-Hale twenty years later.

~

In which Derek's family meets the love of his life years before he does, but Derek still gets the better end of the bargain.

As You Lay Dying by FelOllie - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 9,360, sterek)

Seven excruciatingly long days since Mexico: Take Two, and Stiles still couldn't get the sound of Derek's breath rattling wetly in his lungs out of his head. He heard it in his sleep, over the the pounding rain and the sound of Malia breathing softly beside him. He heard it when he was wide awake, over the din of crowded hallways and classrooms, cutting through the noise of the last lacrosse game of the season and the bustle of the locker room.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours, give or take, and Stiles had yet to wipe the sight of a bloodied and dying Derek from behind his eyelids. He saw it with every blink and sometimes even when his eyes were open and each time it made his chest feel like it was caving in.

Soulsick by theroguesgambit - (Rating: T, Words: 3,476, sterek)

Derek loathes this idiot of a soulmate, whoever they are. For not coming to Stiles’ call, for being too useless do just to this one simple thing, for failing Stiles, proving how utterly unworthy they are before they’ve ever met him. -- Stiles is cursed with a disease that will eventually destroy his soul unless his soulmate helps strengthen it. The pack performs a ritual to call his soulmate to his side. But days pass and no one appears... 

Maybe they're already here?

Making love is how we'll pray by lanalua - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,742, sterek)

Stiles and Derek perform a ritual in the woods.

In a Moment of Vulnerability by cloudsarefluffy - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 87,097, sterek)

While in New York City to visit his aspiring and success-hungry friend Scott, who left for an internship he fought for over several years ago, Stiles runs into an alpha with a devilish reputation and a dark, tantalizing look that precedes him. Couple that with horny loneliness and failed suppressants, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for a one-night stand that will set the bar forever.

But what if forever isn’t something that the one person you’ve given yourself to wants? What if a forever is somehow growing inside of you after a few months pass and a planned heat is missed? What if you don’t know what to do and there’s only so much chocolate that can soothe an aching heart before you feel like you've got morning sickness all over again?

This is a story about how Stiles loses his virginity alongside himself, and somehow, he manages to find something he never thought he’d ever have along the way.

Looking forward by Smowkie - (Rating: T, Words: 6,953, sterek)

Derek’s cabin was small. Tiny, even. He liked it, sometimes he missed having a big house, like the one he had grown up in, but the cabin was good, comfortable, and he, well, it was somewhere to hide, somewhere no one would find him. Somewhere no one would bother him.

He was happy, though, sort of. Happier than in a long time, he had a comfortable little home, lots of land he could run on—and he did, shifted to his full wolf form and ran for hours, it was wonderful—and his life wasn’t bad at all.

Then one day, the 21st of December on his second year living there, Stiles came to visit.

Written for the prompt cuddles in a power outage.

I Want You to be Happy by lvmehtme - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 13,851, sterek)

Stiles' dad has finally founds someone and the way he looks at her like she hung the moon and the joy in his every smile after all these years is worth everything that she does to him in the dead of night when no one's looking.

I'm giving everyone a fair warning right now, there's statutory rape and psychological trauma in this fic. It ends happy, but it does get graphic. Please proceed with care.

loyalty. courage. integrity. by redhoodedwolf - (Rating: G, Words: 707, sterek)

“Derek what the fuck!”

“Hard first day?” Derek guessed. He pushed himself forward and extended a hand towards Stiles. “You can vent, I have time to listen.”

Little Kid Crush by orphan_account - (Rating: T, Words: 5,052, sterek)

“What’s your name?” Derek asks, wiping the last of the tears off the kid’s face with his sleeve.

“’tiles,” the kid mumbles, and Derek frowns, wondering if he heard correctly.

“Tiles?” Derek repeats.

“Stiles,” the kid repeats, pouting at Derek slightly, defiant even though his eyes are still puffy and red and his cheeks tear-stained.

Witches Wrath by alikatastic - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,063, sterek)

Derek is cursed by witches giving him a hard problem. Nothing works, not cold showers, not his hand. He goes to Stiles for help, and the great friend he is Stiles won't turn him away.

[miraclewoozi]

BURNIN' UP. - h.js

you really were just trying to enjoy a cool treat by the pool on a hot summer’s day. honest. 

pairing : joshua x fem reader. content : plotless smut. MINORS DNI. (smut tags utc) wc : 3.1k notes : not proofread. intentional lowercase. hoping this gets rid of the insane josh!rot i've had the past few weeks. i'm very sorry. (i'm not that sorry)

nsfw tags : swearing. making out, manhandling, choking, oral sex (m rec), face-fucking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, big cock!josh. he has a bit of a gagging kink. cum swallowing. meanie dom joshua. degradation (use of the word slut), exhibitionism/semi-public sexual acts in that they could have been walked in on at any time (but they weren’t). PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. notes 2.0 : this is for my sensitive gag reflex gang. i see you. i hear you. i am one of you. i would still let joshua hong violate my throat, anyway. 🫶

he’s such a gentleman. 

each time you’ve introduced joshua to one of your friends, they’ve all said the same thing. he’s so nice. he’s so sweet. he’s so caring. so dreamy… a real gentleman — you don’t find many people like him, anymore. and each time, you’ve rolled your eyes. each time, you’ve dry-heaved for dramatic effect, pulled a face, waved them off, told them to shut up. because yeah, whatever, you know he’s a nice guy. you know he always pulls your chair out for you and walks you home when it’s getting dark. you know he’s the first to offer his coat, the first to ask if he can get you a drink. 

seeing them all get hearts in their eyes over him makes you feel kind of squicky, though. because you’ve never, not a day in your life, looked at him the way your friends all seem to. 

at least… not until today.

not until he tugged his hawaiian shirt off his shoulders and dove gracefully into seungkwan’s swimming pool. not until he surfaced, grinning brightly, pushing his hair back off his forehead. not until the swell of his shoulders glistened in the summer sunlight, broad and tanned and decorated with droplets of water from tip to tip. not until he locked eyes with you as he waded through the pool with hansol on his back, engaging in something of a jousting contest against mingyu and chan. (not until they won said joust and joshua threw hansol off him to celebrate their victory, and it looked like he was shrugging off little more than a bag of sugar.)

not until now, as he rests his forearms on the side of the pool and calls your name. as if he needs to do anything to get your attention from where you’re laid out on the sun lounger. as if he hasn’t had it for hours.

“are you getting in?” he asks, raking those thick fingers through his dripping hair again, slicking a few stray strands back. 

now, submerging yourself in the water sounds unbelievably tempting — it’s such a hot day and your skin is slick with sweat even as you relax in the shade. but there’s a lot of splashing going on in there right now and you could really do without a six foot two man-puppy trying to use you as a human shield, so…

“nah, not right now,” you say, shaking your head. 

that brilliant grin is replaced by a playful looking pout. still, he’s all honey-voiced when he asks, “later, then?” 

“sure, yeah. maybe later.”

“i’ll hold you to that,” he says, cupping water in his hands and squeezing them so that it shoots straight at you. a squeak escapes your lips at the chill when it hits your bare legs; joshua kicks away from the wall of the pool chuckling to himself and swims back over to where his friends are still playing around without him, leaving you to stare slack-jawed at his toned back as he retreats. 

half an hour later, you’ve moved to sit at the edge of the pool and you’re kicking your feet slowly through the water. an intense game of marco polo is well and truly underway when seungkwan appears at one shoulder, offering you a popsicle; you take it gratefully, unwrapping the treat and having a taste, sighing blissfully at the frozen cola flavour that melts onto your tongue. 

the host sits down beside you for a little while and you talk comfortably while the fun and games continue. he stays for a while, laughing and joking and catching up with you, before he disappears back into the shade and leaves you to your own devices.

and at some point during all this, joshua takes notice of you. he sees the way your lips close around the ice pop. he sees the way your eyes flutter closed at how sweet and refreshing it tastes. he sees how your cheeks hollow out around it, how your tongue sweeps over the tip, how you hold it so gently between your teeth and giggle at what seungkwan’s saying to you, how you wipe your lips with the back of your hand to clear the stickiness…

so when you glance over to him, after saying goodbye to the host, joshua’s eyes are already on you; his jaw is tense and his eyes are dark as he stares from the opposite side of the pool. chan is slowly edging towards him but he doesn’t seem to care all that much. all it appears he can do is look at you and watch as your throat bobs with each swallow you take. 

so, in the spirit of giving him a good show, you suckle a little more of the popsicle into your mouth with your gazes locked firmly together. and a little more, and a little more. just a few moments later with his lips locked into a tight line and a bead of sweat on his forehead, joshua silently lifts himself out of the water, beckoning you with one tweak of his fingers to tell you to follow.

you lift your feet up out of the water and pat your legs dry with the towel you’ve been sat on, heading inside while trying very hard not to think about the fact that the man you’re about to run into is the sole cause of the ache between your thighs. 

you toss the stick to your popsicle in the trash on your way through and no sooner have you crossed the threshold into the hallway, one of joshua’s devastatingly large hands finds place on the small of your back. with hardly any pressure at all, the contact stops you in your tracks and you find yourself turning to face him. 

“that was quite the… performance,” he says quietly. if you strain, you can still hear the fun being had outside, but the quiet surrounding the two of you in the house makes it so that every syllable that comes from his perfectly shaped lips shoots straight through you.

“i don’t know what you mean.” you shrug, acting as unfazed by his fingertips grazing over your bare skin as you wish you could be. 

joshua gives a soft chuckle by way of a response, his other hand lifting up to your cheek, thumb and forefinger toying with a couple of the baby hairs right in front of your ear. “you don’t?” he asks, and you shake your head at him, playing down the slight stutter in your breathing. he isn’t fooled. “i had no idea our little y/n was so brazen.”

“brazen,” you scoff, pressing one hand against his chest. he’s scorching hot (no doubt a symptom of having been in the sun all afternoon), but you double down anyway, curling your fingertips against his skin. “josh, i wasn’t even doing anything.”

“sure.” he pauses, moving to press his thumb to your bottom lip, feeling the slight chill on your skin from your treat before. “if sitting in full view of everyone and eye-fucking me with that popsicle halfway to your throat counts as ‘not doing anything’, i guess you’re totally innocent.”

this choice of phrasing from your supposed most gentlemanly friend reduces all of the thoughts between your ears to mere static. you can probably count on your fingers the number of times you’ve actually heard him curse, but you’d run out of cogitable numbers before adding up the number of occasions he’s told others to mind their language. shit, it’s so alien on him, but… it’s so hot. in his slightly lower register, quiet and hushed and only for you…

you’ll drench through your bikini bottoms any minute if you aren’t careful.

“totally,” you mumble, the word only half-audible beneath the pad of his thumb. with your eyes as wide and sweet as you can make them, you do what is about the only reasonable thing you can think to do (even though it’s not actually very reasonable, at all). you purse your lips slightly before parting them and sucking the tip of his thumb into your mouth. his jaw tightens, throat tensing as you swipe your tongue across his skin, but his own lips lift up into a twisted sort of smile after a moment anyway . 

“all talk,” he breathes, sliding his thumb out of your mouth and gripping your jaw a little harshly. “all talk, no action.”

“is that right?”

“feel free to prove me wrong.”

joshua turns you both around so that he has you pressed against the wall behind you. with one forward push of his hips, you can feel his cock hard and prodding at your abdomen. a gasp escapes before you can do anything about it, and the metaphorical envelope bursts open. the line is crossed. there’s no turning back – and god, are you pleased about that.

the first move is completely on you. when you push up onto your toes and press your lips to his, it feels as though your whole body catches alight. you don’t waste time with pretty kisses, either – you go straight in, parting your lips, licking against his own. his tongue meets yours, his hands tighten around your waist – it’s messy, sloppy, feverish; you grow lightheaded and dizzy, but whether it’s because you don’t come up for a proper gulp of air for several minutes, or because the man whose arms you’re currently occupying is kissing the life, death, rebirth and repeat out of you… you’re not sure. regardless, you feel like you’re making out with him on the surface of the fucking sun. 

his hand drops from your jaw to your throat and his fingers squeeze in just the right place to trigger another rush of heat between your legs. your pussy tightens around nothing and you get out a quiet whine, lips stilling completely; joshua pulls away from the messy kiss smirking at you, tightening his fist a little more. 

“so you can take my tongue down your throat,” he says directly into your ear, his usually delicate voice hardly more than a low rumble. it sends shiver after shiver down your spine. “but is that all, pretty girl?”

you shake your head as much as his hand will allow and the pressure from his fist starts to push down against your collarbones, weighing you towards the floor. you obediently drop down to your knees, straightening your back until you’re eye level with his cock. all the while, your gaze stays upwards at his face, lashes fluttering when he eventually has to relinquish his hold on your throat. 

“i’ve always thought you had the most beautiful eyes,” he sighs, cupping your chin before sliding his hand around to the back of your neck. his cock twitches against his swimming shorts as you shuffle on your knees to get a little closer to him. “never thought i’d see them like this, though.”

“never knew you wanted to,” you say, lifting your hands up to his sides. they find the waistband of his trunks and start to tug at them playfully but joshua swats them away.

“behind your back,” he tells you. he fucking tells you, and it flashes through your mind briefly to take the bait and snip back at him. you don’t take instructions. you don’t take commands. but there’s a very real fire in the way he’s staring down at you and lord, it’s so hot that you think it’s actually scalding you. 

maybe you can bend your rules, just this once. just for him.

so you clasp your hands behind you and watch as he tugs his cock free from his shorts. when he holds it in his palm, strokes up and down the length a few times right in front of your eyes, you’re stuck trying to figure out if maybe his hands aren’t as big as you thought or if his dick is actually just huge. either way, you can’t stop staring at it; your lips fall apart and he chuckles down at you, swiping his thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of precum collecting there. he just about manages to suppress a shudder.

“open,” he says. 

you don’t hesitate.

your lips part and almost straight away, he presses his tip into your mouth. the weight of him on your tongue makes your pussy flutter and you close your watering mouth around his shaft, massaging your tongue over every inch it can reach. one of joshua’s hands comes to rest on the wall above your head to keep him steady; the other returns to the back of your head, fingers pressing into your hair, tugging at the strands already.

the first thrust of his hips takes you entirely by surprise; he slides through your spit-slickened lips all too easily and he hits the back of your mouth much quicker than you’d expected him to. you feel your throat constricting in a gag, muscles squeezing around his tip, and joshua lets out a deep, animalistic grunt at the feeling that shoots all the way into his gut. 

“fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes falling closed as he pulls at your hair hard enough to sting. “that felt so good.”

you take a couple of breaths and regrasp your hands behind you, preparing yourself for it to happen again. you know you can take him – you’re sure you can. he just caught you off guard. 

but he presses forward for a second time, bumping that super sensitive spot in your mouth, and you gag around him again. and again, and again, and again. your throat takes a beating, but joshua is relentless and he doesn’t stop fucking into your mouth, swearing and moaning with each strangled sound that his cock successfully muffles from you.

“poor little slut,” he groans, teeth gritted in an attempt to keep as quiet as he can manage. he continues to use your mouth like a damn fleshlight and all the while, he keeps talking, curling his fingers into the wall for stabilisation. “can’t handle me, can you? bet you thought you’d be able to take it so easily. fuck, you keep gagging like that and i’ll come right down your throat.”

your eyes are wet and streaming from the corners when you pull off him to catch your breath, chest heaving deeply, forehead slick with sweat.

“so fucking big, josh,” you gasp, swallowing around nothing. your jaw aches already from the exertion but you miss having him in your mouth, even if he’s right. even if maybe it is too much. even if you can’t handle him without choking a little, without your eyes dribbling with tears. you don’t care. you want – no, you need to taste him again, you need to feel the sheer heft of his cock on your tongue.

“look so pretty when you cry over it,” he tells you, bending a little and grabbing your face with one hand, pinching your cheeks so your lips purse. “think you can take a little more?”

you nod even though you really aren’t sure, technically speaking, if you can. but your cheeks sting deliciously from the harsh press of his blunt nails and you’ve managed to suck a little bit of air back into your lungs, so you open your mouth again and joshua lets go of your face, letting you lave your tongue over his cock for a moment first before he rams straight back into your mouth. 

you groan and whine and whimper as he continues his assault on your throat, trying to relax the muscles to make the slide a little easier but it never seems to let up. your clit is throbbing, neglected, sore, but pressing your thighs together only makes it worse, and though you’re sort of morbidly curious as to what joshua would do if you were to start touching yourself right now, you also think that he’s far more likely to help you out if you behave.

“gonna let me come in that beautiful mouth?” he asks, straining for every word, and just the thought of him shooting ropes of his climax straight into your throat has you about ready to collapse. you try to nod, but his eyes are clamped so tightly shut that he quite obviously doesn’t see you. as clearly as you can, you manage a quiet ‘mhm’, and the vibrations of your hum makes him swear. loudly.

“good little slut, – shit.” his hips start to stutter and you hollow out your cheeks, sucking at his cock for all you’re worth. “fuck, keep doing that. m’so close–”

the vein that runs down the underside of his length throbs against your tongue and you feel him release as he stills completely, grabbing the back of your head forcefully, holding you in place. all you can do is swallow around his shaft, let your throat massage all the cum out of him, whine and moan and let him empty himself until he can barely stand.

he taps the back of your head once he’s completely spent and you swallow one last time before gently pulling away from him, not standing to your feet yet but lifting one hand to rest it over his own. he squeezes your fingers, laughing drily and shaking his head before he gets a little bit of his strength back and tugs you up to your feet.

“i really didn’t know you had it in you, y/n,” he says, both his hands resting on your shoulders and gently massaging them. “are you okay? didn’t hurt too much?”

your throat is burning and all your muscles in your jaw feel like they’re going to seize up any minute, but you shake your head anyway. some pains are worth the gain.

“m’okay,” you assure him, pressing your back against the wall and sighing out at how cold the tile feels on your skin. “just… fuck.”

“yeah?” he asks, thumbs working magic on your skin. 

you nod. “never been this turned on in my life,” you groan. “you’re hot when you’re an asshole.”

“feel free to get used to it,” he grins, slipping one hand down and pressing his fingers into your tit instead, the thin material of your swimsuit offering little barrier from the pleasure he’s already sending through you in shockwaves.

“yeah?”

“yeah. especially if you’re gonna act like that in front of everyone.”

you roll your eyes at him, sucking your front teeth but you can't quite stop the devilish grin that settles onto your face as he slips beneath the fabric of your top. “i don’t know what you mean,” you tease, echoing your own words from before. “i wasn’t even doing anything, josh.”

thank u sm for reading!! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always so greatly appreciated.<3

[footballffbarbiex]

A Polite Request

player: Joe Gomez words: 2140 Request: Joe Gomez - smut - up to 1000 words - Maybe one wheres she plays for LFC's women's team and finds herself sat next to Joe at the club's Christmas dinner. After some heavy flirting she whispers in his ear that she needs him to fuck her right now so they sneak off to somewhere more private with Joe delivering an early Christmas present... her best ever orgasm. thank you

-

She’d pushed her plate away from her after placing her cutlery together in the middle and reached for her drink. Everyone appears to be in a good mood with both the mens and womens team perfectly mixed across the tables. It wasn’t often that the two of them were able to merge like this but the Christmas meal felt very much needed to bring them together. 

Laughter and talk can be heard from every part of the room, the soft music that plays is only audible when the voices are quieter. Different conversations are on each table, from comparing how the game is viewed, the difference in ref decisions across not only the leagues but also between genders, to plans for the festive time and the new year. 

She found herself seated between Joe and Curtis and if conversations differed from table to table, then as much was true for each of the men on either side of her too. Curtis was polite and friendly, offering a light conversation which made her belly laugh at times. She found that he was easy to talk to in ways that she hadn’t expected and found herself looking forward to the next change of subject. 

Joe on the other hand? 

Of course he was polite initially as he always has been each time that they’ve met but as the evening progressed their small talk had turned deeper, their putting the world to rights had turned to flirtation which had ultimately become filthier. The flirtation isn’t anything new but the level of it, the way each new sentence feels to be dirtier than the last is different. The small breaks she gets from Joe as Curtis strikes up another conversation is a welcome breather for both her and her vagina. 

But there will be no welcome break now, she realises. Too much has been said in quiet, husky tones, and they’re too far gone to be able to return to normal. His chair has been slid closer to hers, their arms and bodies actually pressed against one another as his lips mould to her ear to whisper disgustingly filthy things into it, ranging from the way he couldn’t stand to be sat here another hour and not know how her pussy tastes to the way that he promised to use all available holes to him and worship her body. 

The drink she intended to sip is downed in fast gulps, but it does nothing to sate the thirst she now has. It takes everything she is to control her voice as she turns to look at him, the man beside her with an expression to the rest of the table that butter wouldn’t melt on the tongue that had been used to promise to taste every inch of her. 

“Joe?” she asks quietly, watching him as he pretends to be looking around the table, paying attention to their conversations and grinning at the right moments when the punchline is delivered. 

“Mmmm?” he hums his response but still doesn’t give her his full attention. 

“I’m going to leave this room, pretending to use the bathroom. I’m in room 143. If you’re not upstairs within 20 minutes and have some part of your anatomy within my cunt, and I mean this as politely and friendly as I can, but you’re dead to me.”she flashes him her most charming smile as she finishes speaking and notes the look of surprise on his face at her words. 

He watches wordlessly as she gives it a few moments before retrieving the napkin from her lap, plopping it onto the table and makes her excuses and offers her apologies to those who are polite enough to turn to look without giving him a second glance as she strides away from the table and out of the room. 

But now she’s here in her room, nerves are setting in and her mouth feels dry, regardless of how much water she drinks to try and quench it. She’d taken her dress off and sat back on the bed in only her heels and underwear before feeling ridiculous and dressing herself again. She headed into the bathroom and quickly freshened up, nothing too much to make it obvious but enough to feel better about herself. She’s talked herself in and out of leaving the room several times and is in the process of doing so again when there’s a rap on the door. 

Her heart hammers against her chest with such force she’s not sure if it’s the pounding in her ears or if she can genuinely hear it against her ribcage. 

“You wanted this,” she reminds herself, willing herself to step forward but she’s rooted to the spot. Her name is said softly through the door after another tapping to notify her that he’s there and only then does she move forward. 

The Joe that stands before her isn’t the one that she left downstairs. That one appeared laid back, chilled - despite the utter filth that dripped from his lips - and this one has everything showing on his face that he had hid previously. His eyes shine darkly, there’s a confidence with him now as he leans against the doorframe. His jacket is swung over his shoulder with two fingers curled in such a way that they prevent it from slipping to the floor. 

“Finally going to let me fuck you then?” he asks in a tone that had her rubbing her thighs together and feeling that deep long clench within her. 

“I swear to god if you’re all talk Gomez then I’-”

“You’ll what?” he asks mockingly, lips curving upwards. “Yeah, thought so.” he steps into the room and kicks the door closed behind him. His jacket is thrown to the nearest chair and his hand is grabbing at her wrist, tugging her towards him so smoothly it’s as though the two of them are dancing. She bumps into his chest, peering up at the man who has been on her mind the entire evening and when she lifts her chin to look at him properly, his lips are on hers finally. 

He kisses her with such a need it leaves her buckling against him. There’s no clash of teeth as he hungrily claims her mouth, with his tongue mixing with hers in such a delicious way that she hums against him, but he ignites something within her that had needed a physical touch to spark. 

His name comes out in barely more than a whimper but it’s enough to drag a growl from his throat as he nibbles on her bottom lip. “You have no idea how long I've waited to hear my name sound like that from you.”

“You should have rang me at night. You’d have heard it plenty enough as I’ve masturbated to the thought of you.” She wasn’t lying. She touched herself to the thought of him at least once a week. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, moving her towards the bed and makes quick work to remove her dress. Her arousal is clear, she can feel her underwear sticking to her pussy and it’s not hard to guess that it’s already soaking a wet patch through the soft fabric. “Tonight isn’t going to be enough,” he says, yanking his tie from around his neck and opening up the first few buttons of his shirt before unbuttoning his cuffs and pushing the shirt up to his elbows - never once taking his eyes from between her legs. 

“I’ve thought about this too much. How many ways I’d make it so that you were moaning my name. How many ways I could make you cum. How you’d sound as you beg me not to stop,” he says, pressing each word into her skin as he kisses his way up from her ankle. She feels the drag of his teeth as he kisses like a man starved, not stopping until his nose is rubbing against that very wet patch that he’s created.

“All for me,” he groans, dipping a hand to his lap and palms at his hard cock through his trousers. 

“All for you,” she repeats in barely more than a whisper, unable to do anything other than lay before him in anticipation. 

Two fingers find the hem of her underwear and tug it aside. The cold air on her wet pussy makes her tense up and the sharp inhale of breath for him makes her bite her lip. “So fucking beautiful,” he states to himself before leaning forward and uses the very tip of his tongue to swipe down over her clitoral hood, parting her pussy lips and not stopping until it reaches the pooling of wetness at her her core. 

His tongue darts into her, nose rubbing against the bundle of nerves in a way that should be illegal. Even as he shifts his weight, adjusting his body slightly to enable him to hook a knee over his shoulder as he laps at her freely. It felt better than anything her fingers or vibrator could have done, her imagination having nothing on the real thing. The sight of Joe’s head buried between her thighs, his eyes closed as he savours every lick and tongue fuck into her only makes her pussy clench harder. 

She succumbs to the sensations, allowing her head to drop back and focuses on only what he’s doing to her body and the stirrings of a slow building orgasm. He was good at this, far better than she thought. The innocent smile and boyish charm that he showed in public did not reflect the skill that he possessed for pussy eating and even if his dick game ended up being weak, at least she’d come away with knowledge that he was incredible at head. 

He moves his mouth from her entrance, dragging his tongue along her slit and circles her clit. It throbs against his tongue before he sucks it between his lips as he begins to lick and suck so mercilessly, she sees stars. Her thighs are twitching, legs begging to close but Joe uses his elbows to spread them back apart and keep them there. Her toes clench, her muscles tense and she pushes her head further into the mattress as her breathing hitches. She writhes beneath him in a desperation to push her cunt closer to his face and pull herself off his mouth, unable to take the pleasure that surges through her as her orgasm rapidly approaches. Her skin feels hot, her speech is no more as each time she tries to open her mouth, no words form only pathetic mewls and pants which leave her cheeks heating for more than one reason. Her skin feels as though it’s vibrating as the knot in her stomach reaches the end and when it snaps, her climax crashes through her at such a rate that she feels she’s no longer in the room. 

She’s vaguely aware of her hand filling with Joe’s short hair, the way she’s panting and - in her own head if not verbally - pleading with him to stop, she can’t take anymore, she’s too sensitive and yet he doesn’t. He hollows his cheeks and continues, the fingers which were holding her panties to the side now slip effortlessly into her and the feeling of being partially filled while having her clit sucked on is too much and another orgasm hits within seconds of lapping up the dregs of the first. 

Her sound is the first thing to come back, her vision coming back slowly in bursts of colours and white noise. She’s aware of how heavy she’s breathing, the soft feel of Joe’s lips against her thigh, her stomach, her bare pussy in the most tender of ways. When he finally comes back into view, his lips are glistening, there’s evidence of her wetness against his beard but rather than being repulsed by it, she’s further aroused. He won’t exactly be wearing it as a badge of honour when he returns back downstairs to the table they’ve both deserted but seeing her…claim him for these few moments, it’s an empowering feeling. 

Joe seems to have been thinking similar thoughts because his next sentence is, “we can either go back downstairs to where everyone else is or…”

“I asked you to come up here and fuck me. And oh baby,” she props herself up on an elbow as she reaches forward, fingers brushing over the straining bulge in his trousers. A smile comes to her lips when she feels the small wet patch that’s seeped through from his pre-cum. Or at least she thinks it is, even if the idea of him cuming in his pants before he’s even been touched purely because she came is incredibly sexy. “I need this inside me immediately.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere until I say stop.”

[deaddovedecadence]

Meta reader anon here! (Got nervous when I asked 😭)

Anyways, how would the Batman react to a reader who’s kinda been through a situation like the one Jason was in? (Lowkey trauma dump I’m so sorry-) like my father’s a really manipulative and narcissistic person so I have a much easier time picking up on stuff like that. Reader would legit already be on high suspicion (not like they weren’t already but like 10x more-)

Also keep up the good work! Really enjoy your stories!

A/N okay but learning about duke in the moonlight verse hours

”Why are you so afraid of me?” Duke asks curiously, some of thier braids swishing into their face.

You shrug, not meeting their eyes because you know that if you do then they’ll know something you don’t want them to. they’ve always been too observant for your tastes and looking at them makes something under your skin crawl.

You know hat Duke is a meta because signal is a meta even though they’ve never used thier powers around you, never made you feel afraid on purpose.

In fact Duke is always gentle with you, like you’re something that could break, something that they’re choosing to keep whole.

“Who are you?” You ask, staring them straight in the face. They smile (it’s not real), “I’m duke, your sibling.” YOu want to scream liar because they aren’t your sibling, because there is something wrong with the way that they are.

“What happened to you?” you try, keeping your expression gentle, open because there’s somethign that they just aren’t telling you.

They laugh,, “nothing, I’m all good.”

“Liar.” You snap, abandoning your game of pretend.

Duke gives you a too sharp smile, says, “I’ll tell you what happened to me if you tell me why you’re always avoiding me.”

That’s an easy choice to make. “You’re off. It’s like you’re constantly hiding something under your kindness.”

They laugh bitterly, the first sharp sounds that you’ve ever heard from them. “I was adopted two years before you. My parents were caught in a fight between Joker and batman. My mother was immunocompromised and joker used his gas to try and finally kill the terror of our city, the batman. Bruce found me, holding her dead body and he took me in. I didn’t have a choice and there was no one there to keep me from making mistakes.”

They pull back their sweater enough for you to see seven tally marks. “One for every member of the family,” Duke says absently.

“So they never forget where they belong,” Bruce cuts in, appearing out of nowhere. He puts a hand on Duke’s shoulder and you watch the way they bristle, but don;t bother moving.

There’s an implied threat in the way that bruce speaks, a warning that you could share the same scars with one addition, Duke’s.

[firstdivisiongirl]

Hiya! I just have to let you know that I love your blog! It makes me smile every time I read one of your stories! Especially your Tokyo Revengers stuff, which I have a request for. Please. Do you know about the Tokyo Revengers spin-off, Letter from Keisuke Baji? I would love if you could write a story about Chifuyu and Ryusei having to entertain Baji's grumpy girlfriend while he's stuck in extra lessons. Thanks so much!

Hey! Thank you for all the kindness. I'm happy that you like my stories. I do know the spin-off and I love the spin-off. I mean Baji and Chifuyu are two of my favorite characters in TR. I hope you like it!

Platonic First Division Vice Captains x Reader x Baji: No More Monopoly

You loved Baji, you really did.  But it was so annoying that he had to take extra lessons.  Which made you very grumpy!  So, Baji asked Chifuyu and Ryusei to help cheer you up and keep you happy.

“How about we watch a movie,” Chifuyu suggested to you and Ryusei.

“No,” you pouted, crossing your arms, “I want Keisuke here.”

“Keisuke will be here soon.  Just be patient.  He’ll be here any minute now.”

But he wasn’t.  It had been 20 minutes and the two first Division boys were still trying to come up with ideas.  “How about a game,” Ryusei finally suggested, his eyes lighting up.

You smiled at the idea.  “What game?”

“Monopoly!”  Finally, a smile appeared on your face.

Keisuke finally came back after 3 hours.  You were sitting there, watching his two friends yell at each other.  “Hey, I’m done,” he said placing a kiss on your cheek, “the hell is going on here?”

“I was grumpy because you were in class, so they were trying to entertain me.  And I am very entertained.  They’ve been yelling back and forth for like an hour.  Chifuyu thinks he’ll be a better vice captain because he’s not in jail like Ryusei.  While Ryusei says that he’s better because he’s not stealing money for himself.  It’s too funny.”

Baji decided that they were no longer allowed to play monopoly.

Please do not copy, modify, translate or repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated!

[thetarttfuldickhead]

He hasn’t heard much from his dad in the past year, but two goals for England and the texts start coming again.

---

He blocks his dad’s number, once, twice, another fucking time, but his father keeps getting new numbers or borrowing his mates’ phones or something and the messages keep coming.

He gives up on blocking them. What’s the fucking point?

He tries not to read the texts. He doesn’t always succeed, and he knows what they say anyway.

---

As the second game against City gets nearer the texts get longer and more frequent and nastier. Insistent. Calls too now, at all hours.

For a while, he can ignore it. Things are good. Called up for England, did well, Richmond is playing better than ever, he’s playing better than ever, there’s Roy and Keeley and the team, and Jamie’s feeling good.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Life can’t get too good, because when it does his dad will always come sniffing around, mean old stray looking for juiciest pieces of meat to sink his teeth into, always snapping, snapping, growling, biting, and this ain’t the sort of dog you can jut put down, is it?

Only way to keep it at bay is to never have anything it wants.

But fuck that, because Jamie’s worked fucking hard for this, his life, he’s fought for everything he has and he’s not going to let some nasty old sod ruin it for him or take it away.

So he ignores it, texts and calls and everything, and for a while he can.

---

In the end, it’s not even something in particular that gets to him. No escalation, no sudden appearance of James Tartt in the flesh, no broken beer bottles conspiciously dropped outside his door. In the end, it’s just coming back from his early morning session with Roy to another four missed calls and three drunken voice messages, and just like that, he’s done.  

He comes to practice wrapped in barbed wire, donning the old attitude like armour, and if asked he couldn’t even tell you why. Just seems easier, somehow.

---

They all see right through him, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. Terrified. Stupid. Grateful. Known.

Cared for.

Roy still makes him run an extra ten laps after practice for being an arsehole to everyone instead of telling someone what was going on like you fucking should have, but then he squeezes his shoulder and brings him home to Keeley and makes them dinner while she helps him change his number and make sure everyone who needs to has the new one.

---

“We’ve spoken to City,” Ms. Welton – Rebecca – tells him. “They’ve agreed to ban Mr. Tartt from the premises for our upcoming game.”

The relief is a surprise; the intensity of it. He hadn’t realized until now how much the notion of his father being there had messed with him; his father, watching him, screaming, the sound of his name in that hateful mouth. Only now, when the threat is gone, does he recognize the severity of it.

---

When they news break they’re already on the way to Manchester. Colin is the first to notice and he curses softly and calls for Jamie and tells Isaac and then the whole coach knows.

The Sun: “Star Striker’s Dad Banned from City Game.”

And that’s his dad feigning a look of gentle devastation and it’s all about how Jamie’s money and fame has gone to his head, how he can’t even let his dad watch the game because he’s embarrassed of his humble beginnings, right shame, isn’t it, when people forget where they came from as soon as they make it big? Walked out on City after everything they put into him, didn’t he, and now he’s cutting ties with his family too just ‘cause they’re poor and not educated like, what sort of dickhead does that? “Kid’s turned his back on his roots, thinks he’s too good for us now.”

Manchester City declines to comment, other than to confirm that yes, at the request of AFC Richmond Mr. James Tartt will be prevented from attending the match. Nothing else they can say, really, not without revealing things that aren’t theirs to reveal.

The coach goes quiet, the way the dressing room had done at Wembley last year. Then they rally, anger and encouragements and just ignore it, man and it feels good and it makes him want to hide. He has no fucking idea what to say to them, except yeah, no, it’s some bullshit, yeah.

Ted and Beard huddle together, whispering furiously. Roy’s typing away at his phone, looking especially like he wants to murder someone. 

Sam, next to him, doesn’t say anything at all at first, just gives him a small nod. A few minutes later he offers, “My dad says to tell you good luck with the game, you’ll do great.”

And he should feel pathetic for finding comfort in that, maybe, but he doesn’t, much.

The game starts in a few hours. Long enough for everyone to have seen it by then, not long enough to put together a coherent response.

---

The boos and angry noise of the crowd is a furious buzzing in his ears and he squares his shoulders and eyes on the ball and the match is what fucking matters, everything else is just poopy, stupid fucking shit, doesn’t matter—

He plays like he means to outplay the devil himself. Plays like it would have been easy, had old Nick cared to show up.

The booing never stops, not even when Pep makes a point of coming over to him for a quick cuddle and few encouraging words after the final whistle.            

---

And they’re back in the dressing room after and the press is clamouring for a conference just a few doors down and Keeley’s driven all the way up from London and they’re all talking strategies and damage control and spinning the narrative and it’s doing his head in. All of them blabbering on and on and on and—

“Can we just tell them the fucking truth?”

That shuts them up. They all stare at him. Higgins is the first to speak. “Do you – do you want to do that?”

No, he doesn’t say. Of course I don’t wanna fucking do that. 

But the thing is, everyone that matters already knows, don’t they? So what’s the difference, really, with telling the whole fucking world?

It’s a huge fucking difference, something in him whispers.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Opens them again. All right. “Just think it’s the best thing to do, yeah?”

And there’s murmurs of agreement and Keeley’s looking at him like maybe she wants to cry and he can’t look at her looking like that so he looks away.

Roy catches his eyes. “You want me there with you?”

And yeah, he does want that and he’s too exhausted to pretend otherwise. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

---

“Are you ashamed of your father, Jamie?”

A moment, then, when it’s still not too late. He can still change his mind. He can still lie. No one has to know: he can still be the untouchable Jamie Tartt, confident and arrogant and never ever a victim.  

Fuck that.

“Yeah. I am.”

---

There’s no avoiding the snippets afterwards because they are fucking everywhere but he never watches the whole thing and so he’s not entirely clear on what he really says. Bits and pieces stay with him, though:  

“If I’d told ‘em here at City, my coaches and stuff, they’d have helped. I know they would have. But I was too fucking ashamed, yeah, so I never told anyone and I went off to do this stupid reality show instead and I did a whole bunch of stupid shit just ‘cause I was scared about people finding out about me and my dad. Never wanted anyone to know any of that shit.”

And:

“And I know, right, that there are people who’ll say I shouldn’t be in football if I can’t take a hit, like what the fuck am I gonna do when I’m tackled on the pitch and stuff. But that’s different, yeah? I fucking signed up for that. Didn’t sign up for my dad being a huge fucking dickhead, did I?”

And:

“I’m done being ashamed.”

---

There’s Roy too, near the end, and something about making it seem like aggression and violence is a normal thing and how that is part of the problem and how he’s going to do better from now on, and Jamie wants to tell him that, no, Roy has never been the problem, Jamie ain’t ever been scared of him, that’s really not it at all, but Roy does have a point too, doesn’t he, so Jamie keeps quiet.

---

“Was it all right?” he asks, afterwards, when the door’s closed to the press room and it’s just him and Roy and Keeley in the corridor.

“It was great,” Keeley tells him, stepping close to wrap her arms around him. “It was perfect.” Leaning back a little, she runs a hand over his cheek, “I’m really proud of you, Jamie.”

“Yeah, me too,” Roy says and his hug is just half a thing, one arm wrapped around Jamie’s shoulders and pulling him close, but it’s enough to relax into, to rest in.

Keeley’s looking at both of them like they hung the fucking stars.

“How about dinner?” she asks. “Don’t wanna drive all the way back tonight, think I’ll just get a hotel.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking starving,” Roy says.

And okay. He can’t be disappointed about that. Of course they’d want some time together. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Should be heading for the coach anyway. You have fun, yeah?”

The look they exchange is dismayed.

“No,” Roy says, sounding like he’s trying very hard not to sound angry. “You’re coming to dinner with us. Keeley will drive us back in the morning.”

“Unless you’d rather go back now with the rest of the team,” Keeley quickly adds, shooting Roy a pointed glare.

And oh. Okay. “No, yeah, dinner sounds good.”

---

They make him go say goodbye to the lads first, let them know you’re all right, and it’s still with him when they head out into the Manchester night, Colin’s arms around him and Sam’s quiet smile and Dani’s hands on his shoulders and Isaac’s muttered you’re gonna be okay, bruv.

He carries all of it with him, and it makes him feel light.

---

Coda:

“So, Roy,” Ted asks, leaning back into his office chair. ”Got any big plans for the break?”

“Keeley and I are trying for Marbella again. Only two weeks, she can’t be away from the firm any longer. Jamie’s joining us after he’s done with that football camp thing for disadvantaged kids.”

[liberalk1tsch]

💕 kissing somewhere other than lips

two things:

1. my mind immediately went to a far dirtier place before i decided to keep things a bit more PG today

2. i’m seemingly incapable of so-called «snippets» so enjoy a wee itty-bitty oneshot instead

from this ask game !

context: sneaking away on the victory tour, district 10, canon compliant, katniss didn’t even know that neck kisses were an option (!!)

“I need to leave. Now.” My voice is low enough to escape the crowd around us, but the severity of my words and the pleading in my eyes do not elude Peeta’s attention, even as I keep a false smile plastered on my face.

Concern flashes across his features, but it’s gone in an instant. “I know,” he says quietly, quickly replacing his worried expression with his usual dazzling smile. “Just follow my lead, all right?” I nod and he offers me his arm — the proper way, like Effie taught us — which I accept gratefully.

Peeta weaves us slowly through the sea of people, toward a side entrance at the back of the room. We accept what feels like a hundred vile congratulations on our victory along the way, to the point where I begin to worry that if I hear it one more time I’m going to be sick to my stomach.

Luckily, it’s at that very moment that the band ends whatever inappropriately lively tune they’ve been playing, and the crowd erupts in applause, giving us the cover we need to slip past the few remaining patrons undetected and into a dark quiet of a moonlit hallway.

Peeta immediately drops his arm, taking my hand instead and pulling me along, away from the cacophony of people celebrating the death of this district’s children. He tries door handles along the way until he finds one unlocked, and leads me inside to what appears to be an extravagantly decorated sitting room.

I start to wonder what such a plush, elegant room like this would be doing in a place like the Justice Building, before I realize this is probably one of the rooms where the tributes say goodbye to their loved ones. Where they probably made promises to their families to try to come back to them, just as I did. And if it hadn’t been for Peeta and I, there’s a chance both of their promises could’ve been honored.

At least it’s quiet. And we’re alone.

I sigh, walking over to the windowsill and take a seat, tucking my knees into my chest, staring out at the night sky. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Peeta leaves the door open a crack before joining me in the windowsill. “This is only our second stop on the tour, Katniss,” he reminds me, his blue eyes sparkling, near silvery in the moonlight. “But I know what you mean. I’m not looking forward to Eight. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling about One or Two.”

I hadn’t even thought about that. Or at least had been trying not to. I bury my face in the folds of my dress in an attempt to find some sort of comfort, no doubt messing up the makeup that my prep team spent hours painting onto me. Part of me wants to whine candidly about the unfairness of it all to the only other person who knows what I’m going through, but I know the whole building is probably bugged, that anything we say will somehow make it back to Snow, so without raising my head, I settle for reaching out my hand.

He immediately intertwines his hand with mine, giving it a squeeze before brushing his thumb over it soothingly.

We sit like this for a few minutes in comfortable silence, before the dreaded sound of several pairs of feet walking toward us sounds in the hallway. My heart drops and I look up at Peeta in alarm, devastated at the interruption.

“Oh, Katniss,” he says gently. “You’ve got a little . . .”

I quickly glance at my reflection in the glass of the window to find that my lipstick is indeed smeared around my mouth, the dark makeup they’d painted on my eyes now ringed like a raccoon. Any damage I’ve done to my dress is unnoticeable, concealed in the green and gold brocade pattern of my skirts, but the makeup is unmistakable proof of the break in my composure. This would only ensure that I’ll be taken for an emotional fool for the rest of the tour, and — as Peeta said — we were only two districts in.

“What do I do?” I ask, panickingly trying to clean up what little I can, but I only seem to be making it worse.

Peeta grabs my wrists. “Do you trust me?”

“What?” I ask.

“Do you trust me?” he repeats, more forcefully this time as the footsteps grow louder. Whoever is out there was almost upon us, whatever he was planning on doing to help, he didn’t have much time for.

“Of course, Peeta, I —”

My words are cut off by Peeta pulling me into his lap, but instead of kissing me like he normally would, he presses his lips to the side of my neck, right as the door swings open to reveal a group made up of a cameraman, the mayor of District 10, Effie, and Haymitch.

I let out a gasp of surprise, gripping Peeta’s arm tightly. Not because of the sudden audience bursting in on us, but because of the unexpectedly pleasant sensation of him kissing the base of my throat, the sudden warmth that rushes through me at the feeling of him sucking lightly at a sensitive patch of skin.

Peeta pretends not to notice the newcomers at first, but as soon as he does, he removes his lips reluctantly and moves to shield me from view before pasting an apologetic, charming smile on his face. The expression of a boy so madly in love that he’d been willing to risk getting caught if it meant a moment alone with his lover.

Meanwhile, the cameraman is near-giddy with excitement. The mayor looks bored. Effie is clearly beside herself with how mortified she is. A very drunk Haymitch is barely containing his laughter.

“Leave her alone, you’ve gotten your shot,” he says to the cameraman, shooing him away and pulling me closer against his chest. “I was the one who suggested we leave. She just looked so incredibly gorgeous tonight — I had to try to get her on her own, if only for a minute. Nothing happened, though,” he assures them.

The mayor coughs awkwardly. “We’ll leave you to it then,” he says to Haymitch before leading the cameraman out and shutting the door behind them.

Peeta releases me as the door clicks shut and I shift myself a friendly distance away from . . . whatever that was.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Effie chides us, her voice high and squeaky. “What will people think?” She looks genuinely upset. “You two are not off to a good start with the press on this trip. Now I have to go talk to that dreadful man to see if he’ll erase that footage. No victors of mine should be known for sneaking around doing who-knows-what behind closed doors. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Sorry, Effie,” Peeta says.

“Sorry,” I echo.

“You should be!” Seemingly satisfied with her chastising words, she softens a little bit. “Now go and get yourselves cleaned up, children. We don’t want anyone else getting any more ideas.” Effie collects herself and disappears into the hallway, the clicking of her heels against the marble floors fading as she goes. Leaving us with Haymitch.

“You got overwhelmed?” he asks me as soon as Effie is out of earshot. I nod. “And you helped her?” Peeta nods. “You two are gonna be the death of me, you know that?” Haymitch pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nice touch with the whole sneaking away bit. Couldn’t have planned it better myself. Just try to keep it together from here on out.” He sighs. “I’ll go find one of your stylists. You certainly look the part of the caught-in-the-act teenager, sweetheart, and Effie’s right — there’s only so much scandalous press we can take.”

When Haymitch is finally gone too, I turn on Peeta. “What was that for?”

He blinks at me in disbelief. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“What you did,” I splutter helplessly. I didn’t know how to describe the neck kiss thing. Nor did I particularly want to voice how nice it felt.

“I was just trying to cover for you,” he says, a hint of defensiveness to his voice. “ I needed you to look surprised at them walking in on us for it to look authentic. And we both know you can’t act, Katniss. I asked you to trust me — it worked didn’t it?”

My face burns and I open my mouth to say something biting, spiteful, before stopping myself. No, I have to remind myself. I can’t be mad at him, not for this. He saved me just now; he took what would’ve been my humiliation and made it his, while fabricating even more rumors to support the guise of our relationship. Besides, I’m not mad at him, not really. It’s something else I feel — something undefined.

So why do I feel so guilty?

[bambimeadows]

*spoilers afoot and long probably nonsensical musings regarding the Manfred-Lichdom thing*

Had a tough time deciding on the Manfred/Lichdom ultimatum with Emmrich but after experiencing both options I think it’s pretty clear which choice at the very least feels more natural and right.

When you choose Lichdom (which was the option I went with at first after spending 5 minutes staring at my tv in despair I know I’m sorry) Emmrich comes across as something that doesn’t suit him. Self important and righteous, over explaining his decision in a way that almost makes it seem like he’s trying to cope because he knows he didn’t do the right thing, rather gave into his self indulgence. Almost kind of bratty and petulant. It’s actually kind of awkward to watch. When he presented himself to everyone in his lichdom form and they were just like “…okay?” I think making him appear as this petty, vapid man in that scene was a way of communicating certain (accurate) troupes of self serving men who throw away their morals, compassion and humanity for the sake of gaining more power and fulfilling their deepest desires. And don’t even get me started on that dialogue between him and Spite if we chose the path to not save Manfred “He should be here” haunted me and was enough to make me go back to the previous save after a few hours and pick the other option just to see what that would entail.

When you go with saving Manfred however, this feels smoother, more attuned with his character. The humility of throwing away his ultimate end goal in favour of finding joy and peace with his dear friend excelling and developing is really very very sweet. Their bond is beautiful and adorable in such an authentic way. There’s a lot of purity in it and I think it really attributes to his character. An endearing-ness that is not so easily captured in any media, let alone in video games. And let’s face it, it’s always going to more interesting to watch a character face their fears rather than seek comfort for themselves.

It’s a shame however, as the concept of Lichdom is a fascinating one. The idea of sweet gentle Emmrich becoming that is so intriguing to explore. The circumstances of being in a romance with Emmrich in that state is such an ingenious take on gothic romance. I and I’m sure many others grew to adore him and just want him to be happy and get everything he wants, but as in real life, that’s seldom possible. But I think all of this is the point in making us chose between those two options and reflects Emmrich’s own internal conflict. So I applaud the writers of this game, despite all the heinous feedback they’ve gotten, for throwing us a real, complex moral dilemma. They knew Manfred was adorable and we’d all fall in love with him, they also knew many of us would fall in love with Emmrich. They highlighted the timeless truth that, no, you cannot have everything you want without sacrifice, your most selfish desires will usually come at a cost. Putting yourself first will not usually feel right when it’s at the detriment of innocents and you’ll find helping others, especially those you love, can bring you a unique happiness and peace that chasing your own selfish desires could never. And what’s more saving Manfred was shown to be so fruitful. It would be good even if he returned to how he was before, but there was so much payoff for everyone to helping him in the end and I think that’s the main take away here. He was able to develop and flourish when we just showed a little bit of compassion and followed our heart instead of cold logic, Emmrich’s sacrifice was very very much not without reward.

I really do love Emmrich either way, and I plan to explore every possible piece of this game that he is involved in. He’s the best character I’ve seen for a very long time, no matter how we chose to shape his journey.

[alchemistc]

goon | bucktommy | chapter six

check out the hockey glossary here (updated through chapter six)

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

read Chapter Six on ao3

Tommy nearly hadn’t made it here.

Not in terms of mortality — four years ago, he’d blocked a shot with his skate, and felt the twinge of it for the rest of the game, but it wasn’t until he’d taken his skate off and seen his foot swell to three times it’s normal size that the adrenaline had worn off.

The force of the puck had broken his foot in three places.

He’d spent almost a year rehabbing that injury, and there’d been a month or so there when the numbness of the pain meds they’d prescribed him had been preferable to thinking about the trajectory of his career — getting into junior leagues far too old to really make waves, paying for travel teams off the pity of his aunt; the scholarship that had barely covered his tuition as he worked his way through a degree, sleeping three hours a night and housing enough coffee to keep a South American country’s economy alive, mornings and evenings devoted to a hockey team that hadn’t made a D1 playoff appearance in years and days spent reading and rereading his lecture notes like if he somehow stayed a good student, the scholarship might cover his meals by the time he was a senior; drafted by Toronto in the fifth round sort of as a throwaway, and spending the next two years bouncing from AHL to ECHL teams without even a glimpse of a shot at the show; a trade to an on-the-rise Pittsburg and an injured Penguin who no one else on the farm team had enough knowledge of both defensive and forward positions to fill his spot; a year and a half riding the bench with the brightest fucking star this league had seen since Gretzky, and realizing that for all that he and Sidney Crosby had had incredibly different life experiences, at the end of the day they were cut from the same cloth; ten more years of bouncing from team to team, mentoring every mentally ill first round draft pick that latched on to him day one, learning half the leagues dirty laundry without ever once airing his own.

The day he’d rolled out of bed and popped three oxy before he’d been awake enough to assess his pain levels, he’d spent six hours researching therapists and flushed the rest of the pills down the drain.

Therapy had taught him plenty. About himself, about the world at large, about how to manage every Big Feeling he’d ever repressed just to make it through the next few hours.

He wouldn’t call himself a paragon of mental health. He’s still never said the words aloud to Harold, even though they’ve danced around that issue as much as they possibly can. He’s subsisted on hookups and beards for most of his life, and he’s never let himself imagine a world where the things he desires most want him back.

It’s a lonely way to live, according to Harold, and sometimes he wonders if the people in his life who know pity him for it.

Buck brushes past him into his hotel room, and Tommy takes five steadying breaths, presses his heels into the floor, and turns to stare at the back of Buck’s head while he stares around the room like he’s not set up in a carbon copy of it, six doors down.

Tommy shuts the door, and doesn’t let himself think about who might have been poking their head out at just the right time to see Tommy let him in.

(It’s a ridiculous thought. They’re friends. They play on the same team together. Maybe Buck is just here to lay into him the way Bobby hadn’t about how fucking stupid a risk it was to get himself thrown in the box with ten minutes left in a game.)

Buck makes a move towards the bed, then seems to second guess it. There is a painting on the wall that is likely an exact match for the one in every room on this floor, three uneven black lines splashed across a background of ocean-blue. A television taking up the entire length of the chest of drawers, a desk with an ergonomic chair tucked into a little alcove, and two uncomfortable looking chairs around a tiny table, cast in the orange glow of the city below them, framed by curtains Tommy hasn’t even been here long enough to close.

No distractions. No trinkets, nothing to draw the eye that Buck hasn’t seen a million times before, unless Buck is suddenly extremely interested in the airport bodice ripper cracked open and balanced on the pillow next to where Tommy had been lounging, before the knock.

Buck eyes it for a moment, shockingly blank faced, before he turns to Tommy and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Tommy doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“I need to apologize,” Buck begins, once the air in his lungs has been blown back out, and Tommy’s eyes snap to his. Pockets. He has pockets.

Christ, he’s in the most threadbare sweatpants he owns, the pockets were a bad idea.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Buck.” Not to him, anyway.

“Evan,” Buck interrupts, and time stills. He feels like they’re threading a needle, frayed edges that refuse to line up, but if they just snip off the ends... “When we met, I told you to call me Evan, but you never did.”

His smile is wry, and he wrings his hands, nerves on full display as he takes yet another weighted breath. In contrast, Tommy feels like a marionette who’s master has pulled all his strings tight and wandered off to parts unknown.

“I do need to apologize,” he continues. “I’ve been — I haven’t been fair to you, or Eddie, but right now I’m... I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’ve been a dick, and it’s not your fault.”

“Everyone has bad days.” And why is Tommy crossing his arms, now? What astronomically horrible thing is Buck about to say to him that he feels the need to guard himself from it? Sorry, I hope we can be friends.

“It’s been, like, weeks, man, you don’t have to sugarcoat it. Not my proudest moment. Series, of moments.”

Something loosens, in his core, a slow unravelling as Buck stares at him imploringly, and Tommy feels one side of his mouth tilting up. Buck’s gaze follows the little twitch, head tilting (always the fucking head tilt, with him) his own serious expression melting, just a little. “Noted.”

“Did I ever tell you my sister used to take me to Bears games, every year?”

The non sequitur throws him for a loop. Tommy rolls his lips in, bites at the flesh of his lower one and raises a brow, not bothering to pretend he has any idea where this is going.

“Travel leagues always made it difficult, but — every year we’d find a way to make it to the the teddy bear toss. We’d go with, like, ten stuffed animals a piece, and she’d always get the good seats — close enough to the glass that during that first toss, we’d get buried under all the ones that didn’t get thrown far enough to make it to the ice, so I’d spend twenty minutes getting all mine over the glass, and then all the ones that didn’t make it.”

Tommy remembers his time in Hershey fondly. He’d been down with the flu, for the first charity game, and halfway out the door for the second, but when that goal buzzer sounded and the stuffed animals rained down, he’d done the same thing as every other player on the ice, a time honored tradition of diving at the piles of them like kids jumping into freshly raked leaves.

“The last time she took me, I was fifteen. Too cool for school, by then, and I spent the whole game kind of hating her for making me go.”

Tommy blinks, doing the math while Buck’s smile goes a little wide.

“There was this player, though, that I hadn’t seen the year before. I was so scrawny, back then, and just, like, obsessed with goons. Just the idea of them. Big tough guys, whose only real job was to make sure if someone messed with their teammates they’d pay for it.”

Tommy’d played that game with three bruised ribs he’d re-injured jumping into a pile of kids toys.

Buck’s head tilts from one side to the other. “When that first goal got scored, and everyone started throwing bears, I was — I was up almost up against the glass, pouting about it, arguing with Maddie, trying to hand her all the ones she’d brought for me to throw. And this guy — this guy I’d nearly lost my voice cheering for every time he laid a filthy hit, right? He skated right up to the glass and started giving me shit for not helping my neighbors clear out all the stuffed animals stuck on the wrong side of the boards.”

Tommy doesn’t know when he’d let his arms fall loose at his sides again, or when they’d started to drift closer, but he’s close enough to smell the pomade in Buck’s hair when the memory surfaces.

“I had to barter my fucking stick to get you to start throwing bears.”

Buck’s laugh is quiet, soft and bright while his cheeks dance up. “I still have it,” he admits, eyes dipping to the floor, like he’s nervous. “Your rookie card, too. I mean, I have, like, hundreds of rookie cards, but when I found out we were trading for you I had Maddie pull that box out of storage, and for three months now I’ve been trying to figure out why.”

Tommy swallows, shifts his weight. Harold is gonna have a fucking field day, trying to help Tommy unpack all of this. Buck is smiling, wide, eyes catching the light as he chases Tommy’s gaze.

“My sister says there are better ways to get someone’s attention than maiming my best friend about it.”

Tommy has spent twenty years being overly cautious. The first and only time he’d attempted to hold down a relationship, the guy had decided to surprise him by buying tickets behind the bench for an away game three thousand miles away, and rather than enjoy the win and whisk him off to his hotel room before the rest of the team realized he’d left dinner early, he’d refused to look beyond the glass all game, and sent him a confirmation for a return flight, hiding in the bathroom between the second and the third.

Tommy wants to kiss him.

Say fuck it to the last twenty years, throw it down the drain, ignore every precaution he’s ever taken for the silver-blue shine in Evan Buckley’s eyes as he says too much and not enough at the same time.

He has great fucking lips. Pink and plump with a nasty habit of going a little pouty, when he’s at rest, and Tommy doesn’t need to look down at them to confirm, but he does anyway, and follows the line of his jaw, the stretch of tendons in his neck as he swallows. He can just make out the silvery line of the scar tucked next to the bunched up fabric of the hoodie he’s wearing.

“I don’t have your rookie card,” Tommy admits between breaths, and Buck’s laugh catches and falters just before he leans in and captures Tommy’s lips between his own.

It’s quiet, at first.

Tommy’s hand, with a mind of it’s own, slides up, two fingers pressing to the meaty underside of Buck’s jaw to improve the angle. Lips against lips, and the quiet breath that escapes Buck when Tommy is satisfied with the tilt of Buck’s head and drops his hand to Buck’s waist, fingers just ghosting over the fabric there before he presses his palm in.

Buck takes that for a green fucking light, surging in with a tilt of his head, nose pressed to Tommy’s cheek as his tongue slides along the seam of Tommy’s lips, half a step closer as one hand comes up to cradle Tommy’s jaw, the other smoothing over the fabric at Tommy’s shoulder, fingers digging in to the meat of his muscle for the span of a moment before he slides the hand down to cup his elbow.

Tommy gasps into his mouth, and Buck just dives right in.

When Tommy was twelve, one of the kids on the cul de sac, Terry Waters, had spent an hour complaining about his mom while they all practiced The Michigan, oblivious to Tommy seething in silence, barely keeping a lid on the urge to remind them all that at least they had moms. The only one of them who’d gotten close to nailing it was an eight year old girl on her pastel-pink roller skates, and Tommy can still remember the way she’d looked, for all of a moment, with the whiffle ball tucked against the blade of a stick half-a-foot too tall for her, right before Terry Waters had knocked a knee against her stick and dislodged the ball.

Two years later, he’d kissed Terry Waters under the bleachers in the gym of their high school, and when they’d broken apart Terry had wiped his whole forearm across the lower half of his face and threatened to tell Tommy’s dad if he ever told another soul what they’d just done.

Buck’s thumb slides across his jaw, tucks itself neatly into his cleft and presses down, just enough pressure to force Tommy’s mouth a little wider.

Tommy needs a minute. They both need a minute.

They both need to get a fucking grip, is what they need to do.

Tommy exerts some forward momentum on the hand that is currently fisted in the fabric of Buck’s hoodie, bunching it at the waist, and Buck whines, high and reedy, lips twisting up against Tommy’s, and though his torso follows the direction of Tommy’s hand, his head and neck don’t move.

“Buck,” Tommy murmurs across his lips, and doesn’t fight the feeling of Buck’s hand curling around the side of his neck, or the way Buck uses the fulcrum of his gentle shove to swing his hips and press his weight right back into Tommy, and — fuck, they need to think about this, they need to talk about this, they need to get further away from the bed that is right behind Buck.

Buck nips at Tommy’s lower lip and Tommy groans, desperately searching his mind for anything that could derail this without sending Buck running out the door.

“Evan,” Tommy says, and Buck stills against him, breath coming in heavy pants as he pulls just far enough away to catch Tommy’s eye. There’s a rosy tint to his cheeks, and a heavy look in his eye, mouth still open and an obscene little curl to his lower lip. Buck blinks, gaze taking a leisurely little stroll from holding Tommy’s gaze, down over the slope of his nose, right back to Tommy’s lips, and when he sways back in Tommy lets him, for just a moment.

Unfurling his fingers from the fabric of Buck’s shirt, he straightens his palm and tucks it up against Buck’s ribs, which earns him a breathy sigh and a squeeze at his elbow, followed closely by a groan of protest when Tommy presses, gently pushing him back half a step.

He blinks, again, a second before the grin begins to overtake his expression once more. “Tommy,” he intones, slightly mocking, and Tommy can’t quite hide the twitch of his lips as he tries desperately to keep a straight face. “Say it again.”

They need to talk about this. Tommy still has an apology of his own, fully scripted with contingencies for whatever reactions he’d anticipated Buck having. This hadn’t factored in to a single one of his scenarios. Tommy takes a moment to straighten out the bunched fabric of his hoody. “It,” he quips, shifting just his eyes up, staring through his lashes as Buck purses his lips in faux-irritation. Buck shifts his weight back, and Tommy nearly loses his balance without Buck’s hand to steady him. “Evan.”

He laughs, bright and happy in this sensibly decorated hotel room, with the lights of Boston casting the side of his face in an orange glow that makes the shadows of his laugh lines stand out starkly against his skin. “Yeah, I know why I introduced myself like that, now.”

Tommy would like to point out the utter insanity of the last ten minutes. Maybe see what he remembers of the Microsoft Office suite, set up a PowerPoint presentation with clipart and horrible transitions for each slide. Write a paper on how fucking batshit this is.

Buck slides his hand around Tommy’s hip, thumb rolling neatly and eagerly under the hem of Tommy’s shirt to shift against bare skin, and he looks a little smug when Tommy’s breath catches. Tommy attempts a stern expression, but he’s pretty sure all he manages is fond. “I am not sleeping with you tonight, Evan Buckley.”

“Presumptuous,” Buck murmurs, sliding back into Tommy’s space, two fingers in the pocket of Tommy’s sweats and the meat of his cheek sucked between his teeth. “I am gonna kiss you again, though,” he warns, and Tommy decides they’ll have plenty of time to talk, later.

---

Buck hitches a leg up over Tommy’s thigh, as the sun tips out over the horizon.

Somewhere between frantic make-outs number three and four, they’d stumbled their way over to the bed, and despite the hundreds of sirens and bells and gongs going off in his head, he’d let himself be tugged down over Buck, tongue sliding to the roof of his mouth while Buck snuck a grab at handfuls of his ass.

But he hadn’t pushed it any further.

It was only when their jaws had started to ache that he’d wheedled an invitation to stay out of Tommy, puppy-eyed pleading out in full force as he rolled his head against a pillow, glowering at the paperback in his way (how they hadn’t disturbed it, Tommy has no fucking clue) before tucking the thumb he’d had in Tommy’s mouth five minutes earlier in between the pages to hold his place while he scrambled up on his stupid long legs to grab a spare piece of paper from the notepad on the desk to use as a bookmark.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself and everything,” he’d promised, which had been a flagrant lie.

But he hadn’t pushed — fingers tracing the hills and valleys of Tommy’s abs while he admitted he’d had himself a nice long fit over how much Sidney Crosby seemed to know about him, lips ghosting over the arm of Tommy’s t-shirt as he told him about the enlightening conversation he’d had with Maddie, two days earlier, palm a steady weight against Tommy’s ribcage as he confessed to wanting to slew-foot his best friend for monopolizing all of Tommy’s attention, the last few weeks.

Buck’s half-hard, against the seam of Tommy’s sweats, but even as he readjusts the angle of the leg he’s thrown over Tommy’s, there’s no effort to ramp things back up. He’s been yawning between rambles for a good hour, now, and Tommy’s been too caught up in trying to memorize the exact color and shape of his birthmark to call him out on it. But his words have begun to slow, his eyelashes shifting against Tommy’s shoulder as he keeps trying to blink himself awake, and despite no longer having any plans for this morning, they’re both going to regret staying up so late when they have a game in a day and a half. “We should sleep,” Tommy says, and Buck digs his nose into Tommy’s shoulder in protest, shaking his head while he yawns into the meat of Tommy’s bicep.

“I’m — not even —.” His breath blows out hot against Tommy’s arm. “Not even tired,” he promises, fingers stretching out over Tommy’s ribcage.

Tommy’s hand makes a pass through the close-cropped hair on the back of Buck’s head and his lashes flutter closed. “Well, as you so deftly pointed out earlier, I’ve got almost a decade on you. Old man bones need rest.”

Buck snorts into Tommy’s armpit. “Thought we weren’t talking about your old man bone, tonight.”

There’s something achy and warm blooming beneath Tommy’s ribs that he absolutely refuses to acknowledge until they’ve both slept on this. He grabs the spare pillow from behind his head and whacks Buck’s thigh, instead. “Weak, three out of ten, I know you can do better.”

“Guess I need to rest and recuperate my flirting skills.”

Tommy hums, and lets his eyes tip closed as Buck fluffs up pillows and rearranges his limbs. He’s asleep before Buck’s even fully settled.

---

Tommy scrambles out of bed at the knock on his door, blinking sleep out of his eyes as his hand slides across the opposite side of the bed, which is rumpled and cool.

He takes a beat to wonder exactly how much of the previous night he’s going to regret, when a cursory glance around the room reveals no signs of Buck.

The knocking starts up again, and Tommy runs a hand over his face, checks the time.

9:45

Four hours of sleep, and still the latest he’s slept in in about ten years.

A third round of knocking interrupts his muddy thoughts, and he levers himself up out of bed with a groan, fully prepared to slam the door back in whoever’s face once he’s given them a cursory greeting and the stink eye, but when he swings the door open he’s met with the smiling face of Eddie, who is holding up a take-out bag with a raised brow.

Christ.

He hadn’t even looked in the mirror before he’d opened the door. He wonders how likely it is that Eddie will believe him if he plays off the hickey he knows Buck had been aiming to mark into the side of his neck as a bruise from Johnston’s chokehold, yesterday afternoon.

“Hey,” he says, and freezes a moment later when the toilet flushes in the bathroom.

Eddie tips his head from side to side. “So I guess you and Buck made up, too.”

(Teeth sliding along his lower lip, a hand around the back of his neck, Buck smiling bashfully against Tommy’s lips as he told him he’d apologized to Eddie before knocking on Tommy’s door.)

“Mm, yeah. We talked.”

Eddie squints at him. “Clearly.”

Tommy has no idea what the fuck that means, and he’s terrified to ask. They hadn’t talked about shit last night. (They’d talked about a million things, actually, the same shit they did with walls between them and phones tucked to their ears, but not this. Not exactly what either one of them were willing to let anyone else know.)

He’s saved the burden of responding by the bathroom door swinging open. Buck’s in the same jeans he’d worn the previous night, but he’s wearing one of Tommy’s t-shirts, and Tommy spends thirty seconds waffling between full-blown panic and a steady thrum of lust.

Buck snags the bag from Eddie’s outstretched fingers, and Eddie reels back, a practiced look of offense on his face.

Tommy is suddenly remembering the rumpled sheets and the indent on the pillow that is fully visible to Eddie from his position in the doorway. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at the bag Buck has cradled carefully to his chest. “What’s up?”

“Josh asked me to tell Tommy to, and I quote, ‘answer his goddamn texts and stop pretending to be a dinosaur, I know he knows how to use his phone’. End quote.”

“Well, you’ve told him.” Buck nods, and Eddie’s lips purse.

“Are you punishing me right now?”

“No.”

“Because it feels like you’ve made up with Tommy and now you’re trying to even out the time I spent with him solo by sharing our favorite food in this city with only Tommy.”

Which explains exactly why he’d been completely unsurprised to see Buck wandering out of Tommy’s bathroom at a completely reasonable hour of the day to find a teammate in another teammates room.

“If I give you half my sandwich, will you go back to running errands for Josh and leave me alone?”

Eddie rolls his tongue over his teeth, and tips his head side to side. “I want a full sandwich. I know you ordered an extra one.”

They have an intense little staring contest, right there in the doorway. Buck gives in with a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

“And a pickle, just for the implication that I do anything for Russo of my own free will.”

Buck’s already tearing into the bag, reaching in to grab what Tommy assumes is the aforementioned sandwich, wrapped up in crisp white paper, which he slaps into Eddie’s hands before digging back in, in search of the pickles, most likely.

Tommy just stands there, head spinning, hyper aware of every muscle in his body while Buck piles more paper-wrapped items on top of the sandwich.

“Go away, now,” Buck says, shooing Eddie back away from the door, out into the hallway. “Let Tommy enjoy his apology sandwich in peace.”

“With you in the room? What sort of peace is he gonna get that way?”

“Goodbye.”

Tommy gets a last good look of Eddie’s bemused expression, right before Buck slams the door in his face.

A beat of silence. Then another, as Tommy listens to Eddie’s footsteps drift off down the hallway.

“Hi,” Buck says, and leans in for a kiss.

Tommy catches his jaw before it lands, and tries desperately to calm the swirling thoughts and not get distracted by the gleam in Buck’s eyes, or the subtle roll of his lower lip as it begins to jut out, pre-pout.

“I’m not out,” is the first thing Tommy can think to say, and Buck’s expression softens.

“Okay.”

“That — with Eddie —.”

“Tommy,” Buck says, voice low, the hand not holding the food curling over Tommy’s forearm. Tommy breathes, and wonders if this is how it’s always going to be. First sign of something good, and Tommy’s booking a one way ticket to the other side of the country. “Okay. That’s fine. I haven’t said anything. I - I wouldn’t.”

Tommy shoves his hands into his pockets and aims a glance at the bag. He’s fine. He can bury it. Let this all settle, and figure it out from there.

He should have sent Buck back to his room, last night, the moment he’d said his name.

“I’m — do you — should I go?”

You seem to do fine with relationships, right up until they feel real to you, Harold had told him, eight months in, after Tommy admitted he preferred it when Harold was a bit of an asshole getting his point across. Lets explore that.

Buck, who’d just spent two weeks quietly seething that his best friend was taking up all of Tommy’s time, looks back at Tommy with nothing but vague concern in his eyes, and Tommy spends a long, long moment reminding himself that he’d spent a good fucking year working his way up to admitting that he’d internalized a lifetime of keeping his feelings to himself and wrapped that up in a romanticized little bow he first time he’d watched Andrew Lincoln scramble to stop Keira Knightley from seeing her wedding film.

It’s self-preservation, he’d quoted to Harold, while Harold jotted something down in his notebook. Tommy liked to think he just kept a running list of all the stupid movie quotes he heard in their sessions.

“I don’t want you to go, Evan,” Tommy admits, and for once in his fucking life just lets himself enjoy the wide smile that brims across Buck’s face a moment before he leans in to press his lips to Tommy’s.